The Fountains of Paradise

"Thank you," Morgan answered quietly, as the image faded from the screen. Turning to the still silent Kingsley, he said:

"Let's go."

Only as they were leaving the Operations Room on the way back to the summit did Morgan automatically feel for the little pendant concealed beneath his shirt. CORA had not bothered him for months, and not even Warren Kingsley knew of her existence. Was he gambling with other lives as well as his own, just to satisfy his own selfish pride? If Safety Officer Bartok had known about this…

It was too late now. Whatever his motives, he was committed.

46. Spider

How the mountain had changed, thought Morgan, since he had first seen it! The summit had been entirely sheared away, leaving a perfectly level plateau; at its centre was the giant "saucepan lid", sealing the shaft which would soon carry the traffic of many worlds. Strange to think that the greatest spaceport in the solar system would be deep inside the heart of a mountain.

No one could have guessed that an ancient monastery had once stood here, focusing the hopes and fears of billions for at least three thousand years. The only token that still remained was the ambiguous bequest of the Maha Thero, now crated and waiting to be moved. But, so far, neither the authorities at Yakkagala nor the director of the Ranapura Museum had shown much enthusiasm for Kalidasa's ill-omened bell. The last time it had tolled the peak had been swept by that brief but eventful gale – a wind of change indeed. Now the air was almost motionless, as Morgan and his aides walked slowly to the waiting capsule, glittering beneath the inspection lights. Someone had stencilled the name SPIDER MARK II on the lower part of the housing; and beneath that had been scrawled the promise: WE DELIVER THE GOODS. I hope so, thought Morgan.

Every time he came here he found it more difficult to breathe, and he looked forward to the flood of oxygen that would soon gush into his starved lungs. But CORA, to his surprised relief, had never issued even a preliminary admonition when he visited the summit; the regime that Dr. Sen had prescribed seemed to be working admirably.

Everything had been loaded aboard Spider, which had been jacked up so that the extra battery could be hung beneath it. Mechanics were still making hasty last-minute adjustments and disconnecting power leads; the tangle of cabling underfoot was a mild hazard to a man unused to walking in a spacesuit.

Morgan's Flexisuit had arrived from Gagarin only thirty minutes ago, and for a while he had seriously considered leaving without one. Spider Mark II was a far more sophisticated vehicle than the simple prototype that Maxine Duval had once ridden; indeed, it was a tiny spaceship with its own life-support system. If all went well, Morgan should be able to mate it with the airlock on the bottom of the Tower, designed years ago for this very purpose. But a suit would provide not only insurance in case of docking problems; it would give him enormously greater freedom of action. Almost form-fitting, the Flexisuit bore very little resemblance to the clumsy armour of the early astronauts, and, even when pressurised, would scarcely restrict his movements. He had once seen a demonstration by its manufacturers of some spacesuited acrobatics, culminating in a sword-fight and a ballet. The last was hilarious – but it had proved the designer's claims.

Morgan climbed the short flight of steps, stood for a moment on the capsule's tiny metal porch, then cautiously backed inside. As he settled down and fastened the safety belt, he was agreeably surprised at the amount of room. Although the Mark II was certainly a one-man vehicle, it was not as claustrophobic as he had feared – even with the extra equipment that had been packed into it.

The two oxygen cylinders had been stowed under the seat, and the CO2 masks were in a small box behind the ladder that led up to the overhead airlock. It seemed astonishing that such a small amount of equipment could mean the difference between life and death for so many people.

Morgan had taken one personal item – a memento of that first day long ago at Yakkagala, where in a sense all this had started. The spinnerette took up little room, and weighed only a kilo. Over the years it had become something of a talisman; it was still one of the most effective ways of demonstrating the properties of hyperfilament, and whenever he left it behind he almost invariably found that he needed it. On this, of all trips, it might well prove useful.

He plugged in the quick-release umbilical of his spacesuit, and tested the air-flow both on the internal and external supply. Outside, the power cables were disconnected; Spider was on its own.