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1.11

21 November


St. Joseph of Cupertino Monastery

South Polar Mineral Territories

Lunar Surface



After dinner, Raimy was suddenly and overwhelmingly tired, so he declined an invitation to evening prayers, went back to his room, closed and dogged the hatch, stripped down to his tough, slippery, antimicrobial space underwear, and crawled into his bunk. Just like on a submarine, there was no window, although the quarters were big enough for a captain, and even had a little curtained-off restroom at one end. The bulkhead running alongside the bed was the only barrier between himself and hard vacuum, but that was all right. It was, he reminded himself, less dangerous than the deep ocean, where any serious leak could kill you instantly, like a salty sledgehammer to the chest.

If the room starts to depressurize, I’ll exhale to keep my lungs from popping. Thirty seconds until I lose consciousness. I open the hatch and run out. Close the hatch behind me and dog it shut. Then breathe.

And what if the whole dormitory module depressurizes?

Same thing, just a longer distance.

And if it’s the whole monastery?

Then I’ll die. Okay? Happy?

Sure. Sleep tight.

He got up briefly to plug his glasses and rollup into a charging outlet for the night, then crawled under the covers. There was no voice control for the lights, but within reach of the bed were a pair of dials—one for brightness and the other for hue. Also like on a submarine, it wasn’t possible to turn the lights all the way off, but he did turn them down as low as they’d go, and set them to a soothing red-orange nightlight color that would help him find his way around, without keeping him up.

It was strange, to lie down in Lunar gravity. Walking around was a lot like bobbing in a swimming pool, or “bottom diving” with your buoyancy compensator fully deflated. But you didn’t lie down in a swimming pool. Sleeping in zero gravity was strange at first, too, but this was different. He weighed about as much as a large lapdog, and that weight was (just barely) enough to hold him down on the bed. The thin, hard mattress felt weirdly comfortable, though, and jeez, when he moved or rolled over it was like going over a hill on a roller coaster; he practically floated off the bed. His cotton sheet and weighted blanket seemed to help, though, and anyway he was so damn tired that his mind just sort of drifted away.



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Framed