“Yes?” Habre said.
“Once he gets his feet on the deck, he’ll be able to move more. If one of us could get a couple yards up next to the ladder, we could hit his backpack and reflash it before he gets his feet on the deck.
“Good idea, Aidan.” Habre said. “James?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man in the male lion pressure suit raised his hands in front of his faceplate. The inside of the suit’s wrists bulged out, right over where I’d check his pulse, and formed magnetic clamps.
The Congolese had software-reformable suits? Nice. Mine probably was too, except my Montague datalink didn’t have the proper software to run it. I could launch safety cables, turn my boots on and off, and adapt my faceplate visuals, but that was about it. If I had a puncture, the suit’s fabric would automatically flow to sea
