“Right. But if he—”
“Don’t panic yet,” I said. “Figure out where we are, first. What happens if Palmer keeps digging?”
“Bulkhead,” Tove said. “Stop.”
“What if he gets through the bulkhead?”
“Steel.” Tove shook his head. “Structural.”
“That’ll stop him three minutes,” I said. “Maybe four.”
“What he using?” Tove said.
Is, kid. Is. “Tove. Palmer is a cyborg.” Watford was going to have my head for leaking any details. “He’s designed for deep space operations and construction. Palmer can bend steel with his bare hands. In vacuum. In orbit of Mercury. During a solar flare. While sipping his afternoon tea.”
Despite the high-gee suit, Tove’s face lost its underlying color.
I kept my voice level, projecting a calm confidence I didn’t nearly feel. “So what happens when Palmer keeps going?”
