 How did Grannie Annie avoid the actions of Antlers Park?
DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. Grannie Annie strode in the lead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place in this desert as the trees. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third day on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction, visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought she was crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie, had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you've missed something. Blood-and-thunder as these books are, however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background. Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when she laid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only a transportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her from visiting her "stage" in person. He was an old prospector Grannie had met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followed her wherever she went. And then I was shaking hands with Antlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. And when Antlers Park stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, "Fiddlesticks, I never saw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelers on foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment and supplies. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of a high ridge. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of Grannie Annie, and she was replying in the most natural way. As that dot continued to move across the heavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. Five minutes later Grannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. Apparently these adjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for the car's ability to move in any direction. "They walk out into the Baldric," he continued, "and nothing can stop them.
 She pretended to contract the plague.
 She pretended to contract the plague.  She distracted him by sharing a new plot for her novel.  She used a cockatoo image to distract him.  She turned his own heat gun on him