She was, to put it simply, ready to kick up an interplanetary storm. As she opened the
lavatory hatch, she knew the urinary outlet would be set to female, not
because he had conceded this to be the ordinary social gesture round
these parts, but rather because he had spent the last three moonphases
locked in his chamber. Yes, it was difficult to agree on norms around
this place, but for someone who spent most of his waking hours writing
about a world whose culture exasperated
itself with its own courtesies, he had adjusted to knowing they would
never live there again quickly enough. The fact that the same planet
was about to be the only civilisation to be eradicated by its own stupidity, was, as she often argued,
entirely besides the point.
That and this wasn't really turning out to be the paid lunar vacation she had longed for.
'With one hand held up high, I can blot you out, out of sight,'
she murmured to herself, gazing into a telescope. Every song she
wanted to listen to was every song not etched into her hard drive pre
departure. She sighed a long sigh, took her in-ear speakers out and
buried her head into her arms. One day she wouldn't remember the lyrics
to 'Pi' anymore. Unless she decided working them out would be a
suitable way to while away the time.
'Here, V.' he hollered. 'Will you make a pie chart out of this data for me?'
groaned and stifled a familiar willingness to fling her control tablet
across the main vault. No 'crash' fifteen minutes ago and there
wouldn't be one this time, either. It would just bounce and slide back
to her desk with a furiously self-satisfying click. Gah.
were pies whose chunky slices went unappreciated. And the pie she had
hoped a slice out of was too busy believing he could save the planet
to notice a female of the species sharing their lunar residence. What
was the point? Their counterparts on Bearforether always reacted like
no progress on this mission had been made, despite the alarming
findings they transmitted home daily. BASA had not been told the news
they wanted to hear. Or rather, they were a bunch of apathetic
lifeforms preprogrammed with dampeners in their aural
receptors. Yes, one can understand that the work of satellite traffic
controllers was one of the most stressful and protection from self
detonation had become mandatory. Yet it seemed like recent news had
trangressed the stress/calamity threshold and yeah, well... this was
'1. This table is invalid if reproduced without the conditions and footnotes...' she began.
placidity would not keep her calm for much longer. With no place to go
and apparently none to return to they both knew their best hope was to
fling themselves into the forbidden, namely, the
improbable and unknown. Or, at the very least, towards that odd
constellation looking very much like an oversized pomegranate. But
what good was a spaceship, she sighed, without a repairs guarantee?