Casey grinned. “I know that El Capitan face — I free-climbed it.”
Morag grunted. Free-climbing was where you went up with nothing but fingertips, toes, and a heart as big as Texas. It was obvious this was one pissing contest she was not going to win.
Morag smiled. “Not going to give an inch, are you?”
Casey shook her head slowly. “Got to tell you, girl; you act pretty ballsy. But out here you’re nothing. You shoulda stayed at home this time.” Casey turned back around.
Morag eased back in her seat. “Yeah, well, my mom always said, ‘fly free, girl’. That’s what I’m doing.” Morag felt like shooting back something else more cutting, witty, or brutal, but had nothing. She gave the back of Casey’s head the finger and turned to the window again to silently fume.
Outside, she saw that they were now rising over the peaks, and felt the helicopter skid in the air as a particularly heavy gust blew them sideways a few dozen feet. The pilot corrected quickly, but she knew he was contending with wind spurts of around 100 miles per hour, and updrafts, side drafts, and downdrafts blasting up and around the fiercely uneven geology.
Looking at the formidable peaks, she could almost hear the tectonic plates crashing and grinding together, continuing to form the mighty up-thrusts that were like monstrous sharpened teeth rising thousands of feet into the sky. Morag shivered and not from the cold this time.
In no time, dark featureless granite gave way to blinding white snow, and then they lifted higher, and into the clouds. Morag’s mind drifted back to her hectic news desk, then to warm cocktail bars and sandy beaches.
“Five minutes, people.”
Alex Hunter’s voice made her jump, and she turned to watch some of the HAWCs prepare the drop ropes.
The drop ropes.
A small voice in her head finally agreed with Casey Franks, and she knew this might just be the dumbest thing she’d ever done.
Alex went and sat up next to the pilot. Outside, the snow mercilessly spattered against the cockpit’s Plexiglas. He saw the retrieval spike extending out before the nose of the chopper — a fifty-foot rod that ended in a y-shaped fork — it would be used to grab the samples from the air that Anne Peterson would be collecting and sending up. That was unless the wind blew them all the way to the Arctic Circle.
He didn’t like the chances of recovering the samples. But NASA and the military were interested in whatever it was down there that seemed to be transforming an environment as hostile as this one. If it was something benign and manageable, it could mean a solution to reclaiming deserts, or even future planetary terraforming.
He watched the pilot wrestle with the stick as the helicopter jumped and bucked around them. Alex realized he didn’t even know the pilot’s name. He leaned forward. “Hunter.”
The pilot nodded, but continued to stare dead ahead. “Vincenzo — beer and football lover, pilot, and certified lunatic.”
Alex smiled and looked out at the maelstrom around them. “Lunacy helps in places like this.”
“Oh yeah.” Vincenzo grinned. “Coming at us from every direction. I correct one way, and then we get pounded from the other way.” He bared his teeth for a moment as the chopper dropped about fifty feet. He turned to look briefly at Alex. “We get clobbered by one of those super-gusts close to the face, and we’re bugs on a windshield.”
Alex grunted, feeling for the guy. Pilots tended to be as cold as ice, so for him to even mention his concern meant he was worried to all hell.
“Hopefully we’ll be in a wind shadow closer in. And if not…” Vincenzo shrugged.
Alex understood. “The ropes we’ve got will get us down eighty feet. We can drop all at once — you just need to hold us in place for a single minute. Can you do it?”
“Hell or high water I’ll do it.” His eyes flicked to Alex again. “But might not be me that determines how long you’ve got.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Alex then pointed. “There.”
Vincenzo turned back. The peak still rose hundreds of feet above their heads, but on the wall of the mountainside, there was a ledge of stone about twenty feet wide.
“Jesus. That’s where you want me to drop you?” The pilot whistled. “One minute hang time, right?”
“All we’ll need.” Alex got to his feet. He laid a hand on the young pilot’s shoulder. “Good luck.”
Vincenzo smirked. “Hey, you get the hard job. Once you send up the samples, I get to go home.” His face became serious. “Drop and release; I hang around for the package until I’ve used my fuel budget, then I’m outta here.”
Alex nodded, and headed back to the rear cabin. He held up five fingers, and his HAWCs immediately went into action. There were eight drop ropes, three each side, and two from the huge ramp-like rear door. They had a tension strength of over 1,000 pounds, and their winches could lift a small car if need be. Weight wasn’t the problem, but speed was, so for the civilians it meant doubling up as the only way to get down quick.
Alex planted his legs in the bucking chopper and faced the civilians. “Our drop lines are eighty feet only, and our pilot is going to have a devil of a time keeping us steady and in place. We have sixty seconds to drop to the ledge and disengage.”
He looked at their faces. All sat with wide eyes and he bet, racing hearts — good — adrenaline improved alertness and reaction times.
“We will be doubling up — you will all be coming down strapped to one of my soldiers. This is—”
“I can drop by myself if…” Morag had her hand up.
Alex’s voice rose. “This is not negotiable.” He glared for a moment and Morag just shrugged. “NASA team: Russell Burrows with Mister Monroe. Scott McIntyre with Mister Dunsen. Anne Peterson with Ms. Franks. Morag O’Sullivan with me, and Calvin Renner with Mister Knight. Mister Samuel Reid will take all your gear — anything you forget to give him, stays on the chopper.”
Sam loomed up behind him like a huge wall, and nodded once.
“Any questions?” Alex looked along their faces again. They probably had hundreds, but kept them behind their teeth. He checked his watch; it was time.
In moments, the HAWCs had attached their drop lines and lashed their respective civilians to themselves. Morag was strapped to the front of Alex and tried to adjust the tight cords, but failed.
“Hard to breathe.” She winced and looked up and over her shoulder at him. “I hope this isn’t where I get accidently dropped off.”
“Don’t give me any ideas.” Alex’s mouth might have just lifted a little at the corner. “All you need to do is follow my instructions.” He looked over her head to his team. “Visors down and hook in.”
Morag watched as Alex touched his neck and like magic, a dark scale-like hood telescoped from somewhere on his neck up and over his head and was then followed by a shield moving down over his face. He suddenly looked artificial, assembled almost, like a robot.
“Um, do I need my facemask to breathe?”
“Just your goggles; save your oxygen for when we’re in the crater. We just need vision for the drop and landing — you’ll see why.” He reached up, and with a solid clank, hooked his drop-line to an overhead winch and turned to look over his HAWCs. She felt his chest swell.
“HAWCs, we are go.”
Sam Reid bellowed in response. “Muscle up!”
Alex turned back to the rear of the bucking chopper. “I can’t hear you!”
“HUA!” roared the group, and formed into lines.