I-3
549 Words
RILEY MOTIONED FOR silence, but nodded. He finished the weather report, entered the Dome Commander’s log upon the Home Office records, and dictated a short entry from the Luna Biological Commission. Then:
“That is all,” he concluded.
“O.Q.,” verified the other radioman. Isobar writhed anxiously, prodded Riley’s shoulder.
“Ask him, Sparks! Go on ask him!”
“Oh, cut jets, will you?” snapped Sparks. The Terra operator looked startled.
“How’s that? I didn’t say a word—”
“Don’t be a dope,” said Sparks, “you dope! I wasn’t talking to you. I’m entertaining a visitor, a refugee from a cuckoo clock. Look, do me a favor, chum? Can you twist your mike around so it’s pointing out a window?”
“What? Why—why, yes, but—”
“Without buts,” said Sparks grumpily. “Yours not to reason why; yours but to do or don’t. Will you do it?”
“Well, sure. But I don’t understand—” The silver platter which had mirrored the radioman’s face clouded as the Earth operator twirled the inconoscope. Walls and desks of an ordinary broadcasting office spun briefly into view; then the plate reflected a glimpse of an Earthly landscape. Soft blue sky warmed by an atmosphere-shielded sun ... green trees firmly rooted in still-greener grass ... flowers ... birds ... people....
“Enough?” asked Sparks.
Isobar Jones awakened from his trance, eyes dulling. Reluctantly he nodded. Riley stared at him strangely, almost gently. To the other radioman, “O.Q., pal,” he said. “Cut!”
“Cut!” agreed the other. The plate blanked out.
“Thanks, Sparks,” said Isobar.
“Nothing,” shrugged Riley “He twisted the mike; not me. But—how come you always want to take a squint at Earth when the circuit’s open, Jonesy? Homesick?”
“Sort of,” admitted Isobar guiltily.
“Well, hell, aren’t we all? But we can’t leave here for another six months at least. Not till our tricks are up. I should think it’d only make you feel worse to see Earth.”
“It ain’t Earth I’m homesick for,” explained Isobar. “It’s—well, it’s the things that go with it. I mean things like grass and flowers and trees.”
Sparks grinned; a mirthless, lopsided grin.
“We’ve got them right here on Luna. Go look out the tower window, Jonesy. The Dome’s nestled smack in the middle of the prettiest, greenest little valley you ever saw.”
“I know,” complained Isobar. “And that’s what makes it even worse. All that pretty, soft, green stuff Outside—and we ain’t allowed to go out in it. Sometimes I get so mad I’d like to—”
“To,” interrupted a crisp voice, “what?”
Isobar spun, flushing; his eyes dropped before those of Dome Commander Eagan. He squirmed.
“N-nothing, sir. I was only saying—”
“I heard you, Jones. And please let me hear no more of such talk, sir! It is strictly forbidden for anyone to go Outside except in cases of absolute necessity. Such labor as caused Patrolmen Brown and Roberts to go, for example—”
“Any word from them yet, sir?” asked Sparks eagerly.
“Not yet. But we’re expecting them to return at any minute now. Jones! Where are you going?”
“Why—why, just back to my quarters, sir.”
“That’s what I thought. And what did you plan to do there?”
Isobar said stubbornly, “Well, I sort of figured I’d amuse myself for a while—”
“I thought that, too. And with what, pray, Jones?”
“With the only dratted thing,” said Isobar, suddenly petulant, “that gives me any fun around this dagnabbed place! With my bagpipe.”
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- Writer
