Lisa didn’t say anything. Well, what _could_ she say? What the Hell did he _want_ her to say? “There’s a moon tonight.” That’s what she said. “_Is_ there?” The Hell with that too! She shouldn’t have put on that perfume, he thought. Then, startled, he found that his hand had gone out to the switch, and the wall that had been milky glass before turned transparent. A near-full moon, heavy and low on the hilltops silhouetted the silvery birches and tall pines: brought them so close he could feel the night breeze outside. He shivered, suddenly and uncontrollably, then remembered he’d turned the conditioner down before. He reached for the panel light. Lee stirred in the bed, turned her back to him. _Fooled you!_ he thought with childish malice as he found the light ... but no more childish than her back when she thought he was going for the bottle again, he decided. She moved again, and he saw she was propped on an elbow, staring out. A current of air, from her back maybe, carried that scent again--what in Hell was it?--An old smell, a happy one, something from back when the Moon was a moon, and the man in the moon was a joke, and not Chris, and Mars was an orangey spot in the sky, with no man in it anywhere.... His hand on the thermostat wavered. He stood up, dropped the towel, and shivered again. “Mind if I light the fire?” His voice sounded harsh in his ears. Hell with that _too_.... “Mmmmm....” That could have meant anything. He crossed the room, set a match to the kindling and crouched at the fireplace, hugging the warmth, while he watched flames leap up. Smell of pine burning, the crackle of pitch, and then he remembered.... _Vanilla!_ A year ... more than a year now ... fourteen, fifteen months, that flavor, the scent of it on Lisa’s skin had been haunting him. _The smell of vanilla!_ He laughed. She made an inquiring noise and he looked around. The moon was gone. The milky wall was black. His panel light glowed for a moment, then she moved toward his side of the bed and stretched out her arm and the small glow died. Firelight leaped up, warming him through. “Hey, babe!” he said. “Oh, baby, I love _you_....” _The Moon--January, 1976_ Across the broad pock-marked face of the Moon, like blue-tinged boils on chin, cheek, and forehead, three air-filled pressure domes gleamed in the hard rays of the naked sun. Largest and best-advertised of these was the joint military and astronomical observatory base of the United Nations World Peace Control and International Scientific Congress, nestled appropriately, or at least hopefully, inside a hilltop between the great dry “seas,” _Tranquilitatis_ and _Serenitatis_. Flanking it, at distances of about 800 miles each, were the Low-atmosphere and Low-temperature Laboratory of the Soviet Union of Asian Republics, and the All America Laboratory for the Investigation of Extra-Terrestrial Phenomena.