But Megan insisted on bringing those socks. When they fled Earth, they were told to pack only what was absolutely necessary. But her feet are warm, bundled in wool socks. The floors are always so cold on this ship, with no sunlight or starlight to speak of these days - they’re in empty space - just emergency lights that pulse red and give off a dire warning that total darkness awaits them, should they dare push farther on. At the sound of more crumpled paper, she finally throws back the quilt in their sleeping bunk, her feet finding the ark’s glossy, metal floors. They had a fight about it and she went to bed without him. It’s unlike him and he should know better. She doesn’t think he should give this speech at all. Phrases such as ‘dwindling supplies’, ‘lost’, ‘gratitude’ and ‘last chance’ stare up at him. He’s had it down a dozen times, revised it a dozen more been forced to memorize it all over again. His head is pounding from trying to memorize the speech. Or is it day? They don’t have a clock in this cabin and their porthole window offers nothing but black, starless space.
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