allowed in your quarters. That seemed obvious enough, since the rules said you couldn’t take off your suit anywhere else, anyway, barring medical emergency. But how could such a thing be possible when they could only meet outside in the gear?
One at a time, the people in front of Chris stepped through a gray metal door. It was dark beyond the portal. Chris felt too nervous for any small talk with the others. When his turn came, he stepped through the door.
A gloomy corridor received him. Arrayed along either wall before him, sets of gear hung flat against the wall, illuminated by gentle directional lights that showed the suit without dispelling the dimness of the walkway. Chris looked at the first gear on his left. A dark gray webbing of some smooth fiber held the black plastic plates together over elbows, knees, and back. A thick extra layer of plastic covered the left shoulder. The head covering looked like a medieval helmet of black and blue plastic attached to the back plates like a hood. Blue metal rings were woven into the webbing around the ribs.
He stepped forward and counted twenty suits in all. They were all dark with blue accents like the first, but each one had several unique aspects. Different helmets or gloves or extra plates combined to make each suit different from the next.
How the hell was he supposed to choose? The manual said that you chose your gear the first time you arrived on the station. It didn’t say anything about ever being able to chose a different set if you decided you didn’t like your first choice. What if he damaged it? What if it felt unbearably uncomfortable? What if he discovered he had made some awful faux pas with his choice?
Just take the pill.
Chris grabbed a set of gear that had a plastic mail mesh over most of the torso with a small ridge of blue spikes along the spine. The black eye plates were triangular, like jack-o’-lantern eyes.
“Please follow the green line to your changing room,” a voice instructed through his link. Chris obeyed and selected a door on the opposite side of the one through which he had entered. Beyond there he saw another dark corridor with rows of doors. He stepped to the right and followed the indicated path into a closet-sized room with a tall mirror on one wall and a stack of boxes against the other.
Chris put on the suit. He felt like an actor climbing into an animal mascot suit. He cursed under his breath. If they’re going to make an idiot out of me, it’ll be soon now .
The suit felt much airier than he had expected. Chris realized that the suit had cleverly hidden spicules around his face and body that allowed air to flow in without directly revealing any of his flesh.
The visor of his helmet fed him the view outside through his link as if he’d turned his own body into a remotely controlled probe. He chafed against the ridiculous indirection the video loop introduced.
Someone could influence the data, too, and make me see things that aren’t there. Maybe that’s what this is all about?
He stood and regarded himself in the mirror. He looked robotic, he decided, peering through the one-way transparent material over his eyes. The suit stiffened his limbs, although it did bend at all the major joints. His gloved hands looked like they were covered in black scales with armored ridges on the knuckles.
He turned and stared at his clothes for a moment before he realized they went in one of the boxes. He put everything into a box, including his original shoes.
“Please deposit the clothes box in the indicated slot,” a voice told him. Chris found a slot in the wall that his link overlaid with green arrows. He pushed the clothes through reluctantly, as if saying good-bye to his old life. He held onto his one-charge stunner in his palm.
“Please follow the green lines to your quarters. You will be allowed to acclimate to your new room for the rest of the day. Normal activities will resume tomorrow.”
Chris took a deep
One at a time, the people in front of Chris stepped through a gray metal door. It was dark beyond the portal. Chris felt too nervous for any small talk with the others. When his turn came, he stepped through the door.
A gloomy corridor received him. Arrayed along either wall before him, sets of gear hung flat against the wall, illuminated by gentle directional lights that showed the suit without dispelling the dimness of the walkway. Chris looked at the first gear on his left. A dark gray webbing of some smooth fiber held the black plastic plates together over elbows, knees, and back. A thick extra layer of plastic covered the left shoulder. The head covering looked like a medieval helmet of black and blue plastic attached to the back plates like a hood. Blue metal rings were woven into the webbing around the ribs.
He stepped forward and counted twenty suits in all. They were all dark with blue accents like the first, but each one had several unique aspects. Different helmets or gloves or extra plates combined to make each suit different from the next.
How the hell was he supposed to choose? The manual said that you chose your gear the first time you arrived on the station. It didn’t say anything about ever being able to chose a different set if you decided you didn’t like your first choice. What if he damaged it? What if it felt unbearably uncomfortable? What if he discovered he had made some awful faux pas with his choice?
Just take the pill.
Chris grabbed a set of gear that had a plastic mail mesh over most of the torso with a small ridge of blue spikes along the spine. The black eye plates were triangular, like jack-o’-lantern eyes.
“Please follow the green line to your changing room,” a voice instructed through his link. Chris obeyed and selected a door on the opposite side of the one through which he had entered. Beyond there he saw another dark corridor with rows of doors. He stepped to the right and followed the indicated path into a closet-sized room with a tall mirror on one wall and a stack of boxes against the other.
Chris put on the suit. He felt like an actor climbing into an animal mascot suit. He cursed under his breath. If they’re going to make an idiot out of me, it’ll be soon now .
The suit felt much airier than he had expected. Chris realized that the suit had cleverly hidden spicules around his face and body that allowed air to flow in without directly revealing any of his flesh.
The visor of his helmet fed him the view outside through his link as if he’d turned his own body into a remotely controlled probe. He chafed against the ridiculous indirection the video loop introduced.
Someone could influence the data, too, and make me see things that aren’t there. Maybe that’s what this is all about?
He stood and regarded himself in the mirror. He looked robotic, he decided, peering through the one-way transparent material over his eyes. The suit stiffened his limbs, although it did bend at all the major joints. His gloved hands looked like they were covered in black scales with armored ridges on the knuckles.
He turned and stared at his clothes for a moment before he realized they went in one of the boxes. He put everything into a box, including his original shoes.
“Please deposit the clothes box in the indicated slot,” a voice told him. Chris found a slot in the wall that his link overlaid with green arrows. He pushed the clothes through reluctantly, as if saying good-bye to his old life. He held onto his one-charge stunner in his palm.
“Please follow the green lines to your quarters. You will be allowed to acclimate to your new room for the rest of the day. Normal activities will resume tomorrow.”
Chris took a deep
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