Three days up from Lune.
Al comes swinging down into the lounge, legs long and graceful like a dancer’s.
“I’m tired of this,” Petra tells him. “I wish we were done already.”
Al gives her a funny look. “We’ve barely started and already you’re wanting to throw in the towel? What’s eating you?”
She waves her hands, vaguely meaning the lounge, the ship, the others… the whole mess. “It’s all so unreal. I can’t take any of it seriously. Nothing has any consequences out here.” Al tosses her a bulb by way of rebuttal and it takes her a minute or two to stop spinning. She sucks on the juice while she waits. “It’s all so mental.”
“You’d rather be back on Lune? Stuck in one spot? Tethered?”
“No,” she sighs, and looks out at the strange world beyond the window. Strange blobs with almost eyes go past, clinging to the surface of the ground. They open their faces at the window and make noises at the two of them. “I just can’t take any of this seriously.”