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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 104: Kondor 290
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Slade 285
Kondor was awakened from a light slumber by a flashing light and electronic bell-like ping. A moment later a voice said, “Prepare to decouple,” and it struck him that there wasn’t much he could do but perhaps brace himself.
The solenoids hummed and the bolts clacked, and with a quick lurch he was in freefall. He swallowed once to contain his stomach, and then again to equalize the pressure in his ears. Then there was another clack, a brief whistling sound, and another lurch as the first of the three parachutes engaged. Dropping fast, he did not hear the first chute get ripped off as he was still going faster than sound. The second chute opened in rapid succession, ripped free, and he heard the third pop as it slung him head first into the bracing. Ow. That had felt like being in a car crash followed by two more cars crashing into the back of the car. He was now drifting toward the valley below. Hopefully he would land on a relatively level spot, although as he considered it he realized the odds were against it--as they were against the probability that he would land near a road or track.
He heard a sound above him, and tried to match it in his mind. It sounded like servo motors, but what could they be doing? Wait, the world had a global satellite positioning system that was extremely accurate. It was within the realm of possibility that the servo motors were adjusting the parachute cords to steer the container to a specific landing point. He thought that was impressive--he was fairly certain he would not be able to steer himself to a specific landing point by pulling on the cords of a parachute. He had underestimated their data processing abilities.
He felt like he was holding his breath. He wasn’t, of course--the descent would be swift, but not so swift that he could avoid hypoxia if he didn’t breathe, and his body instinctively knew that. Still, as it touched down he released a significant exhale and took a deep breath.
Very dim light emitting diodes appeared by the interior latch releases. It was time to exit. He had worn the space suit--the temperature at their cruising altitude was not what he would have called comfortable, even with the pressurization of the pod--but he quickly disrobed. Squirming about he jerked on his parka because an upper valley in the Himalayas would be cool at the best of times. He secured the fasteners on the parka and checked the gloves. He released the fasteners for the pod hatch, six of them, one at a time, in a cross pattern like tightening the lug nuts on a tire, and there was a gasp of pressure and a wave of cold overcoming the pod’s life-support-level heating system, and the hatch came loose.
He was stiff from having been immobile so long, but realized he had to start moving to stay warm, if nothing else. He pulled himself to a sitting position and clambered to his feet, then released the straps securing the motorcycle. Glancing around he realized he was within five yards of something that looked like a road. It occurred to him that a snowmobile might have been a better vehicle for the mission than a motorcycle, but he had trained on the bike and should be able to handle it. He lifted it out and over the edge of the pod, then grabbed the loose gear. Not having the luxury of the bike trailer, he had had to limit what he brought, and had gone through things thrice to thin out the burden. He did not have his medical kit, and he left the duffel and the suitcase behind and packed everything he needed in his backpack but what he could wear on his person. He slung his M-16 rifle over one shoulder, his canteen over the other.
On his belt he had his pistol to the left and his kinetic blaster to the right, with the Bowie knife behind the blaster. There were spare clips and power packs for all three weapons in the large pockets of the specially-designed parka. He was wearing customized boots for the mountain snows over his white snow fatigues, snow pants over that, and his bullet-proof vest under the parka. The pack contained his multi-cell flashlight, the tuning glasses for his cybereye, his eye patch, some food, extra bullets for the guns, and both rechargers for the blaster power packs. He had his tent and his bedroll strapped to the bottom, although he hoped they would be unnecessary. There was also a satphone in the pack to contact his support team.
He slung the ranging binoculars over his head, and donned the spy gear--starlight vision, parabolic listening system, sniffer. He had left all his valuables behind but his silver ring with the blue star sapphire, mostly because he was not in the habit of removing it.
Thus accoutred, he settled onto the bike, checked the newly-installed GPS system (no map, but it did mark the location of his destination relative to his current position), and started the bike. He understood why some of his friends would have prayed in a situation like this, but he figured either the bike would start or it wouldn’t, and no superstitious calls on non-existent spirit powers was going to change that.
He drove through the snow-covered surface toward what appeared to be the mountain pass, and hoped that this was going to work.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
