the women use boxing gloves here.
When I told Vans, he said, "Is there cotton-wool inside bombs?"
I said, "No. It's stuff that goes off bang!"
He thought a minute.
"Daft, I call it," he said.
"What's daft?"
"Having your Earth cities out in the open where anybody can drop stuff on them. Why don't you have them underground, like in Mars, under low cavern roofs, where nobody can drop anything on them?"
It isn't any use arguing with Vans. Trying to get any idea into his thick head is like trying to open a burglar-proof safe with a tooth-pick. I've found that out.
"All the same, Vans," I said, "You can get very fed-up with Martian cities and their everlasting night. You can long for Earth cities with their open skies and daylight."
He laughed.
"Why not take a trip to Phobos, the other moon of Mars. They say the surface is covered with glass bubbles holding air and heat, better even than Deimos. Remember when we went to Deimos?"
"Yes, I remember all right. The place was full of bugs that ate our clothes off us. We went to sleep and woke up naked."
"Nothing like that on Phobos."
"I'd like to go to Phobos then, if I could get away from Wimp for a while."
"Ask her to come. She'd go anywhere for an adventure."
"Yes, I think you're right, Vans."
"Wouldn't I just!" said Wimp, when we asked her. "But aren't you forgetting your responsibilities?"
"How come?"
"Your synthetic fighting man, Bruny Hudells. Your Professor Winterton from Earth says he can't do anything for him, and he’s very worried."
THAT sobered us. It was bad about Hudells. I told you about him. He had been the victim of a very dirty plot. As I told you. Prince Grumbold, one of the bad eggs of Mars, had a tame scientist. This scientist made a synthetic body and put the brain of Hudells in it. The idea was to win the championship of Mars from Vans, and bring off a lot of other dirty tricks at the same time. Quite a fuss it was while it lasted, but in the end Hudells, who isn't at all a bad fellow, made up his mind that he didn't want any more of the funny little ways of Prince Grumbold and his Professor, and made friends with us. But there was a certain white powder that Bruny had to have every day to keep him well. And that was where our plans went wrong. Grumbold's other synthetic men got loose, and so busted up his laboratory that we could not find a sample of the powder to analyze. And Grumbold and his Professor got away.
It looked as if Bruny would have to get along without his powder.
Professor Winterton tried to find the answer. Bruny's synthetic body, he said, recovered from the most nasty injuries in a few seconds. That proved it must be brimming full of Vitamin C, or Ascorbic Acid. An ordinary human system can use about an ounce of Vitamin C a year, but more when there are any nasty wounds to mend. Bruny, weighing three tons, would need about sixty ounces a year, normally, but to heal his wounds at the rate they did heal, about six thousand ounces, the Professor reckoned would be needed. The white powder must be just Vitamin C.
But it didn't work.
Bruny began to get aches and pains that told him he needed more of his powder.
"It's no use," he said. "There is only
