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 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 air lock on the bottom of the Tower, designed years ago for this very purpose. But a suit would provide more than insurance in case of docking problems; it would give him enormously greater freedom of action.
Almost form-fitting, the Flexisuit bore little resemblance to the clumsy armor of the early astronauts, and, even when pressurized, 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 and stood for a moment on the capsule’s tiny metal porch before backing cautiously 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 to the overhead air lock. 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 like a talisman. It was, moreover, 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. And 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 on both the internal and the external supply. Outside, the power cables were disconnected. Spider was on its own.
Brilliant speeches were seldom forthcoming at such moments, and this, after all, was going to be a perfectly straightforward operation. Morgan grinned rather stiffly at Kingsley and said, “Mind the store, Warren, until I get back.”
Then he noticed the small, lonely figure in the crowd around the capsule. My God, he thought, I’d almost forgotten the poor kid….
“Dev,” he called. “Sorry I haven’t been able to look after you. I’ll make up for it when I get back.”
And I will, he told himself. When the Tower was finished, there would be time for everything—even the human relations he had so badly neglected. Dev would be worth watching; a boy who knew when to keep out of the way showed unusual promise.
The curved door of the capsule—the upper half of it transparent plastic—thudded softly shut against its gaskets. Morgan pressed the CHECK-OUT button, and Spider’s vital statistics appeared on the screen one by one. All were green; there was no need to note the actual figures. If any of the values had been outside nominal, they would have flashed red twice a second. Nevertheless, with his usual engineers caution, Morgan observed that oxygen stood at one hundred two percent, main battery power at one hundred one percent, booster battery at one hundred five percent….
The quiet, calm voice of the controller—the same unflappable expert who had watched over all operations since that first abortive lowering years ago—sounded in his ear.
“All systems nominal. You have control.”
“I have control. I’ll wait until the next minute comes up.”
It was hard to think of a greater contrast to an old-time rocket launch, with its elaborate countdown, its split-second timing, its sound and fury. Morgan merely waited until the last two digits on the clock became zeroes, then switched on power at the lowest setting.
Smoothly, silently, the floodlit mountaintop fell away beneath him. Not even a balloon ascent could have been quieter. If he listened carefully, he could just hear the whirring of the twin motors as they drove the big friction drive wheels that gripped the tape above and below the capsule.
Rate of ascent, five meters a second, said the velocity indicator. In slow, regular steps Morgan increased the power until it read fifty—just under