Spinneret

Chapter 9

The early morning air was relatively cool, but nothing, Perez decided, compared to the chill in the flyer's cockpit as the expedition burned through the sky toward Olympus. Carmen's scientist friend—Hafner—clearly still considered Perez an unnecessary bit of luggage, and had rather pointedly taken the copilot's seat, leaving Perez to rattle around in back with the three soldiers and Hafner's assistant. Perez hadn't argued; he'd simply folded out the emergency jumpseat behind Carmen's station and settled in, ignoring Hafner's order to find a safer seat.

The view was lousy, and as his presence seemed to put a damper on Hafner's talkativeness he didn't learn anything useful. But he'd long since learned that distinction was a vital ingredient of power, and for that reason alone he would willingly have put up with the jumpseat. Actually, he found the situation rather amusing as well.

Still, it was probably a good thing the trip was short.

The eastern sky was glowing but the sun not yet up when they landed south of Olympus's cone. The climbing equipment, Perez noted with secret relief, was the kind suited to straightforward trips up easy slopes—apparently the more advanced rock-climbing skills weren't going to be needed here. Whatever else Hafner might be, he was a decent organizer: ten minutes after landing, their route pointed out to them on map and terrain and the equipment distributed, they began to climb.

And five minutes later, they had their first casualty.

"How does it feel?" Hafner asked as he carefully removed Carmen's left boot and felt the skin below.

"About like a twisted ankle always feels," she snorted, tight-lipped with pain and anger. "Damn. Of all the stupid times to fall over my own feet."

"Better now than later," Hafner countered. "It'll be easier to get you down to the flyer from here."

"I'll be all right." She struggled to her feet and eased some weight onto her left foot. She managed not to wince, but she didn't leave the weight there long, either.

"Uh-uh." Hafner shook his head. "Nothing seems broken, hut you're not going to be walking on that foot for a while, let alone climbing mountains." His eyes swept the group; settled briefly on Perez, then moved to one of the soldiers. "Sadowski, help Miss Olivero back to the flyer and stay with her."

"Yes, sir." The man stepped forward and put his arm around her waist.

Reluctantly, Carmen shifted her grip from Hafner's arm to Sadowski's shoulder.

"All right. But keep your radios on, okay? I want to hear what you're doing."

"Sure," Hafner nodded. He waited until the two of them had taken a few steps downslope before turning and starting up again.

They climbed for another half hour in relative silence, most of the conversation between Hafner and his assistant, Al Nichols. The technical jargon was annoyingly cryptic, but Perez got the impression they were making a catalog of anomalies to be found on and about the volcano. Apparently, Hafner's contention that Olympus was something other than it seemed was still open to debate. A

sliver of sunlight broke the horizon, and with the official coming of day Perez felt his step lightening, raising his spirits along with it. A southerly wind began whispering at his back, as if Astra had noticed the tiny band and was offering her help. At this rate they'd be at the summit in no time—

He almost bumped into Hafner as the geologist abruptly stopped. "What's up?" he asked, his growing contentment changing to irritation at the near-collision.

Hafner turned, and the look on his face made Perez's eyes narrow. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you feel it?" Hafner shot glances at the other three, now grouped around them. "Don't any of you feel it? We're light—we're too light."

"We are climbing a mountain—" Perez began.

"Al—stopwatch," Hafner cut him off. He dug a heavy-looking hammer from his pack and was holding it in front of him and a few centimeters above his head by the time Nichols had the watch ready. "This is just about two meters up; Astra's gravity is about three percent under Earth's"—he tapped his wrist calculator—"so it should take about point six five seconds. Ready; on one: three, two, one."

Perez had never paid much attention to things like this; but even to him the hammer's fall looked somehow wrong. Nichols's slightly choked report merely confirmed it: "Point eight two."

Someone swore gently. "Try it again," Hafner said. "Three, two, one."

This time it took point eight five second to hit the ground.

"You must have calculated wrong," one of the soldiers suggested.

"No," Nichols said. His eyes were darting everywhere, squinting when he faced south into the wind. "No, I checked his numbers. For it to take point eight second to fall, it'd have to start three meters up. We're not making an error that big."

"Broken stopwatch, then," the soldier persisted.

"Or maybe the wind is affecting it," Perez offered. "It's been picking up for the last few minutes."

Whatever the revelation was, it hit Hafner and Nichols simultaneously. "Damn,"

Hafner breathed. "We'd better try it again, Al—and then get the hell out of here."

He dropped the tool again; it hit the ground point eight nine second later.

"All right, everyone; down the mountain," Hafner ordered, his voice sharp with apprehension. "Move."

They moved. Perez hadn't realized just how strong the wind had become until he started pushing through it, and it scared him more than the falling hammer had.

"What's going on?" he yelled over the gale in his ears.

"The gravity around here is decreasing," Hafner shouted back, his words barely audible. "Maybe even goes to zero someplace upslope. All the air's shooting up the mountain and out into space!"

Perez's heart skipped a beat. "But that's impossible."

"So is a planet that eats shelves and bulldozers," Hafner retorted. "Save your breath for running."

Swallowing, Perez tried to increase his speed. This can't be happening! he thought wildly—but he knew full well that that was nothing but emotional wish-making.

He could feel the bounce in his feet now, the extra time it took to come down from a running step. And—whether an effect of the wind in his face or not—it was getting harder to breathe.

At his hip his radio buzzed. Fumbling it out, he thumbed up the volume and pressed it against his ear.

It was Carmen, calling on their general frequency. "—down the mountain; repeat, the wind here is coming down the mountain, not up." There was a moment of silence. "Peter, did you copy? I said—"

"I heard you," Hafner's voice cut in, his panting just barely audible. "It doesn't make sense—wait a minute. Everybody; hold it a minute. Hold it!"

They came to a disorganized stop, crouching down against the wind. "Who's got a good throwing arm?" Hafner called.

"Wilson? Here—take this." He handed one of the soldiers his hammer. "Now throw it—as far as you can—toward the flyer."

Wilson straightened, braced himself momentarily against the wind, and threw.

The hammer arced into the air toward the distant silvery shape below; reached its peak and started to fall—

And slammed straight down with blinding speed, disappearing into the ground where it landed. Even through the gale Perez heard the crack of its impact.

"What—?"

"Forward again—carefully," Hafner ordered, his voice grim. "Don't get too close to the hammer. Carmen, get this and get it right; I may not have time to repeat.

There's a zone of high-gravity surrounding us—I don't know how wide—that's got us trapped in here. We're losing air fast. Whatever we've got here must be pretty important for a defense this wild to be set up around it."

"Peter, listen to me." Carmen's voice sounded odd in Perez's ears. The first sign of asphyxiation? "I can bring the flyer in there and pick you up. Just hold on another few minutes."

"No! The way the hammer fell—must be a hundred gees or more in there. You'd never make it."

The group had stumbled to within sight of the hammer-dug hole now, and the hurricane wind had cut back to a stiff breeze. Perez's mind felt somehow sluggish, and it took him several seconds to realize that that was bad: less wind implied less air. Beside him, Hafner stooped and picked up a pebble. He lofted it ahead of them; it slammed to the ground a millimeter from the late hammer. "Everyone on the ground … right here," the geologist ordered, breathing heavily. "There may be some … air leakage from … other side. No moving, no … talking. Save your strength."

Perez dropped awkwardly to the ground, positioning himself with his feet pointing upslope. Directly above him the sky was markedly darker than it had any right to be. Against it, Olympus's cone looked unreal, the side not directly sunlit almost black. Beneath him, the ground seemed to vibrate, and he almost laughed. An earthquake on top of everything else? Madre Astra, you work much too hard just to kill a few poor humans.

The thought faded. Closing his eyes, Perez listened to the breeze and waited for the end to come.

"Peter! Cris! Anyone!" Without taking her eyes off the group lying motionless on the ground, Carmen slapped the radio selector switch. "No response, Colonel. I don't know whether they're dead or just unconscious, but I can't wait any longer.

I'm going in."

"Take it easy," Meredith's voice came back, soothing on top, combat-ready underneath. "Flyer Three is scrambling now—"

"No time, sir," Carmen interrupted. "Cross your fingers."

Without waiting for a reply, she kicked the underside repulsers to life and eased on the main engines. Hovering a meter or two off the ground, the flyer swung around and drifted cautiously up the mountain toward the trapped expedition.

It was a nerve-wracking trip, caught as she was between the need for haste and the need for caution. She had no idea where the near edge of the high-gee ring was, and if she hit it too fast she could easily lose control and ram the flyer all the way in. Licking dry lips, she kept going, peripherally aware of Sadowski sitting tensely in the seat beside her. The others were ten meters away now … seven … four …

the hole the hammer had made was visible—

With a snap of sheared connectors and the boom of a sledge-hammered oil drum the flyer's nose slammed to the ground. Carmen shoved on the throttle, but even as she cut the drive the nose flipped up again, overshooting level by a meter or so.

For that instant the underside repulsers were aiming slightly forward, giving the flyer a small backward thrust. By the time they'd leveled out once more they were three or four meters from the high-gee field, leaving behind a very flat piece of metal to mark the place.

"Nice flying, Miss Olivero," Sadowski said tightly. "I hope whatever we lost there wasn't vital."

"Me, too," Carmen agreed, the first glimmering of real hope stirring in her. The high-gee ring was no more than a meter wide—an impassable barrier for a human being, but perhaps not for what she had in mind. Taking a deep breath, she swung the flyer around and backed into the field.

They were moving faster this time, and hit the ground with a correspondingly louder crash. Ignoring the groans and snaps of tortured metal and plastic, Carmen ran the thruster limit all the way up and waited tensely for the automatic leveler to raise the tail off the ground. The usual background rumble rose to a scream, and she felt her hands curling into fists. The repulser units themselves could handle enormous temperatures, but it was doubtful the designers had expected the flyer to be flat on the ground at the time. She envisioned the underside plates buckling with the heat, perhaps melting or even boiling away—

And with a barely perceptible lurch the tail came off the ground.

Carmen was ready. The flyer's nose jets spat at full thrust, pushing the craft backward. Two meters were all they could manage before the underside temp monitors hit critical and shut down the repulsers, bringing the craft back down with a bone-jarring crunch. But two meters was enough. Flipping to "spacecraft" mode, Carmen shut down all fuel to the main engines, killed the preheating ignition system—and the monitors that might otherwise prevent her from doing this—and slammed the throttle to full power.

And with nothing to hinder or react with it, the flyer's compressed oxygen supply began pouring through the main repulser units, spraying directly toward the motionless figures beyond the barrier.

"They're moving!" Sadowski, pressed against the side window, turned back to face her, a wide grin plastered across his face. "They're okay."

Carmen closed her eyes briefly and let out a shuddering breath. Reaching down, she put the throttle back to half and popped the door beside her. "I'm going out for a look. Let me know when the 02 level hits point three—that screen over there."

Hopping down carefully, she limped around the curve of the flyer, making certain to stay well back of the high-gee field. Beyond it, the five men were sitting up now, looking dazed but otherwise all right. She started to wave; but even as she raised her arm Hafner suddenly clutched Nichols's shoulder and pointed toward Olympus. Carmen raised her own eyes—and gasped.

Glittering like spun silver in the sunlight, a filament was shooting skyward from the volcano's crater. She was just in time to see the leading end vanish into the blueness above, and for an instant the strand seemed motionless, conjuring the image of Astra hanging from an impossibly thin skyhook. Then the other end of the thread left the volcano, and she realized with a fresh jolt just how fast the thread was moving. Escape velocity for sure; perhaps much more.

She was still standing there, staring upward, when the steady wind blowing in her face abruptly died, nearly toppling her onto her face. Recovering, she looked down at the others. As if on cue they turned back to her as well; and after a moment of uncertainty, Perez picked up a stone and lobbed it in her direction. It landed at her feet without any detectable deviation, and a minute later they were all standing together by the flyer.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes flicking to each in turn.

"We're fine," Hafner nodded. He had a bemused look on his face, as if wondering whether any of it had really happened. Carmen could sympathize; with gravity back to normal and that mysterious thread long out of sight, she could almost imagine the whole thing had been a dream or mass hallucination.

Until, that is, she got a close look at the flyer's crumpled tail section.