LACOMBE: ArenÕt you aware of the danger you and your companion risked by exposing yourselves to the toxins in the air?

ROY: IÕm alive. WeÕre talking.

LACOMBE: If the prevailing winds were blowing south instead of north we wouldnÕt be having this conversation.

ROY: ThereÕs nothing wrong with the air.

LACOMBE: (sharply interested) What makes you say that?

ROY: I just know there is nothing wrong with it.

(Lacombe studies Roy. He gestures toward the air lock.)

LACOMBE: Go outside and make me a liar.

(Roy looks out the open door. Maybe the air does seem rarifiedÉ or is it the dusk hour? He screws up his courage but something begins to change. For the first time Roy shows doubt. In seconds he sifts through everything that has happened to himÉ and samples defeat at all the sorrowful alternatives. Lacombe shrugs, reaches for his mask, and starts to leave.)

ROY: (exploding in frustration) Is that it? Is that all you're going to ask me? Well--I got a couple of thousand goddamn questions! Are you the head man around here? I want to lodge a complaint! You have no right to make people crazy! You think I personally investigate every news story on Walter Cronkite? If this is just a cloud of gas--why is it I know this mountain in every detail--and I've never been here?

LACOMBE (excited) You mean to tell me you've imagined this mountain before you've discovered its existence?

(Roy nods.)

LACOMBE: And you feel compelled to be here?

ROY: (depths of irony) I guess you might say that.

LACOMBE: By being here--what do you expect to find?

(Roy struggles to formulate a reply. Finally:)

ROY: The answer. (pause.) That's not crazy, is it?