"Could be, and probably is." His father stroked his chin reflectively. "I don't see how he could've caught up with us, but we don't know what his ship can do." "The guy's tricky and dirty, but he does have a brain and he has some darned good technies in his crew. He'd know, from his own receptors, when we started speeding up so fast, and he'd do something to counteract that, if he could." "I've heard things like that about him, but I don't know him." "I do," grimly. "We've had brushes before, when I was in other ships. He's a skunk and ought to be behind bars--but so far no one has been able to produce any real evidence of what all spacemen know must be true." "If the Board accepts our claim and data against his, won't that be proof against him?" "It should be. You can bet your tackle I'll work on that angle. Space will be cleaner if that hellhound isn't in it." "You bet, Pop. I hope you sink your hook in him this time." His father laughed grimly. "It won't be for lack of trying, that's for danged sure." 15 Jon Carver spoke into the microphone of his ship radio. "Exploration ship _Star Rover_, Tad Carver owner, Jon Carver pilot, asking permission to land. We are circling at ten miles up." A moment's crackling noise from the speaker, then a cheery, feminine voice, "Centropolitan spaceport. Landing permission granted. What size is your ship?" "A seventy-two foot space-yacht." "Do you need servicing?" "We will in a day or so, but not at the moment." "Use cradle forty-three in section D. Land in four minutes." "Instructions received with thanks. _Star Rover_ off." Carefully Jon sighted through his visiplate until he located the cradle marked with a large "43" in the section of the tremendous spaceport also clearly marked "D." He lowered the ship slowly and gently, keeping his eyes closely on the chronom and its big sweep-secondhand. So expert had he become at handling the ship, and so well did his new automatic technique work, that the ship settled gently into the cradle dead center ... and only one point three zero seconds off the four minutes specified. "Nice handling, Chubby," Jak cheered as they felt the mighty engines and generators shut off. "Aw, it was rotten. I was almost a second and a half off in my timing." "Who cares?" There was a lilt of joy and pure thankfulness in their mother's voice. "We are back on Earth--home--and all of us are whole. That's the best part of all." Her husband looked up from the recline seat where he was still lying, and winked at his sons. Then he faced his wife. "The eternal mother." He smiled gently at her, and his voice was soft with emotion. "Happiest when her brood is safe. And," he added hastily at the look coming into her eyes, "how thankful mankind is, or should be, that womenfolk have always had that feeling. Man would never have gone as far as he has if she hadn't."