variations in orbital parameters—even something as slight as the pressure of sunlight—will cause them to spread out over many miles."
"Swift Enterprises must not be allowed to get a reputation for untidiness," said Bashalli. "Nor do you wish to have loose shingles from this space-house falling on someone’s head!"
During the laughter and joking that followed, Tom noticed that his mother was looking at his dinner plate. He had eaten little at dinner. Sandy also noticed this—a major departure from Tom’s usual heroic appetite, which he shared with Bud. Both Anne and Sandy Swift knew the signs of too much concentrated work.
"Don’t you think you’re overdoing a bit, Tom?" Mrs. Swift suggested gently. "If only you’d take a short vacation, I’m sure you’d feel much better—and get on with your work faster, too."
"I’d like to, Momsy, but I just can’t break away," he said.
"But Tom," Sandy spoke up, "a vacation needn’t mean twiddling your thumbs or wasting time!" She rounded the table to drop on a hassock beside his chair. "You could use your vacation to help your space station project."
"Just how would I do that?" her brother inquired. smiling doubtfully.
"By flying to Florida with three wonderful, stimulating young people—who are all in this room!—and lying on a sandy beach absorbing, er— solar radiation. It will free up your mind and give you a new perspective."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And why Florida, in particular?"
"Because it’s going to be snowing here, and that’s where people go. And besides—" Sandy held up a handwritten letter. "We just got an invitation to spend a few days with the Lawsons."
The Lawsons, a retired elderly couple, were longtime friends of the Swift family. They now lived in a large waterfront house on the southwest coast of Florida, at the edge of the Everglades.
"Oh, Tom, please say yes!" Bashalli urged. "We could have so much fun. And truly, I had enough of snow and ice when we all flew up to Alaska."
Tom was greatly tempted by Sandy’s suggestion about combining work and play—and by the thought of having frequent dips in the warm blue waters around the Ten Thousand Islands region of southern Florida. Finally he let himself be persuaded.
"Do you think it’d be all right, Dad?" he asked.
"You seem to come up with some of your best insights away from the office and the lab," answered Damon Swift with a smile. "I suppose I can substitute for my genius offspring for a few days!"
The girls cheered, but Bud pretended to object. "Hey, I don’t recall anybody asking me what I think! Let’s see, on the one hand gray skies, snow, slush, and chapped lips; on the other hand sun, sand, ocean breezes, swim trunks…Let me think it over." Sandy grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at him.
Two days later the foursome took off southward in a Swift Construction Company commuter jet, Bud on the stick. Winging their way out of Shopton and gaining altitude, they sighted another of the silver experimental balloons carrying a payload that suggested solar battery development. Describing the prior encounter, Bud was laughingly giving it a wide berth when Tom’s sister cried out, "Look! It happened again!" All eyes turned to see the balloon disintegrate in shreds and the tiny parachute start earthward with its cargo of instruments.
"Oh, brother!" Bud exclaimed. "That one didn’t even make the stratosphere! What do you suppose they’re up to?" The question was addressed to Tom, but the young inventor barely acknowledged it, and Bud did not repeat himself. He knew his friend was gamely struggling with his inner fears and tensions.
In surprisingly little time they were crossing the long green Florida peninsula. Sandy, an excellent pilot trained by Tom and Bud, asked to take over the controls, finally bringing the jetcraft down to a smooth landing at the international airport near the seaside town on Gullivan Bay where the Lawsons lived. The spry, silver-haired
"Swift Enterprises must not be allowed to get a reputation for untidiness," said Bashalli. "Nor do you wish to have loose shingles from this space-house falling on someone’s head!"
During the laughter and joking that followed, Tom noticed that his mother was looking at his dinner plate. He had eaten little at dinner. Sandy also noticed this—a major departure from Tom’s usual heroic appetite, which he shared with Bud. Both Anne and Sandy Swift knew the signs of too much concentrated work.
"Don’t you think you’re overdoing a bit, Tom?" Mrs. Swift suggested gently. "If only you’d take a short vacation, I’m sure you’d feel much better—and get on with your work faster, too."
"I’d like to, Momsy, but I just can’t break away," he said.
"But Tom," Sandy spoke up, "a vacation needn’t mean twiddling your thumbs or wasting time!" She rounded the table to drop on a hassock beside his chair. "You could use your vacation to help your space station project."
"Just how would I do that?" her brother inquired. smiling doubtfully.
"By flying to Florida with three wonderful, stimulating young people—who are all in this room!—and lying on a sandy beach absorbing, er— solar radiation. It will free up your mind and give you a new perspective."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And why Florida, in particular?"
"Because it’s going to be snowing here, and that’s where people go. And besides—" Sandy held up a handwritten letter. "We just got an invitation to spend a few days with the Lawsons."
The Lawsons, a retired elderly couple, were longtime friends of the Swift family. They now lived in a large waterfront house on the southwest coast of Florida, at the edge of the Everglades.
"Oh, Tom, please say yes!" Bashalli urged. "We could have so much fun. And truly, I had enough of snow and ice when we all flew up to Alaska."
Tom was greatly tempted by Sandy’s suggestion about combining work and play—and by the thought of having frequent dips in the warm blue waters around the Ten Thousand Islands region of southern Florida. Finally he let himself be persuaded.
"Do you think it’d be all right, Dad?" he asked.
"You seem to come up with some of your best insights away from the office and the lab," answered Damon Swift with a smile. "I suppose I can substitute for my genius offspring for a few days!"
The girls cheered, but Bud pretended to object. "Hey, I don’t recall anybody asking me what I think! Let’s see, on the one hand gray skies, snow, slush, and chapped lips; on the other hand sun, sand, ocean breezes, swim trunks…Let me think it over." Sandy grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at him.
Two days later the foursome took off southward in a Swift Construction Company commuter jet, Bud on the stick. Winging their way out of Shopton and gaining altitude, they sighted another of the silver experimental balloons carrying a payload that suggested solar battery development. Describing the prior encounter, Bud was laughingly giving it a wide berth when Tom’s sister cried out, "Look! It happened again!" All eyes turned to see the balloon disintegrate in shreds and the tiny parachute start earthward with its cargo of instruments.
"Oh, brother!" Bud exclaimed. "That one didn’t even make the stratosphere! What do you suppose they’re up to?" The question was addressed to Tom, but the young inventor barely acknowledged it, and Bud did not repeat himself. He knew his friend was gamely struggling with his inner fears and tensions.
In surprisingly little time they were crossing the long green Florida peninsula. Sandy, an excellent pilot trained by Tom and Bud, asked to take over the controls, finally bringing the jetcraft down to a smooth landing at the international airport near the seaside town on Gullivan Bay where the Lawsons lived. The spry, silver-haired
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