- So that's it! - Zavirdyaev drawled, suddenly forgetting about the airlock and black holes, - You should have started with that right away. Madame Fung-Fang, then! - he began to unhook the belts.
He, without any doubt, could have twisted her, and then secured her with the same belts.
- What are we getting ready for? - Landskricht asked venomously.
Zavirdyaev lowered his visor just in case. The glass was supposed to be durable and protect against various tricks with stabbing and cutting weapons, if she suddenly decided to do something like that.
Landskricht, without taking her eyes off Zavirdyaev, rose above the chair and raised her right hand, spreading her fingers.
Zavirdyaev was about to make a jerk, when yellow tongues burst out of two fingers, reminiscent of flame, but it was not fire. Transparent, like plasma, tongues wriggled like snakes or tentacles. Zavirdyaev froze.
Landskricht meanwhile waved her hand, and both tentacles pierced him through and through. His whole body went limp. He could not look at a couple of holes burned into his body, and he did not want to - it was funny to say, he was always afraid to look at his wounds, and now ... The ceiling of the cabin floated above his head. At least, humanity had already remembered him. It's sad of course...