Now his vision was different. No mountain before him, but a face—the stern craggy face of an obstacle in his path.
Lee Gorman.
The face was of clay—yet it lived. The eyes were cold, disdainful. And a weird, green creation of Joshua's own mind was sketching Gorman in the numbers, signs, and symbols of a rocket that would never reach the Moon.
Joshua awoke with a start and found Lucy bending over him. "You didn't answer the buzzer, Mr. Lake. I was worried."
"I must have dozed off, Lucy. Sorry."
"I'm going home now—if there's nothing else."
"Nothing else. I'm going home myself. Good night."
Joshua paused beside his car in the parking lot to stare at the lighted windows of the big hangar. The second shift had come on. They would work all night; then, tomorrow, they would line up with the others at the pay window. But there wouldn't be any money. The next night the hangar windows would be dark.
He got into the car and drove home.
Myra was waiting for him. She took his hat. After he kissed her, she said, "Your eyes are red, dear. You've been working much too hard. Shall we have dinner in the patio?"