We strolled down the path toward the little cluster of buildings, all small, one-story, one square.
She said, “It’s… it’s nice. Feels like I’m walking on air, I’m so light. Exactly what is the gravity?”
“Point seven four,” I said. “If you weigh… umm, a hundred twenty pounds on Earth, you weigh about eighty-nine pounds here. And on you, it looks good.”
She laughed. “Thank you, professor—oh, that’s right; you’re not a professor now. You’re now my boss, and I must call you Mr. Rand.”
“Unless you’re willing to make it Phil, Michaelina.”
“If you’d call me Mike; I detest Michaelina, almost as much as Ike hates Ichabod.”
“How is Ike?”
“Fine. Has a student instructor job at Poly, but he doesn’t like it much.” She looked ahead at the village. “Why so many small buildings instead of a few bigger ones?”
“Because the average life of a structure of any kind on Placet is about three weeks. And you never know when one is going to fall down—with someone inside. It’s our biggest problem. All we can do is make them small and light, except the foundations, which we make as strong as possible. Thus far, nobody has been hurt seriously in the collapse of a building, for that reason, but… Did you feel that?”
“The vibration? What was it, an earthquake?”