The mother cable was out of the direct path of the falling debris, but the webbers weren't out of danger yet. The main chunk of rock was attached to the falling pole line like a wrecking ball. If something wasn't done, its momentum threatened to tear the mother cable from its moorings or crash into it on the backswing. Showing quick reactions, Orpheus slashed through the line with a leg-scythe. He clung on doggedly to the end as the slack ran out and it jerked tight. Untethered, the wedge crashed into a ledge and shattered into more pieces which ricocheted down the rift. A secondary rain of shards passed over him.

Orpheus and the mother cable had survived intact. It was a dramatic setback, but catastrophe had been averted.

Madison, the xeno-microbiologist, breathed out audibly. "That was a real hair raiser. I haven't been on the edge of my seat like that since my cadet training sims."

"He's venting," said Trevor.

"What?" The holo zoomed in on Orpheus's air-sac. "Aw, damn."

Air was indeed venting from the rear left side of the bubble. The webber tried to pinch it shut using his leg-paddles, but the force of the air pressure caused the edges to flutter.

Back on the mother cable, the other webbers plucked away in emergency conference. There had not been time to fully decode the webber language, but a few words could be made out: air, breathe, hole, close. The topmost riftonaut scrambled upward while the two behind him took up positions to cast rescue lines. The final webber kept up a constant stream of communication.

Orpheus's air-sac was already half deflated. The venting air sent him swaying wildly. He nearly lost his grip and dangled for a moment by a single leg. Visible through the collapsing membrane, his body heaved with exertion. Both rescue lines missed.

Meanwhile, the uppermost riftonaut had reached the top of the mother cable. He extended a foot toward the bucking pole line that dangled from it and, trying to compensate for its erratic motion, fluttered his nails briefly against it. Did his message reach its target over a hundred feet below? He made several more attempts to communicate but could only manage brief bursts.

The message must have gotten through because Orpheus immediately began to settle down. Giving up on trying to close the tear, he grabbed the line with more feet and worked to bring the spinning and swinging under control. The venting was starting to taper off, making his job easier. Once he was stabilized, he used his pedipalps to scoop gas-maker globules into his mouth. He didn't chew them yet but instead went completely still, conserving his energy as the air-sac closed around him like shrinkwrap.

"What's he doing?" asked Hassani.

"He's voiding the sac to make a tight seal," responded Trevor. "It's risky, but what other choice has he got?"

With the edges of the tear now pressed flush against his body, Orpheus extruded a pasty silk from the smallest spinneret and applied it over and around the tear. He waited for the better part of a minute as the new silk fused with the old and set. He did his utmost to remain still, but the effort of not breathing was causing him to shake involuntarily. Finally, the riftonaut above gave a pluck on the pole line, and Orpheus vigorously began crushing the gas globules in his mouth. Liquid squirted out and began fizzing into gas. The bubble started to reinflate ever so slowly.

The breathing reflex kicked in, but it was too soon. The membrane was sucked up against his air slits. Orpheus shuddered; he was suffocating. But somehow he managed to puff out the membrane for just long enough to steal a quick breath. After a few more puff-and-gasps, the air-sac had expanded enough to clear his mouth and slits. He scooped up more gas-maker globules and crushed those too. The air-sac reached half of its previous size, then two-thirds. The patch was holding. It would be touch and go on the way down to the meso-caverns, but if he could ration his air and the seal didn't break, he stood a fighting chance.

"He's going to make it!" Madison voiced the relief and excitement felt by the entire crew.

Meanwhile, one of the casters had managed to land a rescue line and was starting to reel him in. The stage was set for a replay of the earlier recovery. A second line landed, and, at last, Orpheus was brought within reach of the mother cable. He reached out, but his foot flailed clumsily. He seemed weak and disoriented. Something was the matter with his coordination. Had the oxygen deprivation or pressure loss affected him?

As Orpheus twisted around, a new visual angle came into view, causing the CU team to gasp. It was the old magician's trick of misdirection. The obvious tear on the upper left side had distracted attention from the lower right, which was directed down and away from the viewing perspective. A thin spar of stone had punctured deep into the webber's abdomen. Dark blood and ichor was pulsing from the wound to collect in a puddle at the bottom of the air-sac.

The razer-edged spar had not caused the air-sac to rupture; the stretchy material had formed a clean seal around it. The wound was unrecoverable. In the heat of the moment, the webber may not have even felt it. But he seemed to realize his condition now. He made a series of final plucking motions on the rescue line. The trailing riftonaut shot up the mother cable with surprising speed, generating so much internal heat his air-sac fogged over, but it was a futile effort. Orpheus was already falling, moving slowly in the one-sixth gravity, his legs curling in on themselves in a spider-like attitude of death.