Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [1]
But I’m okay for now, he decided. All the more reason to get this over with quickly. He set the antigravs for full, then squeezed the release on the guide rope, and slowly eased off the antigrav. Pushing off the cliff with his toes, Soong expertly rappelled down about six meters, then stopped and set his feet, flipped the antigravs back up to full. Damn, he thought. These gloves are just not doing it. He checked the view between his legs, waiting for his lamp to stop swinging back and forth. Nothing unusual. The ledge should be only another five meters, maybe less. Wait. What’s that? Something odd below, something pointing in the wrong direction.
Soong tried to sidestep across the face of the ice to get a different angle, but the cliff face was too smooth. It would help immensely if I knew what the hell I was looking for, he thought disgustedly, but Vaslovik had been tight-lipped on this point. “You’ll know it when you see it,” he’d said. “If you see it. For now, just concentrate on getting to the bottom of the chasm so we can set up the pattern enhancers. If we can do that, we can transport down the workstations, set up a shelter, get the sensors going and do some serious work. I’ll be more surprised than not if you see anything on the way down.” It was, up to that point, the longest single speech Vaslovik had addressed to Soong and there was something about how the dour, silver-haired man spoke that made you take everything he said very, very personally. His eyes never left yours, though there was a definite temptation to try to let your own gaze slide away toward random objects. Listening to Vaslovik required willpower.
“So, why not just transport directly to the bottom of the chasm?” he had considered asking, but hadn’t. If that had been an option, he knew Vaslovik would have done it. Checking the ship’s sensor logs, it became clear: there was something very peculiar about the place. The sensors—and they were very good sensors, despite their age—couldn’t penetrate the interference around the area. Might be mineral deposits or low-level radiation, or … Something else. Soong tried not to think about that option too much. Whatever the case, transporting without enhancers would be extremely risky. “Not that this isn’t risky,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that, Soong?” Graves asked.
“Nothing, Ira. Just catching my breath.”
His attention was wandering again. Okay, Noonien, concentrate. Do the drill, just like Father taught you. Check your levels, antigravs up, squeeze the release, push … He pushed off and suddenly found himself with no support on the left side. The antigrav had failed. He released the pressure on the handgrip, hoping the autolock mechanism would stop his descent, but it was too late. He had already started sliding and tumbling.
Soong released the autogrip and grabbed the rope, then flattened himself against the cliff face, toes digging in for purchase. He’d been in this situation once or twice before, just like anyone who climbed regularly. There was no avoiding it; equipment failed. The difference here was that on the other occasions there had been someone above him, someone more experienced, someone he knew and trusted—usually his father—watching to make sure the safety lines were fixed and secure. Graves began to shout, “Soong! Soong!” —almost making him lose his grip on the rock because of the need to tear out his earpiece.
He felt a jolt as he cracked his knee on a rock. There was no pain, though he knew that would come if he survived the next couple of seconds. He could feel the bite of the cord as it slid through his gloves, but there was no sensation of his descent slowing. Cord must be wet, he decided.
And, then, another shock—up through both legs this time—and a sensation that he imagined must be how icicles feel after they’ve lost their grip on the eaves of a building and shattered on the pavement