"Miller,.Steve.And.Lee,.Sharon.-.Liaden.Universe.03.-.Adventures.In.The.Liaden.Universe.v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Steve)

when he hefted it. He settled back on the floor and twisted the
clasps, pulling out a broad belt, also of black leather, hung about
with objects.

A Scout must wear a complete belt kit at all times.

He looked at the heavy thing with deep resentment. Complete? If
he came to require local currency, he need only open a hardware
concession. Oh, some of them made sense: pellet gun, machete,
rope. But a flaregun? Pitons? Surely, if there were mountains to
climb, one would know in sufficient time to prepare oneself?

Ah well, regulations are regulations. And if any of the several things
he judged useless were not on his belt, should a proctor turn up,
he would flunk on the instant.

Sighing, he began the kit-check.

Pellet gun: OK.

Flaregun: OK.

Machete: what can go wrong with a machete? OK.

Stick-knife... He smiled and flipped it open to reveal the strong,
dainty blade. The stick-knife was pleasing. He found knives in
general pleasing, and had studied their construction during his so-
called spare time, even attempting to craft a few. The most
successful of these was a plain steel throwing blade, which, of
course, was not with him at the moment. The stick-knife was not for
throwing, but for surprise and efficiency in close, desperate
situations. He flicked his wrist, vanishing blade into hilt.

Stick-knife: OK.

A Scout’s belt-kit is comprehensive. By the time Val Con finished
his check the orange temperature light had gone out.

* * *

DAY SEVEN.

He rose and tidied the ship while drinking a mug of tea; checked
the monitors; buckled on his kit and went out.

It was dim, like a day threatening downpours on his own bright
world, and sultry. A breeze blowing from the south brought a
medley of unfamiliar odors with it. He sniffed appreciatively and
paused to pick an old reed from the side of the path.