The suit smells like other people’s patience.

Lina checks your tether twice, which is not an insult. Outside is a brown room with no walls. Leaf Hall’s glass is a cliff of faint green. Dust moves in curtains. Visibility is a rumor with a number, and the number is falling.

“One bay,” Lina says. “Short wipe. Feet on holds. Tether on me, not on a feeling. If you untether because untethered is faster, faster is how we do a rover hunt instead of a harvest.”

The electrostatic paddle for exterior work is heavier. Static loves this dust. Love is the wrong word. Dust leaps.

You can be a short, boring, tethered wipe. You can try to be a hero of all glass while the sun goes out.

Imani in one ear: “If you stay out for ‘just one more bay,’ you are writing my least favorite ending.”