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Chapter 8

           

           Twentyminutes,thengravitycamedownonhimlikeagreatsofthandwithbonesofancientstone.

           SpaceadaptationsyndromewasworsethanMolly’sdescription,butitpassedquicklyenoughandhewasabletosleep.ThestewardwokehimastheywerepreparingtodockatJAL’sterminalcluster.

           `WetransfertoFreesidenow?’heasked,eyeingashredofYeheyuantobaccothathaddriftedgracefullyupoutofhisshirtpockettodancetencentimetersfromhisnose.Therewasnosmokingonshuttleflights.

           `No,wegottheboss’susuallittlekinkintheplans,youknow?We’regettingthistaxiouttoZion,Zioncluster.’Shetouchedthereleaseplateonherharnessandbegantofreeherselffromtheembraceofthefoam.`Funnychoiceofvenue,youaskme.’

           `How’sthat?’

           `Dreads.Rastas.Colony’saboutthirtyyearsoldnow.’

           `What’sthatmean?’

           `You’llsee.It’sanokayplacebyme.Anyway,they’llletyousmokeyourcigarettesthere.’

           Zionhadbeenfoundedbyfiveworkerswho’drefusedtoreturn,who’dturnedtheirbacksonthewellandstartedbuilding.They’dsufferedcalciumlossandheartshrinkagebeforerotationalgravitywasestablishedinthecolony’scentraltorus.

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