“Mei!” Julian shouted over his shoulder without taking his right hand off Key A. “A Subpoena Duces Tecum legally compels delivery of the requested material in raw form! Give them Disposal Drum Number Four and the three-hundred-and-eighty-five-degree steam!”
Lin Mei’s mind locked onto the legal and physical geometry in a split second.
They want to attach company inventory across the Sanctuary Line, she thought fiercely, her fingers tightening on the bronze steam nozzle. Fine. Let’s see how their winches handle two hundred pounds of un-laminated pulp at three hundred and eighty-five degrees.
She sprinted three paces to the starboard rail where Disposal Drum Number Four sat chained to the deck plates, still brimming with the raw, skin-hungry white Clause-Pulp they had scraped from the shale shaker.
Lin Mei slammed the quick-connect bronze fitting of the steam hose directly into the top vent bung of Disposal Drum Number Four.
The heavy steel drum rattled against the floor plates under the surge of three-hundred-and-eighty-five-degree dry steam.
“Fitting locked and dogged!” Lin Mei shouted across the catwalk.
“Is the steam holding pressure?” Julian asked.
