The unbidden thought stopped him cold. “Don’t rush anything,” Jed said drily. “You’re not quite fired yet.” His mouth wrinkled again in the not-quite smile. “Why don’t you give this dish a job up there, man, instead of trailing her back here?” _That sonofabitch knows too_ damn _much!_ “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you talk the boys up on the hill into setting up an institute of the dance upstairs? Maybe a whole Art Academy? They might go that a lot quicker than a manned flight again.” When he got the operator again, he was surprised, and obscurely annoyed with himself, to find he had to clear an adolescent lump from his throat before he could give Johnny’s number. And there was no answer, still. _Dollars Dome--Monday, September 5, 5_ P.M. (_C.S.T._) The job itself was proving unexpectedly satisfying. Dr. Kutler brought his last patient’s card up to date and sat back, swiveled his chair around and pulled aside the shutters that closed off the Dome wall during consultations. For the victims of the variety of ailments that constituted what they had started to call “loony-sickness,” even the sight of the alien land could interfere with the effort at therapy--no matter how eager the patient was to be there, or how idealistically or aesthetically pleased by the sight. When a man’s body is in rebellion against the disruptive effects of just-too-much-difference in his environment, it helps to minimize those differences--as much as possible--while trying to cure the bodily disorder. The basic cause of the internal “dyscommunication” which caused hearts to pump overtime and reaching fingers to tremble and muscles to twitch could not be shut out or turned off or even disguised. Low gravity was the devil man had to fight--and conquer--on the Moon; and if he _could_ have turned it off for his patients, Phil would not have done so. That was what quarterly leaves did. His job was to help them teach their bodies to live _with_ the difference. Some people could do it. To the doctor, that meant that most, if not all, could _learn_. Chris had stayed healthy for eleven years of almost-solid Moon residence. Johnny had no psychosomatic troubles through two and a half years of low-grav and no-grav on the Mars trip. There were at least a dozen others on the Dome staff who had always regarded the required leaves as a nuisance, and had volunteered eagerly for experimental work--more eagerly than usefully. The valuable patients were those who _got_ sick. The valuable doctor, however, stayed healthy. It was too soon to tell, of course, about himself. Kutler knew his own weaknesses better than most men do; but how predict strength or weakness against an unknown assailant? That didn’t hold all the way either-- He knew he could predict Lisa’s immunity. The woman was so incredibly _in control_ of her own body. He remembered her at World Dome, soaring like a new--better?--kind of human ... a free creature....