Daniel spent some time walking around the outside of his hovel that night. Everyone in the neighboring rooms was fast asleep, the glow of viewscreens blissfully dim at this hour. There were days when he felt comfortable to be surrounded by people, even if he didn’t know them, because it made his place feel small and well contained.

Tonight, as he strode through the dimly-lit corridors, there was an almost oppressing level of vast empty nothingness to the place. It was as if he saw all of the empty spaces for the first time, like every dark room was larger than the next. He wasn’t sure what had brought this on, but he certainly didn’t like it.

When he returned to his quarters, he wandered around for several minutes, a numbing sensation creeping into the edges of his mind’s eye. He wanted to sleep, to shut this day out and try again tomorrow. But, didn’t every minute cost the same?

It would just be the same routine tomorrow; the daunting repetition of it all finally set in, threatening to bury him. He sat up straight, refilled his mug with steaming tea – oh, how he missed the tea from back home, his earth home – and got to work.