Part 70 (1/2)

ELIZABETH: And you Tanu?

BLEYN: [Malaise.] Both Aronn and I suffer greatly from headache, shortness of breath, and muscle weakness. Basil thinks our large exotic bodies have not acclimatized to the high alt.i.tude as readily as those of the humans. We are trying to consume additional fluids and redact one another through the night.

ELIZABETH: [Concern.] Wouldn't sleep be more therapeutic?

BLEYN: You know that we Tanu naturally require less sleep than your race. We are far more comfortable awake, when we can maintain our respiration at a higher rate and alleviate the effects of anoxia.

ELIZABETH: Well ... be careful. I understand that mountain sickness can afflict the strong as well as the less rugged among humans. This is doubtless true among Tanu as well.

BLEYN: Tomorrow we reach the high point of our journey. We will endure ... Do you have the route selected for us? I have the chart ready to mark.

ELIZABETH: [Image.] It seems that the snowy ridge above Camp 3 still provides your best access to the Col. After the storm the snow will be deeper and you can expect soft and slow going. Tell Basil there are dangerous cornices that have formed within the saddle of the Col, so he can no longer count upon using that route. You'll have to traverse the hardfrozen snowfield at the foot of Rosa's West Face. It means an additional climb, I'm afraid, but only about 400 metres total gain.

BLEYN: to 8210! G.o.ddess sustain us. The breath burns in my lungs at the very thought.

ELIZABETH: But from then on, it's downhill all the way-and in good weather. You should have clear blue skies for at least three days.

BLEYN: Tana willing, there is a good chance we may even reach the aircraft tomorrow. Did the storms bury them?

ELIZABETH: They're still quite visible. Only slightly hidden in drifts.

BLEYN: Something hidden. Go and find it. Something lost behind the Ranges ... [laughter].

ELIZABETH: [Anxiety.] BLEYN: No-it's only a silly poem that Basil quoted to us, a human glorification of adventures such as this one. I find the poem, and the att.i.tude it celebrates, incomprehensible. Yet of the five humans in our party, only Mr. Betsy has the good sense to despise and abominate our travels through this terrible place. The others are thrilled at the prospect of the mountain's conquest! ... Tell me, Elizabeth. Is it true that in your future world, humans climb peaks such as this purely for sport?

ELIZABETH: Quite true.

BLEYN: How will we ever understand your race!

ELIZABETH: If I told you, you would never believe it.

In the morning, Bleyn and Aronn felt better. Basil decided to revert to their original climbing configuration of two parties.

He, Betsy, and Bleyn led the way, with Ookpik, Bengt, n.a.z.ir, and Aronn following some fifteen minutes behind. The snow on the ridge was knee-deep, and very soft after the early morning sun went to work on it. Basil's team ploughed ahead breaking trail for three tedious hours; then Ookpik's group had their turn. In some places, the humans floundered nearly waist-deep, but it was the long-legged Tanu who seemed most depleted by the effort. Aronn, especially, had gone ashen-faced and sluggish.

He seemed confused by Ookpik's simplest orders and found it difficult to keep up with the modest pace set by the humans in the team.

By noon the climbers had nearly attained the elevation of the West Col. Basil decreed a lunch halt in a sheltered snow hollow.

”Do you see that foggy glitter ahead?” He pointed up the slope. ”It's wind, blowing through the Col, and it means the end of this beastly soft stuff. However, I'm afraid we'll have to-er-lean into it a bit crossing the snowfield on the upper slope. The traverse will be short, but possibly rather grim, until we get down onto the northern flank and out of the venturieffect wind. What we need now is good hot food, and plenty to drink. Soup and sweet tea. Dehydration is one of our deadliest enemies now. It aggravates the fatigue and hypothermia and mountain sickness and other stresses on our bodies.”

”The worst stress I suffer is when I look into a mirror,” Mr.

Betsy complained. ”My poor nose and cheeks are sunburned to a frazzle!”

Ookpik thrust a portable stove and a large decamole pot at him. ”Go melt snow and spare us the b.i.t.c.hing and I'll let you have some of my rhinoceros lard. It's only a little rancid.”

”Ugh!” cried Betsy and flounced off.

Basil beckoned to Bleyn and led him apart from the others.