The Luna Deception
“xxxiv.
Mendoza was itching all over now. Crotch, armpits, even the soles of his feet. Whoever had last used this sharesuit must have had lice. The Bloomsbury airlock couldn’t cycle fast enough for him. As soon as the air pressure indicator turned green, he pulled the suit off and had a good scratch. Then he tucked in his shirt, straightened his suspenders, and exited the chamber.
He left the suit hanging on the lip of the USED locker.
A river of barely visible motes flowed out of the suit’s neck. They squirted through the airlock’s valve just before it closed behind Mendoza, and dispersed into the air.
★ If Wellsland had been hell, Bloomsbury was a little bubble of paradise. The only visible sign of the crisis was a refugee camp in the public park. Sunrise hues of pink and gold tinted the roof. No one was up yet, except for a few people jogging along the river (it was a loop, powered by underwater turbines; you could swim and fish in it). Clip-clopping hooves broke the silence.
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