no time to be really fixed to Earth’s surface and can, without adjustment, fit other environments. He says that enclosure in the caverns of the Moon may actually suit it best of all, for that is but a larger version of its enclosure in the cavern of the skull.”
“Do you believe that?” asked Denison, amused.
“When Barron talks, he can make things sound very plausible.”
“I think it can be made equally plausible to claim that the comfort to be found in the caverns of the Moon is the result of the fulfillment of the return-to-the-womb fantasy. In fact,” he added, thoughtfully, “considering the controlled temperature and pressure, the nature and digestibility of the food, I could make a good case for considering the Lunar colony—I beg your pardon, Selene—the Lunar city a deliberate reconstruction of the fetal environment.”
Selene said, “I don’t think Barron would agree with you for a minute.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” said Denison. He looked at the Earth-crescent, watching the distant cloud banks on edge. He fell into silence, absorbed in the view, and even though Selene moved back to the Pionizer, he remained in place.
He watched Earth in its nest of stars and looked toward the serrated horizon where, every once in a while, it seemed to him he saw a puff of smoke where a small meteorite might be landing.
He had pointed out a similar phenomenon, with some concern, to Selene during the previous Lunar night. She had been unconcerned.
She said, “The Earth does shift slightly in the sky because of the Moon’s libration and every once in a while a shaft of Earth-light tops a small rise and falls on a bit of soil beyond. It comes into view like a tiny puff of rising dust. It’s common. We pay no attention.”
Denison had said, “But it could be a meteorite sometimes. Don’t meteorites ever strike?”
“Of course they do. You’re probably hit by several every time you’re out. Your suit protects you.”
“I don’t mean micro-dust particles. I mean sizable meteorites that would really kick up the dust. Meteorites that could kill you.”
“Well, they fall, too, but they are few and the Moon is large. No one has been hit yet.”
And as Denison watched the sky and thought of that, he saw what, in the midst of his momentary preoccupation, he took to be a meteorite. Light streaking through the sky could, however, be a meteorite only on Earth with its atmosphere and not on the airless Moon.
The light in the sky was man-made and Denison had not yet sorted out his impressions when it became, quite clearly, a small rocket-vessel sinking rapidly to a landing beside him.
A single suited figure emerged, while a pilot remained within, barely seen as a dark splotch among the highlights.
Denison waited. The etiquette of the spacesuit required the newcomer joining any group to announce himself first.
“Commissioner Gottstein here,” the new voice said, “as you can probably tell from my wobble.”
“Ben Denison here,” said Denison.
“Yes. I thought as much.”
“Have you come here looking for me?”
“Certainly.”
“In a space-skipper? You might—”
“I might,” said Gottstein, “have used Outlet P-4, which is less than a thousand yards from here. Yes, indeed. But I wasn’t looking only for you.”
“Well, I won’t ask for the meaning of what you say.”
“There’s no reason for me to be coy. Surely you have not expected me to be uninterested in the fact that you have been carrying on experiments on the Lunar surface.”
“It’s been no secret and anyone might be interested.”
“Yet no one seems to know the details of the experiments. Except, of course, that in some way you are working on matters concerning the Electron Pump.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption.”
“Is it? It seemed to me that experiments of such a nature, to have any value at all, would require a rather enormous setup. This is not of my own knowledge, you understand. I consulted those who would know. And, it is quite obvious, you are not working on such a setup. It occurred to me, therefore, that you might not be the proper focus of my interest. While my attention was drawn to you, others might be undertaking more important tasks.”
“Why should I be used as distraction?”
“I don’t know. If I knew, I would be less concerned.”
“So I have been under observation.”
Gottstein chuckled. “That, yes. Since you have arrived. But while you have been working here on the surface, we have observed this entire region for miles in every direction. Oddly enough, it would seem that you, Dr. Denison, and your companion,