Звезда Пандоры

Oscar waited with a fluttering stomach as the policeman accepted the citizenship ID file from his e-butler and ran a DNA scan to confirm he matched the certified data. He’d never been to the High Angel before, there was always a chance it would refuse him entry or, worse, say why. “You ever been before?” he asked Mac. It was an attempt to appear casual in front of the policeman.

“Five times now,” McClain said. “Forward teams train in the zero-gee sections so we’re ready for any type of space encounter.”

“Damn, all these years on the job, and I never knew that.”

McClain grinned at his friend. They’d known each other for ten years, working together in Merredin’s CST exploratory division; after that much time in a high-pressure profession if you didn’t develop a mutual respect then somebody had to leave. Chain of command was always a nominal concept in the division, you trusted people to do their job right. “Oh, great, I’ve been risking my life under an Operations Director that doesn’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“I saw that tar-pit monster coming, didn’t I?”

“Gentlemen,” the policeman said, “you’re clear to proceed.”

They walked through into the transfer section lounge. A steward gave them each a one-piece overall made of light breathable fabric, with fuseto footpads and cuffs. “It’s just for the shuttle,” he told them. “Wear it over your clothes, it stops anything flying loose. And please don’t forget your helmets before you go through, safety regulations will not allow us to fly unless all passengers are wearing them.”

Several other people were in the lounge, all of them shrugging their way into the white overalls. Anyone with long hair was fastening it back with bands that the stewards were handing out. Mac nudged Oscar. “Isn’t that Paula Myo over there?”

Oscar followed his gaze. A young-looking woman was fixing her straight black hair with the bands. Her companion was an overweight man in a smart suit who could barely fit into his overall. “Could be. She must have come out of rejuve recently. I remember accessing the Shayoni case about six or seven years back, the one where she tracked down the arms seller who’d supplied kinetics to the Dakra Free State rebels. Four days she waited in that house for them to show up. That is what I call dedication.”

“My wife studied her cases when she was in the academy, that’s how I know her. I’m sure it’s her.”

“Wonder who she’s after this time?”

“You know, we should have her in the crew.”

Oscar gave Mac a startled look. “As what? Do you think we’re going to start killing each other on the voyage?”

“Living in close proximity with your farts for a year, more than likely. But she solves problems, right, that’s what her whole brain’s wired for. She’s exactly the kind of talent we should be taking with us.”

“There are different kinds of problems, you know; and we’re heading for the wrong sort.” Oscar clapped Mac’s shoulder. “Keep trying, one day you’ll be command material.”

“The day before you, pal.”

“Right. And by the way, what does your wife think about you going off and leaving her for a year?”

“Angie? She’s fairly cool about it. We talked about splitting up, but that’s being unduly pessimistic. We’ll just leave it and see what happens. If she finds someone else while I’m gone, fair enough. Our partnership contract allows for that.”

“Nice contract.”

“Yeah, so what about you? How are you going to cope for a year? Seen any possibilities among the recruits?”

“Haven’t really thought about it. I’ve got enough OCtattoos for a very high-resolution TSI, I’ll just make do with a harem of nicely shaped pixels.”

Mac shook his head in sad dismay. “Brother, you have got to get out more.”

A steward led five of them, including Paula and her companion, into the departure corridor at the far end of the lounge. Everybody’s feet made crunching sounds as the fuseto pads tried to anchor them on the floor. They were all handed a protective helmet as they went through, the steward making sure they put it on. “Are you familiar with zero gee?” the steward asked.

“I am nowadays,” Oscar told him grumpily. The helmet was identical to those they used at the starship complex on Anshun. He still hated his trips to the assembly platform, but Wilson was a real believer in hands-on management—obviously a relic of his gung-ho NASA days. There wasn’t a week since Oscar had joined the project that he hadn’t been on some kind of inspection tour.

“The gateway itself is marked by the black rim,” the steward said, pointing ahead down the corridor. “After that you’re in zero gee; please use the fusetos and do not float free. Your shuttle is waiting at dock five. Now if you’ll all follow me.” As he arrived at the black line, he reached forward and touched his fuseto cuff on the wall. He eased himself gracefully across the line and his feet floated off the floor. Oscar grimaced in resignation, and followed suit.