Soon enough the flight ended as the orbiter lined up with the loading dock at the center of Alpha's set of concentric rings. This was a piece of piloting that Kinsman had never done, and he watched the TV screen, fascinated, as the ship approached the space station like a dart seeking the bull's- 222 eye. Alpha looked like a set of different-sized bicycle wheels nested within one another. Kinsman knew that the biggest one, the outermost wheel, was turning at a rate that would induce a full Earth gravity for the people who lived and worked inside it. The smaller wheels—most of them still under construction—had lighter gravity pulls. The loading dock at the center of the assembly was at zero gee, effectively.
The rendezvous and docking maneuvers were flawless, and soon Kinsman and the other passengers were shuffling, stiil weightless, along the narrow ladder that led through the orbiter's hatch into the station loading bay.
The loading bay was even more tightly organized than the groundside takeoff had been. There was a NASA or corporate representative for each of the fifty visitors to personally guide each of the individual visitors to the stairs that led "down" to the main living quarters in the outermost wheel.
Kinsman was relieved to be separated from Jinny Woods, although his guide—a sparkling bright young industrial engineer—treated him like a fragile grandfather.
"Just this way, sir. Now you don't actually need the stairs up here in the low-gravity area, but I'd recommend that you use them anyway."
"I've been in zero gee before," Kinsman said.
Ignoring him pleasantly, the young man went on, "We'll be going down—that is, outward toward Level One—where the gravity is at normal Earth value. Your weight will feel like it's increasing as we go down the stairs."
He led Kinsman to a circular hatch set into the "floor" of the loading bay. A metal stairway spiraled down to the other levels of the station.
"Easy does it now!" he said cheerfully, holding Kinsman by the elbow as they took the first steps down.
Kinsman wanted to break free of his grip and glide down the tube until the gravity built up enough for him to walk normally. Instead, grumbling inwardly, he patiently allowed the young engineer to guide him along.
"It's easy to get disoriented in low gee," the kid said.
Feeling like an invalid. Kinsman let himself be led down the stairs. The metal tube they were in was one of the "spokes" that connected the hub of the station with its 223 various wheel-shaped levels. The tube was softly tit by patches of fluorescent paints glowing palely along the circular walls. No power drain, Kinsman realized.
Once safely down to Level One, the fifty first coiners were organized into a guided tour. Kinsman endured it, together with the sullen weight of a full Earth gravity that tugged at him like a prisoner's chains.
The station's first level included some laboratory areas, individual living compartments that made submarines look roomy, a galley, and a mess hall. It all looked efficient and compact, although the decor was depressingly familiar to anyone who worked in a government office: bare pastel walls and spongy plastic floor tiles. But the floor curved upward no matter which direction you looked in, and the occasional windows showed stars turning over and over in lazy spirals against the blackness of infinity.
The tour started at one end of the mess hall and finished at the opposite end, where a bar had been set up. Kinsman took a plastic cup of punch from the automatic dispenser just as the second batch of arrivals appeared, exactly at the spot where his own tour had started.
Looking across the bolted-down tables and swiveling chairs along the sloping floor, Kinsman spotted Neal McGrath's tall, dour form among the newcomers. McGrath stared straight at Kinsman and scowled. Kinsman lifted his cup to the Senator, wondering. Is that his normal scowl or is he really sore at me?
Diane was in McGrath's group, surrounded by station personnel and public relations flaks. They all want to be in show biz, thought Kinsman. He did not recognize any of the other personalities.
Gradually the mess hall filled with visitors. Kinsman chatted quietly with several people and tried to avoid being pinned down by several others—including Jinny Woods, who had that "I've got a secret" gleam in her eye whenever she looked Kinsman's way.
Some of the station people hoisted Diane atop one of the bigger tables. As she began tuning her guitar the chattering voices of the crowd diminished into expectant silence.
"I've never been in orbit before," she said. "At least, not this way." They all laughed. "So I'd like to sing a song that's 224 dedicated to the people who made all this possible, the farsighted people who pioneered the way here. It's called The Green Hills of Earth.'"
