"Foster, Alan Dean - Humanx 5 - Sentenced To Prism" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

ordinary. Inside it was anything but.
That's where they showed him the MHW

Chapter Three

He'd heard about them but he'd never seen one except on the occasional news
report dealing with the exploration of a crew world. Certainly he'd never
expected to be fitted for one. Yet the MHW standing before him was to be his.
The Mobile hostile world suit, of which his was the latest and by far the most
advanced model (or so the engineers who were showing it to him boasted, was
designed to provide an explorer on a dangerous world with complete lifesupport
and protection. It was solid and stiff instead of flexible like the day work
suit he was wearing.
They put him in the MHW, let him get comfortable, seed then ran him through a
complete checkout of suit systems. Even that little instruction and preparation
was unnecessary, since the suit could instruct its wearer oar how best to
utilize it. He had no trouble with the instru­mentation, and the majority of
controls were operated verbally. The suit was a true marvel of modern
engineering, an extension of his own body. Its operator would be well protected
on the surface of Prism or :any other world. Isis last concerns about the
forthcoming journey van­ished.
Another storm was nattering the city as he returned home, but he couldn't see
it. He could see only his future expanding before him. A vice‑chairmanship
perhaps. First company consultant. He might be perceived by some as arrogant
(honestly, he would never understand where peo­ple acquired such notions!), but
that wouldn't slow his climb up the ladder of success. Achievement was what
mattered to men like Maehoka, and Evan Orgell would deliver. His twenty‑give
years with the company were coming to a bead. All he had to do was locate a
problem, propose a solution, and file a simple report.
What Machoka didn't know was that Evan would have paid him just for the chance
to visit a place that promised to be as fascinating as prism.
Ire made his way home as rapidly as possible, ignoring the rain. The streets
were crowded as usual. Several city employees were working nearby to clear a
clogged drain. One wore a suit full of plugs through which he delivered power to
two coworkers, whose suits were equipped with repairing and reaming arms.
He passed a doctor and nurse. They looked like candy canes in their familiar
red‑and‑white‑striped medical suits. The red stripes were softly aglow,
indicating both were oil duty. Their suits contained sufficient medical
equip­ment between the two of them to enable them to perform anything up to
medium‑difficulty surgery on the spot. A more serious operation would require
the addition of spe­cialized suited technicians.
Evan had once read about something called a "hos­pital" in an old history text.
Apparently the ancients had actually hauled even the severely injured all the
way to factorylike buildings for the purpose of treating them, instead of doing
the necessary work on the spot. Imagine, subjecting an accident victim to the
trauma of movement!
A civil policeman in his armored pale blue suit stood chatting with a media
vendor. The latter's suit boasted several flashing tridee screens, each equipped
with a hard­copy printout for those who wanted to purchase. While staring at one
screen Evan almost bumped into a woman advertising a forthcoming tridee. The