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"I know something else," said Joe Kuzak he and his tough twin had returned to Jarviston by then, as had all the others who had visited their homes. "There's a desperate individual around, again. Tiflin. He appealed his test and lost. Kind of a good guy someways..."
Reynolds I'm Frank Nelsen, born here in Jarviston. Perhaps you know me on sight. I believe you are acquainted with Paul Hendricks, and you must have heard about our group, which is aiming at space, as people like ourselves are apt to be doing, these days. We've made fair progress, which proves we're at least earnest, if not dedicated.
Then the awful wave of nostalgia for Jarviston, Minnesota, hit him, as he fumbled to open the microfilmed letter capsule, and put it in the viewer. "Hello, Frank it has to be that, doesn't it, and not Mr. Nelsen, since you've sent me this miraculous bracelet which I don't dare wear very much, since I don't want to lose an arm to some international or even interstellar jewel thief!
So the Bunch returned tensely to Jarviston, with more time to sweat out. Everybody looked at Gimp Hines and then looked away. Even Jig Hollins didn't make any comments. Gimp, himself, seemed pretty subdued. The small, green space-fitness cards were arriving at Jarviston addresses in the morning.
They didn't expect anyone to shake their morale, least of all a nice, soft-spoken guy in U.S.S.F. greys. Harv Diamond was the one man from Jarviston who had gotten into the Space Force. He used to hang around Hendricks'. He dropped in on a Sunday evening, when the whole Bunch was in the shop. They were around him at once, like around a hero, shouting and questioning.
The Archer Five came in a big packing box, bound with steel ribbons and marked, This end up handle with care. It was delivered at a subsidized government surplus price of fifty dollars to Hendricks' Sports and Hobbies Center, a store in Jarviston, Minnesota, that used to deal mostly in skin diving equipment, model plane kits, parts for souping up old cars, and the like.
But in recent years it had degenerated into an impromptu club hall, funk hole, griping-arguing-and-planning pit, extracurricular study lab and project site for an indefinite horde of interplanetary enthusiasts who were thought of in Jarviston as either young adults of the most resourceful kind for whom the country should do much more in order to insure its future in space or as just another crowd of delinquents, more bent on suicide and trouble-making than any hot rod group had ever been.
"No use hanging around here, Charlie," Art urged. "Let's get back to the shop." Before he drove off, Jig Hollins tried to chuckle mockingly at everybody, especially Charlie Reynolds. "Time to think about keeping a nice safe job in the Jarviston powerhouse eh, Reynolds? And staying near granddad?" "We're supposed not to be children, Hollins," Charlie shot back at him from his car window.
I'm damned glad to see you, but you still shouldn't have come nosing. 'Cause I told you why. Looking for you, Huth burned out more than five square miles. And if folks get too smart and too curious, it won't be any good for what's here..." Nelsen felt angry and exasperated. But he had a haunting thought about a lanky colored kid in Jarviston, Minnesota.
Without picking up his camping gear at all, he headed for the road, thumbed a ride to Jarviston, where he arrived before eight o'clock. Somebody had started ringing the city hall bell. Celebration? Hendricks' was the most logical place for Nelsen to go, but he passed it by, following a hunch to his old street. She had almost said that she might come home, too. He touched the buzzer.
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