And Steinhart: "_What is reality, Kimmy?_"

* * * * *

The hours stretched into days, the days into months. Time wasn't. Time

was a deep night and a starshot void. And dreams.

He awoke seldom. His tasks were simple. The plastic sac and the tender

care of the ship were more real than the routine jobs of telemetering

information back to the Base across the empty miles, across the rim of

the world.

The Hills of Home · 第 5 / 6 题