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Greta
was
right
about
Suzy
.
The
challenge
helped
me
,
taking
my
mind
off
my
own
predicament
.
I
remembered
what
Greta
had
said
about
dealing
with
other
crews
in
the
same
situation
,
before
Blue
Goose
put
in
.
Clearly
she
had
learned
many
psychological
tricks
:
gambits
and
short
cuts
to
assist
the
transition
to
mental
well
-
being
.
I
felt
a
slight
resentment
at
being
manipulated
so
effectively
.
But
at
the
same
time
I
couldn
’
t
deny
that
worrying
about
another
human
being
had
helped
me
with
my
own
adjustment
.
When
,
days
later
,
I
stepped
back
from
the
immediate
problem
of
Suzy
,
I
realized
that
something
was
different
.
I
didn
’
t
feel
far
from
home
.
I
felt
,
in
an
odd
way
,
privileged
.
I
’
d
come
further
than
almost
anyone
in
history
.
I
was
still
alive
,
and
there
were
still
people
around
to
provide
love
and
partnership
and
a
web
of
social
relations
.
Not
just
Greta
,
but
all
the
other
unlucky
souls
who
had
ended
up
at
the
station
.
If
anything
,
there
appeared
to
be
more
of
them
than
when
I
had
first
arrived
.
The
corridors
—
sparsely
populated
at
first
—
were
increasingly
busy
,
and
when
we
ate
under
the
dome
—
under
the
Milky
Way
—
we
were
not
the
only
diners
.
I
studied
their
lamp
-
lit
faces
,
comforted
by
their
vague
familiarity
,
wondering
what
kinds
of
stories
they
had
to
tell
;
where
they
’
d
come
from
,
who
they
had
left
behind
,
how
they
had
adjusted
to
life
here
.
There
was
time
enough
to
get
to
know
them
all
.
And
the
place
would
never
become
boring
,
for
at
any
time
—
as
Greta
had
intimated
—
we
could
always
expect
another
lost
ship
to
drop
through
the
aperture
.
Tragedy
for
the
crew
,
but
fresh
challenges
,
fresh
faces
,
fresh
news
from
home
,
for
us
.
All
in
all
,
it
wasn
’
t
really
so
bad
.
Then
it
clicked
.
It
was
the
man
cleaning
out
the
fish
that
did
it
,
in
the
lobby
of
the
hotel
.
It
wasn
’
t
just
the
familiarity
of
the
process
,
but
the
man
himself
.
I
’
d
seen
him
before
.
Another
pond
full
of
diseased
carp
.
Another
hotel
.
Then
I
remembered
Kolding
’
s
bad
teeth
,
and
recalled
how
they
’
d
reminded
me
of
another
man
I
’
d
met
long
before
.
Except
it
wasn
’
t
another
man
at
all
.
Different
name
,
different
context
,
but
everything
else
the
same
.
And
when
I
looked
at
the
other
diners
,
really
looked
at
them
,
there
was
no
one
I
couldn
’
t
swear
I
hadn
’
t
seen
before
.
No
single
face
that
hit
me
with
the
force
of
utter
unfamiliarity
.
Which
left
Greta
.
I
said
to
her
,
over
wine
,
under
the
Milky
Way
:
"
Nothing
here
is
real
,
is
it
?
"
