Petro chuckled. "Crater's too shy and, anyway, he's just a child-so I'll collect your kiss for him."

"Well, no kiss for you today, nor tomorrow, nor perhaps ever," she answered, her smile turning coy. "Unless I decide it should be so. Now, go away. I'm told there's to be a parade and I want to watch it."

Petro made a little bow, then ambled off while Crater stumbled along behind. Crater had won the race, yet Petro had still received the glory. And the girl too! All he'd gotten was an ugly mooncrete trophy cup. At the bottom of the steps, Petro said, "That's a great girl, Crater. I'll get her to kiss me tonight- don't think I won't."

"I was talking to her," Crater said, "and you interrupted me."

"So? You think she's ever going to kiss you?"

"Why not?"

Petro chuckled. "Crater, you know nothing about women.

In the first place, they're attracted to men with a future. You're a scragline picker and that's all you're ever going to be. But you heard what I told that convoy cruiser. She heard it too.

Although I've lost my throne, I'm still destined for bigger things."

"But you could see I liked her. You're my brother."

"Not really," Petro replied. "We live in the same tube and Q-Bess is my mum and your guardian. Otherwise, there's not a thing that makes us brothers."

A lump formed in Crater's throat and tears filled his eyes, but no words came to him. He turned and walked away. Petro called after him. "What's your problem, anyway?" When Crater kept walking, Petro hurried after him and put his hand on Crater's shoulder. "Hey, I was just joking."

Crater brushed Petro's hand away. "No, you weren't."

"You're too sensitive, Crater. Toughen up!"

Crater didn't reply but took his trophy cup and threw it against the tube wall, whereupon it shattered into a dozen pieces. He stared at the shards on the deck, then knelt and picked them up, lest anyone think he wasn't grateful for the honor. Carrying the mooncrete chunks and flushed with anger and embarrassment, he walked away, wishing he could keep going and never look back. Life was suddenly very dark.

Back in the viewing box, the sheriff approached the Colonel. "So that's your boy, Sheriff?" the Colonel demanded.

"Indeed, sir."

"Is he naive?"

"Completely."

"Not too dumb?"

"He's actually a brilliant lad. Knows a dozen languages and is a fair engineer."

"Brave?"

"Braver than a squad of generals."

"Loyal?"

"No one is more loyal to you than he."

"The other boy? Our royal pretender?"

"Not right, sir. It's Crater you're needing."

"Well done, Sheriff."

"Thank you, sir. Anything else?"

The Colonel turned back to his guests and waved his hand.

The sheriff was dismissed. Another problem solved.

SEVEN.

The Scragline Pickers, as the band called themselves, mostly played Lunarian Country. Crater had formed the band, scheduled all the practices, and written nearly all the songs. His instruments were the electronic guitar and the fiddle, and he also sang. Petro played bass indifferently since he rarely practiced. There were two electric guitar pluckers and a fellow who played the trumpet. One of their recordings had even gotten play over the Armstrong City station. It was called "Moon Dust Girls," and Crater was plenty proud of it. As he sang it that night, Crater discovered he was singing it for Maria, who sat up front with Captain Teller and some tough-looking truck drivers.

All I want is a moon dust girl,

Down in a crater waitin' for love.

All I want is a moon dust girl,

Kissin' me 'neath the world above.

All I need is a moon dust girl,

Makes workin' in the dust almost fun.

All I need is a moon dust girl,

Scrapes heel-3 up by the megaton.

Now I have a moon dust girl,

Puts her helmet next to mine.

Now I have a moon dust girl,

She's one-sixth gravity fine.

After their sets and some nice tips collected in an old moon boot from the regulars plus the Neroburg and Russian visitors, Crater headed for Maria's table. He'd been practicing what he was going to say. "Hello, Maria. Thank you for coming. You're looking pretty tonight." He'd said the lines over and over in his head, but before he got to the table, Petro beat him to it, bringing Maria a soft drink. Maria smiled at Petro and turned her attention to him. Crater, his boots dragging, went back to the Dust Palace, there to stare into the darkness until Petro came home. It was after midnight. Crater, pretending to be asleep, heard him whistling "Moon Dust Girls."

The next day after their shift was over, Q-Bess met Crater and Petro at the Dust Palace hatch. "Colonel wants to see you in one hour, Crater. You'll see it on your reader. And, Petro?"

"Yes, Mum?"

"That granddaughter of the Colonel's left you a message.

Said to meet her at the Earthrise."

Crater gulped, but managed to say, "Have fun."

Petro grinned. "I always do!"

A few seconds later it registered in Crater's head that he was to meet with the Colonel. He looked to Q-Bess for an explanation but she shrugged. "No clue."

Crater gulped. "I'm going to be fired for driving a shuttle without a permit!"

Q-Bess thought that over. "If that were so, Petro would be called in too. I swear, Crater, you could depress an army that just won a war. Maybe the Colonel's gonna give you a medal.

Ever think of that? Now, get going."

Crater, having no other choice, got going. On his bunk, Crater found Q-Bess had laid out his best tunic, a clean pair of leggings, and tube boots polished to a gleam. Crater headed for the administrative offices. When he passed the office with the sign that said Sherrif of Moontown, the sheriff waved him inside and leaned back in his chair, which protested in a rusty squawk. "I believe you are off to see the Colonel," he said. "Do you know the topic?"

"No, sir."

The sheriff took on a melancholy aspect and leaned forward, the chair squawking in the opposite direction. "Crater, the Colonel is not an ordinary man. He thinks at different levels and in different ways than you and I. Keep that in mind."

Crater was anxious to get moving lest he be late, but the sheriff showed no interest in letting him go. "I'm not much for general conversation and I don't usually give advice but . . . Bill and Annie Hawkins, your foster parents, were friends of mine.

Did you know that?"

"No, sir."

"They came across on the same convoy as I did. You were in Annie's arms and Bill was so proud. They adopted you from the Armstrong City hospital. That was kind of them, taking an infant of dead parents to raise. Bill and Annie went off to the scrapes, I got into the sheriffing business, but we were friends, like I said, and I guess I should have looked after you a little more than I've done over the years. At least I can now offer you some advice, and here it is. Don't do anything unless you think you can handle it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Crater scratched his head. "If I think I can't handle something, I shouldn't do it?"

"Very good," the sheriff said, then added, "and it might be best if you left the gillie with me."

The sheriff's suggestion was not, of course, a suggestion, so Crater handed the gillie over in its holster and the sheriff put it in a cabinet and locked it. "You can pick it up after you're done," he said and waved Crater on his way.

Crater walked to the Colonel's office, his thoughts turning to what he knew about how he'd come to Moontown. His parents had come from Earth, he knew that much, but their lander had crashed. That was before the moon elevator had been built. When Crater had been born at the hospital in Armstrong City and his mother had subsequently died, the nurses had started looking for some foster parents and found Bill and Annie Hawkins, a couple who had a contract to work in Moontown. Crater was handed over to them with a letter testifying who he was, made official since it was signed by the head nurse. Almost seventeen years later, here he was, orphan and ward of the company, off to see the Colonel, the greatest man in Moontown and probably the entire moon.

Crater didn't know how he should feel, so he chose pride.

Pride goeth before a fall, he recalled somebody at the Dust Palace saying, but he didn't care about that. He needed any emotion he could grab to cover up what kept exploding in his brain like a double-charged detpak: jealousy. It was awful, green-eyed, and purple-footed, and if he let it, the monster was going to overwhelm him. Somehow, even though he had only spent a few minutes in her presence, Crater had decided Maria Medaris was worthy of his complete and utter worship and adoration.

That she was allowing Petro, who could not understand her perfection, the favor of her presence and probably lots of kisses was tearing him up inside.

Tamping down his jealousy as best he could at least got him to the Colonel's office, which required going past most of the company administrative offices. As Crater passed them, the employees within-the engineers, draftsmen, clerks, and such-stopped what they were doing to watch him go by. It wasn't every day a scragline picker was invited into the bureaucratic palace. In the Colonel's anteroom, Crater discovered a young woman sitting at a standard office desk. Her hair, the color of copper, flowed across her shoulders, and she was wearing an obviously very expensive amber silken tunic. When she looked up, Crater said, "I'm Crater Trueblood. I have an appointment to see the Colonel."