radio
onto a clip on the stellerator. Then he backed off the ledge, lowering himself
about one body length before jumping the final two meters to the loose gravel.
He landed on his feet and slid, then jump-stepped until he had his balance.
Soon he disappeared in the underbrush, but she got occasional glances of his
khakis contrasted against the deep green colors.
“It’s
pretty small,” she heard him say through the radio after about ten minutes. “But
it’s swift. Can’t tell how deep . . . still murky after the
rains last night.”
“Will
it carry everything safely?” Calla said into the mic on her shoulder.
“Can’t
tell without knowing how deep it is.”
“So
find out,” Calla said.
“Timekeeper
be damned, Calla. If it’s deep, it may carry me.”
“Use
a stick. You can tell how deep by measuring the wet part,” she said.
“Funny,
but a stick won’t do it. I’m going to wade out a ways . . . cold
as ice. But the grip-boots work pretty well on the wet rock.”
“Careful.”
“I’m
only up to my knees; if there’s no drop-offs, I’ll be . . . yeow!”
“Marmion?”
Calla stood up trying to see some sign of him below. She couldn’t even see the
water, let alone the perfectionist. “Marmion!” Then, where she thought Marmion
ought to be she saw a rainbow climb steeply out of the undergrowth. She could
just make out the shape of strongly arched wings in the blur of color before
the rainbow disappeared over the cliffs. “Marmion?”
“I’m
all right. Did you see?”
“Yes,
some danae. They’re harmless, but they move fast. Did they startle you?”
“No,
they shat on me. They were in a bough over the stream. I saw them and
recognized what they were, so I wasn’t worried. But when they saw me they let
loose with a load of crap. I think they threw up, too. Disgusting.”
Over
the mic, Calla heard the water sounds intensify. “They regurgitate food and
empty their bowels in order to lighten weight and take off in an emergency,”
Calla said.
“Yeah,”
Marmion said. “I read the reports, too. They didn’t mention the stink . . .
nor the stain. This uniform is ruined.” After a moment he added, “I’m headed
back up.”
“Will
the waterway carry?”
“Just
barely would be my guess, but like I said before, there’s nothing we can do
about it if it can’t.”
Well,
nothing easy, Calla thought, but surely something. She’d check for other water
sources in the area to see what could be done about increasing the volume if it
became necessary. Jason’s rangers ought to be capable of building a dam and
diverting some water into the canyon.
Marmion
was in view again, moving slowly up the slope.
Calla
could hear him breathing heavily through the mic. Like everyone else who’d come
from the Belden Traveler , the
perfectionist was in less than perfect physical condition after the long
journey, and the stellerator was heavy. Calla kept finding herself adjusting
the vest-like apparatus to shift the weight, and she was sweating beneath it
though it was cool here on the ledge. At last Marmion climbed from the scree
slope to the wall, and he came steadily up the rock. His khakis were still wet
and stained with blue-green smears across the chest and shoulders.
“Won’t
come off,” he said when he noticed her looking at him. “But at least the water
took care of the worst. What’s my hair look like?”
“Like
your shirt,” Calla said, trying not to laugh. His eyebrow was green. “Let’s go
back . . . unless you want to verify the slope on the rest of
the troughs before we go.” She smelled flowers and glanced back at the canyon.
“It
can wait.” He took his gear back from Calla and turned on the lamp. “I think
that shit had esters in it, or your perfume fills the canyon.”
The
smell of esters was sweet and getting sickening. “Let’s go back,” Calla agreed.
She took the lead, hoping to stay ahead of the smell. It helped until they
reached the big
onto a clip on the stellerator. Then he backed off the ledge, lowering himself
about one body length before jumping the final two meters to the loose gravel.
He landed on his feet and slid, then jump-stepped until he had his balance.
Soon he disappeared in the underbrush, but she got occasional glances of his
khakis contrasted against the deep green colors.
“It’s
pretty small,” she heard him say through the radio after about ten minutes. “But
it’s swift. Can’t tell how deep . . . still murky after the
rains last night.”
“Will
it carry everything safely?” Calla said into the mic on her shoulder.
“Can’t
tell without knowing how deep it is.”
“So
find out,” Calla said.
“Timekeeper
be damned, Calla. If it’s deep, it may carry me.”
“Use
a stick. You can tell how deep by measuring the wet part,” she said.
“Funny,
but a stick won’t do it. I’m going to wade out a ways . . . cold
as ice. But the grip-boots work pretty well on the wet rock.”
“Careful.”
“I’m
only up to my knees; if there’s no drop-offs, I’ll be . . . yeow!”
“Marmion?”
Calla stood up trying to see some sign of him below. She couldn’t even see the
water, let alone the perfectionist. “Marmion!” Then, where she thought Marmion
ought to be she saw a rainbow climb steeply out of the undergrowth. She could
just make out the shape of strongly arched wings in the blur of color before
the rainbow disappeared over the cliffs. “Marmion?”
“I’m
all right. Did you see?”
“Yes,
some danae. They’re harmless, but they move fast. Did they startle you?”
“No,
they shat on me. They were in a bough over the stream. I saw them and
recognized what they were, so I wasn’t worried. But when they saw me they let
loose with a load of crap. I think they threw up, too. Disgusting.”
Over
the mic, Calla heard the water sounds intensify. “They regurgitate food and
empty their bowels in order to lighten weight and take off in an emergency,”
Calla said.
“Yeah,”
Marmion said. “I read the reports, too. They didn’t mention the stink . . .
nor the stain. This uniform is ruined.” After a moment he added, “I’m headed
back up.”
“Will
the waterway carry?”
“Just
barely would be my guess, but like I said before, there’s nothing we can do
about it if it can’t.”
Well,
nothing easy, Calla thought, but surely something. She’d check for other water
sources in the area to see what could be done about increasing the volume if it
became necessary. Jason’s rangers ought to be capable of building a dam and
diverting some water into the canyon.
Marmion
was in view again, moving slowly up the slope.
Calla
could hear him breathing heavily through the mic. Like everyone else who’d come
from the Belden Traveler , the
perfectionist was in less than perfect physical condition after the long
journey, and the stellerator was heavy. Calla kept finding herself adjusting
the vest-like apparatus to shift the weight, and she was sweating beneath it
though it was cool here on the ledge. At last Marmion climbed from the scree
slope to the wall, and he came steadily up the rock. His khakis were still wet
and stained with blue-green smears across the chest and shoulders.
“Won’t
come off,” he said when he noticed her looking at him. “But at least the water
took care of the worst. What’s my hair look like?”
“Like
your shirt,” Calla said, trying not to laugh. His eyebrow was green. “Let’s go
back . . . unless you want to verify the slope on the rest of
the troughs before we go.” She smelled flowers and glanced back at the canyon.
“It
can wait.” He took his gear back from Calla and turned on the lamp. “I think
that shit had esters in it, or your perfume fills the canyon.”
The
smell of esters was sweet and getting sickening. “Let’s go back,” Calla agreed.
She took the lead, hoping to stay ahead of the smell. It helped until they
reached the big
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