I stepped back. He could kick the empty tank all day long, as far as I cared. I couldn’t stop him. He could even punch a way out through the outer hull and launch himself into space.
I never thought Palmer would be the one to win the award for Most Likely to Confuse Archaeologists in Thirteen Billion Years.
But it was his if he wanted it.
The electrical sheath surged.
Then Palmer sagged.
His limp body, still wearing that ridiculous mesh, slid between the pipes and dropped heavily to the catwalk to sprawl face-up. The crash of his impact was the quietest noise he’d made since this started.
He didn’t move.
I blinked.
Somewhere in all this mayhem, he’d lost the banana hammock. It’s not that I was looking, but he was all splayed out there.
The poor guy didn’t have anything beneath it.
