CHAPTER .9 The floor sticks to my bare feet when I forget to move. I pace from one end of the coldroom to the other beneath the twilight of the biolume bowl and its circling fish. The metal slabs are empty, thank the Mercies. If I were trapped in here with a body, I might try slicing open my own neck with the sharp ends of the copper wire around my wrists. That might be the smart thing in any case. I’d prefer the burn of metal opening my veins, the slow sleep falling over me as my heart fails. But no. Modrie Reller and all of them, that’s what they want. They hope I’ll die of cold in here or else invent some way to hurry myself into death and save them the grisly task of venting me into the Void. I curse you, I think, and walk faster to keep my blood flowing to my fingers and toes, keep the tremors in my muscles at bay. I pull the cheap headdress from my hair and throw it. I won’t make my death easy. But it’s cold. Layers of frost rime the marble slabs, leaving them glistening like an oil slick.
