"Huh? But I never tease, I merely use logical—"

"Stow it, you make me tired. Pat, you were one of the most unlovable brats that ever squawled to get his own way... and, Tom, you weren't any better. You haven't mellowed with age; you've simply sharpened your techniques. Now you are being offered something free that I would give my right arm to have. I ought to stand aside and let you flub it. But I won't. Keep your flapping mouths shut, play this easy, and it's yours. Try your usual loathsome tactics and you lose."

We would not take that sort of talk from most people. Anybody else and Pat would have given me the signal and he'd 've hit him high while I hit him low. But you don't argue that way with a man who wears the Ceres ribbon; you listen. Pat didn't even mutter to me about it.

So we talked about Project Lebensraum itself, Twelve ships were to go out, radiating from Sol approximately in axes of a dodecahedron—but only approximately, as each ship's mission would be, not to search a volume of space, but to visit as many Sol-type stars as possible in the shortest time. Uncle Steve explained how they worked out a "mini-max" search curve for each ship but I did not understand it; it involved a type of calculus we had not studied.. Not that it mattered; each ship was to spend as much time exploring and as little time making the jumps as possible.

But Pat could not keep from coming back to the idea of how to sell the deal to our parents. "Uncle Steve? Granting that you are right about playing it easy, here's an argument that maybe they should hear? Maybe you could use it on them?"

"Um?"

"Well, if half a loaf is better than none, maybe they haven't realized that this way one of us stays home." I caught a phrase of what Pat had started to say, which was not "one of us stays home," but "Tom stays home." I started to object, then let it ride. He hadn't said it. Pat went on, "They know we want to space. If they don't let us do this, we'll do it any way we can. If we joined your corps, we might come home on leave-but not often. If we emigrate, we might as well be dead; very few emigrants make enough to afford a trip back to Earth, not while their parents are still alive, at least. So if they keep us home now, as soon as we are of age they probably will never see us again. But if they agree, not only does one stay home, but they are always in touch with the other one—that's the whole purpose in using us telepath pairs." Pat looked anxiously at Uncle Steve.

"Shouldn't we point that out? Or will you slip them the • idea?"

Uncle Steve did not answer right away, although I could not see anything wrong with the logic. Two from two leaves zero, but one from two still leaves one.

Finally he answered slowly, "Pat, can't you get it through your thick head to leave well enough alone?"

"I don't see what's wrong with my logic."

"Since when was an emotional argument won by logic? You should read about the time King Solomon proposed to divvy up the baby." He took a pull at his glass and wiped his mouth. "What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. Did you know that the Planetary League considered commissioning these ships as warships?"

"Huh? Why? Mr. Howard didn't say—"

"Keep your voice down. Project Lebensraum is of supreme interest to the Department of Peace. When it comes down to it, the root cause of war is always population pressure no matter what other factors enter in."

"But we've abolished war."

"So we have. So chaps like me get paid to stomp out brush fires before they burn the whole forest. Boys, if I tell you the rest of this, you've got to keep it to yourselves now and forever."

I don't like secrets. I'd rather owe money. You can't pay back a secret. But we promised.

"Okay. I saw the estimates the Department of Peace made on this project at the request of LRF. When the Avant-Garde was sent out, they gave her one chance in nine of returning. We've got better equipment now; they figure one chance in six for each planetary system visited. Each ship visits an average of six stars on the schedule laid out—so each ship has one chance in thirty-six of coming back. For twelve ships that means one chance in three of maybe one ship coming back. That's where you freaks come in."

"Don't call us 'freaks'!" We answered together.

" 'Freaks,' " he repeated. "And everybody is mighty glad you freaks are around, because without you the thing is impossible. Ships and crews are expendable—ships are just money and they can always find people like me with more curiosity than sense to man the ships. But while the ships are expendable, the knowledge they will gather is not expendable. Nobody at the top expects these ships to come back—but we've got to locate those earth-type planets; the human race needs them. That is what you boys are for: to report back. Then it won't matter that the ships won't come back."

"I'm not scared," I said firmly.

Pat glanced at me and looked away. I hadn't telepathed but I had told him plainly that the matter was not settled as to which one of us would go. Uncle Steve looked at me soberly and said, "I didn't expect you to be, at your age. Nor am I; I've been living on borrowed time since I was nineteen. By now I'm so convinced of my own luck that if one ship comes back, I'm sure it will be mine. But do you see why it would be silly to argue with your mother that half a set of twins is better than none? Emotionally your argument is all wrong. Go read the Parable of the Lost Sheep. You point out to your mother that one of you will be safe at home and it will simply fix her mind on the fact that the other one isn't safe and isn't home. If your Pop tries to reassure her, he is likely to stumble onto these facts—for they aren't secret, not the facts on which the statisticians based their predictions; it is just that the publicity about this project will emphasize the positive and play down the negative."

"Uncle Steve," objected Pat, "I don't see how they can be sure that most of the ships will be lost."

"They can't be sure. But these are actually optimistic assumptions based on what experience the race has had with investigating strange places. It's like this, Pat: you can be right over and over again, but when it comes to exploring strange places, the first time you guess wrong is the last guess you make. You're dead. Ever looked at the figures about it in just this one tiny solar system? Exploration is like Russian roulette; you can win and win, but if you keep on, it will kill you, certain. So don't get your parents stirred up on this phase of the matter. 1 don't mind—a man is entitled to die the way he wants to; that's one thing they haven't taxed. But there is no use in drawing attention to the fact that one of you two isn't coming back."