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

What looked easy on paper was often a different matter in space. His helmet lamp created a glare in his
eyes as it reflected off the beam. The blind-side joins were the worst: no support. He clipped his joiner
back on his belt and took a breather.
The tube that connected the globes of the barbell was taking shape. He'd been on the job for almost a
month, from the very beginning. The tube looked like a skeleton now, but soon the outer skin would be
worked into place and this job would be finished. After that, it was on to the next assignment. He could
see several other floaters working on the tube: anonymous white-suited figures in the distance.
"That's got it, shift one," came the bellman's voice over the intercom. "Come on in."
John waited for the transport, really nothing more than a raft drifting by. It had been an uneventful
shift; most of them were. They were ahead of schedule. That, too, was normal. Damn Anna, anyway.
Damn Mike for slipping her on his shift. He knew how much that bothered him. John was used to his
regular crew, knew their habits and eccentricities by heart. He didn't need other people. He didn't need
Anna.
When the transport drifted by, he reached out and hooked himself on by the grapple. It was showy,
but he didn't care. He looked to see if Anna noticed. She didn't seem to.
It didn't matter, he told himself.

"The skids are arriving right on schedule," Anna said, pointing at the nearest port. Outside, the small
craft blinked and glittered against the darkness. John Stranger didn't look; he made a point of not turning
his head. It was loud in the wardroom, too many people packed into too small a place. After the riggers
left, they would put up partitions, make it comfortable for the small number of people who would man the
manufacturing station. Now they were packed in like fish in a tin. Riggers got little respect and fewer
comforts. She leaned toward him across the small table, and it made him uncomfortable, although it didn't
mean anything. Everyone leaned forward while resting in zero-g. It was reflex. A pencil floated past her
face.
"So go have a good time," John said. The independent whores, male and female, always arrived just
before the topping-off party. They were direct competition to the T.U.S.E.-supplied whores, who were
more expensive but classier. It was almost time for the party. The job was almost finished. Soon the flag
would be secured. Then would come the release, the time for the crew to become as blind and as drunk
for as long as possible at the bosses' expense.
"What I do is my business," Anna said. "As it happens, I plan to have a good time. That is still
permitted."
John twisted his foot compulsively into the hold-tight grid on the floor. "You've turned white enough.
Go ahead and have a good time with the wasicun."
"I'm not white," she said defensively, pulling away from him. Only the hold-tights prevented her from
floating to the ceiling. "You're a hypocrite," she said bitterly. "You're no more Indian than the rest of your
friends." She waved her arm at the others in the room. "Some medicine man. Are these your people?"
John's face burned with anger and embarrassment. "Yes," he said. He was to have been a wichasha
wakan, a holy man, a healer. Clearly half the riggersтАФthe floatersтАФwere his own, his own blood. They
were Indian, yet they weren't. They had turned away from their heritage, forgotten the way of the Sacred
Pipe. They had jumped at the chance of reward and a way out of the restrictive life of the ever-dwindling
reservations. He could not understand, nor could he forgive. He had been taken away from his people,
while most of them had left to become white men. A few, it was true, had been drafted. Anna was one.
She grinned at John, as if she could see right into him. "Spend the night with me," she said, baiting him.
"Or aren't you man enough?"
"Our ways are not the same."
"Up here we are all the same," she said. "We are no longer in the woods, we are no longer
dirtwalkers." She unlocked her cleats from the grid. Before pushing off she said, "John Stranger, I don't
think you could even do it with a wasicun."
John winced. Perhaps he had studied the ways of the People too long and didn't know enough about