“Mercury,” Earmar said gravely, “is definitely a hell world. One face to the sun, and only about thirty-eight million miles from him. On the sunward side metals boil like milk and all rocks must be in a state of plasma. On the night side there is frost so intense that it splits solid granite and marble. No air, of course. The only place on the planet where human life could remain for a brief spell within a space-ship or a pressure suit, is on the Terminator Line, the mountainous division between night and day. We’re not likely to enjoy Mercury one bit.”
“Which means you accept it as inevitable that we’re going there?”
“What else?” Earmar asked. “With these controls present we can’t help ourselves.”
Vanita looked at the small but well-devised switchboard.
“Can’t you do something to wrec
