corridor, passing plants and small pools.Some sort
of scenery is going by outside, when I can see
outside, but I'm not paying very much attention.It
might be a planet seen from space, or mountains, or
desert, it might even be underwater; I don't care.I
wave to some people I know.I am eating something
savoury to tide me over to dinner, and I have a
towel over my shoulder; I think I'm going for a
swim.The air is sweet and I hear some very soft
and beautiful music which I almost recognize,
coming from a cabin.Wherever, whatever it is I am
in, it is travelling very smoothly and quietly,
without sound or vibration or fuss; secure.
I'll appreciate all that if I ever see it again.I'll
know then what it is to feel so safe, so pampered,
so unafraid and confident.
I never get anywhere in that dream.I'm always
simply walking, each and every time I have it.It is
always the same, always as sweet; I always start
and finish in the same place, everything is always
the same; predictable and comforting.Everything is
very sharp and clear.I miss nothing.
Day thirty.The mountains way behind us, and me -
us -walking along the top of an ancient lava
tunnel.I'm looking for a break in the roof because I
think it'll be fun to walk along within the tunnel
itself- it looks big enough to walk inside.The suit
says we aren't heading in exactly the right direction
for the base, following the tunnel, but I reckon
we're close enough.It indulges me.I deserve to be
indulged; I can't curl up like a little ball at night
any more.The suit decided we were losing too
much oxygen each time we melded the limbs and
inflated the suit at night, so we've stopped doing
that.I hated feeling trapped, and unable to scratch,
at first, but now I don't mind so much.Now I have
to sleep with my legs in its legs and my arms in its
arms.
The lava tunnel curves away in the wrong
direction.I stand looking at it as it wiggles away
into the distance, up a great slope to a distant,
extinct shield volcano.Wrong way, damn it.
'Let's get down and head in the right direction,
shall we?' the suit says.
'Oh, all right,' I grumble.I get down.I'm sweating.I
wipe my head inside the helmet, rubbing it up and
down, like an animal scratching. 'I'm sweating,' I
tell it. 'Why are you letting me sweat?I shouldn't be
sweating.You shouldn't be letting me sweat.You
must be letting your attention wander.Come on; do
your job.'
'Sorry,' the suit says, in an unpleasant tone.I think it
should take my comfort a little more
seriously.That's what it's there for, after all.
'If you want me to get out and walk, I will,' I tell it.
'That won't be necessary.'
I wish it would suggest a rest.I feel weak and dizzy
again, and I could feel the suit doing most of the
work as we got down from the roof of the lava
tunnel.The pain in my guts is back.We start
walking over the rubble-covered plain once more.I
feel like talking.
'Tell me, suit, don't you wonder if it's all worth it?'
'If what's all worth what?' it says, and I can hear
that condescending tone in its voice again.
'You know; living.Is it worth all the bother?'
'No.'
'No?'
'No, I don't ever wonder about it.'
'Why not?' I'm keeping my questions short as we
walk, conserving energy and breath.
'I don't need to wonder about that.It's not
important.'
'Not important?'
'It's an irrelevant question.We live; that's enough.'
'Oh.That easy, huh?'
'Why not?'
'Why?'
The suit is silent after that.I wait for it to say
something, but it doesn't.I laugh, wave both our
arms about. 'I mean, what's it all about, suit?What
does it all mean?'
'What colour is the wind?How long is a piece of
string?'
I have to think about that. 'What's string ?' I have to ask finally, suspecting I've missed something.
'Never mind.Keep walking.'
Sometimes I wish I could see the suit.It's weird,
now that I think about it, not being able to see who
I'm talking to.Just this hollow voice, not unlike my
own, sounding in the space between the inside of
my helmet and the outside of my skull.I would
prefer a face to look at, or even just a single thing
to fix my attention on.
If I still had the camera I could take a photograph
of us both.If there was water here I could gaze at
our reflection.
The suit is my shape, extended, but its mind isn't
mine; it's independent.This perplexes me, though I
suppose it must make sense.But I'm glad I chose the
full 1.0 intelligence version; the standard 0.1 type
would have been no company at all.Perhaps my
sanity is measured by the placing of a decimal
point.
Night.It is the fifty-fifth night.Tomorrow will be
the fifty-sixth day.
How am I?Difficult to say.My breathing has
become laboured, and I'm sure I've become
thinner.My hair is long now and my beard quite