You need to try this on, to see if it fits.' Fersonne eased the suit forward. It shimmered more than coveralls, was heavier, bulkier, and, once I had it on, considerably hotter, even without pulling on the gauntlets attached to the sleeves, the headpiece, or the boots - overlarge and puffy.
'Except for now, you don't put this on until you're ready to go out,' Fersonne said. 'Try on the headpiece, then take it off for now.'
'Heat retention?'
She nodded. You'll get cold anyway, chill enough after a time to freeze a mite.'
I returned her nod and reached for the headpiece - more like a soft helmet, not like the more free-form and clinging breather hood, and the faceplate was almost wraparound. I could feel the heat building up and the sweat starting to flow. I removed the helmet and suit quickly.
'See? It's not terribly heavy.' She brought forward two other items. 'Here's the rebreather tank and a reaction pistol.'
The rebreather tank was small, a cylinder not more than fifty centimeters long nor fifteen in diameter. The reaction pistol - hand-held, free space, gas-powered propulsion device - had a bulky grip and a barrel that tapered to a fine nozzled point. Like so many Rykashan devices, its dull gray finish appeared antique and weathered.
'You'll have a broomstick outside, but the reaction pistol is for emergencies - if everything goes wrong.'
'If it does,' commented Gerbriik, 'the pistol probably won't do much good. But there's a chance.'
I understood. Anyone who made enough mistakes to need the pistol probably would be so flustered that he couldn't use it soon enough or correctly enough.
'Unless your problem is caused by a mechanical failure,' added Fersonne. 'They don't happen often.'
'Have you ever had one?' I waited for her reaction.
'No. Sanselle did once.'
My eyes studied the equipment and the suit. Bulky as it was, it scarcely seemed enough to protect one against the chill of space, not after I'd seen the thick composite hulls of the needle ships.
'Take him out,' Gerbriik said. 'Give him the long tour.' His eyes went to me. 'Pay attention. You owe that to Fersonne, even if you don't care that much about yourself.'
I had no doubts he knew we took comfort from each other, but beyond that, as well, he was right. 'Yes, ser.'
Fersonne dragged out her own suit from somewhere, circled it with a net, and waited while I found a net to hold all my newly acquired equipment. Then she inventoried mine again before we took one of the transverse shafts all the way down to the cargo level. The equipment-filled net kept bumping me all the way down. Non-rigid things always had a tendency to oscillate in null grav. Even though I'd adapted, I missed gravity. Why hadn't the demons ever mastered gravity control?
Because it would effectively require the creation of a gravitional geon, and translation of other energies into those which affect, create, or modify gravitons ... while theoretically possible, practical translations have never been successful ... I wasn't sure what all that meant, and pushed it aside as I followed Fersonne.
She led me to the personnel lock between cargo locks two and three, tabbing the entrance plate.
'There are locks on the upper levels,' I noted as the composite door retracted into the side wall of the cargo corridor. 'We could take the passenger locks.'
'All ESAs are from the lower locks, except in emergencies.'
My autonomous database called up the fact that there were no quarters on the lowest level - and automatic seals on the shafts, and that the lower levels were more heavily braced, even the passenger level right above the cargo corridors.
The lock was like a cargo lock, but smaller. Grayish brown composite bulkheads melded into composite decks and overheads, the simple right angles where they met still fusing together in a way that left the eye wondering. Was it the identical coloring? The even and indirect lighting from the glow strips?
Broomsticks - five of them - were clipped in brackets on the left wall, each holder about a meter from the one beside it. They appeared as little more than a hard composite seat and a flat panel before the seat, both mounted upon a long tube. According to my briefings, they were effectively nanite-enhanced, gas-propelled, low-power rockets.
'Look at the panel.' Fersonne gestured. 'See the big rheostat thing. That's the power control. When the red stud is out, you get power from the back. Push it in, and you get power from the front.'
I waited.
'There's a spring in the tubing. If you're moving too fast, let the tube hit the hull' She offered a crooked smile. 'It's designed to absorb that kind of inertia. Your hands aren't.' After a pause, she added, 'We'll go over that again when we're outside.'
After I had everything on but the soft helmet, Fersonne checked over all the seals - between boots and suit, and suit and gauntlets. 'The nanites can maintain suit pressure without perfect seals, but there's no point in making them work harder.'
Work harder? Fersonne talked as though the nanites had intelligence. Could micron-level constructs manifest intelligence? Then, we were like nanites compared to the suns that were stars. Poor comparison ... But was it?
For a moment, that half-forgotten, half-familiar cascade of golden-red flames arced across my vision, flame arcs against a spangled darkness edging the fires, then blurring the brown-gray bulkheads before the momentary vision vanished.
Fersonne clipped a small reel to my equipment belt. 'Safety tether. A quarter kilo of monomer. First thing you do outside the lock is clip on, before you let go of anything.'
Like all demons, she didn't repeat the warning, but donned her helmet. She checked mine after I put it on, then eased two of the broomsticks from their racks. They also had tethers, and I found myself tethered to a broomstick, holding on to a safety bar as the inner lock door closed. Ice crystals swirled around us, then vanished. The indirect light from the glow strips lost its diffusion, and, while I could see the lit panels, the only illumination they cast was on the deck itself, giving it a barred appearance, except where broken by my shadow or Fersonne's.
Then the outer door opened, and I followed Fersonne's example, hand-over-handing my way through the open outer lock door. In the darkness outside, I clipped the end of the tether to the half-circular ring protruding from the station hull beside the door.
'Good,' murmured Fersonne. 'Get on the broomstick.' Her words relayed through the helmet were soft, yet close enough that her lips might have been touching my ears. My skin tingled as though it recalled when her lips had touched my ears.
I managed to slide onto the broomstick by concentrating on moving as little as possible and holding on to the tether ring with one hand. Finally, sitting on the seat of the broomstick, I looked out away from the station to the endless spangled points of light that were the first stars I had seen since leaving Runswi. I found myself taking a long breath and holding it, my eyes on those points of brightness and at the depth of the blackness between each.
'Above' us and a kilo away was the hull of the Costigan, where lights flitted intermittently, presumably from the engineers finishing up the de facto refit of the overstressed needle ship.
After a time, Fersonne spoke. 'You all right, Tyndel?'
'I was looking at the Costigan ... and the stars.'
'Takes your breath away.' After a moment, she added, Your broomstick is slaved to mine, until you get the knack of riding it. I'll show you what I mean. I'll unslave it for a bit.'
An amber light on the panel before me winked out.
All right. Give the broom the tiniest bit of thrust... just move the dial a bit, then move it back.'
I did and could feel the broomstick move ever so slightly under me - or try to move away from me, and I began to drift away from Fersonne.