SPACEPORT
Grant called Hurry-Up Harvey and told him to suit up and join Josie at the mirror. Then he ducked back inside and began to peel out of his space suit. Josie’ll be okay out there on her own for a half hour or so, he told himself. By the time he’d showered and changed into a fresh set of coveralls Henderson was suited up and entering the airlock.
The lobber was still offloading its cargo when Grant got to Farside’s one-pad spaceport, toting his soft-sided overnight bag. Through the glassteel viewing port, Grant saw the squat, conical spacecraft, its dark diamond structure glittering in the lights that surrounded the blast-blackened concrete landing pad.
To his surprise, the newbie was at the spaceport’s pocket-sized waiting area, standing at the viewing port, her nose practically pressed against the glassteel. What’s her name? Grant asked himself. Yost, he recalled. Trudy Yost.
“Hello,” he said.
She jumped as if somebody had swung an ax at her. Turning, she relaxed and replied, “Oh! Hello … Mr. Simpson.”
Grant thought he heard a slight stress on the Mister. He tried to smile at her. “I guess I was kind of abrupt when we met. I’m sorry.”
She immediately brightened. “That’s okay. You must have a lot of responsibilities.”
“Sort of,” he said.
A moment of awkward silence, and then they both said, “What are you doing here?”
Trudy broke into a giggle and Grant laughed with her. Before she could ask again, he hefted his bag and said, “I’m heading back to Selene, once the lobber finishes off-loading.”
“You’re leaving Farside?”
“Only for a day or so. I’ll be back.”
“Good,” said Trudy.
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Why’re you here?”
“Oh!” She seemed genuinely surprised at his question. “The lobber’s bringing a new batch of antennas for the Cyclops array. Professor Uhlrich asked me to make sure they get transported to the site okay.”
“Asked?” Grant questioned. “The Ulcer asked you to?”
Trudy admitted, “Well, it was really more like a command.”
“That sounds more like the Ulcer.”
“You really shouldn’t call him that,” she said.
“No, I suppose I shouldn’t.”
Again a silence settled between them. Feeling uncomfortable, Grant said, “I didn’t realize you’re a radio astronomer.”
“I’m not,” Trudy said. “My specialty is optical … and infrared.” Before he could ask she explained, “I’m just supervising the antenna delivery because the professor asked me…” She broke into a halfhearted grin. “Told me to,” she amended.
Grant nodded and turned back to the window. The lobber’s crew seemed finished with their offloading. Both of Farside’s tractors were piled high with cargo containers. The first one of them started trundling slowly away from the launchpad.
In a small voice, Trudy asked, “Does he really give people ulcers?”
“No,” said Grant. “Migraines.”
“Oh, come on,” Trudy objected. “What’s he really like? Really.”
“You’ll find out.”
Trudy frowned slightly. “He … he’s sort of weird, in a way, isn’t he?”
“What do you mean?”
Obviously ill at ease, Trudy said, “The way he looks at a person. Staring the way he does. Like he’s looking right through me.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He’s blind. Totally blind.”
Trudy looked shocked.
“Some accident back Earthside. Burned out his retinas. He can’t see at all.”
“But he does see!” Trudy insisted. Then she added, “Doesn’t he?”
“In a way,” said Grant. “They did some fancy brain surgery on him, linked the regions in his brain that handle sound and touch to his visual cortex. He sees through his ears and his fingers.”
It was clear from the expression on her face that Trudy didn’t understand.
“Look,” Grant explained. “His visual cortex—the part of the brain that forms visual images—it wasn’t damaged. Only his eyes. So the surgeons rewired his brain so that what he hears, and what he touches, form visual images in his brain.”
“Couldn’t they grow new retinas for his eyes?” she asked. “You know, with stem cells?”
Grant shook his head. “From what I heard, they tried but it didn’t work. That’s when they went to the surgery and rewired his brain.”
“My gosh.”
“Maybe he just got himself into the clutches of a neurosurgeon who needed a guinea pig,” Grant said. “It happens.”
“The poor man,” said Trudy softly. Then she added, “But he does see … kind of.”
“Whatever he touches or hears forms a visual image for him,” Grant said. “I don’t think he sees the same image of you, for example, that I see. But he sees something. He sees well enough to function and get around pretty well. But as far as his eyes are concerned, he’s blind as a bat.”