“I do not like it,” Kerk said. “I do not think that it can be done.”

“Kindly keep your doubts to yourself,” Jason whispered as they came up to Temuchin. “I’ll have enough of a job selling him this in any case. If you can’t help, at least stand there and nod your head once in a while as if you agreed with me.”

“Madness,” Kerk grumbled.

“Greetings, oh warlord,” Jason intoned. “I have come bringing aid that will turn this moment of disaster into victory.”

If Temuchin heard, he gave no sign. He sat on a boulder with his hands over the pommel of his sword, which stood upright on the ground before him, looking straight ahead at the sealed pass that had stopped his dream of conquest. The last rays of the setting sun lit up the sheer, vertical faces of the towers of rock that formed the gate.

“The pass is now a trap,” Jason said. “If we try to climb the rubble blocking it, or clear it away, we will be shot down by the men concealed behind it. Long before we can have forced passage, the reinforcements will have arrived. However, there is one thing that can be done. If we were to stand on the top of the higher spire of rock, on the left there, we could drop the gunpowder bombs down on the enemy, keeping them at bay until your soldiers had climbed the rockf all.”

Temuchin’s eyes went slowly up the smooth fall of rock to the summit high above. “That stone can not be climbed,” he said without turning his head.

Kerk nodded and opened his mouth to agree, then made an oofing sound instead as Jason planted an elbow in the pit of his stomach.

“You are right. Most men cannot climb that rock. But we Pyrrans are mountain men and can climb that tower with ease. Do we have your permission?”

The warlord turned deliberately and examined Jason as though he were more than a little mad. “Begin then. I will watch.”

“It must be done during daylight. We will need to see in order to throw the bombs. Then there is special equipment in our saddlebags that we must make ready. Therefore the climb will begin at dawn and by afternoon The Slash will be yours.”

They could feel Temuchin’s eyes burning into their backs as they returned to the others. Kerk was baffled.

“What equipment are you talking about? None of this makes sense.”

“Only because you have never been exposed to accepted rock-climbing techniques. The piece of equipment I will need first is your radio, because I have to call the ship and have the other equipment made. If they work hard, it can be done and delivered before dawn. See that our men set up camp as far from the others as possible. We want to be able to slip away without being noticed.”

While the others unrolled the fur sleeping bags and dug the fire pits, Jason used the radio. The inoropes were arranged in a rough circle while he crouched in the center behind the concealing bulk of their bodies. The duty officer aboard the Pugnacious sent a messenger to awaken and call in all the men, then copied down Jason’s instructions. There were no complaints or excuses as a war emergency is a normal part of Pyrran life, and delivery of the equipment was promised for well before dawn. Jason listened to a repeat of his instructions, then signed off. He ate some of the hot stew and left orders to be awakened when the completion call came through. It had been a long day, he was on the verge of exhaustion, and tomorrow promised to be even worse. Settling down in his sleeping bag, boots and all, he pulled a flap of fur over his face to keep the ice from forming in his nostrils and fell instantly to sleep.

“Co away,” he muttered, and tried to pull away from the clutching hand that was crushing his already well crushed arm.

“Get up,” Kerk said. “The call came through ten minutes ago. The launch is leaving now with the cargo and we must ride to meet it. The moropes are already saddled.” Jason groaned at the thought and sat up. All of the heat was instantly sucked from his body and he began to shiver.

“M-medikit-t,” he rattled. “Give me a good jolt of stimulants and painkillers because I have a feeling that it is going to be a very long day.”

“Wait here,” Kerk said. “I will meet the launch myself.”

“I would like to, but I can’t. I have to check the items before the launch returns to the ship. Everything must be perfect.”

They carried him to his morope and put him into the saddle. Kerk took his reins and led the beast while Jason dozed, clutching the pommel so he would not fall. They trotted through the predawn darkness and, by the time they had reached the appointed spot, the medication had taken hold and Jason felt remotely human.

“The launch is touching down,” Kerk said, holding the radio to his ear. There was the faintest rumble on the eastern horizon, a sound that would never be heard back at the camp.

“Do you have the flashlight?” Jason asked.

“Of course, wasn’t that part of the instructions?” Jason could imagine the big man scowling into the darkness. It was inconceivable for a Pyrran to forget instructions. “It has a photon store of x 8,ooo lumen-hours, and at full output can put out 1000 LF.”

“Throttle it down, we don’t need a tenth of that. The verticapsule is phototropic and has been set to home on any light source twice as radiant as the brightest star—”

“Capsule launched, on this radio bearing, distance approximately ten kilometers.”

“Right. It does about 120 an hour wide open so you can turn the light on now on the same bearing. Give it something to look for.”

“Wait, the pilot’s saying something. Take the light.”

Jason took the finger-sized tube and switched it on, turning the intensity ring until a narrow beam of light spiked away into the darkness.He pointed it in the direction of the grounded launch.

“The pilot reports that they had some trouble making a stain take on the nylon rope. It’s on now, but they can’t guarantee that it will be waterproof, and it is very blotchy.”

“The blotchier the better. Just as long as it resembles leather from a distance. And I’m not expecting any rain. Did you hear that?”

A rising hum sounded from the sky and they could make out a faint red light dropping down toward them. A moment later the beam glinted from the silvery hull of the verticapsule and Jason turned down the light’s intensity. There was a faint whistle of jets as the meter-long shape came into sight, dropping straight down, slowing as its radar altimeter sensed the ground. When it was low enough, Kerk reached up and threw the landing switch, and it settled with a dying hum to the ground. Jason flipped open the cargo hatch and drew out the coil of brown rope.

“Perfect,” he said, handing it to Kerk. He burrowed deeper and produced a steel hammer that had been hand-forged from a single lump of metal. It balanced nicely in his palm: the leather wrappings on the handle gave it a good grip. It had been acid-etched and rubbed with dirt to simulate age.

“What is this?” Kerk asked, pulling a metal spike out of the compartment and turning it over in the light.

“A piton, a solid one. Half of them should be like that, and half with clips-like this one.” He held up a similar spike that had a hole drilled in its broad end through which a ringlike clip had been passed.

“These things mean nothing to me,” Kerk said.

“They don’t have to.” Jason emptied the cargo compartment while he spoke. “I’m climbing the spire and I know how to use them. I only wish that I could take along some of the more modern climbing equipment, but that would give me away at once. If we had any in the ship, which we don’t. There are explosive piton setters that will drive a spike into the hardest rock, and instant-adhesive pitons that set in less than a second and the join is tougher than the rock around it. But I’m not using any of them. But I have had this rope wrapped around one of those monofilaments of grown ceramic fiber, the ones we use instead of barbed wire. With a breaking strength of more than z,ooo kilos. But what I have here will get me up the spire. I’ll just climb until I run out of handholds, then I’ll stop and drive in a piton and climb on it. For overhangs, or any other place where I need a rope, I use the ones with the rings. And these are for use close to the ground.” He held up a crude-looking piton marred by hand-forged hammer blows and pitted with age. “All of these are made from bar-steel stock, which is a little rare in this part of the world. So the ones Temuchin and his men will see have been made into artificial antiques. Everything’s here. You can tell the launch to take the verticapsule back.”