"Why don't you try to get a little sleep, sir," said White. "We won't be in range for an hour yet."

Markley was slumped before the Com-panel, his hands in his pockets. His face was pasty white, the stubble sticking out on it like hoar frost.

"Listen to this," he said, holding up a hand. The radio before him spoke with a smooth announcer's voice:

"Colonel Markley of the Space Station says that every effort is being made to assist Lieutenant Robert Jessup, the first man on the moon. Rescue is still out of the question, but Jessup appears to be in good spirits. He is acting on expert advice, but Colonel Markley says that suggestions from any source will be considered. If anything in your experience can help Bob Jessup, get in touch with your nearest radio or television station—now!"

"Hm-m. Expect anything?" asked White.

"No."

"Then why—?"

"It keeps them interested," said Markley.

"Interested! Surely—"

"Surely nothing!" cried Markley with a strange, wild emphasis. "Do you know why we weren't on the moon ten years ago? The techniques we're using now have been known a good deal longer than that."

"It was the cost—"

"It was the public," snapped Markley bitterly. "The fickle old public. There was a time when the idea of space travel was a fad, when the rockets boomed in every Sunday supplement. We could have had plenty of backing then. But we weren't ready then—by quite a few years. We had to build the Space Station first."

"But that was a military necessity—"

"And a financial calamity—but the public had to swallow it! And maybe because they had to—because of our lithium bombs and the nervous tension of the war that never did come—the pendulum swung the other way! Now the moon-ship's a different matter."

"But there was plenty of interest—"

"To the average man, the moon's still made of green cheese!" shouted Markley, waving a hand for emphasis. "Oh, he can quote figures he's read—he can tell you how far it is, how big it is. But he doesn't really connect those figures 

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