"I think I've outdone myself on this one," Ed, replied, the corners of his mouth turning up in the slight suggestion of a smile.
"I was starting to think we would leave without you," Ed Spratt said around the stem of his pipe as Lamont walked down the utilitarian metal steps into the cargo bay. "Not that I would blame you for thinking the better of it."
"Are you going to try to convince me not to go too?" Lamont asked, failing to hide the hint of a hopeful tone in his voice.
"Hell no," Spratt said, grunting as he hefted up a large metal suitcase and placing it on the top of a nearby crate that was roughly table-height. "Now that I've gone to the trouble of making these babies, I want to see how well they work." He unclasped the case and opened it, revealing two pairs of something resembling crampons and two fat pistols that resembled flare guns, all nested in custom foam molds.
"Is there a question?" Lamont asked, peering down at the contrivances doubtfully.
By way of answer, Ed plucked one of the pistols from its mold, pointed its stubby barrel toward the center of the cargo bay, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud popping sound, and the pistol was suddenly connected to a wheeled metal cart about ten yards away by a slender, glistening thread emerging from the barrel. The thread terminated in something resembling a metallic spiderweb that clung to its framework. Ed flicked a lever on the pistol with his thumb and the cart rolled toward them, eliciting a murmuring reaction from the crew members who had paused, startled, in their task of preparing the nearby asteroid pod.
"Blimey," Lamont remarked.
"I think I've outdone myself on this one," Ed, replied, the corners of his mouth turning up in the slight suggestion of a smile. "It works on the same carbon atomo-fabrication principles as the cable for the space elevator. The thread is supermagnetized, except that its force is attractive rather than repulsive." He released the trigger, and the anchor released its grip on the cart, retracting back into the pistol almost faster than the eye could follow.
"And this will hold my weight?" Lamont asked, examining the gadget as Ed handed it to him.
"Up to about 300 pounds of force," Ed explained. "Keep in mind that it's just spring-loaded. The distance it travels and the weight it can hold will depend on the ambient gravity, your momentum, that sort of thing. Don't take any chances."
"Besides the obvious one, you mean."
The chief technician shrugged and turned his attention toward the other objects in the suitcase. "These attach to the bottom of your vacuum suit boots. The electromagnet is activated by the pressure of your heel. Depress it and the magnet activates, lift it up and it releases. In microgravity, you'll need to use the grapple to maintain your leverage."
"Naturally," Lamont agreed, swallowing. He gingerly replaced the pistol and closed the lid of the case. "Thanks, mate. You're a proper chap when you set your mind to it. Especially making a second pair and all."
"I was already doing that," Ed admitted. "For a while, I was entertaining the idea of coming with you. But it occurred to me that I'm not exactly expendable around here."
Meaning Lamont is expendable.