Mumbling ventilators underscored the stillness. The normal, health-reinforcing temperature and ionization cycles had brought a chill to the air, with a subliminal smell of night.
The inkblot shape of Susanne Granville huddled in a corner. She clasped a chairback while her free hand covered her face. The brightness from heaven was enough to be merciless.
Brodersen kicked off and speared through the cold. “Hey, Su, what’s wrong?”
“Oh! Monsieur le capitaine. . . .” She snatched for breath while he halted by the same chair. “I am sorry. It is no nevermind,” she coughed.
“Aw, come on.” He realized anew what a sweet person she was, how much he liked and, yes, respected her. Almost shyly, he laid an arm across her shoulders. “You got troubles, Su.”
“I… I am sorry… I should àve gone to my cabin-”
“But?” He held her a little closer.