would be something!
* * * * *
On the way, he filled in background. Scott had been living out ofhospital in a small apartment, enjoying as much liberty as he couldmanage. He had equipment so he could stump around, and an antique carspecially equipped. He wasn't complimentary about them. Orthopedicproducts had to be: unreliable, hard to service, unsightly, intricate,and uncomfortable. If they also squeaked and cut your clothes, fine!
Having to plan every move with an eye on weather and a dozen otherfactors, he developed in uncanny foresight. Yet he had to improvise at amoment's notice. With life a continuous high-wire act, he trained everysurviving fiber to precision, dexterity, and tenacity. Finally, heavoided help. Not pride, self-preservation; the compulsively helpfulhave rarely the wit to ask before rushing in to knock you on your face,so he learned to bide his time till the horizon was clear of beamingsimpletons. Also, he found an interest in how far he could go.
These qualities, and the time he had for thinking, begot Seed-corn. Whenhe had it convincing, he applied to see General Filipson, head ofRegional Intelligence, a man with both insight and authority to make thedeal--but also as tough as his post demanded. Scott got an appointmenttwo weeks ahead.
That put it early in April, which decreased the weather hazard--a majorconsideration in even a trip to the Supermarket. What was Scott's grimconsternation, then, when he woke on D-day to find his windows plasteredwith snow under a driving wind--not mentioned in last night's forecastof course.
He could concoct a plausible excuse for postponement--which Filipson wasjust the man to see through; or call help to get him to HQ--and haveFilipson bark, "Man, you can't even make it across town on your ownpower because of a little snow." No, come hell or blizzard, he'd have togo solo. Besides, when he faced the inevitable unexpected behind Invaderlines, he couldn't afford a precedent of having flinched now.
He dressed and breakfasted with all the petty foresights that can meanthe shaving of clearance in a tight squeeze, and got off with all themargin of time he could muster. In the apartment court, he had a parkingspace by the basement exit and, for a wonder, no free-wheelingnincompoop had done him out of it last night. Even so, getting to thecar door illustrated the ordeal ahead; the snow was the damp, heavystuff that packs and glares. The streets were nasty, but he had theadvantage of having learned restraint and foresight.
HQ had been the post office, a ponderous red-stone building filling awhole block. He had scouted it thoroughly in advance, outside and in,and scheduled his route to the general's office, allowing for minorhazards. Now, he had half an hour extra for the unscheduled majorhazard.
But on arriving, he could hardly believe his luck. No car was yet parkedin front of the building, and the walk was scraped clean and salted tokill the still falling flakes. No problems. He parked and began tounload himself quickly, to forestall the elderly MP who hurried towardshim. But, as Scott prepared to thank him off, the man said, "Sorry, Mac,no one can park there this morning."
Scott felt the chill of nemesis. Knowing it was useless, he protestedhis identity and mission.
But, "Sorry, major. But you'll have to park around back. They'rebringing in the big computer. General himself can't park here. Them'sorders."
He could ask the sergeant to park the car. But the man couldn't leavehis post, would make a to-do calling someone--and that was Filipson'ssuite overlooking the scene. No dice. Go see what might be possible.
But side and back parking were jammed with refugees from the computer,and so was the other side. And he came around to the front again. Fiveminutes wasted. He thought searchingly.
He could drive to a taxi lot, park there, and be driven back by taxi,disembark on the clean walk, and there you were. Of course, he couldhear Filipson's "Thought you drove your own car, ha?" and his owndamaging excuses. But even Out Yonder, you'd cut corners in emergency.It was all such a comfortable Out, he relaxed. And, relaxing, saw hisalternative.
* * * * *
He was driving around the block again, and noted the back entrance. Thiswas not ground level, because of the slope of ground; it faced a broadlanding, reached by a double flight of steps. These began on each sideat right-angles to the building and then turned up to the landing alongthe face of the wall. Normally, they were negotiable; but now, even hadhe found parking near them, he hadn't the chance of the celluloid cat inhell of even crossing the ten feet of uncleaned sidewalk. You might aswell climb an eighty-degree, fifty-foot wall of rotten ice. But therewas always a way, and he saw it.
The unpassable walk itself was an avenue of approach. He swung his caronto it at the corner, and drove along it to the steps to park in theangle between steps and wall--and discovered a new shut-out. He'dexpected the steps to be a mean job in the raw wind that favored thisface of the building; but a wartime janitor had swept them sketchilyonly down the middle, far from the balustrades he must use. By thebalustrades, early feet had packed a semi-ice far more treacherous thanthe untouched snow; and, the two bottom steps curved out beyond thebalustrade. So ... a sufficiently reckless alpinist might assay a cliffin a sleet storm and gale, but he couldn't even try if it began with anoverhang.
Still time for the taxi. And so, again Scott saw the way that was alwaysthere: Set the car so he could use its hood to heft up those firststeps.
Suddenly, his thinking metamorphosed: He faced, not a miserable,unwarranted forlorn hope, but the universe as it was. Titanic pressuresuit against the hurricanes of Jupiter, and against a gutter freshet,life was always outclassed--and always fought back. Proportions didn'tmatter, only mood.
He switched on his ICEG to record what might happen. I auditioned it,but I can't disentangle it from what he told me. For example, in hiswords: Multiply distances by five, heights by ten, and slickness bytwenty. And in the playback: Thirty chin-high ledges loaded with softlard, and only finger holds and toe holds. And you did it on stilts thatbegan, not at your heels, at your hips. Add the hazard of Helpful Hosea:"Here, lemme giveya hand, Mac!", grabbing the key arm, and crashing downthe precipice on top of you.
Switching on the ICEG took his mind back to the snug apartment where itsreceiver stood, the armchair, books, desk of diverting work. It lookedawful good, but ... life fought back, and always it found a way.
* * * * *
He shucked his windbreaker because it would be more encumbrance thanhelp in the showdown. He checked, shoelaces, and strapped on the cleatshe had made for what they were worth. He vetoed the bag of sand and salthe kept for minor difficulties--far too slow. He got out of the car.
This could be the last job he'd have to do incognito--Seed-corn, he'dget credit for. Therefore, he cherished it: triumph for its own sake.Alternatively, he'd end at the bottom in a burlesque clutter ofchrom-alum splints and sticks, with maybe a broken bone to clinch thedecision. For some men, death is literally more tolerable than defeat inhumiliation.
Eighteen shallow steps to the turn, twelve to the top. Once, he'd havecleared it in three heartbeats. Now, he had to make it to atwenty-minute deadline, without rope or alpenstock, a Moon-man adaptedto a fraction of Earth gravity.
With the help of the car hood, the first two pitches were easy. For thenext four or five, wind had swept the top of the balustrade, providingdamp, gritty handhold. Before the going got tougher, he developed atechnic, a rhythm and system of thrusts proportioned to heights andwidths, a way of scraping holds where ice was not malignantly welded tostone, an appreciation of snow texture and depth, an economy of effort.
He was enjoying a premature elation when, on the twelfth step, a cleatstrap gave. Luckily, he was able to take his lurch with a firm grip onthe balustrade; but he felt depth yawning behind him. Dourly, he tookthirty seconds to retrieve the cleat; stitching had been sawed throughby a metal edge--just as he'd told the cocksure workman it would be. Oh,to have a world where imbecility wasn't entrenched! Well--he wasfighting here and now for the resources to found one. He resu
med theescalade, his rhythm knocked cockeyed.
Things even out. Years back, an Invader bomber had scored a near miss onthe building, and minor damage to stonework was unrepaired. Crevicesgave fingerhold, chipped-out hollows gave barely perceptible purchase tothe heel of his hand. Salutes to the random effects of unlikely causes!
He reached the turn, considered swiftly. His fresh strength was blunted;his muscles, especially in his thumbs, were stiffening with chill. Now:He could continue up the left side, by the building, which was tougherand hazardous with frozen drippings, or by the outside, right-hand rail,which was easier but meant crossing the open, half-swept wide step andrecrossing the landing up top. Damn! Why hadn't he foreseen that? Oh,you can't think of everything. Get going, left side.
* * * * *
The wall of the building was rough-hewn and ornamented with