The moon hung low in the night sky right now, but would slowly drift into place directly overhead. He hoped the high foreheads had calculated the perigee and launch rate correctly. “Helmet,” said one of the techs. He nodded briefly, gazing for a second into his reflection in the visor, reading the backwards letters of his name badge in bold script: Armstrong. He then stood stock still as they fitted it over his head and sealed it into place. He hefted his auxiliary dephlogisticator, heard the hiss as air began to stream into his suit, then nodded at the tech when he pointed at his own throat. Yes, he could breathe fine. From there he was helped into the launch vehicle, eased onto the couch and plugged into the console before the door was shut, sealing him off from the outside world. Then things were silent for a few more seconds, just the hiss of air and his breathing echoing around inside his helmet. “You read?” The tinny voice of the Mission Specialist calling jolted him out of his momentary reverie.
What do You think about Over The Darkened Landscape?
