Extra-Terrestrial Development
Board will succeed. Because we will be as valuable as anybody, Out
There. Then we will have money enough to buy the materials to make most
of our equipment."

Joe Kuzak, the gentler twin, answered him. "You're right about one
thing, Les. We'll wind up building most of our own stuff--with our own
mitts...!"

Some noisy conversation about who should try the Archer next, was
interrupted when the antique customer's bell over the street door of
the store, jangled. There was a scrape of shoe soles, as the two
previously absent members of the Bunch, Jig Hollins and Charlie
Reynolds, arriving together by chance, came into the shop.

Jig (Hilton) Hollins was a mechanic out at the airport. He was lean,
cocky, twenty-four, with a stiff bristle of blond hair. Like Charlie
Reynolds, he added up what had just been happening, here, at a glance.
Both were older than the others. They had regular jobs. Their educations
were completed, except for evening supplementary courses.

"Well, the _men_ have arrived," Jig announced.

Maybe Charlie Reynolds' faint frown took exception to this remark. He
was the only one in a suit, grey and tasteful, with a subdued flash to
match the kind of car he drove. Few held this against him, nor the fact
that he usually spent himself broke, nor the further fact that J. John
Reynolds, tight-fisted president of the Jarviston First National Bank,
was his grandfather. Charlie was an engineer at the new nuclear
powerhouse, just out of town. Charlie was what is generally known as a
Good Guy. He was brash and sure--maybe too sure. He had a slight
swagger, balanced by a certain benignancy. He was automatically the
leader of the Bunch, held most likely to succeed in their aims.

"Hi, gang," he breezed. "Otto is bringing beer, Pepsi and sandwiches
from his joint across the street. Special day--so it's on me. Time to
relax--maybe unsnarl. Any new problems?"

"Still plenty of old ones," Frank Nelsen commented laconically.

"Has anybody suddenly decided to back out?" Charlie chuckled. "It's
tiresome for me always to be asking that." He looked around, meeting
carefully easy grins and grim expressions. "Nope--I guess we're all
shaggy folk, bent on high and wild living, so far. So you know the only
answer we _can_ have."

"Umhmm, Charlie," Art Kuzak, the tough, business-like twin, gruffed. "We
can get the Archers, now. I think Frank has our various sizes noted
down. Let everybody sign