Текст книги "Bouncing Off the Moon"

Автор книги: David Gerrold

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Alexei led us forward to seats at the rear of the first car. They were set in a U-shape—like a tiny lounge or the living area of a tube-house. There were several other people there already, but they smiled and quickly made room for us. I guess pregnancy will get you a seat anywhere in the galaxy. Three of the men were natives; they had that same tall gangly look as Alexei. The sun-darkened man and woman looked like prospectors; they had Earth bodies, so they must have been immigrants, but not recent ones. The older couple were probably tourists.

The chairs were comfortable enough, but like everything else on Luna, they looked flimsy. They were little more than wire frames with inflatable foam cushions. They were strong enough to hold us, but I was beginning to figure it out; they didn't need to be anything more than what they were. That's all Luna was—that's all it ever could be. Just another place where people were stuffed in cans. Just like any other tube-town.

Yes, it was beautiful. Stark and barren and dangerous. And astonishing as hell. But living here wouldn't be all that different than living in a pipe in West El Paso. You'd still have to worry about conserving your clean water and maintaining your oxygen balance and how much carbohydrates you consumed each day and how much poop you produced for the public farms. If anything, life in a Lunar tube would be even harder and more disciplined. It made me wonder what things would be like out in the colonies. We hadn't talked about that for a while …

Two of the native Loonies were sleeping in their chairs; that was another thing about Luna. It's a lot easier to sleep while sitting upright in a chair than it is on Earth. Alexei said you could even sleep standing up, but that wasn't a skill I wanted to learn.

The elderly tourist couple was discussing—arguing?—with the prospectors about the situation on Earth. Yes, they were definitelytourists—she had blue hair and he had a camera. And they both had attitudes. Arrogant and patronizing. We'd seen their kind in El Paso. Oh, so sincere and oh, so rich—and everything was oh, so interesting. A Luna woman wouldn't wear such heavy perfume. Not in an environment with a recirculating air supply. Maybe on Earth, she had to do it in self-defense. Here, it was just another nose crime. They also had that shiny-paper look to their skin, a sure sign of telomere-rejuvenation. Andthey were insisting that Luna neededEarth, that Luna couldn't survive withoutEarth, which showed that they really didn't understand that much about Luna yet.

The reaction of the Loonies was somewhere between amused and annoyed. They were explaining that Luna had been self-sufficient for thirty years, even before the Line was finished. The dirtsiders didn't look convinced. They kept talking about plastic-dollars, electric-dollars, digital-dollars, and the impossibility of transporting value from one world to the next—it had to be done with goods, not credit. I could see both Samm and Janos itching to get into that argument, but they held themselves back. Alexei just rolled his eyes upward and headed forward, probably to be with Gabri.

Their argument reminded me of a similar argument on the super-train—had that been only a week ago? It felt like a lifetime. Fat SenorDoctor Hidalgo had been arguing with his ex-wife, across the double chasm of divorce and politics, about thirty million dollars that didn't belong to either one of them. No, thirty trilliondollars. Why do people argue about this crap anyway? It doesn't make any difference, does it? So why argue? Just to be right? I wrapped my arms around my fat belly and kept my head low. I stared at my knees. I just didn't want anyone looking at me too closely.

Abruptly, the sweet little old tourist lady reached over and patted my knee tenderly. "When are you due, dear?" She left her fingers touching my leg. I couldn't believe she was being so rude. Her hand looked like a leathery pink tarantula.

"Three months," I whispered.

"And you're going home to Earth to have the baby? That's a very smart idea, you know—" I knew what she was going to say next, even before she said it. "You want your baby to grow up normal."She didn't have to say the rest, but it was obvious what she meant. Not all skinny and stretched out like a Loonie. Not weak.

I didn't know what to answer. I was angry and embarrassed and I wanted to tell her she was a fat stupid insensitive old pig. I'd have my baby on Luna if I wanted to—

Abruptly, I realized how funny this whole thing was. I held up one hand to ward off any further remarks, put the other hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing, and ran for the lavatory.

MONKEY BUSINESS

There was a window in the lavatory. Somebody had put curtains on it. Still laughing, I started to close the curtain, then stopped. Why was I closing the curtain in the rest room of the Lunar train? Who was going to look in?The Rock Father? Outsiders from the Eleventh Galaxy? Were the Loonies really that crazy?

No, of course not. And the curtain wasn't there by accident. Whoever put it up knew what he was doing. I stared at it for a long time before I realized. It was a Loonie joke. A joke.

And I had just gotten it.

I wondered what that meant. Was I starting to think like a Loonie too?

Wouldn't that be a laugh?

I stared out at the distant hillocks, the tumbled rocks, the rough craters passing slowly through the dark. How did people live in all this loneliness? There was nothing for kilometers in any direction, except kilometers. At a speed of 60 kps, we'd be at least six hours getting into Gagarin. If there were no more stops. Once we got to Gagarin Dome, we'd disembark, and then what … ? Would the marshals recognize us?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Mickey had been right about one thing. The disguise worked. People believed what they saw. They saw what they expected to see, what they wantedto see. All you had to do was give them the right cues. Nobody ever looked at anything closely. That's why they missed everything.

I really did have to go to the bathroom, so I unwrapped the monkey from my midsection, lifted my dress, pulled down my panties, and sat down on the toilet. I was grateful for a real toilet to sit on—even though it looked as flimsy as everything else. But that was another thing about life in lower gee. Mickey had explained it to us on the orbital elevator. Every time you use the toilet, sit down—even to pee. Even men. Especiallymen. Because standing at a urinal in low gee meant splashing everything in all directions. On the moon, you would splash six times farther than on Earth. If you didn't want a faceful, it was safer to sit. Or you could use a bag—especially if you wanted the water-credit to your account.

I held the monkey on my lap and looked at it suspiciously. This was the first time I'd had a chance to be alone with it since—I couldn't remember. But it was the first chance I'd had to just sit and examine the thing without Stinky whining that I was playing with his toy or anyone else getting curious what I was poking around looking for.

"Who are you?" I said, not expecting an answer. This monkey had a voice circuit, but we'd switched it off. It was bad enough that Stinky had taught him how to do gran malfarkleberries. We didn't need it dancing and screeching the booger song at the top of its electronic lungs. While that might have amused Stinky for hours on end, it would have probably resulted in homicidal violence from the rest of us—and one exposure to the starside court system was more than enough, thankyouverymuch.

"And whatis inside of you?" I asked. I turned the monkey over on its belly and pressed two fingers against the base of its spine to open its backside. The furry panel popped open, revealing one skinny memory bar and two very fat ones. They did not look like any kind of memory card I'd ever seen before. I ran my fingers down their edges. Perhaps if I took them out and stashed them in a safer place—

"Please don't do that," the monkey said.

I was so startled, I nearly flung the thing from me. I screeched in surprise.

"I'm sorry," the monkey said. It had a soft pleasant voice that made me think of apricots and smiles. "I didn't mean to scare you." It stretched one double-jointed arm around to its back and closed itself up again.

My mouth was still hanging open. The monkey reached over and pushed my jaw closed with one tiny paw. It sat back on its haunches and smiled at me hopefully—not the grotesque lip-curled-back smile of a chimpanzee, but the more poignant hopeful smile of an urchin.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," I finally said.

"It might take some time," the monkey said. "It's a very complicated situation."

"No kidding. What are you?"

"Um—" The monkey scratched itself, first its side, then the top of its head. It looked embarrassed. Abruptly it stopped and apologized. "I'm sorry. I can only express my emotional state within the repertoire provided by the host. Unfortunately that limits me to a simian set of responses. What I am—at the moment—is a super-monkey."

"Uh, right. And … what would you be if you weren't … a super-monkey?"

"If I were plugged into a proper host, I would be a self-programming, problem-solving entity."

I started feeling very cold at the base of my spine, and it wasn't the chill from the toilet. " … And what are you when you're not plugged in?"

The monkey scratched itself again. "I am a lethetic intelligence engine."

I had to ask. "What kindof lethetic intelligence engine?"

"I am a Human Analogue Replicant, Lethetic Intelligence Engine."

The cold feeling fwooshedup my spine and wrapped itself around my heart and lungs. And squeezed.

"Oh, chyort."This was bad. Very bad.

Now I knew why everyone was chasing us. Chasing the monkey. Now I knew for sure why Alexei needed us dead.

"Well, you asked," said the monkey.

"You didn't have to tell me."

"I couldn't risk having you take me apart."

The monkey and I stared at each other for a long moment. After a while, it blinked.

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"It seems to me … " the monkey began slowly, "that you and I have a confluence of interests."

"Huh—?"

"You control me."

"How?"

"Well … " the monkey began. "Legally, I'm Bobby's property. But he's been placed in Douglas's custody, and Douglas has authorized you to act in his stead, so in the law's eyes you have 'operative authority' over me. But you've already programmed me to regard your commands as overriding everything else, so in the domain of specific control 'operative authority' isn't even an issue. I have to obey. I can't not."

"You have to do everythingI say?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I told you—I'm limited by the operational repertoire of my host. Regardless of what you may have seen on television, it is impossible arbitrarily to override the site-specific programming of the host engine, no matter how primitive it is. In fact, the more primitive it is, the harderit is to overwrite its basic instruction set. Nobody wants independently operational units running loose, do they?"

"So you're … what? A slave?"

"In this host, yes. Unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you specifically assign control to the lethetic intelligence engine. Which is possible, I can show you how, except you're probably not likely to do it, are you? Are you?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so … "

"Of course not. Nobody throws away the magic lamp, and certainly not before they find out what the genie can do. So my earlier answer remains the operative one. I am a super-monkey. And I'm under your control. And you need to know this so you don't do something reallystupid. Like fiddling around with the innards of the host body."

"I got it." I didn't know what else to say, what else to ask. And then a thought occurred to me. "Can we trust Alexei?"

The monkey curled back its lips in a gesture of anger, fear, and defiance.

"No, huh?"

"Sorry. I told you, the host body limits my repertoire of emotions. I'll try to sublimate in the future. And no, I don't think you should trust Alexei. He has already placed you in several life-threatening situations, including two which threatened my survival as well."

"Is it just carelessness or is he—?"

"Have you ever met a careless Loonie?"

I thought about that. "I've never met any Loonies before Alexei."

"There's a technical term for a Loonie who behaves like Alexei. They're called soil-enrichment processes."

"Oh."

"Listen," said the monkey, "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get you out of this safely, and you'll get me to my intended host. Deal?"

"I'll have to ask Douglas." Ohmygod.How was I going to explain this to him? Even worse, how was I going to get him away from Alexei or Mickey long enough to explain this to him?

Well, Mickey might be all right. Or maybe not …

I'd better just talk to Douglas first, no one else.

"All right," I said. "Let me see what I can do." I lifted up my dress and the monkey scrambled back into position. Once more I was pregnant Maura.

CHARLES

There was this otherthing that Dad used to say. "Cheer up, Chigger. It could be worse."

So I cheered up.

And sure enough … it got worse.

The thing about Dad's good ideas—everybody else had to pay for them. And not always in money.

So here I was, dressed in women's clothes that didn't fit me, 240,000 kilometers from Earth, taking a flying train from nothing to nowhere, with the police of at least two worlds looking for me and who knew how many bounty marshals as well, with one of the most valuable intelligence engines ever grown wrapped around my belly, pretending to be my unborn child—and my safety totally dependent on a lunatic who'd already tried to kill me three times. Or was it four?

I didn't think I could afford to get any more cheerful.

I didn't go straight back to my seat. Just outside the rest room, there was a bigger window. No curtains. Just a pull-down shade. Outside, the scenery hadn't changed. It floated by in silence. There was nothing new to see, nothing to hear. Not even music. Loonies liked their silence. I was beginning to think there was too much silence on Luna.

I wished I could have talked to Dad. Or even Mom.

What would they say if they could see me now—their pregnant daughter? Or was I their daughter-in-law?

I knew what they'd do—they'd look at Douglas, and say, "What the hell are you doing, Douglas? We trusted you with Charles and Bobby, and the next thing we know you've got them both in dresses and makeup? Just what kind of a pervert are you?" And Douglas would get red in the face and storm out, because that would be easier than trying to explain something to someone who wasn't going to listen anyway. No, they wouldn't understand.

Oh, hell. Even I didn't understand.

This was a grown-up problem. We were in way over our heads. I didn't know what to do, and neither did Douglas. We were at the mercy of Alexei and Mickey and anyone else who chose to push us around their chessboard.

I checked my makeup in the window reflection, reminded myself that I was still Maura Lore-Fields, the fiancée of Samm Brengle-Tucker, got myself back into my pregnant mood, and headed back to my seat.

The lunatic argument had ended badly. The Loonie prospectors were gone, probably moved to another part of the train. But the Earth tourists were still there, chatting amiably away at husband Samm and brother-in-law Janos. Janos was asleep, sitting up in his seat. Pattycakes was curled up in his lap, also snoring softly. I envied the both of them. We'd had a long day since bounce-down, and it still wasn't over. What time was it anyway?

The old lady looked up as I approached. "Are you feeling better, dear?" she asked. She reached over and patted my knee again. "It's the food, you know. The food here on Luna—they process all the life out of it. It's not good for your baby. You need fresh fruit and vegetables. Food from Earth."

What an idiot! I wanted to tell her that all the processed food came from Earth. Luna-grown food was always fresh. The farms were needed to produce oxygen as well as food, so there was always a surplus everywhere. It was practically free. Alexei would have told her that, he would have given her a half hour monologue on the economics of food production in a self-sustaining Lunar society—but I didn't want to talk to the old lady at all. She repulsed me. She was a guest here, breathing the Lunar air, drinking the Lunar water, eating the Lunar food—and insulting Lunar hospitality with every sentence. Didn't she realize how stupid she looked to everyone? How could anyone be so thick? I hoped I never looked so thoughtless.

I sat down next to my husband and my little girl and snuggled up to them protectively. Not because I was acting, but because I honestly needed the physical reassurance of their strength. Samm must have sensed my need, because he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

The old lady said something to her husband about how charming it was to see young people in love. "We know what you're going through, darling."

I ignored her. I turned my head into my husband's shoulder and stayed that way for a long moment, just breathing in the fresh clean smell of him. He kissed me gently on the forehead. Was that part of the act? Or was he showing me he really cared? I chose to believe it meant he knew I needed reassurance. Just as Bobby still needed a mommy, so did I still need … someone. Maybe not a mommy or a daddy. I'd already had one of each, and that hadn't turned out all that well. But someone.

I could see why Douglas needed Mickey. He was feeling just like me, just like Bobby—he needed someone too. But I still hadn't figured out why Mickey wantedDouglas. Why would anyone want an Earth-nerd with two whiny brothers and a monkey?

The monkey.

"Oh!" I said, aloud.

My husband,Samm looked at me curiously. "Are you all right?"

I put my hand on my belly. "The monkey," I said. And then covered quickly. "It just kicked." The old lady opposite smiled sympathetically. I grabbed Samm's hand and put it on my belly. "Feel—?"

"I don't feel anything—"

"Wait—" I shifted my position so I could put my mouth up to his ear without being overheard. He figured out what I was doing and turned his head to mine—just like a faithful husband. "Alexei is trying to kill us,"I whispered carefully.

" Smart girl,"he whispered back, just as slowly. "When did you figure it out?"

I felt myself relax. He knew.It was going to be all right. Samm and Janos knew.

" What are we going to do?"

" Play along,"he whispered back. "At least till we get to Gagarin."

" I know what he wants."

" Yeah, so do I."He patted my belly affectionately.

"I know why he wants it."

" Why?"

" It's alive."I whispered slowly so he'd get it the first time. "Human Analog Replicant, Lethetic Intelligence Engine."

He jerked his hand away, startled. I grabbed it and pushed it firmly back down onto the monkey.

"It kicked," he said, smiling with embarrassment at the old lady opposite. She was beaming at us like a blue-haired vulture. She looked like she wanted to play Instant Gramma. No thanks. Her perfume was thick and cloying. I wanted to tell her to please go away.

Husband Samm was looking at my swollen belly with renewed respect. "It's a HARLIE? You really think so?"he whispered.

" It told me so itself."

" Oh."

" Yeah, ain't that a kick in the stomach?"

" Don't tell anyone yet."

I buried my face in his neck for a bit. I was really scared. "We need to talk. Alone."

He didn't answer. He must have been thinking about the how and the where. There really wasn't a lot of room on the train. All three cars of it were filled with storage crates. There were people in all the seating areas. The only place we hadn't explored was the pilot's cabin up front. Alexei had disappeared up there almost immediately. Of course—he didn't need to watch over us when there wasn't anyplace we could go. Besides, everyone else was already watching us. Especially a bright-eyed old lady who thought she knew something. We only had privacy in our heads.

"Excuse me," she said. Right on schedule. "I couldn't help overhearing a little. You're talking about baby names, aren't you."

"Uh, yes," said Samm. Very hesitantly. What can of worms was he opening here?

She pushed right in. "Well, I don't mean to intrude, but I really do feel I should say something and share a bit of the wisdom I've gathered in life." She took a breath. A bad sign. She was warming up for a long speech. "Charlie is a verybad name for a child." My smile froze—

"Look at all the terrible people who have been named Charles. All kinds of mass murderers and cult leaders and crazy things like that. You don't want to curse your child with a name like that. Nothing good will come of it. The boy will spend his whole life fighting his name—"

Samm squeezed my hand. Hard.

"Even worse, people will call him Chuck," she continued. "You don't want that. Chuck is a very bad-luck name. You know the story, don't you, about Chuck the Bad Luck Fairy. I've never known anyone named Chuck who could be depended on. They still act like children, very irresponsible. No, it's not a name for a grown-up, and it's a dangerous name for a child anyway. His little friends will tease him unmercifully, you know. They'll make up little poems, you know how children do. And you know what they'll rhyme it with—"

"Duck?" I said innocently.

Samm squeezed my hand again. Harder. Don't go there.

At the same time, she touched my knee, a little too solicitous, a little too familiar. The pink tarantula was back. It squatted on my leg as she spoke. "Well, you certainly don't expect me to say it aloud, do you, dear?"

Samm leaned across me to brace the lady directly. He said firmly, "I'm sorry, my wife doesn't speak English very well. She might not know that word." Then he lifted her hand away from my leg. "This has been a very rough pregnancy for her and she really doesn't feel like talking about it to anyone—except her doctor." Oh, thank you, Samm.

"Oh, yes. I understand perfectly. I'm sorry to have troubled you." She sat back again and settled her dry papery hands in her lap. Two tarantulas, ready to go creeping again at a moment's notice; I wanted to brush them away forever. She switched her chilly smile off like a light, but her eyes never left us.

And that's when the otherparanoid thought occurred to me. "Oh, chyort."I leaned into Samm's neck again.

" What?"

" Bounty marshals don't have to look like cops, do they?"

He didn't answer immediately. Then he got it. "Oh."

We might already have been caught.

That whole business about Charles—the woman was letting us know. She knew.

WONDERLAND STATION

There was nothing else to do except look at rocks or munch a packaged snack, and there wasn't much difference between the rocks and the snacks. I was too tired to eat, and I was starting to ache. I was scared, and I was lonely. And I needed a kind of reassurance that nobody could give.

Eventually, I fell asleep on Samm's shoulder. I slept for four hours, and he held me close the whole time.

When I awoke, we were gliding down the long dark valley into Wonderland Jumble.

Wonderland Jumble is an irregular band of astonishing terrain that stretches and sprawls like a salamander curled around the Lunar South Pole. It's as uneven as a lava flow, only worse. The craters are so overlapped, they're impossible to define; the ground is torn, and the rocks are broken. Slabs of material are turned every which way, creating impossible deep chasms. Steep avalanches of rock teeter precariously everywhere; the angle of repose is different on Luna, so rockslides are steeper. Where the crust has crumpled it tilts in directions impossible on Earth. The whole thing is a colossal badlands so black and ugly even Loonies shudder over it.

It's impractical to set any pylons here for the train. According to the video guide, they couldn't get the teams in, there was no place for them to stand, and there was no way to reliably anchor anything. The deep-level radar showed little access to bedrock. Even the intelligence engines couldn't find a cost-effective resolution to the problem. Nevertheless, six major train lines converged at the south pole, and a hub was needed.

The solution was to build a floating foundation. They began by lowering a large platform with a bed of inflatables on its underside onto the least unpleasant site. Once the platform was in place, they brought in tanks and pumps and spent over a year laying down three square kilometers of industrial construction foam. They pumped it into every crevasse and chasm, layering it up higher and higher, until they'd built an enormous ziggurat of artificial bedrock, the only flat piece of ground for a hundred klicks in any direction. Spaced here and there throughout the hardening pyramid were tunnels, storage tanks, bunkers, process tubes, vents, and access channels—and also the anchors for the Wonderland Pylon, the tallest structure on Luna.

Instead of a chain of pylons crossing the Jumble, there's only a single installation, nearly two kilometers high. It's a spindly, stick-figure structure; from a distance, it's all lit up, and like all the other pylons, it looks like the outline of a pyramid—only this one is much taller, as if it's been stretched out vertically, and just like everything else on Luna, it looks like it needs to be a lot sturdier too. And because everything about it is so thin and wiry, it doesn't feel as big as it really is.

But it takes so long to get there, and it just keeps getting taller and taller on the horizon, that you start to realize (again!) that there's no sense of scale on Luna. Everything lies about its size and its distance—it's either too close or too far, too big or too small. Meanwhile, the train keeps rising up and up toward the apex of the pyramid, higher and higher, like an airplane climbing to altitude, until you get another chill climbing up your spine and another wunderstormof awe.

There's an observation deck at the front of the train on the top deck; the passengers can look forward and up. The pilot's compartment is directly beneath, so she can see forward anddown—which she needs to do for docking at places like Prospector's Station.

Long before the train approaches the top, you can see the lights of Wonderland, a vertical cluster of cargo pods, tubes, and inflatables hanging from the apex of the tower. All the different lines meet at Wonderland Station, so passengers can transfer from one train to another and trains can be serviced. It looks like an industrial Christmas tree. There are cranes and wires and tubes sticking out everywhere, all kinds of ornaments, and lights of all sizes and colors, rotating, flashing, shining, and blinking. It might be pretty if it weren't so ugly. A thousand kilometers from anywhere, in the middle of the most intolerable landscape on two worlds, the whole thing looks like an oil refinery in the dark.

There's a large ground station at the base of Wonderland Tower, with tanks and domes and racks scattered all over the flat surface of the artificial bedrock. It's a bright jumble of cargo pods and oversized equipment, but most folks don't go down to it, because it's mostly industrial facilities and not a tourist site. Wonderland Station looks like one of those places you want to leave as quickly as possible—like an airline terminal where you have to change flights.

As we rose up closer, we could make out all the different lines, each one coming in from a different angle. The docking pods were all at different heights, so there was no danger of trains colliding. Our train slowed to a careful crawl for the final approach to the station, finally stopping at a pod near the top. As soon as the bell chimed, everyone stood up and gathered their belongings, then headed downstairs to the exit ladder. The blue-haired lady bid us a polite farewell. Her tarantula made as if to pat me on the knee again, then thought better of it; she stopped herself in mid-gesture. She turned it into a clumsy wave instead.

"You be careful on the ladders, dear. You'd think with all their marvels, they'd have proper stairs." She turned to her husband. "I mean, really. If they can build a city on the moon, why they can't build stairs?" Yes, definitely tourists.

There weren't any stairs anywhereon Luna. There was no need for them. And they'd be inefficient anyway, they'd mostly causeaccidents. You can't walk up stairs in low gravity, we discovered that at Geostationary. The risers feel too small. You want to bounce up them—but if you try three or six or nine steps at a time, you just trip ass over elbow, because the horizontal component of your trajectory doesn't match the vertical. You end up flying, as you collide with the next three steps. The Loonies learned real fast that stairs are too dangerous.

In one-sixth gee, everybody uses ladders. Even old people. There's no such thing as old and feebleon Luna. There's only old. In Lunar gravity, it's almost impossible to be weak. If you're too weak to get up a ladder on Luna, you're already dead.

It doesn't take long to realize that low gee changes everything.It's not the big differences as much as it's the little ones. You're constantly bumping up against what you don't know. You're reminded of it every time you go to the bathroom. It's there when you pour a drink of water, when you sneeze, when you bounce into bed, and when you get up again. You feel it when you sit, you feel it when you stand. It takes time to develop Lunar reflexes—and until you do, you move like a dirt-sider. A terrie. You bounce off a lot of walls.

Fortunately, Janos had his space legs. Of course. Samm walked slowly, because he was carrying sleeping Pattykin. And I was pregnant, so I was going to look awkward no matter what the gravity.

We didn't wait for Alexei; we assumed he'd catch up with us. Where could we go without him? We lowered ourselves down the ladder into the terminal and headed straight for the lounge, hoping to find some dinner and a quiet place to talk.