Picnic

ILLUSTRATED BY EBERLE
Burt was tired of taking his family out to the asteroids for a picnic every week-end. But with a wife and two spoiled brats to goad him into the regular routine, what could a man do? Only, as it turned out, this particular picnic wasn't quite regular routine!
Burt reached out for the stud that would fire the fore-rockets, but a small white hand already rested on the button.
Let me, Daddy. You promised—
When he wanted something, Johnny's voice took on that wailing quality. He wanted something now; Burt had promised him that he could land the ship.
Okay, Burt said. Press it—now. Now!
Johnny took his hand off the stud. Don't holler at me , he told his father severely.
Burt swore under his breath and jammed down on the stud. A red light overhead winked on and off furiously, and he knew that if he had waited another moment they would have plowed into the asteroid like a battering ram into a tub of soft butter.
Marcia, oh Marcia! he turned and called over his shoulder to his wife.
She stuck her head in through the galley door. Dear, she said, let me make these sandwiches, will you? I don't tell you how to pilot the ship, but I'll never get this lunch all packed unless you let me alone.
Burt scowled. That's the general idea. I want to be let alone, too. So if you'll just take your darling little son the devil out of here—
Why, Burt Rogers! Johnny's only eight, and he's quite harmless. If I had known ten years ago that you didn't like children—