last few inches. The polarizer quit."

"Quit!"

"That's not the worst. I tried to take it up again. The flivver—it won't budge!"

The thing was a featureless blob, a two-foot sphere of raspberry gelatin, but it was alive. It rocked back and forth in front of Four. It opened a raspberry-color pseudo-mouth and said plaintively, "Fweep? Fweep?"

Joyce drew her chair farther back toward the wall, revulsion on her face. "Four! Get that nasty thing out of here!"

"You mean Fweep?" Four asked in astonishment.

"I mean that thing, whatever you call it." Joyce fluttered her hand impatiently. "Get it out!"

Four's eyes widened farther. "But Fweep's my friend."

"Nonsense!" Joyce said sharply. "Earthmen don't make friends with aliens. And that's nothing but a—a blob!"

"Fweep?" queried the raspberry lips. "Fweep?"

"If it's Four's friend," Reba said firmly, "it can stay. If you don't like to be around it, Grammy, you can always go to your own room."

Joyce stood up indignantly. "Well! And don't call me 'Grammy!' It makes me sound as old as that old goat over there!" She glared malignantly at Grampa. "If you'd rather have that blob than me—well!" She swept grandly out of the central cabin and into one of the private rooms that opened out from it.

"Fweep?" asked the blob.

"Sure," Four said. "Go ahead, fweep—I mean sweep."

Swiftly the sphere rolled across the floor. Behind it was left a narrow path of sparkling clean tile.

Grampa glanced warily at Joyce's door to make sure it was completely closed and then cocked a white eyebrow at Reba. "Good for you, Reba!" he said admiringly. "For forty years now, I've wanted to do that. Never had the nerve."

"Why, thanks, Grampa," Reba said, surprised.

"I like you, gal. Never forget it."

"I like you, too, Grampa. If you'd been a few years younger, Junior would have had competition!"

"You bet he would!" Grampa leaned back and cackled. Then he leaned over confidentially toward Reba and whispered, "Beats me why you ever married a jerk like Junior, anyhow."

Reba looked thoughtfully toward the airlock door. "Maybe I saw something in him nobody else saw, the man he might become. He's been submerged in this family too long; he's still a child to all of you and to himself, too." Reba smiled at Grampa brilliantly. "And maybe I thought he might grow into a man like his grandfather."

Grampa turned red and looked quickly toward Four. The boy was staring intently at Fweep. "What you doing, Four?"

"Trying to figure out what Fweep does with the sweepings," Four said absently. "The outer inch or two of his body gets cloudy and then slowly clears. I think I'll try him with a bigger particle."

"That's the idea, Four. You'll be a Peppergrass yet. How about building me a pircuit?"

"You get the other one figured out?"

"It was easy," Grampa said breezily, "once you understood the principle. The player who moved second could always win if he used the right strategy. Dividing the thirteen lights into three sections of four each—"

"That's right," Four agreed. "I can make you a new one by cannibalizing the other pircuit, but I'll need a few extra parts."

Grampa pushed the wall beside his chair and a drawer slid out of it.

Inside were row after row of nipple-topped, flat-sided, flexible free-fall bottles and a battered cigar box. "Thought you'd say that," he said, picking out the box. "Help yourself." With the other hand, he lifted out one of the bottles and took a long drag on it. "Ahhh!" he sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and carefully put the bottle away.

"What is that stuff you drink, Grampa?" Four asked.

"Tonic, boy. Keeps me young and frisky. Now about that pircuit—"