two-foot yardstick.' 'Thann-too,' mused Meris. 'Eva-lee's husband was named Thann.' 'Yes,' said Debbie. 'He was one of my-Thann's Befores. Thann is a fairly common name among us.' 'Speaking of names,' said Meris casually, ''do you know a Timmy and-' 'And a Lytha?' Debbie laughed. 'I passed Bethie on my way in! She said you were wondering-Maybe someday you can hear their story from them in person. I don't have it well enough to pass it on.' 'Well, I just thought,' Merle smiled. 'Bed.' Mark stood and stretched. 'Bed for our guest along with our many thanks. How long can you stay?' 'Only tonight and tomorrow night,' said Debbie. 'I have involvements back with the Group, but Bethie wants me to stay long enough to tell you about Shadow.' 'Shadow?' Meris laughed. Mark laughed. 'Look at her ears prick up!' 'Yes, Shadow,' said Debbie. 'She's a Too, too. In fact she is Bethie-too. She and-you know her brother-Remy had quite an experience not so long ago. In the light of recent developments, Bethie thought you might like to hear of it. Also, it all started pretty close to your summer cabin. You see, from where you live, you go northeast about-' She broke off. 'Bed,' she said firmly. 'Bed, right now. Talking is almost as addictive as listening.' The next evening-school keeps, guest or no guest, and Mark had daily duties-Debbie settling down on the couch between Mark and Meris said, 'I suppose that Bethie was relieved to be called away before she could tell you this segment of our story. It concerns mostly her own family and she's so shy about talking of herself or those close to her.' Debbie laughed. 'It is to smile a little ruefully for me to realize how parallel my actions and thinking were with Remy's, only he's really a Teener and I was supposed to be a responsible married woman. 'Well, anyway, give me your hands and listen to Shadow-' SHADOW ON THE MOON 'No, we can't even consider it.' Father smoothed his hand along the board he was planing. It was to be a small table for Mother's birthday. I curled one of the good smelling shavings around my finger as I listened. 'But, Father-' I could see Remy's hands clenching themselves as he tried to control his voice and keep it low and reasonable-a real job for the volatile person he was. 'If you'd only-' Father put the plane down and looked at Remy. I mean really looked at him, giving him his full attention. 'Has anything changed materially since last we discussed the matter?' he asked. 'Apparently not.' Remy laughed shortly. '1 hoped you might have-If you'd only consider it-' 'You know I'm not the only one that thinks this way,' said Father. 'Though I concur heartily with the thinking of the rest of the Old Ones. No good would be served. Can't you see that, Remy?' 'I can't see any flat statement like that!' cried Remy, his control of his impatience beginning to slip. 'Every step of progress anyone makes is some good. Why don't you let us-' 'Look, Remy.' Father sat on one hip on the edge of the workbench. 'Shall we A B C it again. A-we couldn't possibly let anyone else know we had gone to the moon in a spacecraft. B-to the best of our knowledge, there is no immediate need for anything to be found on the moon. C-he smiled-' 'We bin there already.' At least on our way in. And that was enough for most of us. It looked as good to us as the Statue of Liberty did to the flood of immigrants that used to come over from Europe, but we're most of us content to stay where we are now-looking at it from this side, not that.' He grinned at Remy. 'Unless you have any information that would materially alter any of these three checkpoints, I'm afraid the discussion is closed-' 'Why couldn't we tell?' cried Remy desperately, feeling the whole situation going down the drain. 'Why do we have to keep it a secret? Isn't everyone risking their lives and spending fortunes trying to get into Space? Why can't we help?' He broke off because his throat got so tight with anger and frustrated tears that he couldn't talk any more. Father sighed patiently. 'So we go to the moon and back and announce it. So they all swarm around. Can't you hear them screaming?-What propellant? What engine? Escape velocity-air pressure-radiation-landing-return launching –reentry! What would you tell them? Go on, boy-type, answer the nice people. Show them the engines. What? No engines! Show them the fuel tank. їQue? No fuel tank! Show them our protection against radiation. Quoi? No protection? 'No, Remy. I wish, because you want it so much, that we could make this expedition for you. Your grandfather's memories of Space can hardly be much comfort to you at your age. But it's out of the question. We cannot deliver ourselves over to the Outsiders for the whim of just one of us. If only you'd reconcile yourself to it-' 'What's the use then?' Remy flung at Father. 'What's the use of being able to if we don't?' 'Being able to is not always the standard to go by,' said Father. He flicked his fingers at the ceiling and we three watched the snowflakes drift down starrily to cover the workbench. 'Your mother loves to watch the snow,' he said, 'but she doesn't go around snowing all the time.' He stopped the snow with a snap of his fingers and it dampened the wood shavings with its melting. 'No, just being able to is not a valid reason. And reason there must be before action.' Remy kicked a block of wood out of the workshop and all the way up the slope to our walnut tree on the hill above the twisted, glittering string that was Cayuse Creek. I followed along. I always follow along-Remy's shadow, they call me-and he usually pays about that much attention to me. What can I expect else, being a girl and his sister besides. But I like it because Remy does things-lots of things-and he can usually use a listening ear. I am the willing ear. I'm Bethie-too, because Mother is Bethie. 'Then we'll do it by ourselves!' he muttered as he dug a rock out of the ground where it was poking his shoulder when he tried to relax against the hillside. 'We'll build our own craft and we'll go by ourselves!' He was so used to me that he automatically said 'we'-though it usually meant he had decided he'd do something-a sort of royal 'we.' He lay back under the tree, his hands under his head, his eyes rebelliously on the leaves above. I sat by him, trying to snow like Father had, but all I got was cold fingertips and one big drop of rain that I flicked at Remy. He wiped it off and glared up at the canopy of leaves. 'Derned old birds!' I laughed. 'Go on! Laugh!' he said, jerking upright. 'Fine deal when my own sister laughs!' 'Remy.' I looked at him, smiling. 'You're acting about ten years below yourself and a seven-year-old isn't very attractive in a frame the size of yours!' He sank back and grinned. 'Well, I bet I could. A craft wouldn't be so hard to build. I could use scrap metal- though why does it have to be metal? And we could check in the newspaper for when Canaveral says is the best time-' 'Remy'-the light in his eyes quenched at the tone of my voice-'how far is it to the moon?' 'Well, us-I'm not for sure. I think it's about 250,000 miles, give or take a couple of blocks.' 'How far have you ever lifted a vehicle?' I asked. 'Well, at least five miles-with your help! With your help!' he hastened as I looked at him. 'And how far out of the atmosphere?' I asked. 'Why none at all, of course! Father won't let me-' 'And in free fall? And landing in no air? And coming back?' 'All right! All right! Don't rub it in,' he said sulkily. 'But you wait!' he promised. 'I'll get into Space yet!' That evening, Father quirked an eyebrow when Remy said he wanted to start training to become a Motiver. Oh, he could learn it-most any of The People could-but it's a mighty uphill job of it if you aren't especially gifted for it. A gifted Motiver hardly needs any training except in how to concentrate on a given project for the time necessary. But Remy would have to start from scratch, which is only a notch or two above Outsider performance- which is mostly nil. Father and Remy both knew Remy was just being stubborn because he so wanted to go out into Space, but Father let him go to Ron for study and I got pretty lonely in the hours he spent away from camp. After all, what is there for a shadow to do when there's no one to follow around? For a day or two I ranged above the near slopes and hills, astonishing the circling buzzards by peering over their thin, wide wings, or catching a tingly downward slide on the last slants of the evening sun through the Chimneys. The Chimneys are spare, angular fingers of granite that thrust themselves nakedly up among the wooded hills along one bank of the Cayuse. But exploring on your own stops being fun after a while and I was pretty lonesome the evening I brought Mother a little cottontail rabbit I'd taken away from a coyote on the edge of
