Previous Chapter
Every profession’s got its trademark piece of gear. The rock star has his guitar, the fireman his axe, the guerrilla his Kalashnikov. For rangers, it’s the Vertigo Industries Targeted Rapid Ascension System, or VITRAS — more commonly referred to as a grapple gun.
When the trigger of the VITRAS is depressed, it expels a silver spearhead at up to 200 feet per second. Behind the spearhead trails an impossibly thin thread made of carbon nanotubes. At full power, the projectile travels around the same speed as an arrow fired by a medieval longbow.
The operator of the VITRAS watches the spearhead fly, and when it reaches its peak altitude, he flicks a switch beside the trigger to transform the spearhead into a claw. Then the operator hooks the device to his harness and rockets skyward.
Of course, that’s assuming he’s aimed the thing properly, which as it turns out is easier said than done.
The grapple course, a towering wooden structure with jutting piers designed to simulate tree branches, was the second-most distinctive element of the training camp’s skyline, the other being the distant white hump of Mount Rainier. “Branches” protruded from the structure at heights of forty, sixty, and eighty feet, matching the height of the lowest-hanging branches in the actual forest.
When Zip and I arrived, Li and Junior were having a heated argument at the base of one of the enormous support struts, while John Franklin rappelled down from one of the branches behind them.
“Answer me this one, then,” said Li. “Why does the forest stop at the coasts? It already covers two-thirds of the planet. Why not take over the rest?”
Junior smiled politely.
“Forest trees don’t grow above forest level,” he said.
“C’mon.”
“What? It’s true.”
“You’re just repeating the question. The question is why.”
Junior waved a ham-sized hand in our direction.
“Hey, Tetris! Hey, Zip!” he said, nearly shouting. “How’s it going?”
Li glanced at us, clearly irritated by the disruption.
“Hi,” she said.
Zip tossed a tennis ball into the air and caught it. “Sup.”
Behind them, John Franklin touched down to earth and flicked the switch to recall his hook. It was a beautiful morning, cool but not cold, a light breeze dragging a subtle pine smell across the field. I noted with relief that my headache had subsided.
“How was the sim, Tetris?” asked Junior. I knew from glancing at the schedule this morning that he’d be running the same one this afternoon.
“Fine,” I said.
“Anything you can warn me about?”
I watched John Franklin square up to attempt another ascent. I liked Junior, but he was already close to the top of the leaderboard, and it irked me that he’d ask for inside information. He didn’t need the help.
“Not really,” I said. “Pretty straightforward.”
“Hmm,” said Junior, scratching his jaw.
There was a dull pop as John Franklin fired his grapple gun. The steel spearhead soared up, catching the light. The claw wrapped neatly around one of the higher struts.
John Franklin didn’t have many friends at camp, but he didn’t have any enemies either. He spoke quietly, with a Minnesota accent, rounding his vowels. Everybody pretty much left him alone.
I watched him take the ascent, slowly spinning, the device pulling him upwards at one-third its maximum speed. I envied him. It took me thirty seconds to line up a shot, and even then I still missed every once in a while. John Franklin didn’t need the practice any more. At this point he was just here because he wanted to be.
“I figured you’d be at the climbing wall, Zip,” said Junior.
“I wish,” said Zip, squeezing the tennis ball. “Tetris wanted to get some practice in. I figured I’d tag along.”
Li wrapped athletic tape around her hand. When she looked up and caught me staring, I pretended to be interested in a scab on my arm.
“Let’s see it, T,” she said.
The last thing I wanted was to miss a branch in front of Li and Junior. Truthfully, I’d hoped to find the course deserted. The three hours before lunch on sim days were basically our only free time, and most recruits typically took the opportunity to goof around, hike out to the lake for a swim or play basketball in the parking lot. Zip had told me that Li was out here, but I’d figured she’d be gone by the time I arrived. No such luck.
I squinted at the hut beside the course, where the equipment was checked in and out. There was a big Ranger Corp logo on the side of the building, the multi-tiered forest, with small, light-green trees in front and darker ones looming behind. I shrugged and headed over, feeling Li’s eyes on the back of my neck.
The Ranger Corp employee manning the rental counter took forever to bring me my equipment. When I made it back to Zip and the others, they were squinting upward, hands blocking the sun from their eyes.
Far above, John Franklin walked along the strut, his arms extended out flat on either side.
“Did he unhook from his harness?” asked Zip.
“No way,” said Junior.
I squinted with them. John Franklin definitely seemed like a weird kid — always looked half-asleep, and was one of the select few recruits who used the milk dispenser in the mess hall — but only a completely insane person would walk around up there without hooking in.
“No, he definitely did,” said Li. “Look at that — you can see his grapple gun over near the strut—”
Reaching the end of the branch, John Franklin paused.
“Maybe he’s a tightrope walker,” I proposed. “Maybe this is easy for him.”
Li shook her head.
“He’d better not jump,” she said.
I’d seen John Franklin run obstacle courses. He moved like a snake, fluid and confident. Up on the beam, John Franklin turned and coiled himself, settling back, bending his front knee. Then he flipped forward into a cartwheel.
Junior gasped. I sucked in a roomful of air.
“What is he doing?” demanded Li.
I felt nausea return.
John Franklin noticed us staring. He stood at attention, left arm slapping his side, and gave a salute.
“Maniac,” said Li.
John Franklin took a bow. He strutted back and forth. He blew a kiss. I’d never seen him so outgoing. It began to occur to me that I might be witnessing the complete mental breakdown of another human being.
“Alright, buddy,” said Junior, quietly. “Time to come back down. Hook back in.”
John Franklin did a handstand.
“Come on, John,” said Junior. “Come back down.”
Up on the branch, John Franklin danced a little jig.
Then he stumbled, slipped, and fell, cartwheeling through empty air.
He fell sixty feet in two-point-four seconds, and when we reached him he was already gone, lying on his back with shattered bones sticking out of his leg like clean white spears.
Next Chapter
Every profession’s got its trademark piece of gear. The rock star has his guitar, the fireman his axe, the guerrilla his Kalashnikov. For rangers, it’s the Vertigo Industries Targeted Rapid Ascension System, or VITRAS — more commonly referred to as a grapple gun.
When the trigger of the VITRAS is depressed, it expels a silver spearhead at up to 200 feet per second. Behind the spearhead trails an impossibly thin thread made of carbon nanotubes. At full power, the projectile travels around the same speed as an arrow fired by a medieval longbow.
The operator of the VITRAS watches the spearhead fly, and when it reaches its peak altitude, he flicks a switch beside the trigger to transform the spearhead into a claw. Then the operator hooks the device to his harness and rockets skyward.
Of course, that’s assuming he’s aimed the thing properly, which as it turns out is easier said than done.
The grapple course, a towering wooden structure with jutting piers designed to simulate tree branches, was the second-most distinctive element of the training camp’s skyline, the other being the distant white hump of Mount Rainier. “Branches” protruded from the structure at heights of forty, sixty, and eighty feet, matching the height of the lowest-hanging branches in the actual forest.
When Zip and I arrived, Li and Junior were having a heated argument at the base of one of the enormous support struts, while John Franklin rappelled down from one of the branches behind them.
“Answer me this one, then,” said Li. “Why does the forest stop at the coasts? It already covers two-thirds of the planet. Why not take over the rest?”
Junior smiled politely.
“Forest trees don’t grow above forest level,” he said.
“C’mon.”
“What? It’s true.”
“You’re just repeating the question. The question is why.”
Junior waved a ham-sized hand in our direction.
“Hey, Tetris! Hey, Zip!” he said, nearly shouting. “How’s it going?”
Li glanced at us, clearly irritated by the disruption.
“Hi,” she said.
Zip tossed a tennis ball into the air and caught it. “Sup.”
Behind them, John Franklin touched down to earth and flicked the switch to recall his hook. It was a beautiful morning, cool but not cold, a light breeze dragging a subtle pine smell across the field. I noted with relief that my headache had subsided.
“How was the sim, Tetris?” asked Junior. I knew from glancing at the schedule this morning that he’d be running the same one this afternoon.
“Fine,” I said.
“Anything you can warn me about?”
I watched John Franklin square up to attempt another ascent. I liked Junior, but he was already close to the top of the leaderboard, and it irked me that he’d ask for inside information. He didn’t need the help.
“Not really,” I said. “Pretty straightforward.”
“Hmm,” said Junior, scratching his jaw.
There was a dull pop as John Franklin fired his grapple gun. The steel spearhead soared up, catching the light. The claw wrapped neatly around one of the higher struts.
John Franklin didn’t have many friends at camp, but he didn’t have any enemies either. He spoke quietly, with a Minnesota accent, rounding his vowels. Everybody pretty much left him alone.
I watched him take the ascent, slowly spinning, the device pulling him upwards at one-third its maximum speed. I envied him. It took me thirty seconds to line up a shot, and even then I still missed every once in a while. John Franklin didn’t need the practice any more. At this point he was just here because he wanted to be.
“I figured you’d be at the climbing wall, Zip,” said Junior.
“I wish,” said Zip, squeezing the tennis ball. “Tetris wanted to get some practice in. I figured I’d tag along.”
Li wrapped athletic tape around her hand. When she looked up and caught me staring, I pretended to be interested in a scab on my arm.
“Let’s see it, T,” she said.
The last thing I wanted was to miss a branch in front of Li and Junior. Truthfully, I’d hoped to find the course deserted. The three hours before lunch on sim days were basically our only free time, and most recruits typically took the opportunity to goof around, hike out to the lake for a swim or play basketball in the parking lot. Zip had told me that Li was out here, but I’d figured she’d be gone by the time I arrived. No such luck.
I squinted at the hut beside the course, where the equipment was checked in and out. There was a big Ranger Corp logo on the side of the building, the multi-tiered forest, with small, light-green trees in front and darker ones looming behind. I shrugged and headed over, feeling Li’s eyes on the back of my neck.
The Ranger Corp employee manning the rental counter took forever to bring me my equipment. When I made it back to Zip and the others, they were squinting upward, hands blocking the sun from their eyes.
Far above, John Franklin walked along the strut, his arms extended out flat on either side.
“Did he unhook from his harness?” asked Zip.
“No way,” said Junior.
I squinted with them. John Franklin definitely seemed like a weird kid — always looked half-asleep, and was one of the select few recruits who used the milk dispenser in the mess hall — but only a completely insane person would walk around up there without hooking in.
“No, he definitely did,” said Li. “Look at that — you can see his grapple gun over near the strut—”
Reaching the end of the branch, John Franklin paused.
“Maybe he’s a tightrope walker,” I proposed. “Maybe this is easy for him.”
Li shook her head.
“He’d better not jump,” she said.
I’d seen John Franklin run obstacle courses. He moved like a snake, fluid and confident. Up on the beam, John Franklin turned and coiled himself, settling back, bending his front knee. Then he flipped forward into a cartwheel.
Junior gasped. I sucked in a roomful of air.
“What is he doing?” demanded Li.
I felt nausea return.
John Franklin noticed us staring. He stood at attention, left arm slapping his side, and gave a salute.
“Maniac,” said Li.
John Franklin took a bow. He strutted back and forth. He blew a kiss. I’d never seen him so outgoing. It began to occur to me that I might be witnessing the complete mental breakdown of another human being.
“Alright, buddy,” said Junior, quietly. “Time to come back down. Hook back in.”
John Franklin did a handstand.
“Come on, John,” said Junior. “Come back down.”
Up on the branch, John Franklin danced a little jig.
Then he stumbled, slipped, and fell, cartwheeling through empty air.
He fell sixty feet in two-point-four seconds, and when we reached him he was already gone, lying on his back with shattered bones sticking out of his leg like clean white spears.
Next Chapter