Star bright

"That's what he told me," Andy said. "He said that Sensory Shows were planned and provided for the Workers by Personology, just to keep us sane and efficient. Our Actors and Actresses are for everyone's benefit, he said; he said it was antisocial for me to want to monopolize Glora Delar for myself."

"That's right, Andy; that's right."

"Oh, he was a great talker, the Personologist was. He said Personology had saved the world from destruction. Once everyone was crazy, he said, running around in a daze, with fantasy and reality all mixed up. Made wars and criminals and neurotics, he said. Now we've got planned, legalized fantasy in the Sensory Shows. A man can be a big-shot on an imaginary world; he can have the support of the most beautiful actresses and actors. Now there's a definite time for dreaming, one for Working. Normally, one never overlaps the other."

"That's absolutely right, Andy; you should see that. I do."

"You're a shallow idiot," Andy said; "you're content to dream. I'm not; I'm interested in the real Glora Delar. The dreams aren't enough any more, not for me."

"Andy, you always were different. I could never figure you out, and I'm not interested in trying. But all I've got to say is you're just not using common sense. What if all us Workers who worship the Actors and Actresses up on Hollywood II stormed the Moon? Took a million rockets and all flew to the Moon! You are crazy, Andy. And think how wonderful the Sensory Shows are! Work a few hours a week, and the rest of the time you can live a beautiful life with actors and actresses who are so good they can make you believe anything."

"Not me," Andy said. "If a dream can't come true, it's no good. So I'm going to the moon, to Studio City; I'm going to find Glora Delar, in person."

Her dull eyes bulged incredulously at him. "Andy! That's forbidden! You'd be breaking a Class-A Law, and you know what happens to them that does that?"

"I'm going," Andy said. "I can sneak aboard a moon rocket; I'm going tonight."

"Andy, I'll tell! I'll not let you do it!"

Andy lunged. Her cries gurgled into silence under his fingers. He lifted her shivering body up over the colonnade. "I figured you would," he said. "And then I figured that this way--you wouldn't."

Her body fell into the darkness. Brooks stood there a long time gazing down at the curling white foam of the breakers. It was like ripping open a black hole and pouring the past into it. He closed up the hole and turned. He could never have submitted to directed Sensory Shows, so he had to fight.

In the old days a man could fight for what he loved, even if success was impossible. It was pursuit that counted, the pursuit of happiness that had made men and nations strong--when there had been men and nations. Andy's heart beat wildly as he went down the escalator. He might not succeed, but he would have the pleasure of trying the forbidden and incredible; he would crash the gates of Studio City on the Moon.

The pilot was forward in the cage checking the pre-navigation controls. Brooks slipped into the freight chamber and crawled behind newly loaded packing cases. His skin tingled, and his breathing was rapid.

His audacity had been the big factor in his successfully sneaking aboard the new Moon supply rocket. It was inconceivable that anyone would so much as think of breaking a Class-A Law; the punishment was extreme. Only a few select personnel, other than the Stars, including producers and directors and psycho-genic-radial screen projection artists and the like, ever made the flight. And for them, it was always a one-way trip. Only the pilot and the Security Guard accompanying the flight ever returned from the Moon, and they never left the rocket while on the Moon. The rocket always returned immediately to Earth. A veil of glamorous mystery surrounded the Stars and their fabulous Studio City.

Brooks' familiarity with the take-off field, where he had worked as a mechanic and fuelman until his negligence had caused the big blow-up, his knowledge of its arrangement and schedule had enabled him to don a mechanic's uniform in the locker room, get an electrodrill from the supply house for use as an excuse for boarding the rocket. Boarding, he went unnoticed. Mild confusion always reigned about the rocket prior to take-off; no one had noticed that he had not come out of the rocket. And luckily for him, Personology had removed all personnel who had been employed at the field at the time of the disaster, for therapy. Personology always looked out for the Workers.

So Brooks lay in darkness, shivering with excitement that was partly fear. The muffled thunderous explosion engulfed him; the area around him vibrated smoothly. The rocket was lifting. Even protected as he was by the inflated shock-cushion Andy had dug out of a freight room storage locker, the pressure was intense. He blacked out and he knew he had been out a long time when his own groaning awakened him. He grabbed at the edge of a packing case to pull himself erect. The effort smashed him up into the ceiling. Blood ran down his face. He was weightless now, in space; he moved around a little, careful to hold on to something. Then Andy stared at the dim shadow of the bulkhead door; he licked his lips slowly.

The throbbing of his pulse became thunderous. The emptiness in his stomach turned to nausea. This was real adventure, not a dream. But it would have to end somewhere--sometime. He rubbed his lips and sweat ran down his face. What then? A Class-A Law said no one was to go to the Moon. But why was it so important? What was so wrong about actually seeing the Actors and Actresses? About seeing the big production factories where they acted out one's dreams?