“You know, I never thought to ask before,” Keene said as they drifted into a bend, using the paddles to hold direction. “What happened to Cynthia? Are you two still together?” Cynthia had been one of a couple who joined Keene and Cavan’s group in California. She and Charlie had gravitated to each other after her original partner went off with some others to find help after a plane crash, and never returned.
“She was with a survey group that got hit by an impact storm on Tethys,” Charlie answered. “No survivors.”
“Oh . . . Sorry to hear that.” The silence dragged. Keene felt a need to add something. “You don’t seem to have a lot of luck in that department, Charlie.” When they first met at JPL, Charlie’s wife had just walked out.
“Well, we’ll just have to see what the future brings.” There was a silence while they steered around a patch of rocks and eddies. Then Charlie’s voice came again from behind. “How about you? It used to look like you and Vicki were going to make it permanent. But it sounds as if you spend most of your time away.”
“You know how it’s been, Charlie. Never enough time. Always more to do . . .”
Truth was, Keene didn’t know how he felt. On the occasions when he had gone back to Dione seriously thinking it was time to make a commitment, always the same restlessness had seized him again, and he had found some reason to put it off.
* * *
Early in the afternoon they came to a point where the river flowed over a fault line in a waterfall of maybe a hundred feet. The map had given them early warning, and they pulled in to the shore in good time. Getting past, however, involved a detour of perhaps half a mile down rock falls and slippery mud slopes. They were still more or less on schedule, but Charlie was beginning to limp and trying not to show it. Once or twice on the awkward stretches, he caught his breath sharply in an audible wince. Keene felt growing concern, but said nothing.
* * *
“Tell me again what’s in this probe when we get to it,” Charlie said from behind, as they carried on, back on the river.
If we find it, Charlie, Keene said to himself. He replied, “They’re fitted as mobile emergency posts. Cans of fruit, soup, spongy puddings. Fish and stew. Candy.”
“And chocolate? I’ve got a craving for chocolate.”
“Plenty of it. And slabs of that mint stuff that mountain climbers and hikers carry. And of course, coffee and juice to drink. And there’s probably more. I only had a quick look while they were showing it to me up in the Varuna.”
“Why did you have to mention that? What wouldn’t I give to be back up in the Varuna right now?”
“To the right, to the right . . . Watch those rocks.”
“Clean, dry sheets. Hot water. Showers.”
“This paddle’s about had it. I need to switch it for one of the spares.”
“A squeezer of wine from Mimas. Relax and watch a movie. Maybe one of the old L.A. police detective ones . . .”
“I’ll still settle for a good Massachusetts fish restaurant. . . . I wonder what kind of fishing you could get going here. Have the stocks had time to build up again yet? I’d have thought so.”
“That’s something we haven’t really checked out. Maybe the plateau wasn’t the best place for a base.”
“How’s that leg, Charlie?”
“It’s got kind of a burning ache . . . but the water helps. Not too bad when the weight’s off it.”
They came to a brake of tall, broad reeds and pulled in to add another layer of bundles on top of the raft, by now waterlogged and sitting practically level with the surface. The upper part of Charlie’s calf had swollen and was stiffening the knee, the wound itself red and angry-looking. The thorn seemed to have infected it with some kind of poison. How virulent it was remained to be seen. When Keene had dressed it, Charlie dragged himself around and tried to help with strengthening the raft. But the movement aggravated the pain, and his stiff leg made it too awkward. He ended up sitting and tying the bundles, letting Keene do the cutting. They still hoped to reach Joburg before dark. Whether they would be able to do much more before the morrow, however, was another matter.