"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."
Andy watched the woman fall.