_Tired of joy pills? Liquor? The idiot box? Try a fleck from ..._ THE HAPPINESS ROCK By ALBERT TEICHNER Illustrated by ADRAGNA [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January 1964. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a particularly good asteroid, a great jagged rock roughly four miles square on one side and two miles at its thickest. Within five minutes of sighting it they knew that its flatter side turned away from the sun more than seven times an Earth day. That meant they should be able to land for mineral specimens and still be off in time to avoid the heating phase for which they were not equipped. "I'll go out," said Warrant Officer Cramer, a tan-skinned young man who was peering ahead even more earnestly than usual. "I'm Captain of this tin crate so it's up to me," said Hartley. "Right?" "Right in a wrong sort of way, _sir_. Just two men on board and you're pulling rank!" For a moment Hartley looked irritated, then his blue eyes twinkled with laughter. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't." "I've never been on an asteroid and I've been a little nervous about it. I don't want to keep barrelling around space with that kind of a faze-factor bugging the back of my mind." The great flat side had just turned into shadow and Hartley started to ease the ship down. He said, suddenly bitter, "With all my experience the only thing the political brass lets me captain is a two-man scouter. Consider my rank unpulled--it's all yours Will." Cramer gave him an appreciative glance and put on his outside gear. "Let the Boy Scout have the dirty jobs," Hartley muttered, a nervous sneer twisting one side of his mouth. He idly adjusted for the descent onto the sheared stone face and, once Cramer was in the exit chamber, exchanged a parting wave with him through the quartz window. _Queer duck, saying a thing like that_, Cramer thought as he opened the outer hatch. _A little too bitter about things for his own good sometimes._ But then his foot touched solid rock and he was too busy chipping specimens to worry about poor Nick. After each tiny chisel stroke his body bounced slightly away and, gripping the lead rope, he had to retrojet himself back into the circular light patch thrown by Scout III. The stuff was hard composition but, fortunately, with many straight stress lines so pieces slowly did come loose. One carefully placed blow, then a whirl of stars streaming across jet blackness, then a swing back into the light and another blow and another outward swing. Suddenly a voice crackled in his ear. "You've been out fifty minutes, Will." "It can't be!" "Asteroid time's tricky when you're busy. How many chips you have?" "About a dozen."