"Of me!" Mom snorted indignantly. "Hear him talk! I never heard such
nonsense in my life. Of _course_ I want to go on. No, never mind that!
Richard, isn't there a kitchen on this boat?"
"A galley, Mom. Below."
"Galley ... kitchen ... what's the difference? You two girls come with
me. I'll warrant these men are starving. _I_ am!"
* * * * *
After that, things became so normal as to be almost disappointing. From
his eager reading of such magazines as _Martian Tales_ and _Cosmic
Fiction Weekly_, Bobby had conceived void-travel to be one long,
momentous chain of adventure. A super-thrilling serial, punctuated by
interludes with space-pirates, narrow brushes with meteors, sabotage,
treachery--hair-raising, heroic and horrifying.
There was nothing like that to disturb the calm and peaceful journey of
the _Cuchulainn_. Oh, it was enjoyable to stare through the observation
panes at the flame-dotted pall of space--until Pop tried to turn his
curious interest into educational channels; it was exciting, too, to
probe through the corridored recesses of their floating home--except
that Dick issued strict orders that nothing must be touched, that he
must not enter certain chambers, that he mustn't push his nose into
things that didn't concern kids--
Which offended Bobby, who was sixteen, or, anyway, fifteen and
three-quarters.
So they ate and they slept and they ate again. And Pop and Dick spelled
each other at the control banks. Moira spent endless hours with comb
and mirror, devising elaborate hair-dos which--Bobby reminded her
with impudent shrewdness--were so much wasted energy, since they were
settling in a place where nobody could see them. And Mom bustled about
in the galley, performing miracles with flour and stuff, and in the
recreation room, Eleanor minded The Pooch, and lost innumerable games
of cribbage to Grampaw Moseley who cheated outrageously and groused,
between hands, about the dad-blame nonsensical way Dick was handling
the ship.
And somehow three Earth days sped by, and they were nearing their
destination. The tiny planetoid, Eros.
Pop said, "You deserve a great deal of credit, son, for your fine work
in rehabilitating the _Cuchulainn_. It has performed beautifully. You
are a good spaceman."
Dick flushed. "She's a good ship, Pop, even if she is thirty years old.
Some of these old, hand-fashioned jobs are better than the flash junk
they're turning off the belts nowadays. You've checked the declension
and trajectory?"
"Yes. We should come within landing radius in just a few hours. Cut
drives at 19.04.22 precisely and make such minor course alterations as
are necessary, set brakes." Pop smiled happily. "We're very fortunate,
son. A mere fifteen million miles. It's not often Eros is so near
Earth."
"Don't I know it? It's almost a hundred million at perihelion. But
that's not the lucky part. You sure had to pull strings to get the
government land grant to Eros. What a plum! Atmosphere ... water ...
vegetable life ... all on a hunk of dirt fifty-seven miles in diameter.
Frankly, I don't get it! Eros must have terrific mass to have the
attributes of a full-sized planet."
"It does, Richard. A neutronium core."
"Neutronium!" Dick gasped. "Why don't people tell me these things?
Roaring craters, Pop, we're rich! Bloated plutocrats!"
"Not so fast, son. Eventually, perhaps; not today. First we must
establish our claims, justify our right to own Eros. That means work,
plenty of hard work. After that, we might be able to consider a mining
operation. What's that?"
Bobby jumped. It was Mom's voice. But her cry was not one of fear, it
was one of excitement.
"Rob, look! Off to the--the left, or the port, or whatever you call it!
Is that our new home?"
Bobby did not need to hear Pop's reply to know that it was. His swift
intake of breath was enough, the shine in his eyes as he peered out the
observation port.
"Eros!" he said.
It looked all right to Bobby. A nice, clean little sphere, spinning
lazily before their eyes like a top someone had set in motion, then
gone away and forgotten. Silver and green and rusty brown, all still
faintly blued by distance. The warm rays of old Sol reflected gaily,
giddily, from seas that covered half the planetoid's surface, and
mountains cut long, jagged shadows into sheltered plains beneath them.
It was, thought Bobby, not a bad looking little place. But not anything
to get all dewy-eyed about, like Pop was.
Dick said softly, "All right, Pop. Let's check and get ready to set 'er
down...."