Rebecca had to get up. No matter how much it hurt.
She stretched her hearing past the sleeping alarm clock, past the hum of the electric lights, the air compressors, the gravity correctors... listening for the rain. As soon as she heard it, she would know that she was still on base, still in the hexagon, and she could go back to sleep.
Once, she had dreamt that the rain had stopped; she went to the window, looking upon an orange fog as it began to dissipate, revealing the arch of Saturn's satellite horizon. But the dream had not gone that way for a long time...
She had dreamt that she heard the rain stop; by the time she went for visual confirmation, the rain had started again...
She had dreamt that the winds caught in a structural flaw, pressing until it tore the base open, pulling her into the hurricane...
She had dreamt, over and over, of getting out of bed, fulfilling her morning routine, right up to the moment of checking meteorological status, only to find herself back in bed, anticipating the alarm...
Once, she realized she was standing in the rain, in her suit, ten steps outside the north entrance. She couldn't definitively account for what happened between that moment and when she had gone to bed the night before.
She had consulted with her physician on Earth, who said she needed to divert herself with some entertainments, give her mind some sensory data to play with besides reorganizing her day's routine. She had followed his advice, reading classic literature and trashy novels, watching movies and shows... She had reorganized her sleeping quarters, and then started disguising or removing any vestiges of its extraterrestrial origins, making it look like a typically cramped apartment in Tokyo or New York. The dreams adapted, inserting themselves between the dreams she wanted, and the reality she possessed...
She dreamt, constantly, that she was still in bed, waiting for the alarm to wake her for the day, or the alert to tell her that rain cessation was imminent; she lay in bed, against her body's will, not wanting to let go of sleep, not wanting to be fooled again, unsure if she was dreaming about dreaming...
She had to get up.
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Storm over Saturn"
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