A spark, a pinpoint, an insignificant ray upon the optic nerves—that was all it was.
That—and the hand of God reaching athwart the universe.
"It'll happen," said Wales, without turning. "September 27th, 1997. Four months from now. It'll happen."
The rocket-ship was suddenly convulsed through all its vast fabric by the racking roar of brake-jets letting go. Both men exhaled and lay back in their recoil-chairs. The thundering and quivering soon ceased.
"People," said Hollenberg, then, "are wondering if it really will. Happen, I mean."
For the first time, Wales looked at him sharply. "People where?"
Hollenberg nodded toward the window. "On Earth. Every run we make, we hear it. They say—"
And here it was again, Wales thought, the rumors, the whispers, that had been coming out to Mars, stronger and more insistent each week.
There in the crowded new prefab cities on Mars, where hundreds of millions of Earth-folk were already settling into their new life, with millions more supposed to arrive each month, the rumors were always the same.
"Something's wrong, back on Earth. The Evacuation isn't going right. The ships aren't on schedule—"