"Well, now," Grampa blustered, "the goldarn thing wouldn't work, would it? We didn't need it—not with Four around. He figures everything out in his head and we just used Abacus to sort of check him. Ain't that right now?"
Five pairs of eyes stared at him in silence.
"Well, now," Grampa said defensively, "I got it all worked out anyhow. We can leave here any time we get ready."
The land of the Fweep turned and grew small in the view screen, and Junior sat in the pilot's chair, his hand on the control stick, his eyes fixed on the moving dials in front of him.
There were three others in the room: Reba, who looked at the dwindling Fweepland and sighed; Joyce, who sat tautly in her chair, her face fixed and unbelieving; and Fred, who looked at Joyce and shook his head.
Grampa opened the door to his room and stepped cockily into the central cabin, shutting the door behind him. "Well?" he demanded confidently. "Are we heading for Earth?"
Junior gestured toward the screen. "If Four's coordinates are right."
"Speaking of coordinates," Grampa said briskly, "make sure we got the coordinates of Fweepland. It'll take a long time for that atmosphere to dissipate. A nice little world like that is worth its weight in uranium to a good real estate salesman."
"How did you do it?" Joyce challenged.