Seeking a Human Spaceflight Program Worthy of a Great Nation
Aug 22, 2026 · 7 hr 27 min · 58 segments
Furthest Reaches of Space (Ed Reads Short Sci-fi, vol. VIII) presents a captivating collection of short science fiction stories that explore the vast and imaginative possibilities of the universe…
Somehow George Barlow had sensed that something was wrong the moment his son drove into the barnyard that evening.
He'd been waiting impatiently for Tad's return all afternoon.
The men needed those tractor bolts before they could do the mowing.
But George had felt the uneasiness quite suddenly deep in his chest when he heard the boy's three-wheeler chugging up the rutted country road from town.
He sat quietly, waiting, stroking old Snuffy behind the ears.
He heard the little motorcar pop into silence as Tad drove it into the garage.
Then there was a long silence.
George waited several minutes before running a hand through his tawny hair.
"What's that boy doing out there anyway?" he growled.
Florence Barlow glanced up through the kitchen window.
"He's gone up on the ridge," she said.
"He's just standing up there, looking down the valley." She turned back to the stove, pushing back an unruly wisp of graying hair.
George sat back in his chair, puffing his pipe, the uneasiness growing.
Tad was usually back from town hours earlier.
The oats had to be cut this week.
The shipment of Venusian taro was due from the next rocket, and they had to have a field free for it.
But still he knew it was more than the tractor bolts that bothered him.
Then suddenly the door burst open, and Tad was there, filling the room with his broad shoulders, whistling tunelessly to himself.
A cool east breeze followed him in the door, and with it an aura of excitement.
Tad's sun-baked hair was wild from the ride through the wind, his sharp eyes sparkling.
It's three weeks early this time." A chill swept up George's spine, tingling his scalp.
"Then we should get the taro in a couple of days," he said smoothly.
"We should." Tad's eyes were bright as he patted the dog's head.
His whole body seemed alive with excitement.
Somehow George Barlow had sensed that something was wrong the moment his son drove into the barnyard that evening.
He'd been waiting impatiently for Tad's return all afternoon.
The men needed those tractor bolts before they could do the mowing.
But George had felt the uneasiness quite suddenly deep in his chest when he heard the boy's three-wheeler chugging up the rutted country road from town.
He sat quietly, waiting, stroking old Snuffy behind the ears.
He heard the little motorcar pop into silence as Tad drove it into the garage.
Then there was a long silence.
George waited several minutes before running a hand through his tawny hair.
"What's that boy doing out there anyway?" he growled.
Florence Barlow glanced up through the kitchen window.
"He's gone up on the ridge," she said.
"He's just standing up there, looking down the valley." She turned back to the stove, pushing back an unruly wisp of graying hair.
George sat back in his chair, puffing his pipe, the uneasiness growing.
Tad was usually back from town hours earlier.
The oats had to be cut this week.
The shipment of Venusian taro was due from the next rocket, and they had to have a field free for it.
But still he knew it was more than the tractor bolts that bothered him.
Then suddenly the door burst open, and Tad was there, filling the room with his broad shoulders, whistling tunelessly to himself.
A cool east breeze followed him in the door, and with it an aura of excitement.
Tad's sun-baked hair was wild from the ride through the wind, his sharp eyes sparkling.
It's three weeks early this time." A chill swept up George's spine, tingling his scalp.
"Then we should get the taro in a couple of days," he said smoothly.
"We should." Tad's eyes were bright as he patted the dog's head.
His whole body seemed alive with excitement.
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