Chapter Eight
Rabia
Rabia woke to a soft but persistent trilling sound.
“Alarm, Teresa,” she mumbled, turning her face into her pillow to go back to sleep. But her head wasn’t on a pillow, it was on her duffel bag.
The sudden realization of where she was waking up was quickly followed by the imaginings that had tormented her the night before, starting the minute she had found herself locked out of the station, the sensation of all that blackness of space surrounding her, pressing in on her. It was silly; she had been surrounded by space every day of her life. For it to feel more threatening in Barnacle Town was perhaps understandable, but for it not to feel real to her until nighttime in Barnacle Town was just plain silly. “Night” and “day” was little more than a shift change at the se
