Once more he clambered out of the seat, and knelt down on the metal grille of Spider's tiny porch to examine the cause of all the trouble. The offending bolt was only ten centimetres on the other side of the grid, and although its bars were too close together for him to put his hand through them, he had already proved that he could reach around it without too much difficulty.
He released the first metre of coated fibre, and, using the ring at the end as a plumb-bob, lowered it down through the grille. Tucking the dispenser itself firmly in a corner of the capsule, so that he could not accidentally knock it overboard, he then reached round the grille until he could grab the swinging weight. This was not as easy as he had expected, because even this remarkable spacesuit would not allow his arm to bend quite freely, and the ring eluded his grasps as it pendulumed back and forth.
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.