“An entire universe that is so small, yet so large within that it can never be known,” Johansson had said of it. “A haven of mystery cloaked in the pinnacle of scientific development. How I marveled at such a paradox.”

Ozzie struggled to remember what else the man had said. Something practical, at least. But Johansson hadn’t been one to deal in specifics. Though there had been the intimation that he’d returned directly to the Commonwealth from here.

It took Ozzie about forty minutes to fill his backpack. “This ought to be enough,” he said.

“Groovy,” Orion said with a grin, biting into one of the dark purple fruits that was flavored like a mild raspberry. The thick juice dribbled over his lips, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Ozzie took a moment to look at the boy. Orion was just wearing a pair of ragged shorts, cut off from an old pair of trousers. He was nothing like as skinny as when they started off down the paths too many months ago; the walking and physical work had put a lot of muscle on him. His pale skin was heavily freckled, partially sunburned, slightly tanned, and of late almost permanently dirty. Wispy hair from his first beard was curling around his chin; while his ginger hair was fizzing outward in knotted strings that were beginning to rival Ozzie’s own Afro for unruliness. In short he was becoming a proper little savage; all he needed was a spear and a loincloth and three millennia of human civilization would have passed him by completely.

My fault, Ozzie thought guiltily, I should have been firmer with him at the start, sent him back to Lyddington. Or failing that, insisted on some kind of schooling.

“What?” Orion asked, looking around to see what Ozzie was staring at.

“When did you wash last?”

“I had a swim this morning.”

“With soap and water.”

“There’s none left, you said it weighed too much to carry from the Ice Citadel.”

“Oh, yeah, right. What about toothgel? Have you been using any?”

“There’s only one tube left, and it’s yours. My teeth are fine. What is this?”

“We need to do something about your hair. There’s things living in it, man.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Ozzie pulled at his beard, suddenly very conscious of the example he’d been setting. “All right, tomorrow we both start getting back into the personal hygiene groove. Deal?”

“Whatever.” Orion shrugged with indifference.

Ozzie thought it was a near-perfect imitation of his own don’t-care gesture. “Good. Then there’s some files on the handheld array I’d like to go through with you.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Some background information,” Ozzie said vaguely. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Ozzie!”

“Okay, man, just checking. Tomorrow then, yeah?”

“We’re taking off tomorrow morning, you said.”

“I know. There’s not going to be much else to do on the raft, is there?”

Orion scratched at his hair, obviously perplexed by this new Ozzie. “Guess not.”

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.