"Robert F. Young - Goddess in Granite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

Then, near the western edge of the neck-ridge, he found the chimney.
It was a shallow fissure, perhaps twice the breadth of his body, created
probably by a recent seismic disturbance. He remembered, suddenly, the other
signs of recent seismic activity he had noticed in the colony but had not
bothered to inquire about. A dozen or so ruptured dwellings were of little
consequence when you were on the verge of resolving a complex that had plagued
you for twelve years.
The chimney zigzagged upward as far as he could see, presenting, at least
for the first thousand feet, a comparatively easy means of ascent. There were
innumerable hand- and footholds, and occasional ledges. The trouble was, he
had no way of knowing whether the holds and the ledgesтАФor even the chimney
itselfтАФcontinued all the way to the summit.
He cursed himself for having neglected to bring binoculars. Then he noticed
that his hands were trembling, that his heart was tight against his ribs; and
he knew, all at once, that he was going to climb the chimney regardless, that
nothing could stop him, not even himselfтАФnot even the knowledge, had it been
available, that the chimney was a dead end.
He drew his piton pistol and inserted one of the dozen clips he carried in
his belt. He aimed carefully, squeezed the trigger. The long hours he had
spent practicing, while awaiting transportation from the spaceport to the
colony, paid off, and the peg, trailing its almost invisible nylon line,
imbedded itself in the lofty ledge he had selected for his first belay. The
sound of the second charge caromed down and joined the fading sound of the
first, and he knew that the steel roots of the peg had been forced deep into
the granite, guaranteeing his safety for the initial 500 feet.
He replaced the pistol in its self-locking holster. From now till he
reached the ledge, the line would take in its own slack, automatically
rewinding itself in the chamber in pace with his ascent.
He began to climb.
His hands were steady now, and his heart had resumed its normal beat. There
was a song in him, throbbing soundlessly through his whole being, imbuing him
with a strength he had never known before, might never know again. The first
500 feet were almost ridiculously easy. Hand- and footholds were so numerous
most of the way that it was like climbing a stone ladder, and in the few
places where the projections petered out, the walls were ideally spaced for
opposite pressure. When he reached the ledge, he wasnтАЩt even breathing hard.
He decided not to rest. Sooner or later the thinness of the atmosphere was
going to catch up with him, and the higher he got, while he was still fresh,
the better. He stood up boldly and drew and aimed the piton pistol. The new
peg soared forth, trailing the new line and dislodging the old, arrowing into
the base of another ledge some 200 feet above the one on which he stood. The
range of the pistol was 1,000 feet, but the narrowness of the chimney and the
awkwardness of his position posed severe limitations.
He resumed his ascent, his confidence increasing with each foot he gained.
But he was careful not to look down. The chimney was so far out on the western
edge of the neck-ridge that looking down entailed not only the distance he had
already climbed, but the 8,000-foot drop from the ridge to the lowlands. He
did not think his new confidence quite capable of assimilating the shock of so
appalling a height.
The climb to the second ledge was as uneventful as the climb to the first.