centre of the ship, those dust grains will only impact on the living quarters, and they’re much better able to cope with pinhole breaches, a standard patch will fix it. You weren’t bothered with such details, because you knew the ship wasn’t spending any significant length of time in transit.”
“Rusty. Is this true ?” McPhaillia asked, as ostensibly horrified as though she’d just found him naked in the chapel with a blow-up dolphin and a bucket of jellied eels.
Twelve minutes.
“Close,” Flange confessed. “I only sourced a kilo of the stuff, so there’d be enough to show up on ship’s diagnostics.” His finger stayed poised against the pink button, and nobody moved to pull him away.
A kilogram of antimatter was still more than adequate to obliterate the Dart of Harkness , the Skytop Plaza and its other attendant spacecraft, and a great deal of the tethering space elevator.
“You’re bluffing,” Gordon said, voice quavering.
“Try me,” said Flange. “Edie. Skip. If one of you doesn’t agree to ice that bastard by the time I count ten, I’m pressing this! Don’t think I won’t! The antimatter’s set to blow, anyway, if we don’t launch on schedule.” He began counting off.
“You’re bluffing,” Gordon repeated.
McPhaillia stared at Gordon, then at Gramacek, then at Flange.
“Stop,” pleaded Gordon, on eight. “I’ll go. You win.”
“I’ll do him,” McPhaillia said. “But Rusty, for heaven’s sakes …”
“You too, Gramacek. Don’t want him giving us the slip, do we? Do him, then ice yourselves. Better move it , you’ve only got nine minutes!”
* * *
They paced the corridor towards the clinic. Gordon’s mind raced ahead. “You realise, he won’t let any of us live? He’ll space our caskets, first chance. With us out of the way, his secret still holds, at least aboard the ship.” The others didn’t answer.
How long did it take to get a police cruiser out here? The shuttle trip had been fifteen minutes, and a cruiser could certainly halve that. It’d been almost thirty minutes, now, since he’d transmitted to HQ. They should be here by now . But they weren’t, so far as he could tell. How much longer? Five minutes? Were they even coming?
Maybe not.
He had to escape, before they reached the clinic. “Even if he lets you two live, what about your souls? The moment you go through hyperspace …” He was babbling now, clutching at straws.
“Been having me some doubts about that,” grumbled Gramacek, strengthening his hold on Gordon’s forearm.
Great . Agnosticism, at a time like this. “Sister McPhaillia? Edie? Are you just going to let him get away with this?”
“Souls are one thing, lives are another. We can probably find some pathway to purify ourselves, if we’re given long enough.”
“He’s not going to let you live ,” Gordon argued.
“What choice do we—”
The corridor jolted, the lights died. After a couple of seconds, the dim pink emergency lighting flickered on.
The corridor was still intact.
“ That weren’t an antimatter blast,” said Gramacek. “But what …?”
Gordon shook free, and started running back down the corridor. “Hey,” complained McPhaillia. “We’re supposed to …” She set off in pursuit. Gramacek chased them both.
* * *
Flange was doubled up in agony, rolling on the cramped floor of the control cabin and swearing like a plumber’s mate. Gordon thought he could see what had happened. The engineer had caught his wrist a nasty knock on the edge of the control panel.
Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the event which had immediately preceded it. Cassie’s sudden fillip of thrust had knocked the melon/dewar off its precarious balance, copiously tipping liquid nitrogen over the controls … and over Flange’s outstretched hand and wrist.
McPhaillia yelled for Gramacek to bring the nearest first-aid kit, while she tended to the shattered, snap-frozen stump of
“Rusty. Is this true ?” McPhaillia asked, as ostensibly horrified as though she’d just found him naked in the chapel with a blow-up dolphin and a bucket of jellied eels.
Twelve minutes.
“Close,” Flange confessed. “I only sourced a kilo of the stuff, so there’d be enough to show up on ship’s diagnostics.” His finger stayed poised against the pink button, and nobody moved to pull him away.
A kilogram of antimatter was still more than adequate to obliterate the Dart of Harkness , the Skytop Plaza and its other attendant spacecraft, and a great deal of the tethering space elevator.
“You’re bluffing,” Gordon said, voice quavering.
“Try me,” said Flange. “Edie. Skip. If one of you doesn’t agree to ice that bastard by the time I count ten, I’m pressing this! Don’t think I won’t! The antimatter’s set to blow, anyway, if we don’t launch on schedule.” He began counting off.
“You’re bluffing,” Gordon repeated.
McPhaillia stared at Gordon, then at Gramacek, then at Flange.
“Stop,” pleaded Gordon, on eight. “I’ll go. You win.”
“I’ll do him,” McPhaillia said. “But Rusty, for heaven’s sakes …”
“You too, Gramacek. Don’t want him giving us the slip, do we? Do him, then ice yourselves. Better move it , you’ve only got nine minutes!”
* * *
They paced the corridor towards the clinic. Gordon’s mind raced ahead. “You realise, he won’t let any of us live? He’ll space our caskets, first chance. With us out of the way, his secret still holds, at least aboard the ship.” The others didn’t answer.
How long did it take to get a police cruiser out here? The shuttle trip had been fifteen minutes, and a cruiser could certainly halve that. It’d been almost thirty minutes, now, since he’d transmitted to HQ. They should be here by now . But they weren’t, so far as he could tell. How much longer? Five minutes? Were they even coming?
Maybe not.
He had to escape, before they reached the clinic. “Even if he lets you two live, what about your souls? The moment you go through hyperspace …” He was babbling now, clutching at straws.
“Been having me some doubts about that,” grumbled Gramacek, strengthening his hold on Gordon’s forearm.
Great . Agnosticism, at a time like this. “Sister McPhaillia? Edie? Are you just going to let him get away with this?”
“Souls are one thing, lives are another. We can probably find some pathway to purify ourselves, if we’re given long enough.”
“He’s not going to let you live ,” Gordon argued.
“What choice do we—”
The corridor jolted, the lights died. After a couple of seconds, the dim pink emergency lighting flickered on.
The corridor was still intact.
“ That weren’t an antimatter blast,” said Gramacek. “But what …?”
Gordon shook free, and started running back down the corridor. “Hey,” complained McPhaillia. “We’re supposed to …” She set off in pursuit. Gramacek chased them both.
* * *
Flange was doubled up in agony, rolling on the cramped floor of the control cabin and swearing like a plumber’s mate. Gordon thought he could see what had happened. The engineer had caught his wrist a nasty knock on the edge of the control panel.
Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the event which had immediately preceded it. Cassie’s sudden fillip of thrust had knocked the melon/dewar off its precarious balance, copiously tipping liquid nitrogen over the controls … and over Flange’s outstretched hand and wrist.
McPhaillia yelled for Gramacek to bring the nearest first-aid kit, while she tended to the shattered, snap-frozen stump of
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