Chapter 37

           IwasstillfeelingnothinganhourlaterwhenOrtegacameandfoundmeinthesleevinghall,seatedononeoftheautomatedforkliftsandstaringupintothegreenglowfromtheemptydecantingchambers.Theairlockmadeasmooththumpandthenasustainedhummingsoundasitopened,butIdidn’treact.EvenwhenIrecognisedherfootfallsandashortcurseasshepickedherwaybetweenthecoiledcablingonthefloor,Ididn’tlookround.LikethemachineIwasseatedon,Iwaspowereddown.

           "Howyoufeeling?"

           Ilookeddowntowhereshestoodbesidetheforklift."LikeIlook,probably."

           "Well,youlooklikeshit."ShereacheduptowhereIwasseatedandgraspedaconvenientgrillcover."YoumindifIjoinyou?"

           "Goahead.Wantahandup?"

           "Nope."Ortegastrainedtoliftherselfbyherarms,turnedgreywiththeeffortandhungtherewithalopsidedgrin."Possibly."

           Ilenthertheleastbruisedofmyarmsandshecameaboardtheforkliftwithagrunt.Shesquattedawkwardlyforamoment,thenseatedherselfnexttomeandrubbedathershoulders.

           "Christ,it’scoldinhere.Howlonghaveyoubeensittingonthisthing?"

           "‘Boutanhour."

           Shelookedupattheemptytanks."Seenanythinginteresting?"

           "I’mthinking."

           "Oh."Shepausedagain.