He scrubbed down the radar, then paused to examine the spot where he had initially cut off a few dozen samples. New ones were already burgeoning on the ferroplate left by their predecessors—little fellows with delicate glasslike shells which would soon grow and thicken, becoming incredibly tough. Whatever that silicate material was, study of it should repay Terrestrial industry. Another bonanza from the Asteroid Belt, the modern Mother Lode.

“Ha!” said Bull.

It had sounded very convincing. The proper way to exploit space was not to mine the planets, where you must grub deep in the crust to find a few stingy ore pockets, then spend fabulous amounts of energy hauling your gains home. No, the asteroids had all the minerals man would ever need, in developing his extraterrestrial colonies and on Earth herself. Freely available minerals, especially on the metallic asteroids from the core of the ancient planet. Just land and help yourself. No elaborate apparatus needed to protect you from your environment. Just the spaceship and space armor you had to have anyway. No gravitational well to back down into and climb back out of. Just a simple thrust of minimum power.

Given free access to the asteroids, even a small nation like Norway could operate in space, with all the resulting benefits to her economy, politics, and prestige. And there was the Hellik Olav, newly outfitted, with plenty of volunteers—genuine ones—for an exploratory mission and to hell with the danger.

“Ha!” repeated Bull.

He had been quite in favor of the expedition, provided somebody else went. But he was offered a berth and made the mistake of telling his girl.

* * *

“Ohhhh, Erik!” she exclaimed, enormous-eyed.

After six months in space helping to rig and test the ship, Bull could have fallen in love with the Sea Hag. However, this had not been necessary. When he had returned to Earth, swearing a mighty oath never to set foot above the stratosphere again, he met Marta. She was small and blond and deliciously shaped. She adored him right back. The only flaw he could find in her was a set of romantic notions about the starry universe and the noble Norwegian destiny therein.

“Oh, oh,” he said, recognizing the symptoms. In haste: “Don’t get ideas, now. I told you I’m a marine reclamation man, from here on forever.”

“But this, darling! This chance! To be one of the conquerors! To make your name immortal!”

“The trouble is, I’m still mortal myself.”

“The service you can do—to our country!”

“Uh, apart from everything else, do you realize that, uh, even allowing for acceleration under power for part of the distance, I’d be gone for more than two years?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“But—”

“Are you afraid, Erik?”

“Well, no. But—”

“Think of the Vikings! Think of Fridtjof Nansen! Think of Roald Amundsen!”

Bull dutifully thought of all these gentlemen. “What about them?” he asked.

But it was a light summer night, and Marta couldn’t imagine any true Norwegian refusing such a chance for deathless glory, and one thing sort of led to another. Before he recovered his wits, Bull had accepted the job.