Read Online Xeelee: Endurance by Stephen Baxter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Baxter
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on the back of the spider. Miriam and I hurried to follow him.
So there we were, the three of us sitting on the back of the beast! ‘On any other day,’ I ventured, ‘this would seem strange.’ That won me a laugh from Miriam.
The first few minutes of the ride weren’t so bad, though the spider’s motion was jolting and ungainly, we had to cling to our cables, and we always had the unpleasant awareness that there was no conscious mind directing this beast to which we were strapped.
Then the lip of the caldera came on us, remarkably quickly. I wrapped my hands and arms tighter in the netting.
‘Here we go!’ Michael Poole cried, and he actually whooped as the spider tipped head first over the lip of the crevasse – and began to climb down a vertical wall. I could not see how it was clinging to the sheer surface – perhaps with suckers, or perhaps its delicate limbs found footholds. But my concern was for myself, for as the spider tipped forward we three fell head over heels, clinging to the net, a slow low-gravity fall that ended with us all hanging upside down.
‘Climb up!’ Poole called. ‘It will be easier if we can settle near the back end.’
It was good advice but easier said than done, for to climb I had to loosen my grip on the cable to which I was clinging. I was the last to reach the arse end of the descending spider, and find a bit of respite in a surface I could lie on.
And all the while the dark of the chasm closed around us, and that dreadful crunching, chewing noise from below grew louder. I looked up to see the opening of this chimney as a ragged gash of crimson-brown, the only natural light; it barely cast a glow on the toiling body of the spider. Impulsively I ordered my suit to turn on its lights, and we were flooded with glare.
Poole asked, ‘Everybody OK ?’
‘Winded,’ Miriam said. ‘And I’m glad I took my claustrophobia pills before getting into the gondola. Look below. What’s that?’
We all peered down. It was a slab of ice that appeared to span the crevasse. For an instant I wondered if this was as deep as we would have to go to find our GUTengine. But there was no sign of toiling spiders here, or of the pieces of our gondola, and I feared I knew what was coming next. That sound of crunching grew louder and louder, with a rhythm of its own.
‘Brace yourselves,’ Poole said. Pointless advice.
Our spider hit the ice floor. It turned out to be a thin crust, easily broken – that was the crunching we had heard, as spider after spider smashed through this interface. Beyond the broken crust I caught one glimpse of black, frothy water, before I was dragged down into it, head first. For the ice was the frozen surface of a subterranean ocean.
Immersed, I was no colder, but I could feel a sticky thickness all around me, as if I had been dropped into a vat of syrup. My suit lamps picked out enigmatic flecks and threads that filled the fluid surrounding me. When I looked back, I saw the roof of this vent already freezing over, before it was broken by the plunging form of another spider, following ours.
Michael Poole was laughing. ‘Dunked in molten lava, Titan style. What a ride!’
I moaned, ‘How much longer? How deep will we go?’
‘As deep as we need to. Have patience. But you should cut your lights, Emry. Save your power for heating.’
‘No, wait.’ Miriam was pointing at the ice wall that swept past us. ‘Look there. And there!’
And I made out tubular forms, maybe half a metre long or less, that clung to the walls, or, it seemed, made their purposeful way across it. It was difficult to see any detail, for these visions quickly shot up and out of our field of view.
‘Life?’ Poole asked, boyishly excited once more.
Miriam said, ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Without warning, she loosened one hand from the net, grabbed at one of the tubes and dragged it away from its hold on the wall. It wriggled in her hand, pale and sightless, a fat worm; its
So there we were, the three of us sitting on the back of the beast! ‘On any other day,’ I ventured, ‘this would seem strange.’ That won me a laugh from Miriam.
The first few minutes of the ride weren’t so bad, though the spider’s motion was jolting and ungainly, we had to cling to our cables, and we always had the unpleasant awareness that there was no conscious mind directing this beast to which we were strapped.
Then the lip of the caldera came on us, remarkably quickly. I wrapped my hands and arms tighter in the netting.
‘Here we go!’ Michael Poole cried, and he actually whooped as the spider tipped head first over the lip of the crevasse – and began to climb down a vertical wall. I could not see how it was clinging to the sheer surface – perhaps with suckers, or perhaps its delicate limbs found footholds. But my concern was for myself, for as the spider tipped forward we three fell head over heels, clinging to the net, a slow low-gravity fall that ended with us all hanging upside down.
‘Climb up!’ Poole called. ‘It will be easier if we can settle near the back end.’
It was good advice but easier said than done, for to climb I had to loosen my grip on the cable to which I was clinging. I was the last to reach the arse end of the descending spider, and find a bit of respite in a surface I could lie on.
And all the while the dark of the chasm closed around us, and that dreadful crunching, chewing noise from below grew louder. I looked up to see the opening of this chimney as a ragged gash of crimson-brown, the only natural light; it barely cast a glow on the toiling body of the spider. Impulsively I ordered my suit to turn on its lights, and we were flooded with glare.
Poole asked, ‘Everybody OK ?’
‘Winded,’ Miriam said. ‘And I’m glad I took my claustrophobia pills before getting into the gondola. Look below. What’s that?’
We all peered down. It was a slab of ice that appeared to span the crevasse. For an instant I wondered if this was as deep as we would have to go to find our GUTengine. But there was no sign of toiling spiders here, or of the pieces of our gondola, and I feared I knew what was coming next. That sound of crunching grew louder and louder, with a rhythm of its own.
‘Brace yourselves,’ Poole said. Pointless advice.
Our spider hit the ice floor. It turned out to be a thin crust, easily broken – that was the crunching we had heard, as spider after spider smashed through this interface. Beyond the broken crust I caught one glimpse of black, frothy water, before I was dragged down into it, head first. For the ice was the frozen surface of a subterranean ocean.
Immersed, I was no colder, but I could feel a sticky thickness all around me, as if I had been dropped into a vat of syrup. My suit lamps picked out enigmatic flecks and threads that filled the fluid surrounding me. When I looked back, I saw the roof of this vent already freezing over, before it was broken by the plunging form of another spider, following ours.
Michael Poole was laughing. ‘Dunked in molten lava, Titan style. What a ride!’
I moaned, ‘How much longer? How deep will we go?’
‘As deep as we need to. Have patience. But you should cut your lights, Emry. Save your power for heating.’
‘No, wait.’ Miriam was pointing at the ice wall that swept past us. ‘Look there. And there!’
And I made out tubular forms, maybe half a metre long or less, that clung to the walls, or, it seemed, made their purposeful way across it. It was difficult to see any detail, for these visions quickly shot up and out of our field of view.
‘Life?’ Poole asked, boyishly excited once more.
Miriam said, ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Without warning, she loosened one hand from the net, grabbed at one of the tubes and dragged it away from its hold on the wall. It wriggled in her hand, pale and sightless, a fat worm; its
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