by Tom Lichtenberg
Copyright 2010 by Tom Lichtenberg
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S.B. Quait was dreaming of another moon. This time the sky was helium, the color not a color grey, and in the craters, creatures of the dust. They looked like rocks, but Sissy felt their liquid molten spread like rampant pheromonix on the sprawl. It was a seamless flow, and the rising emanations shimmered in the earthlit sky. She was crawling on a ridge, iceberg peaks above, and some below, and the sweep projections glowed and filtered through the gas. Another moon, she thought. Every time, another moon.
At four fourteen she was awake and sleepy. The sun was almost up, and the comet dust was winking through the blinds. She did not get up to watch the lights and clouds, but stayed in bed pretending it was still last night, and not another working day. I haven't had my quota yet, she thought, they owe me seventeen, at least. She laughed and said aloud “okay, all right,” and pulled herself from out beneath her husband's slumbering weight. She got no further than the dresser when she had a sudden thought, and just as quickly it was gone. I guess it wasn't important, Sissy told herself, but she felt as if she'd missed some curious opportunity.