14

“I am glad,” said Denison, deliberately, “that the daytime is over.” He held out his right arm and stared at it, encased in its protective layers. “The Lunar Sun is one thing I can’t get used to and don’t want to get used to. Even this suit seems a natural thing to me in comparison.”

“What’s wrong with the Sun?” asked Selene.

“Don’t tell me you like it, Selene!”

“No, of course not. I hate it. But then I never see it. You’re an— You’re used to the Sun.”

“Not the way it is here on the Moon. It shines out of a black sky here. It dazzles the stars away, instead of muffling them. It is hot, hard, and dangerous. It is an enemy, and while it’s in the sky, I can’t help but feel that none of our attempts at reducing field intensity will succeed.”

“That’s superstition, Ben,” said Selene, with a distant edge of exasperation. “The Sun has nothing to do with it. We were in the crater shadow anyway and it was just like night. Stars and all.”

“Not quite,” said Denison. “Anytime we looked northward, Selene, we could see that stretch of Sunlight glittering; I hated to look northward, yet the direction dragged at my eyes. Every time I looked at it I could feel the hard ultraviolet springing at my viewplate.”

“That’s imagination. In the first place there’s no ultraviolet to speak of in reflected light; in the second, your suit protects you against radiation.”

“Not against heat. Not very much.”

“But it’s night now.”

“Yes,” said Denison with satisfaction, “and this I like.” He looked about with a continuing wonder. Earth was in the sky, of course, in its accustomed place; a fat crescent, now, bellying to the southwestward. The constellation Orion was above it, a hunter rising up out of the brilliant curved chair of Earth. The horizon glittered in the dim crescent-Earth light.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. Then: “Selene, is the Pionizer showing anything?”

Selene, who was looking at the skies with no comment, stepped toward the maze of equipment that, over the past three alternations of day and night, had been assembled there in the shadow of the crater.

“Not yet,” she said, “but that’s good news really. The field intensity is holding at just over fifty.”

“Not low enough,” said Denison.

Selene said, “It can be lowered further. I’m sure that all the parameters are suitable.”

“The magnetic field, too?”

“I’m not sure about the magnetic field.”

“If we strengthen that, the whole thing becomes unstable.”

“It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t.”

“Selene, I trust your intuition against everything but the facts. It does get unstable. We’ve tried it.”

“I know, Ben. But not quite with this geometry. It’s been holding to fifty-two a phenomenally long time. Surely, if we begin to hold it there for hours instead of minutes, we ought to be able to strengthen the magnetic field tenfold for a period of minutes instead of seconds.... Let’s try.”

“Not yet,” said Denison.

Selene hesitated, then stepped back, turning away. She said, “You still don’t miss Earth, do you, Ben?”

“No. It’s rather odd, but I don’t. I would have thought it inevitable that I miss blue sky, green earth, flowing water—all the cliche adjective-noun combinations peculiar to Earth. I miss none of them. I don’t even dream about them.”

Selene said, “This sort of thing does happen sometime. At least, there are Immies who say they experience no homesickness. They’re in the minority, of course, and no one has ever been able to decide what this minority has in common. Guesses run all the way from serious emotional deficiency, no capacity to feel anything; to serious emotional excess, a fear to admit homesickness lest it lead to breakdown.”

“In my case, I think it’s plain enough. Life on Earth was not very enjoyable for two decades and more, while here I work at last in a field I have made my own: And I have your help.... More than that, Selene, I have your company.”

“You are kind,” said Selene, gravely, “to place company and help in the relationship you do. You don’t seem to need much help. Do you pretend to seek it for the sake of my company?”

Denison laughed softly. Tin not sure which answer would flatter you more.”

“Try the truth.”

“The truth is not so easy to determine when I value each so much.” He turned back to the Pionizer. “The field intensity still holds, Selene.”

Selene’s faceplate glinted in the Earthlight. She said, “Barren says that non-homesickness is natural and the sign of a healthy mind. He says that though the human body was adapted to Earth’s surface and requires adjustment to the Moon, the human brain was not and does not. The human brain is so different, qualitatively, from all other brains that it can be considered a new phenomenon. It has had 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 Barren 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 against 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?”