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7
Management is not responsible for radiation-induced genetic mutations that may be experienced by guests, visitors, or crew of Staros-3 during or after their time aboard.
Fine print found on the back of each Staros-3 boarding pass
There were lots of things to do, like losing Trask, and getting off Staros-3, but we were tired and went to bed instead.
In spite of the exorbitant amount of money we had paid for the cabin, it was little more than a shoebox. The beds folded down from the bulkhead and occupied most of what little
bit of deck-space there was. That put the mattresses side by side, but I don t mess with clients, especially when they re almost twenty years younger than I am. The sheets had seen
better days, but most of the holes had been patched, and they were reasonably clean.
Sasha started to remove her clothes, frowned, and gestured for me to turn my back. Hookers, the only women with whom I had recent experience, didn t care if you looked or
not. I turned my back and made a note to be more careful in the future.
I brushed my teeth in the tiny sink, took my turn in the fresher, and was careful to wear a towel when I emerged. There was no need, however, since Sasha had turned the lights
down and was already asleep. I dried myself off, slipped into my spare underwear, and got into bed. It felt wonderful. I don t know if the ensuing dream stemmed from the cafeteria s
heavy-duty spaghetti sauce, my return to space, or something entirely different, but it was a real lulu.
Sweat beaded the pilot s forehead. She was very young and wore little more than shorts, a tank top, and her lieutenant s bar. She had great nipples and I had watched them as she
conned the boat through ten thousand miles of asteroid-strewn blackness. She bit her lower lip and whispered a mantra of her own making: Holy mother full of grace, help me make it
through this place, Holy mother full of grace&
I grew tired of it after the first thousand times or so, but pilots are a weird bunch, and it s best to let their idiosyncrasies go. There were three ships in all. I had the point position,
Lieutenant Daw was number two, and our CO Major Charles Wamba rode drag.
It was a bad mission, the kind recon always gets, full of floating variables, insurmountable obstacles, and ugly ways to die. But that s what the Mishimuto Corporation paid us to
do, to kill as many of these nasty-assed tool heads as possible, and make it back if we could. But this was different, a little something thought up by the oxymorons in military intelligence,
and intended to bag information instead of bodies.
My briefing had been provided by a man who turned into a woman with no face. She explained that Mishimuto owned stock in a small start-up company, that the employees of
said company had gone over to the strikers, and might have taken proprietary information with them. And that s where we came in. Our team was supposed to sneak up on the
miscreants, surprise them, and recover the missing data. The only problem was that they had taken refuge in a research station called T-12, right smack dab in the middle of the asteroid
belt, and defended by a rather sophisticated automatic weapons system. Not a walk in the park.
My thoughts were interrupted when the pilot screamed, Shit! Shit! Shit! and pointed at the screen. Her eyes grew wide with horror and exploded as we hit the asteroid.
I sat up. My body was drenched with sweat, my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest, and my breath came in short gasping sobs. I have at least one nightmare a
night, so I m fairly used to them. But this dream had a coherency the others lacked, as if memories were trying to put themselves back together and couldn t quite make it. It took an hour
or more to fall asleep. It seemed as if a few minutes had passed when Sasha opened the fresher, used both hands to towel her hair, and kicked my bed. Up and at em, Max. We need
to get off this tub.
I yawned, pulled my clothes on, and followed her to the cafeteria. Breakfast cost a hundred and fifty-two dollars. Each. And it wasn t all that good. Nor was the company, since
Trask sat about fifty feet away. Earth hung behind him like a backdrop, a not so subtle reminder of what he was all about, and an indictment of generations past. He was engaged in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
