by Larry Niven
Henry had modified the toes of their boots; they sprouted tiny steel barbs which helped keep their feet anchored to the stems. Liquids from inside the plant swelled out and froze to the surface whenever Kyle dug his toes in too hard.
There was little gravity to fight, but balance and grip were challenges. It got easier, and in five minutes they'd actually gained thirty meters and found a rhythm.
Lights from their helmets bobbed up and down in Pluto's dusky mid-day.
Half an hour passed. Calvin broke in twice with inane questions, and Kyle hissed at him, “Quit distracting us.”
“I'll need some good footage soon.”
“Take all the footage you want. You can listen to us, and use our lights and cameras and take pictures of us. Just don't talk to us yet. This is harder than it looks.”
Kyle followed Henry's boots. Pluto's surface had just enough pull to establish a definite down, and not enough to make the climb hard . They could almost walk up the vines. Rather than a hand-over-hand pull, it was a scramble.
They passed clumps of long leaves, each leaf longer than the men were tall, similar to plants found in the seas of earth, but bigger. Much bigger. Climbing between them required care with the rope. Even though they were near the edge of the forest, leaves or loose stem-ends from neighboring branches periodically undulated past them. Everything moved and grew.
From time to time Kyle missed a step and had to catch himself. That was when he knew how tired he was.
Just past the third clump of leaves, Henry called back, “Okay, stop a bit.”
Stopping meant sitting on the creeper stem with thighs clamped tight around it. They faced each other. Kyle's view was towards Charon, and the Styx looked like a river from here—a great thin long silver line. It was almost a kilometer wide, but the perspective and length made it look much thinner—like thread going towards a thimble.
Calvin said, “Nice view. How was the climb?”
“A walk in the park.” Kyle didn't want to say how hard it was. He watched Henry's face in the clear helmet. He was frowning. “What's wrong?”
“We're not moving fast enough. We've been going a half-hour, and we're—what—a kilometer up?”
Kyle looked around. The camera probe that had been following them bobbed in space to his left. Pluto was closer than he'd expected. He could see Jason and Paul standing at the foot of the beanstalk, looking up. They were small, but he could make out movement.
“Actually, you've made about eight hundred meters,” Calvin replied before Kyle could respond at all. “With rests, that means you'll take about an hour and a quarter to go a kilometer. Roughly eight days if you don't sleep.”
Henry snorted.
“So we have to go twice as fast?” Kyle asked.
“More. We lost two days getting ready. That means there's eight left. If we calculated everything right. That's not enough. We need time for surprises, for rest, and maybe some time when we get to the marble,” Henry said.
“The forest is thicker down here, near Pluto. It thins out above the atmosphere.”
“It won't make that much difference.”
“So how do we go faster?”
“I'm thinking,” Henry said. “Meantime, let's restock.” The stems were designed as conduits, with at least three veins running through each stem; one for water, one for air mix, and one for a form of liquid energy both humans and plants could consume, dubbed “plant broth.”
Leaves always grew with one anchoring structure in the pure water vein, one in the plant food. The broth fed the stem itself, fueling super-fast growth. This was what they plunged their siphons into first. Kyle's suit filled with a cloyingly sweet smell as the thin gel filled a pouch in his lower back. It took time; fifteen precious minutes. As he pulled out the siphon and stuck it back in, fishing for water, Kyle asked Henry how well he balanced.
“As good as the next guy, I guess.”
“It's a way to get there faster.”
“Huh?”
“Walk. Lean back against a rope and walk vertical. We've both been using hands and feet. I bet there's a walking pace that won't need that for one of us—as long as there's rope between. Let me lead. I'm stronger—I can go faster. I'll hold on. You walk—use the toe stabs. Let go with your hands and walk.”
Henry smiled at him. “Worth a try.”
It worked better; not twice as fast. They kept going for an hour, Kyle leading, using his hands and feet, arms and legs, back and belly ... he was feeling the strain everywhere. Henry walked behind. Once Henry came loose, falling outward and down, and Kyle had to clamp his legs around the thick stem, brace for the jolt, then reel him in. Henry just grunted and suggested Kyle get on with it. It was more bravado than Kyle expected from Henry. How much were the cameras affecting the older man?
They stopped once, refilled their supplies, and kept going, Kyle on point again.
They changed stems at a cross-point. The new one was thicker, easier to balance on. Even with periodic leaves to step over, the pull and step, pull and step, pull and step made a cadence in Kyle's head. His lower back screamed misuse, and he needed distraction. He imagined words to the cadence—"Lark be safe ... Lark be safe.” It was almost a mantra.
A knot of leaves and tangled stems stopped them at the ten-kilometer mark. Long streams of flowers spread out around the knot. If it weren't an obstruction, it would have been beautiful. They'd have to climb over and somehow pick the right stem. Henry sat. “Hey kid, time for a break.”
“We haven't gone far enough,” Kyle said, easing onto a spot where leaf met stem, hooking a leg over a leaf. “Stopping is crazy.” At least Pluto finally looked further away. He stared down on the top of Little Siberia and picked out the observatory. “Let's push until we make at least sixteen klicks. We need twenty-five klicks.”
“Ever run a marathon? If you sprint the first five kilometers, you never make the end. Besides, it's time for a word with our sponsors.”
Henrywanted to talk to Calvin?
“Calvin?”
“Yes?”
The camera probe had stopped too. “Calvin, can you pan the probe cam and give us directions? I want to end up somewhere near Lark.”
Kyle eyed the knotted mess of growth. Styx looked like a close-knit weave of plant life, but there were gaps. The long strings of forest moved and twisted and intertwined, constantly knotting and shifting. Silver threads of carbon fiber trellis flickered in and out of view. Choices had looked simple from a distance. Here, tangles and obstacles were everywhere.
Meanwhile, Calvin described a full incident support team assembled—virtually—at the currently nearest Trans-Neptunian object, Kiley3, mere light-minutes away. He described doctors, climbing experts, psychologists, child psychologists, biologists...
Henry interrupted. “So did you scrape everyone on Kiley3 into your support team?”
“They're getting paid. Thought you'd be grateful. They're not all on Kiley3—”
“I'm grateful,” Kyle said. They might be able to use the help.
“Want to be introduced?” Calvin asked.
Henry shook his head. “I'd rather have visuals of the best path out of here.”
“Dr. Yi is working on it. In the meantime, Dr. Gerry thinks you should have at least a twenty-minute rest. That's time to meet everyone.”
Kyle suddenly understood why Henry was being so irascible. A hot thread of anger mixed with his worry about Lark. He checked: they had enough water and broth to last a few hours. He withdrew his siphon from the stem, making sure Henry saw him. Henry winked, tucked his siphon carefully into a belt pouch.
As a concession to their need for rest, Kyle let Henry lead.
“But ... but you haven't met the team yet!”
Henry spoke for them as he reached up into the knot, grabbing for a writhing stem. “It's not your little girl up there. Do not slow us down to entertain your viewers.”
To his credit, Calvin shut up and produced Dr. Yi, who guided them across the
knotted region without a hitch. “So now you understand the relationship?” Henry asked.
“We'll help you any way we can. But you should meet the team.”
A kilometer further on, they did stop for rest. Although he knew Lark was descending at the same rate, the sensation of slow movement as the vines below them grew and wriggled and twined toward Pluto was strange. Starting again, Kyle realized how much his shoulders and arms hurt. Hundreds of the same motions wore on muscles. They got to twenty klicks before exhaustion won. Half a kilometer higher, they found a good place to anchor their habitat. They stopped and called for it, waiting.
Their suit radios could talk to Lark from here. “Lark, how are you doing?”
“Hi Dad, Henry. I can see you on the feed from the probe-cam. Wish I was out there with you.”
“Yeah, like we're here on purpose,” Kyle said.
“You've got a better view of Styx than I ever had, except for a few minutes EVA. I'm looking forward to climbing down.”
“Yeah, I plan on taking Shooter down.”
“We'll climb. Shooter' s dead. Besides, I want to walk the Styx.”
“What's so exciting about the Styx? It's actually pretty boring. Kilometers of stems and leaves, and then more kilometers of stems and leaves. Sometimes there's a flower.”
“Yeah, well, galaxies are clusters of pretty damned boring stars. Sometimes there's a nebula. Styx is cooler than you think, Dad. I was on my way to some flowers that look bigger and seem to direct the stem float in the forest. That's new behavior. I think the vines are responding to the system getting colder.”
Kyle didn't want an argument. He wasn't a total idiot about the Styx. “Well, they use energy—metabolism—lots of it, right? That's how they're supple even out here, and how the water and broth don't freeze.”
“No kidding. But up towards the middle there's more activity. More flowers, and I think even color. Styx is changing. I just know it. Whatever's changing above me will grow down to Pluto. I want to get higher.”
“How about we get lower first? Like back to Pluto?”
“Jeremy says you're being way too cautious.”
“Jeremy?”
“There's a bunch of kids here now. In virt. Tourists. I'm really glad Paul thought of this. The worst thing was being so alone; it's so boring to be still. I'm getting cramps too.”
Oh. “Stay safe.” The round cage of supplies rose over the edge of a leaf, its circle of probes bobbing like fishing net floats. “I better go.”
There were too many camera perspectives, and too many helpers. The basket tangled hopelessly one stem over. Kyle frowned. “Now I see how she got caught. Maybe I should quit being mad at her.”
Henry stared thoughtfully at the supplies dangling just out of their reach. “I'll belay you.”
“Great.”
“You're the young strong buck.”
Kyle grunted, mimicking a baboon.
Henry held the rope as Kyle pushed the basket away from its vine trap and spread the probes out again. It was almost free-fall—he went down at a drifter's pace. “Okay—that's as close as it's coming tonight.” Kyle retrieved the sleeping habitat from the basket, tucking it under one arm. Henry reeled Kyle back slowly.
It took an hour to figure out how to wrestle the habitat into shape and anchor it. Unfolded, it was a long sheet of metallic fabric anchored between two stems. Henry plugged it into a stem, into the blue oxygen tube. The habitat bucked and waved, sucking in the air, expanding as it warmed the gas. Layers of skin filled one by one—living space, stored atmosphere, insulation, a shell thickening into a walnut shape.
The set-up looked fragile. They climbed in, waiting until sensors told them the habitat held pressure enough to unsuit. As he lay down, Kyle imagined the anchoring creepers growing away from each other as they slept. He didn't really care. Being out of the constant breathing motion of the suit was wonderful.
Six hours later, Calvin woke them with lyrics from the ancient The Sound of Music , “Climb Every Mountain.” It was ridiculously inappropriate. Kyle wanted to throttle Calvin.
* * *
Four long climbs and three uneasy sleeps later, they were halfway there. Lark spent part of each day telling jokes. Tourists fed them to her, and she fed them in turn to Kyle and Henry. It kept her engaged.
Kyle hated most of the jokes.
He was surprised that he liked talking to the networks. The attention helped him forget aches in his muscles. The audience was a focus and a safety net. He took small risks, and on breaks he talked astronomy. Lark did voiceovers for the audience, telling them about the creepers. She talked to the team on Kiley3. She talked constantly—to Kyle, to Henry, to the announcers. She even took to calling the Christy and Little Siberia base staff “tourists.”
Kyle worried about Henry. His face was red with exertion and spider veins showed up on his nose and face in thin red lines. Henry refused to talk much to anyone except Lark and Kyle. It bothered Kyle.
There was no night or morning; Pluto's six-and-a-half-hour day barely noticed the Sun. Kyle counted time in sleeps. This was their fifth sleep. “Henry? How come you're so quiet?”
“Seems like no one's business how we're doing.”
“They're helping. I'm grateful Lark's got so many people to talk to. At least we can move. She's shut up in that bubble.”
“She's always done all right by herself.”
“I could have spent more time with her.”
“How's it going to feel if all these people watch us fail?”
Kyle swallowed. “You've always been an optimist. We won't fail. We're halfway there.”
“Half our time's gone. We should stop less.”
“Can you do that?” Kyle was bone tired. Henry looked like he was going to have a heart attack any moment.
“If we don't make it, I don't want to live afterwards. This would be a good last thing to do.”
“We'll make it.”
“If you get there, and I don't, be careful how you get Lark out. You'll need to use a traditional blade—no lasers or anything—near the bubble.”
“You said that when we were loading the basket.”
“We should practice next stop, so I know you know how to do it.”
Kyle stayed awake a long time, thinking about Henry's words. He started tired the next day. They hit a clump of new creeper, thin stems twining around the wide one they followed. Kyle caught his foot and pitched forward, tangling his arm and wrist in rope as he fell. He slid, feet dangling in empty space, pulling Henry backward so Henry needed both hands to hang onto the creeper while the rope pulled tight from his waist-clip.
Kyle floated free, his suit hissing urgently, venting oxygen to match his heart rate. He held the rope with two hands, twisting his feet up in an acrobat's move, straining to get a toehold on the stem. He felt a snap and give in his lower back, an instant tightening of muscle. He grunted with the pain.
“Whoa there,” Calvin said. “You all right?”
“I ... I don't know.”
Henry managed to twist around and grab the rope, holding on to the creeper with his legs. He pulled, hand over hand, slowly reeling Kyle in until their hands touched and he could pull him up onto the stem. Kyle panted, wanted to scream. He couldn't be hurt. There wasn't time. When he tried to step ahead of Henry, he slipped again, catching himself, grimacing. His back was on fire. He didn't dare burn the small store of painkillers in the suit's med supply for a twisted muscle.
It meant Henry had to lead—Kyle walking behind him. The full med-kit was in the basket, inaccessible without a full stop. Kyle chewed his lip and followed Henry, building up a swing that allowed him to move through the pain.
Calvin started talking in worried tones an hour out, telling the men the doctors thought they should stop. Henry ignored him, leaving Kyle no choice but to follow. Henry went on forever. When they stopped, he collapsed across a vine and stared out at the forest.
After a while, Kyle noticed that Henry was
sleeping in his suit.
Kyle sat and worried, watching the older man. Lark had a feed from the camera probe that followed them everywhere, and she spoke. “He often takes naps, Dad.” She sounded sad.
“I shouldn't have let him come. I should have brought someone else.”
“Henry wouldn't have stayed. He'd have followed you.”
“Suriyah could have stopped him. She's a force of nature.” He didn't mention that Suriyah had thought this was a crazy journey.
“It's okay, Dad. Just let him sleep for a little while. I think I'll sleep too.”