"They eloped; left a note; took the Relay Girl unbeknownst to all and sundry. Left their damned note right where the Relay Girl's landing space was."
"Well I'll be—"
Chuck's voice came in. "He probably will," he observed. "And you know, when I think of spending Eternity with my brother, it's enough to make a guy spend an exemplary life in the hope of going to Heaven so we can be apart. But I've got another guy here that might be interested."
"Hello, Channing?"
"Well if it ain't Keg Johnson. Own Mars yet?"
"No, but I'm darned interested in this coupled-crystal gadget of yours. Mind if I bring Linna out for a few days?"
"Come ahead. Coming on Anopheles?" asked Don.
Keg Johnson laughed. "Not a chance, Don. I own a spaceline, remember? And not wanting to cast disparagement at your type of genius, but I'll prefer riding in style at two gravities instead of blatting all over the sky at five, ducking meters and festoons of cable; eating canned beans off a relay-rack shelf standing up; and waking up in the morning to the tune of Chuck Thomas carving a hole through the bedroom wall to make a straight-line half-wave dipole that won't quite fit in otherwise."
"I'd send the Relay Girl," said Don, "but it seems as how my old side-kick, Walt Franks, swiped it to locate a justice of the peace in the company of a young and impressionable gal named Christine."
"Nuts?"