Free Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) by F. Paul Wilson Page B

impressed.
    This little jaunt was going to make a name for Nicholas Quinn, Ph.D. The press would see to that. A mob of reporters was waiting up top, and he knew as soon as he stepped out of the bell they’d be all over him with a million questions. He’d be on all the news shows tonight, both the early and late. Maybe even the networks. Most guys in his spot—Nick could think of three from his own department right off—would be figuring out how they could parlay this into a major step up in their career. He almost laughed at his own narrow vision. He was wondering how to parlay it into an opportunity to ask Cynthia out. If he was famous, how could she say no?
    The intercom popped him out of a Cynthia daydream.
    “You’re at the halfway mark, Triton. How’re you doing?”
    Halfway. They had ten thousand feet of cable up there. Almost a mile down and still no bottom. This was incredible.
    “Fine,” Nick said. “Can you still see us?”
    “Yeah, but you’re just a little blob of light down there now.”
    What could have caused a hole like this? Could it be natural? Something extraterrestrial maybe? Say, that was a thought. It did seem like an artifact. What if—?
    Buckley’s voice drew him back to reality again.
    “Can we get these lights any brighter?” he said to the intercom.
    “They’re at max. What’s the problem, Triton?”
    “The wall’s fading from view.”
    “You’re out of sight now. Want to stop?”
    Nick looked out his port. Black out there. The beams from the floodlights didn’t seem to be going anywhere; the blackness swallowed the light within a few yards of the bulbs. The spots weren’t doing much better—bright shafts poking a dozen or so feet into the darkness and then disappearing.
    No, wait—ten feet into the darkness. No …
    Nick swallowed hard. The darkness was edging in on the lights, overcoming, devouring the illumination.
    “What’s wrong with the lights?” Buckley said, his voice tremulous.
    “I don’t know.” His own voice didn’t sound too steady either.
    “They’re losing power.”
    Nick didn’t think so. The darkness … something about it was overpowering the light, gobbling it up. Something thick and oily about it. The blackness seemed to move out there beyond the ports, almost seemed alive. Alive and hungry.
    He shook himself. What kind of thinking was that?
    But this blackness was certainly unusual, and probably the reason the laser signal had never returned. He smiled. Bottomless indeed! This weird old hole was deeper than it had any right to be, but it wasn’t bottomless.
    “We need more power to the lights!” Buckley said to the intercom.
    Pure black out there now. All illumination was gone.
    “You got it all, Triton. If there’s an electrical problem we’ll bring you back up and try again tomorrow.”
    “Not till I get at least one reading off the laser,” Nick said.
    He started flipping switches on the controls and noticed that his hands were trembling. Had the temperature dropped? He glanced at Buckley as he fastened a flash attachment to his camera.
    “You cold?”
    Buckley nodded. “Yeah, now that you mention it.” His breath steamed in the air. “You get your reading, I’ll try a couple of flash shots through the ports, then we’ll get back upstairs.”
    “You’ve got a deal.”
    Nick suddenly wanted very much to be out of this hole and into the sunlight again. He adjusted the laser settings, triggered it, and waited for the readout. And waited.
    Nothing.
    Buckley tried a few flash photos out his port while Nick rechecked his settings. Everything looked fine.
    “This is useless!” Buckley said, irritably snatching his camera away from the glass. “Like black bean soup out there.”
    Nick glanced out his port. The blackness seemed to press against the outer glass, as if it wanted to get in.
    Nick fired the laser again. And again nothing. Nothing was coming back. Damn! Maybe the laser wasn’t getting through the blackness or maybe