| abstract | - Margo Shĕn: Logging arrivals: Shĕn, Margo. Travis Tate: Welcome to frozen Hell, population ten-- Margo Shĕn: Eleven counting GAIA. Travis Tate: Don't count your chicken embryos before they've incubated, hon. She's still firing up. Be a while before you eat that omelet. Margo Shĕn: I'm vegan, Travis, you'd think we'd worked in the same secret base long enough for you to notice. Travis Tate: We weren't scheduled to shack up here for another three weeks. You realize I just lost 350 kilos of pre-Code smut comics in transit? Margo Shĕn: Wait--actual physical media? Why didn't you have it digitized? Travis Tate: Can't beat the feel of physical media on your fingers. And in here we ain't going to be touching a whole lot else. Figured I was gonna pass the time archiving them. What about you? Margo Shĕn: Me? Work, I guess. My task queue stretches out for like three years. There's a lot of sharp edges to round off. After that... I hadn't really thought about it. Travis Tate: Oh, you will! You're, what, thirty? Reckon you'll be the one turning the lights off at the end. Food for thought, huh, vegan? Margo Shĕn: This sucks forever. Travis Tate: Naw, not forever. Just the rest of your life.
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