Iven did not hold the stored impulse while he waited for courage.
He had already chosen.
The flywheel’s small paid preparation gathered through less than ten seconds. Turbine remained seated beside it. Boiler, lattice, compression, and hammer filled the other four places. No seventh function waited to catch a mistake.
Venn moved his staff shoe half a pace.
His right hand stayed against the guard foot, ready to damp another coupled pulse. His feet stood wide enough to receive a direct charge through lattice and counterweight.
Iven saw the space behind the nearer heel.
He released.
Thirty-five meters vanished into one hard second.
