"Well, he's not here." Bobby continued paddling. The brush crackled and
he thought Stinky had gone. He looked up, suddenly feeling loneliness
close in upon him. But the other boy was still there. He was hesitantly
fumbling at his shirt-buttons. Bobby said, "You can come in if you want
to. I guess this river don't belong to nobody."
* * * * *
They swam together for quite a while, neither wanting to break the
silence. It would be, thought Bobby vaguely, an act of disloyalty. To
Pop and Dick and the family. Of course, if Junior spoke first....
When they were dressing, each on his own side of the river, Junior
spoke. He said, "You ever play quoits any more?"
"All the time," said Bobby airily. He hadn't laid a hand on the quoits
since that afternoon. "We have a lot of fun," he said.
"Well, so do we," said Junior. He added, "Anyway, I can have your
quoits' run after you leave Eros. My Dad said so."
"Don't hold your breath waiting," snorted Bobby. "I guess I'll be
living in your big house after you go away."
"It's a nicer house than yours!"
"Did I say it wasn't?" Bobby had seen it. It was a beauty. But why not,
with the limitless power of an atomic machine to supply the labor of
creating plastic, operate the lifts and perform all the hard manual
labor? "You ought to see our garden, though. We've got corn and beans
and all sorts of things."
"No kidding?" Junior looked hungry. But he shook his head. "Synthos
suit me _exactly_! I'd rather eat them than any home-grown stuff."
"I bet!" scoffed Bobby. He had finished dressing. He turned awkwardly.
"Well--see you!" he said.
"Tomorrow night," said Junior. And, shucks, that was a date. He
couldn't break it, after that, even if he had only been being polite.
And it sort of got to be a habit to swim together for a little while
every evening. He didn't tell Pop because Pop would be mad. And Junior
didn't tell his old man, because he knew he'd get whaled....
* * * * *
And the weeks raced by on eager feet. Until one day, shortly after
breakfast, Bobby went out to see how clear the weather was, so he could
go fishing; looked heavenward--and came racing back into the house.
"Pop!" he yelled. "Dick! A ship! I think it's the Patrol ship. Coming
here!"
They came running. And it was the Patrol ship. It circled high above
them like a giant eagle, then, with a flat, flooding thunder of
jet-fire, dropped to rest in a field between the properties of the two
feuding clans.