Part 7 (2/2)
”Dead?” muttered Temple, lamely and foolishly. ”Dead....”
Arkalion smiled deprecatingly. ”My friend must have been talking in his sleep. The only thing dead in here is my appet.i.te. Weightlessness doesn't let you become very hungry.”
”You'll grow used to it,” the guard promised. He patted his paunch happily. ”I am. Well, don't raise the alarm unless there's some trouble. Remember about the boy who cried wolf.”
”Of course,” said Temple. ”Sure. Sorry.”
He watched the guard depart.
”Bad dream?” Arkalion wanted to know.
”Bad dream, my foot. I accidentally hit you. Hard enough to hurt. You didn't move.”
”I'm a sound sleeper.”
”I felt for your heart. It wasn't beating. It wasn't!”
”Oh, come, come.”
”Your heart was not beating, I said.”
”And I suppose I was cold as a slab of ice?”
”Umm, no. I don't remember. Maybe you were. You had no pulse, either.”
Arkalion laughed easily. ”And am I still dead?”
”Well--”
”Clearly a case of overwrought nerves and a highly keyed imagination.
What you need is some more sleep.”
”I'm not sleepy, thanks.”
”Well, I think I'll get up and go down for breakfast.” Arkalion climbed out of bed gingerly, made his way to the sink and was soon gargling with a bottle of prepared mouthwash, occasionally spraying weightless droplets of the pink liquid up at the ceiling.
Temple lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, made his way to Arkalion's bed while the man hummed tunelessly at the sink. Temple let his hands fall on the sheet. It was not cold, but comfortably cool.
Hardly as warm as it should have been, with a man sleeping on it all night.
Was he still imagining things?
”I'm glad you didn't call for a burial detail and have me expelled into s.p.a.ce with yesterday's garbage,” Arkalion called over his shoulder jauntily as he went outside for some breakfast.
Temple cursed softly and lit another cigarette, dropping the first one into a disposal chute on the wall.
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