Slave Planet

Начало книги

Pure oxygen, mixed with stimulants, hissed into the cocoon surrounding Capt. Kathryn Dyson. The dark-haired woman didn’t move at first, “sleeping the sleep of the dead,” as space boomers called it. Finally, her eyes fluttered. She stirred, her tee-shirt shifting over her breasts. She opened her eyes and looked around, confused, groggy.

Awareness returned slowly. Her eyes opened wide, then narrowed as she focused on the panel near her right hand. Green. Good, she thought. It’s not an emergency. The cocoon was designed to wake her if something had gone wrong during the long flight. A green board told her that she had been awakened on time.

Kate hit the switch, venting the oxygen and allowing it to be replaced by ordinary air. Another switch caused the cocoon’s lid to hiss open. She spent a few minutes getting her bearings, then struggled with her straps to free herself. As she sat up, she smiled wryly at the paper panties that remained bunched by her left hand. Cryosleep required many long months motionless while the ship hurled through empty space. NASA, in its wisdom, decided that cloth panties might cause yeast infections during the long slumber. Paper panties that breathed were the official sleepwear, which most women grudgingly accepted.

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