Having released the netting of his bunk, George Tremont floated himself out. He ran his tongue around his mouth and grimaced. "Wonder how long I slept feels like too long," he muttered. "Well, they would have called me." The "cabin" was a ninety-degree wedge of a cylinder hardly eight feet high. From one end of its outer arc across to the other was just over ten feet, so that it had been necessary to bevel two corners of the hinged, three-by-seven bunk to clear the sides of the wedge. Lockers flattened the arc behind the bunk. Tremont maneuvered himself.
