"How are you now?" asked Frayberg.
"Fine. A little sore in the lungs."
"I shouldn't wonder," the ship's doctor growled. "I never saw anything like it."
"How does it feel out there, Wilbur?" Catlin asked.
"It feels awful lonesome and empty. And the breath seeping up out of your lungs, never going in—that's a funny feeling. And you miss the air blowing on your skin. I never realized it before. Air feels like—like silk, like whipped cream—it's got texture...."
"But aren't you cold? Space is supposed to be absolute zero!"
"Space is nothing. It's not hot and it's not cold. When you're in the sunlight you get warm. It's better in the shade. You don't lose any heat by air convection, but radiation and sweat evaporation keep you comfortably cool."
"I still can't understand it," said Frayberg. "This Prince Ali, he's a kind of a rebel, eh?"
"I don't blame him in a way. A normal man living under those domes has to let off steam somehow. Prince Ali decided to go out crusading. I think he would have made it too—at least on Cirgamesç."
"Certainly there are many more men inside the domes...."