“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?”
“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, are the only ones on the Lunar surface for any but the most routine of purposes.”
“Why is that odd?”
“Because it means that you really think you’re doing something with your gimcrack contraption, whatever it is. I can’t believe that you are incompetent, so I think it would be worth listening to you if you tell me what you are doing.”
“I am experimenting in para-physics, Commissioner, precisely as rumor has it. To which I can add that so far my experiments have been only partly successful.”
“Your companion is, I imagine, Selene Lindstrom L., a tourist guide.”
“Yes.”
“An unusual choice as an assistant.”
“She is intelligent, eager, interested, and extremely attractive.”
“And willing to work with an Earthman?”
“And quite willing to work with an Immigrant who will be a Lunar citizen as soon as he qualifies for that status.”
Selene was approaching now. Her voice rang in their ears. “Good day, Commissioner. I would have liked not to overhear, and intrude on a private conversation, but, in a spacesuit, overhearing is inevitable anywhere within the horizon.”
Gottstein turned. “Hello, Miss Lindstrom. I did not expect to talk in secrecy. Are you interested in para-physics?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You are not disheartened by the failures of the experiment.”
“They are not entirely failures,” she said. “They are less a failure than Dr. Denison thinks at present.”