ghed me up?"

"Yuh." Baker grinned. "Hope I didn't hurt you much. Boss said to keep
you in one piece, but we had to hurry up, and take care of those Army
guys you brought in on your tail. That was dumb. You almost upset
everything."

Memory flooded back, and Shandor's eyes widened. "Yes--they followed me
all the way from Lincoln--what happened to them?"

Baker grinned and chomped his tobacco. "They're a long way away now.
Don't worry about them."

Shandor eyed the door uneasily. The latch hadn't caught, and the door
had swung open an inch or two. "Where am I?" he asked, inching toward
the door. "What--what are you planning to do to me?"

Baker watched him edging away. "You're safe," he said. "The boss'll talk
to you pretty soon if you feel like it--" He squinted at Tom in
surprise, pointing an indolent thumb toward the door. "You planning to
go out or something?"

Tom stopped short, his face red. The big man shrugged. "Go ahead. I
ain't going to stop you." He grinned. "Go as far as you can."

Without a word Shandor threw open the door, looked out into the concrete
corridor. At the end was a large, bright room. Cautiously he started
down, then suddenly let out a cry and broke into a run, his eyes wide--

He reached the room, a large room, with heavy plastic windows. He ran to
one of the windows, pulse pounding, and stared, a cry choking in his
throat. The blackness of the crags contrasted dimly with the inky
blackness of the sky beyond. Mile upon mile of jagged, rocky crags,
black rock, ageless, unaged rock. And it struck him with a jolt how
easily he had been able to run, how lightning-swift his movements. He
stared again, and then he saw what he had seen in the pit, standing high
outside the building on a rocky flat, standing bright and silvery, like
a phantom finger pointing to the inky heavens, sleek, smooth, resting on
polished tailfins, like an other-worldly bird poised for flight--

A voice behind him said, "You aren't really going anyplace, you know.
Why run?" It was a soft voice, a kindly voice, cultured, not rough and
biting like Baker's voice. It came from directly behind Shandor, and he
felt his skin crawl. He had heard that voice before--many times before.
Even in his dreams he had heard that voice. "You see, it's pretty cold
out there. And there isn't any air. You're on the Moon, Mr. Shandor--"

He whirled, his face twisted and white. And he stared at the small
figure standing at the door, a stoo