that to some Earthie, you come say it to me and you’ll feel better.”
“You know what? Every once in a while, some Immie suggests that we build an Earth-park on the Moon; some little spot with Earth-plants brought in as seeds or seedlings; maybe some animals. A touch of home—that’s the usual expression.”
“I take it you’re against that.”
“Of course, I’m against it. A touch of whose home? The Moon is our home. An Immie who wants a touch of home had better get back to his home. Immies can be worse than Earthies sometimes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Denison.
“Not you—so far,” said Selene.
There was silence for a moment and Denison wondered if Selene were going to suggest a return to the caverns. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be long before he would feel a fairly strenuous craving to visit a rest-room. On the other, he had never felt so relaxed. He wondered how long the oxygen in his pack would hold out.
Then Selene said, “Ben, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all. If it’s my private life that interests you, I am without secrets. I’m five-foot-nine, weigh twenty eight pounds on the Moon, had one wife long ago, now divorced, one child, a daughter, grown-up and married, attended University of—”
“No, Ben. I’m serious. Can I ask about your work?”
“Of course you can, Selene. I don’t know how much I can explain to you, though.”
“Well—You know that Barron and I—”
“Yes, I know,” said Denison, brusquely.
“We talk together. He tells me things sometimes. He said you think the Electron Pump might make the Universe explode.”
“Our section of the Universe. It might convert a part of our Galactic arm into a quasar.”
“Really? Do you really think so?”
Denison said, “When I came to the Moon, I wasn’t sure. Now I am. I am personally convinced that this will happen.”
“When do you think it will happen?”
“That I can’t say exactly. Maybe a few years from now. Maybe a few decades.”
There was a short silence between them. Then Selene said, in a subdued voice. “Barron doesn’t think so.”
“I know he doesn’t. I’m not trying to convert him. You don’t beat refusal to believe in a frontal attack. That’s Lamont’s mistake.”
Denison turned to one side, facing her. “All right,” he said. “I have no objection to telling you. Lamont, a physicist back on Earth, tried in his way to alert the world to the dangers of the Pump. He failed. Earthmen want the Pump; they want the free energy; they want it enough to refuse to believe they can’t have it.”
“But why should they want it, if it means death?”
“All they have to do is refuse to believe it means death. The easiest way to solve a problem is to deny it exists. Your friend, Dr. Neville, does the same thing. He dislikes the surface, so he forces himself to believe that Solar batteries are no good—even though to any impartial observer they would seem the perfect energy source for the Moon. He wants the Pump so he can stay underground, so he refuses to believe there can be any danger from it.”
Selene said, “I don’t think Barron would refuse to believe something for which valid evidence existed. Do you really have the evidence?”
“I think I do. It’s most amazing really, Selene. The whole thing depends on certain subtle factors of quark-quark interactions. Do you know what that means?”
“You don’t have to explain. I’ve talked so much to Barron about all sorts of things that I might be able to follow.”
“Well, I thought I would need the Lunar proton synchrotron for the purpose. It’s twenty-five miles across, has superconducting magnets, and can dispose of energies of 20,000 Bev and more. It turns out, though, that you people have something you call a Pionizer, which fits into a moderately sized room and does all the work of the synchrotron. The Moon is to be congratulated on a most amazing advance.”
“Thank you,” said Selene, complacently. “I mean on behalf of the Moon.”
“Well, then, my Pionizer results can show the rate of increase of intensity of strong nuclear interaction; and the increase is what Lamont says it is and not what the orthodox theory would have it be.”
“And have you shown it to Barron?”
“No, I haven’t. And if I do, I expect Neville to reject it. He’ll say the results are marginal. He’ll say I’ve made an error. He’ll say