close to us and yet so alien we don't even recognize it—or don't want to!"

Colonel Evans wet his lips. "Do you—do you really believe that, Captain?"

Jarvis considered the question. "No," he said slowly. "No, I don't. But I do think it points up an important fact. When a man gets out there in space, cut off from everything he's ever known, allergies, idiosyncrasies, personal likes and dislikes—everything on a conscious and a subconscious level may take on an exaggerated importance."

"You make it a big problem," Evans said.

"It is a big problem," Jarvis sighed. "At any rate, I'm going to volunteer for the next flight. That's the least I can do for Cantrell." He went out.

The Colonel stared after him, puzzled and slightly indignant. He shook his head. The man was crazy. Earth an animal—the idea was preposterous. But the thought hammered at him, repeating. Jarvis was right, of course, when he said it was undoubtedly psychological. And yet suppose—just suppose....

Trembling, he shook off the thought and looked out at the field, the buildings, the sky, Earth's pale satellite emerging from the sky like a child following in the wake of its mother. They say the moon came out of Earth, he thought suddenly, and the analogy struck home. The man in the moon looked down at him, and he turned hastily away.

The afternoon was warm, but Colonel Evans suddenly felt very cold.

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