"Maybe I could. But look--I've sweated out the last seven years just for the chance I've got right now, and I mean to take it. My father spent all his life chasing a dream, and what did it get him? The one great discovery he did make no one will even believe." "I never met Lance Denby, but I know he was a great spaceman, Tom, even if you do seem to have forgotten it. I never thought a son of his would ever turn out to be a company man. Let's go inside." We went inside, and I went home. The punch bowl was empty by now so I didn't even stop. * * * * * It was probably a mistake, but I flew down to Mojave Outport the day the Vesta Expedition blasted off. Betty was very friendly when we said goodbye, and her hand in mine was small and firm, and the fingers were quite cold. I don't remember what I said. It couldn't have been much. There was a stiff feeling around my lips that it was hard to push any words through. Betty was last on board. She turned and looked back for a few seconds before they closed the hatch, and it seemed to me that there was the same solemn expression on her face that I had seen that night on the terrace. I was too far away to be sure. My interview with the Western manager of Translunar was scheduled for the next day. I'm afraid I made a poor impression from the very start. I wasn't feeling very sharp; instead of sleeping I had spent a good part of the night wondering about that look in Betty's eyes. That and a few other things. Elkins, the manager, was the sort of man who wears a nice sharp crease in his pants and his hair brushed carefully over his bald spot and calls everyone heartily by his first name. "Well, Tom," he said expansively, after the formalities of introduction and exchange of cigarettes were out of the way, "let's get to business. First of all, this, ah--token." He held out a check. The four figures on it were even prettier than the pretty-colored ink they were printed in. That was for me. Legally, by the terms of their prize offer. I had checked on that. "Thank you," I said. "And now, as concerns your place with the Translunar organization--" I interrupted. "I'm sorry, Mr. Elkins. Personal plans make it impossible for me to accept the position you have so generously offered me." That rocked him. Why not--it rocked me. He still smiled with his lips, out of habit, but his eyes weren't smiling. He pulled an ash tray to him and crushed out his cigarette--the one I had given him. "But--! You realize this is most irregular, Mr. Denby! And unexpected." "I do. I didn't know it myself until a little while ago." "Is this decision final, Mr. Denby?" "I'm afraid it is." "Very well. I'm sorry to hear it." His tone meant that I would be sorry too. "In that case there is nothing further to say." He pushed a button and a flunky came in to sweep me out. As I left I could as good as see him writing down my name on a sheet marked Blacklist in 72 point caps.