"Planetfall in eighteen hours, Doctor." He said it stiffly, busying himself at the controls. Max is a small dark man with angry eyes and the saddest mouth I've ever seen. He is also a fine pilot and magnificent bacteriologist. I wanted to slap him. I hate these professional British types that think a female biochemist is some sort of freak.
"Honestly," I said. "What do you think?"
"Disease," he said bitterly. "For the first six months they reported on schedule, remember? A fine clean planet, no dominant life-forms, perfect for immigration; unique, one world in a billion. Abruptly they stopped sending. You figure it."
I thought about it.
"I read your thematic on Venusian viruses," he said abruptly. "Good show. You should be an asset to us, Doctor."
"Thanks!" I snapped. I was so furious that I inadvertently looked into the cabin viewplate.
Bishop had warned me. It takes years of deep-space time to enable a person to stare at the naked Universe without screaming.
It got me. The crystal thunder of the stars, that horrible hungry blackness. I remember I was sort of crying and fighting, then Max had me by the shoulders, holding me gently. He was murmuring and stroking my hair. After a time, I stopped whimpering.
Illustrated by STONE