Dad finally put the contract down and Charity grabbed it. Dad took it from her and passed it over to Mother. Then he said, "Boys, this contract looks so favorable that I suspect there must be a catch. Tomorrow morning I'm going to get hold of Judge Holland and ask him to go over it with me. But if I read it correctly, you are being offered all these benefits-and an extravagant salary-provided one of you makes one voyage in the Lewis and Clark."

Uncle Steve said suddenly, "The Lewis and Clark, Bruce?"

"The Lewis and Clark, or such sister ship as may be designated. Why? You know the ship, Steve?"

Uncle Steve got poker-faced and answered, "I've never been in her. New ship, I understand. Well equipped."

"I'm glad to hear it." Dad looked at Mum. "Well, Molly?"

Mother did not answer. She was reading the contract and steadily getting whiter. Uncle Steve caught my eye and shook his head very slightly. I said to Pat, ("Uncle Steve has spotted the catch in it.")

"He won't hinder. "

Mother looked up at last and spoke to Dad in a high voice. "I suppose you are going to consent?" She sounded sick. She put down the contract and Charity grabbed it again just as Hope grabbed it from the other side. It ended with our brother-in-law Frank Dubois holding it while everybody else read over his shoulders.

"Now, my dear," Dad said mildly, "remember that boys do grow up. I would like to keep the family together forever—but it can't be that way and you know it."

"Bruce, you promised that they would not go out into space."

Her brother shot her a glance—his chest was covered with ribbons he had won in space. But Dad went on just as mildly. "Not quite, dear. I promised you that I would not consent to minority enlistment in the peace forces; I want them to finish school and I did not want you upset. But this is another matter... and, if we refuse, it won't be long before they can enlist whether we like it or not."

Mother turned to Uncle Steve and said bitterly, "Stephen, you put this idea in their heads."

He looked annoyed then answered as gently as Dad.

"Take it easy, Sis. I've been away; you can't pin this on me. Anyhow, you don't put ideas in boys' heads; they grow them naturally."

Frank Dubois cleared his throat and said loudly, "Since this seems to be a family conference, no doubt you would like my opinion."

I said, to Pat only, ('Nobody asked your opinion, you lard head!")

Pat answered, "Let him talk. He's our secret weapon, maybe."

"If you want the considered judgment of an experienced businessman, this so-called contract is either a practical joke or a proposition so preposterous as to be treated with contempt. I understand that the twins are supposed to have some freak talent—although I've seen no evidence of it—but the idea of paying them more than a man receives in his mature years, well, it's just not the right way to raise boys. If they were sons of mine, I would forbid it. Of course, they're not—"

"No, they're not," Dad agreed.

Frank looked sharply at him. "Was that sarcasm, Father Bartlett? I'm merely trying to help. But as I told you the other day, if the twins will go to some good business school and work hard, I'd find a place for them in the bakery. If they make good, there is no reason why they should not do as well as I have done." Frank was his father's junior partner in an automated bakery; he always managed to let people know how much money he made. "But as for this notion of going out into space, I've always said that if a man expects to make anything of himself, he should stay home and work. Excuse me, Steve."

Uncle Steve said woodenly, "I'd be glad to excuse you."

"Eh?"

"Forget it, forget it. You stay out of space and I'll promise not to bake any bread. By the way, there's flour on your lapel."

Frank glanced down hastily. Faith brushed at his jacket and said, "Why, that's just powder."

"Of course it is," Frank agreed, brushing at it himself. "I'll have you know, Steve, that I'm usually much too busy to go down on the processing floor. I'm hardly ever out of the office."

"So I suspected."

Frank decided that he and Faith were late for another appointment and got up to go, when Dad stopped them.

"Frank? What was that about my boys being freaks?"

"What? I never said anything of the sort."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They left in a sticky silence, except that Pat was humming silently and loudly the March of the Gladiators. "We've got it won, kid!"

It seemed so to me, too-but Pat had to press our luck. He picked up the contract. "Then it's okay, Dad?"

"Mmm... I want to consult Judge Holland—and I'm not speaking for your mother." That did not worry us; Mum wouldn't hold out if Dad agreed, especially not with Uncle Steve around. "But you could say that the matter has not been disapproved." He frowned. "By the way, there is no time limit mentioned in there."

Uncle Steve fielded that one for us; "That's customary on a commercial ship, Bruce... which is what this is, legally. You sign on for the voyage, home planet to home planet."

"Uh, no doubt. But didn't they give you some idea, boys?"

I heard Pat moan, "There goes the ball game. What'll we tell him, Tom" Dad waited and Uncle Steve eyed us.

Finally Uncle Steve said, "Better speak up, boys. Perhaps I should have mentioned that I'm trying to get a billet on one of those ships myself—special discharge and such. So I know."

Pat muttered something. Dad said sharply, "Speak up, son."

"They told us the voyage would probably last... about a century."

Mum fainted and Uncle Steve caught her and everybody rushed around with cold compresses getting in each other's way and we were all upset. Once she pulled out of it Uncle Steve said to Dad, "Bruce? I'm going to take the boys out and buy them a tall, strong sarsaparilla and get them out from under foot. You won't want to talk tonight anyhow."

Dad agreed absently that it was a good. idea. I guess Dad loved all of us; nevertheless, when the chips were down, nobody counted but Mother.

Uncle Steve took us to a place where be could get something more to his taste than sarsaparilla, then vetoed it when Pat tried to order beer. "Don't try to show off, youngster. You are not going to put me in the position of serving liquor to my sister's kids."

"Beer can't hurt you."

"So? I'm still looking for the bloke who told me it was a soft drink. I'm going to beat him to a pulp with a stein. Pipe down." So we picked soft drinks and he drank some horrible mixture he called a Martian shandy and we talked about Project Lebensraum. He knew more about it than we did even though no press release had been made until that day—I suppose the fact that he had been assigned to the Chief of Staff's office had something to do with it, but he did not say.

Presently Pat looked worried and said, "See here, Uncle Steve, is there any chance that they will let us? Or should Tom and I just forget it?"

"Eh? Of course they are going to let you do it."

"Huh? It didn't look like it tonight. If I know Dad, he would skin us for rugs rather than make Mum unhappy."

"No doubt. And a good idea. But believe me, boys, this is in the bag... provided you use the right arguments."

"Which is?"

"Mmm... boys, being a staff rating, I've served with a lot of high brass. When you are right and a general is wrong, there is only one way to get him to change his mind. You shut up and don't argue. You let the facts speak for themselves and give him time to figure out a logical reason for reversing himself."

Pat looked unconvinced; Uncle Steve went on, "Believe me. Your pop is a reasonable man and, while your mother is not, she would rather be hurt herself than make anybody she loves unhappy. That contract is all in your favor and they can't refuse—provided you give them time to adjust to the idea. But if you tease and bulldoze and argue the way you usually do, you'll get them united against you."