!

In each fin of the beam, every foot or so, was a round hole. He'd get
one finger into a hole and pull, inching his body against the beam. He
timed himself to some striding music I didn't know, not fast but no
waste motion, even the pauses rhythmic.

I tell you. I was sweating under my leathers. Maybe I should have
switched the ICEG off, for my own sake if not to avoid distracting
Clyde. But I was hypnotized, climbing.

In the old days, when you were risking your neck, you were supposed to
think great solemn thoughts. Recently, you're supposed to think about
something silly like a singing commercial. Clyde's mind was neither
posturing in front of his mental mirror nor running in some feverish
little circle. He faced terror as big as the darkness from gorge bottom
to stars, and he was just simply as big as it was--sheer life exulting
in defying the dark, the frost and wind and the zombie grip of Invader.
I envied him.

Then his rhythm checked. Five feet from the top, he reached confidently
for a finger hole ... No hole.

He had already reached as high as he could without shifting his purchase
and risking a skid--and even his wrestler's muscles wouldn't make the
climb again. My stomach quaked: Never see sunlight in the trees any
more, just cling till dawn picked you out like a crow's nest in a dead
tree; or drop ...

Not Clyde. His flame of life crouched in anger. Not only the malice of
nature and the rage of enemies, but human shiftlessness against him too?
Good! He'd take it on.

Shoulder, thigh, knee, foot scraped off frost. He jammed his jaw against
the wet iron. His right hand never let go, but it crawled up the fin of
the strut like a blind animal, while the load on his points of purchase
mounted--watchmaker co-ordination where you'd normally think in
boilermaker terms. The flame sank to a spark as he focused, but it never
blinked out. This was not the anticipated, warded danger, but the trick
punch from nowhere. This was It. A sneak squall buffeted him. I cursed
thinly. But he sensed an extra purchase from its pressure, and reached
the last four inches with a swift glide. The next hole was there.

He waited five heartbeats, and pulled. He began at the muscular
disadvantage of aligned joints. He had to make it the first time; if you
can't do it with a dollar, you won't do it with the change. But as elbow
and shoulder bent, the flame soared again: Score one more for life!

A minute later, he hooked his a