Thirty-Three
The pipe cutters from the plumbing tool kit made short work of the gate chain, opening the pool to us.
The irregular oval, about six meters by four, went all the way to the far wall. The ceiling curved down to meet it. The water wobbled with the gravity, rising a few centimeters on the light and dropping on the heavy. Bioluminescent algae hugged the rocks and drifted everywhere, giving the water its opalescent glow. My nose insisted that the pool stank of garlic and someone else’s sweat, even though I knew I smelled only my stolen suit.
The deep parts of my brain insisted that the water had to be warm. The algae wouldn’t be so bright if it was cold, would it? My itchy, aching body begged for a long soak in a hot tub. Never mind that we were in Tritium’s lower latitudes, and
