Henry held the rope as Kyle pushed the basket away from its vine trap and spread the probes out again. It was almost free-fall—he went down at a drifter's pace. “Okay—that's as close as it's coming tonight.” Kyle retrieved the sleeping habitat from the basket, tucking it under one arm. Henry reeled Kyle back slowly.
It took an hour to figure out how to wrestle the habitat into shape and anchor it. Unfolded, it was a long sheet of metallic fabric anchored between two stems. Henry plugged it into a stem, into the blue oxygen tube. The habitat bucked and waved, sucking in the air, expanding as it warmed the gas. Layers of skin filled one by one— living space, stored atmosphere, insulation, a shell thickening into a walnut shape.
The set-up looked fragile. They climbed in, waiting until sensors told them the habitat held pressure enough to unsuit. As he lay down, Kyle imagined the anchoring creepers growing away from each other as they slept. He didn't really care. Being out of the constant breathing motion of the suit was wonderful.
Six hours later, Calvin woke them with lyrics from the ancient The Sound of Music , “Climb Every Mountain.” It was ridiculously inappropriate. Kyle wanted to throttle Calvin.
* * *
Four long climbs and three uneasy sleeps later, they were halfway there. Lark spent part of each day telling jokes. Tourists fed them to her, and she fed them in turn to Kyle and Henry. It kept her engaged.
Kyle hated most of the jokes.
He was surprised that he liked talking to the networks. The attention helped him forget aches in his muscles. The audience was a focus and a safety net. He took small risks, and on breaks he talked astronomy. Lark did voiceovers for the audience, telling them about the creepers. She talked to the team on Kiley3. She talked constantly—to Kyle, to Henry, to the announcers. She even took to calling the Christy and Little Siberia base staff “tourists.”
Kyle worried about Henry. His face was red with exertion and spider veins showed up on his nose and face in thin red lines. Henry refused to talk much to anyone except Lark and Kyle. It bothered Kyle.
There was no night or morning; Pluto's six-and-a-half-hour day barely noticed the Sun. Kyle counted time in sleeps. This was their fifth sleep. “Henry? How come you're so quiet?”
“Seems like no one's business how we're doing.”
“They're helping. I'm grateful Lark's got so many people to talk to. At least we can move. She's shut up in that bubble.”
“She's always done all right by herself.”
“I could have spent more time with her.”
“How's it going to feel if all these people watch us fail?”
Kyle swallowed. “You've always been an optimist. We won't fail. We're halfway there.”
“Half our time's gone. We should stop less.”
“Can you do that?” Kyle was bone tired. Henry looked like he was going to have a heart attack any moment.
“If we don't make it, I don't want to live afterwards. This would be a good last thing to do.”
“We'll make it.”
“If you get there, and I don't, be careful how you get Lark out. You'll need to use a traditional blade—no lasers or anything—near the bubble.”
“You said that when we were loading the basket.”
“We should practice next stop, so I know you know how to do it.”
Kyle stayed awake a long time, thinking about Henry's words. He started tired the next day. They hit a clump of new creeper, thin stems twining around the wide one they followed. Kyle caught his foot and pitched forward, tangling his arm and wrist in rope as he fell. He slid, feet dangling in empty space, pulling Henry backward so Henry needed both hands to hang onto the creeper while the rope pulled tight from his waist-clip.
Kyle floated free, his suit hissing urgently, venting oxygen to match his heart rate. He held the rope with two hands, twisting his feet up in an acrobat's move, straining to get a toehold on the stem. He felt a snap and give in his lower back, an instant tightening of muscle. He grunted with the pain.
“Whoa there,” Calvin said. “You all right?”
“I ... I don't know.”
Henry managed to twist around and grab the rope, holding on to the creeper with his legs. He pulled, hand over hand, slowly reeling Kyle in until their hands touched and he could pull him up onto the stem. Kyle panted, wanted to scream. He couldn't be hurt. There wasn't time. When he tried to step ahead of Henry, he slipped again, catching himself, grimacing. His back was on fire. He didn't dare burn the small store of painkillers in the suit's med supply for a twisted muscle.
It meant Henry had to lead—Kyle walking behind him. The full med-kit was in the basket, inaccessible without a full stop. Kyle chewed his lip and followed Henry, building up a swing that allowed him to move through the pain.
Calvin started talking in worried tones an hour out, telling the men the doctors thought they should stop. Henry ignored him, leaving Kyle no choice but to follow. Henry went on forever. When they stopped, he collapsed across a vine and stared out at the forest.
After a while, Kyle noticed that Henry was sleeping in his suit.
Kyle sat and worried, watching the older man. Lark had a feed from the camera probe that followed them everywhere, and she spoke. “He often takes naps, Dad.” She sounded sad.
“I shouldn't have let him come. I should have brought someone else.”
“Henry wouldn't have stayed. He'd have followed you.”
