"That crazy Jessup! I wouldn't be in his boots for a million bucks.... What does he want to go to the moon for? What good's the moon?" The men who had said those things had been right, of course. He was crazy. And the question would never be answered—from their viewpoint. For them the moon was just an ornament—a beautiful ornament in the summer sky.

It was strange that he'd never been in a position where he had to think out his reasons for coming on the moon-ship. He'd been too busy fighting for the chance to wonder just why he wanted it.

Markley was like him, of course. He wondered if the colonel would trade places with him right now ... maybe he would at that!

Ever since he'd been a kid, Bob Jessup had wanted the moon. Not for himself, so much—but for the others. It had been a deep hurt when he met others who didn't want it at all—who didn't even seem to know it was there. To him it was a symbol of the Greater Reality—a stepping stone to the stars.

His body sagged under the weight of an overwhelming longing—not to be back on earth, but to go forward, to show the way.

And suddenly he saw the blinding simplicity of the answer....

It's only a paper moon ... hanging over a cardboard sea....

"The moon's still in the news," said White softly, as the strains of the old song floated over the Station's bridge.

"They're dancing to it," said Markley with an irrational bitterness. "While he's still alive out there...."

"Do you suppose we'll still be able to receive him? You said his batteries were just about gone."

"We'll soon know."

The radio man stuck his head into the room.

"I've focused on Nubium, sir—just out of the horizon."

Markley started droning into the microphone:

"Jessup! Jessup! Come in! Come in!... Yes!... Yes!..."

To White the time seemed endless until Markley turned and said: "His air's gone! He tried to get out and couldn't. He's speaking through the communicator hookup of his suit and I can barely hear him...."

 Prev. P 10/11 next