It was too hot to do anything constructive. They relaxed in their deck-chairs, grateful for the way in which the fans moved the monotonous heat into unexpected currents of warm air.
Walter Pellinger looked upward expectantly, a sudden movement that caused the little beads of perspiration on his head to run together and course down his neck in a steady stream. He ran a handkerchief around the inside of his collar. "What's the time?" he asked.
"Quarter past ten," said Tarsh.
"All right, Jason, you've had your fun. Now perhaps you'll consult the right dial. We'd all like to know."
"I can never get used to these five-hour days," said Gillian Murray. "It makes one feel so restless."
Curtis Delman frowned in mock reproof. The lawyer was in his prime, the natural strength of his features enhanced by the iron-gray hair and powerful physique.
"Really, Gillian," he said, "you ought to be thankful it's summer. At least, you've got three hours of daylight."
"Well, I can't understand it," said John Bridge. "We've been here sixty Earth days and the sun always sets at the same time."
"Nonsense," Delman replied. "It's been later each day. Though not much, I grant you. Remember, summer still has nine years to run."
"Will someone please tell me the time?" said Walter Pellinger.