It slowed, and slowed, and curved down as it drew
nearer. The pilot killed all forward motion just above the field and
came steadily and smoothly down to land between the silvery triangles
that marked the landing place.

Instantly the rockets cut off, drums of fuel and air and food came out
of the cargo-hatch and Pop swept forward with the dozer. It was a
miniature tractor with a gigantic scoop in front. He pushed a great
mound of talc-fine dust before him to cover up the cargo. It was
necessary. With freight costing what it did, fuel and air and food came
frozen solid, in containers barely thicker than foil. While they stayed
at space-shadow temperature, the foil would hold anything. And a cover
of insulating moondust with vacuum between the grains kept even air
frozen solid, though in sunlight.

At such times Pop hardly thought of Sattell. He knew he had plenty of
time for that. He'd started to follow Sattell knowing what had happened
to his wife and children, but it was hearsay only. He had no memory of
them at all. But Sattell stirred the lost memories. At first Pop
followed absorbedly from city to city, to recover the years that had
been wiped out by an axe-blow. He did recover a good deal. When Sattell
fled to another continent, Pop followed because he had some distinct
memories of his wife--and the way he'd felt about her--and some fugitive
mental images of his children. When Sattell frenziedly tried to deny
knowledge of the murder in Tangier, Pop had come to remember both his
children and some of the happiness of his married life.

Even when Sattell--whimpering--signed up for Lunar City, Pop tracked
him. By that time he was quite sure that Sattell was the man who'd
killed his family. If so, Sattell had profited by less than two days'
pay for wiping out everything that Pop possessed. But Pop wanted it
back. He couldn't prove Sattell's guilt. There was no evidence. In any
case, he didn't really want Sattell to die. If he did, there'd be no way
to recover more lost memories.

Sometimes, in the shack on the far side of the Moon, Pop Young had odd
fancies about Sattell. There was the mine, for example. In each two
Earth-weeks of working, the mine-colony nearly filled up a three-gallon
cannister with greasy-seeming white crystals shaped like two pyramids
base to base. The filled cannister would weigh a hundred pounds on
Earth. Here it weighed eighteen. But on Earth its contents would be
computed in carats, and a