I made the research assistant check, twice, to make sure Franklin wasn't actually dead, having slipped through the normal checks for that sort of thing in prospective subjects, but he was in fact breathing. So I instituted a new rule.
From now on, no more law students.
]]>Mah…
My God, he did say something. Although her brain screams that it's not possible, she listens. Stops struggling. He stops pulling.
Mah…
Jesus, his breath is disgusting. Breath? On a zombie?
Ree.
Mah. Ree. What the hell? Oh.
She says it out loud: "Marie."
]]>"Yes, Keptin?"
"Do you know what's wrong with this ship?"
The mate stared at him, blankly. Eventually Captain Randolph had to begin again.
"No, of course I'll have to spell it out for you. In fact, I can sum it up in a single word."
"What word is dat, Keptin?"
"Discipline."
The mate stared, blankly, for a few seconds. Then he spoke. "No, no, dis a ship, Keptin." He waved up at the sky, at a distant contrail. "Now dat, dat a plin."
]]>“What’s up?”
“Can’t find Bronsky. He was right over by that Sauromatum-type plant, and now he’s gone.”
“Of course he’s not gone, moron, we’re on the eighth moon of Venus. Just where the hell would he go?”
“I don’t know, dammit, but he was right there and now he’s not!”
“Calm down, Rogers, we’ll find him. He’s probably just off having a whiz.”
“You know, I’ve had it with this sloppy fucking operation. First we miss our landing area, then we lose comms, and now this… Are you listening to me?”
“That smell… Vanilla? Cookies!”
“Wait, don’t…”
GULP
“Fuck.”
]]>