It was down to them. It usually was.
Gina’s and Oré’s eyes locked and held.
The floor rumbled its displeasure. The walls quivered in fear and shock. In seconds, the ship's circuitry and emotion circuits would fall to pieces and scatter through Earth’s atmosphere below. The important sounds -- shouts for reports, the squeak of boots against metal floors, screams and cries of the wounded -- all of these were absent. The crew had evacuated. Only Gina and Oré remained. It was the way it should be, with the twins surrounded by silence.
Neither sibling looked at the bomb on the floor between them. Neither had forgotten its presence. If it was armed, the shipwreck would take out the entire continent, not just the park and library that the wreck would hit directly.
“Walk away,” said Oré. “My client wants these people alive.”
Gina’s head tilted. “My client doesn’t.”
Oré’s hands clenched into tight fists.
They were unarmed. They preferred it that way.
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