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He guided my legs and arms into the suit's overlong sleeves, closed the main
zipper, fitted the helmet,
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BUYING TIME - Joe Haldeman and locked it on. Frigid oxygen filled the suit,
and a splitting earache immediately sobered me up. I
swallowed hard and yawned, and it went away. Yawning filled my lungs with
Lysol vapor, though, and I
started coughing, each cough an echoing explosion in the plastic globe.
The smell made my gorge rise, but I choked it back in time. Bad enough to have
the faceplate clouded with water vapor and saliva specks. A splash of vomit
would be death for both of us, the choice between my flying blind choking or
trying to survive near-vacuum long enough to clean my helmet.
The time! I gestured wildly at Dallas and kicked back to the acceleration
couch as fast as I could. We had decelerated for only a couple of minutes and
were hurtling toward Ceres at more than seventy-five kilometers per second. We
couldn't radio them to explain, and even if we could, I doubted that Big Dick
what's-his-name could be talked out of blasting us if we came too close.
At least one thing was working; a green light next to the red one meant that
the lost air was being replaced.
Dallas was fast getting dressed. I wasn't even completely strapped in when he
came forward; I grabbed at him and we touched helmets.
"Have to make up for lost time. Get ready for five gees. We'll do it for a few
minutes and then cut back to three. We'll come up short, too far out from
Ceres; but by then the ship will be repressurized, and we can start over."
"You're the boss." His voice sounded like he was in another room.
I tried to think. The timer said 42:01, so we had decelerated for a little
more than three minutes before I
shut it off. No way to tell exactly how long we'd been in free fall; at least
another three minutes. Juggle numbers. Distance with respect to Ceres is
D D  v t + at , o o
2
but it's not that simple; every time you change acceleration you're in a new
regime. I was too foggy to plug the numbers in anyhow. I typed in
"4:00" for the five-gee correction and when Dallas gave me his hand signal I
pulled the stick back hard, all the way.
The pain was so sudden and intense it gave me a rush of adrenaline. The
life-support unit on the upper back of the space suit kept me from conforming
to the acceleration couch properly; it was as if a hundred-kilogram weight had
suddenly dropped between the shoulder blades. I blacked out, thinking
Dallas will go under, too.
Woke up with Dallas shaking me. "How long on three gees?" he shouted from that
other room.
"Thirty-eight minutes," I dragged out from somewhere He punched it in and I
reached for the vernier stick, and stopped myself just in time before pulling
it back. Wouldn't want to fling Dallas back toward
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BUYING TIME - Joe Haldeman the wine rack at three gees.
Wrong ship. No wine rack on this piece of junk. The black dots swimming had
company now, brilliant purple flowers opening and closing. Hard white stars
sparkled. I yawned every couple of seconds. Dallas gave the sign and I closed
the frozen lump of my hand around the vernier, and pulled it back to the faint
click-stop at 3.0 gees.
Three wasn't nearly as bad as five. But I yawned with almost every breath now.
I couldn't feel my arms and legs beyond elbows and knees. My buttocks and
breasts felt icy.
Ostia.
The suit was leaking. But the green light was still on; pretty soon the cabin
would be up to a livable pressure. If nothing else went wrong. I watched the
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minutes creep away. Somewhere around thirty I passed out again.
I woke up slightly in luscious free fall. Dallas was whispering from far away,
but all I could see was pale white. Ice crystals, I realized, on the inside of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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