Steve picked himself off the floor, where the sudden swerve of the ship had thrown him. He joined his wife at the shield. The meteor was twisting and turning like a thing demented. The Skypiercer, in its magnetic grasp, followed the crazy course helplessly.
Steve looked very wise. "Something's wrong. I have a hunch it isn't a meteor."
"Hear! Hear!" applauded Myra. "First it isn't a goldmine. Now it isn't a meteor. What won't it be next, my profound husband?"
Steve ignored her. He cut off the Retarderockets. "Save fuel, anyway," he said.
There was another cessation of sound.
The Horns looked at each other in astonishment. They were slowing down! The meteor drifted slowly through space—then stopped.
"Everything," said Myra softly, "is all wacked up. Where is the physics of yesteryear?"
Steve was staring open mouthed at the gold colored piece of rock. "Little demons!" he breathed. "It's turning around. It wants to say hello. Isn't that nice! Pad a cell for me, old fruitcake, I feel a spasm coming on."
The "meteor" described a wide arc that brought it to the side of the Horns' ship, now halted in space. It circled them a few times; then stopped and bobbed up and down in a friendly manner.
"It wants to play," said Steve wearily. "Go shake hands with it."