"I never knew you were married," Chapman said. Klein didn't look up. "There wasn't much sense in talking about it. You just get to thinking and wanting--and there's nothing you can do about it. You talk about it and it just makes it worse." "She let you go without any fuss, huh?" "No, she didn't make any fuss. But I don't think she liked to see me go, either." He laughed a little. "At least I hope she didn't." * * * * * They were silent for a while. "What do you miss most, Chap?" Klein asked. "Oh, I know what we said a little while ago, but I mean seriously." Chapman thought a minute. "I think I miss the sky," he said quietly. "The blue sky and the green grass and trees with leaves on them that turn color in the Fall. I think, when I go back, that I'd like to go out in a rain storm and strip and feel the rain on my skin." He stopped, feeling embarrassed. Klein's expression was encouraging. "And then I think I'd like to go downtown and just watch the shoppers on the sidewalks. Or maybe go to a burlesque house and smell the cheap perfume and the popcorn and the people sweating in the dark." He studied his hands. "I think what I miss most is people--all kinds of people. Bad people and good people and fat people and thin people, and people I can't understand. People who wouldn't know an atom from an artichoke. And people who wouldn't give a damn. We're a quarter of a million miles from nowhere, Julius, and to make it literary, I think I miss my fellow man more than anything." "Got a girl back home?" Klein asked almost casually. "Yes." "You're not like Dahl. You've never mentioned it." "Same reason you didn't mention your wife. You get to thinking about it." Klein flipped the lid on the specimen box. "Going to get married when you get back?" Chapman was at the port again, staring out at the bleak landscape. "We hope to." "Settle down in a small cottage and raise lots of little Chapmans, eh?" Chapman nodded. "That's the only future," Klein said. He put away the box and came over to the port. Chapman moved over so they both could look out. "Chap." Klein hesitated a moment. "What happened to Dixon?" "He died," Chapman said. "He was a good kid, all wrapped up in science. Being on the Moon was the opportunity of a lifetime. He thought so much about it that he forgot a lot of little things--like how to stay alive. The day before the Second group came, he went out to finish some work he was interested in. He forgot to check for leaks and whether or not the valve on his tank was all the way closed. We couldn't get to him in time." "He had his walkie-talkie with him?" "Yes. It worked fine, too. We heard everything that went through his mind at the end." Klein's face was blank. "What's your real job here, Chap? Why does somebody have to stay for stopover?"