Question of Comfort | Page 5

homecoming night."
"Not quite," he glanced at his watch, "but wait another few minutes."
He was right: Harry, out of breath, was the last of the GG to arrive.
"Now what?" I asked. "Surely this meeting isn't an accident?"
Dex said thoughtfully, "No, not really, but it is in the sense you mean.
We didn't agree to appear tonight. Yet logically, it's time for the
temperature problem--well, I guess each of us came down to help."
What could I do? That was the GG, characteristically, so we talked
temperatures.
"What I was thinking," Harry began slowly, "was a sort of
superthermostat." Harry, as usual, came to the right starting point.
Frank smiled, "That's right, especially considering layout. Venus and
Mercury are hot; the others, cold. What about a control console that'll
light when the rooms get outside normal temperature range? Then the
operator--"
"Hey! Why an operator?" Mel questioned. "We ought to make this
automatic." He grinned. "Giant computer ... can see it now: the brain
comes alive, tries to destroy anyone turning it off--"
I asked: "Have you been reading the stuff you write?" Funny enough
for 3 A.M.
Dex said calmly, "We can work this--in fact, we can tie it in pink
ribbons and forget it. An electronics outfit in Pasadena makes an
automatic scanning and logging system. Works off punched-paper tape.
We'll code the right poop, and the system will compare it with the

actual raw data. Feedback will be to a master control servo that'll
activate the heater or cooler. Now, we need the right pickup--"
I snapped my fingers. "Variable resistor bridge. Couple of resistors
equal at the right temperature. There'll be a frequency change with
changing temperature--better than a thermocouple, I think."
They looked at me as though I were butting in.
"You've been reading, too," Dex accused. "Ok, we'll use a temperature
bulb. Trouble is, with this system, we'd better let it run continuously.
That'll drive costs up."
Hazel asked, "Can't we use the heat, maybe to drive a compressor? The
sudden expansion of air could cool the rest. Harry?"
Harry hadn't time to answer.
"What'll this cost?" I snapped.
"Roughly, 15 to 18 thousand," Dex replied.
"What?"
With fine impartiality, they ignored me completely. Harry continued, as
though without interruption, "Ye-es, I guess a compressor-and-coolant
system could be arranged ..."
* * * * *
We broke up at 6 A.M. I took one of my pills, frowning at the bottle.
Seemed to be emptying fast. Sleepily, I shook the thought off and faced
the new day--little knowing the opposition had managed to skizzle us
again.
The last displays were moons of Jupiter and Saturn; it was impossible
to recreate tortured conditions of the planets themselves. Saturn's
closest moon, Mimas, was picked.

Our grand finale: landing on Mimas with Saturn rising spectacularly
out of the east. Mimas is in the plane of the rings, so they couldn't be
obvious. We'd show enough, however, to make it damned impressive,
and explain it by libration of the satellite.
The mechanics of realistically moving Saturn was rougher than a cob.
And that's where the opposition fixed us. They claimed there wasn't
enough drama in the tour. Let it end with a flash of light, a roar, and a
meteor striking nearby.
The roar came from us. Mimas had no atmosphere--how could the
meteor sound off or burn up? We finally compromised, permitting the
meteor to hit.
We'd decided early the customers couldn't walk through. Mel first,
Harry, then Dex, together produced an electric-powered, open runabout.
The cart ran on treads in contact with skillfully hidden tracks, for the
current channel. A futuristic touch, that--we'd say the cart ran on
broadcast power.
The power source provided cart headlights, and made batteries
unnecessary for the guide's walkie-talkie and the customers' helmet
receivers.
Mimas' last section of track was on a vibrating platform. The cart
tripped a switch; when the meteor supposedly hit, the platform would
drop and rise three inches, fast, twisting while it did--"enough," Mel
said grimly, "to shake the damned kishkas out of 'em!"
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.