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@@ -49,7 +49,7 @@
 		<dc:language>en-US</dc:language>
 		<dc:source>https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32706</dc:source>
 		<dc:source>https://archive.org/details/Triplanetary_907</dc:source>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">93351</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">93361</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">63.09</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.encyclopedia.wikipedia">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triplanetary_(novel)</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/e-e-smith_triplanetary</meta>

src/epub/text/chapter-2.xhtml

@@ -110,7 +110,7 @@
 				<p>This, too, the Atlanteans hoped, was new⁠—a synthetic which air-friction would erode away, molecule by molecule, so rapidly that no perceptible fragment of it would reach ground.</p>
 				<p>The casing disappeared, and the yielding porous lining. And Phryges, still at an altitude of over thirty thousand feet, kicked away the remaining fragments of his cocoon and, by judicious planning, turned himself so that he could see the ground, now dimly visible in the first dull gray of dawn. There was the highway, paralleling his line of flight; he wouldn’t miss it more than a hundred yards.</p>
 				<p>He fought down an almost overwhelming urge to pull his ripcord too soon. He had to wait⁠—wait until the last possible second⁠—because parachutes were big and Norheiman radar practically swept the ground.</p>
-				<p>Low enough at last, he pulled the ring. <i>Z-r-r-e-e-k⁠—<b>whap</b>!</i> The chute banged open; his harness tightened with a savage jerk, mere seconds before his hard-sprung knees took the shock of landing.</p>
+				<p>Low enough at last, he pulled the ring. <i>Z‑r‑r‑e‑e‑k⁠—<b>whap</b>!</i> The chute banged open; his harness tightened with a savage jerk, mere seconds before his hard-sprung knees took the shock of landing.</p>
 				<p>That was close⁠—too close! He was white and shaking, but unhurt, as he gathered in the billowing, fighting sheet and rolled it, together with his harness, into a wad. He broke open a tiny ampoule, and as the drops of liquid touched it the stout fabric began to disappear. It did not burn; it simply disintegrated and vanished. In less than a minute there remained only a few steel snaps and rings, which the Atlantean buried under a meticulously-replaced circle of sod.</p>
 				<p>He was still on schedule. In less than three minutes the signals would be on the air and he would know where he was⁠—unless the Norsks had succeeded in finding and eliminating the whole Atlantean undercover group. He pressed a stud on a small instrument; held it down. A line burned green across the dial⁠—flared red⁠—vanished.</p>
 				<p>“Damn!” he breathed, explosively. The strength of the signal told him that he was within a mile or so of the hideout⁠—first-class computation⁠—but the red flash warned him to keep away. Kinnexa⁠—<em>it had better be Kinnexa!</em>⁠—would come to him.</p>
@@ -162,8 +162,8 @@
 				<p>Strolling idly, gazing eagerly at each new thing, they made their circuitous way toward a certain small hangar. As the girl had said, this field boasted hundreds of supersonic fighters, so many that servicing was a round-the-clock routine. In that hangar was a sharp-nosed, stubby-V’d flyer, one of Norheim’s fastest. It was serviced and ready.</p>
 				<p>It was too much to hope, of course, that the visitors could actually get into the building unchallenged. Nor did they.</p>
 				<p>“Back, you!” A guard waved them away. “Get back to the Concourse, where you belong⁠—no visitors allowed out here!”</p>
-				<p><i>F-f-t! F-f-t!</i> Phryges’ airgun broke into soft but deadly coughing. Kinnexa whirled⁠—hands flashing down, skirt flying up⁠—and ran. Guards tried to head her off; tried to bring their own weapons to bear. Tried⁠—failed⁠—died.</p>
-				<p>Phryges, too, ran; ran backward. His blaster was out now and flaming, for no living enemy remained within needle range. A rifle bullet <i>w-h-i-n-g-e-d</i> past his head, making him duck involuntarily and uselessly. Rifles were bad; but their hazard, too, had been considered and had been accepted.</p>
+				<p><i>F‑f‑t! F‑f‑t!</i> Phryges’ airgun broke into soft but deadly coughing. Kinnexa whirled⁠—hands flashing down, skirt flying up⁠—and ran. Guards tried to head her off; tried to bring their own weapons to bear. Tried⁠—failed⁠—died.</p>
+				<p>Phryges, too, ran; ran backward. His blaster was out now and flaming, for no living enemy remained within needle range. A rifle bullet <i>w‑h‑i‑n‑g‑e‑d</i> past his head, making him duck involuntarily and uselessly. Rifles were bad; but their hazard, too, had been considered and had been accepted.</p>
 				<p>Kinnexa reached the fighter’s port, opened it, sprang in. He jumped. She fell against him. He tossed her clear, slammed and dogged the door. He looked at her then, and swore bitterly. A small, round hole marred the bridge of her nose: the back of her head was gone.</p>
 				<p>He leaped to the controls and the fleet little ship screamed skyward. He cut in transmitter and receiver, keyed and twiddled briefly. No soap. He had been afraid of that. They were already blanketing every frequency he could employ; using power through which he could not drive even a tight beam a hundred miles.</p>
 				<p>But he could still crash that missile in its tube. Or⁠—could he? He was not afraid of other Norheiman fighters; he had a long lead and he rode one of their very fastest. But since they were already so suspicious, wouldn’t they launch the bomb <em>before</em> seven o’clock? He tried vainly to coax another knot out of his wide-open engines.</p>

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@@ -36,7 +36,7 @@
 			<p>She nodded weakly, and, assured that she could hold herself at the valve, it was the work of only a minute to encase her in one of the protective coverings. Then, as she sat upon a bench, recovering her strength, he flipped on the lifeboat’s visiphone projector and shot its invisible beam up into the control room, where he saw space-armored figures furiously busy at the panels.</p>
 			<p>“Dirty work at the crossroads!” he blazed to his captain, man to man⁠—formality disregarded, as it so often was in the Triplanetary service. “There’s skulduggery afoot somewhere in our primary air! Maybe that’s the way they got those other two ships⁠—pirates! Might have been a timed bomb⁠—don’t see how anybody could have stowed away down there through the inspections, and nobody but Franklin can neutralize the shield of the air room⁠—but I’m going to look around, anyway. Then I’ll join you fellows up there.”</p>
 			<p>“What was it?” the shaken girl asked. “I think that I remember your saying ‘Vee-Two gas.’ That’s forbidden! Anyway, I owe you my life, Conway, and I’ll never forget it⁠—never. Thanks⁠—but the others⁠—how about all the rest of us?”</p>
-			<p>“It was Vee-Two, and it is forbidden,” Costigan replied grimly, eyes fast upon the flashing plate, whose point of projection was now deep in the bowels of the vessel. “The penalty for using it or having it is death on sight. Gangsters and pirates use it, since they have nothing to lose, being on the death list already. As for your life, I haven’t saved it yet⁠—you may wish I’d let it ride before we get done. The others are too far gone for oxygen⁠—couldn’t have brought even you around in a few more seconds, quick as I got to you. But there’s a sure antidote⁠—we all carry it in a lockbox in our armor⁠—and we all know how to use it, because crooks all use Vee-Two and so we’re always expecting it. But since the air will be pure again in half an hour we’ll be able to revive the others easily enough if we can get by with whatever is going to happen next. There’s the bird that did it, right in the air-room. It’s the Chief Engineer’s suit, but that isn’t Franklin that’s in it. Some passenger⁠—disguised⁠—slugged the Chief⁠—took his suit and projectors⁠—hole in duct⁠—<i>p-s-s-t</i>! All washed out! Maybe that’s all he was scheduled to do to us in this performance, but he’ll do nothing else in his life!”</p>
+			<p>“It was Vee-Two, and it is forbidden,” Costigan replied grimly, eyes fast upon the flashing plate, whose point of projection was now deep in the bowels of the vessel. “The penalty for using it or having it is death on sight. Gangsters and pirates use it, since they have nothing to lose, being on the death list already. As for your life, I haven’t saved it yet⁠—you may wish I’d let it ride before we get done. The others are too far gone for oxygen⁠—couldn’t have brought even you around in a few more seconds, quick as I got to you. But there’s a sure antidote⁠—we all carry it in a lockbox in our armor⁠—and we all know how to use it, because crooks all use Vee-Two and so we’re always expecting it. But since the air will be pure again in half an hour we’ll be able to revive the others easily enough if we can get by with whatever is going to happen next. There’s the bird that did it, right in the air-room. It’s the Chief Engineer’s suit, but that isn’t Franklin that’s in it. Some passenger⁠—disguised⁠—slugged the Chief⁠—took his suit and projectors⁠—hole in duct⁠—<i>p‑s‑s‑t</i>! All washed out! Maybe that’s all he was scheduled to do to us in this performance, but he’ll do nothing else in his life!”</p>
 			<p>“Don’t go down there!” protested the girl. “His armor is so much better than that emergency suit you are wearing, and he’s got <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Franklin’s Lewiston, besides!”</p>
 			<p>“Don’t be an idiot!” he snapped. “We can’t have a live pirate aboard⁠—we’re going to be altogether too busy with outsiders directly. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give him a break. I’ll take a Standish⁠—I’ll rub him out like a blot. Stay right here until I come back after you,” he commanded, and the heavy door of the lifeboat clanged shut behind him as he leaped out into the promenade.</p>
 			<p>Straight across the saloon he made his way, paying no attention to the inert forms scattered here and there. Going up to a blank wall, he manipulated an almost invisible dial set flush with its surface, swung a heavy door aside, and lifted out the Standish⁠—a fearsome weapon. Squat, huge, and heavy, it resembled somewhat an overgrown machine rifle, but one possessing a thick, short telescope, with several opaque condensing lenses and parabolic reflectors. Laboring under the weight of the thing, he strode along corridors and clambered heavily down short stairways. Finally he came to the purifier room, and grinned savagely as he saw the greenish haze of light obscuring the door and walls⁠—the shield was still in place; the pirate was still inside, still flooding with the terrible Vee Two the <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Hyperion</i>’s primary air.</p>