s our cracked, space-wild punk."

"Thanks, Art," Tiflin laughed.

In a minute he, and his comic, scarecrow pal who originated from the
dark side of trouble, on Earth and out here, too, were fading against
the stars.

Nelsen and Ramos, the long-lost, glided in, past some grim hoppers. A
bubb and sweet air were around them once more. They shed their stinking
Archer Threes. Hot showers--miraculous luxury--played over them. They
rubbed disinfectant salves into their fungus-ridden hides.

Then there was a clean, white table, with plates, knives, forks. They
had to treat their shrunken stomachs gently--just a little of
everything--beer, steak, vegetables, fruit... Somewhere during the past,
unmarked days Frank Nelsen had gotten to be twenty years old. Only
twenty? Well--maybe this was his celebration.

Ramos and he told their story very briefly. Little time was wasted on
congratulations for survival or talk of losses long past. The Kuzaks
looked leaner and tougher, now, and there were plenty of present
difficulties to worry them. Joe Kuzak hurried out to argue with the
miners at the raw metal receiving bins and at the store bubbs. Art
stayed to explain the present situation.

"Three big loads of supplies were shipped through to us from the Moon,"
he growled. "We did fine, trading for metal. We sent J. John Reynolds
his percentage--a fair fraction of his entire loan. We sent old Paul
five thousand dollars. But the fourth and fifth loads of trade stuff got
pirated en route. When there's trouble on Earth, it comes out here, too.
Ceres, colonized by our socialist Tovie friends of northern Eurasia,
helps stir up the bums, who think up plenty of hell on their own. It's a
force-out attempt aimed at us or at anybody who thinks our way. After
two lost shipments, and a lot of new installations here at the Post,
we're about broke, again. Worse, we've got the asteroid-hoppers
expecting us to come through with pay for the new metal in their nets,
and with stuff they need. Back home, some people used to raise hell
about a trifle like a delayed letter. How about a spaceman's reaction,
when what is delayed may be something to keep him alive? They could get
really annoyed, and kick this place apart."

Art Kuzak blew air up past his pug nose, and continued. "Finance--here
we go again, Frank!" he chuckled. "Gimp Hines is helping us. After Mars,
he came here without trouble. He's in Pallastown, now, trying to raise
some fast cash, and to