"Well, how do you think the Bunch should travel to New Mexico, Paul?" Frank Nelsen joshed.
"Like other Bunches, I guess," Paul Hendricks laughed. "A couple of moving vans should do the trick..."
III
On June first, ten days before blastoff, David Lester came back to the shop, sheepishness, pleasure and worry showing in his face.
"I cleared up matters at home, guys," he said. "And I went to Minneapolis and obtained one of these." He held up the same kind of space-fitness card that the others had.
"The tests are mostly passive," he explained further. "Anybody can be whirled in a centrifuge, or take a fall. That is somewhat simpler, in its own way, than clinging to a careening motor scooter. Though I do admit that I was still almost rejected...! So, I'll join you, again—if I'm permitted? I understand that my old gear has been completed, as a spare? Paul told me. Of course I'm being crusty, in asking to have it back, now?"
"Uh-uh, Les—I'm sure that's okay," Ramos grunted. "Right, fellas?"
The others nodded.
A subdued cheerfulness seemed to possess Lester, the mamma's boy, as if he had eased and become less introverted. The Bunch took him back readily enough, though with misgivings. Still, the mere fact that a companion could return, after defeat, helped brace their uncertain morale.