We’re getting this taxi out to Zion, Zion cluster.” She touched the release plate on her harness and began to free herself from the embrace of the foam. “Funny choice of venue, you ask me.” “How’s that?” “Dreads. Rastas. Colony’s about thirty years old now.” “What’s that mean?” “You’ll see. It’s an okay place by me. Anyway, they’ll let you smoke your cigarettes there.” —
