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field.
"Leave that to me. Just tell me what to do with the stiff here." He jerked a
thumb at Zacharias's immobile form.
Bridget spoke up. "Don't touch him. Don't even brush up against him."
The kid squirmed beside me. "Are we there yet?"
Our pilot checked a computer display. "About five minutes. You can see the
VideoSat off the starboard side at about two o'clock low."
"This is it, then." I shot an inquiring glance at Ann.
She shrugged, turning calmly to Bridget. "Tell me," she asked, "exactly how do
you go about blessing a spaceship?"
23
The Spell
Canfield had dug up a pressure suit to replace the one Zack had borrowed. It
didn't fit well, but was better than trying to wear either mine or Ann's.
After aligning Starfinder according to Bridget's exacting instructions, he
floated outside the shuttle, maneuvering a tool kit nearly as large as he was.
With a light kick, he drifted across the void toward the communication
satellite a hundred meters away.
After making a minor midcourse correction with a small gas pistol, he bumped
up against VideoSat Three, which looked like a ten-meterlong oil drum with a
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couple of dish antennae and wires poking out of it. He attached a tether to
one of the antenna struts and lashed the tool kit down.
"He'll be out there for a while," I said. "Let's get ready." I kicked lightly
to float back to the cargo bay. The others were already inside.
With a last look at the immobilized body of the Reverend Emil Zacharias, Ann
sealed the hatch and cut a large pentagram into the portal with her hog
carver.
She sprinkled pixie dust or something so that it hovered in front of the lock.
A bounce off the bulkhead brought her over to the rest of us.
Bridget busied herself with her candles, oiling them carefully so that
droplets of the smelly stuff didn't fling around the chamber.
"Neural interruptors, satellite broadcasts," she muttered. "All this
technology makes me nervous. I've never needed electronic gewgaws in my spells
before."
"You said it yourself, sweetheart. `Two great forces must join.' No one's had
the opportunity to assassinate God until the Space Age gave us the means.
Science and magick are what it takes. Matter and spirit. Thought and
instinct."
"If you're not a member of the Craft," she said, "you ought to be. You
certainly blather on the way some of them do." She firmly pushed the last of
the candles into its holder. The five-pointed silver holders were bolted to
the altar to keep them from drifting away. She reached for a black and red
cloisonné matchbox that floated a few feet to her left, withdrew a kitchen
match, and struck it on the side of the box. The match glowed for a few
seconds, consuming its fuel. It promptly dimmed and expired, leaving behind a
tiny globe of smoke.
"Oh, hell," she said. A second try yielded identical results.
Ann hovered over her. "What's wrong?"
"We're weightless. The smoke won't rise. It's choking the matches." She
frowned. "It'll extinguish the candles, too."
I tapped at the vanes on the ventilation grill until it blew toward the altar.
The breeze would be sufficient to circulate air around the wicks.
"Try again," I said.
She struck a match. The flame wavered gently but remained lit.
I watched Isadora bound around the cargo bay like a moth in a jar. I hoped she
wouldn't careen into anything important. She seemed sober enough. I watched
the other two at work.
I had given Ann and Bridget complete control over the setup of the magical
environment. Bolted at one end of the Quonset-shaped interior was the ash-wood
altar. All the knickknacks of Bridget's craft had been securely attached to
the rubbed-wood surface with Velcro. At the other end of the bay stood the
Theta Wave Amplifier. In the middle of the bay were two tables; one for me,
one for Isadora. They weren't really tables, as such. They served to position
us in the center of the bay and were attached to retractable pedestals.
Hundreds of eyelets had been welded all over the deck and bulkheads.
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Flying over to the amplifier, I picked up the lightweight electrode helmet and
strapped it on. I looked and felt like Buck Rogers. Until Bridget changed the
subject to something closer to Flesh Gordon.
"We should all get out of our clothes. We'll need to free up our body energies
to compensate for this, mmm, unusual environment."
Wonderful. My only consolation as I struggled to disrobe in free fall was that
I would have more important concerns than what anyone thought of my physique.
We'd all be busy.
Isadora sighed. "I've done all sorts of kinky things before, but never an
orbital striptease."
"Don't hold your breath, demi-vierge. We're here to work magic, not to give
your vicarious libido a workout. Get ready for the ultimate mindfuck-an entire
planet. Six billion people, all at once. Think you can handle it?"
She buffed her nails against her naked flesh. "It puts the odds slightly in my
favor. Bring `em on, and peel me a grape."
Ann squirmed out of her flight suit and flung it toward a corner where it
wedged to a stop. She was even more alluring in zero-G, her hair swirling
around her like a turbulent golden cloud at sunrise. Her gaze roamed languidly [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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