Adams, John Joseph (ed) - Armored / Адамс, Джон Джозеф (ред) - В броне [2012, EPUB, ENG]

The Johnson Maneuver short story by William H. Keith, Jr. (as by Ian Douglas) Hel's Half-Acre short story by Jack Campbell Jungle Walkers novelette by Tobias S. Buckell and David Klecha The Last Run of the Coppelia novelette by Genevieve Valentine Death Reported of Last Surviving Veteran of Great War short story by Dan Abnett The Cat's Pajamas / Не тяни кошку за хвост novelette by Jack McDevitt Find Heaven and Hell in the Smallest Things novelette by Simon R. Green Power Armor: A Love Story short story by David Barr Kirtley The Last Days of the Kelly Gang short fiction by David D. Levine Field Test short story by Michael A. Stackpole Trauma Pod / Травмокапсула short story by Alastair Reynolds Contained Vacuum short story by David Sherman You Do What You Do short story by Tanya Huff Nomad novelette by Karin Lowachee Human Error short story by John Jackson Miller Transfer of Ownership short story by Christie Yant Heuristic Algorithm and Reasoning Response Engine novelette by Brandon Sanderson and Ethan Skarstedt Don Quixote short story by Carrie Vaughn The Poacher short story by Jak Wagner and Wendy N. Wagner The Green short story by Lauren Beukes Sticks and Stones short story by Robert Buettner Helmet short story by Daniel H. Wilson The N-Body Solution novelette by Sean Williams

When I come around I’m in a space about the size of a shower cubicle, tipped on its side. I’m flat on my back, resting on a soft padded surface. Curving around me, close enough to touch, are walls of antiseptic white. They wrap around to form a smooth ceiling, broken by hatches and recesses. Cables and tubes emerge through gaps. There’s the soft whirr of pumps, the hiss and chug of air circulation. And looking at me right now, peering down from the ceiling just above my own face, is a pair of stereoscopic camera eyes. I twitch, trying to raise my head enough to get a good look at myself. I’ve been stripped of my armor. I was wearing combat exo-cladding, but the outer shell’s gone now. All that’s left is the lightweight mesh suit, and that’s ripped and shredded pretty badly. I try and get a better look at my extremities but a pair of hands gently pushes me back down. They poke through a pair of hatches above my sternum, as if there’s someone just outside, reaching in. They’re perfectly normal human hands, wearing green surgical gloves. A woman’s voice says: “Stay still, and don’t panic, Sergeant Kane. You’re going to be fine.” “What . . .” I start to say. . . .