Complete Fiction by Peter Hawkins

Author:Peter Hawkins [Hawkins, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

Matt took off ten minutes to arrange his few belongings in the lockers of his tiny cabin; he didn’t know how long it would be before the Eldrake blasted off and debated for a moment or two Whether or not he should hang up his best suit for it to shake off the long-packed look and decided he might as well. Wardline could perhaps be approached for an advance if the ship were staying down for a long while and the next voyage would be of reasonable length. He slipped off his second best, hung it beside his best and pulled a suit of coveralls from one holdall.

A few more seconds and he’d finished laying out his own personal things. He pulled a pair of plastic gloves, two small testmeters and an insulated screwdriver from the depths of one of his holdalls and gently footed both of them beneath the bunk. He swallowed and made his way back to the engine-room, hoping and praying that Orlas Boyn hadn’t been as big a hog for work as were most of his fellow Salvernians.

Without difficulty he located the spare lighting tubes, replaced the faulty one and propped it in a corner. Keeping his nerves from jangling by an immense effort of will, despite the fact that he knew the tools would look perfectly normal, Matt opened the first of the grey-painted cupboard doors. Inside all the tools were clamped in their particular sockets, spring or plastic clips holding them firmly in place in tiny, individual acceleration couches. In one non-regulation drawer lay a sinister reminder of the previous Third, a pair of the thick, dull maroon gloves which Salvernians always wore when working. Matt stretched out a hand to touch them; when his fingers were six inches away from the gloves they began to wriggle and tried to curl up small in the corner of the box furthest from him. A nervous, shuddering laugh trickled from Matt’s lips as he withdrew his fingers. As if regaining confidence the gloves resumed their previous position.

One by one Matt picked up the tools and held them for a few brief seconds. Some felt awkward in his grasp, particularly those which Orlas Boyn had used most and which had had most time to absorb the commands and instructions which the Salvernian had managed to implant in the senseless wood, metal and plastic of the tools. All of them recognised Matt as a stranger, none of them liked him and made no bones about it yet, despite the number of times which Orlas Boyn must have used the screwdriver, it reacted far less offensively in proportion than did some of the other items.

The power-tool was particularly nasty for some unknowable reason. The butt writhed and struggled in a desperate attempt to escape Matt’s grasp. Firmly and he hoped, gently, Matt hung on to the power tool, right hand clasped around the butt, left hand cradling the chuck. He recalled all the superstitions connected with the Salvernians, dismissed

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