She faced the ceiling as though in deep thought. “Who knows. He’s probably golfing in an underground bunker somewhere. It’s funny; I saw a caravan of trucks come through town just the other day, flying his flag—like their own little mobile nation-state.”
She lolled her head to look at me and we laughed, softly, quietly.
At length she said, “You must be terribly uncomfortable in that, your spacesuit. You should go check the other units, see if there’s anything to wear. I’ve pretty much cleaned out the women’s necessities, but there should be plenty of men’s clothing; not to mention razors and shave cream. I’ll be fine, really.”
I stood reluctantly and moved to go, but paused in the doorway. “That wound, you know, it has me concerned. You’ll need to be monitored, closely. Is there a therm
