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Mitch slumped against his cubicle wall. He pulled one knee up onto his cot, which he hadn"t bothered to latch up since the scoutship had landed on this new planet. And when was that? Three weeks ago? And they were here for – how long? Another week? A month? And after that, where would the mag-nav send them?
A long breath shuddered through his body. He shook himself, and leaned across his cabin. With thumb and forefinger, he plucked a sheet of sythskin from the 3D printer on the wall opposite him. He smoothed its translucent ripples, and it stiffened. He slid the stylus across the skin. Subtle pulses moved electrical fields, producing dark trails that followed the stylus"s path.
Dearest Belinda [he wrote], Eels swim uncounted miles to spawn in mid-ocean, in the exact spot
