"Take those tall stories of his," he said more than once. "Betty, they don't mean a thing. Old spacedogs love to kid tenderfeet. Imagine trying to make me believe that it's dangerous out here! And all that malarkey about Captain Burgee being a pirate or something!"
They stared at Sugar Plum, at its small polar ice caps, its seas, its continents greener than Earth's, its wandering white clouds. Not many hours before, it had been only a dust mote, a pinpoint of light in the void. Now it filled half the sky. And suddenly Charles understood the immensities, the unspeakable stretches of space in which Boston had vanished.
Shivering, he wished he were home, stiffly safe in a curlicued chair, with Solomon dialing his dinner for him.
"Nice piece of property," grunted Possett around his cigar. "Too bad about—" He broke off with a shrug.
"About what?" asked Charles, alarmed.
"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if Burgee comes around and finds you'd run off with his planet."
"Burgee? He was lost out in space!"
"His kind don't stay lost. Chances are he's hiding out from the law. But it's none of my business. Just thought I'd warn you."
Charles laughed weakly. "You c-can't frighten me. I'm sure there aren't any pirates in space any more."
Possett turned to his weasel-faced mate. "Loopy, call the New Texas spaceport. Get Mac on the screen."