Eight
The sand reminded Chevy of New Houston beaches. It was dark black, leavened with quartz crystals to give it sparkle and shine, but waterlogged it supported his weight just fine. The pressure suit made his footprints look freakish. Water oozed into the tread marks and began nibbling away at the marks of his presence.
The tiny lagoon looked like it would be perfect for swimming. The protective reefs reduced the crashing waves to a gentle surge and ebb that wouldn’t threaten a toddler’s balance, but the splash of each impact was loud enough to penetrate his fishbowl helmet. The temperature out here averaged ten degrees on this seasonless planet, but the huge sun cast an illusion of warmth. Driftwood trees lay tumbled to either side, but this stretch was clear sand. All it needed was a
