Some nebulous sprites float frantically in the hydrogen-thick summer wind of Jupiter. Garlabb looks at them through his organo-code suit of DNA and thinks to them about how he feels about the house repairs. It took some time, but they got done. If not for the accident and the rays, it would've been as smooth as one could ask for. "Yes," he thinks, "you were correct. This fardblat strip is perfect. Nothing is getting through, practically. In ten years, if we haven't moved on, we can replace it."
The sprites change their color from white to a brilliant azure.
They are pleased. They are all pleased.
***
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