Read Online Kill Station by Diane Duane & Peter Morwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Duane & Peter Morwood
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asteroids, or of the moons of the outer planets, with everything lit in the same stark black-shadows-blinding-white-light as the Moon. Well, the shadows were stark enough, but the light was nowhere near so bright. The level of lighting was about the same as on a dim winter's afternoon in Wales, during the part of the winter when the Sun ran lowest; even on a clear day, its light was attenuated, cool, spare. Here it was the same, when the light had anything to fall on—chill and clear, a very pure white, but somehow thin and stretched. No surprise, considering how far it had come. Nor were the asteroids crowded all around them, easy to bump into, or even hard to avoid. Evan could not think of any part of the other side of the Belts—the denser side, at that—where he could stand on one asteroid, and see another one with the naked eye.
They were drifting close to a little asteroid, about half a kilometer from one end to the other, shaped rather like a shoe that had been stepped on. There were gaping holes cut in it, blasted with energy weapons, rather than with explosive, judging by the smooth sides. Evan nodded to
5» SPACE COPS
himself as Joss slowed the ship down and maneuvered it in close. "Are you going to put us down on there?" he said.
"It's safer," Joss said. "If this thing has been slagged out, its motion may be eccentric. I'd sooner not do any more damage to my paint job, thanks."
' 'Your paint job?'' Evan said mildly, and went off to get into his suit.
It was the first time in some days, and he was glad of the chance. Quickly he stripped down to shorts and singlet and began, piece by piece, to get into the suit; stepping into the boots first, strapping on greaves and thigh-pieces, backing into the backplate and then holding it up from behind to let it seal onto the breastplate. The soft hiss of closing seals was music to his ears. The suit was newly overhauled: fresh neural and feedback sponge padding had been put in, the helm's optics and electronics had been retuned, and the negative-feedback circuitry itself had been reset and restrung, making the suit react with a bit more bounce. This restringing was something that needed to be done a couple of times a year, as a man "worked into" a specific suit and found its mass easier to carry; otherwise the suit would begin to overreact to his movements, and move too easily, too sloppily.
As Evan slipped into the upper arm and forearm pieces, and sealed them shut, he was glad of the restringing, but he was even happier about the replacement of the feedback foam. It was what translated the movements of your muscles into the much larger, stronger movements of the suit, but it wasn't exactly something you could just send out to the cleaners. And after you had sweated into it for a couple of months, you could scare away perpetrators in interior environments just by the sheer awful stink of you in the neighborhood. There was this to be said for vacuum work: in space, no one could smell you coming.
He checked the insides and far outsides of the forearms, where the gun ports were faired in, and found everything satisfactory, slipped on the gauntlets and sealed them shut,
SPACE COPS 53
and then reached for the helm. For a moment he looked at his reflection in the cool grey-silver surface. Some people, he knew, saw nothing but blind menace and the threat of violence in the blank reflection of the helm, that usually allowed no face to show, no eyes. Evan didn't mind. It was a weapon, and he used it as consciously as his guns, and with a freer conscience.
He put it on, touched the seals closed, and stepped out into the hallway. In the front cabin, Joss and Noel were in their own pressure suits, helms under arms, looking toward him. Joss's expression was calm and accustomed, but Noel's face showed shock and astonishment. It was a look Evan had gotten used to over time. "Ready?" he said.
"All set," Joss said, and put his helmet on. Noel followed suit. Together they all
They were drifting close to a little asteroid, about half a kilometer from one end to the other, shaped rather like a shoe that had been stepped on. There were gaping holes cut in it, blasted with energy weapons, rather than with explosive, judging by the smooth sides. Evan nodded to
5» SPACE COPS
himself as Joss slowed the ship down and maneuvered it in close. "Are you going to put us down on there?" he said.
"It's safer," Joss said. "If this thing has been slagged out, its motion may be eccentric. I'd sooner not do any more damage to my paint job, thanks."
' 'Your paint job?'' Evan said mildly, and went off to get into his suit.
It was the first time in some days, and he was glad of the chance. Quickly he stripped down to shorts and singlet and began, piece by piece, to get into the suit; stepping into the boots first, strapping on greaves and thigh-pieces, backing into the backplate and then holding it up from behind to let it seal onto the breastplate. The soft hiss of closing seals was music to his ears. The suit was newly overhauled: fresh neural and feedback sponge padding had been put in, the helm's optics and electronics had been retuned, and the negative-feedback circuitry itself had been reset and restrung, making the suit react with a bit more bounce. This restringing was something that needed to be done a couple of times a year, as a man "worked into" a specific suit and found its mass easier to carry; otherwise the suit would begin to overreact to his movements, and move too easily, too sloppily.
As Evan slipped into the upper arm and forearm pieces, and sealed them shut, he was glad of the restringing, but he was even happier about the replacement of the feedback foam. It was what translated the movements of your muscles into the much larger, stronger movements of the suit, but it wasn't exactly something you could just send out to the cleaners. And after you had sweated into it for a couple of months, you could scare away perpetrators in interior environments just by the sheer awful stink of you in the neighborhood. There was this to be said for vacuum work: in space, no one could smell you coming.
He checked the insides and far outsides of the forearms, where the gun ports were faired in, and found everything satisfactory, slipped on the gauntlets and sealed them shut,
SPACE COPS 53
and then reached for the helm. For a moment he looked at his reflection in the cool grey-silver surface. Some people, he knew, saw nothing but blind menace and the threat of violence in the blank reflection of the helm, that usually allowed no face to show, no eyes. Evan didn't mind. It was a weapon, and he used it as consciously as his guns, and with a freer conscience.
He put it on, touched the seals closed, and stepped out into the hallway. In the front cabin, Joss and Noel were in their own pressure suits, helms under arms, looking toward him. Joss's expression was calm and accustomed, but Noel's face showed shock and astonishment. It was a look Evan had gotten used to over time. "Ready?" he said.
"All set," Joss said, and put his helmet on. Noel followed suit. Together they all
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