Seven - The Heat Extractor
The engineer smoked, burnt neatholes in the comic with his cigarette...
Lumping Jack paced, hands behindback.
They faced eachother across the dark expanse of a fibrous carpet, its tangled pilelike charred grass. Morgan smiled his jolly smile and folded hisarms, rested his weight on one hip, said, ‘Please, no autographs.’
Nobody laughed.
*
Frank wassweating, despite the fact he'd dropped the cabin's temperature byfifteen degrees. It was still too hot, wouldn't go any lower. Heneeded cooling, wished he were ice, not steam, not boiling. He stoodon tiptoe, the metal deck burning the soles of his feet. Waterdripped from his fingertips, hissed as it exploded into gas.
He wiped the mirror in theadjacent stall and saw his face to be pink, the skin taut, his teethlarge, nostrils flared, eyes like pool balls...
He had to get out.
Now. Do it, Franky, press thebutton, step inside, close the door, seal it; nothing could besimpler, I've rigged the outer lock, jumped its failsafe, there's noproblem, just raise your hand, that's right, easy, yeah, you got it.
Okay. That wasn't so bad, was it?
‘What the...’ Sal staredunbelievingly at the computer screen, the flashing red light itdisplayed.
Elsewhere in the ship a copperbaseball glove rasped closed about a screwdriver.
‘Manoverboard,’ the pitchersaid.