He remembered because the process was more uncomfortable than taking a shit in zero gravity. 

     He had entered the lab. The gal ordered him naked. Everything was stainless steel, reflecting all his bad angles. Looking at himself he woulda skipped out on pizza the week before. Or done push ups in the elevator. Sucks.

          Then she asked him his favorite color. 

    "Brick red like my blushing cheeks."

           Her indifference hurt the most.

     Then came the DOC BOT, wheeling in with a rusting smile and autotuned whistle.

     She plugged an IV into his arm. A pinch. A gurgle from the blood pulsing up the tube to the DOC BOT's clipboard.

     "Let's see how the ship's running." It droned from behind its red metal mustache.

     Peter listened to the beeps and chirps, trying to discern the positive bloops from the negative bloops but really bloops are just bloops.

     "Okay." DOC BOT chimed. "At least we can say it's running."

     "As the currently available doctor I advise you to rethink your diet and lack of exercise. We don't want your Blood pressure rising any higher. Voice your understanding."

     "Yes. Sir." Peter said.

           "Your acknowledgement has been recorded for my protection. I appreciate your gratitude. The data suggests you internalize and act upon my suggestions to avoid re-construction of suit to accommodate further body mass, as it is an additional charge."

      The robot just called me fat, Peter thought.

     "Further accumulation of unnecessary body mass will also contribute to growth in perspiration levels. Perspiration is attributed to over 70 percent of Envirosuit degeneration events, lingering stench and eventual distance from others.  With proper action on behalf of self preservation and physical improvement, data suggests a contained temperature of 23 degrees celcius.

 

     23.

 

     He put the suit on. Felt like sleeping with one foot outside the covers with the AC on.

 

     Perfect.

     "The breathable tissue of Peter’s enviro suit was engineered to keep his body at a scientifically-optimized-for-all-climate-comfort 23 degrees celcius.  

"MY TIME SPENT ON APG 1987

MADE ME THE MAN I AM TODAY"

     Right now though - on polar prison planet APG 1987 - Peter’d just let an intergalactic murder machine escape its arctic confines because he wanted more Cocoa... and, due to the pee running down his leg, his suit had begun the uncomfortable climb, drop of sweat by drop of sweat, to an unacceptably humid 32."

(EXCERPT)

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