"Bud Sparhawk - Primrose and Thorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

Pascal snorted. "Of course I checked. My butt's going to be out there too, you know."

Louella nodded, all business. "I double-checked the inspection reports. Just the same we need to do a
walk-around."

She'd said it so calmly that Pascal almost missed the implication of what she had said. When he did, he
snapped erect, banging his head on the bottom of the bunk.

"Y . you mean . go outside?" he blurted.

Louella sneered at him. "Sure. We can get some pressure suits and hand lights to work with. As long as
you stay in the dock you won't have any problems. It will be just like going for our training stroll at
geosynch. You didn't have any problems there, did you?"

Pascal stuttered. He'd been scared out of his wits the whole time, worrying whether his lines were
securely attached, worrying about the ability of his boots to hold fast to the deck, worrying about
slipping, about the vast distance that he would fall should he become detached from the station.

"N . . . no," he lied.

They didn't need the hand lights after all. Thorn was still parked in the repair bay where there was plenty
of external illumination. Louella held tight to her walker as she stumbled through the lock. The walker
took most of the weight off her legs, which was a blessing. Even though she didn't have too much of a
problem with the two g's, the additional weight of the heavy pressure suit made movement difficult.

Pascal stumbled along behind her, clutching his own walker so tightly that it looked as if he'd leave glove
marks in the metal.

"What a pig," Louella remarked as she examined the bulbous skin of Thorn's outer envelope. "Looks like
a damned overgrown, pregnant guppy," she said as she walked along the side of the bulging hull, thinking
of the sleek craft she had sailed in Earth's tame waters. Every few steps she stopped to examine a weld,
a spot of suspicious discoloration, or one of the vents for the ballast hold.

"Let's take a look at her rigging," she demanded and followed the crew chief to the boat's deck.

Two stubby masts projected up from the center line of Thorn's upper surface. These were thick triangles
of heavy metal, nearly six meters across at their thickest dimension. They certainly weren't the slender
masts she'd known all her life.

The trailing edge of each mast was a pair of clamshells. These were double-locked doors that would
open when they deployed the sails. A short track ran back from each mast, with a crosswise track at the
end. "We extended the travelers on both sides, like you asked," the crew chief said. "You're goin' to have
a bit of trouble handling her. Keep a tight hand on the wheel and don't run close to the wind, is my
advice." Disapproval was evident in his voice. "Don't think you should have done that, though. These little
boats ain't built to take much heel, y'know."

Louella bristled as she checked the workmanship on the track modifications, looking for any indication
that the repair crew had scrimped on her specifications. "Did you think about adjusting the traveler's
winches to take the extra line?"