Robert Heinlein - The Rolling Stones

"No. If we don't find them. I'm not going back."

"Quit being a cheap hero and listen. Or give me that loop."

City Hall dropped astern until it was no longer a shape - Castor at last reluctantly gave over the watch to Pollux. His twin had been at it for perhaps ten minutes when he suddenly made motions waving them to silence even though he could not have heard them in any case. Castor spoke to him helmet to helmet. "What is it?"

"Sounded like a kid crying. Might have been Buster."

"Where?"

"I've lost it I tried to get a minimum. Now I can't raise it"

Charlie, anticipating what would be needed, had swung ship as soon as he had quit accelerating. Now he blasted back as much as he had accelerated, bringing them dead in space relative to City Hall and the node. He gave it a gentle extra bump to send them cruising slowly back the way they had come. Pollux listened, slowly swinging his loop. Castor strained his eyes, trying to see something, anything, other than the cold stars.

"Got it again!" Pollux pounded his brother.

Old Charlie killed their relative motion; waited. Pollux cautiously tried for a minimum, then swung the loop, and tried again. He pointed, indicating that it had to be one of two directions, a hundred and eighty degrees apart

"Which way?" Castor asked Charlie.

"Over that way."

"I can't see anything."

"Me neither. I got a hunch."

Castor did not argue. Either direction was equally likely.

Charlie gunned it hard in the direction he had picked, roughly toward Vega. He had hardly cut the gun and let it coast in free fall when Pollux was nodding vigorously. They coasted for some minutes, with Pollux reporting the signal stronger and the minimum sharper... but still nothing in sight Castor longed for radar. By now he could hear crying in his own phones. It could he Buster - it must b e Buster.

"There she is!"

It was Charlie's shout. Castor could not see anything, even though old Charlie pointed it out to him. At last he got it - a point of light, buried in stars. Pollux unplugged from the com­pass when it was clear that what they saw was a mass, not a star, and in the proper direction. Old Charlie handled his craft as casually as a bicycle, bringing them up to it fast and killing his headway so that they were dead with it. He insisted on making the jump himself. Lowell was too hysterical to be coherent. Seeing that he was alive and not hurt, they turned at once to Hazel. She was still strapped in her seat, eyes open, a characteristic half-smile on her face. But she neither greeted them nor answered.

Charlie looked at her and shook his head. "Not a chance, boys. She ain't even wearing an oxy bottle."

Nevertheless they hooked a bottle to her suit - Castor's bottle; no one had thought to bring a spare. The twins went back cross-connected on what was left in Pollux's bottle, temporarily Siamese twins. The family scooter they left in orbit, to he picked up and towed in by someone else. Charlie used almost all his fuel on the way back, gunning as high a speed as he dared while still saving boost to brake them at City Hall.

They shouted the news all the way back. Somewhere along the line someone picked up their signal; passed it along.

They took her into Fries' store, there being more room there. Mrs Fries pushed the twins aside and applied artificial respira­tion herself, to be displaced ten minutes later by Dr. Stone. She used the free-fall method without strapping down, placing herself behind Hazel and rhythmically squeezing her ribs with both arms.

It seemed that all of Rock City wanted to come inside. Fries chased them out, and, for the first time in history, barred the door to his store. After a while Dr. Stone swapped off with her husband, then took back the task after only a few minutes' rest

Meade was weeping silently; old Charlie was wringing his hands and looking out of place and unhappy. Dr. Stone worked with set face, her features hardened to masculine, pro­fessional lines. Lowell, his hand in Meade's was dry-eyed but distressed, not understanding, not yet knowing death. Castor's mouth was twisted, crying heavily as a man cries, the sobs wrung from him; Pollux, emotion already exhausted, was silent.

When Edith Stone relieved him, Roger Stone backed away, turned toward the others. His face was without anger but without hope. Pollux whispered, "Dad? Is she?"

Roger Stone then noticed them, came over and put an arm around Castor's heaving shoulders. "You must remember, boy, that she is very old. They don't have much comeback at her age."

Hazel's eyes opened. " Who doesn't boy?"

Hazel had used the ancient fakir's trick, brought to the west, so it is said, by an entertainer called Houdini, of breathing as shallowly as possible and going as quickly as may be into a coma. To hear her tell it, there never had been any real danger. Die? Shucks, you couldn't suffocate in a coffin in that length of time. Sure, she had had to depend on Lowell to keep up the cry for help; he used less oxygen. But deliberate suicide to save the boy? Ridiculous! There hadn't been any need to.

It was not until the next day that Roger Store called the boys in. He told them, "You did a good job on the rescue. We'll forget the technical breach of confinement to the ship."

Castor answered, "It wasn't anything. Hazel did it, really. I mean, it was an idea that we got out of her serial, the skew orbit episode."

"I must not have read that one."

"Well, it was a business about how to sort out one piece of space from another when you don't have too much data to go on. You see, Captain Sterling had to -"

"Never mind. That's not what I wanted to talk with you about, you did a good job, granted, no matter what suggested it to you. If only conventional search methods had been used, your grandmother would unquestionably now be dead. You are two very intelligent men - when you take the trouble. But you didn't take the trouble soon enough. Not about the gyros."

"But Dad, we never dreamed -"

"Enough." He reached for his waist; the twins noticed that he was wearing an old-fashioned piece of apparel - a leather belt. He took it off. "This belonged to your great grandfather. He left it to your grandfather - who in turn left it to me. I don't know how far back it goes - but you might say that the Stone family was founded on it." He doubled it and tried it on the palm of his hand. "All of us, all the way back, have very tender memories of it. Very tender. Except you two." He again whacked his palm with it.

Castor said, "You mean you're going to beat us with that?"

"Have you any reason to offer why I shouldn't?"

Castor looked at Pollux, sighed and moved forward, I'll go first, I'm the older."

Roger moved to a drawer, put the belt inside. "I should have used it ten years ago." He closed the drawer. "It's too late, now."

"Aren't you going to do it?"

"I never said I was going to. No."

The twins swapped glances. Castor went on. "Dad - Captain. We'd rather you did."

Pollux added quickly, "Much rather."

"I know you would. That way you'd be through with it. But instead you're going to have to live with it. That's the way adults have to do it."

"But Dad -"

"Go to your quarters, sir."

When it was timefor the Rolling Stone to leave for Ceres a good proportion of the community crowded into City Hall to bid the doctor and her family good-by; all the rest were hooked in by radio, a full town meeting. Mayor Fries made a speech and presented them with a scroll which made them all honorary citizens of Rock City, now and forever; Roger Stone tried to answer and choked up. Old Charlie, freshly bathed, cried openly. Meade sang one more time into the microphone, her soft contralto unmixed this time with commercialism. Ten minutes later the Stone drifted out-orbit and back.