"Sure, Daddy," Four said promptly, and he took his father's place at the keyboard. After a few moments, he began to frown, then detached a front panel. He started sorting through the maze of wires and electronic components.
Grampa watched him with a wary eye.
Joyce was unable to restrain herself any longer. "The way you people talk, a person would think we were never going to leave this godforsaken, miserable, uncivilized planet."
"That seems to be the general idea," Grampa chuckled, enjoying her dismay.
"Unless we can build a reaction rocket ship to push us out of Fweep's range," Fred said glumly.
"We've got the iron ore!" Junior put in eagerly.
Grampa snorted. "Come on, use your brains. You'd have to build a ship; these flivvers weren't built for the stresses of reaction flight. By the time you've solved all the problems of motors and alloys and rocket-tube linings, fuel, ship construction, personnel protection, and all the rest of it, this planet would be another Detroit and your great-great-great-grandchildren would be living in it. You couldn't build a blast furnace even if you had the complete Congressional microfilm library! You'd do better trying to figure out how Fweep does what he does and doing some practicing on that."
"Well," Junior said peevishly, "trying to get away is better than sitting here talking about it."
Reba stared thoughtfully at Junior and said, "Maybe Fweep would go with us."
"Yes!" Joyce said excitedly. "Maybe the dear little thing would go with us. That would solve everything!"