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Updated: May 22, 2025
For a brief stretch the neon glow faded, then resumed again as they reached North Las Vegas. Suddenly Scotty pointed. "Hey! We're on another planet." Rick stared. Towering into the sky was a huge, illuminated figure clad in a spacesuit. The transparent helmet glowed red, then blue, green, yellow, and finally red again. In one colossal hand was a supermodern pistol.
If he stripped off the spacesuit without touching its outer surface, and reentered the investigating ship while the suit was flung outside by a man in another spacesuit, handling it with a pole he'd fling after it, there could be no possible contamination brought back. Calhoun was quite right, but Weald in general considered that he'd persuaded the government to take an unreasonable risk.
The strength became evident as Hovan helped Tarlac out of the spacesuit, for with Traiti assistance, the Ranger discovered, the cumbersome suit was almost easy to handle. While he helped the human remove his spacesuit, Hovan did some studying of his own, wondering what made a Ranger so formidable. This Tarlac was even less impressive physically than the Terran combat troops he'd faced.
"Daniel Feldman, you are sentenced to be taken in to space beyond planetary limits, together with all material used by you in the furtherance of your criminal acts. There you shall be placed into a spacesuit containing sufficient oxygen for one hour of life, and no more.
"I don't understand that remark you made about the spacesuit," she said, putting shirts into Mike's gear locker. "You said you'd put your life in his hands or something like that. What did you do, exactly?" "Purposely abraded the sleeve of my suit so that he would be in a position to repair it, as Maintenance Officer. He fixed it, all right.
As he slipped through the lock and out of his spacesuit, he reached down the neck of his coveralls and carefully extracted the Security key in its flat, plastiskin packet, from between his shoulder blades. At least the villainous captain had not gotten his hands on this, he thought, and whatever damage had been done to Hot Rod probably could be quickly repaired.
The plain, forest-green uniform revealed when the man's spacesuit was off was functional, Hovan noticed with approval, its only decoration the platinum star-in-circle badge on the man's left breast, the symbol of his rank. Best, though, was the fact that Tarlac was armed, showing he regarded them as true fighters. That eased Hovan's mind.
Even the ordinary spacesuit would have been no protection; the glass and rubber and plastic would have disintegrated in a matter of minutes. People came to Niflheim, and worked the mines and uranium refineries and chemical plants, but they did so inside power-driven and contragravity-lifted armor, and they lived on artificial satellites two thousand miles off-planet.
The spacesuit-clad doorman nodded, and they saw that he was perspiring freely inside the transparent helmet. "Who ever heard of a non-airconditioned spacesuit?" Rick murmured. "Bet he couldn't survive the Venus-Mercury run in that rig." Inside were the inevitable slot machines, in banks of fifty or more. Rick decided the objective must be one slot machine for each person in town.
So was everyone else he could find until he came to a room in which a man in a spacesuit was floundering helplessly in the air. He glanced at his telltale. Thirty-two. High in the red, almost against the pin. "Bobby! What do you read?" "Twenty-six." "Good. I've found only one, but we're running out of time. I'm coming in."
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