Annie made it in seven. Easy.
She went up to the transparent hemisphere. He was inside working. She shouted, but if he heard her he didn't look up.
She went to the flap that must be the door. There wasn't anything to knock on, so she opened the flap and walked in.
There was nothing in the room but a cot, kitchen equipment and lichen, growing on a number of tables. The air was richer than outside and Annie breathed it thirstily.
"I'm Annie Strug," she said, smiling and wishing it wasn't such an ugly name.
He glanced up, angry blue eyes under a growth of black hair. He didn't say a word.
Annie set her suitcase down and looked out at the green growth on the hills.
"Look, Mr. Bradman," she cried suddenly, pointing a spatulate finger to the western horizon. "What in the name of heaven is that?" There was a catch of fright in her voice.
"We don't say 'mister' on Mars," he said reluctantly. "Brady. But you don't have to call me anything because you're leaving soon." He was a big, arid man with a sandy voice. But his hands, as he stripped the lumpy brown fruits from a giant lichen, were surprisingly delicate.