"Tonic, boy. Keeps me young and frisky. Now about that pircuit—"
"Did you ever work on Niccolò Tartaglia's puzzle about the three lovely brides, the three jealous husbands, the river and the two-passenger rowboat?"
"Yep," Grampa said. "Too easy."
Four thought a moment. "There's a modern variation with three missionaries and three cannibals. Same river, same rowboat and only one of the cannibals can row. If the cannibals outnumber the missionaries—"
"Sounds good, boy," Grampa said eagerly. "Whip it up for me."
"Okay, Grampa." Four looked at Fweep again. The translucent sphere had paused at Grampa's feet.
Grampa reached down to pat it. For an instant, his hand disappeared into Fweep, and then the alien creature rolled away. This time its path seemed crooked.
Its gelatinous form jiggled. "Hic!" it said.
As if in response, the flivver vibrated. Grampa looked querulously toward the airlock. "Flivver shouldn't shake like that. Not with the polarizer turned on."