The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack by Reginald Bretnor & Grendel Briarton

Author:Reginald Bretnor & Grendel Briarton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, sci-fi, short stories, wildside megapack, feghoot
ISBN: 9781434446565
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2013-07-07T16:00:00+00:00

THE MAN ON TOP

Who was the first man to reach the summit of Mount Everest? Barbank, of course. Any school kid can tell you—highest mountain in the world, 29,141 feet, conquered finally by Geoffrey Barbank.

I was forgotten—I was just the fellow who went along. The press gave him the credit. He was the Man on Top, the Man on the Top of the World.

Only he wasn’t, really. He knows that it’s a lie. And that hurts—especially when he thinks of me, and of the Holy Man.

Jealous of Barbank? I don’t think I am. And you won’t either, presently.

I hated him. A mountain is a quest, a mystery, a challenge to the spirit. Mallory, who died on Everest, knew that—and his was the best reason for trying to climb it. “Because it is there,” he said.

But Barbank climbed it to keep some other man from being first on top. He climbed it because he knew no other way of getting there. Mysteries did not exist for him, and anyone who felt the sense of mystery was a fool. All men were fools to Barbank—or enemies. They had to be.

I found that out the day I joined the expedition in Darjeeling. “The town’s in a sweat about some flea-bag Holy Man,” he told me after lunch. “Sort of a ten-goal saint, complete with extra supernatural powers. Let’s go and look the old fraud over. Might have a bit of fun.”

So the two of us walked down from the hotel, and, all the way, he boasted of his plans. I can still see his face, big, cold, rectangular, as he discussed the men who’d tried and failed—

Of course, they’d muffed it. You couldn’t climb Everest on the cheap. He’d do things differently. All his equipment was better than the best. Because he had designed it. Because it cost a mint. Because—

It made me angry. But I had come too far to be turned back. I let him talk.

We turned into the compound of a temple. There was a quiet crowd there, squatting in the dust, and many monkeys. By a stone wall, under a huge umbrella, the Holy Man was seated on a woven mat. His long, white hair framed the strangest face I’ve ever seen—moon-round, unlined, perfectly symmetrical. His eyes were closed. Against the pale brown skin, his full lips curved upward like the horns of a Turkish bow. It was a statue’s face, smiling a statue’s smile, utterly serene.

The people seemed waiting for something to begin. As we came through the crowd, it was so still. But Barbank paid no heed. We halted up in front. We stood there in the sun. And he talked on.

“What’s more,” he said, “I don’t intend to bother with filthy Sherpa porters for the upper camps. Planes will drop the stuff. I’m making sure I’ll be the man on top.”

That set me off. “The Sherpa are brave men,” I told him, “good mountaineers. Besides, it’s more their mountain than it is ours.”

“Rot,” he snapped. “They’re beasts of burden.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.