Two families fought for the title to Eros,
and only one could win. One had to outsmart
the other--and both had to win over the
unscrupulous United Ores Corporation. It
was a problem worthy of a Solomon--and it
had an ending even those embittered
rivals could not foresee.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Bobby couldn't help wishing Pop would stand up just a little bit
straighter. Not that he was ashamed of Pop; it wasn't that at all. It
was just that the Patrolman stood _so_ straight, his shoulders broad
and firm. Standing beside him made Pop look sort of thin and puny; his
chest caved in like he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.
That was from studying things through a microscope. Anyhow, decided
Bobby with a fierce loyalty, that S.S.P. man probably wouldn't even
know what to look for if somebody put a microscope in front of him.
Even if he was big and sturdy and broad-shouldered in his space blues.
Mom said, "Bobby, what _are_ you muttering about? Do stop fidgeting!"
Bobby said, "Yessum," and glared at Moira, as if she, in some
obscure way, were to blame for his having been reprimanded right out
here in the middle of Long Island Spaceport, where everybody could
hear and laugh at him. But Moira, studying the handsome S.S.P. man
surreptitiously, did not notice. Dick was fixing something in the ship.
Eleanor stood quietly beside Mom, crooning softly to The Pooch so it
wouldn't be scared by the thunderous blast of rocket motors. Grampaw
Moseley had buttonholed an embarrassed young ensign, was complaining
to him in loud and certain terms that modern astronavigation practices
were, "Rank bellywash, Mister, and a dad-ratted disgrace!"