"Say 'cheese.' They'll shoot the close-ups later."

I said something other than "cheese." They must have been usingtelelens and been able to read my lips, because that part of the tape wasnever shown.

I threw my junk in the back, climbed into a passenger seat, and lit acigarette. Five minutes later, Cal himself emerged from the office Quonset,looking cold. He came over and pounded on the side of the hopper. He jerkeda thumb back at the hangar.

"They want you in there!" he called through cupped hands. "Interview!"

"The show's over!" I yelled back. "Either that, or they can getthemselves another baitman!"

His rustbrown eyes became nailheads under blond brows and his glare aspike before he jerked about and stalked off. I wondered how much they hadpaid him to be able to squat in his hangar and suck juice from hisgenerator.

Enough, I guess, knowing Cal. I never liked the guy, anyway.

Venus at night is a field of sable waters. On the coasts, you can nevertell where the sea ends and the sky begins. Dawn is like dumping milk intoan inkwell. First, there are erratic curdles of white, then streamers. Shadethe bottle for a gray colloid, then watch it whiten a little more. All of asudden you've got day. Then start heating the mixture.

I had to shed my jacket as we flashed out over the bay. To our rear,the skyline could have been under water for the way it waved and rippled inthe heatfall. A hopper can accommodate four people (five, if you want tobend Regs and underestimate weight), or three passengers with the sort ofgear a baitman uses. I was the only fare, though, and the pilot was like hismachine. He hummed and made no unnecessary noises. Lifeline turned asomersault and evaporated in the rear mirror at about the same timeTensquare broke the fore-horizon. The pilot stopped humming and shook his