Your mother.Pominkas were such a well-established ritual that for Ansel all local jokes should have become familiar long ago, just another boring day at a boring job, but where there, over the years they only pissed off more and more, leading to new rounds of soul-searching, they say, you need to quit everything and think of something better to do.But what else can an expat do in the capital city of Moscow? Most of those whom Ansel managed to meet in the Lenin zheev bar or a couple of similar inconspicuous establishments “for their own”, one way or another worked in consulting and moderation, in other words, they worked in razvodyashy positions, in larger and smaller offices, mostly local unofficial representative offices of the metropolis, and then whoever is lucky.Working for pominkas was no worse than any other occupation, as always, it depends on the client. The main thing in this business is not to belong to one of the competing clans, which in the world of mutual responsibili

The hermetic door jammed again.Yes, how is it. Groaning and groaning, Lindström pulled the groaning metal towards him. The exoskeleton feedback obediently reached the red markers and froze helplessly, howling in the ears like a siren. You don’t have to do that, old man, and you’ll ruin the equipment, and you’ll kill yourself, and as long as we need you alive.Remember, there was a case on Ceres, one businessman found a fragment on the site. Well, like a fragment - such a stone is two meters in diameter. Kamenyuka and kamenyuka, take in the convoy and drags to buy up, they are so valuable there. Just take that pebble and turn out to be the core of an impact asteroid, go and understand what kind of metal, 50 tons in weight. Pulls, pulls, can't pull. The delyaga was not at a loss, he tore off the fuses from the lift, the chamber was crazy, and in the end, he flew away with the tractor into free swimming. It was only on the third sol that they saw him through a telescope, knowing what ki

Stone guest, shake your handYou see, the palms, although torn,They hold a brush, its marbleIt seems hot, but it would be riskyBelieve him if told to me:Do not shake this hand even in the most beautiful dream.(Here and below, the author of the poem: Evgeny Fedorov, Tequilajazzz )The end of the iteration was approaching, and with it the resource of cleaning blocks was coming to an end. With each breath she felt how close he was to exhaustion. Traitor circles swam before his eyes, his fingertips went numb, his right leg tingled, large drops of sweat trickled down his collar.The latter was especially disgusting - the cassette for water recirculators was rotten yesterday, and since then sand has been poured in the mouth. If someone asked Autumn now what is more important to her, a sip of water or a breath of fresh air, she would probably think hard about what to answer.However, her brain by that moment, in its cognitive capabilities, was more like a half-finished scraps - the only

Before battening down the internal bulkhead, be sure to check the personal meter. And it’s not even about the upcoming problems with oncology, and not about the premature termination of the contract - “Yanguang Zituan”, of course, will not spend money on delivering your carcass to the home port, it’s much easier without any special honors to send you by a passing ore carrier that set off to Mother every fourteen days. No one cares that you die prematurely here, but you are responsible for expensive equipment.Fields inside the hull on the "Shuguan" automatic harvesting detects almost daily. Marks, cleans up, but where is the guarantee that on the way to the airlock you will not get an extra dose? And radiation is an insidious thing, it gives you the first thing in the brain. You haven’t felt anything yet, and there is no cognitive functioning, even under the transcranial stimulus technique, especially under it. So you, even without realizing anything yourself, are already incompetent.

The ship slept, as it had slept for the last five hundred watches.Immersed in the silence and twilight of the on-duty lighting, it looked more like a dead crypt of the ancient gods than a living and active artifact of an engineering genius.For the first time mankind took a step beyond its own world, it was to be a triumph, a heroic saga, about which legends will be composed among posterity. But in reality, the feat turned into a routine. This routine consisted of a painful succession of minutes, shifts, turns, years, monotonous and seemingly meaningless.And now, when Captain Shimizu left his post, finally bowing ceremoniously to his replacement, he was gnawed by a feeling of some kind of lost incompleteness. As if he, Captain Shimizu, had to do something, accomplish something, perform something. Not in this, so in the last watch. But he didn't. And this bothered him much more than the dead silence of the service corridors of the command sector.What could he, a mattaku, do? Why com