With an icy hand on his heart, Pete Moore turned to look at the telescreen behind him. A misty blue ball swam in musty darkness. The oceans gleamed in the light of the sun, cloud masses whitened it, the wrinkled face of the land looked unreal—
He began to laugh. Tears streaked his cheeks as he pounded his bloody fists against the instrument panel in time to the clanging of the alarm.
The Earth, the Earth—
It did rather look like papier-mâché.
He touched the sky.