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faf7c7f
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"While Milke gingerly carried the packet of explosive across the lake, Paskell stood by the port watching. Milke surveyed the landscape with fine calculation, setting down the packet, moving it a few yards to the right, another few yards toward the defile. Finally satisfied, he looked back to Paskell for approval. Paskell signaled casually, and his hand fell against the detonation switch. He looked out toward Milke, hastily jumped into his [pressure] suit, let himself through the port, ran across the lake. Milke asked, "What's the trouble?" Paskell said, "That remote detonator doesn't work. I'd better take a look at it." Milke stared at him truculently. "How do you know it doesn't work?" Paskell made a vague gesture, knelt beside the packet, unfolded the wrapping. "You couldn't have just sensed it," Milke insisted. "Well, as a matter of fact, my hand accidentally hit the switch, and it didn't go off--so I though I'd better run out and see what was wrong." Milke seemed to sink in his suit. For a moment there was silence. "Ah," said Paskell. "Nothing very serious; I neglected to clip down the battery leads . . . .now it's ready to go--" "I'm going back to the ship," said Milke thickly."
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black-humor
bumbling
near-death
prospecting
pusillanimity
three-legged-joe
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Jack Vance |