I feel like I weigh a million pounds in this suit. This deep, under all this pressure, on a planet half again more massive than Earth, even a wearing mechanical assist suit it feels like you’re walking through molasses with an anvil on your back.
The Ouloo children don’t seem encumbered. They shoot past like rockets trailing bioluminescent orange and yellow streamers. They’ll get some distance and then make another pass. It’s a game, a display of bravado. Their parents aren’t far; two immense red glows wait ahead, out of range of the incongruously white light of our helmet lamps.
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