The Basilisk's Mouth

08: 1/∞

 I want you to imagine a fraction.

 This is our eighth interlude, and warrants a slight detour. The number carries a unique meaning all of its own, becoming something quite different when laid on its side. But it doesn't prepare you for what infinity truly looks like.

 Planet Earth throws up a heavenly glow against the black canvas of space. It's almost unbearably white, patterned with ivory storms and milky whirlpools that could span a continent. It looks strangely like milk unfurling in a cup of tea. From here, it's easy to forget that there are oceans beneath, and even easier to forget about the land. The land, which contains all the cultures, languages, discoveries, billions of humans, all he's ever heard of, and he could blot it out with his thumb.

 These windows are new, like everything in the ship, and disconcertingly transparent. Johann is standing right at the edge of the opaque flooring, toeing the line of the glass edges. He's never been especially afraid of heights, but it seems more than he can take, to see a planet loom unimpeded underneath his feet. Nausea and adrenaline simultaneously course through his body at the thought.

 "...and here's Fuchs, who spearheaded the Rhadamanthus accelerator."

 "And look at him, he's barely started shaving!"

 "We're all hedging our bets on what he's going to find first. Aren't we, Jon?"

 Johann's smile tastes like Styrofoam. Ronan has a harsh mouth and blocky forehead, and Willis is weedy, dark and obviously jealous. They're escorting a woman between them who has a little pale mouth, half open with perpetual shock, and blonde curly locks of hair framing her face. Her eyes swivel around to Johann like the beacon of a lighthouse.

 "Fuchs? The Fuchs?" She chuckles, flapping her hand apologetically. "I'm sorry. It sounds silly in English."

 Johann's smile turns to concrete.

 "Anyway," the woman continues, oblivious to the serpentine grin on Willis' face, "you've done some great work, sir. Using the Ring to that end is genius. You could really change the world with that kind of technology."

 "I appreciate it," Johann says after clearing his throat, "but it's no more than has been proposed over a century ago-"

 "Ronan's got his bets on the graviton," Willis interrupts gaily. "Poor sod still believes in the Unified Model."

 "That hundred dollars is going to feel really nice in this pocket," Ronan winks. "I'm counting on you, Jon."

 The woman shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Reila. You won't see much of me; I'm going to be working on the asteroid extension."

 "Hey, it's important work," Ronan says, at the same time Willis remarks, "someone's gotta keep the thing stable."

 An old sense that Johann has retained from his university days coughs back to life as he realises that his colleagues are each hoping to fuck this woman by the end of the night. His response to this revelation is unchanged; he inclines his head, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, and tries to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

 "Good luck, then. It was nice meeting you."

 Reila draws her shoulders up in slight surprise at the meeting being drawn to a close so soon, but her companions waste no time in steering her to the next attraction. Ronan raises heavy eyebrows at Johann upon parting, but he just takes a lengthy drink from his cup in response. He only hopes the poor woman will have the sense to escape their claws before they all drunkenly stumble to bed at what they call 'nightfall'.