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Updated: June 6, 2025
Yet here on the Moon Pop kept a waiting cannister on a shelf in his tiny dome, behind the air-apparatus. It rattled if he shook it, and it was worth no more than so many pebbles. But sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell ever thought of the value of the mine's production.
One hundred thousand dollars for a twelve-day cruise through space, with views of the Moon's far side and trips through Lunar City and a landing in Aristarchus, plus sound-tapes of the journey and fame hitherto reserved for honest explorers! It didn't seem to have anything to do with Pop or with Sattell. But it did. There were just two passenger tours. The first was fully booked.
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.
Then pictures of his children came out of emptiness and grew sharp and clear. He found that he loved them very dearly. And when he was near Sattell he literally recovered them in the sense that he came to know new things about them and had new memories of them every day. He hadn't yet remembered the crime which lost them to him.
Yet Pop continued to search absorbedly for material with which to capture memory. Sattell still seemed necessary, but Early one lunar morning he was a good two miles from his shack when he saw rocket-fumes in the sky. It was most unlikely. He wasn't looking for anything of the sort, but out of the corner of his eye he observed that something moved. Which was impossible.
The other planets danced their saraband. The rest of humanity went about its own affairs with fascinated attention. But then an event occurred which bore directly upon Pop Young and Sattell and Pop Young's missing years. Somebody back on Earth promoted a luxury passenger-line of spaceships to ply between Earth and Moon. It looked like a perfect set-up.
In the Moon's slight gravity, a man is really adjusted to existence when he has a well-developed case of agoraphobia. With such an aid, a man can get into a tiny, coffinlike cubbyhole, and feel solidity above and below and around him, and happily tell himself that it feels delicious. Sometimes it does. But Sattell couldn't comfort himself so easily. He knew about Pop, up on the surface.
The red-headed man hit him again. He was nerve-racked, and, therefore, he wanted to hurt. "Move!" he rasped. "I want the diamonds you've got for the ship from Lunar City! Bring 'em!" Pop licked blood from his lips and the man with the weapon raged at him. "Then phone down to the mine! Tell Sattell I'm here and he can come on up!
I was talking to him by microwave when he was seized by them. I reported that via Sattell of the Survey. You probably know of these reports." A tinny voice said with formal cordiality that he did, indeed. "I've just managed to get out of the park," said Lockley. "I've had a chance to experiment with a stationary terror beam.
He reported with meticulous care just what Vale had said, and what he'd heard after Vale stopped speaking the roaring, the sound of blows and gasps, then the squeakings and the destruction of the instrument intended for the measurement of base lines for an accurate map of the Park. Sattell grew agitated. At Lockley's insistence, he wrote down every word.
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