After the first step, she'd thoroughly enjoyed the trip. Suspended like a cliff swallow over lakes in the Absaroka Beartooth, dangling above a sea of dusty live oaks in northern California. There was an above and a below. Here, she noted with an unpleasant tingle, there was neither. In the theatrical light of coming evening, the entrance to Lechuguilla looked like a portal, one lacking the standard three dimensions agreed upon by the real world.

She'd read of holes described as yawning, gaping, hungry-words that suggested an orifice, an appetite. The sixty-foot drop leading into Lech didn't fit any of those adjectives. Rather than sentience, it suggested a departure from life. The last rays of the sun skimmed its surface, lighting the stone for fifteen feet or so. Below that, nothing. Night took all.

"Hi ho," Holden said happily.

Iverson began checking ropes secured to bolts near a tree that showed scarring from when it had been used as an anchor in previous descents. "The climbs are all rigged. We leave them that way along the main trade routes-established routes through the cave. We've found it does a lot less damage to the resource to leave the rigging in place than having every expedition rerig each time."

"Me first, you last?" he said to Holden as he threaded the rope through his rappel rack.

Holden nodded. Oscar leaned back and walked, spiderlike, from sight. The sun slid below the horizon, and Anna felt suddenly cold. "It's getting dark," she said, and hoped Tillman hadn't heard the faint whine beneath her words.

"So?"

"Off-rope," drifted up from the black hole.

"Good point," Anna said, threaded the rope through her rack, pulled on her leather gloves, and unhooked the safety. "On-rope," she shouted down, and stepped back into the darkness.

2

As she rappelled down, Anna closed her mind to all but the task at hand.