Harry beat it: glass, plastic, _and_ a boundary layer of cold air,
jetted down from the ceiling, in front of the background painting and
back of the look-in window. I was glad, for lately, Harry had begun to
age. Thin and gray, he showed the strain--as did all of us.
* * * * *
We were sitting in an administration office at the park. I now
recognized the symptoms; when the GG had no real problems, its
collective mind usually turned to my health. I wouldn't admit it, but I
felt a little peaked. Little? Hell, bone-tired, dog-weary pooped. Seemed
every motion was effort, but soon it would end.
The phone rang. With the message, it _was_ ended.
"Let's go, grouseketeers."
There was almost a pregnant pause. Six months: conception of the idea to
delivery of finished product; six months, working together, fighting
men, nature, and the perversity of inanimate objects--all of this now
was done.
No one moved; Frank verbalized it: "I'm scared." She sounded scared.
"Better than being petrified, which I am," I answered. "But we might as
well face it."
We dragged over to the TS building, an impressive structure.
The guide played it straight, told us exactly how to suit up. Then, in
the cart, we edged into the tunnel that was the first lock, and--warned
to set our filters--emerged onto the blinding surface of Mercury.
We felt the heat momentarily--Mercury and Venus were kept at a constant
140 F, the others at 0 F--but it was a deliberate thrill. Then cool air
from the cart suit-connections began circulating.
Bonestell was magnificent, as always. Yellow landscape, spatter cones,
glittering streaks that might be metal in the volcanic ground--created
by dusting ground mica on wet glue to catch the reflection of the sun.
It was a masterpiece.
The sun. Black sky holding a giant, blazing ball. Too damned yellow, but
filtered carbon arcs were the best we could do.
Down, into the tunnel that was lock two. This next one ... Venus,
obvious opposition point of attack, where we'd had the most trouble:
Venus _had_ to be right.
It was! A blast of wind struck us, and dust, swirling everywhere. We'd
discovered there's no such thing as a sand storm--it's really dust--so
we'd taken pains making things look right. Sand dunes were carefully
cemented in place; dust rippling over gave the proper illusion.
Oddly shaped rocks, dimly seen, strengthened the impression of
wind-abraded topography. Rocks were reddish, overlain by smears of
bright yellow. Lot of trouble placing all that flowers of sulfur, but we
postulated a liquid sulfur-sulfur dioxide-carbon dioxide cycle.
Overhead, a diffused, intense yellow light. The sun--we were on the
daylight side.