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“Anything I can do about it now?” Bill asked, finally. “And how about having those doctors ready?”

“We’re checking with Medical,” the signals answered. “We’re.... Here’s their report. Not enough data—could be anything. Dozens of diseases like that. Nothing you can do, except try salt water gargle and spray; you’ve got stuff for that. Wash off rash with soap and hot water, followed by some of your hypo. We’ll get a medical kit up to the Moon for you.”

He let that sink in, then clicked back: “The Moon?”

“You think you can land here with whatever you’ve got, man? There’s no way of knowing how contagious it is. And keep an hourly check with us. If you pass out, we’ll try to get someone out in a Moon rocket to pick you up. But we can’t risk danger of infecting the whole planet. You’re quarantined on the Moon—we’ll send up landing instructions later—not even for Luna Base, but where there will be no chance of contamination for others. You didn’t really expect to come back here, did you, Adams?”