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looking up at him with that expectant, silly look of hers. Now, whether or not Melhaus appreciated the efforts routinely made on his behalf, who can say. These thoughts, if he has them, he keeps to himself.
    As I ponder these observations and attempt to make them coherent, I feel Angie’s soft pink tongue licking the back of my hand. Out of nowhere I begin to think there is something vaguely sensual about the act. Now
there’s
a thought, innocuous as it is, best kept to oneself. Remarkable, is it not, that just like Melhaus, we humans hide much from each other and some things even from ourselves. Perhaps the quality and extent of this mental editing is as good a signpost as any as to how well an individual fits into society.
    As we neared P5, I wondered if an alien civilization, if they understood us at all, would be startled, even afraid, of how extraordinarily selective and inhibited our thought processes can be.

Orbit
     
    THE NEXT MORNING I entered the mission room and was immediately greeted by an astonishing and beautiful sight. P5, which yesterday had been a fuzzy, golf ball-sized glow, now loomed large below us, filling a significant portion of
Desio’s
main observation window.
    What I was seeing for the first time, in crystal clarity and without teloptic augmentation, was the shimmering surface of a silver-blue, planet-sized droplet of water suspended in the ultimate blackness of space. The surreal size and scope of this fantastic image had my mind fighting a battle between the irrational fear of being inescapably drawn down toward the planet with the overwhelming urge not to look away.
    As I stared, Diana and Paul entered the room and at the same time I heard Thompson say something purposefully irreverent, something like, “an entire planet of ocean and I left my fishing poles and tackle at home.”
    I don’t know if it was Thompson’s remark, or the expression of amazement etched on Diana’s face, or both, but Kelly, who was already a fixture at the viewing port when I arrived, laughed, and then, in jest said, “Give me a moment, Bruce, I’ll get Diana’s sedative ready.”
    Diana, with Paul standing close by her side, appeared transfixed by the image in the viewport; you could tell she was having trouble working through and expressing her emotions. Her response was late in coming, but it was still typical Diana.
    “Yesterday I was excited, but today, Kelly … you need scientific notation to quantify the orgasm I’m having today.”
    We all offered our comments, but it was Paul, forgetting that the onboard language was English, who expressed himself most eloquently when he spontaneously blurted out,
“Il est presque aussi belle que vous, mon amour!
”
    Diana, caught unawares, looked up at Paul and affectionately squeezed his arm. She seemed more than a little pleased.
    “Care to translate?” I asked.
    Feeling very much self-satisfied, she was more than happy to oblige. “It is almost as beautiful as you, my love.”
    “Ah, you have a way with words, Paul,” I said. “Maybe you should be the person chronicling this voyage.” Before Thompson expounded on
that
observation, which I could see he was eager to do, I faced him and added, “Just saving you the trouble of pointing that out.”
    “Much appreciated,” he replied.
    I was relieved and pleased to hear my crewmates’ first ebullient reactions at seeing the planet, especially in light of how previous glimpses out this same port only exacerbated the feeling of isolation I have already described. The crew was experiencing a renewal of purpose. Even Angie, softly whining at the viewport, seemed enthralled by the planet. I was compelled to issue a “quiet” command, though I completely understood how spending three months holed up on a small ship was, to her, a lifetime. All she was trying to tell me is she desired a place to run and sniff and play and that the big glowing ball offered the best opportunity.
    The ball grew even larger