"Sorry. We can't afford it." He started to follow Pollux out.

"Wait!" Ekizian mentioned a third price. "Cash," he added.

"Of course. And you pay the sales tax?"

"Well... for a cash deal, yes."

"Good."

"Sit down, gentlemen. I'll call in my girl and we'll state the papers."

"No hurry," answered Castor. "We've still got to see what the Hungarian has on his lot - and the government salvage lot, too."

"Huh? That price doesn't stand unless you deal right now. Dealer Dan, they call me. I got no time to waste dickering twice."

"Nor have we. See you tomorrow. If it hasn't sold we can take up where we left off."

"If you expect me to hold that price, I'll have to have a nominal option payment."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't expect you to pass up a sale for us. If you can sell it by tomorrow, we wouldn't think of standing inyour way. Come on, Pol."

Ekizian shrugged. "Been nice meeting you, boys."

"Thank you, sir."

As they closed the lock behind them and waited for it to cycle, Pollux said "You should have paid him an option."

His brother looked at him. "You're retarded, Junior."

On leaving Dealer Dan's office the boys headed for the spaceport, intending to catch the passenger tube back to the city, fifty miles west of the port. They had less than thirty minutes if they were to get home for supper on time - unimportant in itself but Castor disliked starting a family debate on the defen­sive over a side issue. He kept hurrying Pollux along.

Their route took them through the grounds of General Synthetics Corporation, square miles of giant cracking plants, sun screens, condensers, fractionating columns, all sorts of huge machinery to take advantage of the burning heat, the bitter cold, and the endless vacuum for industrial chemical engineer­ing purposes - a Dantesque jungle of unlikely shapes. The boys paid no attention to it; they were used to it. They hurried down the company road in the flying leaps the Moon's low gravity permitted, making twenty miles an hour. Half way to the port they were overtaken by a company tractor; Pollux flagged it down.

As he ground to a stop, the driver spoke to them via his cab radio: "What do you want?"

"Are you meeting the Terra shuttle?"

"Subject to the whims of fate - yes."

"It's Jefferson," said Pollux. "Hey, Jeff - it's Cas and Pol. Drop us at the tube station, will you?"

"Climb on the rack. Mind the volcano - come up the usual way." As they did so he went on, "What brings you two carrot-topped accident-prones to this far reach of culture?"

Castor hesitated and glanced at Pollux. They had known Jefferson James for some time, having bowled against him in the city league. He was an old Moon hand but not a native, having come to Luna before they were born to gather color for a novel. The novel was still unfinished.

Pollux nodded. Castor said, "Jeff, can you keep a secret?"

"Certainly - but permit me to point out that these radios are not directional. See your attorney before admitting any criminal act or intention."

Castor looked around; aside from two tractor trucks in the distance no one seemed to be in line-of-sight. "We're going into business."

"When were you out of it?"

"This is a new line - interplanetary trade. We're going to buy our own ship and run it ourselves."

The driver whistled. "Remind me to sell Four-Planet Export short. When does this blitz take place?"

"We're shopping for a ship now. Know of a good buy?"

"I'll alert my spies." He shut up, being busy thereafter with the heavier traffic near the spaceport. Presently he said, "Here's your stop." Asthe boys climbed down from the rack of the truck he added, "If you needa crewman, keep me in mind."

"Okay, Jeff. And thanks for the lift."

Despite the lift they were late. A squad of marine M.P.s heading into the city on duty pre-empted the first tube car; by the time the next arrived the ship from Earth had grounded and its passengers took priority Thereafter they got tangled with the changing shift from the synthetics plant. It was well past suppertime when they arrived at their family's apartment a half mile down inside Luna city

Mr. Stone looked up as they came in. "Well! the star boarders," he announced. He was sitting with a small recorder in his lap, a throat mike clipped to his neck.

"Dad, it was unavoidable," Castor began. "We -"

"It always is," his father cut in. "Never mind the details. Your dinner is in the cozy. I wanted to send it back but your mother went soft and didn't let me."

Dr. Stone looked up from the far end of the living room, where she was modelling a head of their older sister, Meade. "Correction," she said. "Your father went soft; I would have let you starve. Meade, quit turning your head."

"Check," announced their four-year old brother and got up from the floor where he had been playing chess with their grand mother. He ran towards them. "Hey, Cas, Pol - where you been? Did you go to the port? Why didn't you take me? Did you bring me anything?"

Castor swung him up by his heels and held him upside down. "Yes. No. Maybe. And why should we? Here, Pol - catch." He sailed the child through the air; his twin reached out and caught him, still by the heels.

"Check yourself," announced Grandmother, "and mate in three moves. Shouldn't let your social life distract you from your game, Lowell."

The youngster looked back at the board from his upside down position. "Wrong, Hazel. Now I let you take my queen, then - Blammie!"

His grandmother looked again at the board. "Huh? Wait a minute - suppose I refuse your queen, then - Why, the little scamp! He's trapped me again."

Meade said, "Shouldn't let him beat you so often, Hazel. It's not good for him."

"Meade, for the ninth time, quit turning your head!"

"Sorry, Mother. Let's take a rest."

Grandmother snorted. "You don't think I let him beat me on purpose, do you? You play him; I am giving up the game for good."

Meade answered just as her mother spoke; at the same time Pollux chucked the boy back at Castor. "You take him. I want to eat."

The child squealed. Mr. Stone shouted, "QUIET!"

"And stay quiet," he went on, while unfastening the throat mike. "How is a man to make a living in all this racket? This episode has to be done over completely, sent to New York tomorrow, shot, canned, distributed, and on the channels by the end of the week. It's not possible."

"Then don't do it," Dr. Stone answered serenely. "Or work in your room - it's soundproof."

Mr. Stone turned to his wife. "My dear, I've explained a thousand times that I can't work in there by myself. I get no stimulation. I fall asleep."

Castor said, "How's it going, Dad? Rough?"

"Well, now that you ask me, the villains are way ahead and I don't see a chance for our heroes."

"I thought of a gimmick while Pol and I were out. You have this young kid you introduced into the story slide into the control room while everybody is asleep. They don't suspect him, see? - he's too young so they haven't put him in irons. Once in the control room – " Castor stopped and looked crestfallen. "No, it won't do; he's too young to handle the ship. He wouldn't know how."

"Why do you say that?" his father objected. "All I have to do is to plant that he has had a chance to... let me see –" He stopped; his face went blank. "No," he said presently.

"No good, huh?"

"Eh? What? It smells - but I think I can use it. Stevenson did something like it in Treasure Island - and I think he got it from Homer. Let's see; if we –" He again went into his trance.

Pollux had opened the warming cupboard Castor dropped his baby brother on the floor and accepted a dinner pack from his twin. He opened it. "Meat pie again," he stated bleakly and sniffed it. "Synthetic, too."