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?"

Junior gestured toward the screen. "If Four's coordinates are right."

"Speaking of coordinates," Grampa said briskly, "make sure we got the coordinates of Fweepland. It'll take a long time for that atmosphere to dissipate. A nice little world like that is worth its weight in uranium to a good real estate salesman."

"How did you do it?" Joyce challenged.

Grampa slapped her familiarly on the shoulder. "A problem of gravity," he said gayly, "but a simple one. Nothing for an old pircuit man like me. I guess you folks won't laugh at Grampa and his pircuits any more. Not only did Grampa get you out