“Pass it here!” Ina hisses, snatching the flask from Jed. A few precious droplets float up through the spout, unrestrained by gravity. Doc Halton flaps a towel round to soak them up before they hit equipment.
“Stop it, both of you. What’s in there, anyway?” he says, rejoining the pair.
Three astronauts sit cross-legged on the floor of their space station, still in their space suits, gloves, weighted boots, the whole bit. Everything but their helmets.
“Hemlock,’ says Jed.
Doc rolls his eyes. “How Socratic. But how the hell did you get hold of some on here?”
“3D printed the molecule and added it to Ina’s tea, the last drinkable substance we have left on this ship. It should work.” Jed eyes the murky green liquid through the drinking spout, sweat beading on his brow and drifting upwards in reverse rain.
“We just have to wait for rescue. Don’t do something you can’t take back,” Doc stares into Jed’s face, but Jed doesn’t look up.
“Hate to be the harbinger of crispy fried reality, Doc, but it’ll take over a week for ground to mount a rescue, by which time, we’ll all be desiccated human baubles bouncing from the ceiling.” Ina reaches over and takes back the poisoned tea.
“What if I wait for you both to die and then harvest your water, like in Dune?” Doc says.
“Secondary poisoning, ass hole,” Jed replies, tensing.
“And before you take the hemlock?” Doc whispers.
All three stand simultaneously as Halton draws the long, sharp screwdriver he’d tried to fix the habitat module with.
“Looks like you brought tea to a knife fight, guys,” Halton says.
Jed pulls a length of wire from his pocket, Ina, a hammer.
“Hellion by name, hellions by nature,’ she says, raising to strike.
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