“So, on this table we see that given the air pressure and oxygen content we currently have inside the cylinder, we should be able to breathe comfortably.”
“What about temperature?”
“Seven degrees. A bit chilly, but nothing we can’t handle by reducing the opacity of the Sunshade.”
“What’s stopping us, then? I want to have a look at the place.”
“We’ve been requested to wait until the Sequence Head has arrived, so she can be the first to take a breath of air inside.”
“Tssh! Like in an old SF movie: I’ll bet she enters in a vac suit, cracks her helmet, takes a long breath and says, ‘Ah, good. There’s oxygen on this planet’.”
“Well, be fair: the Sequence has been paying everyone’s salary for the last fifteen years. The moment we’ve all been waiting for is the moment we’ve all been waiting for, including the Primary Committee.”
“Meh. Whatever.”
“Just stay inside until she gives the word.”
He tapped at the environmental controls. The air pressure dropped, enough to make my ears pop. A chill breeze came through the fans.
“Hey! Did you just crack the seal? When you were explicitly told not to?”
“Nothing of the sort - I just matched the air in here to the cylinder’s air.”
“Smart aleck.”
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/perhaps-the-world-ends-here
The Magic Eight-Ball says: "Why ask me? Look on the table."
No comments:
Post a Comment