"Jack C. Haldeman II & Jack Dann - High Steel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Jack C)

With an easy fluid motion John unsnapped the end of his tether and moved to the next position on the
huge beam. His feet automatically found the hold-tight indentations at the adjacent work station. For a
brief moment his body hung free of any support. He was weightless and enjoyed the feeling of freedom.
This was one of the few pleasures up here to his liking. The Earth hung above his head: a mottled globe,
half darkness, half light. The cross-strut he needed floated slowly toward him. Anna was right behind it.
Of all the damn luck: Anna. Anybody else. He shifted the joiner to his right hand and attached the proper
nipple. There were twenty other floaters out on this shift; they could have sent someone else. The chatter
on the intercom bothered him. He tongued down the gain.
"Bellman to Catpaw Five." The direct communication cut through the static and low-tone babble.
Mike Elliot was bellman; John was Catpaw Five. The bellman directed the placing of the beams, the
floaters did the work.
"Five here/' slurred John. Mike was a stickler for rules and regulations. From the deck he could afford
to be. It was different outside.
"Strut alpha omega seven-one-four on its way."
"I have eyes," said John.
"Acknowledge transmission, Catpaw Five." Always by the book.
"Transmission acknowledged. Visual confirmation of alpha omega seven-one-four has been achieved.
Satisfied?"
"This transmission is being monitored, Catpaw Five."
"They're all monitored, so what's the difference? Fire me."
"I wish I could."
"I wish you would." Damn uppity bellman. They were all the same. "And while you're at it, why did
you send Grass-Like-Light? She has second shift today."
"She goes by Anna, floater, and I put her out because I wanted to."
"You put her out because she's a royal pain in myтАФ"
"You're on report, John."
"Stuff it."
"Firing on five. Mark."
The seconds ticked down in his head. It was automaticтАФand he had already forgotten Mike. At the
count of zero, three low-grade sparklers fired. Aluminum trioxide, mined on the Moon. These one-time
rockets were cheap and dirty, but all they needed. The boron filament beam, its apparent movement
stopped, hovered a meter to his left. Sloppy.
"You missed," John said.
"You're still on report."
 John shook his head, reached out with the grapple and pulled the near end toward the join. Mike was
always excited, always putting floaters on report. It didn't mean a thing. People were cheap, but the
ability to walk high steel wasn't common. They could hire and fire ten bellmen before they would touch a
floater. Anyone could work the calculations, but walking the steel was a rare talent. There was no way he
could ignore Anna.
"Down," he said, activating the local channel.
Anna fixed a firing ring around the far end of the beam and slowly worked it into position. She drifted
easily, lazily. The beam slid gracefully into plumb.
"That's got it," he said. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought.
"You're welcome," she said in a dry voice. Without another word, she hit her body thrusters and
moved away from him to her next position.
John ignored the snub and went to work with the joiner. Five of the color-coded joints were within
easy reach; he didn't even have to move from the hold-tights. Some ground-based jockey had probably
figured it all out before the plans were shipped up and the beams forged in space. As usual, they had
blown the obvious cross-joins. He had to unhook for those, swing his body around to the other side.