Self is amazed, simply amazed that she’s so far managed to hold onto the thread of this story, even through a) pandemic b) riots and c) lack of direction from xxxxxxxx, not to mention d) insomnia.
But it’s Holden. Guy just finished reminiscing about his dog Rufus. While in outer space. While headed to an encounter — maybe fatal — with proto-molecule (The Roci, as stated on p. 226, is over “30,000 kilometers away”). That is so, so Holden. Hard as it is to believe, the guy even manages to fall asleep for who knows how long en route to his destination (But why not? Space isn’t always exciting. Especially if you’ve lived in it all your life)
With the infinite and unbroken black all around him, and the only visible spot of light coming in from the blue sphere directly ahead, it was easy to feel like he was in some vast tunnel, slowly moving toward the exit. The human mind didn’t do well with infinite spaces. It wanted walls, horizons, limits. It would create them if it had to.
His suit beeped at him to let him know it was time to replenish his 02 supply.
Self is sooo glad they’ve stopped making a big deal of his radiation exposure, because she would not like to visualize Holden with all his hair falling out. Not that this is for sure a symptom of radiation over-exposure. But having watched a few episodes of The Expanse, the hair is very nice, yes. It would be a pity to lose it. Just sayin’.
She ordered the next two books after this one, but not sure if she should go all the way, since she knows it will be super-angsty.
To stretch out the pleasure, she’ll alternate The Expanse with other books on her reading list, like Olive, Again (which was highly recommended by a friend in Canada with impeccable reading taste)
Stay safe, dear blog readers. Stay safe.
