GRANNIE SPILLED A FEW shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftly rolled herself a cigarette.
“It wasn’t Guns, it was Pistols; and it wasn’t Ganymede, it was Pluto.”
I grinned. “All complete, I’ll bet, with threats against the universe and beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair.”
“What else is there in science fiction?” she demanded. “You can’t have your hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster.”
Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to her feet.
“I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I’m due at the Satellite Theater in ten minutes. Come on, you’re going with me.”
Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out to the jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later we drew up before the big doors of the Satellite.
Th
