Crystal Universe - [Crystal Singer 03] - Crystal Line Read Online Free PDF Page A

geology ship.
    “How about I land you near the biggest of the vaults? This one!” Bren suggested, calling up the most remarkable of the liquidlike ribs. “That’s not the landing of record, but it’s certainly the most interesting site they found. Of course, I’m far more flexible than the
Toronto
was. We can pit hop as much as we need—while you’re chowing down a good feed.”
    “Then there’s the problem of the Sleep,” Killa said, making a sour face.
    “Oh?” Brendan prompted.
    “Yes. Having stuffed ourselves like hibernators, we then sleep for the duration of the actual Passover.”
    “Or rather, our symbionts force us to sleep during the combined transit of the three moons,” Lars explained.
    “How long?”
    Lars shrugged. “A week. That’s why we stock up so heavily.”
    “For a week’s sleep?”
    Lars shrugged, then grinned at Brendan’s column. “Not my choice.”
    “Then you eat again?” Brendan asked solicitously.
    “Just before we fall asleep, even the sight of food makes us nauseous. That’s generally how we know we’d best get into a comfortable position,” Lars explained.
    “Most unusual,” Brendan said mildly, “though I’ve heard
and
encountered weirder ones.”
    “You’re most reassuring,” Killashandra said dryly.
    “I try to be. You’d best belt in,” he added. The main screen was showing their precipitous approach to the pock-marked moon. Seeing that, the two singers hastened to obey.
    Brendan was an excellent pilot—as he
was
the ship, to all intents and purposes. As he neatly deposited them on the
soi-disant
surface of Opal, Lars and Killa applauded in the traditional manner. Then they concentrated on eating the enormous meal the ship served them—items that Brendan knew they particularly liked and in quantities that should have daunted a normal appetite.
    “You really do stow it away, don’t you?”
    Killa and Lars were too busy stuffing themselves to give any reply other than a distracted “Hmmm …”
    At last they were replete; and, groaning a bit, they squeezed into their vacuum suits. Killashandra found herself wishing, if only for a moment, that “space suits” had not evolved to be quite so lean and efficient. But these suits were perfect for non-atmospheric explorations. The close-fitting shell provided the wearer with a nearly impervious second skin. Fine controls for digital manipulations were available; sanitary arrangements were as unobtrusive as possible. The helmet afforded complete head mobility and visibility; the tubes for eating and drinking were housed at the neck rim. The oxygen unit fit snugly across the shoulder blades and down to the end of the spine, which it also served toprotect. Helmet, digital, and arm lights illuminated a wide area around the wearer. Versatile tools attached to special rigs on the belt and stowed in thigh and leg pouches gave them additional external resources.
    “I’ve stocked your suit packs with a rather tasty high protein, followed by a sweet confection that might just relieve hunger pangs,” Brendan began.
    “No matter what you feed us, mate, we’ll have to come back for more than any suit could supply,” Lars said as he and Killashandra entered the airlock. “All right now, Bren, let us out.”
    They had both studied the log records of the
Toronto
, so they knew to turn left as soon as they exited the outer lock.
    “Humpf,” Killa said, training her arm light on the fluorescent line the previous expedition had painted on the porous shell. “Nice of them, considering.”
    “They expected to return,” Lars remarked quietly.
    “I see the markings,” Brendan said in an oblique reminder to narrate their progress more explicitly.
    “For posterity then,” and Killashandra began the running commentary as they followed the guideline down steps that had been cut by their predecessors. There was even a line sprayed across a low threshold to warn them where to bend and, hunching over, they started down