Castaways of Eros
By NELSON S. BOND
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 embitteredrivals 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 bitstraighter. Not that he was ashamed of Pop; it wasn't that at all. Itwas just that the Patrolman stood so straight, his shoulders broadand firm. Standing beside him made Pop look sort of thin and puny; hischest caved in like he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.
That was from studying things through a microscope. Anyhow, decidedBobby with a fierce loyalty, that S.S.P. man probably wouldn't evenknow 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 someobscure way, were to blame for his having been reprimanded right outhere in the middle of Long Island Spaceport, where everybody couldhear and laugh at him. But Moira, studying the handsome S.S.P. mansurreptitiously, did not notice. Dick was fixing something in the ship.Eleanor stood quietly beside Mom, crooning softly to The Pooch so itwouldn't be scared by the thunderous blast of rocket motors. GrampawMoseley had buttonholed an embarrassed young ensign, was complainingto him in loud and certain terms that modern astronavigation practiceswere, "Rank bellywash, Mister, and a dad-ratted disgrace!"
The Patrolman said, "Your name, please, Sir?"
"Robert Emmet O'Brien Moseley," said Pop.
"Occupation?"
"Research physicist, formerly. Now about to become a land-grantsettler."
"Age of self and party ... former residence...."
Overhead, the sky was blue and thin—clear as a bowl of skimmed milk;its vastness limned in sharp relief, to the west and north, the mightyspans and arches, the faery domes and flying buttresses of Great NewYork. The spacedrome fed a hundred ducts of flight; from one fieldlifted air locals, giddy, colored motes with gyroscopes aspin. Fromanother, a West Coast stratoliner surged upward to lose itself in thin,dim heights.
Vast cradles by the Sound were the nests to which a flock ofinterplanetary craft made homeward flight. Luggers and barges andcruisers. Bobby saw, with sudden excitement, the sharp, starred prow ofthe Solar Space Patrol man-o'-war.
Here, in this field, the GSC's—the General Spacecraft Cradles. Fromone of which, as soon as Pop got clearance, their ship would take off.Their ship! Bobby felt an eager quickening of his pulse; his stomachwas aswarm with a host of butterflies. Their ship!
The space officer said, "I think that takes care of everything, Dr.Moseley. I presume you understand the land-grant laws and obligations?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Very well, then—" Space-red hands made official motions with ahand-stamp and pen. "Your clearance. And my very best wishes, Sir."
"Thank you," said Pop quietly. He turned. "That's all. Ready, Mother?Eleanor? Moira?"
Bobby bounded forward. "Can I push the button, can I, Pop? When westart, can I?"