We cracked that one, just in time for another. It began with Venus, as most of my problems had. We planned constant dust storms for Venus. Real quick, there'd be nothing left of the Bonestell's backgrounds but a blank wall, from mechanical erosion. And how did we intend—? Glass— Too easily scratched. Lord, another one: how will the half-a-buck customers be able to see inside? Glass and one of those silicon plastics? Better, but— 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
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