Page 22 of Spencer

The waiting was going to suck.

Spencer—Tabithalooked at her watch—had been cutting the inner hull steadily for the last half-hour. The situation would almost be funny if it weren’t so dire. That he’d forgotten to warn her of the fumes his plasma device gave off, was clearly because he’d had too many other things on his mind.

Yup.She’d tease him about it later when they were topside and laughing about their adventures.

Tabitha could only hope.

She wasn’t normally a superstitious sort, but she crossed her fingers inside her suit. She’d also been saying her prayers right along. It couldn’t hurt to layer-onallpossible defenses.

The positives in this situation didn’t seem like a lot, but she focused on two.

The first was that she felt far more comfortable breathing the Nitrox from her tanks than she had inhaling what had been left in the tainted air pocket she’d left. So…the edge to her panic had dulled, despite the ticking clock. The second boon was, that fully suited up, she’d been able to keep constant watch on Spencer from a porthole on the starboard side.

Her current position was fairly close to where he was cutting, but earlier—while thinking ahead—she’d configured a work-around. She’d managed—while Spencer had been topside for what had turned out to be a truncated decompression stop—to remove the passenger side seatback, which she was currently and effectively using like Captain America’s shield.

Her hunkered location allowed her to keep eyes on Spencer without danger of being burned, and just the sight of him made her feel like her rescue was not only possible, but a foregone conclusion.

Yeah. A positive attitude went a long way toward heartening you when shit was close to hitting the fan.

Think happy thoughts.

She couldalmostmanage that.

Tabitha just hoped they didn’t experience another aftershock. Any debris falling now could injure or kill Spencer, and if a big enough hunk of concrete came her way, it might also smush what was left of her sub. A bad end for both of them.

But…

Fluffy kittens, chocolate bon-bons, fuzzy blankets.

There.She was back on track, despite all the bad goings on.

Which were numerous.

Tabitha already knew that no part of her craft was salvageable.Nope.She’d have to depend on her insurance company to help her procure a new one. That’sifshe wasn’t left with some kind of PTSD from this experience and actuallywantedto go back down.

Her mind began spinning with new precautions she might take if this little adventure took a mental toll, but the scenarios she was conjuring did nothing for her angst, so…

Tabitha let her body relax. She cleared her mind, and instead of projecting, she focused on watching Spencer work.

That was her happy place.

The only divergence in Spencer’s task so far, had been that when closing in on Tabitha’s remaining twenty minutes of air—where she’d had to un-bungee her empty tanks and hook up to her new ones—he’d stopped working to change to his own, small side-tank. That meant his main, eighty cubic foot tank had been depleted.

That’s when it had really hit her.

They were both down to Hail-Marys.

Ten more, very slow minutes ticked by, and…huh?

What was Spencer telling her?

He had occasionally looked up and given her an “okay” signal during his toils, but this time he accompanied that with a smile and a tap to his watch.

Good news? He must be seconds away from finishing.

Frick, yeah.

And suddenly…there was silence.

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