The Man From Siykul

The Siykulans demanded pay for Myra and Steve's freedom. The price was small—merely the losing of their sanity in the spider's ray-trap.
Myra Horn awoke from her nap on the couch in the control room and looked at her husband. He was hunched over the Simplimatic 50-Button control board of their sleek Skypiercer space-launch, peering through the vision shield with a grim intensity.
Myra turned her involuntary smile into a wifely frown at his muscular back.
Steve! she said sharply. Will you stop chasing that meteor? Aren't you ever going to grow up?
Steve Horn glanced at her over his shoulder.
Hush, dear, he grinned. Papa's in the money.
Myra sat up and smoothed her satin-leather jumper. She looked again at the meteor they were pursuing. What a funny color! she exclaimed.
The Primary Color, said Steve. It's a flying goldmine. I think we're gaining on it.
What are you going to do when you catch up with it?
Lasso it, replied her husband. In half an hour, he paused impressively, —we'll be Horns of plenty.
Myra made a face at his back. Bless your heart, darling, she said. If there were another man closer than Jupiter I'd divorce you.
I'm captain here, said Steve Horn, with power of life, death and divorce. You'll do no such thing. Grab the keyboard while I trip up our quarry.