Part 72 (2/2)

”d.a.m.n m.u.f.fer could have planned it that way,” Phronsie growled. ”It wouldn't surprise me one little bit ... Oh, for G.o.d's sake, get us out of here, w.a.n.g!”

On the pinnacle of Monte Rosa, Basil sat secure in his snowcave until the hurricane roar of the wind died away. Then he plied his vitredur shovel and tunnelled out. The sky above was velvet black, dusted with subtly coloured stars. A vast cloud deck blanketed the world below 8000 metres. Off to the west, two purplish streaks like dying meteorites arced out of sight behind the Proto-Matterhorn.

Basil sat down on a compacted pile of snow, stretching his legs with extreme caution. There were crackling sounds from the left tibia and the right ankle. Stars not of the cosmos danced momentarily before his eyes and he gasped out loud. The torn knees of his grintlaskin outer pants and down trousers were black with frozen blood. He had stumped up the last two or three hundred metres after the fall. It had been rather easy, actually; but the granular snow had torn his clothing like broken gla.s.s, and he'd had to dig in precipitously before the blizzard struck.

He swivelled slowly about, surveying his world. His breath made frosty nebulae that drifted off into the void, one puff following another at shorter and shorter intervals. The warning band of constriction about his chest tightened with each filling of his lungs. He was very happy.

The overwhelming cold lanced at his unprotected eyes and so he closed them and felt immediately warmer. He said: ”Vulgo enim dicitur: iucundi acti labores.”

Cicero, isn't it?

”Quite right. 'De Finibus.' ”

The good fathers in New Hamps.h.i.+re had heavy going pounding the Latin into us, but I think I can still manage: ”It's commonly said that accomplished labours are delightful.” An appropriate sentiment, but one I couldn't swear to myself.

Basil opened his eyes and saw a dark ma.s.s, very tall and approximately man-shaped, standing on the snow in front of him.

”h.e.l.lo, there,” said the don. ”I suppose it is you? As opposed to a hypothermic hallucination, that is.”

The thing slid closer, seeming to exude a chill even more profound than that of the high alpine night.

You must excuse me if I stay within my armour.

”Perfectly understandable. I presume you've been observing my efforts.”

Yours, especially.

”Ah. Well, I'm done now.”

You propose to die here?

”There seems little alternative.”

I could offer one.

”How very curious,” Basil murmured. ”Tell me about it.”

I've been experimenting with my d-jumping faculty, learning to carry things outside this armoured mechanism that encases my body. It's a matter of mentally generating an upsilon-field, you see.

”Like a superluminal stars.h.i.+p?”

Exactly. I've raised my capacity to about 75 kilos of inert ma.s.s.

Now I'm ready to try teleporting something alive. I could use an animal, of course.

Basil nodded judiciously. ”Or you could use me.”

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