George still wanted me to go back to Earth to finish my education and I had been toying with the idea myself. I was beginning to realize that there were a few things I hadn’t learned. The idea was attractive; it would not be like going back right after the quake, tail between my legs. I’d be a property owner, paying my own way. The fare was considerable—five acres—and would about clean me out, my half, and put a load on George and Molly. But they were both for it.
Besides, Dad owned blocked assets back Earthside which would pay my way through school. They were no use to him otherwise; the only thing the Commission will accept as pay for imports is proved land. There was even a possibility, if the council won a suit pending back Earthside, that his blocked assets could be used for my fare as well and not cost us a square foot of improved soil. All in all, it was nothing to turn down idly.
We were talking about me leaving on the New Ark when another matter came up—the planetary survey.
Ganymede had to have settlements other than Leda; that was evident even when we landed. The Commission planned to set up two more ports-of-entry near the two new power stations and let the place grow from three centers. The present colonists were to build the new towns—receiving stations, hydroponics sheds, infirmaries, and so forth—and be paid for it in imports. Immigration would be stepped up accordingly, something that the Commission was very anxious to do, now that they had the ships to dump them in on us in quantity.
The old Jitterbug was about to take pioneer parties out to select sites and make plans—and both Hank and Sergei were going.
I wanted to go so bad I could taste it In the whole time I had been here I had never gotten fifty miles from Leda. Suppose somebody asked me what it was like on Ganymede when I got back on Earth? Truthfully, I wouldn’t be able to tell them; I hadn’t been any place.
I had had a chance, once, to make a trip to Barnard’s Moon, as a temporary employee of Project Jove—and that hadn’t worked out either. The twins. I stayed back and took care of the farm.
I talked it over with Dad.
“I hate to see you delay it any longer,” he said seriously. I pointed out that it would be only two months.
“Hmmm—” he said. “Have you taken your merit badge tests yet?”
He knew I hadn’t; I changed the subject by pointing out that Sergei and Hank were going.
“But they are both older than you are,” he answered.
“Not by very much!”
“But I think they are each over the age limit they were looking for—and you are just under.”
“Look, George,” I protested, “rules were made to be broken. I’ve heard you say that There must be some spot I can fill—cook, maybe.”
And that’s just the job I got—cook.
I always have been a pretty fair cook—not in Mama Schultz’s class, but good. The party had nothing to complain about on that score.
Captain Hattie put us down at a selected spot nine degrees north of the equator and longitude 113 west—that is to say, just out of sight of Jupiter on the far side and about thirty-one hundred miles from Leda. Mr. Hooker says that the average temperature of Ganymede will rise about nine degrees over the next century as more and more of the ancient ice melts—at which time Leda will be semi-tropical and the planet will be habitable half way to the poles. In the meantime colonies would be planted only at or near the equator.
I was sorry we had Captain Hattie as pilot; she is such an insufferable old scold. She thinks rocket pilots are a special race apart—supermen. At least she acts like it. Recently the Commission had forced her to take a relief pilot; there was just too much for one pilot to do. They had tried to force a check pilot on her, too—an indirect way to lead up to retiring her, but she was too tough for them. She threatened to take the Jitterbug up and crash it … and they didn’t dare call her bluff. At that time they were absolutely dependent on the Jitterbug.