The building of the mother cable followed a regular pattern. First, an upward pole string would be attached to an overhead surface. Then the helix lines would be cast and wound around it. Surface threads would be layered over those and cinched in place to prevent unwinding under strain. At that point, the protruding end of the pole line would be cut and later joined to the next one to form a continuous axial cable.

Ideally, the pole string would be close to vertical to keep the mother cable centered and tension evenly distributed, but the selection of anchor points was limited by topography. The best available spar or protuberance would have to suffice. As it neared the surface, the rift widened, and the job of extending the pole string became that much harder.

The responsibility of casting the pole string fell to the riftonaut leader. He wasn't difficult to pick out. Not only was he the largest, but he held first position on the way up. The CU dubbed him Orpheus for his role in leading the group out of the underworld.

"Why do you have to jinx them?" Madison asked. "You know how the tale of Orpheus ends."

"Would you prefer we call him Jesus?" Trevor said. He and the xeno-microbiologist kept up a running banter.

"I wonder which direction hell lies in their mythology," Renata pondered. "Technically, the underworld is their home, and the overworld is the place to be feared."

All the members of the CU gathered around the holo-void to watch the casting of the pole line. It was a surreal sight, like watching a giant spider in a soap bubble perform a spacewalk. No one was going to miss it.

Orpheus positioned himself on the terminal cinching ring of the mother cable with his action end aimed upward.

"Mooned by an alien," Trevor said. "Now I've seen it all."

"Don't be insensitive," Madison said. "For all we know, that may be a heroic pose for them. A webber salute."

The pose was merely practical, directing the spinnerets at the proper upward angle. The air-sac attached to the fleshy, puckered ridge around them which was naturally bereft of fur, probably an adaptation to keep it from getting gooped up. Four of the six outer spinnerets pulsed in unison, producing a bluish stream with the wet consistency of blown glass. It was fed into a leg-scoop where it formed into a ball. Working quickly, leg-paddles smoothed over bumps and evened out creases. Once the globe reached the size of a basketball, Orpheus extruded a continuous rope from the central spinneret, draping it in loose coils around a leg-spine.

What target would Orpheus choose? The onboard AI matched the length of thread with a wedge of stone about two hundred feet away. Judging distance was critical for a successful cast. Without eyes, how could the webber discern the topology of the rift much less the distance to the walls? Through its exquisite res-sense, of course. While Orpheus was busy making the pole string, the other webbers kept up a steady plucking. The vibrations traveled along the helix lines to the walls of the rift, and the return vibrations provided a visual map of the territory.

Orpheus had to work fast. He had limited time to cast the thread before it started to stiffen. With the end-ball giving it weight, he twirled the free end until it became a blur. Then, with an upward heave, he cast it toward the jut of wall. The globe splatter-squished onto the rock, taking on the shape of an irregular starfish, and stuck tight as a barnacle.

Orpheus extruded more thread, sliced it off from the spinneret, and then lashed it to the strings protruding from the mother cable in a complex constrictor knot. Slowly, drew out the slack. Timing was critical. It had to be pulled taut without attenuating. The fresh string was already starting to lose some of its milky tint as the moisture sublimated away, taking on a crystalline translucence. Changing color, it contracted and stiffened without becoming brittle—that was the chemical magic of webber thread. In another minute, the cable would be hard as steel and ready to support the helix lines.

Although it was impossible to read human expression on the faceless webber inside his air-sac, the posture alone conveyed confidence and pride. Orpheus had flawlessly carried out his part of the mission under the most daunting of circumstances. So many things could have gone wrong between the thread mixture, the selection of anchor point, the cast, the knot, and the tensioning. He had pulled it off without a hitch. No doubt it was the achievement of a lifetime.

When the silk had fully set, Orpheus began to scale the pole line, running the soft pads of his feet along it to feel for bumps and impurities. He was halfway to the top when there came a splitting noise, brittle in the tenuous atmosphere. The stone anchor point had given way under the tension. The riftonauts and their invisible CU watchers all held their collective breath as the large wedge of rock fell amid a shower of fragments.