Near the door of the engine room, Datany was lying on a rope. Little gravity. She was dreaming, in calmness and absence of breathing.
Salt-white body, the appearance of a thin feminine armor, it was made of stable inorganic matter.
Her hair also was white, the translucent white of transparency dealing with light. She had pale pink skin, confined on the only fingertips, cheeks and – with a soft red glimmer – on her lips.
<< I’m not so found in the concept of ‘Life’.>> said Dr. Inchforh, walking on thoughts around his parrot << ‘Organism’ is enough, namely ‘Organism’ tells the concertum of cells and membrane-defined organelles and so on and so forth, it tells the organization of parts. Well, ‘Life’ is more suitable to describe a dream, an emotion, something transient and worth of uncertainty>>. He was thinking so. He wrote down his thought; now they were made of ink. << DREEM! REEEM! >> said the parrot.