"I certainly hope so," Hamlin mumbled. "I can't understand what's got into everyone all of a sudden."
"This way," Carl said.
Inside the lock, he helped each member of the party into a jumper and adjusted the air valves. When everything was in order, he pressed a switch, and the lock-door hissed open.
Another moment, and they were wading through the purple-brown, ankle-deep slosh of Venus. The blister-building was only about three hundred yards from the ship, but the rain—coming down in torrents now—had turned the ground into a soft-slimy ooze that was sometimes knee deep.
Carl led the way, shouting instructions through the speaker-unit encased in his helmet. Once when Diane fell, he went back and helped her to her feet. Through the helmet glass, he could see her face for a moment. Then she jerked her arm free and plodded on. Behind him he heard Stewart Ferguson swear.
It took a full twenty minutes to reach the building. It was big. Two hundred feet in diameter at the base, it sloped out of the sea of mud like a giant stemless mushroom. Carl led the party around the base to the far side where the lock-door was situated. Then he stopped.
The rest of the party had caught up with him now. They stood in a restless semi-circle in front of the great doors. From behind mud-splattered face-plates, three pairs of eyes were regarding him curiously. He didn't answer their solemn stare. Instead he continued to stare at the great lock-doors.
They were open.
For a full minute he stared into the darkness, then he touched the switch of his helmet lamp. The beam, seemingly thick enough to walk on, stabbed into the cave-like interior. He went in. First, he'd have to get the pumps working. Then, after the lethal gases had been pumped out, start the separator motors. Even then, the place wouldn't be livable for three weeks. He swore.