He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and looked disgusted. "Oh, well," Myra said after a moment, "don't let go. Maybe we can sell it to a Jovian museum as a rare curio. Probably worth millions!" "Probably iron pyrite. Probably worth less than twenty bucks. Pfah!" Steve snorted impatiently. "We'll throw it back. We haven't got time to lug museum pieces around the solar system, however scholarly we may be." "Okay!" Myra pouted prettily. * * * * * Steve flicked the grappler indicator to "off." Nothing happened. The retarding rockets continued to blast vainly away. The gold colored meteor sped before them; their ship followed it inexorably. "What's the matter?" asked Myra. "Change your mind?" Steve stared at the fleeting meteor in amazement. "I let go," he said. He indicated the silent grapple. "Look. It's dead." "Don't tell me," purred Myra sarcastically, "that you're going to let a little hunk of rock kidnap us." "Hell of a thing," muttered Steve. "Maybe I used too much power. Maybe the thing's charged with magnetism." "And exerting an attraction strong enough to affect us--half a mile away?" Suddenly the ship lurched sideways. Myra drew herself erect, rubbing a painful nose. "Now I ask you--is that any way for a full grown meteor to act?" Steve picked himself off the floor, where the sudden swerve of the ship had thrown him. He joined his wife at the shield. The meteor was twisting and turning like a thing demented. The Skypiercer, in its magnetic grasp, followed the crazy course helplessly. Steve looked very wise. "Something's wrong. I have a hunch it isn't a meteor." "Hear! Hear!" applauded Myra. "First it isn't a goldmine. Now it isn't a meteor. What won't it be next, my profound husband?" Steve ignored her. He cut off the Retarderockets. "Save fuel, anyway," he said. There was another cessation of sound. The Horns looked at each other in astonishment. They were slowing down! The meteor drifted slowly through space--then stopped. "Everything," said Myra softly, "is all wacked up. Where is the physics of yesteryear?" Steve was staring open mouthed at the gold colored piece of rock. "Little demons!" he breathed. "It's turning around. It wants to say hello. Isn't that nice! Pad a cell for me, old fruitcake, I feel a spasm coming on." The "meteor" described a wide arc that brought it to the side of the Horns' ship, now halted in space. It circled them a few times; then stopped and bobbed up and down in a friendly manner. "It wants to play," said Steve wearily. "Go shake hands with it." "If it's a ship," said Myra practically, "it's done a very good job of disguising itself. There aren't any rocket tubes, or ports, or landing gear, as far as I can see." Their golden companion began to whirl rapidly, like a miniature planet. Above it, English characters appeared against the black curtain of space in lines of fire. They were badly made, and misspelled, but readable.