The measuring attendant stuck his head through the door and said something, and Dreelig stood up. “It is finished,” he said, and gestured toward the door.
Lying across a table were two pairs of long johns, or maybe footie pajamas, uniform pale cream color. The attendant picked one up and gabbled, and they watched as he demonstrated. The garments opened up the front, a long slash that went diagonally from right hip to left clavicle and closed with a zipper—sort of: it had a traveler with a finger tab, all right, but what it left behind was a single piece, the seam not visible at all.
The fabric was thick, soft, and rubbery, and had no detectable weave, either to the eye or to the fingers: more like the dense foam rubber used for low-pressure gaskets than anything else. The feet were part of it, although there were slashes at the ankles that closed with more magic zippers. Gloves were separate pieces, with long cuffs like gauntlets. The neck had a tubular collar, like a turtleneck, split on the side where the main seam reached it.
The inside was smooth and almost frictionless; to get into it, one opened the slashes at the ankles, pulled it on over the legs, then worked arms into sleeves, right arm first. The top was a double flap, and the inside piece was pulled almost to the right shoulder before putting the outer one across and engaging the “zipper.” It hooked together at the shoulder and closed when moved from throat to hip, which seemed backwards. When the slashes at the ankles were closed the suit fit snugly and smoothly everywhere, without wrinkles, tight places, or chafing.
The attendant brought accessories: broad belts, the same color and material as the rest of the suit, with buckles fifteen centimeters long and ten wide, black—plastic?—with an inlaid pattern of shiny rectangles and circles. “Looks like a rodeo prize,” was Todd’s comment as he took it. The attendant gestured that they should put them on, but got indignant when they tried it; the belt went the other way, hooking on the left side instead of the right. It didn’t exactly hook, just stayed where it was put when pressed.
Lacking a mirror, the two sailors faced one another. The garments were almost embarrassingly revealing, with padded bulges in the crotch that seemed unnecessarily large. Dreelig had offered helpful comments from time to time as they dressed; now he asked, “What colors would you like? The kathir suit can be colored or patterned in almost any way you might like.”
That was easy. “Navy blue,” Peters said immediately. When Dreelig cocked his head, he continued, “Just like what we were wearin’ when we come in.” He gestured at his uniform, which he’d laid carefully on a table. “And it needs the crow.”
“Crow? I don’t understand,” said Dreelig.
“The red and white design on the left sleeve,” Peters explained. “It shows rank and specialty.” He picked up his jumper and extended the sleeve, displaying the insignia. “Tell you what, how long does it take to do the colorin’?”
Dreelig inquired. “Veedal says the basic color will be easy, but the design for the sleeve is complex and will take some time, perhaps as much as half an ande, a watch.” The attendant said something; Dreelig nodded. “He suggests that you leave the samples here while you are receiving basic instruction, so he can begin setting up the design. Will the others who are coming later want the same coloring?”
“Yeah, except that all the crows’ll be different, and officers use a different system,” Peters said. “When our people come to be measured, tell the enlisted to wear their undress blues, and you can copy the crow. Officers get gold rings here—” he gestured at the ends of the sleeves, “—accordin’ to rank, they’ll show you. All the same color.”
“That seems—” Dreelig paused, tried to find a word, finally came up with: “Boring.”
“Take it from me, they’ll like it,” Peters advised.
“Very well, that is how we will do it. Are you ready?”
“I guess so.”
Dreelig left; they took a moment to fold their uniforms neatly, then followed, finding that the soles of the suits were strong enough that they didn’t miss their boondockers on the smooth floor. “What does kathir mean?” Todd asked as they left. “You called this a kathir suit.”
“It means ‘no air,’” said the Grallt. “For outside.”
Peters stopped walking, causing Todd to bump into him. “A space suit? This set of rubber long johns is a space suit?”
“Well, no,” said Dreelig. He stopped, turning to face them. “A space suit is more elaborate, and stronger. This is only a kathir suit, for emergencies, in case there is a problem with the ship, or if you fall. It will provide air for an ande, a watch, about five of your hours.”
“Shit,” said Peters. “We about to go learn how to use it? And how to get around and manage on the ship?”
“That is correct,” said Dreelig.
Peters and Todd were grinning. “Lead on, Dreelig,” Peters told him. “We might be petty officers down home, but here we ain’t but spaceman recruit. Reckon it’s time to strike for apprentice.”
Chapter Three
“So how does it work?” Peters demanded. They were in a big room that his direction sense told him was near the center of the flat stern of the spaceship, with one wall that was almost all windows.
“I have never thought to ask,” Dreelig admitted. “It is enough that it works.” He took a pair of gloves out from under his belt and pulled them on.
“Shit,” Peters commented. Where the Hell was five hours worth of air stored in the suit? There was nothing like tanks or hoses anywhere on it, just the rubbery fabric, the wide belt, and the gaudy buckle.
“Where’s the helmet?” Todd wanted to know. “Maybe this is okay for the body, but I’m used to breathing.”
“Kh kh kh. There is no helmet. It makes a bubble of air over the head.”
Todd and Peters looked at one another. “Like whatever it is that keeps the air in when the landing bay door is open?” Todd wanted to know.
“I suppose so,” said Dreelig. “Are you ready to test the kathir suit?”
Peters looked at Todd, who nodded solemnly. The implications of the word “test” in this context were a little disturbing. “Yeah, let ‘er rip.”
Dreelig pulled a handle. Windows swung outward, and there was a godawful roar and a blast of wind that almost pushed them off their feet. The roaring died away quickly, and the air blast diminished to a breeze; when Peters got his balance back nothing felt different, except that it was awful quiet all of a sudden. “What’s happening?” he asked the room in general.
No response. Todd was mouthing words, or at least his mouth was moving, but nothing was audible.
Dreelig walked over and leaned toward him. “There is no air,” he said. “You cannot hear or speak to your friend, because sound needs air to work.”
“I know that, dammit.” He did, too, he just hadn’t thought of it yet. But… “How are you talkin’ to me?”
“When I come close enough, the bubble on your kathir suit merges with mine,” Dreelig explained. “Then we both have air, and we can talk.”
“Well, shit.” Peters leaned back and walked around the room. Todd was doing the same; they met near the window, and Peters leaned toward Todd as Dreelig had done. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, no problem.” Todd gestured. “The head bubbles come together, right? That’s how we can talk when there’s no air?”
“Smart guy. Yeah, that’s what Dreelig says.” Peters felt around his head. “I can’t feel nothin’. You?”
“Nah. Been trying. There’s just nothing there.”