The following morning I sent the messages. Out across the light-yearslike cosmic carrier pigeons they went. They winged their ways to somepersons I hadn't seen in years and to others who had seen me off atLuna Station. Each said, in its own way, "If you want in on thebiggest climb of them all, come to Diesel. The Gray Sister eats Kaslafor breakfast. R.S.V.P. c/o. The Lodge, Georgetown. Whitey."

Backward, turn backward....

I didn't tell Henry. Nothing at all. What I had done and where Iwas going, for a time, were my business only, for that same time. Ichecked out well before sunrise and left him a message on the desk:

"Out of town on business. Back in a week. Hold the fort. MadJack."

I had to gauge the lower slopes, tug the hem of the lady's skirt,so to speak, before I introduced her to my friends. They say only amadman climbs alone, but they call me what they call me for a reason.

From my pix, the northern face had looked promising.

I set the rented flier down as near as I could, locked it up,shouldered my pack and started walking.

Mountains rising to my right and to my left, mountains at my back,all dark as sin now in the predawn light of a white, white day. Aheadof me, not a mountain, but an almost gentle slope which kept risingand rising and rising. Bright stars above me and cold wind past me asI walked. Straight up, though, no stars, just black. I wondered forthe thousandth time what a mountain weighed. I always wonder that asI approach one. No clouds in sight. No noises but my boot sounds onthe turf and the small gravel. My small goggles flopped around myneck. My hands were moist within my gloves. On Diesel, the pack andI together probably weighed about the same as me alone on Earth--forwhich I was duly grateful. My breath burned as it came and steamed asit went. I counted a thousand steps and looked back, and I couldn'tsee the flier. I counted a thousand more and then looked up to watchsome stars go out. About an hour after that, I had to put on mygoggles. By then I could see where I was headed. And by then thewind seemed stronger.

She was so big that the eye couldn't take all of her in at once.I moved my head from side to side, leaning further and furtherbackward. Wherever the top, it was too high. For an instant, I wasseized by a crazy acrophobic notion that I was looking down ratherthan up, and the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands tingled,like an ape's must when, releasing one high branch to seize another,he discovers that there isn't another.

I went on for two more hours and stopped for a light meal. Thiswas hiking, not climbing. As I ate, I wondered what could have causeda formation like the Gray Sister. There were some ten and twelve-milepeaks within sixty miles of the place and a fifteen-mile mountaincalled Burke's Peak on the adjacent continent, but nothing else likethe Sister. The lesser gravitation? Her composition? I couldn'tsay. I wondered what Doc and Kelly and Mallardi would say when theysaw her.

I don't define them, though. I only climb them.

I looked up again, and a few clouds were brushing against her now.>From the photos I had taken, she might be an easy ascent for a goodten or twelve miles. Like a big hill. There were certainly enoughalternate routes. In fact, I thought she just might be a pushover.Feeling heartened, I repacked my utensils and proceeded. It was goingto be a good day. I could tell.

And it was. I got off the slope and onto something like a trailby late afternoon. Daylight lasts about nine hours on Diesel, and Ispent most of it moving. The trail was so good that I kept on forseveral hours after sundown and made considerable height. I wasbeginning to use my respiration equipment by then, and the heatingunit in my suit was turned on.

The stars were big, brilliant flowers, the way was easy, the nightwas my friend. I came upon a broad, flat piece and made my camp underan overhang.

There I slept, and I dreamt of snowy women with breasts like theAlps, pinked by the morning sun; and they sang to me like the wind andlaughed, had eyes of ice prismatic. They fled through a field ofclouds.

The following day I made a lot more height. The "trail" began tonarrow, and it ran out in places, but it was easy to reach for the skyuntil another one occurred. So far, it had all been good rock. Itwas still tapering as it heightened, and balance was no problem. Idid a lot of plain old walking. I ran up one long zigzag and hit itup a wide chimney almost as fast as Santa Claus comes down one. Thewinds were strong, could be a problem if the going got difficult. Iwas on the respirator full time and feeling great.

I could see for an enormous distance now. There were mountainsand mountains, all below me like desert dunes. The sun beat halos ofheat about their peaks. In the east, I saw Lake Emerick, dark andshiny as the toe of a boot. I wound my way about a jutting crag andcame upon a giant's staircase, going up for at least a thousand feet.I mounted it. At its top I hit my first real barrier: a fairlysmooth, almost perpendicular face rising for about eight-five feet.

No way around it, so I went up. It took me a good hour, and therewas a ridge at the top leading to more easy climbing. By then,though, the clouds attacked me. Even though the going was easy, I wasslowed by the fog. I wanted to outclimb it and still have somedaylight left, so I decided to postpone eating.

But the clouds kept coming. I made another thousand feet, andthey were still about me. Somewhere below me, I heard thunder. Thefog was easy on my eyes, though, so I kept pushing.

Then I tried a chimney, the top of which I could barely discern,because it looked a lot shorter than a jagged crescent to its left.This was a mistake.

The rate of condensation was greater than I'd guessed. The wallswere slippery. I'm stubborn, though, and I fought with skidding bootsand moist back until I was about a third of the way up, I thought, andwinded.

I realized then what I had done. What I had thought was the topwasn't. I went another fifteen feet and wished I hadn't. The fogbegan to boil about me, and I suddenly felt drenched. I was afraid togo down and I was afraid to go up, and I couldn't stay where I wasforever.

Whenever you hear a person say that he inched along, do not accusehim of a fuzzy choice of verbs. Give him the benefit of the doubt andyour sympathy.

I inched my way, blind, up an unknown length of slippery chimney.If my hair hadn't already been white when I entered at the bottom....

Finally, I got above the fog. Finally, I saw a piece of thatbright and nasty sky, which I decided to forgive for the moment. Iaimed at it, arrived on target.

When I emerged, I saw a little ledge about ten feet above me. Iclimbed to it and stretched out. My muscles were a bit shaky, and Imade them go liquid. I took a drink of water, ate a couple ofchocolate bars, took another drink.

After perhaps ten minutes, I stood up. I could no longer see theground. Just the soft, white, cottony top of a kindly old storm. Ilooked up.

It was amazing. She was still topless. And save for a couplespots, such as the last--which had been the fault of my own stupidoverconfidence--it had almost been as easy as climbing stairs.

Now the going appeared to be somewhat rougher, however. This waswhat I had really come to test.

I swung my pick and continued.

All the following day I climbed, steadily, taking no unnecessaryrisks, resting periodically, drawing maps, taking wide-angle photos.The ascent eased in two spots that afternoon, and I made a quick seventhousand feet. Higher now than Everest, and still going, I. Now,though, there were places where I crawled and places where I used myropes, and there were places where I braced myself and used mypneumatic pistol to blast a toehold. (No, in case you're wondering: Icould have broken my eardrums, some ribs, and arm and doubtlessultimately, my neck, if I'd tried using the gun in the chimney.)