"OK, maybe. But those supposed moon rocks"—he did that annoying curly-finger quote thing—"could have easily been faked in a lab somewhere on earth."
"There's no water in them," I said. "Nor do they have compositions that are commonly found on earth."
"But you could make them," he insisted. "In a lab."
I clenched my teeth. "It would take less research to just go get them from the actual moon!"
His nostrils flared. He was coming in for the kill now. "What about...radiation! People can't go through the Van Halen belts. They’d be fried."
"Van Allen belts."
"The Apollo traveled through the Van Allen belts in less than an hour. It would take far longer than that for the exposure to affect them."
I launched into a lecture on relative dosage, my area of expertise. But I didn't stop there. In my fury, my three semesters of college physics resurfaced. I shoved the snack plates out of the way and positioned an olive centrally in the cleared space.
"This is earth," I growled. I snatched four cheese puffs, to represent the inner and outer Van Allen radiation belts, then grabbed some Twizzlers and modeled the solar wind and the earth's magnetosphere and the bow shock region.