The helicopter droned out over the open sea in the afternoon sun. It was much noisier than the airliner that had been Gerson's only other trip into the upper air, he thought, looking ahead. The island was not yet visible.
"Think you'll win the hundred thousand?" the pilot asked, speaking loudly. He was a young man of Gerson's own age, with a cheerful round face.
"What? Oh ... I certainly hope so." Gerson peered out over the smooth water. "How long a trip is it?"
"Oh, not so long now," the pilot assured him. "Nice little island, too. I wouldn't mind this deal even if I didn't get the money. It's a first class vacation, hey?"
"I guess it is," Gerson said. "Kind of lonesome, though."
"Well, if they'd sent a girl too, you might not want to come back," the pilot grinned. "Anyway, think about all that money. That'll keep you from feeling too lonesome."
Gerson smiled back at him.
"I sure could do a lot with it," he said.
"I remember getting stuck up at Thule Two, up in the Arctic, when I was flying commercial last year," the pilot said. "Nobody there but a radio man and another pilot. Too cold to go outside, even. That's what I'd call lonesome."
On the horizon, a blue-green ridge began to lift above the water line.