_Who knows?_ He shrugged. _What’s the difference?_ He’d decided something; that was an accomplishment right there. Yeah, big deal: go see ole buddy Chris and get yapped at some more. Okay, he’d _decided_, hadn’t he? Give Lee a kick anyhow. Lisa Goes To The Moon. He started to laugh, but he coughed and half-choked instead. He was thinking of the magazines when he was a kid. Too bad Lisa couldn’t wear one of those bubble-type outfits the girls on the magazine covers had. That would go over big, in the Dome! He could just see them, Chris’s crew of tame scientists, goggle-eyed. Spent two damn years up there and never saw a babe worth looking at. _All_ goggle-eyed. This time the laugh almost came out right. If it was a magazine story, though, Chris’s little Mars-bugs would turn out to be secret-super-intelligences with invincible powers, from Betelgeuse. Or Arcturus. That would be nice, he thought. Let it turn out poor old Doug was just a rabbit mesmerized by these snakey protozoan _intelligences_. Pretty soon they’d take the whole world over, too--except for The Hero, who’d dash in and save everyone just in time. Singing: “I’ll be glad when you’re dead, you amoeba, you.” Lee was making breakfast. He wasn’t ready to see her yet. He found the coffee jar, and made himself some, boiling scalding hot, turned the outside wall to full light and transparency, and propped himself on the couch with the hot coffee and the hot sun shining on him. When he was ready to go out to the kitchen, he found her just finishing her breakfast, wearing yellow shorts, _very_ short, and a bright purple halter top, looking about sixteen years old. “Hi, doll.” Grinning made his face feel cracked and a million years old. “How come you look like that when I feel like this? I worked late,” he said. “Lay down to think something out, and I fell asleep.” “Sure,” she said. He looked straight in her eyes for a moment, and remembered she wasn’t really a kid. She was two months older than he was. He hated her for knowing what he wouldn’t tell; and blessed her for not trying to make him say it. He sat down and patted her hand. “Hey, babe?” “Hmmmm?” “I seem to have made a decision.” “Yes?” But there was something scared in her _eyes_. “I have some recollection of deciding last night that we would go to the Moon.” She surprised him. Last night, he was sure she was all hopped up about it. And even now, the scared look left her eyes. _Scared? Why? What of?_ She looked pleased, all right. But she didn’t say a word. “That is, if you still _want_ to go,” he said stiffly. “I--well, yes, but--Let me think about it a little. All right?” “Sure.” He stood up and went and looked in the warmer. Bacon and toast. _You goddam lucky bastard_, he thought, _You’re so used to her doing things your way, you think you have to get sore if she doesn’t climb all over you and yell Hallelujah!_ He made a sandwich out of the bacon and toast, and went back to the table.