"Nancy Kress - Borovsky's Hollow Woman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

beyond the great cylinder's shadow. Four-wheeled gantry, cable, saddle: It blazed brilliant yellow for a
moment and was gone, falling forever.
His yoyo, unridden, alone. Damn the Pit! Laura broke into a run, each boot hitting the beam safely
though without thought, each magnet grabbing just so much. Raw dawn broke behind her and cast
lurching shadows against the unfinished steel ahead. The sun was beneath her feet as she stepped from
naked monocrystal onto gray steel plates.
Above was the port from which the yoyo had fallen. She pulled herself up a ladder and stepped out
onto E Minus Six. A little lighter, a little less deadly.
No sign of fleeing men. Six was a big level, one hundred meters thick. Heavy chemical industry, she
remembered.
Before her a dozen huge steel tanks squatted against the floor like brooding hens. Each was ten
meters high, with a ladder leading to a dogged circular hatch.
She scanned the tanks. All were alike, save that one of the hatches had dog-handles twisted
differently from the rest. In moments she was at the hatch, pushing the dogs aside.
The tube was a simple pressure lock. Laura pulled herself in, dogged the outer hatch, and released the
inner.
With a rising rush there was sound all around her. She pushed the inner hatch wide and found her
man.
Mikhail Borovsky lay naked in a heap, blood leaking from his mouth. Laura cried out, and for an
awful moment she lay immobile in the tube until she heard a rattling breath. She slid to his side and
squeezed his wrist until her gauntlet felt his pulse. Drugs - he needed drugs to stir his system out of
shock.
His rubber suit lay on the floor. Laura kicked it scornfully aside, reached to her throat, and undid its
latch. Quickly she eased her helmet back. She pulled her ventral zipper down, flipping the hooks aside
with her fingers as they went. Eagerly she spread her ventral plates apart, pulled her pelvic plate
forward, then pulled the zippers down each of her legs almost to each knee.
She lay on her back beside him, plates gaping, helmet folded under. The eyes in her wrists and in the
toes of her boots helped her lift Borovsky above her. Gently she eased his legs down into her legs and let
the slow peristalsis of her inner layers draw his feet into her feet. Her ventral plates stretched wide to
clear his hips. She placed the Texas catheter over his penis and pulled her pelvic plate back into position.
Wriggling slightly, she guided his arms down into her arms, where her inner layers did the final
positioning.
Each finger was drawn into place and continuously massaged. Laura zipped and hooked her ventral
plates and finally eased her helmet over his head.
For a Rabinowicz Manplifier Mark IX space suit, walking steel empty was too lonely to bear.
Without her man inside her Laura felt herself a hollow mockery, less than even a woman, not worthy of
the soul Borovsky had paid so much for. Never again, she said to unconscious ears. Never again. Stay
inside me. You are mine.
Slowly she stood, whole again. Up from his toes the hydraulic rings pressed in smooth waves,
helping his blood back toward his head and heart. A tiny needle jabbed into his buttocks, sending a
careful measure of stimulant into his bloodstream.
This was no place to be caught by a boss. Laura moved slowly as she climbed from the tank. It had
been some time since she had carried his dead weight asleep, and never unconscious. She gave the torn

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rubber underwear to the Pit with a vengeful flick of her hand.
They went home the long way, going up through Six to Five and walking slowly. Halfway there he