Marcia opened her mouth to say something, but Burt cut her off. "I don't want to hear any more about it. You'll just have to find another way for the kids to express themselves...." * * * * * They usually found an asteroid with a weird terrain, and just looking at it through the portable bubble-sphere kept the kids pretty busy. This time, however, things were different. The asteroid was only twenty miles in diameter, yet it had an atmosphere of oxygen and inert gases, and it was comfortably warm. No bubble-sphere this time to keep the kids hemmed in--and Johnny and Joan would be roving all over the uncharted surface. Burt shuddered. What a job he'd have today. But then, this was the last time: they could talk themselves blue in the face and plead, but this was the last time.... And maybe there'd be life, since there was air and warmth. But that was silly: a body this size would not have life, and even if Johnny took advantage of the low gravity and jumped thirty feet in the air, he wouldn't get hurt--he'd float down gently as a feather. Marcia pouted as she spread the table-cloth out on a flat expanse of rock. Burt put his hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away from him. "Brats, eh?" she muttered. "Well, maybe I didn't mean it that way. But you just name me another father at Marsport who takes his family up in a spaceship every Sunday to go picnicking. And a different asteroid each week. Ed Jones sits on his fanny all week-end, and Tom Ferris spends Saturday night in the gambling joints so he's dead on his feet Sunday and can hardly stay awake during the church services." Marcia took his hand and placed it back on her shoulder. "Okay, dear--you're wonderful. But that doesn't give you permission to call my children 'brats'." Burt smiled. "_My_ children, too. And, well--if they're not brats, we've certainly spoiled them...." Johnny's voice cut through the thin air. "Pop. Hey, pop. C'mere!" Burt got up, laughing. "So that's how you teach your kids to call their old man, eh?" * * * * * Burt walked toward the incredibly close horizon. You could see the curvature of the tiny planet quite distinctly, and in a tight circle all around them the pale blue sky came down and met the jumble of rocks and crystal which was the surface of the asteroid. Johnny had called from someplace beyond the horizon, and as he walked, Burt heard him again: "You deaf, pop? C'mere!" Johnny was standing, little hands on little hips, near a mound of dull metal. No, it wasn't a mound--it was battered and twisted and rusted, but the tear-drop shape was unmistakable. A spaceship.... Burt found the ancient airlock and pushed through the rusted door. He looked at the control panel. "It's an old Havelock," he muttered, "I'll be damned. They haven't made these in twenty years." He went outside again, where Johnny still stood. "Pretty nifty, eh pop?" the boy said.