“I suspect he does. Hell, in the middle of the night, when I have trouble sleeping—I keep falling out of bed, by the way—I believe it myself. He probably hopes to test the theory experimentally, here.”
“Well?”
“Well, let him. I hinted we would help him.”
Montez shook his head. “That’s risky. I don’t like the official encouragement of crackpot notions.”
“You know, it’s just barely possible they may not be entirely crackpot, but that’s not the point. The point is that if we can get him established here on the Moon, we may find out, through him, what’s going on here. He’s anxious for rehabilitation and I hinted that rehabilitation would come through us if he cooperated.… I’ll see to it that you are discreetly kept posted. As between friends, you know.”
“Thank you,” said Montez. “And good-by.”
9
Neville chafed. “No. I don’t like him.”
“Why not? Because he’s an Earthie?” Selene brushed a bit of fluff from her right breast, then caught it and looked at it critically. “That’s not from my blouse. I tell you the air-recirculation is abominable.”
“This Denison is worthless. He is not a para-physicist. He’s a self-educated man in the field, he says, and proves it by coming here with ready-made damn-fool notions.”
“Like what?”
“He thinks that the Electron Pump is going to explode the Universe.”
“Did he say that?”
“I know he thinks that.… Oh, I know the arguments. I’ve heard them often enough. But it’s not so, that’s all.”
“Maybe,” said Selene, raising her eyebrows, “you just don’t want it to be so.”
“Don’t you start,” said Neville.
There was a short pause. Selene said, “Well, what will you do with him?”
“I’ll give him a place to work. He may be worthless as a scientist, but he’ll have his uses just the same. He’ll be conspicuous enough; the Commissioner has been talking to him already.”
“I know.”
“Well, he has a romantic history as someone with a wrecked career trying to rehabilitate himself.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m sure you’ll love it. If you ask him about it, he’ll tell you. And that’s good. If we have a romantic Earthman working on the Moon on a crackpot project, he’ll make a perfect object to preoccupy the Commissioner. He’ll be misdirection; window-dressing. And it may even be that through him, who knows, we might just possibly get a better idea of what goes on there on Earth.… You’d better continue to be friendly with him, Selene.”
10
Selene laughed, and the sound was metallic in Denison’s earpiece. Her figure was lost in the spacesuit she wore.
She said, “Now come, Ben, there’s no reason to be afraid. You’re an old hand by now—you’ve been here a month.”
“Twenty-eight days,” mumbled Denison. He felt smothered in his own suit.
“A month,” insisted Selene. “It was well past half-Earth when you came; it is well-past half-Earth now.” She pointed to the brilliant curve of the Earth in the southern sky.
“Well, but wait. I’m not as brave out here as I am underground. What if I fall?”
“What if you do? The gravity is weak by your standards, the slope is gentle, your suit is strong. If you fall, just let yourself slide and roll. It’s almost as much fun that way, anyhow.”
Denison looked about doubtfully. The Moon lay beautiful in the cold light of the Earth. It was black and white; a mild and delicate white as compared with the Sunlit views he had seen when he had taken a trip a week before to inspect the Solar batteries that stretched from horizon to horizon along the floor of Mare Imbrium. And the black was somehow softer, too, through lack of the blazing contrast of true day. The stars were supernally bright and the Earth—the Earth—was infinitely inviting with its swirls of white on blue, and its peeping glimpse of tan.
“Well,” he said, “do you mind if I hang on to you?”
“Of course not. And we won’t go all the way up. It will be the beginner’s slope for you. Just try to keep in time with me. I’ll move slowly.”
Her steps were long, slow, and swinging, and he tried to keep in synchronization. The up-sloping ground beneath them was dusty and with each step he kicked up a fine powder that settled quickly in the airlessness. He matched her stride for stride, but with an effort.
“Good,” said Selene, her arm locked in his, steadying him. “You’re very good for an Earthie—no, I ought to say Immie—”
“Thank you.”
“That’s not much better, I suppose. Immie for Immigrant is as insulting as Earthie for Earthman. Shall I just say you’re simply very