the ladder. Agile as goats and probably as
sensible, he thought. He took hold of her as she neared the top.

"Grandma, you're too old to climb around. You'll break every brittle
bone in your body if you fall."

"Ain't so brittle," said Amantha, making way for Ethan who had followed
her. "My, it's cold!" She began shivering. "Invite us in to get warm."

"You can't go in. I'm busy. Hey, wait!" The pilot hurried after her into
the control compartment.

Amantha was looking around when he arrived. "Cozy but kind of bare," she
said. "Why don't you hang up pictures?"

"Most fabulous pictures you'll ever see are right there."

Amantha followed his glance. "Nothing but Mars. I can see that every
day." She puzzled over it. "Oh, you're teasing an old woman. I didn't
mean what you see out of the port, stars and planets and such. I'd want
a picture of an Indian settin' on a horse."

"I'll bet!" muttered the pilot. "Get warm in a hurry. I've got work to
do."

"You just go ahead," she said. "We'll set here and toast our toes. We
don't aim to interfere."

"I'll stay," said the pilot hastily. "Let's have the present." He'd made
a tactical error--he should have ignored the noise that went shimmering
through the hull when the old man had pounded with a rock. No, it was
nice to think he could have, but impossible. Patience was one of the
things the aged did have and the young didn't.

Amantha set the package down. The pilot scrambled ahead of her and got
the navigator's instruments off the desk and into the drawer.

She opened and displayed the contents.

"I baked it for you," she said. "It's a cake."

* * * * *

He could see what it was. "Hate cake," he said. "Can't eat it."

"You'll eat this. Canalberry shortcake."

"Canalberry?" he asked, wrinkling his face. He smelled it and changed
expressions in the middle of a wrinkle. Resolutely, he turned away from
it and saw Ethan clearly, perhaps for the first time. It was the old man
who had tried to bribe him a few days ago. They weren't as innocent as
they seemed. What were they trying to do?

"Ain't you even going to taste it?" she urged.

He shuddered suspiciously. It smelled good, though he had told the truth
about hating the stuff. Under other circumstances, he might have nibbled
at a piece for politeness' sake.

"Can't. Doctor's orders."

"Diabetic? Didn't think they let them in space-service," said Amantha.
"Funny, it's the same wi