Like hell.
In the kitchen, Althea was whipping food with mechanisms. Her mother sat with one withered ear to the latest audio drama. They glanced up, pleased.
"Darling, so early!" she cried, kissing him. "How's the Rocket?" piped mother-in-law. "My, I bet you're proud!"
Stanley said nothing.
"Just imagine." The old woman's eyes glowed like little bulbs. "Soon we'll breakfast in New York and supper on Mars!"
Stanley watched her for a long moment, then turned hopefully to Althea. "What do you think?"
She sensed a trap. "Well, it would be different, wouldn't it, vacationing our summers on Venus, winters on Mars—wouldn't it?"
"Oh, good Lord," he groaned. He shut his eyes and pounded the table, softly. "Good Lord."
"Now, what's wrong. What did I say?" demanded Althea, bewildered.
He told them about his order preventing the flight.