the memory of Alpha's eyes staring out of the monitor in those final seconds. Gradually it had turned into a shared celebration of a sort of new-found freedom. Then they had continued because, though they would not admit it, they were all frightened of waking up sober in a world that no longer contained Alpha. He may have ruled them partly through fear, but at least he'd always known what to do next. Now all the decisions were up to them, or rather, as Gribbs and Drorgon realised, up to Qwaid. For the moment they were in awe of him.
But could he really take the boss's place?
Qwaid attempted to focus on Gribbs. It wasn't easy, as there seemed to be two of him. 'What've we forgotten then?'
Gribbs frowned with the mental effort. 'Inna hold... Alpha's strongbox...'
The strongbox was the size of a large wardrobe, and Alpha took it with him on every journey. Privately they guessed it contained assorted gems and precious metals, plus a few select items from Alpha's collection, stored ready should he ever have had to leave Astroville in a hurry. Through the alcoholic mists, Qwaid recalled that Alpha had gone to the hold an hour or so after they had left port, just after he had made his initial course calculations. Was there a connection? Perhaps the strongbox also held files Alpha had not wanted to commit to his shipboard desk computer, maybe information about wherever it was they were going.
Whatever it was, didn't it all belong to him now, as Alpha's successor?
Qwaid struggled to his feet. 'Cmon.' he said to Gribbs, get your toolkit' He stumbled across the room and kicked Drorgon into wakefulness. 'We're going to have a look inside old Alpha's box.'
Five minutes later they stood, rather unsteadily, in the hold before the strongbox. It stood upright and as tall as Drorgon, secured to a bulkhead by bolted flanges. It was made of some dull grey synthetic material, no doubt specially formulated to be resistant to drill bits, thermal cutters, and corrosives. The close-fitting lid was featureless, save for a single black disc in its very centre.
Gribbs blinked at it through bloodshot eyes and tried to assess it professionally. 'Yeah, well it's a Brody and Yang Executive Model 18,' he announced, clicking his tongue. 'Obdurite body, tuned molecular pattern lock. It's going to take some cracking.'
He opened his specialised toolkit, flexed his fingers to loosen them, then began taking out small sensor receptor units and placing them carefully around the lock and rim of the lid. Despite his inebriation, his hands moved swiftly and surely. Once the sensors were in place he put on a pair of slim headphones and began delicately adjusting the controls built into his toolkit lid.
Then he stiffened, the colour draining from his face. 'What?'
Qwaid demanded.
Gribbs's eyes had widened and he suddenly looked uncomfortably sober. Very carefully he took off his headset.
'Something inside there is in the middle of a countdown sequence. It sounds like... like the timer circuit for a bomb.'
'How big?' Drorgon demanded, also apparently sobering rapidly. 'Just enough to take out the box... or the ship?'
'How should I know!' Gribbs snapped back.
'Well how long's it got left to run?' Qwaid asked.
'I don't know!' Gribbs shouted wretchedly, clutching his aching head. 'Probably something he had to keep resetting. It could blow any time! Krek it, Qwaid! Why did you have to get rid of the boss while we were out here?'
For a moment Qwaid looked at them blankly, and Alpha's last words echoed mockingly through his confusion. Then his brain seemed to jerk into life. 'Find the cutters and get it loose - tear out the hull plates if you have to. When it's free we'll cut the hold gray field and blow it out the cargo lock. Move!'
It was twelve heartstopping, sweat-filled minutes before the Falcon's cargo hatch swung open. In a billow of air and crystallising water vapour, the grey strongbox tumbled away -
following its former owner into the void.
Qwaid
But could he really take the boss's place?
Qwaid attempted to focus on Gribbs. It wasn't easy, as there seemed to be two of him. 'What've we forgotten then?'
Gribbs frowned with the mental effort. 'Inna hold... Alpha's strongbox...'
The strongbox was the size of a large wardrobe, and Alpha took it with him on every journey. Privately they guessed it contained assorted gems and precious metals, plus a few select items from Alpha's collection, stored ready should he ever have had to leave Astroville in a hurry. Through the alcoholic mists, Qwaid recalled that Alpha had gone to the hold an hour or so after they had left port, just after he had made his initial course calculations. Was there a connection? Perhaps the strongbox also held files Alpha had not wanted to commit to his shipboard desk computer, maybe information about wherever it was they were going.
Whatever it was, didn't it all belong to him now, as Alpha's successor?
Qwaid struggled to his feet. 'Cmon.' he said to Gribbs, get your toolkit' He stumbled across the room and kicked Drorgon into wakefulness. 'We're going to have a look inside old Alpha's box.'
Five minutes later they stood, rather unsteadily, in the hold before the strongbox. It stood upright and as tall as Drorgon, secured to a bulkhead by bolted flanges. It was made of some dull grey synthetic material, no doubt specially formulated to be resistant to drill bits, thermal cutters, and corrosives. The close-fitting lid was featureless, save for a single black disc in its very centre.
Gribbs blinked at it through bloodshot eyes and tried to assess it professionally. 'Yeah, well it's a Brody and Yang Executive Model 18,' he announced, clicking his tongue. 'Obdurite body, tuned molecular pattern lock. It's going to take some cracking.'
He opened his specialised toolkit, flexed his fingers to loosen them, then began taking out small sensor receptor units and placing them carefully around the lock and rim of the lid. Despite his inebriation, his hands moved swiftly and surely. Once the sensors were in place he put on a pair of slim headphones and began delicately adjusting the controls built into his toolkit lid.
Then he stiffened, the colour draining from his face. 'What?'
Qwaid demanded.
Gribbs's eyes had widened and he suddenly looked uncomfortably sober. Very carefully he took off his headset.
'Something inside there is in the middle of a countdown sequence. It sounds like... like the timer circuit for a bomb.'
'How big?' Drorgon demanded, also apparently sobering rapidly. 'Just enough to take out the box... or the ship?'
'How should I know!' Gribbs snapped back.
'Well how long's it got left to run?' Qwaid asked.
'I don't know!' Gribbs shouted wretchedly, clutching his aching head. 'Probably something he had to keep resetting. It could blow any time! Krek it, Qwaid! Why did you have to get rid of the boss while we were out here?'
For a moment Qwaid looked at them blankly, and Alpha's last words echoed mockingly through his confusion. Then his brain seemed to jerk into life. 'Find the cutters and get it loose - tear out the hull plates if you have to. When it's free we'll cut the hold gray field and blow it out the cargo lock. Move!'
It was twelve heartstopping, sweat-filled minutes before the Falcon's cargo hatch swung open. In a billow of air and crystallising water vapour, the grey strongbox tumbled away -
following its former owner into the void.
Qwaid
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