Pamela knew what she was doing, Scott had to grudgingly acknowledge. She’d insisted they use a piece of the webbing that had held stores on the outside of the transporter as a short rope, and now she toiled above him, testing each handhold and foothold, never moving until she was sure of her next step, yet even so, climbing steadily, twice as fast as he could have managed on his own—if he could have managed at all. The airless shadows were so black it was almost impossible to judge the rock they hid, but Pamela never seemed to put a foot or finger wrong.
Scott’s own feet, fingers, legs, and arms ached abominably after fifteen minutes, were pure torture after half an hour. Maybe it was the pain—maybe it was their increasing height above the transporter and the jagged rocks that covered it—
