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anyone caught the fiercely proud old man off guard. But this was one of the times, and Pete was a little shaken at what he saw. Stripped of its perpetual scowl of defiance and with the keen eyes closed, Joe Mason presented a different image: that of a hurt, tired man against whom stubborn, relentless time was winning its battle.
    The cheeks were sunken and there was a pallid cast to the skin that had braved the harsh and frigid reaches of space for so many years. The deep lines Pete had known for so long were even deeper now, showing the extent of his father’s suffering since the accident; suffering the old man would have died from rather than admit to.
    After studying his father’s face for awhile, Pete laid a hand on his shoulder.
    â€œDad…”
    Joe Mason’s eyes snapped open and he instantly replaced the mask that had dropped away during sleep.
    â€œOh—Pete. I was resting my eyes a little, waiting for you to come in.”
    â€œI overslept, I’m afraid.”
    â€œI told Betcha not to wake you up. You’re still a growing lad and you need your rest. Here—push this blasted cast so I can sit up.”
    Pete helped his father into a sitting position. He fully expected a cross-examination as to the previous night’s meeting. So he was surprised when his father sat silent for a time, scowling at the wall behind the foot of the bed. Then he suddenly turned his piercing eyes on his son.
    â€œPete. I want you to go out prospecting.”
    â€œProspecting? Why, Dad, I thought we had some good claims that were just waiting—”
    The old man shook his head impatiently. “Not exactly—not exactly. Oh, if we had a full crew and I was on my feet, we could pay the time and cost of working them, but the way things are, we need a richer strike.” He’d looked away, but now he glanced quickly back. “We’re in no danger of violating the Brotherhood Code. The returns, even if we worked them, would be low enough to justify abandonment. So we’ll hold them in reserve for a while, and I want you to go out and hit a big one for us.”
    â€œWhy, sure, Dad. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
    â€œCopper prices are good. Hit a nice vein somewhere, and we’ll have money to burn.”
    Pete grinned and hooked his fist across his father’s chin in the old man’s favorite gesture of affection. “Sure, Dad. Just watch me. In a couple of days I’ll come in here and report the biggest strike since Crazy Carter claimed that derelict ship filled with platinum bars.”
    He was referring to a fabulous Belt incident that had long since become legendary—a miner who’d become a millionaire on a single salvage operation.
    â€œYou do that, son,” Joe Mason said.
    â€œIn the meantime, you just lie there and get well and plan what we’ll do with the money.”
    Pete’s smile vanished as he left the bedroom. He passed up breakfast, stowing some dry provender into his monocar, and as he took off into the Belt, his spirits were low.
    He moved with the stream and rode comfortably along, thoroughly at home in a world that would have terrorized the native of a solid planet.
    An asteroid the size of a football floated along just ahead. Pete approached it, nuzzled it aside with the nose of his monocar, and watched it drift astern.
    A larger, more jagged remnant drew alongside and turned itself over for Pete’s inspection. It showed clear traces of silver, but unless Pete could discover a larger chunk—the mother asteroid off which it had been broken in collision—it was not worth bothering with.
    He was approaching a cluster up ahead, so he nosed left to avoid it and came back on his arbitrary course at the cluster’s forward end.
    He cruised on. In the temporary lethargy of his low spirits brought on by worry over his father, he ignored the surrounding stream other than to avoid collision, and