 How did the Mercurians adjust to the heat?
But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Fans spaced about the garden's walls sluggishly stirred the night air, while the men and women sitting at the tables drank heavily of Latonka, the pale green wine of Mercury. Only the native waiters, the enigmatic, yellow-eyed Mercurians, seemed unaffected by the heat. The pianist swung around on his stool, lifted his black eyes to the gate leading to the street. The Mercurian, his yellow incurious eyes like two round topazes, sidled up. "I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan." The real Mercurian patriots are against it, but they are afraid to protest. The revolution is scheduled to break during the Festival of the Rains. Jaro Moynahan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a fine duraweb handkerchief. The Mercurians worship him. Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: "We can't locate Karfial Hodes. "Ah," said Jaro Moynahan; "so that's the way it is." One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. Jaro Moynahan slipped sideways from the table. Across the table from Jaro there was the feel of movement; he could sense it.
 They mostly lived under the ground.
 Their yellow eyes filtered the sun’s rays.  They mostly lived under the ground.  Their skin kept them cool.  They would sweat to cool off.