Nagel helped him to his feet and Crag stood for a moment, feeling the strength surge back into his body. He breathed deeply, luxuriating in the plentiful oxygen. Fresh oxygen. Fresh as a maiden's kiss, he thought Oxygen was gold. More than gold. It was life. "Ready, now?" "Ready as I ever will be," Crag answered. "Lead on, Gordon." They had almost reached Bandit when Crag broke the silence. "Why did you come ... to the moon, Gordon?" Nagel slowed his steps, then stopped and turned. "Why did you come, Commander?" "Because ... because ..." Crag floundered. "Because someone had to come," he blurted. "Because I was supposed to be good in my field." His eyes met Nagel's. The oxygen man was smiling, faintly. "I'm good in mine, too," he said. He chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. "I could give the same reasons as you," he said finally. "Truthfully, though, there's more to it." He looked at Crag defiantly. "I was a misfit on earth, Commander. A square peg in a round hole. I had dreams ... dreams, but they were not the dreams of earth. They were dreams of places in which there were no people." He gave an odd half-smile. "Of course I didn't tell the psych doctors that." "There's plenty I didn't tell 'em, myself," Crag said. "Commander, you might not understand this but ... I like the moon." He looked away, staring into the bleakness of Arzachel. Crag's eyes followed his. The plain beyond was an ash-filled bowl broken by weird ledges, spires, grotesque rocks. In the distance Backbone Ridge crawled along the floor of the basin, forming its fantastic labyrinths. Yet ... yet there was something fascinating, almost beautiful about the crater. It was the kind of a place a man might cross the gulfs of space to see. Nagel had crossed those gulfs. Yes, he could understand. "I'll never return to earth," he said, almost dreamily. "Nonsense." "Not nonsense, Commander. But I'm not unhappy at the prospect. Do you remember the lines: _Under the wide and starry sky Oh, dig the grave and let me lie ..._ Well, that's the way I feel about the moon." "You'll be happy enough to get back to earth," Crag predicted. "I won't get back, Commander. Don't want to get back." He turned broodingly toward Bandit. "Maybe we'd better move on," Crag said gently. "I crave to get out of this suit." CHAPTER 17 "Martin Larkwell was a good boy," the superintendent said reminiscently, "and of course we're highly pleased he's made his mark in the world." He looked at the agent and beamed. "Or should I say the moon?" The agent smiled dutifully. "Young Martin was particularly good with his hands. Not that he wasn't smart," he added hurriedly. "He was very bright, in fact, but he was fortunate in that he coupled it with an almost uncanny knack of using his hands."