g Johnny's family could have expected. It was a small planet,
entirely covered by salt. Even inside the port bubble with its
duplication of Earth atmosphere, the salt lay like a permanent snow
scene. Actually it was little more than a way station along the space
route out in that direction, and Johnny's problems were little more
than the problems of a professional host at some obscure resort. But
no doubt his dad spoke pridefully of "My son, a planet administrator,"
and when I called on the family to tell them I'd visited their son, I
wouldn't be one to snitch.

There was doubt in my mind that even Johnny's ambition could make the
planet into anything more than it was already. It had nothing we
wanted, or at least was worth the space freight it would cost to ship
it. The natives had never given us any trouble, and, up until now, we
hadn't given them any. So Earth's brand upon it was simply a small
bubble enclosing a landing field, a hangar for checkup and repair of
ships requiring an emergency landing, some barracks for the men and
women of the port personnel, a small hotel to house stranded space
passengers while repairs were made to their ship, or stray V.I.P.'s.

A small administration building flying Federated Earth flag, and a
warehouse to contain supplies, which had to be shipped in, completed
the installation. The planet furnished man nothing but water pumped
from deep in the rock strata beneath the salt, and even that had to be
treated to remove enough of the saline content to make it usable. At
the time, I didn't know what the natives, outside our bubble, lived
on. The decision to come had been a sudden one, and I hadn't had more
than enough time to call the State Department to find out who the
planet administrator might be.

I was first out of the yacht and down the landing steps to the salt
covered ground. Aunt Mattie was still busy giving her ship captain his
instructions, and possibly inspecting the crew's teeth to see if
they'd brushed them this morning. The two members of her special
committee of the D.T.'s who'd come along, a Miss Point and a Mrs.
Waddle, naturally would be standing at her sides, and a half pace to
the rear, to be of assistance should she need them in dealing with
males.

There was a certain stiff formality in the way McCabe, flanked by his
own two selected subordinates, approached the ship--until I turned
around at the foot of the steps and he recognized me.

"Hap!" he yelled, the