"That's a lot of hot oxo-nitrogen. You hooked them some place, and if
they ever find out--"
"Okay," said Plato, "if you don't want them, you don't have to take
them. I can sell them to somebody else."
He allowed the young skeptic to try the goggles on and read by the light
of the lamp. He knew little of the psychology of salesmanship, but with
what might be called Platonic shrewdness, he sensed that once the
prospect had experienced the joys of using the magic articles, he would
never give them up.
The method worked. And soon Plato was richer by fifteen credits, instead
of the ten or twelve he had hoped for.
He had a few other odds and ends, which he sold for as much as they
would bring. After all, once he was out in space, he wouldn't need them
any more.
* * * * *
In the middle of the next day, when the bell sounded the end of the
class on Planetary Geography and it was time to go to the class on
Animal Physiology, Plato picked himself up and walked out. One of the
'copter custodians looked at him suspiciously, but Plato didn't dignify
the man by paying him direct attention.
He muttered to himself, "Always picking on me. I don't see why he can't
send somebody else on his errands." It was better than the forged pass
signed with the headmaster's name.
The pass itself came in handy when he bought a flight ticket. The ticket
agent also stared at him suspiciously, but Plato was ready for him. He
had prepared the slip of paper beforehand, tracing the headmaster's name
laboriously from one of the lists of regulations attached to the wall.
To make pursuit as difficult as possible for any one who tried to trail
him, Plato asked for a ticket not to Space Junction, where he was going,
but to Venusberg, in the opposite direction. Both tickets cost about the
same; the ticket to Venusberg, in fact, cost three decicredits more.
Once on the plane-drawn glider, he could explain to the conductor that
the agent had made a mistake and offer the ticket he had. Since the
company would lose nothing by the transaction, there was no reason why
the conductor should object.
Plato was proud of this bit of trickery, and he flattered himself that
by means of it he had entirely thrown off pursuit. It must be remembered
that he was only ten years old.
On the glider-flight, he found himself sitting next to a middle-aged
woman who wore glasses and was surrounded by packages. She beamed at
him, as she did at every one else around her, and Plato shrank back into
his seat. If there was anything he didn't want on this trip, it was to
be mothered.
But he couldn't escape her. She said, "My, my, you're awfully young to
be traveling alone. This the first time?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Plato nervously, afraid of the embarrassing questions
he could read on her face.
Hastily he stared out over the side and gasped, "Gee, how small
everything is!"
Imagine anyone who had traveled vicariously through space with Comets
Carter being awed by a flight in a plane-drawn glider! But the ruse
worked.
She said, "Yes, it is frightening, isn't it? Even worse than space
travel."
"You've been in space, ma'am?"
"Bless your heart, I've been in space more times than you could shake a
stick at. The takeoff isn't so nice, I'll admit, but after that you're
just sailing free. What are you going to be when you grow up?"
They had his future all planned for him, but he knew that he wasn't
going to be any of the things they wanted him to be.