"We've been close to the stuff several times for about as long as it'd take," Jak added, "and it doesn't seem to have hurt us any."
"Kind of a large box, isn't it?" Mr. Carver asked quizzically. "Might be sort of heavy."
The boys flushed, and Jon picked up his slide rule and did some quick figuring. Then he announced, crestfallen, "Great mackerel, I sure went off half-baked that time. OK, I'll take the ship up and bring it down closer."
"That's mighty delicate maneuvering." His mother looked at him in astonishment. "Sure you can do it?"
Jon shrugged. "If I can't the first time, I'll try again."
His father had to smile at the boy's confidence in himself, but he merely said, "This I've got to watch."
Assured everyone was safely strapped in, Jon started the tubes firing, raised the ship into the air—watching his plate closely as he circled about—then came down again ... right beside and not over five feet from port-lock to box.
"That's perfect," his father cried delightedly, watching in his plate. "You're sure getting to be an expert pilot, Son."
"And you're getting too excited and too tired from all this, Tad," Mrs. Carver said determinedly. "We'll have no more of it today. You boys go into the living room, and you, Mr. C., relax and take a nap. We can't have you getting sick again."
The boys started to protest but their father grinned. "Our mistress' voice, Boys. And she's right, I was trying too much. We're not in that big a hurry. Jon, you and Jak go make a box to hold our specimen."