Portrait of author Robert Heinlein standing boldly in profile to face the twilight of an alien world. White hair recedes back on his forehead. A thin mustache traces his upper lip. He looks debonair, with the air of a mystic as shadow falls across the back of his coral robe. He holds a cane loosely in his right hand; his weight doesn't rest on it. Baked by strange light, papers and a half buried book lie discarded on the rippling sand behind him. A shiny silver rocket, suggesting a Hugo award, points skyward. Caught in a moment鈥攅ither taking flight or landing, with wings unfurled鈥攁n owl curls its talons about a curl of branch set on a plaque. Just beyond the shore where Heinlein stands, pearlescent blue water undulates and churns. A pair of islands, flanking him on either side, sit the horizon. A striped moon hangs over a mountainous peak on one isle; a square arch sits on a longer stretch of land to his right. Higher up, two gibbous craggy moons hang overhead.
