She led Art back down the corridor to a side compartment just short of the humming engine room. It was little more than a closet, hung with eight spacesuits, one for each potential crew member. Art had expected something lightweight and simple, like the suit into which he’d been stuffed during his abduction. But that, Avara told him scornfully, had been a “dummy suit.” These suits were designed for much longer periods in space. They included food and water and tubes that Avara explained in straightforward fashion while Art tried unsuccessfully not to blush. He had to discard his own clothes and don a special undergarment, then struggle into the suit. Finally, he had everything in place and zipped up. “Now what?” he said. “I’m stewing in my own sweat.”
“Now take it off,” Avara said. She gl
