"But this is important," Joyce cut him off eagerly. "Can you? Talk to
it, I mean?"
"Some," Four admitted.
"Have you asked it to let us go?"
"Yes."
"Well? What did it say?"
"He said he didn't want his friend to leave him."
At the word, Fweep rolled swiftly across the floor and bounced into
Four's lap. It nestled against him lovingly and opened raspberry lips.
"Fwiend," it said.
"Well, now," Grampa said maliciously, his eye on Joyce, "that's no
problem. We can just leave Four here with Fweep."
In a voice filled with sanctimonious concern, Joyce said, "That's quite
a sacrifice to ask, but--"
"Joyce!" Reba cried, horrified. "Grampa was joking, but you actually
mean it. Four is only a baby and yet you'd let him--"
"Never mind, Reba," Four said evenly. "It was just what I was going to
suggest myself. It's the one really logical solution."
"Fwiend," said Fweep gently.
* * * * *
The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself in
front of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboard
swearing in a steady monotone.
"Junior!" said Joyce, shocked.
Junior swung around impatiently. "Sorry, Mother, but this damned thing
won't work."
"I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn't
expect a machine to do something that we can't do. And if it did work,
it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug--"
"Mother!" Junior warned. "We decided not to talk about it any more.
Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr.
It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave this
planet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!"
"Well!" Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair.
Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. "Junior,
I apologize for all the mean things I ever said about you. Maybe you
got the makings of a Peppergrass yet."
Junior turned back to the keyboard and studied it, his chin in his
hand. "It's just a matter of stating the problem in terms the computer
can work on."
"I take it all back," said Grampa. "That computer won't help you with
this problem, Junior. This ain't a long, complicated calculation; it's
a simple problem in logic. It's a pircuit problem, like the one about
the cannibals and the missionaries. We can't leave Fweepland because
Fweep won't let our polarizer work. He won't let our polarizer work
because he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line,
and he don't want Four to leave him.
"Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can't
understand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he's
got Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favor
to Four, he'd let us leave--if we'd leave Four here with him, which we
ain't gonna do.
"That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No use
making a pircuit, because a puzzle circuit is just a miniature computer
with the solution built in; if you can build the pircuit, you've
already solved the problem. And if you can state the problem to Abacus,
you've already got the answer. All you want from it then is decimal
points."
"That may be," Junior said stubbornly, "but I still want to know why
this computer won't work. It won't even do simple arithmetic! Where's
Four? He's the only one who understands this thing."
"He's outside, playing in the meadow with Fweep," Reba said, her voice
soft. "No, here they come now."
* * * * *
Through the airlock came Four, carrying Fweep on his shoulder like
a raspberry cat without head or tail. Four's thin face glowed with
exertion and glistened with sweat. Already the orange sun had begun to
paint his skin tan.
"We've been playing dodge ball," Four panted. "Fweep was the ball and I
had to dodge him."
"There's something wrong with this computer," Junior complained. "Take
a look at it."
"Sure, Daddy," Four said promptly, and he took his father's place at
the keyboard. After a few moments, he began to frown, then detached
a front panel. He started sorting through the maze of wires and
electronic components.
Grampa watched him with a wary eye.
Joyce was unable to restrain herself any longer. "The way you people
talk, a person would think we were never going to leave this
godforsaken, miserable, uncivilized planet."
"That seems to be the general idea," Grampa chuckled, enjoying her
dismay.
"Unless we can build a reaction rocket ship to push us out of Fweep's
range," Fred said glumly.
"We've got the iron ore!" Junior put in eagerly.
Grampa snorted. "Come on, use your brains. You'd have to build a ship;
these flivvers weren't built for the stresses of reaction flight.
By the time you've solved all the problems of motors and alloys and
rocket-tube linings, fuel, ship construction, personnel protection,
and all the rest of it, this planet would be another Detroit and your
great-great-great-grandchildren would be living in it. You couldn't
build a blast furnace even if you had the complete Congressional
microfilm library! You'd do better trying to figure out how Fweep does
what he does and doing some practicing on that."
"Well," Junior said peevishly, "trying to get away is better than
sitting here talking about it."
Reba stared thoughtfully at Junior and said, "Maybe Fweep would go with
us."
"Yes!" Joyce said excitedly. "Maybe the dear little thing _would_ go
with us. That would solve everything!"
* * * * *
Without looking around, Four said, "I asked him already. Fweep's afraid
to come along."
"I'm sure we would be very good to him," Joyce said swiftly. "I've
always liked pets. Why, I once had a goldfish of my very own!"
"Which you let die," Fred said dryly, "because you forgot to feed it."
"Oh, he's not afraid of _people_," Four told them. "He's afraid of
space and unpolarized gravity and things like that. He's lived here all
his life--that's a long time--and it makes him feel awful funny just to
think about leaving. He says he can still remember the way our linear
gravitation felt inside when we landed."
"Well," Joyce said firmly, "he'll just have to fight it, that's all.
If a person let that kind of neurotic impulse rule his life, he'd be
completely demoralized in no time."
Four glanced over his shoulder at Joyce, as if to see if she were
joking. Shaking his head, he returned to the computer's innards. A
moment later, he swung around and stared accusingly at Grampa. "You've
cannibalized Abacus!"
"Well, now," Grampa protested, licking his lips nervously. "You see,
I--"
"That's where you got the parts for the pircuits!" Four said with
merciless logic.
Joyce stood up virtuously and shook her finger at Grampa. "First you
entice us out here in this nasty old flivver; then you get us stuck;
and now you've ruined the computer for your nasty old games!"
"Well, now," Grampa blustered, "the goldarn thing wouldn't work, would
it? We didn't need it--not with Four around. He figures everything out
in his head and we just used Abacus to sort of check him. Ain't that
right now?"
Five pairs of eyes stared at him in silence.
"Well, now," Grampa said defensively, "I got it all worked out anyhow.
We can leave here any time we get ready."
* * * * *
The land of the Fweep turned and grew small in the view screen, and
Junior sat in the pilot's chair, his hand on the control stick, his
eyes fixed on the moving dials in front of him.
There were three others in the room: Reba, who looked at the dwindling
Fweepland and sighed; Joyce, who sat tautly in her chair, her face
fixed and unbelieving; and Fred, who looked at Joyce and shook his head.
Grampa opened the door to his room and stepped cockily into the central
cabin, shutting the door behind him. "Well?" he demanded confidently.
"Are we heading for Earth?"