Jem ate her apple with her legs dangling over the edge of the deepest shaft on the ship, one bare heel free of its shoe. She couldn’t see the bottom, but she could feel the currents of warm air that rose up from the machines in the darkness below. The apple was red and sweet, and as she bit into it, the snap echoed in the silent shaft. Her arms were draped over the lowest of the catwalk’s safety rails, and she propped her chin on them. Her head lifted and fell with each slow chew.
The Schrödinger Ship