The Martians(56)
“And these adaptations are part of most Martian mammals. Look! There's a little foxbear. That's Whitebook again.”
Roger stops following them. No more Mars.
Black night. The six big box tents of Camp One glow like a string of lamps at the foot of the cliff. Roger, out in the rubble relieving himself, looks back at them curiously. It is, he thinks, an odd group. People from all over Mars (and a Terran). Only climbing in common. The lead climbers are funny. Dougal sometimes seems a mute, always watching from a corner, never speaking. A self-enclosed system. Marie speaks for both of them, perhaps. Roger can hear her broad Midlands voice now, hoarse with drink, telling someone how to climb the face. She's happy to be here.
Inside Eileen's tent he finds a heated discussion in progress. Marie Whillans says, “Look, Dougal and I have already gone nearly a thousand meters up these so-called blank slabs. There are cracks all over the place."
“As far as you've gone there are,” Eileen says. “But the true slabs are supposed to be above those first cracks. Four hundred meters of smooth rock. We could be stopped outright.”
“So we could, but there's got to be some cracks. And we can bolt our way up any really blank sections if we have to. That way we'd have a completely new route.”
Hans Boethe shakes his head. “Putting bolts in some of this basalt won't be any fun.”
“I hate bolts anyway,” Eileen says. “The point is, if we take the Gully up to the first amphitheater, we know we've got a good route to the top, and all the upper pitches will be new.”
Stephan nods, Hans nods, Frances nods. Roger sips a cup of tea and watches with interest. Marie says, “The point is, what kind of climb do we want to have?”
“We want to get to the top,” Eileen says, glancing at Stephan, who nods. Stephan has paid for most of this expedition, and so in a sense it's his choice.
“Wait a second,” Marie says sharply, eyeing each of them in turn. “That's not what it's about. We're not here just to repeat the Gully route, are we?” Her voice is accusing and no one meets her eye. “That wasn't what I was told, anyway. I was told we were taking a new route, and that's why I'm here.”
“It will inevitably be a new route,” Eileen says. “You know that, Marie. We trend right at the top of the Gully and we're on new ground. We only avoid the blank slabs that flank the Gully to the right!”
“I think we should try those slabs,” Marie says, “because Dougal and I have found they'll go.” She argues for this route, and Eileen listens patiently. Stephan looks worried; Marie is persuasive, and it seems possible that her forceful personality will overwhelm Eileen's, leading them onto a route rumored to be impossible.
But Eileen says, “Climbing any route on this wall with only eleven people will be doing something. Look, we're only talking about the first twelve hundred meters of the climb. Above that we'll trend to the right whenever possible, and be on new ground above those slabs.”
“I don't believe in the slabs,” Marie says. And after a few more exchanges: “Well, that being the case, I don't see why you sent Dougal and me up the slabs these last few days.”
“I didn't send you up,” Eileen says, a bit exasperated. “You two choose the leads, you know that. But this is a fundamental choice, and I think the Gully is the opening pitch we came to make. We do want to make the top, you know. Not just of the wall, but the whole mountain.”
After more discussion Marie shrugs. “Okay. You're the boss. But it makes me wonder. Why are we making this climb?”
On the way to his tent Roger remembers the question. Breathing the cold air, he looks around. In Camp One the world seems a place creased and folded: horizontal half stretching away into darkness—back down into the dead past; vertical half stretching up to the stars—into the unknown. Only two tents lit from within now, two soft blobs of yellow in the gloom. Roger stops outside his darkened tent to look at them, feeling they say something to him; the eyes of the mountain, looking. Why is he making this climb?
Up the Great Gully they go. Dougal and Marie lead pitch after pitch up the rough unstable rock, hammering in pitons and leaving fixed ropes behind. The ropes tend to stay in close to the right wall of the Gully, to avoid the falling rock that shoots down it all too frequently. The other climbers follow from pitch to pitch in teams of two and three. As they ascend they can see the four Sherpas, tiny animals winding their way down the talus again.
Roger has been teamed with Hans for the day. They clip themselves onto the fixed rope with jumars, metal clasps that will slide up the rope but not down. They are carrying heavy packs up to Camp Two, and even though the slope of the Gully is only fifty degrees here, and its dark rock knobby and easy to climb, they both find the work hard. The sun is hot and their faces are quickly bathed with sweat.