They’d set up camp on the beach where they built the raft. Ozzie and Orion used the tent to give themselves a degree of darkness when they wanted to sleep. The constant light didn’t seem to bother Tochee, but then the alien didn’t sleep anyway; it just rested.
When they got back, Orion set about rekindling the fire, then started cooking the fish that Tochee had caught. Ozzie went down to the water’s edge, and used the filter pump to fill up all their water pouches. The sea wasn’t particularly salty, but they certainly couldn’t drink it neat.
He started packing their things up while Orion finished cooking. The plan was simple enough. When he and the boy woke up they’d launch the raft straightaway. They had enough fruit and cured fish to last them for several days, and drinking water wasn’t a problem with the filter. Ozzie was quietly hoping all their preparations would be unneeded anyway. Even if, as he strongly suspected, their sail was next to useless, they had carved some crude oars, and Tochee could always tow them along. It surely wouldn’t take them more than a couple of days at most to reach the next island.
In the morning, he made sure Orion used some of the dwindling toothgel. Then they both set about combing knots and tangles out of their hair. Ozzie started in on his beard with his razor set—just about the only luxury item he’d hung on to. The diamond-coated blade made easy work of the growth, although he cursed the lack of a decent mirror.
“Why don’t you just use the handheld array?” Orion asked. He touched a few icons and held it up in front of Ozzie. The screen had unfolded to show the camera image directly. Ozzie’s face was magnified considerably.
“Thanks, man,” he said as he started to apply the razor again, a little bit more skillfully this time. Maybe it wouldn’t be too hard to school the boy after all.
After a quick breakfast they packed all their travel kit away in the rucksacks and various bags; then put all the food they’d gathered for the voyage into wicker baskets. All three of them lined up along the back of the raft. They’d built it a few yards from the edge of the placid water in anticipation of this moment. With Tochee in the middle, they started pushing, sliding the craft over the soft sand and down into the water. Ozzie was straining hard when the front end finally met the small wavelets lapping ashore. He almost didn’t want to watch. If the damn thing sank he didn’t have a clue what they’d do next.
The raft dipped alarmingly as its front half rode down the slope below the water, then slowly bobbed up again. Ozzie waded out to his waist, easing it forward. Tochee swam around it, then disappeared underwater. The first day on the island the big alien had surprised them with its grace in the water; it was almost as though Tochee was more at home in the sea than it was on land. Both sets of malleable flesh flattened out to form long fins that could propel it along at considerable speed, and it could hold its breath for a long time. The result was a constant supply of local fish that it had chased down and caught for them.
Orion stood with the water over his knees, grinning proudly at the raft. “Isn’t that amazing, Ozzie?”
“Yeah, man, goddamn amazing.” Ozzie watched their craft for a while longer, still expecting it to sink. It wasn’t quite as high above the water as he would have liked, and it was going to be really low when they loaded it up. But it floated…
Twenty-two yards away, Tochee flew out of the water and half rolled in the air before splashing down amid a huge burst of spray.
“Guess it approves,” Ozzie muttered. He walked back out of the water holding on to the painter, and wrapped it around a stake they’d hammered into the sand beside the pile of their belongings. “Come on, man, let’s get it loaded up.”
Orion waded out of the water. “Ozzie, what are we going to call it?”
“Huh?”
“The raft? What are we going to call it? Every boat has to have a name.”
Ozzie opened his mouth. The Sheer Desperation? Titanic II? Orion was waiting, looking at him with that naive expectancy of his; and they’d spent days of hard, painful labor building the damn thing. “I’m not sure,” Ozzie said. “How about Pathfinder ?”
“Gosh, that’s really good, Ozzie. I like it.” He bowed at the raft. “I name this ship the Pathfinder, God bless her and all who sail on her.”
God help all those who sail on her, more like.“Okay, let’s get our stuff on board.” He picked up a couple of the wicker baskets and waded back out again.
They had everything loaded in fifteen minutes. Tochee emerged from the water, its multicolored feather fronds glistening under the bright sunlight. It shook itself furiously, scattering droplets in a wide shower.
“Are we ready?” it asked through the array.
“Can’t think of any reason to stay,” Ozzie said.
The Pathfinder wobbled about alarmingly as they hauled themselves up onto the rickety decking, especially when Tochee squeezed up over the side. Ozzie checked the buoyancy again. The water was almost up to the decking, but they were still floating. He could see small fish swimming underneath them. But it’s not the small ones I’m worried about.
“All right. Crew, places please.” Ozzie sat down on one side, Tochee claimed the middle, and Orion sat on the other side. They all got their oars out, and started rowing. Progress was fairly pitiful at first, then Ozzie started calling out a rhythm, and they learned how to coordinate their strokes. When they were a hundred ten yards from the shore, Ozzie could feel the breeze against his face. “Enough,” he said. “Let’s see if the sail works.”
He and Orion pulled on the ropes, raising the rough square of woven fronds on the four-and-a-half yard mast, which had once been the tallest tree on the island. There was a lot of creaking as the ropes took the strain. The swell had grown considerably as they left the lee of the island.
Orion was giving the beach a wistful look. “Are we moving?”
Tochee’s manipulator flesh extended a tentacle, and it poked the tip into the water. “We move.”
“Yay!” Orion clapped his hands happily. He immediately looked ahead, where there were several of the small dark smudges that were other islands in the archipelago. “Which one are we heading for?”
“Good question,” Ozzie said. “Tochee, can you try steering us to the second from the left? I thought that was the closest.”
“I will endeavor that,” Tochee said. It lowered the rudder into the water at the back of the raft, a broad wooden paddle on a crude pivot that they’d rigged up.
Now they were farther from the shore, Ozzie was aware of a definite wind pushing them along. He sat on the side, with his feet dangling in the water, and watched the island slowly shrink away behind them.
…
Civilization was a blessing you never truly appreciated until it threatened to collapse around you. That long, long day on Elan had shown Mellanie how precariously close a collapse could be. Fear brought out a very strong survival trait in people, one that overwhelmed all the usual rules of behavior. She was never going to forget those last hours standing beside the small wormhole in the Turquino Valley. The way the crowd had started to panic, everyone pushing forward, their desperation and ferocity building. And that was with a strong character like Simon Rand holding things together.
Yet now, barely a week later, it all seemed so remote. She was standing at the window wall in Alessandra’s penthouse on the skyscraper’s sixty-fifth floor, looking out over Salamanca. Cities at night always looked more vibrant, somehow, and New Iberia’s capital was no exception. This was a rich world, among the first of phase one space to be settled, with a population now closing on two billion. Salamanca alone was home to twelve million souls. Its lights sparkled all the way out to the horizon; here in the center, where the height of the metal and crystal skyscrapers was a real estate value prospectus, the streets were arranged in a standard grid, beyond that the patterns became more random until they merged into the general light pollution that hazed the outlying districts. Cutting through the precise lambent lines was the inevitable radial web of silver rails, threading straight through the grid blocks and bridging roads, always given preference so that the trains could shunt their valuable goods between districts and the CST planetary station. It might have been her imagination, but she didn’t think there were as many trains as usual rolling along the rails tonight. But then just about every activity in the Commonwealth had come to a halt during the invasion; things were only just starting to return to an approximation of the old normality.