By Giovanni Catapano
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Those lips. Microgravity had improved them, if nothing else. They were redder, thicker, pouter. They made him want to unzip his fly on sight, and many times he had. He kissed her deeply, then spun her around so that they both faced the Earth. "I never know where we are," said Carla Sue. "The North Atlantic. " He felt warm toward her, warmer than he had felt in days. It wasn't a sign that their relationship was on the rebound. His conversation with Jared Lewis had solidified that decision. He recognized it as the last flourish of ardor before he pulled one of his patented disappearing acts.
French Canadian, actually. " "Nice tie-in. She could interest the Canadian audiences. Ratings have been low there. " "Well," said Jaeckle. " "Talk to her and let me know. " The telelink broke. Jaeckle snapped off his communications console. He felt encouraged, expansive. Talking to TBC always was entertaining, especially since Jared Lewis was so malleable. Jaeckle propelled himself toward the observation blister up at the tip of the module, a dome of strong and perfectly transparent Lexan. The outer surface of the dome was covered by an aluminum clamshell shield that could be closed to prevent damage from meteoroids or debris.
Renoir was sympathetic and discreet, but she also kept her distance. Dave Nutt was leaving as soon as the shuttle could get to the station and take him away. Good! she told herself as she paced the tireless treadmill. He had accomplished far too much during his six-month stint. Now he could spend the next six months on Earth writing reports instead of making progress. Skillen watched the others as she strode nowhere. Inwardly she snarled at them. You think you know all my secrets, she silently said to them.
Agostino by Giovanni Catapano