With the various members of the Carver family busy with their studies and chores, it did not seem long before they came close to Planet Two, and Jon laid down his reelbooks to begin preparing for the landing. He had started down through the atmosphere when Jak suddenly roused.
"Why don't we circle around a bit and look for our townsite from the air?"
"I was going to," Jon said with a disarming grin. "Just wanted to get close enough to see well before I called you in to help me decide."
At about five miles above the surface he leveled off and began circumnavigating the globe. He headed in the direction which—he remembered from their previous visit—would soonest bring them near the great ocean, but zigzagged from north to south as they proceeded eastward.
"Watch for rivers," he said. "A fairly large one that empties into the ocean."
They were about halfway between the north pole and the equator, as they had already decided the climate in that latitude would probably be the most suitably average. In a few minutes of traveling they saw ahead a plain that looked to be just what they wanted.
Quickly Jon maneuvered the ship downward and soon landed. They were just a few miles from the edge of the great ocean, at the mouth of a large river of considerable width and length, and not far from an extensive forest to the south, and a range of considerable mountains to the west.
"Hope the soil here is good," Jon commented as he locked the controls in neutral. "Everything else seems perfect."
"The spec-anal shows minerals fairly close, in those hills to the west." Jak was eagerly peering from the port.
"I know—that's why I chose this spot. Nice flat land here; good river; close to the ocean, mountains less than a hundred miles away, and not too high. Ideal place, I'd say.
"That it is; that it is. Going out today?"
"Why not? Nearly four hours till sundown. We can start planning today, then get busy in the morning."
Their mother came in just then. "I thought it felt like we had landed. What are you going to do here?" She glanced out of the port.
"We have to lay out a townsite," Jon answered, and at her astonished look he explained.
She shook her head admiringly and with surprise. "You boys continually amaze me—you seem able to do anything."
Jon shrugged that off. "When a thing has to be done, a fellow usually can figure out some way of doing it."
"Besides," Jak grinned, "we're like those old chaps on Terra who used to say, 'The difficult we do immediately, the impossible takes a little longer.'"
They left her then and hurried out of the ship. Even though they felt there could be no possible danger here—they could see for miles in every direction, and noticed nothing moving—they were wise enough from experience to carry their rifles slung across their backs, and wore bandoliers of ammunition. In addition, both carried tools and what equipment they felt might be needed.
Once outside, they ran first to the river, and tested the water. It was fresh and clear, and they knew this would be a good source of water for their proposed city ... until men might pollute it with their garbage and wastes.
"Got your pedometer?" Jak asked.
"Sure, right here in my coverall pocket. Why?"
"I suggest this would be a good place for the center of the town's north side...."
"Yes, here by the riverbank would...."
"I'll go east and you go west a half mile each, then we'll set our corner stakes."
"Then we'll both walk south a mile and set those, and have the four corners done. Sometimes, Owl, I have to give you credit for having brains."
"Wish I could say the same about you." Jak reached out and gave his brother a friendly shove. "Get going, Stupe. And when we start south, be sure you keep your line straight."
"Look who's yelping. Mine'll be as plumb as yours—probably more so, because I'm a better plumber than you are."
Jon started his pacing, while Jak went in the opposite direction after a pretended "grrr" at Jon's horrible pun.
When they returned to the ship, as the sun was going down, they felt they had made a good beginning. But as they went into the control room to talk alone, away from their mother's hearing—lest they worry her—they were not too cheerful.
"You know anything about surveying?" Jak slumped into a seat.
"Nope, not a sardine's worth." Jon paced forth and back in the little room. "That's what has me worried. How're we going to place those other marking stakes in exactly the right spots."
"Guess we'll have to measure them some other way."
"How?"
"Darned if I know. You're the mechanically—minded one—I thought you could figure it out."
Jon continued his pacing, his young forehead creased with thought. Finally, just as their mother called them to dinner, he looked up excitedly. "Hey, it'll be easy, after all!"
"How?" Jak was as excited as his brother as they went in to the living quarters and sat down at the table.
"A light plastic line that won't stretch, exactly measured, and fastened to two metal pin-stakes. We'll make two sets, and...."
"I get it. One the length of the blocks, the other the width of the streets."
"Right. Stick a pin in the ground, measure out the line, then plant one of our regular stakes."
"Then give a yank, pull the pin out and haul it in. Then use the other set to measure the street...."
"Yes, just keep going. Hey, I believe with that system we could each work alone, so I'll make two sets."
Jak thought all this over swiftly for several minutes, working fork and knife and jaws meanwhile. Finally, between mouthfuls, he said slowly, "I can't see a flaw in it—as long as we're mighty careful. Do you think it'll pass inspection?"
"If we take our time and make sure we're right, I don't see why not."
"What're you boys talking about now?" Their mother set a refilled dish of steaming Chlorella stew on the table, and resumed her own seat.
They explained, and told her the necessity of what they had to do in order to prove up their father's claim on this system, when they returned to Terra and appeared before the Colonial Board with their proofs of prime discovery.
The worried look came back into her eyes. "I always understood that surveying was a mighty exact profession. Do you really think you can measure it exactly enough to take the place of a regular survey?"
"I think we can make it close enough so that when Pop wakes up and shows us how to do the final survey with the instruments, we can save a lot of time, at least," Jon assured her. "That's what we're thinking and planning about now."
"You see, Mother," Jak broke in, "if we have the stakes all set, all we'll have to do is to make the sights on each one, after Father teaches us how to use the transit. Then, if we should be off anywhere, we can fix them easily."
"Yes, it'll cut down the time a lot," Jon went on, "and now we're so near done, I want to get everything finished so we can go back to Terra immejit."
"Why? Getting homesick?" his mother teased.
"Not so much that, but we want to get our claim before the Board. Anything can happen when such distances and time are concerned...."
"And we just don't want anything to spoil Father's chances of having this valuable claim verified."
"I see." She smiled now in relief, and again her eyes showed the pride she felt in her two manly boys who were daily proving themselves more than equal to the unusual situations in which they found themselves. "Your father woke up again while you were out, and...."
"He did?" It was a duet of happy excitement.
"... and while he still didn't seem to realize what had happened, he acted even more as though he recognized me. He let me feed him some broth, then went back to sleep again very contentedly."
"Golly, that's great!" Jon reached out and patted her hand.
The three chatted together with more freedom and animation than they had known since the terrible accident first occurred. It seemed as though their worst troubles were over. For Tad Carver was so reliable, so confident in himself, so trust-inspiring—even beyond their natural love for him—that they felt everything would just have to work out right, once he was again in command.
As soon as they had finished eating, the boys hurried to the storeroom and found some metal rods.
"Cut me four lengths about fifteen inches each," Jon ordered as he went to the workbench. He cleared a space, then began getting the tools he wanted, and hooking up the induction furnace.
"You'll need eight for two full sets, won't you?"
"I got to thinking we'd better make only one set for now. If it works out all OK, then we can make the other."
By the time Jak had the pieces cut, Jon was ready to heat one end of each in the furnace, then bend it into a small eye. The other end he sharpened on the emery wheel.
"Now measure out pieces of that plastic rope," he ordered, pointing to a reel of small-diametered but very strong line. "Figure about six inches extra on each...."
"Look, Chum, you tend to your job and give me credit for brains enough to know that much." Jak's tone was almost cross, for sometimes this younger brother got on his nerves, since Jon did occasionally get quite "bossy."
But the elder quickly subdued that feeling—helped by the surprised and somewhat hurt look in Jon's eyes. He knew so well that Jon was merely trying—as he himself was learning to do—to see that neither made any mistakes in this important work they were attempting to do in their father's absence. Father was always cautioning them to take pains with whatever they were doing, and they usually accepted his warning and advice—as they did their mother's—without any more grumbling than boys ordinarily make about such "fussing."
But now each of them—and both of them together—had to be, and did try to be, extra painstaking in all the things their father would have cautioned them about, and they checked and rechecked each other constantly. So Jak said nothing more, and quietly helped Jon complete the stakes-and-line sets. After all, he admitted honestly, there were undoubtedly times when he got just as "bossy" as Jon did.
Soon the two sets of pins and line were done. Each of the boys measured each once—twice—to make doubly sure their work was right. Then they cut up and sharpened a number of wooden stakes from some inch-by-inch strips they found in the storeroom.
The next morning they started out early. Each carried a bundle of the marking stakes, and Jon had a small sledge in one hand. In addition, they had their rifles slung across their backs.
"Working together to begin with," Jon said at breakfast, "we can start the eastward leg from the southwest corner, and run it a ways, then come back and start the northward one from this same corner."
"Yes, if we get that first corner square and right, there's less chance of the other three being wrong—they'll more or less check themselves."
They soon found they could work at quite a swift pace, and at lunch time Jon cried, "At this rate we'll have time to go back and re-check everything, and still get done within our two weeks."
"Yes, if we don't run into any trouble, this seems to be working out fine. Much better than I'd have given you credit for being able to figure out, Chubby."
"Catfish to you, Brother!" Jon grinned. "Hey, that reminds me. I want to see if that river's got any fish in it—and no...." He caught himself and stopped, but Jak knew what he meant. Their mother still didn't know about that quicksand Jon had been almost trapped in, and they didn't want her to learn of it.
"I suppose it would be worth knowing," Jak had hastened to say, almost as if interrupting. "For once your eternal love of fishing will have its good points—as well as getting us fresh food. What about the ocean?"
"I'll try that, too, if I have time. Surf-fishing won't tell us too much about the deeper sea, and I haven't any heavy tackle for anything very big if we happen to run into it. But probably, close to shore like I'll have to fish, we wouldn't catch anything my lines and hooks won't handle."
"Ifyoucan handle 'em," Jak said with a grin.
"Don't you worry about me," Jon retorted. "I can pull in anything I can get my hook on."
"Except a sunken ship," Jak jibed, and Jon's face grew red. That incident, when he and his father had been fishing off the coast of Southern California, back in Terra's Pacific Ocean, was still a tender subject with him. He had had to cut his line that time, because they could not loosen his hooks, and he had lost a favorite spinner and leader and half his best line.
That first week passed uneventfully. The boys worked hard, from shortly after sunup to almost sundown. So hard, in fact, that their mother finally protested after noticing that they were so weary that they slumped in their chairs at the table and could hardly eat each evening when they returned to the ship.
"Now you boys listen to your mother," she commanded one night at dinner. "I'm just as anxious to get back to Earth as you are, but there's no sense killing yourselves to save a day or two. From now on, you are to start an hour later, and quit an hour earlier."
Jak managed a weak grin. "Guess you're right, Mother. But we are coming along fine."
"Sure, we've almost completed outlining the site. We'll have to take tomorrow off anyway, to go to the forest out there and cut some more stakes," Jon added.
"It'll make a nice vacation. I'm really fed up with so much sameness of hard work."
"Yes, it's been a steady grind, no fooling, but we wanted to get it done as quick as we can, so Pop can check it."
For their father had been waking up several times every day, their mother reported. True, he had only been conscious for short periods, and was still too weak to be bothered with any of their problems. But, she told the boys, he was able to eat something each time he awoke, and his mind was clear again. She was preparing easily eaten and digested foods that would bring back his strength quickly.
Jak asked anxiously whether his father had mentioned how the leg felt, and Mrs. Carver told him, "He says it doesn't pain any, although sometimes it itches beneath the cast."
Later on, just as they finished eating, Jak suggested, "Take your tackle along tomorrow, Chubby, and we'll chop where the woods meet the river."
"Why, t'anks, pal, you're a good kid." Jon made a fake pass at his brother, who jumped up from the table and yanked the other's chair backward, starting a small scuffle which their mother wisely did not try to stop, knowing that, tired as they were, it would last only a few seconds and would be good for them.
When the boys returned from their expedition the next night, with arms and backs loaded with bundles of stakes, and Jon's creel well-filled with Two's fish-things, she met them anxiously at the lockdoor.
"Did you boys hear or see the ship that passed over us this morning?"
"Ship?"
"No, we didn't see nor hear a thing. Sure it was a ship?"
"No, I didn't see it, either. I thought I heard one, and ran to look out, but couldn't locate anything. Maybe it was just my imagination."
"Spaceship or airship?" Jon asked.
"I couldn't tell you that, either, except that if I did really hear one, it must have been a spaceship to disappear so quickly."
"Unless it was a fast jet—they're just as hard to spot."
They discussed the affair for some time, but could come to no conclusions. If it was a ship, why hadn't it stopped or signalled? And if it wasn't one, what had she heard? Or had she actually heard anything?
Two evenings later the two boys had completed outlining their city site, and were just climbing into theStar Roverwhen they heard their mother's voice.
"That you, boys? Come in here. Hurry!"
At the urgency in her voice, they ran quickly and found her sitting at the side of their father's bunk. As they got closer they saw his head turn toward them, and recognition in the wide-open eyes.
"Hello, fellows!" His voice was weak but happy.
"Father!"
"Oh, Pop, you're awake at last!"
The two almost fought to be closest to him, but their mother moved a little and both sank to their haunches beside the bunk, each with one of their father's somewhat emaciated hands in theirs.
"Your mother tells me I've been sick quite a long time, and that you chaps have been carrying on. I'm grateful, and proud."
"You should see the way Mom has caught on to doing things," Jon said quickly. "She does almost all our photographing now."
"And Jon has developed into a real astrogator," Jak said.
"Yes, Pop, but you wouldn't be as well as you are today if it hadn't been for Owl knowing how to set your leg and make a cast for it, and giving you the proper medicines and intravenous feedings." Jon turned to smile at his brother, who grew red in the face and tried to stop the compliments, but the younger boy rushed on. "He's really a whiz as a doctor. Knew exactly what to do for you. How's your leg feel?"
"Fine, thanks to you, Jak."
"Oh, it wasn't so much—and I didn'tknow. I had to study a lot to find out...."
"Anyway, I'm still alive and that shows you did a fine job." Mr. Carver lifted a weak hand to caress his elder son's face. Then he turned toward Jon. "I've had fine reports of you, too, Son. Your mother says...."
"Yes, if anyone deserves praise around here, it's Jon," Jak broke in. "He has done all the piloting and figuring courses, and he even invented a one-man control so he can land and take off without all the trouble and preciseness needed before. Why, he...."
"Nix Owl!" Jon was the one to be embarrassed now. "That can wait until Pop's stronger. The main thing is to report now, so he can tell us what to do next."
"Where are we—and what has been done so far?" Mr. Carver asked. "Your mother hasn't—or wouldn't—tell me, except that we've reached the new system, and are landed on one of the worlds there."
"We're on Planet Two, and we're laying out the city site that the Board requires. This sun has five planets, and Two and Three are perfectly habitable for humans, but no natives above animal level," Jak began.
"There're seven moons—one at Two, two at Three, and four at Four," Jon took up the tale. "We've visited all the planets, and have set out the automatic signal-senders, with tapes giving you the credit for the prime discovery."
"They named the sun 'Carveria' after you, Mr. C." His wife leaned forward, eyes shining with pride, and an arm across the shoulders of each of the boys. "They named the planets after one of us, each, and the fifth one after the ship, and we've given names to the moons, too."
"This world will be swell for people who like it warm, and Three will be just as good for those who prefer colder weather. Both are a lot like Terra at different seasons and sections, and both are rich in soil, water, forests, metals and...."
"And we discovered a cache of that new fuel-metal you thought you saw in the spectroscope," Jon broke in, his voice bubbling with eagerness. "Right here on Two. Not a mine or a vein, understand, but a cache, in a metal box buried in the sand. Must have been some people a long, long time ago, because from the sand drifted inside the box it apparently hadn't been touched for thousands of years. And it showed up on Five...."
"But it's guarded by some sort of sentient flames," Jak burst in.
His father's face lighted up. "Have you tried it yet?" he asked Jon.
"No," The boy's face showed disappointment. "Mom wouldn't let me take any chances when I first wanted to, but now I'm glad—it's very highly radioactive still, in spite of who knows how many half-life deteriorations. It might've blown us higher than up. Maybe, though, when you get better we can study...."
"If we haven't got a small lead box, you ought to be able to make one," his father broke in. "You could probably handle a small quantity of it that way, to bring it in so we can study it. Maybe, though," as an afterthought, "if it's that strong, you'd better wait for me to help before trying any of it in the generators."
"It's in little cubes, a bit smaller than our copper pellets. That's why I'm so sure it's a fuel, and that it was put here by some sort of people who had advanced space travel a long, long time ago." Jon was still excited. "We figure all we have to do is finish laying out the town here, and then we can start back for Terra and put your claim before the Colonial Board," Jon said. "Of course, we all hoped and expected you'd be well enough to check what we've done...."
"But we tried to follow all the items in the papers the Board gave us," Jak added seriously. "And now you're well, we can make sure...."
"You father is far from well yet," their mother broke in, her voice imperative. "We are all so happy he's awake at last, but I can see he's very weak and that all this excitement has been almost too much for him. You boys say 'Good night' to him now, and then run off and eat your dinner, and let him sleep. Tomorrow evening you can finish your report."
Reluctantly the boys obeyed, and went into their living quarters and to the table.
"Golly, I should think Pop'd want to hear all about it now." Jon frowned with disappointment.
"He does, don't you worry," Jak tried to cheer him. "I should have watched him more closely to see we didn't excite or overtire him, but I was just as happy and eager as you were. He'll be stronger after another good long sleep, but we've got to be careful not to expect too much of him for some time yet."
"Yes, I know you're right." Then Jon's face lighted with relief. "But it's sure swell to have him awake so we can talk to him and he can take charge of things again. You did a grand job, Owl, bringing him through."
"That's another thing, you big bum. You go handing out praise like that again, and I'll bust you one."
"Oh, yeh, and who was the parrotfish talking up so big the few little things I did?"
Jak came over and threw his arm across the shoulders of his taller but younger brother. "Both of us were so carried away by our enthusiasm we forgot to belittle each other," he said sagely. "Maybe we do sort of like each other, after all."
Jon pushed him away with rough tenderness, but his eyes were suspiciously moist. His words, though, were an attempted snort, as he picked up his knife and fork.
"What do you want—the next waltz?"
When the boys came into the dinette the next morning, their mother was humming happily as she prepared breakfast, and greeted them with a cheery smile.
"Pop awake yet?" Jon asked as he saw her mood.
"No, but he's sleeping so sweetly I know he's all right," she answered.
They sat down and began eating. After finishing, Jak said, "Well, we might as well go out and work some more on our townsite."
"Call us when Pop wakes up, will you, please?" Jon took a last sip of his juice-concentrate.
"That'd be silly." Jak frowned. "We know he can't come and help us, so why should we run several miles back here when we can see him when we get back?"
Jon opened his mouth to reply, his eyes flashing almost angrily, but their mother interrupted quickly with a question, "Boys, just why do you have to lay out such a site?"
"The Board requires it," Jon answered shortly.
"In the early days of exploration," Jak explained more patiently, "some of the space crews used to make their reports after merely flying above the surface of the planets of a new system. In fact, some of them didn't even go that close, and merely made up sketchy reports."
"Then when colonists got there," Jon, who had simmered down by now, took up the explanation, "they often found conditions very different, and many times quite dangerous to them."
"Yes, sometimes there were even intelligent inhabitants who hadn't been reported, so their planets couldn't be used for colonization. So the Board made this new ruling," Jak continued. "Now we have to have so many photos taken from various heights and at different places all over the surface of each planet, and each moon more than one hundred miles in diameter. And we have to lay out a townsite on the most Earthlike planet, mostly to show we actually have been there and spent some time there...."
"And it really doesn't make any difference whether the people who'll come here to live use it or not...."
"But we think they will use ours because we selected a place close to a river and the ocean, close to forests and fairly near minerals."
"Yes, you have done a wonderful job, I know that much about it."
"Well, we'll go out and re-check our lines," Jon said. "I've been studying and experimenting with the theodolite, and I can...."
"What is that?" she asked.
"What's what? Oh, the 'theodolite'? That's the surveyor's telescope. I've learned enough about it so I can tell if our lines have been run straight, and as we were so careful in measuring the distances, I'm quite sure they're fairly accurate."
"Yes," Jak chimed in, "I'll bet none of them are more than an inch off, if that."
"Optimist," Jon scoffed. "I'd take that bet away from you, only it'd be cheating an infant."
Jak started a retort, then thought better of it, and shut up.
They left the ship soon, Jon carrying the surveying instrument over his shoulder, and Jak the marker-pole. Arrived at the nearest corner of their townsite, Jon set the instrument down, while Jak went on to the next stake.
By means of the graduated circle attached just below the telescope, and the plumb line suspended from it, Jon adjusted the collapsible legs until he felt sure it was correctly focussed. Then, as Jak went ahead from stake to stake, Jon took sights to make sure each marker was centered on his cross hairs. The ones that were not, he indicated by hand signals, and Jak reset them to left or right, until Jon was satisfied.
They completed all of one side before lunch, then returned to the ship. They found their mother had opened both lockdoors while they were gone, and fresh, crisp, though warm, air was circulating through the ship, blowing out the old chemically pure yet "stale-feeling" air their purifiers had been re-circulating for so long.
Their father was awake, but still so weak he was making no attempt to sit fully up in bed, although his wife had slipped an extra pillow beneath his head.
"Ho, fellows!" he greeted the boys as they came into the bunkroom. "How's the job coming?"
"Just fine, Pop."
"We have the townsite all laid out, and now we're checking to make sure the lines are straight," Jak told him.
He frowned a bit. "How did you manage it? Neither of you is a surveyor. Or have you learned how to do that, too?"
"I think I've figured out the theodolite well enough to tell if our lines are straight, and that's what we're using now," Jon continued. "I can't measure distances with it, though."
Jak explained more in detail how they had measured the blocks and street widths, and rechecked them all.
"I can't see why it won't pass," their father said when they finished. "Probably no one will ever check it, unless they actually use the site when the colonists come. It shows we were landed here long enough to do the work, and that's the important thing. What about the rest of the mapping?"
"I'll go get the papers." Jon ran out, to return in a few minutes with the book of reports, and the rolls of film and prints they had made on all the planets and satellites. "You can check these as you feel up to it, Pop, and anything that looks wrong we can go back and re-check or do over."
Mr. Carver riffled quickly through the pages, and saw that each question had been answered; each measurement given an answer—though whether correct or not, of course, he could not know. All the information required had been supplied, at least.
He gave the boys his old-time grin, even as he was shaking his head in wonder. "You chaps certainly have done a job. Looks like I'll have to take the backseat from now...."
"No!" The two boys were shocked by that.
"Not on your life, Pop! We maybe did fairly well, but we need you, just the same."
"I'll say we do," Jak chimed in. "There's so much yet you can teach us. Why, we've only begun learning most of the things we want to know."
Mr. Carver smiled up at his sons. "I'm always glad to tell you anything I can, Fellows. It's good to see you growing up, though." He turned his head to face Jon more directly. "What's that about a new system you rigged up so you can land and take off with only one switch?"
Jon explained, and the two were soon deep in technical talk of electronic relays and cells, and automatic switch-overs. Finally, Mrs. Carver came in with a tray of lunch for her husband, and told the boys their food was on the table.
"All right, you chaps, go and eat," Mr. Carver said. "I'll take another nap while you're out this afternoon. Then maybe I'll feel up to talking some more this evening, and going over these reports with you."
The second day later the boys finished their re-checking, and came back to the ship in midafternoon. Their father was again awake, and they went in to see him.
"We're all done here, Pop, so what say we go back to that fuel-metal cache and see about getting the stuff aboard?" Jon asked.
"I guess from all you've said that's the most important thing now," he agreed after a moment's consideration. "Only thing is, I've been wondering if you couldn't move me into the control room, and fix a couch for me there?"
"Sure, that's easy," Jak told him.
But Jon frowned in thought. "Yes, we can do it, but we'll have to figure out first how to fasten the cot down and then make some arrangement so you can stand any acceleration we may have to use."
"How about fixing the co-pilot's seat into a bunk?"
"Hey, that's the ticket!" Jon brightened. He ran out and soon was helping his mother gather blankets, sheets and pillows, and going with Jak to bring an extra mattress from the storeroom.
They set the seat to recline, and then while Mrs. Carver was making up the bed, the boys carried their father—a much lighter load now than when he had first been hurt—and put him in his new bed.
"Say, this is all right!" Mr. Carver exclaimed after Jon had lowered the co-pilot's visiplate so his father could look into it without distortion or neck-craning. "All the comforts of home." He grinned at his wife.
She stooped and kissed him. "Be sure and let us know any time you get too tired, though, Mr. C."
"I will, Honey," he assured her. "But actually, I'm so comfortable I don't see why I can't stay here as well as in bed, until the leg's strong enough to start getting up."
Everything else ready, he watched anxiously, then admiringly, as Jon started the tubes firing, balanced them and took them off with the throwing of his one switch. In his visiplate the elder man watched with intense interest the scenery over which they were passing—Jon had set course so they would go completely around this world of Two until they came to that desert. Mr. Carver made many enthusiastic comments about this splendid planet that now bore his wife's name.
"Yes, and Three's just as nice, only colder," Jon reported eagerly. "Folks who like cold weather can live there without too much trouble at all."
"It's funny, though," Jak declared with a frown, "that there's no protoplasmic life there at all. That we could find," he hastened to add.
"Lots of vegetation, though," Jon added. "That means the soil will be good for growing things, doesn't it?"
"It certainly sounds like it." His father smiled. "The colonists may have to adapt their Earth-seeds to fit, and probably bring their own worms and bees and so on. But they should be able to farm there. From your surveys, it appears there are plenty of minerals so they can start mines and factories of all kinds right away. Yes, this looks like a pretty good solar system."
"You bet, Pop. You sure picked a winner in this one," Jon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"I had an idea, from the spectroscopic examinations we made 'way back there near Sirius, that we'd find it fairly good here. But, to be honest, I didn't dare hope it would be this good. To tell the truth, I was really more interested in that line which seemed to indicate that fuel-stuff, than I was in new planets for colonization, although we needed those, too, to make the trip pay off."
Before long they came above the beginning of that well-remembered desert, and Jon slowed and circled, preparatory to landing.
Jon kept his eyes upon his instruments, and when he saw they were close to the actual latitude and longitude, he killed the speed to their slowest cruising range, and their height to a few hundred yards. When he knew he was almost at the exact spot, he stared intently into his pilot's magnifying visiplate, at the same time keeping his fingers tautly on the landing switch.
Soon, in his plate, he saw the top of that cache cover in the nearing distance. He circled until he judged he could land close to it, then closed the switch.
Softly, easily, the space-yacht came in to a landing on the hard packed sand, and Jon shut off the power and put everything in neutral.
His father had wisely kept silent during this maneuvering, but now he let out his breath in awhoosh.
"That's the neatest landing I ever saw," he told Jon admiringly. "That gadget of yours will make you a young fortune when we get it back to Terra."
Jon actually blushed with pleased embarrassment. "Aw, it's...."
But Jak interrupted him almost fiercely. "Don't go playing coy, Chubby. You know darned well it's wonderful."
"Sure I do." Jon laughed then, and the rest joined in. "But you'd have tromped on me if I'd been the one to say so." He turned quickly to face his father. "What do we do about this?"
"Ummm.My suggestion would be for you to put on your suit and go out and open those covers you told me about. Give me the analyzer first, and I'll study the stuff's emanations when you get it uncovered."
"I'll go out," Jak offered quickly. "You and Jon had better study it together. I don't know anything about it, but the kid does, and he'll be the one to handle it until you're well."
"Better take the jack—that cover's heavy, remember?" Jon said, and Jak ran out.
"I'd never have been able to do anything if it hadn't been for Jak's wiser advice," Jon said honestly as he brought the analyzer to his father from the instrument rack. "I'm apt to go off half-cocked, you know."
Mr. Carver looked fondly up at his wife, who moved quickly to his side, and put her hand against his cheek. "A couple of grand fellows you raised, Darling," he said softly.
"Weraised, you mean, Mr. C." She smiled down at him. "They fight all the time, but when it comes to the pinch, they work together and I know they really love and admire each other very much."
Jon chuckled and spoke into the mike. "The folks are taking our good names in vain, Owl."
"Yes, I heard them," came back the elder boy's voice from the speaker. "If they only knew what we really think of each other," and then followed his attempt at a sneering laugh.
In their visiplates those inside the ship could see Jak, in his spacesuit, trotting awkwardly across the sand toward the cache. He carried the jack, and when he got there, used it to raise the heavy cover and throw it back. He jumped into the hole and took the cover off the smaller box. Then scrambled quickly out and ran some distance away.
"Shall I come back now, or wait here to cover it again?" he asked over his suit-sender.
"Maybe you'd better wait out there a few minutes," his father replied into the mike attached to his seat. "If we can't figure out something in a fairly short time, I'll tell you and you can recap the boxes and come back."
He busied himself adjusting the analyzer, and he and young Jon studied the lines carefully for quite a time. Finally the father roused.
"This is going to take a lot of study and work," he told his younger son. Then he spoke into the mike. "Better come back in, Jak." He turned his head again to face the boy with him. "Did you find a lead box, Jon?"
"No, sir, we haven't anything like that in our stores," Jon answered. "But there is quite a roll of lead foil. Can we do anything with that?"
"How much is there? And how thick is it?"
"The foil's twenty inches wide and about twelve feet long," Jon reported as he came back after a quick run to the storeroom to measure the foil. He had delayed a moment or two at the lock to help Jak out of his suit. "It's a thirty-second thick."
"Hmmm.That's not so good. Let's see. If we quadrupled it, that would give us an eighth ... no, that's not enough. Better take a piece and fold it to at least eight thicknesses, then go wrap it around a piece of that metal and bring it into the lock."
"That's not too much protection if the stuff's so strong, is it, Pop?"
"Well, double that, then. But I think it'll keep the rays off you long enough to bring it in—especially since you'll be in your suit, and if you put on lead-lined gloves."
"All right." Jon started out, then turned back. "What about the rest of it when we leave? Do we take it all with us?"
"No," slowly. "I doubt if anyone else would find it and steal it before we get back. On the other hand, the more we can take back with us, supposing we learn how to use it and it's as good as we think, the more we could get for it on Terra to give another immediate stake to come back."
"I have a thought, Pop. Why not just weld-fasten the whole big box it's now in to the outside of the ship, and make a small box that'll hold some to bring into the ship to experiment with?" Jon's eyes blazed eagerly.
"That's a thought!" Jak exclaimed, while their father answered more slowly, "Yes, I believe that could be done safely, especially if we put it back near the stern. Is the ship close enough so the lock servo-mechs can bring in the big box?"
"I don't think so," Jon answered after a searching look out of the port-window. "But with our suits on, Jak and I could carry it, couldn't we?"
"We've been close to the stuff several times for about as long as it'd take," Jak added, "and it doesn't seem to have hurt us any."
"Kind of a large box, isn't it?" Mr. Carver asked quizzically. "Might be sort of heavy."
The boys flushed, and Jon picked up his slide rule and did some quick figuring. Then he announced, crestfallen, "Great mackerel, I sure went off half-baked that time. OK, I'll take the ship up and bring it down closer."
"That's mighty delicate maneuvering." His mother looked at him in astonishment. "Sure you can do it?"
Jon shrugged. "If I can't the first time, I'll try again."
His father had to smile at the boy's confidence in himself, but he merely said, "This I've got to watch."
Assured everyone was safely strapped in, Jon started the tubes firing, raised the ship into the air—watching his plate closely as he circled about—then came down again ... right beside and not over five feet from port-lock to box.
"That's perfect," his father cried delightedly, watching in his plate. "You're sure getting to be an expert pilot, Son."
"And you're getting too excited and too tired from all this, Tad," Mrs. Carver said determinedly. "We'll have no more of it today. You boys go into the living room, and you, Mr. C., relax and take a nap. We can't have you getting sick again."
The boys started to protest but their father grinned. "Our mistress' voice, Boys. And she's right, I was trying too much. We're not in that big a hurry. Jon, you and Jak go make a box to hold our specimen."
They left him, and in moments he was asleep from exhaustion.
In the storeroom, Jon found some pieces of one-inch oak, and Jak and he made up their box, finishing just as their mother called them to dinner. It was a six-inch cube, sturdily fastened with plenty of screws; strong enough to hold solid osmium. The lead foil was carefully fitted into the interior, and was now twelve layers thick—three-eighths of an inch.
"That ought to do it," Jak said, and Jon agreed.
"Let's go out and fill it after we eat." Jak was all eagerness.
Jon shook his head. "Not unless Pop says to. Now that he's awake, I just don't like to make decisions."
Jak grinned. "You're right, of course. Guess we got too big-headed, having to do things ourselves while he was unconscious."
"Yes, we're still pretty inexperienced, and I'm glad we don't have to figure things out now."
"Still, we can't go back to depending too much on him," Jak said thoughtfully. "That way, we'll never get the habit of thinking for ourselves, and deciding—and that would be bad. But about this, I agree fully," he added quickly as he saw his brother about to protest.
"Even if I don't know much about it, I can see that this stuff's dangerous to monkey with."
Their father awakened later, much refreshed by his nap. After the boys had explained and exhibited their new box, he agreed it would be all right for them to go out and get a single piece of the metal.
"Leave it in the lock, though," he added. "Then, in the morning, maybe I'll feel like helping Jon study and experiment with it."
The two boys ran to get into their suits, and soon were outside, carrying their lead-lined box. They jumped into the large cache box after lifting off the lid, and took the top from the inner one. They set the carrier beside it, then ran back to the ship. With the "distant hands," Jon flipped a nugget into the small box, and set it aside on the sand. Using the same servo-mechanism, he closed both covers. Then he brought the little box back and deposited it on the floor of the lock.
The two boys took off their suits and hung them in the wall closet, then went into the control room.
"You were right, Pop. We sure couldn't have handled the big box at all." Jon grinned, still panting. "Even the little one is really heavy with just one nugget in it."
His father grinned back. "I had an idea, but thought I'd let you learn the hard way. Now maybe you'll remember it longer."
"Anyway, we got it in the lock, and tomorrow, if you feel up to it, we can start experimenting."
"Just how big are the pellets?"
"A little over half the size of our treated-copper ones," Jon told him.
"We'll have to cut it before we try working with it."
Jak, having disposed of the used plastic from their suits, had come into the control room and was listening interestedly, as was their mother, who was hovering near, not quite sure she liked the idea of her menfolks fussing with this unknown but admittedly dangerous metal.
"That means we'll have to make and install a smaller injector, too, doesn't it?" Jon asked. And when his father nodded, he added "I'll see about making it."
"Later, when we've found out whether we can use the stuff. Right now we'd all better get some sleep. I'm bushed, and I imagine you chaps are, too. How about you, Marci?" Mr. Carver turned to his wife.
"Well, I could use some sleep," she admitted.
"Right, Pop. Good night. 'Night, Mom."
Early the next morning the boys were clamoring to get started, but their mother would not let them go into the control room.
"Now you listen to Mother," she protested, using a favorite phrase of hers. "Your father hasn't made any sign yet. You wait until he's awake and has had something to eat. I know how anxious you are to do all these things, but you must remember he isn't strong yet, and we must not let him overdo. He is as much a child about such things as you two are, but someone has to watch him."
The boys laughed rather shamefacedly. "It's just we get so interested in things, Mom," Jon apologized.
"Yes, I know. But if you will look in your dictionary, you will find a word called 'moderation.'" She smiled.
"Never heard of it." Jon grinned as he went to get a reelbook on radioactives, and began studying. Jak, too, went back to studying and trying to classify the various specimens he had obtained from the two worlds. However, they soon remembered their usual duties—and whisked through their various chores about the ship, then went back to their absorbing occupations.
They had been at these nearly an hour when they heard their father's voice. Dropping everything, they sprang toward the control room, and found him wide-awake and looking much better. Mrs. Carver came running in, and they were told, "Feel fine. This is a wonderful bed. Seem to be much stronger today, too."
"That's wonderful, Mr. C. I'll go get you some breakfast."
Jon ran for a basin of water and towels, and he and Jak helped their father with his toilet.
"While you're eating, Pop, how about me cutting off that piece of the new metal so we can start studying it?"
"How big a piece were you figuring on?" Mr. Carver asked with that quizzical look.
Jon flushed and mentally changed the size he had planned to get. "About a gram?" he asked.
"I'd say more like a few milligrams." His father grinned. "That's plenty for our initial studies and analyses, and shouldn't hurt us any if we're careful and wear insulation."
"But that's only a pin-head size."
"Well?" again quizzically.
Jon flushed once more. "Yes, that's big enough to test, I realize now. It's a good thing I waited for you to help me. I'd probably have burned myself but bad. Actually," he smiled now, "I was figuring on about a quarter of a pellet."
His father frowned. "You should have known better than that, Jon. I thought I'd taught you something about being careful, and the dangers of rashness or impulsiveness. Especially around anything as dangerous as this stuff undoubtedly is."
"You did, sir, and I'm sorry. But I forget sometimes, when I get too enthusiastic."
"Well," philosophically, "you'll probably learn as you grow older ... if you live that long!" But again there was that disarming grin, which Jon repaid in kind before leaving to get his tools and go after the mite of new metal. This time, he did not neglect his precautions. He wore his suit, and put on a pair of extra-thick, lead-impregnated gloves.
Carefully he lifted a pellet from the box, wrapped it in several layers of lead foil left after making the box. He carried it so into the storeroom, locked it in a vice, and with a fine hacksaw cut off a tiny bit. Still wrapped carefully in the lead foil, he carried the remainder of the pellet back to the box in the lock, closed the lid and then took the sample inside. He took off his suit and donned a lead-impregnated, hooded gown and the leaded gloves.
"Good," his father said when Jon told what he had done. "I think I feel well enough to sit up a bit. Suppose you crank this seat halfway up, then I can watch better while you make the tests."
"Just be sure you don't get too tired," Jon said solicitously as he raised the seat and locked it at half-recline. He had brought in another of the leaded-gowns, and he slipped this over his father's head, arms and upper torso, arranging the balance of it down over his blanket-enwrapped legs.
Then, acting on his father's various instructions, he took the particle from its wrappings and began his tests. He measured the amount of radioactivity, and together they computed its half-life.
"Wow! That sure is high-pressure stuff," Jon exclaimed when they had completed the various tests which they had the equipment to make.
His father silently motioned him to set the seat back to full recline and lay there, concentrating, for some time before he spoke.
"Yes," he said at last, "it's even higher in the scale than I thought. Lots higher than Curium, even now. And no telling, by any tests we can make, what it was originally, before its many half-life reductions that must have taken place over the long time it has undoubtedly been lying out there. Probably way above anything known, even theoretically, to Terran scientists."
"Can we use it?" Jon was quivering with excitement.
"If we can figure out a way to do so safely, so it doesn't want to disintegrate all at once, I think we've really got a fuel—a super fuel. But we'll have to go at it mighty slow and easy. That stuff could blow us higher than up, if used wrongly."
"Yes, I know. But after our scientists first liberated atomic energy for their bombs, many people said they couldn't control a hydrogen bomb, but they did. And later the thorium bomb. And then they got our activated copper. So I'm betting they can figure this out."
Both fell silent, although there were a dozen eager questions the boy wanted so much to ask. But he did not interrupt his father's line of thought, even though long, long minutes dragged away while the elder still pondered the problem.
At last, after more than a quarter of an hour, Tad Carver stirred and looked up. "This is going to take a long time to figure out," he said slowly. "I'm not too much on atomics, myself, and neither are you. Now you run along and do whatever else you have to do. It's a cinch we won't be able to try this stuff right away—if we try it at all."
The disappointment on Jon's face was plain, but he restrained any protests, knowing his father was right, and not wishing to call down on himself another verbal chastisement like that recent one.
"What about the rest of the stuff?" he asked instead. "Shall I get the box out of the cache and weld it onto the hull, as we thought we might do?"
"I don't see why not. We want to take it back to Terra with us, whether we figure out how to use it, or decide the job's too big for us and turn it over to the scientists there to handle."
"Right." Jon went over to the controls of the handling arms in the lock. Watching in the special visiplate, he opened the outer lockdoor, extended the "hands" and guided them down into the cache, after using them to lift the lid off the larger pit-box.
Carefully he manipulated them to grasp the inner box by its lower end-edges, and experimentally lift it an inch or so. Finding that it balanced, he slowly made the servo-mechanism lift the heavy container from its ages old resting place and up onto the "top" surface of the ship, near the stern. Making sure it was securely held there, he put on his suit, gathered up his welding outfit, and went outside and climbed onto the hull.
Going to where the box rested, he began the task of welding its bottom back-edge onto the metal hull. Then he released the grip of the handlers and, leaving them dangling in the air, welded the other three bottom edges.
Finished, he turned off his torch, rose to his feet and started back. But after a step or two he stopped and thought.
"Pop," he said into his suit-radio, "do you hear me?"
"Yes, Jon," the answer came back at once into his earphones. "What is it?"
"I was just wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea to spot-weld a few places along the edges of the cover, too, so there'd be less chances of its coming open. It'd be easy to open it later."
"How's it fastened now?"
"Just a simple hasp."
"Better touch it in a few places, then, to make sure."
"Right."
When this was done, Jon returned inside the ship, and saw to it that all the equipment was put back in place and carefully locked. Only then did he doff his suit and return to the control room.
"Well, that's done. What now?"
"Anything else you need to do here on this planet?"
"No-o-o, not that I know of. Why?"
"I was thinking that if everything has been taken care of, we might as well start back to Terra. No use staying any longer than is necessary."
"I ... I think we've done everything. Have you checked the record book and the pictures?"
"No, not fully. And I probably should, before we take off, at that. But I think I'd better have another nap or rest now, so I'll go over them after a while. Put them on the table here, so I can reach them."
"Right, sir. You take plenty of time to rest. If Jak's not too busy to go with me, I think I'll go fishing in the river, out there by the edge of the desert. Maybe we can get quite a haul to take with us, for fresh food on the trip."
"Good idea. Your mother said they were delicious."
When the two boys returned with full creels late that afternoon, they went at once to see how their father was getting along. He was awake, and studying the records they had made.
"Hi, fellows! Everything seems to be in fine shape. You chaps certainly did a job while I wasnon compos. Get any fish?"
"Lots of them. They sure bite swell here. Maybe because no one has ever fished them before, and they have no idea of lures and hooks."
"Then let's just rest and eat and sleep, and plan to take off in the morning, eh?"
"You bet. I'll sure be glad to get back home again," Jak declared. "This chasing around is fun, but I'm homesick for Terra, I guess."
"Me, too, kind of. Besides, I want to get some more schooling at one of our atomic institutes," Jon added more slowly.
"Going to give up inter-stellar exploration, Son?" his father asked drily.
"No, sir. But I figured we'd have to stay on Terra for a year or so while you get everything straightened out about this discovery, and get the ship ready for the next trip. So while you're doing that, I might as well be trying to learn something more."
"We will, and you should. And I presume," he turned to face Jak, "you want to study medicine?"
"That, and other things," the elder boy responded soberly. "If we can afford it, sir, I'd like to get several top men in various branches to give me some special coaching, instead of going to a school. That would get me started straight, and they could recommend good books for me to be studying while we're on our future trips."
Their father looked up at his wife with a smile. "What's happened to our babies, Marci?"
"They've just grown up, Mr. C.—but we have some pretty wonderful men in their place." Her eyes shone. "It was pretty hard, at first, after you got hurt and they had to take charge of everything, to realize that they had grown away from us. But I soon found that they hadn't, really," she continued hastily as the boys gave cries of dismay. "They have matured wonderfully, but we have not lost our boys at all."
"Well I should say not!" Jak cried hotly.
"We're still kids, not men," Jon declared. "Why, there's still so much to learn—and experience to gain—we've barely started growing up."
"You can keep learning back on Terra," their mother said. "As for me, I'm glad we're going to be there a year or more. I want to live in a house again, on land I know."
"Then we'd all better get to bed," their father said with his old-time roguish smile. "Otherwise we'll all be too fagged out to take off for home tomorrow."
As soon as breakfast was finished the next morning the Carvers all assembled in the control room for the start back to Terra.
Jon had already made the astrogational calculations for their trip, having worked on them off and on during many evenings of the past several weeks.
But just as they were all strapping down, his father stopped Jon with a sudden exclamation. "Wait, Son! I think we'd better go back close enough to all the planets and the sun to make sure all the signals are working right. That's one of the most important things the Colonial Board will check."
"Oh, I'm sure they're OK, Pop. We listened to each one after we'd placed it."
"But cases have been known where a sender failed—especially those on extremely hot or exceptionally cold planets. I'm not doubting that you handled them all right—it's just that I think it worth the time and effort to check them and make sure while we're still out here."
"All right, you're the captain." Jon opened the drawer in the control desk and hunted out the sheets on which he had figured his former flight plans to the various planets.
"We won't need to land if the signals are working," his father said. "Just get us close enough in line so we can receive the messages."
"In that case, we can fly almost by sight, merely taking into consideration the direction and speed of the planets." Jon shoved his papers back into the drawer. "Let's see ... we'll make the best time going to One, then the Sun, then Three, Four and Five, and then circling about and heading for home."
"Fine! Get going."
"Strap down, everybody."
A quick glance to see that they were all secure, then Jon closed the master switch of his new interlocking controls. Smoothly, with increasing acceleration, theStar Roverlifted upward through the atmosphere on the planet Marci—Carveria Two.
Ever more swiftly it flew, and a special sort of gladness was in each heart at the thought that soon they would be once more speeding toward their home on far distant Terra.
Traveling about the universe, seeing new suns, new planets, new and interesting—even though alien, and sometimes dangerous—forms of life of various kinds, all this was a constant source of interest and delight. Still there was within each of them, even Tad Carver, a love of and a longing for the planet that had given them birth. Men had always found it so—it was probable that men born on Terra always would. Probable, too, that men born on other planets would always long for a return totheirmother world.
It took a special type of person to become a colonist on another and alien planet. Much the same type of pioneer as those great-grandparents, many times removed, who had made the terrible journey across the western plains and mountains of Noramer to conquer the great, wealth-producing West, andtheirforefathers and mothers who had braved the perilous and unknown oceans to come from the Old to the New World in Colonial days, to search for freedom and opportunity.
It had been found that, even among those willing to make the sacrifices and uprootings necessary to become colonists on other worlds, there were always a few who realized they could not stand it, after all. These unfortunate people usually returned to Terra—if they had the funds to do so. Nor did it seem to matter how much this new planet was like Earth, nor how great the opportunities for gaining wealth and prestige. It was that inner feeling of alwaysrememberingthat they were so far from home and everything and everyone they had formerly known and loved.
Tad Carver was a true "son of wanderlust." He had the itching foot; the urge to travel; the zest for new places, new scenes, new outlooks. But even he, after a certain time away, felt that indefinable yet exceedingly strongmustto return to his home world for a while.
The boys were young, which meant they were eager for new experiences, whether on their own or other worlds. They had not yet come to an age where Terra meant a great deal to them. Life was so thrilling, so interesting—there was so much to see and do. Yet even they did feel nostalgia after too long an absence.
It was Marci Carver who felt it most—this longing, thisneedfor the old home. While it is true that her great love for her husband and sons made "home" for her any place in the universe where they might be, yet she had no real interest in exploration, no great desire or even curiosity to see other lands or other worlds. The deeps of space brought such anaweto her that they almost made her afraid. No, if her menfolk had been satisfied there, she would never have dreamed of leaving Earth. She would have been perfectly content to live in one town or city all her life—in the same house, even. She did not have the pioneer spirit; did not in the least desire new scenes. Her home and her man and boys—these were all she asked of life.
Yet she did have the rare knack of making any place where she might be, home. She could make a mansion or a hovel—or this spaceship—seem such a perfect home to her men that they were perfectly happy and contented with their living quarters. It was not a matter of furnishings or their arrangement—not just material things like pictures, books, pillows or other knickknacks placed just so. Rather it was the "spirit of home" with which she impregnated every place in which her family might be living at the moment.
The boys had not yet noticed this consciously—they were so filled with the joy of living and doing and learning that they had not yet stopped to think about such matters. But Tad Carver recognized it, and loved his wife all the more because of her ability.
He often remarked of her, "put her in even a hotel room for ten minutes, and she'll make it home for me." He sometimes felt moments of guilt that he made her chase around so much, instead of letting her stay in one place—and remaining with her there. But he could not stay put—and he knew she would not want to remain any place without him.
That was why he had arranged things so she and the boys could travel with him. And, until he had been hurt and she, with the boys, had had to take over his duties, she had seldom left the ship while on other planets, although she always looked out through port or visiplate in the various places where they had gone, with the keen interest in anything new that made her such a delightful traveling companion.
So now all four felt that eagerness to be done with this matter of last-minute re-checkings, so they could be on their way back to Terra. It made the time pass swiftly—yet made it so draggingly prolonged, it seemed they would never reach their destination.
The ship soon reached an acceleration of two Earth gravities, and Jon asked, "Is this fast enough, Pop, or can you stand more?"
"You might step it up to three G's for an hour. There's no use loafing around here longer than necessary to make the curve so we can come fairly near each planet on the line between it and Terra."
"And that'll get us up to cruising speed quicker when we do start the straight stretch for home," Jon said, and turned back to his controls to apply another notch of speed.
It was not long before they approached Planet One—"Tad." Jon had plotted a course that would take them to within about thirty thousand miles of the little, hot planet, on the Earthward side. As they flashed past it, their receiver clearly picked up the broadcast of their signal-unit.
"That one's all right," their father said in a pleased voice, and Jon looked up and back from his calculations on the orbit to circle them about the sun, to grin his pleasure at the approval.
"Jak put it on top of a peak in the intermediate zone," he explained. "The weather—if you can call it weather—there is more nearly normal than either on the sunward or the spaceward side."
An hour later Jak struggled up from his chair, staggering beneath the triple weight of his body at that acceleration. Seeing him, Jon called, "Wait, Owl, I'm just about to reduce to two G's." And in a moment the older boy found it easier to get the sandwiches and bottles of nourishing broth their mother had prepared before take-off, and distribute them to the others. Gratefully, they all ate and drank.
"After we circle the sun and are en route to Three, I'll cut down to one gravity while we have a real meal," Jon promised.
"Aw, let's not slow down just for ..." Jak began.
"It won't cut our speed, just our acceleration, which means 'constantly added' speed," his father explained good-naturedly. "As soon as we've passed them all and are heading for home, we'll cut to one gravity for the greater part of the trip, but our speed will have been built up tremendously."
"Oh, sure, I know that, but I forgot for the minute."
As they circled toward the sun Mr. Carver studied it carefully in his visiplate. "Just about the same type of sun as Sol," he said after a while.
"That's what I figured, only that it's about one quarter larger and heavier," Jon told him. "I was hoping you'd be well enough before we left to check it for me."
"How close did you set your signal-sender orbit here?"
"Ten million miles."
"Ten million!" The man gasped, then laughed in relief as he thought the boy was just trying to spoof him. "Oh, come off it, Jon. How far out were you, really?"
"Unless my figures are all wrong," Jon's voice held a hurt note, "it was really only ten million miles. You can check my calculations. The book says quote said orbit to be as nearly circular and as close to the discovered sun as possible unquote, so I sent us in on a van Sicklenberg throw-out orbit apexing at ten million."
"Boy, that was really taking a chance. You don't need to repeat it for my benefit."
"I wasn't planning to, sir." Jon grinned now. "We'll go around at about twenty million this time, but the same type of orbit as before."
"That's better. Well, I think I'll go back to sleep. All of us should, I suggest."
"Mother has already dropped off," Jak said softly, glancing toward the recline seat in which she lay. "Switch on the auto, Chubby, then douse the glotubes. 'Night, Father."
And soon the little ship was speeding across the interplanetary wastes, guided only by the automatic pilot, while inside four weary people slept peacefully, knowing the mechanisms would guide them safely and surely to their distant, plotted destination.
For, outside of a possible recurrence of the accident that had caused Mr. Carver's injury—and that was a billions-to-one chance that could not possibly strike them again—what was there to fear away out here?
Nevertheless, it was the sudden ringing of an alarm bell that woke them all into instant, wondering wakefulness.