"We've been here for three months without a woman, Captain," said the commander. "This may be the last one alive in the cosmos. I'm not sure the man with her would agree to sharing her." "But the others--They can't live out there for more than a few hours in their spacesuits...." But the commander had picked up a book of crossword puzzles, and was concentrating fiercely on a cryptogram. The other man swallowed noisily, once, then went to carry out the orders. * * * * * "It's over," said Corey to his wife. Lucille nodded dully. "Don't you understand, honey? The bombing's stopped, and we're still alive. Enough food for months. The radiation-count will be down by then, and--" "And what?" asked Lucille, staring from her husband's face to the two children sleeping on the military cot before the crowded bookshelf. "When it's down, what happens next?" "Why--We go out. We rebuild." "Rebuild? Rebuild what? How?" said Lucille. "Can you build a radio? If you could, who would we talk to, listen to?" "I mean, rebuild houses, start farming, raise animals...." "Will the land grow food any more? Are there animals left out there, or did they forget to burrow underground when the fires began?" said Lucille. "Be reasonable, honey!" said Corey. "That's what I'm being, for the first time in years," she said. "I wish we'd stayed with Pete and Beth." "They've turned to ashes by now," said Corey. Lucille shrugged. "Maybe they're better off." The baby began to cry, and kick its round pink legs. "I think the baby needs a change, or something," said Corey, looking down at his infant son. "Read him _Coningsby_," said Lucille. Then she started laughing again, until Corey was forced to slap her face crimson to quiet her. * * * * * Just a few weeks short of two years after the holocaust, the great spaceship settled on faltering fires to the charred surface of the Earth. The Moonbase commander, gaunt from long starvation, reeled out into the glaring white sunlight, fell face downward upon the sharp black rocks, and just lay there, trying to catch his breath. Behind him, a pale shadow formed in the blackness of the open airlock, and a woman crept out, her hair tangled and white-streaked, her face raddled with disease. She shuddered, and sank to a squatting position on the ground, covering her face with her hands to block out the horrible vista that ran for mile upon scorched mile. "It's dead, the world's dead," she mewled, quaking. "We're at a wake, a hideous, horrible wake!" The commander groaned and lifted himself up painfully on his elbows. "There's got to be something, somewhere, or we've had it." "It's your fault," said the woman. "What did you expect the men to do when you kept me to yourself! You shared me with them nearly two years. You shouldn't have locked the men out of your quarters."