She edged toward the gridwork, tied one end of her vine around her waist, and stepped off the roof onto a passing crossbar. The elevator kept going, and she leaned away until it was clear. Then she looped her vine around the bar, pulled it tight, and realized she'd stopped breathing. She lowered herself into a sitting position, both legs off one side of the rail although she'd have preferred to straddle because it would feel safer, but it just wasn't comfortable.

"Hutch?" Kellie's voice.

"I'm off the elevator."

"You okay?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Where are you?"

"Sitting on a crossbar."

More lightning. They lost communication for a moment. When it came back, Kellie said, "How safe are you?"

"I'm okay."

"We'll have enough of a charge in an hour or so."

"Don't try it. You'll get us all killed. Wait till morning."

"Hutch-"

"Do what I'm asking you to. It's the b.est chance for everybody."

The elevator was still moving steadily down. Then it stopped, and for several minutes it seemed locked in place. Finally it dropped out of the framework, out of the guide rails, and began to fall. A long time later she heard it hit the forest below.

BREAKING NEWS

"One of the two persons stranded in an elevator early this morning remains in danger…."

Nicholson would have preferred to be in his cabin in the Adiron-dacks. He wanted nothing so much as for this entire business to be over and his part in it to be forgotten. He believed he was safe. But he'd been shaken, and he hated being put into a position that required him to continue to make decisions that might backfire. He was, in fact, determined to see that nothing went wrong, that he emerged blameless from the mission. If he could accomplish that, he would consider himself very fortunate.

Secondarily, he would like to see a successful rescue. Not only because it would help his case, but because when his own immediate fears had passed, he'd begun to feel some sympathy for the four people trapped on the ground.

He was aware that his priorities, had they been known, would have reflected poorly on him. And that judgment embarrassed him, putting an even heavier load on his shoulders. But he couldn't help how he felt. He resented Marcel, not for anything Weady's captain had actually done, but because he hadn't been able to come up with a rescue plan that didn't involve additional risk for Nicholson.

There was a mild jar as the ship began the course correction. He sensed the mass of the object that the Star was hauling. Saw it in the sluggishness of the ship's responses. And that was the way of it at the moment: the Star was tied to this impossible alien shaft, much as Nicholson was tied to his decision to allow two passengers and a lander to drop out of orbit.

Power flowed through the bulkheads as the four superluminals struggled to move their burden onto the designated course. They had no serious capability for lateral maneuvering. While the ships could change their own heading through the use of strategically placed highly flexible thrusters, only the main engines had the sheer capacity to affect the Alpha shaft. That meant they could, in practical terms, only move it forward, relying on gravity fields and inertia to do the rest.

But Lori reported, well into the maneuver, that they were still on target. To Nicholson the entire operation seemed hopelessly complicated. But he had as yet no reason to believe that the plan would not work. Other than his own instincts.

The engines went neutral. Power was being applied elsewhere, by one or more of the other ships. They couldn't calibrate power levels up and down, so the computers adjusted by firing the engines of the various ships in whatever combination was necessary to achieve the desired result. It was a symphony.

One of the auxiliary screens carried a generated image of the Evening Star. It was in the center of a group of constellations, warm and luminous against the void. The shaft was represented by a fingernail-thin line, which extended to the edges of the display. Arrows pointed, 44 km forward to Zwick, and to the rear, 62 km to Wildside.

He refilled his coffee cup, and he saw Marcel talking earnestly with Beekman. The schedule they'd worked out told him there'd be another few hours of maneuvering. Of correcting the long rotation and nudging Alpha into its precise trajectory.

Marcel finished his conversation, looked around, and caught Nicholson's eye. "How about some breakfast, Erik?" he suggested.

Nicholson glanced at Beekman. "I wonder whether we shouldn't stay here. In case something happens."

"Something's already happening," he said. "You know Hutch is stranded."

"Yes. I'd heard."

It was after 4:00 a.m. "I don't think there's much we can do for the next few hours. Lori has all the data she needs. The Outsiders are ready to go as soon as conditions permit."

"Suppose there's a problem?"

"If it's a little one, we can deal with it."

"And if there's a big one?"

"It'll be over," said Beekman matter-of-factly. "We are past the point where we can make major adjustments."

Maybe it was just as well to sit down with Clairveau and Beekman. If the operation succeeded, people would remember the image of the two captains and the head of the science team, putting the rescue together.

The electrical intensity of the storm showed no sign of diminishing. Rain pounded down on her, and the wind howled.

The immediate danger rose from the possibility one of the bolts would hit the grid. The e-suit would protect her from a low-level discharge, but she'd never survive a lightning strike. Fortunately, the elevator frame did not jut up into the air. It disappeared into the ruins atop the mountain. Nevertheless there was a lot of exposed metal. A bolt was inevitable.

She could see no way off the iron. The rock wall was smooth. The few bushes clinging to it would never support her. There was a tree above and not far to one side. It looked old and scrabbly, and she thought it had all it could do to hang on itself. Furthermore, it would have been a long jump, one she was pretty sure she couldn't make.

Kellie was constantly on the circuit, between bursts of interference checking on her, asking whether she was okay.

The rain battered her. The suit kept her dry, but it was hard to see.

"You're sure there's no way you can get off the iron?" Kellie asked.

Hutch shook her head wearily. They'd been over it and over it.

"That settles it."

"No. Don't come up. Wait it out."

"But-"

"I'll find a way to get clear. My best chance is for you to stay put."

Another bolt exploded overhead. She jumped and would have fallen off her perch had she not been secured. She'd almost gotten used to the constant fear, which left her feeling numb and exhausted. The tree sagged in the heavy rain.

The gridwork trembled. Quake or thunder, it no longer seemed to matter. She looked off to the east. Jerry would be rising soon, although the sky would be too heavy to allow her to see it. Thank God for small favors.

When the lander began to drop, Kellie had accelerated, gained altitude, and returned to the mountaintop, hoping that they might be able to find a way to effect a rescue from above. But the peak was still blanketed with fog, despite the heavy winds. The electrical activity had knocked out communication with Wendy, so there was no one to guide them in. When MacAllister urged her to try anyhow, she'd prudently pointed out that getting them all killed would do nothing whatever for Priscilla Hutchins.

Instead, she'd opted for a shelf halfway down the mountain. They could hear the ocean coming in, so she wanted to stay high.

MacAllister stared morosely out the window into the flickering darkness while rain hammered at them.

They growled at one another and complained about sitting and doing nothing. Late in the evening Mac finally fell asleep. Nightingale, having no one left to argue with, sat morosely in his chair until Kellie wondered whether he was awake. At about midnight, she lost communication altogether with Hutch.