He was unnecessary. The first two had already convinced Shoemaker there was only one cure for his condition--and that was to get the hell away from space-ships and onto a nice red wagon. Shoemaker sat in the open sallyport of the ship and looked gloomily at a pale blue-green seascape, parted down the middle by a ghostly shoreline. The sea was a little greener, and the land was a little bluer; otherwise there was no difference to the eye. Once in a while a tiny breeze came in from the sea, and then the stink changed from sulphur to fish.…
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