But somehow we survived. And finally came the time when the skipper came busting into my turret and bawled, "Git y'r feet off'n the desk, Sparks. Take a message to--" "I know," I told him. "I already sent it. To Joe Marlowe at Lunar III. Caltech VI is oh-oh under the nose. The _Pegasus_ is preparing to land, and the situation is--" "Ain't you the smart little numbskull?" snorted the skipper. "Remind me to use your brain for mattress stuffin'. No, dimwit, we ain't landin'. I ain't goin' to set down on this here outlaw planet till I learn what I'm landin' on. The _Pegasus_ ain't goin' to be number four on the missin' list." He beamed complacently. "Me, I'm smart, I am." * * * * * Well, so is sunburn. But who loves it. Anyway, I said, "Well, if we're not going to land on Caltech, what's that big thing looming in the visiplate? Green cheese?" Bowman took one squint through the perilens and let loose a howl that frightened its own echoes. "He's landin'! The damn fool's settin' us down!" He made a dive for the door. I grabbed his flying coat-tails long enough to squawk, "Who?" and the answer came Dopplering back, "Larkin! The space-crazy idiot!" I moved, too. Sheer suction pulled me along as we hit the ramp, charged through the corridors, scrambled up the Jacob's-ladder and bore down on the control room. At the door I managed to pant, "Who--who's in there with him?" "Who do you think?" "That's what I thought. What is this? A spaceship or a mushroom?" Then we were inside, and it was just like I thought it would be. Larkin was seated in the pilot's chair, pushing the buttons that eased the _Pegasus_ to terra firma, and hovering over him like a halo around a saint's occipital was his ever-loving bride. Bowman screamed, "Larkin! Wait!" and Lorraine turned, smiling. "Isn't he clever, Daddy? He's the best pilot in the whole, wide universe--aren't you, peachie?" "Now, sweet--" protested Johnny modestly. "Wait!" squalled the skipper. "Wait!" "Weight, sir?" said Johnny, lifting out of his daze for a moment. "Aye, sir. If you think best--" And he punched the grav plugs. My knees buckled suddenly as the plates took hold. Bowman stumbled; Lorraine gasped. Over the intercommunicating audio came voices, a dozen irate queries from various parts of the ship. Bowman spoke with an effort. "Not _weight_, you double-blasted lunatic! _Wait!_ Till we see what we're gettin' into--" But he spoke too late. The grip of the grav plates had done it. Our nose jets spluttered, the ship lurched and slithered, there came a sharp bump, surprisingly yielding and bouncy considering the speed at which we had grounded, and--here we were. On Caltech. Motionless, after weeks of travel.