I don’t even realize I doze off until Maclin
is there, waking us up because it’s time to eat. Dinner is served
in the commons area—colonists line the counter in front of the
kitchen to pick up a tray and then find seats at the tables or by
the fountain. They keep to small groups, two or three to a table,
and they don’t talk loud, none of them do. Their whispers are like
the fall of water in the fountain, soft and subdued and somehow out
of place in this ship. Standing in line for my own tray, I can feel
the weight of the S410 press down on me, emptiness like the ache of
a rotten tooth stabbing through me, and I can’t believe the small
handful of people gathered here is all that exists in this
world.
The food is a salad full of thick greens and
onions, a baked potato, a bowl of
