Gravity had shifted, Hector realized. The train was going almost straight up, it felt like. And perhaps the only reason he hadn’t begun sliding out of his seat was because of the arm rest supporting his weight. He grabbed onto it with his free hand and spread his feet apart unconsciously.
‘This doesn’t feel very safe...
‘Well, you’re supposed to have a seat belt on,’ said Garovel.
‘You tell me this now?’
‘I’m pretty sure the seat belts won’t fit around your suit.’
‘You could’ve warned me, at least. What if I fell out?’
‘Was kinda hopin’ you would.’
‘What if I landed on someone?’
‘Eh, Dimas is right over there. I’m sure he would’ve stopped you. Or you would’ve stopped yourself. You’ve got your iron again, remember? You could’ve whipped something up.’
Hector would’ve expressed his annoyance, but the cabin shifted another time and took his mind off it. Gravity leveled out, and he supposed they were moving horizontally again. He decided to maintain his grip on the arm rest anyway.
From there, the journey began to feel rather tedious. It would take a few hours to reach Babbadelo, apparently, and Hector couldn’t sleep or meditate for fear of falling out of his seat.
That left only one thing for him to do, really.
Pester Garovel with all the things that he’d been meaning to ask for a while now.
‘Hey, Garovel, I have a question.’
‘Have you ever gone to the moon?’
The reaper laughed. ‘I think I see where this is going. But no, I have never gone to the moon.’
‘Why not? You can fly wherever you want, right?’
‘As it so happens, no, I can’t. Reapers can’t leave the planet’s atmosphere.’
‘Hmm. So you’ve tried, then?’