The airlock door swung inward. Through the oval doorway walked Fred, followed closely by Junior. They were sweat-stained and weary, scintillation counters dangling heavily from their belts.
"Any luck?" Reba asked brightly.
"Do we look it?" Junior grumbled.
"Where's Joyce?" asked Fred. "Might as well get everybody in on this at once. Joyce!"
The door to his wife's room opened instantly. Behind it, Joyce was regal and slim. The pose was spoiled immediately by her avid question: "Any uranium? Radium? Thorium?"
"No," Fred said slowly, "and no other heavy metals, either. There's a few low-grade iron deposits and that's it."
"Then what makes this planet so heavy?" Reba asked.
Junior shrugged helplessly and collapsed into a chair. "Your guess is as good as anybody's."
"Then we've wasted another week on a worthless rock," Joyce complained. She turned savagely on Fred. "This was going to make us all filthy rich. We were going to find radioactives and retire to Earth like billionaires. And all we've done is spent a year of our lives in this cramped old flivver—and we don't have many of them to spare!" She glared venomously at Grampa.
"We've still got Fweepland," Four said solemnly.