The Rolling Stones Read Online Free PDF Page B

power room hatch. Her expression seemed to say that she had whiffed a very bad odor. Mr. Stone said, “What’s the trouble, Hazel? Power plant on the blink?”
    “‘On the blink,’ he says! Why, I wouldn’t lift this clunker at two gravities.”
    “What’s the matter with it?”
    “I never saw a more disgracefully abused—No, I won’t tell you. Inspect it yourself; you don’t trust my engineering ability.”
    “Now see here, Hazel, I’ve never told you I don’t trust your engineering.”
    “No, but you don’t. Don’t try to sweet-talk me; I know. So check the power room yourself. Pretend I haven’t seen it.”
    Her son turned away and headed for the outer door, saying huffily, “I’ve never suggested that you did not know power plants. If you are talking about that Gantry design, that was ten years ago; by now you should have forgiven me for being right about it.”
    To the surprise of the twins Hazel did not continue the argument but followed her son docilely into the air lock. Mr. Stone started down the rope ladder; Castor pulled his grandmother aside, switched off both her radio and his and pushed his helmet into contact with hers so that he might speak with her in private. “Hazel, what was wrong with the power plant? Pol and I went through this ship last week—I didn’t spot anything too bad.”
    Hazel looked at him pityingly. “You’ve been losing sleep lately? It’s obvious—only four couches.”
    “Oh.” Castor switched on his radio and silently followed his brother and father to the ground.
    Etched on the stern of the next ship they visited was Cherub, Roma, Terra, and she actually was of the Carlotti Motors Angel series, though she resembled very little the giant Archangels. She was short—barely a hundred fifty feet high—and slender, and she was at least twenty years old. Mr. Stone had been reluctant to inspect her. “She’s too big for us,” he protested, “and I’m not looking for a cargo ship.”
    “Too big how?” Hazel asked. “‘Too big’ is a financial term, not a matter of size. And with her cargo hold empty, think how lively she’ll be. I like a ship that jumps when I twist its tail—and so do you.”
    “Mmmm, yes,” he admitted. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t cost anything to look her over.”
    “You’re talking saner every day, son.” Hazel reached for the rope ladder.
    The ship was old and old-fashioned and she had plied many a lonely million miles of space, but, thanks to the preservative qualities of the Moon’s airless waste, she had not grown older since the last time her jets had blasted. She had simply slumbered timelessly, waiting for someone to come along and appreciate her sleeping beauty. Her air had been salvaged; there was no dust in her compartments. Many of her auxiliary fittings had been stripped and sold, but she herself was bright and clean and spaceworthy.
    The light Hazel could see in her son’s eyes she judged to be love at first sight. She hung back and signaled the twins to keep quiet. The open airlock had let them into the living quarters; a galley-saloon, two little staterooms, and a bunkroom. The control room was separate, above them, and was a combined conn & comm. Roger Stone immediately climbed up into it.
    Below the quarters was the cargo space and below that the power room. The little ship was a passenger-carrying freighter, or conversely a passenger ship with cargo space; it was this dual nature which had landed her, an unwanted orphan, in Dealer Dan’s second-hand lot. Too slow when carrying cargo to compete with the express liners, she could carry too few passengers to make money without a load of freight. Although of sound construction she did not fit into the fiercely competitive business world.
    The twins elected to go on down into the power room. Hazel poked around the living quarters, nodded approvingly at the galley, finally climbed up into the control room. There she found her son stretched out in the pilot’s