Stevens was staring at the ceiling. He was trying to think, to remember.
"Now listen to this, Stevens. You went up a convict, and now you're a hero. You're in perfect physical condition, so we're going right ahead with Project Ultimo. And you'll handle the rocket, Stevens! If anyone can get to the Moon, you can, from this exhibition today!"
"What's that," Stevens said. He looked at their faces.
"It'll take a week to get the rocket ready," the Major said. "It's the Moon now, Stevens! The Moon!"
"The Moon," Stevens repeated.
"This will be no secret, Stevens!" Major Kanin stood up, his chest out, his heavy-jowled face glowing with triumph. "The world will know about it when you take off, this time. This won't be secret. The Enemy will know then that they've lost! Lost, utterly and unquestionably. With military bases on the Moon, they'll be helpless and they'll know it when you make that successful flight! One week, Stevens!"
Stevens looked out the window at the gray curtain of rain. "What was that? One week—" Something stirred in his memory. He grappled for it, lost it. He closed his eyes.
"Seven days, Stevens, that's all!"
He didn't answer. For an instant, behind the bottomless darkness of his closed lids, he saw something—something intangible and shimmering, beyond the grayness and rain. And then it was gone.