Question of Comfort | Page 4

available, it's just impossible to give a sensation of changed
weight. And we know they've been pressuring you about us being on
the payroll."
"Wait"--desperately--"if you pull out, everything will go. The
opposition needs only something like this. Besides, the GG is the one
bit of insanity I can depend on in a practical world, the prop for my

judgment--"
Harry: "Clouded judgment."
Mel: "Expensive prop."
Having grown used to their friendly insults, I sensed their resolution
weakening, felt the pendulum swinging back.
The waitress interrupted with news of an urgent phone call. It was the
worst possible time for me to leave. And the news I got threw me.
Feeling the weight of the world, I returned.
"Can't be in two places at once," I said bitterly. "Go ahead without me;
I'm leaving."
"Wait a few minutes," Mel said, between bites of steak, "we want to
resign. Sit down."
"Damn it, I can't! I spoke to The Boss. I've pulled a boo-boo, but big."
"What happened?"
"Bonestell will do the backgrounds, but he has to know what rocks
we're putting in the rooms. What rocks are we? Anybody have an idea
what the surface of Mars looks like? God, how could I have missed
that?"
"Sit down," Dex said casually, "we want to resign."
Hazel added, "You can have your rocks in 24 hours. We worked it out
weeks ago. I did read Van Es, and Harry has prospected, and Dex
knows minerals, and Mel pushed his way through Tyrrell's 'Principles
of Petrology'--"
"The science of rocks," Mel interrupted, between bites of steak.
"We got interested one day." Frank's pretty, dark eyes danced.

"We want to resign," Dex repeated casually, "so sit down."
I sat.
They began throwing the ball faster than I could catch: "No atmosphere
on Mercury, then no oxidation; I insist there'd be no straight metals....
The asteroids? Ferromagnesian blocks of some kind--any basalts
around here?... For Venus, grab a truckload of granodiorite--the spotted
stuff--from the Sierra-Nevadas and tint it pink.... Lateritic soils for
Mars? You crazy? Must have water and a subtropical climate...."
It hit me: a valid use for the GG, one that already saved money. Make
them a brain team, trouble-shooters, or problem-solvers on questions
that could not be solved.
I said, "Fine, go ahead. About your resignations--"
Mel said something indistinguishable--I'd caught him on a bite of steak.
Hazel, belligerent, demanded: "Are you asking us to resign?"
Apparently I wasn't. So they stuck, and another crisis was met.
Unfortunately, by then, I'd forgotten the shock and warning I got from
the cat.
* * * * *
Things moved swiftly, more easily. The GG took over, becoming, in
effect, my staff. They'd become more: five different extensions of me,
each capable of acting correctly. As a team, they meshed beautifully.
Too beautifully, at one point. Dex and Hazel were seeing eye-to-eye,
even in the dark, and I worried about the effect on the others. I might as
well have worried about the effect of a light bulb on the sun. They
married or some such, refused time off, and the GG functioned, if
anything, better. It was almost indecent the way the five got along
together.
A new problem arose: temperature. We weren't reproducing actual

temperatures, but the rooms needed a marked change, for reality's sake.
I'd insisted on that, and having won the point, was stuck with it. It was
after 2 A.M.; I was alone in the office.
The sound of the outer door closing startled me. Footsteps approached;
I hurried to clean my desk, sweeping the bottle into the drawer.
"You're up too late. Go home." Frank had a nonarguable look in her eye.
"You're supposed to be getting sleep."
"I am, far more than before you guys began helping, but--"
"But with all that extra sleep, you're looking worse."
"I don't need any more sleep!" I said angrily, then tried diversion,
"Been on a date?"
"Yes, but I thought I'd better check on you." She moved close to the
desk, and I remembered the last time we'd been alone, in the bar. Now I
was glad I wasn't drunk.
"What the devil are you up to?"
* * * * *
She pawed through the desk drawers. "Finding what you tried to
hide--"
"Wait, Frank!" I yelled, too late.
She looked at the bottle, then me, with a strange expression: a little
pity--not patronizing--but mostly feminine understanding. "Soda pop?
Of course. You don't like alcohol, do you?"
"No." Gruffly.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, as though holding back tears. "I know what's
the matter with you; I really know."

"There's nothing the matter with me that--"
"That beating this mess won't solve." We hadn't heard Mel enter. He
leaned casually against the door. "Terrific idea for a story."
I shrugged. "Seems to be