r-reflected sunlight on a tiny solar stove.

"So that's the way it goes," Charlie Reynolds commented profoundly. "We
reach out for strangeness. Then we try to make it as familiar as home."

"Stew, warmed in the cans, too," Ramos declared. "Enough for a light
one-time-around. I brought the stew along. Hope you birds remember.
Then we're back on dehydrates. Hell, except for that weight problem and
consequent cost of stuff from Earth, we'd have it made, Out Here. The
Big Vacuum ain't so tough--no storms in it, even, to tear our bubbs
apart. I guess we won't ever have a bigger adventure than finding out
for ourselves that we can get along with space."

"If we had a beef roast, we'd put it in a sealed container of clear
plastic," Gimp laughed. "Set it turning, outside the bubb, on a swiveled
tether wire. It would rotate for hours like on a spit--almost no
friction. Rig some mirrors to concentrate the sun's heat. Space Force
men do things like that."

"Shut up--I'm getting _hong_-gry!" Art Kuzak roared.

Ramos poured the coffee in the thin magnesium cups that each of the
Bunch had brought. Their squeeze bottles, for zero-G drinking, were not
necessary, here. Their skimpy portions of stew were spooned on magnesium
plates. Knife and fork combinations were brought out. An apple puree
which had been powder, followed the stew. Brunch was soon over.

"That's all for now, folks," Ramos said ruefully.

Tiflin snaked a cigarette out from inside the collar of his Archer.

"Hey!" Reynolds said mildly. "Oxygen, remember? Shouldn't you ask our
host, first?"

Ramos had eased up on ribbing Tiflin months ago. "It's okay," he said.
"The air-restorers are new."

But Tiflin's explosive nerves, under strain for a long time, didn't take
it. He threw down the unlighted fag. He snicked his switch blade from a
thigh pocket. For an instant it seemed that he would attack Reynolds.
Then the knife flew, and penetrated the thin, taut wall, to its handle.
There was a frightening hiss, until the sealing gum between the double
layers, cut off the leak.

The Kuzaks had Tiflin helpless and snarling, at once.

"Get a patch, somebody--fix up the hole," Joe, the mild one, growled.
"Tiflin--me and my brother helped you. Now we're gonna sit on you--just
to make sure your funny business doesn't kill us all. Try anything just
_once_, and we'll feed you all that vacuum--without an Archer. If you're
a good boy, maybe you'll live to get dumped on the Moon