They were in the lock and the air pumped in and then they were in the bunker, taking off their suits. The newcomers were impressed and solemn, very much aware of the tremendous responsibility that rested on their shoulders. Like Donley and Klein and the members of the Second group had been when they had landed. Like Chapman had been in the First. Donley and the others were all over them. * * * * * How was it back on Earth? Who had won the series? Was so-and-so still teaching at the university? What was the international situation? Was the sky still blue, was the grass still green, did the leaves still turn color in the autumn, did people still love and cry and were there still people who didn't know what an atom was and didn't give a damn? Chapman had gone through it all before. But was Ginny still Ginny? Some of the men in the Third had their luggage with them. One of them--a husky, red-faced kid named Williams--was opening a box about a foot square and six inches deep. Chapman watched him curiously. "Well, I'll be damned!" Klein said. "Hey, guys, look what we've got here!" Chapman and the others crowded around and suddenly Donley leaned over and took a deep breath. In the box, covering a thick layer of ordinary dirt, was a plot of grass. They looked at it, awed. Klein put out his hand and laid it on top of the grass. "I like the feel of it," he said simply. Chapman cut off a single blade with his fingernail and put it between his lips. It had been years since he had seen grass and had the luxury of walking on it and lying on its cool thickness during those sultry summer nights when it was too hot to sleep indoors. Williams blushed. "I thought we could spare a little water for it and maybe use the ultraviolet lamp on it some of the time. Couldn't help but bring it along; it seemed sort of like a symbol...." He looked embarrassed. Chapman sympathized. If he had had any sense, he'd have tried to smuggle something like that up to the Moon instead of his phonograph. "That's valuable grass," Dahl said sharply. "Do you realize that at current freight rates up here, it's worth about ten dollars a blade?" Williams looked stricken and somebody said, "Oh, shut up, Dahl." One of the men separated from the group and came over to Chapman. He held out his hand and said, "My name's Eberlein. Captain of the relief ship. I understand you're in charge here?" Chapman nodded and shook hands. They hadn't had a captain on the First ship. Just a pilot and crew. Eberlein looked every inch a captain, too. Craggy face, gray hair, the firm chin of a man who was sure of himself. "You might say I'm in charge here," Chapman said. "Well, look, Mr. Chapman, is there any place where we can talk together privately?" They walked over to one corner of the bunker. "This is about as private as we can get, captain," Chapman said. "What's on your mind?" * * * * *