Pete avoided my eyes. "I didn't ask you, Jim!"
I knew then that the pup had projected two sets of images, one in the control room for Pete's benefit and one outside for me to live through. A mirage pup could generate images like an electronic circuit, duplicate them in all directions, pile them up in layers. Automatically without thinking, to ease its own wretchedness.
Pete had been able to follow me as I crawled along the hull. He knew what I was going through.
I moved away from him, sat down on the chronometer and cradled my head in my arms.
Dusk.
Dawn.
Dusk.
Dawn.
You don't see the sun rise and set inside a spaceship, but that's how the days seem to pass. Your mind grows a little darker when it's time for the sun to set on Earth. Lightens when it rises.