When the boys came into the dinette the next morning, their mother was humming happily as she prepared breakfast, and greeted them with a cheery smile.

"Pop awake yet?" Jon asked as he saw her mood.

"No, but he's sleeping so sweetly I know he's all right," she answered.

They sat down and began eating. After finishing, Jak said, "Well, we might as well go out and work some more on our townsite."

"Call us when Pop wakes up, will you, please?" Jon took a last sip of his juice-concentrate.

"That'd be silly." Jak frowned. "We know he can't come and help us, so why should we run several miles back here when we can see him when we get back?"

Jon opened his mouth to reply, his eyes flashing almost angrily, but their mother interrupted quickly with a question, "Boys, just why do you have to lay out such a site?"

"The Board requires it," Jon answered shortly.

"In the early days of exploration," Jak explained more patiently, "some of the space crews used to make their reports after merely flying above the surface of the planets of a new system. In fact, some of them didn't even go that close, and merely made up sketchy reports."

"Then when colonists got there," Jon, who had simmered down by now, took up the explanation, "they often found conditions very different, and many times quite dangerous to them."

"Yes, sometimes there were even intelligent inhabitants who hadn't been reported, so their planets couldn't be used for colonization. So the Board made this new ruling," Jak continued. "Now we have to have so many photos taken from various heights and at different places all over the surface of each planet, and each moon more than one hundred miles in diameter. And we have to lay out a townsite on the most Earthlike planet, mostly to show we actually have been there and spent some time there...."

"And it really doesn't make any difference whether the people who'll come here to live use it or not...."

"But we think they will use ours because we selected a place close to a river and the ocean, close to forests and fairly near minerals."

"Yes, you have done a wonderful job, I know that much about it."

"Well, we'll go out and re-check our lines," Jon said. "I've been studying and experimenting with the theodolite, and I can...."

"What is that?" she asked.

"What's what? Oh, the 'theodolite'? That's the surveyor's telescope. I've learned enough about it so I can tell if our lines have been run straight, and as we were so careful in measuring the distances, I'm quite sure they're fairly accurate."

"Yes," Jak chimed in, "I'll bet none of them are more than an inch off, if that."

"Optimist," Jon scoffed. "I'd take that bet away from you, only it'd be cheating an infant."

Jak started a retort, then thought better of it, and shut up.

They left the ship soon, Jon carrying the surveying instrument over his shoulder, and Jak the marker-pole. Arrived at the nearest corner of their townsite, Jon set the instrument down, while Jak went on to the next stake.

By means of the graduated circle attached just below the telescope, and the plumb line suspended from it, Jon adjusted the collapsible legs until he felt sure it was correctly focussed. Then, as Jak went ahead from stake to stake, Jon took sights to make sure each marker was centered on his cross hairs. The ones that were not, he indicated by hand signals, and Jak reset them to left or right, until Jon was satisfied.

They completed all of one side before lunch, then returned to the ship. They found their mother had opened both lockdoors while they were gone, and fresh, crisp, though warm, air was circulating through the ship, blowing out the old chemically pure yet "stale-feeling" air their purifiers had been re-circulating for so long.

Their father was awake, but still so weak he was making no attempt to sit fully up in bed, although his wife had slipped an extra pillow beneath his head.

"Ho, fellows!" he greeted the boys as they came into the bunkroom. "How's the job coming?"

"Just fine, Pop."

"We have the townsite all laid out, and now we're checking to make sure the lines are straight," Jak told him.

He frowned a bit. "How did you manage it? Neither of you is a surveyor. Or have you learned how to do that, too?"

"I think I've figured out the theodolite well enough to tell if our lines are straight, and that's what we're using now," Jon continued. "I can't measure distances with it, though."

Jak explained more in detail how they had measured the blocks and street widths, and rechecked them all.

"I can't see why it won't pass," their father said when they finished. "Probably no one will ever check it, unless they actually use the site when the colonists come. It shows we were landed here long enough to do the work, and that's the important thing. What about the rest of the mapping?"

"I'll go get the papers." Jon ran out, to return in a few minutes with the book of reports, and the rolls of film and prints they had made on all the planets and satellites. "You can check these as you feel up to it, Pop, and anything that looks wrong we can go back and re-check or do over."

Mr. Carver riffled quickly through the pages, and saw that each question had been answered; each measurement given an answer—though whether correct or not, of course, he could not know. All the information required had been supplied, at least.

He gave the boys his old-time grin, even as he was shaking his head in wonder. "You chaps certainly have done a job. Looks like I'll have to take the backseat from now...."

"No!" The two boys were shocked by that.

"Not on your life, Pop! We maybe did fairly well, but we need you, just the same."

"I'll say we do," Jak chimed in. "There's so much yet you can teach us. Why, we've only begun learning most of the things we want to know."

Mr. Carver smiled up at his sons. "I'm always glad to tell you anything I can, Fellows. It's good to see you growing up, though." He turned his head to face Jon more directly. "What's that about a new system you rigged up so you can land and take off with only one switch?"

Jon explained, and the two were soon deep in technical talk of electronic relays and cells, and automatic switch-overs. Finally, Mrs. Carver came in with a tray of lunch for her husband, and told the boys their food was on the table.

"All right, you chaps, go and eat," Mr. Carver said. "I'll take another nap while you're out this afternoon. Then maybe I'll feel up to talking some more this evening, and going over these reports with you."

---

The second day later the boys finished their re-checking, and came back to the ship in midafternoon. Their father was again awake, and they went in to see him.

"We're all done here, Pop, so what say we go back to that fuel-metal cache and see about getting the stuff aboard?" Jon asked.

"I guess from all you've said that's the most important thing now," he agreed after a moment's consideration. "Only thing is, I've been wondering if you couldn't move me into the control room, and fix a couch for me there?"

"Sure, that's easy," Jak told him.

But Jon frowned in thought. "Yes, we can do it, but we'll have to figure out first how to fasten the cot down and then make some arrangement so you can stand any acceleration we may have to use."

"How about fixing the co-pilot's seat into a bunk?"

"Hey, that's the ticket!" Jon brightened. He ran out and soon was helping his mother gather blankets, sheets and pillows, and going with Jak to bring an extra mattress from the storeroom.

They set the seat to recline, and then while Mrs. Carver was making up the bed, the boys carried their father—a much lighter load now than when he had first been hurt—and put him in his new bed.

"Say, this is all right!" Mr. Carver exclaimed after Jon had lowered the co-pilot's visiplate so his father could look into it without distortion or neck-craning. "All the comforts of home." He grinned at his wife.

She stooped and kissed him. "Be sure and let us know any time you get too tired, though, Mr. C."

"I will, Honey," he assured her. "But actually, I'm so comfortable I don't see why I can't stay here as well as in bed, until the leg's strong enough to start getting up."

Everything else ready, he watched anxiously, then admiringly, as Jon started the tubes firing, balanced them and took them off with the throwing of his one switch. In his visiplate the elder man watched with intense interest the scenery over which they were passing—Jon had set course so they would go completely around this world of Two until they came to that desert. Mr. Carver made many enthusiastic comments about this splendid planet that now bore his wife's name.

"Yes, and Three's just as nice, only colder," Jon reported eagerly. "Folks who like cold weather can live there without too much trouble at all."

"It's funny, though," Jak declared with a frown, "that there's no protoplasmic life there at all. That we could find," he hastened to add.

"Lots of vegetation, though," Jon added. "That means the soil will be good for growing things, doesn't it?"

"It certainly sounds like it." His father smiled. "The colonists may have to adapt their Earth-seeds to fit, and probably bring their own worms and bees and so on. But they should be able to farm there. From your surveys, it appears there are plenty of minerals so they can start mines and factories of all kinds right away. Yes, this looks like a pretty good solar system."

"You bet, Pop. You sure picked a winner in this one," Jon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"I had an idea, from the spectroscopic examinations we made 'way back there near Sirius, that we'd find it fairly good here. But, to be honest, I didn't dare hope it would be this good. To tell the truth, I was really more interested in that line which seemed to indicate that fuel-stuff, than I was in new planets for colonization, although we needed those, too, to make the trip pay off."

Before long they came above the beginning of that well-remembered desert, and Jon slowed and circled, preparatory to landing.

Jon kept his eyes upon his instruments, and when he saw they were close to the actual latitude and longitude, he killed the speed to their slowest cruising range, and their height to a few hundred yards. When he knew he was almost at the exact spot, he stared intently into his pilot's magnifying visiplate, at the same time keeping his fingers tautly on the landing switch.

Soon, in his plate, he saw the top of that cache cover in the nearing distance. He circled until he judged he could land close to it, then closed the switch.

Softly, easily, the space-yacht came in to a landing on the hard packed sand, and Jon shut off the power and put everything in neutral.

His father had wisely kept silent during this maneuvering, but now he let out his breath in a whoosh.

"That's the neatest landing I ever saw," he told Jon admiringly. "That gadget of yours will make you a young fortune when we get it back to Terra."

Jon actually blushed with pleased embarrassment. "Aw, it's...."

But Jak interrupted him almost fiercely. "Don't go playing coy, Chubby. You know darned well it's wonderful."

"Sure I do." Jon laughed then, and the rest joined in. "But you'd have tromped on me if I'd been the one to say so." He turned quickly to face his father. "What do we do about this?"

"Ummm. My suggestion would be for you to put on your suit and go out and open those covers you told me about. Give me the analyzer first, and I'll study the stuff's emanations when you get it uncovered."

"I'll go out," Jak offered quickly. "You and Jon had better study it together. I don't know anything about it, but the kid does, and he'll be the one to handle it until you're well."

"Better take the jack—that cover's heavy, remember?" Jon said, and Jak ran out.

"I'd never have been able to do anything if it hadn't been for Jak's wiser advice," Jon said honestly as he brought the analyzer to his father from the instrument rack. "I'm apt to go off half-cocked, you know."

Mr. Carver looked fondly up at his wife, who moved quickly to his side, and put her hand against his cheek. "A couple of grand fellows you raised, Darling," he said softly.

"We raised, you mean, Mr. C." She smiled down at him. "They fight all the time, but when it comes to the pinch, they work together and I know they really love and admire each other very much."

Jon chuckled and spoke into the mike. "The folks are taking our good names in vain, Owl."

"Yes, I heard them," came back the elder boy's voice from the speaker. "If they only knew what we really think of each other," and then followed his attempt at a sneering laugh.

In their visiplates those inside the ship could see Jak, in his spacesuit, trotting awkwardly across the sand toward the cache. He carried the jack, and when he got there, used it to raise the heavy cover and throw it back. He jumped into the hole and took the cover off the smaller box. Then scrambled quickly out and ran some distance away.

"Shall I come back now, or wait here to cover it again?" he asked over his suit-sender.

"Maybe you'd better wait out there a few minutes," his father replied into the mike attached to his seat. "If we can't figure out something in a fairly short time, I'll tell you and you can recap the boxes and come back."

He busied himself adjusting the analyzer, and he and young Jon studied the lines carefully for quite a time. Finally the father roused.

"This is going to take a lot of study and work," he told his younger son. Then he spoke into the mike. "Better come back in, Jak." He turned his head again to face the boy with him. "Did you find a lead box, Jon?"

"No, sir, we haven't anything like that in our stores," Jon answered. "But there is quite a roll of lead foil. Can we do anything with that?"

"How much is there? And how thick is it?"

"The foil's twenty inches wide and about twelve feet long," Jon reported as he came back after a quick run to the storeroom to measure the foil. He had delayed a moment or two at the lock to help Jak out of his suit. "It's a thirty-second thick."

"Hmmm. That's not so good. Let's see. If we quadrupled it, that would give us an eighth ... no, that's not enough. Better take a piece and fold it to at least eight thicknesses, then go wrap it around a piece of that metal and bring it into the lock."

"That's not too much protection if the stuff's so strong, is it, Pop?"

"Well, double that, then. But I think it'll keep the rays off you long enough to bring it in—especially since you'll be in your suit, and if you put on lead-lined gloves."

"All right." Jon started out, then turned back. "What about the rest of it when we leave? Do we take it all with us?"

"No," slowly. "I doubt if anyone else would find it and steal it before we get back. On the other hand, the more we can take back with us, supposing we learn how to use it and it's as good as we think, the more we could get for it on Terra to give another immediate stake to come back."

"I have a thought, Pop. Why not just weld-fasten the whole big box it's now in to the outside of the ship, and make a small box that'll hold some to bring into the ship to experiment with?" Jon's eyes blazed eagerly.

"That's a thought!" Jak exclaimed, while their father answered more slowly, "Yes, I believe that could be done safely, especially if we put it back near the stern. Is the ship close enough so the lock servo-mechs can bring in the big box?"

"I don't think so," Jon answered after a searching look out of the port-window. "But with our suits on, Jak and I could carry it, couldn't we?"

"We've been close to the stuff several times for about as long as it'd take," Jak added, "and it doesn't seem to have hurt us any."

"Kind of a large box, isn't it?" Mr. Carver asked quizzically. "Might be sort of heavy."

The boys flushed, and Jon picked up his slide rule and did some quick figuring. Then he announced, crestfallen, "Great mackerel, I sure went off half-baked that time. OK, I'll take the ship up and bring it down closer."

"That's mighty delicate maneuvering." His mother looked at him in astonishment. "Sure you can do it?"

Jon shrugged. "If I can't the first time, I'll try again."

His father had to smile at the boy's confidence in himself, but he merely said, "This I've got to watch."

Assured everyone was safely strapped in, Jon started the tubes firing, raised the ship into the air—watching his plate closely as he circled about—then came down again ... right beside and not over five feet from port-lock to box.

"That's perfect," his father cried delightedly, watching in his plate. "You're sure getting to be an expert pilot, Son."

"And you're getting too excited and too tired from all this, Tad," Mrs. Carver said determinedly. "We'll have no more of it today. You boys go into the living room, and you, Mr. C., relax and take a nap. We can't have you getting sick again."

The boys started to protest but their father grinned. "Our mistress' voice, Boys. And she's right, I was trying too much. We're not in that big a hurry. Jon, you and Jak go make a box to hold our specimen."

They left him, and in moments he was asleep from exhaustion.

In the storeroom, Jon found some pieces of one-inch oak, and Jak and he made up their box, finishing just as their mother called them to dinner. It was a six-inch cube, sturdily fastened with plenty of screws; strong enough to hold solid osmium. The lead foil was carefully fitted into the interior, and was now twelve layers thick—three-eighths of an inch.

"That ought to do it," Jak said, and Jon agreed.

"Let's go out and fill it after we eat." Jak was all eagerness.

Jon shook his head. "Not unless Pop says to. Now that he's awake, I just don't like to make decisions."

Jak grinned. "You're right, of course. Guess we got too big-headed, having to do things ourselves while he was unconscious."

"Yes, we're still pretty inexperienced, and I'm glad we don't have to figure things out now."

"Still, we can't go back to depending too much on him," Jak said thoughtfully. "That way, we'll never get the habit of thinking for ourselves, and deciding—and that would be bad. But about this, I agree fully," he added quickly as he saw his brother about to protest.

"Even if I don't know much about it, I can see that this stuff's dangerous to monkey with."

Their father awakened later, much refreshed by his nap. After the boys had explained and exhibited their new box, he agreed it would be all right for them to go out and get a single piece of the metal.

"Leave it in the lock, though," he added. "Then, in the morning, maybe I'll feel like helping Jon study and experiment with it."

The two boys ran to get into their suits, and soon were outside, carrying their lead-lined box. They jumped into the large cache box after lifting off the lid, and took the top from the inner one. They set the carrier beside it, then ran back to the ship. With the "distant hands," Jon flipped a nugget into the small box, and set it aside on the sand. Using the same servo-mechanism, he closed both covers. Then he brought the little box back and deposited it on the floor of the lock.

The two boys took off their suits and hung them in the wall closet, then went into the control room.

"You were right, Pop. We sure couldn't have handled the big box at all." Jon grinned, still panting. "Even the little one is really heavy with just one nugget in it."

His father grinned back. "I had an idea, but thought I'd let you learn the hard way. Now maybe you'll remember it longer."

"Anyway, we got it in the lock, and tomorrow, if you feel up to it, we can start experimenting."

"Just how big are the pellets?"

"A little over half the size of our treated-copper ones," Jon told him.

"We'll have to cut it before we try working with it."

Jak, having disposed of the used plastic from their suits, had come into the control room and was listening interestedly, as was their mother, who was hovering near, not quite sure she liked the idea of her menfolks fussing with this unknown but admittedly dangerous metal.

"That means we'll have to make and install a smaller injector, too, doesn't it?" Jon asked. And when his father nodded, he added "I'll see about making it."

"Later, when we've found out whether we can use the stuff. Right now we'd all better get some sleep. I'm bushed, and I imagine you chaps are, too. How about you, Marci?" Mr. Carver turned to his wife.

"Well, I could use some sleep," she admitted.

"Right, Pop. Good night. 'Night, Mom."

---