Book 1: The Planet
Part 6
11.20 HPN Day2 PT AC 4061
Trowa cracked a fresh light stick into luminescence and hung it from the central ceiling beam of the equipment tent. The bluish-green rod cast eerie shadows across taught canvas walls, but it was the most efficient way to work in the darkness. If he couldn't work outside during the hottest hours of the day, that left tasks to be done at night, such as erecting his own tent. As functional as the landing pod had been so far, it did not make the most comfortable bedroom, and the tall boy was eager to have space to stretch out.
As he expertly erected the smaller tent and began carrying supplies from one to the other, Trowa found himself glancing frequently northeast, as though he expected to find something new on the horizon. He could feel something coming, like a hum of electricity across his skin, though he had no idea what he was waiting for. Perhaps a sandstorm? More likely he was just reacting to his unfamiliar surroundings and his excitement over this expedition. His whole career had led toward this adventure. The prospect of actually living on the same planet he'd studied for so long was still fairly overwhelming.
With a shrug he dismissed his feelings as inconsequential and returned his attention to the labor at hand. Within an hour everything was in place. He had erected his quarters just northwest of the landing pod, directly west of the larger tent, so he could watch the open expanse of sunset in the evenings. The tent itself was only a few meters square, but it held a bedroll, small desk, folding sling chair, wash basin, and waste facility. Like the tent, most of the furniture was made of shiny metallic frames with bleached canvas stretched in between. The only exception to this was the bedroll, for an array of rich blue blankets were folded and piled neatly around the low rectangular pad. Knowing the weather's unpredictability in a climate like this, he had wanted to be prepared, packing many extra layers for warmth. He wouldn't need them now, but who could say when he might?
The feeling of impending . . . something, still hung in the air, but Trowa ignored it as he laid out a set of clothes for the morning. It wasn't that he distrusted his instincts, he had always found them to be quite accurate in the past, but he had simply learned to accept them pragmatically. If he had no idea what was coming, he had no way to prepare, so why dwell on something unalterable? He would be cautious and alert, as usual, and act accordingly at the appropriate time. It was all he could do.
With a sigh of resignation he laid down to sleep. He had finished his objectives, so there was no point to staying awake any longer. He would know soon enough what this premonition meant. Until then, he could always use some sleep.
11.20 HPN Day2 PT AC 4061
Trowa cracked a fresh light stick into luminescence and hung it from the central ceiling beam of the equipment tent. The bluish-green rod cast eerie shadows across taught canvas walls, but it was the most efficient way to work in the darkness. If he couldn't work outside during the hottest hours of the day, that left tasks to be done at night, such as erecting his own tent. As functional as the landing pod had been so far, it did not make the most comfortable bedroom, and the tall boy was eager to have space to stretch out.
As he expertly erected the smaller tent and began carrying supplies from one to the other, Trowa found himself glancing frequently northeast, as though he expected to find something new on the horizon. He could feel something coming, like a hum of electricity across his skin, though he had no idea what he was waiting for. Perhaps a sandstorm? More likely he was just reacting to his unfamiliar surroundings and his excitement over this expedition. His whole career had led toward this adventure. The prospect of actually living on the same planet he'd studied for so long was still fairly overwhelming.
With a shrug he dismissed his feelings as inconsequential and returned his attention to the labor at hand. Within an hour everything was in place. He had erected his quarters just northwest of the landing pod, directly west of the larger tent, so he could watch the open expanse of sunset in the evenings. The tent itself was only a few meters square, but it held a bedroll, small desk, folding sling chair, wash basin, and waste facility. Like the tent, most of the furniture was made of shiny metallic frames with bleached canvas stretched in between. The only exception to this was the bedroll, for an array of rich blue blankets were folded and piled neatly around the low rectangular pad. Knowing the weather's unpredictability in a climate like this, he had wanted to be prepared, packing many extra layers for warmth. He wouldn't need them now, but who could say when he might?
The feeling of impending . . . something, still hung in the air, but Trowa ignored it as he laid out a set of clothes for the morning. It wasn't that he distrusted his instincts, he had always found them to be quite accurate in the past, but he had simply learned to accept them pragmatically. If he had no idea what was coming, he had no way to prepare, so why dwell on something unalterable? He would be cautious and alert, as usual, and act accordingly at the appropriate time. It was all he could do.
With a sigh of resignation he laid down to sleep. He had finished his objectives, so there was no point to staying awake any longer. He would know soon enough what this premonition meant. Until then, he could always use some sleep.