Well of Furies by Craig DeLancey

Author:Craig DeLancey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Space Opera
Publisher: 496 \ Perfect Number Press

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Tarkos turned his back to the sea and lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. He had done descents before, and he always hated this awkward moment, when he first shifted from crawling over the edge to clinging to the wall. The first test of the gecko filaments in his gloves and boots always felt like the most unreliable moment.

He looked over his shoulder. The drop below yawned, the sea seeming to tilt and recede with the surging tide. His testicles retracted, tingling. He swallowed and decided not to look again out over the disorienting sea. Instead, he leaned slightly to look down the cliff face. That was better. It seemed almost like looking across a plateau. Minutes before he had stood at the cliff edge and watched Bria and the others as they approached the door below. But now the metal petals of the vent doors blocked his view of the Library’s entrance. Bria and the others had hopefully already passed inside, but he heard nothing and he must pursue this alternate route unless the commander told him otherwise.

He told his suit and boots to extrude their gecko fibers, and he reached down with one hand and pressed it to the rock. It gripped strongly. He pushed the toes of his boots forward, and they seemed to cling to the rock. He told the suit to stiffen the boots more, as he bounced a little, testing the grip. He lifted his other hand and planted the glove on the stone face, feeling it settle and grip. He was over the edge.

The gecko grip allowed him to peel a glove or boot from the stone, but not to pull straight out. He peeled his left boot toe off the stone and reached as far down as he comfortably could with his leg before he planted it again. Then he did the same with his right hand. Always keep three points on the rock was the general rule. It slowed his descent, but the rhythm reassured him as he climbed down.

Tiklik leaned to the edge, and then, without slowing, walked over the cliff face. Its six legs extruded wide pads that, Tarkos supposed, operated like his own gecko grips. It passed him, walking head first, moving quickly and steadily down towards the higher of the two vent tunnels.

“Show-off,” Tarkos muttered as Tiklik hurried out of view. “Wait for me,” he called. He did not trust the AI enough to let it get out of his sight and into the library ahead of him.

Tarkos concentrated on moving carefully but quickly. The wind was growing strong, so that even through his massive suit, he felt its buffeting force. A wet mist blew against the stone, which made Tarkos wonder if it would weaken the grip. But his hands and boots held firmly, and he moved without slipping down the black stone.

After fifteen minutes by the suit clock, he let himself look down again. He’d crossed half the distance to the cliff’s bottom.

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