After half-a-dozen attempts – tiring rather than annoying, because he knew that he would succeed sooner or later – he had looped the fibre around the shank of the bolt, just behind the strap it was still holding in place. Now for the really tricky part.
He released just enough filament from the spinnerette for the naked fibre to reach the bolt, and to pass around it; then he drew both ends tight – until he felt the loop catch in the thread. Morgan had never attempted this trick with a rod of tempered steel more than a centimetre thick, and had no idea how long it would take. Bracing himself against the porch, he began to operate his invisible saw.
After five minutes he was sweating badly, and could not tell if he had made any progress at all. He was afraid to slacken the tension, lest the fibre should escape from the equally invisible slot it was – he hoped – slicing through the bolt. Several times Warren had called him, sounding more and more alarmed, and he had given a brief reassurance. Soon he would rest for a while, recover his breath – and explain what he was trying to do. This was the least that he owed to his anxious friends.
“Van,” said Kingsley, “just what are you up to? The people in the, Tower have been calling – what shall I say to them?”
“Give me another few minutes – I’m trying to cut the bolt -”
The calm but authoritative woman’s voice that interrupted Morgan gave him such a shock that he almost let go of the precious fibre. The words were muffled by his suit, but that did not matter. He knew them all too well, though it had been months since he had last heard them.
“Dr. Morgan,” said CORA, “please lie down and relax for the next ten minutes.”
“Would you settle for five?” he pleaded. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”
CORA did not deign to reply; although there were units that could conduct simple conversations, this model was not among them.
Morgan kept his promise, breathing deeply and steadily for a full five minutes. Then he started sawing again. Back and forth, back and forth he worked the filament, as he crouched over the grille and the four-hundred-kilometre distant earth. He could feel considerable resistance, so he must be making some progress through that stubborn steel. But just how much there was no way of telling.
“Dr. Morgan,” said CORA, “you really must lie down for half-an-hour.”
Morgan swore softly to himself.
“You’re making a mistake, young lady,” he retorted. “I’m feeling fine.” But he was lying; CORA knew about the ache in his chest. ..
“Who the hell are you talking to, Van?” asked Kingsley.
“Just a passing angel,” answered Morgan. “Sorry I forgot to switch off the mike. I’m going to take another rest.”
“What progress are you making?”
“Can’t say. But I’m sure the cut’s pretty deep by this time. It must be…
He wished that he could switch off CORA, but that of course was impossible, even if she had not been out of reach between his breastbone and the fabric of his spacesuit. A heart monitor that could be silenced was worse than useless – it was dangerous.
“Dr. Morgan,” said CORA, now distinctly annoyed, “I really must insist. At least half-an-hour’s complete rest.”
This time Morgan did not feel like answering. He knew that CORA was right; but she could not be expected to understand that his was not the only life involved. And he was also sure that – like one of his bridges – she had a built-in safety factor. Her diagnosis would be pessimistic; his condition would not be as serious as she was pretending. Or so he devoutly hoped.
The pain in his chest certainly seemed to be getting no worse; he decided to ignore both it and CORA, and started to saw away, slowly but steadily, with the loop of fibre. He would keep going, he told himself grimly, just as long as was necessary.
The warning he had relied upon never came. Spider lurched violently as a quarter-ton of dead-weight ripped away, and Morgan was almost pitched out into the abyss. He dropped the spinnerette, and grabbed for the safety belt.
Everything seemed to happen in dreamlike slow motion. He had no sense of fear, only an utter determination not to surrender to gravity without a fight. But he could not find the safety belt; it must have swung back into the cabin.
He was not even conscious of using his left hand, but suddenly he realised that it was clamped around the hinges of the open door. Yet still he did not pull himself back into the cabin; he was hypnotised by the sight of the falling battery, slowly rotating like some strange celestial body as it dwindled from sight. It took a long time to vanish completely; and not until then did Morgan drag himself to safety, and collapse into his seat.
For a long time he sat there, his heart hammering, awaiting CORA’s next indignant protest. To his surprise, she was silent, almost as if she too had been equally startled. Well, he would give her no further cause for complaint; from now on he would sit quietly at the controls, trying to relax his jangled nerves.
When he was himself again, he called the mountain.
“I’ve got rid of the battery,” he said, and heard the cheers float up from earth. “As soon as I’ve closed the hatch I’ll be on my way again. Tell Sessui and Co to expect me in just over an hour. And thank Kinte for the light – I don’t need it now.”
He repressurised the cabin, opened the helmet of his suit, and treated himself to a long, cold sip of fortified orange juice. Then he engaged drive and released the brakes, and lay back with a sense of overwhelming relief as Spider came up to full speed.
He had been climbing for several minutes before he realised what was missing. In anxious hope he peered out at the metal grille of the porch. No, it was not there. Well, he could always get another spinnerette, to replace the one now following the discarded battery back to earth; it was a small sacrifice for such an achievement. Strange, therefore, that he was so upset, and unable fully to enjoy his triumph… He felt that he had lost an old and faithful friend.
53. Fade Out
The fact that he was still only thirty minutes behind schedule seemed too good to be true; Morgan would have been prepared to swear that the capsule had halted for at least an hour. Up there in the Tower, now much less than two hundred kilometres away, the reception committee would be preparing to welcome him. He refused even to consider the possibility of any further problems.
When he passed the five-hundred-kilometre mark, still going strong, there was a message of congratulations from the ground. “By the way,” added Kingsley, “the Game Warden in the Ruhana Sanctuary’s reported an aircraft crashing. We were able to reassure him – if we can find the hole, we may have a souvenir for you.” Morgan had no difficulty in restraining his enthusiasm; he was glad to see the last of that battery. Now if they could find the spinnerette – but that would be a hopeless task…
The first sign of trouble came at five-fifty kilometres. By now the rate of ascent should have been over two hundred klicks; it was only one nine eight. Slight though the discrepancy was – and it would make no appreciable difference to his arrival time – it worried Morgan.
When he was only thirty kilometres from the Tower he had diagnosed the problem, and knew that this time there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Although there should have been ample reserve, the battery was beginning to fade. Perhaps those sudden jolts and restarts had brought on the malaise; possibly there was even some physical damage to the delicate components. Whatever the explanation the current was slowly dropping, and with it the capsule’s speed.
There was consternation when Morgan reported the indicator readings back to the ground.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Kingsley lamented, sounding almost in tears. “We suggest you cut speed back to one hundred klicks. We’ll try to calculate battery life – though it can only be an educated guess.”
Twenty-five kilometres to go – a mere fifteen minutes, even at this reduced speed! If Morgan had been able to pray, he would have done so.
“We estimate you have between ten and twenty minutes, judging by the rate the current is dropping. It will be a close thing, I’m afraid.”
“Shall I reduce speed again?”
“Not for the moment; we’re trying to optimise your discharge rate, and this seems about right.”
“Well, you can switch on your beam now. If I can’t get to the Tower, at least I want to see it.”