"Sorry," Control said, "I'll contact the jeep. One of Captain Jarvis' dogs got loose, and--" "I'm not interested in your excuses," Cantrell said angrily, "and I don't care if it does belong to Captain Jarvis. Get it off the field, or I'll blast it off!" Irritably, he cut communications. He looked out the window. The jeep had stopped, and someone had gotten out and was walking back to collar the dog and return it. The jeep started up again. Cantrell breathed a sigh of relief. He felt annoyed with himself, as he always did when something like this happened, but the self-condemnation failed to placate him. Damn it! Jarvis was a psychiatrist; the man knew how these things affected him. To make matters worse, it was Jarvis' dog. Probably trying another of his "experiments", Cantrell thought disgustedly. He crawled out of the airlock and down the long metal stairs to the ground. The jeep pulled up, and the khaki-clad driver said, "Sorry about the dog, sir, but--" "Skip it," Cantrell snapped, climbing into the jeep. "Just take me to HQ." The soldier nodded and spun the jeep around. They went flashing toward a fat clump of buildings that squatted alone at the edge of the landing field. As Cantrell had expected, Captain Jarvis was with Colonel Enders in the latter's office. "What was the idea of sending out that mongrel," Cantrell flared. "You know I'm allergic to animals." "It was an accident. Besides, you're not allergic to anything," the psychiatrist said calmly, ignoring the insult to his pet. "You're rationalizing a pathological fear--" "Now, see here--" Captain Jarvis held up a placating hand "--or hatred, if you wish, of animals." "Okay, okay, I don't like animals," Cantrell said. "We've been over that a dozen times. So what? I suppose you still think it has some bearing on my going to the moon and back?" The psychiatrist shrugged. "Who knows? It might have." Colonel Enders said, "I'm beginning to agree with Cantrell, Captain. We're not going to find anyone perfect, it seems, so we may as well take those with the best qualifications. Cantrell certainly isn't going to encounter animals in space, and there's no life on the moon; our foremost scientists assure us of that." "But can you be sure," the psychiatrist wondered, "can they be sure, can anybody be sure? Scientists don't have all the right answers about our Earth, much less the other planets; we know as much about Earth as a flea knows about the dog or the cat he's on." Cantrell grimaced at the analogy. "That's why we're going up, to find a few answers. Anyway, tomorrow I'll be on my way because I've got the qualifications for it, animals or no animals. And if the moon has creatures on it that resemble dogs or cats or even fleas, I'll be mighty surprised. How about you, Colonel?"