Ringclimber

Chapter 5 - Meeting And Planning

Signed Souvenir Image From Triplanetary Arsia Mons Expedition January 12, 2215

Pat stands by the window. Her eyes are looking across dusky Phobos at the tall crescent of Mars beyond - hand caught in her thatch of too-pale hair, as if forgotten in mid-motion. Her mind wonders at Erin, who sits cradled behind in the lounge group, casually reading a datapad, possessed by a secret excitement that energizes her long-legged frame with restless motions. Something is about to happen. At least it seems positive.

The double doors slide aside to admit Anne, physician and newest member of the team. She is small, with ash-blond hair tucked up in a bun; her face bearing a half-pensive look that occasionally becomes a shy smile. "Hello," she greets them. Pat smiles.

Erin glances up and nods. "Glad you could make it." She releases her datapad and settles back in her web seat. "Well, I have the usual news about arrangements, and so forth, but first, some important news."

They gather around and lower into the webs. "What kind of news?" Anne asks. Erin pushes floating hair back from her face. "It's something I've worked on for quite a while. Sharon Lazlo is coming out to join me as co-leader; she'll be full time in a couple of weeks."

Pat stares at her. "How in hell did you manage that?" she exclaims. Anne looks over at her, surprised.

"I didn't. She called me." Erin replies, unable to contain her grin.

"Fantastic!" Pat cries. "Anne, you're going to climb with the best, now, honey."

Anne smiles, a little uncertainly.

If Sharon could have heard those extravagant statements, she would have chuckled sarcastically. She spends every spare moment in the liner's gym cabinets, trying to hone the edges of her endurance. At night, she is so exhausted that she often falls asleep standing up, at the edge of her bed, where she remains for silent hours, twisting gently with the motion of her muscles contracting and releasing. She often forgets to clasp the sheets down tightly, and she occasionally wakes floating free from the bed. When offered invitations of any kind, she refuses, stating truthfully and politely that she requires her rest.

But it is dinner she avoids. Someone always brings up the climb, having heard a rumor or read a journal. She answers questions, but discusses it no more than necessary. Hardest to endure are the interminable paragraphs by those who would never have thought of climbing and aren't afraid to say so. Fortunately, the crew seems to sense her discomfort, and the ranking member at the table usually manages to steer conversation onto a safe course.

But she is glad that there isn't much time to think.

Anne steps from operating room into prep, consulting the monitors briefly as she steps to the washstand and tosses water on her dry eyes. Her patient is doing well, the procedure is complete, and shortly the robots will be in to start the awakening.

"Long day?" Lee, the night surgeon, smiles down at her in sympathy.

She shakes her head and sighs, staring down to where the soft flow of air draws the water into the plastic bowl. "Twelve in on an accident. Depress and punctures to atmosphere. I've done five. The rest are yours. It's like being a contract surgeon again, but we're short-handed."

He nods, leaning back against the wall. "I know. Go home. Get some sleep."

"I wish I could," she replies, "but I'm too tired." She looks up and smiles wearily. "Have fun." The doors swing shut behind her.

Bundled in her night cloak, she makes her way across the lobby to the transit. "Oh, Dr. Lambert!" the receptionist calls.

She stops, and her eyes slide shut with annoyance. She turns back. "Yes, Rick?"

"A message for you."

"Forward it home for me, would you?"

"Sorry, the net's partitioned. I can give you a paper, if you want."

"All right."

She takes the sheet and reads quickly. "Oh, no."

It is a reminder that she isn't going to get much sleep. Fortunate that she is off tomorrow.

Urgent climb meeting tomorrow, Jefferson Station, Fifth Floor, Conference Room 19. Call early if this is a problem. Erin.

Anne sits up in bed for an hour, anyway, rereading parts of Lazlo's Orbital Diaries, the record of Sharon's work on the Venusian Darkside station, trying to imagine what this famous woman will be like to work with. Before, she had read it casually, skipping around; there was the meeting in the indefinite future, but too many things in the present to capture her attention. Now it is too late for the careful examination she had wanted to make.

The style of the volume is understated, and, at times, almost poetic. But the woman herself seems to come through clearly; somewhat pedantic, a touch of arrogance when in command, and the capability to take the unpopular or invisible correct course often enough in a welter of conflicting opinions. And that strange streak of poetry and sensitivity woven subtly in her choice of words.

Anne sighs and leans back in the bed, waving the light to darkness. As she falls asleep, she tries to imagine what it is going to be like to work with someone she has always admired, but never known. She has to admit she is a little afraid.

Anne flies out to Jefferson on the edge of the dawn. The sky is dark above the shuttle window, faint pinkish clouds raised against it. She leans back in the seat, feeling as empty as the void below. She hates flying when she is exhausted.

And, she thinks, it is time to face what she is afraid of. She is a good surgeon, but not a climber of interplanetary stature. True, she has done Pavonis solo, and first, but that was luck; especially sheer luck that she hadn't died on the edge of the biggest slide on that shield in a century. And, if she hadn't been more afraid of going down than up, she admitted privately, she might never have made it. What else was there? A few minor climbs around Tharsis, an expedition into the Noc. Not enough to compare with people who had been adventuring since she was a teenager. What will she say to them? What will they have to say to her? How is she going to be able to offer anything in this kind of company?

She resolves to keep as silent as possible. To watch. To listen. To find out what is acceptable.

She has no illusions. Erin needs someone with both climbing and medical experience. It is no more than luck that Anne is known well enough on Mars to be available to them.

Is she good enough to climb with people she has read about as heroes for all of her short climbing career?

Probably not, she thinks, thrusting her head up against the seat rest. But that is just too bad. Because she does want to take Arsia, whether with this team or another.

The conference room is dark.

Sharon leans against the doorframe, looking into the lighted corridor, pensive.

What will it be like, today? Anne Lambert's writing is available on the Net - her sole offering being a recording of the Pavonis solo. The emotionality of it could be an adventurer's mask. Or it could be a part of her life, separate and suppressed as a surgeon. Or it could be her inner self, revealed with embarrassing candidness in recording.

Of course, Sharon realizes, that is revealing of her own attitudes. Attitudes that will have to be discarded or suppressed if she is to handle her role as co-leader. Strange that it should require an effort. She always expects it will be simpler each time. Now she is out of practice, helpless as the stereotypes crowd in.

"Well, hello," a voice says. It is Anne, early, surprised to find anyone else. She recovers quickly and introduces herself. "Anne Lambert," she said. "You're Sharon?"

They clasp cool hands for a moment. "Yes," Sharon replies. "Glad to see you. I suppose we're first in. I was just waiting."

Sharon is taller than Anne expected, a thin woman with straight hair curving to her shoulders; slightly freckled, still youthful, with an arrogant half-smile and eyes which judge and dismiss quickly. Against Sharon's elegant loose tunic, Anne feels awkwardly formal. Overdressed, she thinks, and the feeling of helplessness that marked her first reading at the Tricentennial Medical Conference sweeps over her now; for the same reason - and that makes it worse. She should have known better... But she is here, and it has to be ignored, so she puts emotion aside with an effort.

Sharon notices Anne's reticence of expression and formal clothing of expensive cut. She tries to avoid attributing it to the snobbery of a youth and wealth she has all too often encountered among expeditioners. It is her job to pull back from these limitations, to make it possible to be a team, no matter any casual first impression.

She reaches around the door. "I'm sure there's a plate here."

The lights blare. "Ah."

The room is nearly filled with a large table, apparently wood, and, knowing the hotel, probably imported. Sharon goes to the head of the table and protocols her datapad to the projectors. "Looking forward to the climb?" she asks conversationally.

Anne pauses beside the chair at the corner of the table. She lowers her bag carefully to the seat. "Oh, yes. I've wants to do Arsia for years, but it's been far too expensive. Especially the south shield."

"True, the support is outrageous. I wonder how Gordon manages it. The publicity is probably useful, but I'd hate to have to figure out how much it helps business." She sweeps the hair back over her shoulders as she looks up, feeling her essential friendliness coming out with Anne's admission. "Pat tells me spacers are glued by the playouts, though. Sometimes, talking with them, I think they can argue the fine points better than I can."

Anne laughs. "Yes, if Pat's any example, they know climbing; better than I do, I sometimes wonder." It embarrasses her as soon as she says it. The last thing she wants to discuss with Sharon Lazlo is her own limitations and fears.

Pat and Erin come into the room, talking together, and they draw up short as they cross the threshold. "Ah, well," Erin said, "everybody's here early. Fine. You two've met? Good. Ready to get started, then?"

"Oh, Erin, please," Sharon pleads. "A bulb of coffee first -- I've barely slept the last two nights."

"Getting excited?" Erin asks. And for a moment, they share a world alone. Sharon smiles. "Working out too hard. I thought I'd be ready by now, but I'm only a little less soft than I was."

"How's your pulse?"

"It's there."

They all laugh.

Arsia Mons, Mars - Orbital Photo

Erin begins the presentation with a series of images from orbit. She outlines the configuration of the shield, pointing out with special care the features that mar the southeast face, and the line of minor shields across the caldera basin.

Then Sharon takes the floor.

"In talking about this, Erin and I assumed that we weren't looking for the easy way up. A sixty kilometer hike on Arsia isn't enough for this team, so we've come up with the southwest face, through the collapsed sections. As you can see, there's a mesa here, in the center of a flow of material from the feature, here. The mesa is the perfect site for base, providing us with a landmark and with some protection, even in the event of a massive slide. From there, we march in to Camp 1, at the foot of the first ridge. That will take several days, even with prosthedons for the supplies. Once in there, though, we'll be able to close the original base camp. Now, these buttresses coming down from the ridge are pretty dangerous when it comes to avalanches, but the knife edges pretty much ensure that the debris will miss this area at the tip of the buttress.

"From there, we get to some technical climbing in high-grade, often overhanging terrain, 5.12 to 5.15a, maybe higher - nobody knows - until we go over the ridge. We'll establish Camp 2 just over the far side of the ridge; again, watching out for avalanches. The route to the caldera is barely clear, and, of course, there is a high risk of avalanches at every level. As long as everyone accepts this, I think there is a very good chance of making this a safe route. There's also a certain amount of latent - or maybe not so latent - volcanism, but I don't expect that to be a factor."

Pat looks over at Anne, giving her a chance to be involved. "You've been in Martian avalanches before?"

Anne's glance falls to the table -- she doesn't want anyone else to see her fear. "Yes, yes I have. Two years ago, on Pavonis, I was next to one of the worst in a century." She looks around. "They're slow. But wide. The low gravity, and the fact that much of the smaller debris is pumice makes surviving on the edge of one easier." She notices her hands pale at the knuckle, and quickly, but unobtrusively, she relaxes her straining muscles. "Still, a million tons of pumice is as heavy as a million tons of basalt."

Sharon nods, but retains control of the meeting. "We'll be avoiding slides as much as possible, but if the route seems excessively risky to the team, we'll select another."

They all sit silent, considering. Erin and Sharon look at their thoughts once again. But in the end, everyone agrees. Even Anne, whose lips are pale.

Content, Layout, and Images Copyright © 1999 by Mark Cashman except where indicated (NASA photos)