n his spare time, while he struggled to absorb the intricate
math that spacemen are supposed to know--he used to protest that he
could at least add two and two--bounced forward, saying, "I'll give yuh
a hand, Gimp."

Mitch Storey, the lean colored kid with the passion for all plant life,
and the specific urge to get somehow out to Mars, was also moving to
help Gimp into the Archer. Gimp waved them off angrily, but they valeted
for him, anyhow.

"Shucks, Gimp," Storey soothed. "Anybody needs assistance--the first
time..."

They got his good leg, and what there was of the other, into the boots.
They laced carefully, following all they had learned from books. They
rolled the wire-braced silicone rubber body-section up over his torso,
guided his arms into the sleeves, closed the zipper-sealers and centered
the chest plate. While the others checked with their eyes, they
inspected the nipples of the moisture-reclaimer and chlorophane
air-restorer capsules. They lifted the helmet of clear, darkened plastic
over his head, and dogged it to the gasket with the automatic
turnbuckles. By then, Gimp Hines' own quick fingers, in the gloves, were
busy snapping this and adjusting that. There was a sleepy hum of
aerating machinery.

"It even _smells_ right, in here," Gimp growled muffledly, trying to be
nonchalant.

There was loud laughter and clapping. Ramos whistled piercingly, with
two fingers. The huge Kuzak twins, Art and Joe--both had football
scholarships at Tech--gave Indian yells. Eileen Sands clasped her hands
over her head and went up on her toes like the ballet dancer she had
once meant to be. Old Paul, in his chair, chortled, and slapped his arm.
Even little David Lester said "Bravo!" after he had gulped. The applause
wasn't entirely facetious.

Gimp's whole self had borrowed hard lines and an air of competence from
the Archer Five. For a second he looked like somebody who could really
cross millions of miles. There was a tiny, solar-powered
ionic-propulsion unit mounted on the shoulders of the armor, between
the water-tank and the beam-type radio transmitter and receiver. A
miniaturized radar sprouted on the left elbow joint. On the inside of
the Archer's chest plate, reachable merely by drawing an arm out of a
sleeve, emergency ration containers were racked. In the same place was a
small airlock for jettisoning purposes and for taking in more supplies.

"What do yuh know--toilet facilities, yet!" Ramos chirped wi