Two hours later, in the evening on Mars, the setting sun illuminated the room, making Nora Camp's bedroom glow with a fiery red light.
Not long ago, Harrison Clark, who had been commanding and domineering in the conference room, was now sitting on the sofa with his hands on his thighs, looking slightly nervous.
He would occasionally cross his legs, then unconsciously put them down again.
He picked up the cup of tea, sipped the excellent Quark Jamaican Blue Mountain tea, put the cup down, only to find that his right index finger had unconsciously inserted itself into the hot tea.
He shuddered and withdrew his hand, gently rubbing his right index finger with his left hand, but soon his thoughts wandered again.
He was not anxious about the war in three days.
Once he had made a decision, he would not be indecisive.
He was not worried about how well others would cooperate with him, nor did he consider success or failure.
