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The men were as motley a group as one could hope to assemble behind any one cause. One had a gray-shot beard and hair that tangled like Charley Manson's in his heyday. Another resembled an undergraduate from a conservative midwestern seminary. Various points masculine in between were represented. Most worked shirtless. In the cave's humidity, exertion brought body heat up. Sweat glistened on bare backs between streaks of dirt. Bound by convention even this far below Emily Post's basement, the women sweated beside them in tee-shirts and ru
Like a column of ants passing a grasshopper up the line, they moved the injured woman across the ruptured floor of the cavern. Ru
She'd thought more bodies in the limited space would exacerbate her claustrophobia. In the tighter crawls she believed it still would, but in the vast dark of Tinker's Hell, the crowd made things feel less alien, less likely to close down in an inky tidal wave and blot out the fact that humans had ever dared venture there.
A sense of purpose brought with it a rush of high spirits that those who had been stranded with Frieda sorely needed. Though the injured woman was seldom far from the minds of her rescuers, there wasn't an aura of grim determination but laughter and hard work and sharing. As A
Heroism had become almost taboo. Citizens were discouraged from mixing in "official" business. When the occasional soldier came forward and stopped a robbery or captured a would-be rapist, the next day's papers would be full of bureaucrats decrying the hotheaded interference and painting a somber picture of what-ifs in an attempt to dissuade any further outbreaks of vigilante kindness.
A time or two A
Buoyed up on this beneficent rapture, A
The carry to the end of Tinker's took just over an hour. In the terrestrial world the sun would be rising. The rescuers were fresh, morale high, and no significant obstacles stood in the way. At the base of the climb to the balcony from which A
The Stokes with its precious cargo was set well away from the fall zone, where stray feet and stones might compromise the patient's safety. Sondra made a halfhearted offer to stay with Frieda, but it was clear she itched to be in the center of things. A
The climb to Tinker's entrance was alive with light and color. Under the dreary dun of the planet's skin, yellow helmets, aqua tee-shirts, and red and orange ropes shone with startling clarity. Line and perso
Professor Schatz's vee-necked undershirt, more brown than white from dirt, was plastered to his body with sweat. He climbed stolidly up what looked, from A
Zeddie Dillard's thick frame flitted from place to place with astonishing speed. She carried nothing, and A
Halfway down Tinker's, McCarty could be seen, a mere scrap of color bobbing on a rough sea of stone. Freed from stretcher-bearing duties, he made his way back to the old camp to gather packs that had been left behind.
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On Sondra the expression didn't seem out of place, and A
Oscar was lost in the throng. Helmeted, dirty, flitting between light beams, the cavers were nearly indistinguishable. A
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