she had begun to spin around for — as far as her body was concerned — hundreds of years, travelling millions of light years round in tiny circles. Fortunately, she still had her Personal Electronic Thingie on her, and this had dutifully clocked up all the miles she travelled.
Nettie herself didn't know how she had escaped. In fact, she had been thrown clear of the Black Hole when The Journalist had short-circuited the Deskbot. Nettie was, miraculously, still alive, and, even more miraculously, still had the presence of mind to realize that she had accumulated millions of light years of Space Miles — enough to get them all free upgrades to First Class.
'Less than eight edoes to go!' exclaimed The Journalist. 'And that's assuming the bomb doesn't speed up its counting!'
'What can I do about Nettie?' cried Dan, holding the Ancient Creature pathetically in his arms.
'Leave her! We've got to find the life-boats!' And The Journalist was off, running along the embankment of the Grand Axial Canal First Class, with Lucy in close pursuit.
'Come on, Dan!' she called.
'I can't just leave her!' Dan yelled back. But they'd turned a corner and were gone. Dan tried to lift the ancient Nettie up, but even though she was emaciated and shrivelled, he was too exhausted to carry her anywhere.
He looked around and, for the first time, took in the extraordinary vista presented by the Grand Axial Canal First Class. If the word 'posh' ever had any meaning, this was it. It was luxury. It was Deluxe. It was Expensive. It was also redolent with the operatic singing of the gondolabots:
'He helped to chalk
Her tightrope walk
So that the lovely lady wouldn't slip…'
Dan had always hated opera. 'Let's go somewhere quiet,' he whispered to Nettie, and finally lifted her up and staggered into the nearest doorway.
Lucy and The Journalist had, meanwhile, discovered that the Star-Struct Construction Co., Inc., had not skimped on the signs to the lifeboats (First Class). There were big reassuring signs almost everywhere you looked. They were illuminated and some of them incorporated flashing arrows. Consequently, the two arrived at the Lifeboat Assembly Station in less than a minute.
'Seven edoes to go!' gasped The Journalist.
As he said this, both he and Lucy discovered that while the Star-Struct Construction Co., Inc., hadn't skimped on the signs to the lifeboats, they had economized on the lifeboats themselves. In fact, they had economized completely and utterly on them.
'Well, what's the point of providing lifeboats,' reasoned Scraliontis to an increasingly nervous Brobostigon, 'if there aren't going to be any passengers?'
'The bastards!' groaned The Journalist.
'That's it!' said Lucy.
'We're done for! We'll be blown to little bits of drifting cosmos in exactly six edoes and forty-five innims!' The Journalist sank to his knees. The fight had gone out of him. He looked so helpless, so forlorn. Lucy couldn't help it. The thought of imminent destruction threw all the usual caution out of her mind. She leapt to a conclusion that she would probably not even have begun to recognize under normal conditions.
'Oh God!' she cried. 'I love you!'
And before The Journalist realized what was happening, Lucy was on top of him, kissing his mouth and pulling her fingers through his hair.
'Ow! Ouch!' The Journalist yelled. 'Mind my wound!'
'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' yelled Lucy. 'But we've only got six edoes left! Whatever they are! I've never felt like this for anyone … The moment I set eyes on you… Oh God! No one's ever going to know! Nothing matters any more! I don't know what I feel! But hurry! Do something!' And she was wrestling with his clothing. 'I can't get it off!'
'I told you! It's thought-sealed!' His clothes suddenly pinged open and the next minute Lucy had flung her pinstripe power suit onto the empty life-boat ramp. Her fingers ran over the alien's body, as she got on top of him.
'Oh God!' she cried, feeling the blood draining down
Nettie herself didn't know how she had escaped. In fact, she had been thrown clear of the Black Hole when The Journalist had short-circuited the Deskbot. Nettie was, miraculously, still alive, and, even more miraculously, still had the presence of mind to realize that she had accumulated millions of light years of Space Miles — enough to get them all free upgrades to First Class.
'Less than eight edoes to go!' exclaimed The Journalist. 'And that's assuming the bomb doesn't speed up its counting!'
'What can I do about Nettie?' cried Dan, holding the Ancient Creature pathetically in his arms.
'Leave her! We've got to find the life-boats!' And The Journalist was off, running along the embankment of the Grand Axial Canal First Class, with Lucy in close pursuit.
'Come on, Dan!' she called.
'I can't just leave her!' Dan yelled back. But they'd turned a corner and were gone. Dan tried to lift the ancient Nettie up, but even though she was emaciated and shrivelled, he was too exhausted to carry her anywhere.
He looked around and, for the first time, took in the extraordinary vista presented by the Grand Axial Canal First Class. If the word 'posh' ever had any meaning, this was it. It was luxury. It was Deluxe. It was Expensive. It was also redolent with the operatic singing of the gondolabots:
'He helped to chalk
Her tightrope walk
So that the lovely lady wouldn't slip…'
Dan had always hated opera. 'Let's go somewhere quiet,' he whispered to Nettie, and finally lifted her up and staggered into the nearest doorway.
Lucy and The Journalist had, meanwhile, discovered that the Star-Struct Construction Co., Inc., had not skimped on the signs to the lifeboats (First Class). There were big reassuring signs almost everywhere you looked. They were illuminated and some of them incorporated flashing arrows. Consequently, the two arrived at the Lifeboat Assembly Station in less than a minute.
'Seven edoes to go!' gasped The Journalist.
As he said this, both he and Lucy discovered that while the Star-Struct Construction Co., Inc., hadn't skimped on the signs to the lifeboats, they had economized on the lifeboats themselves. In fact, they had economized completely and utterly on them.
'Well, what's the point of providing lifeboats,' reasoned Scraliontis to an increasingly nervous Brobostigon, 'if there aren't going to be any passengers?'
'The bastards!' groaned The Journalist.
'That's it!' said Lucy.
'We're done for! We'll be blown to little bits of drifting cosmos in exactly six edoes and forty-five innims!' The Journalist sank to his knees. The fight had gone out of him. He looked so helpless, so forlorn. Lucy couldn't help it. The thought of imminent destruction threw all the usual caution out of her mind. She leapt to a conclusion that she would probably not even have begun to recognize under normal conditions.
'Oh God!' she cried. 'I love you!'
And before The Journalist realized what was happening, Lucy was on top of him, kissing his mouth and pulling her fingers through his hair.
'Ow! Ouch!' The Journalist yelled. 'Mind my wound!'
'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' yelled Lucy. 'But we've only got six edoes left! Whatever they are! I've never felt like this for anyone … The moment I set eyes on you… Oh God! No one's ever going to know! Nothing matters any more! I don't know what I feel! But hurry! Do something!' And she was wrestling with his clothing. 'I can't get it off!'
'I told you! It's thought-sealed!' His clothes suddenly pinged open and the next minute Lucy had flung her pinstripe power suit onto the empty life-boat ramp. Her fingers ran over the alien's body, as she got on top of him.
'Oh God!' she cried, feeling the blood draining down
Similar Books
