He knew what the proposition was now. He turned to Dr. Hamlin. "Let's see if I have it figured," he said. "You want to go to Venus and look for this fountain of youth. Ferguson's financing the trip, and Spero is the Ponce de Leon who knows where to look. All you need is a pilot. Right?"
"Think it over carefully, Mr. Keating," Hamlin said. "Don't be hasty in your answer."
Spero too had noticed the note of rejection in his voice. "You'd better grab the chance, Keating," he said. "Right now I'll admit I don't like Venus anymore than you. But we're going to change all that. Right after the migration starts there'll be cities, and parks and railroads. And we'll be the ones responsible for all of it. We'll be heroes—not just for ten or twenty years, but forever!"
"Did I hear someone say forever?"
The voice had a resonant, almost musical pitch to it. It was deep and throaty, more like an adolescent boy's voice than a woman's. She was standing at the arched entrance to the library, one hand balanced on the jade statue flanking the threshold. She had finespun taffy-blonde hair and a complexion to match. She wore a gray-green krylon dress, the same color as her eyes. It looked good on her. A space jumper would have looked equally well.
"I don't believe you've met my daughter," Dr. Hamlin said. "Diane, this is Mr. Keating."
Diane crossed the room. The pressure of her fingers was quick, and warm and suggestive. "Hello, Mr. Keating," she said.
Carl was aware of mumbling something polite. Across the room, Stewart Ferguson had derricked himself out of the chair. Spero remained seated, caressing the girl with his sultry brown eyes.
Diane flicked an imaginary wisp of hair back from behind her ear. "Have you decided to join us, Mr. Keating?" she said.
"Us?"