“Please make sure the status lights over your couches are all on the green,” Adrian was saying. “We have no flight insurance. Anybody who doesn’t have a green, just holler, and we’ll make sure there’s nothing else to holler about. Any non-greens?”
“Going once, going twice…” added Kevin Cusmanos.
Josh reflexively checked the four indicator lights at the bottom of his screen. All of them shone bright green, indicating he was properly strapped in.
“They’re enjoying themselves, aren’t they?” murmured Julia from the couch next to Vee’s.
“I don’t think they get many tourists out here,” said Vee. Josh heard her squirm and couldn’t blame her. The couches took getting used to. He also decided not to correct their impressions of what the pilots thought of them. He’d spoken out loud that once to Vee at the reception, and she still got an angry gleam in her eye when she had to talk to Grandma Helen.
“Not many tourists?” muttered Julia. “Not too many people interested in a dive into Hell? Imagine.”
Josh rolled his eyes up to try to get a glimpse of the women. He could see Veronica’s feet, and Julia’s. He could also see part of Julia’s hand, which clutched the side of her couch so hard the fabric bunched up in her grip.
“Are you going to be all right?” asked Vee.
“Eventually, yes,” Julia sighed. Josh watched her deliberately relax her hand. “This is just like being at the top of the thrill vid, you know? I hate this part.”
“It gets easier,” volunteered Josh. “Wait until you’ve done a dozen or so.”
Josh spoke with more confidence than he felt. Most of his work had to do with atmospheric particle scattering, which could be done from the comforts of Venera Base and its optics lab. He could count his trips down to the surface on the fingers of one hand.
“A dozen or so,” murmured Julia. “There’s something to look forward to.”
“It’s the adventure of a lifetime,” intoned Troy Peachman from his couch on Josh’s right. “You should be alive to every facet of the experience.”
“Alive is what I’m hoping for.”
“We could record you,” suggested Terry Wray helpfully. She had the couch to Julia’s left. “That way you could work on your reactions each drop until you’ve got the keeper. Something suitably calm, yet awestruck.”
“Next time,” answered Julia. “I want a run-through first.”
“Always a good idea,” said Terry. “I can’t tell you how many disasters I’ve had to shoot that missed all the dramatic impact just because the victims wouldn’t take a minute to get their responses right.”
“Well then,” came Adrian’s voice through the intercom, reminding them all that the speakers were open on both ends. “Let’s see if we can get it right.”
“Wing deployed and green at twenty percent inflation. Drop conditions green. Scarab status is go,” said Kevin.
“Ready when you are, Control.”
“Ready, Scarab Five,” said yet another voice, this one from the hangar control. “Opening doors.”
“See you on the up-trip,” said Kevin.
Josh thought he heard Troy breathe something about “falling into history” but hoped he was wrong.
The view screen’s feed switched down to a camera in the scarab’s belly. The desk rolled past underneath them, fast and faster, until it shot away, leaving a swirl of impenetrable gray cloud.
The scarab fell. As always, Josh’s stomach lurched and his body strained against the straps. His heart flipped over, a purely reflexive reaction. There was nothing he could do about it but lie there, keep his eyes on the screen, and concentrate on controlling his breathing.
On our way. They won’t call us back now. We’re really going to do this! The smile on his face stretched even wider.
Layers of cloud pressed against the camera. Adrian’s voice, again for the sake of the tourists, droned through the intercom.
“Wing position optimized,” said Adrian calmly. “Everybody okay up there? Just relax and let the couch take care of you. We’re at forty-eight kilometers and looking good.”
All at once, the clouds parted. Below them spread the surface of Venus, as red and wrinkled as anything Mars had to offer. It was getting closer at a rate that made Josh’s heart flip over again.
“Inflating wing,” rumbled Kevin. “Wing inflation at fifty percent.”
Outside, the ground’s approach slowed to a more leisurely pace. Features began to resolve themselves. Some wrinkles became riverbeds cut by ancient lava. Others became delicate ripples in the ground, like furrows plowed by a drunken farmer. The colors on the ground divided into rust red, burnt orange, and sulfur yellow with streamers of coal black drifting through them.