The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [115]
Most of all, though, he wanted the Ultra-Light. Like all the equipment they’d brought, it was solar-powered—a tiny two-person airplane with wings sheathed in a photovoltaic polymer film capable of running a fifteen-horsepower electric motor. Cute as a bug’s ear and a lot of fun to fly. There hadn’t been room for it the first time down, not with a full passenger complement. Now they could really use the little plane to scout the territory. Marc’s maps were good, but D.W. wanted to fly out ahead and see with his own eyes what they were up against before the party moved out overland.
He tucked his tablet under his arm and walked across the clearing toward Anne Edwards, who noticed him on his way. She was going over her own records, sitting with her back against a "tree" trunk, knees up to support her notebook, which was on-line to the Stella Maris library.
"Could have been endocarditis," she said quietly when he was close enough to hear. "Bacterial infection of the heart valves. There was a new form of it I heard about just before we left. It could kill a healthy person pretty quickly, and it was a bitch to find in an autopsy, even at home."
He grunted and hunkered down next to her. "Where would he have picked up the bacteria?"
"Beats the shit out of me, D.W.," Anne said, waving her hand in front of her face to clear off a swarm of gnatlike things they called little buggers. "Might have been carrying it all along, until something weakened his immune system to the point that it overwhelmed his body’s defenses. Ultraviolet radiation can suppress the immune system, and we are catching a real dose of UV down here."
"But you’re not sure it was, whaddyacallit? That endo shit." He picked up a stick and toyed with it, passing it through his hands, bending it little by little into a hoop.
"No. It’s just the best guess I’ve come up with so far." She closed her notebook. "It’s hard to believe that he died just yesterday. I’m sorry about last night."
"Same here," D.W. said, glancing at her with one eye and then looking away, staring out at the forest. He tossed the stick aside. "Warn’t good judgment, raggin’ at a lady’s had a real bad day."
She stuck out her hand. "Peace?"
"Peace," he affirmed, taking her hand and holding it a few moments. Then he let it go and stood up, groaning at the protest his knees made. "You may not want to be friends after I tell you what I’ve decided we’re gonna do next." Anne looked up at him, with narrowed eyes. "I’m goin’ back up to the Stella Maris and I want George to copilot."
"Oh, my," she said. A blue-green Fast Eddie skittered by her feet and dashed into the leaf litter nearby, and they could hear the Dominicans howling in the forest.
"He was the best of the bunch on the simulator, Anne, and I want him trained on the real thing. And he can check on the life-support systems while I’m loadin’ supplies. He ain’t had hardly any trouble with space sickness, so there’s a good chance he won’t get sick this time neither. I knew you’d be pissed, but that’s how it parses."
"He’ll probably love it, too," Anne said ruefully. "Oh, boy, do I ever hate this idea."
"I ain’t askin’ permission, Miz Edwards," he said, but his voice was very gentle. He grinned crookedly. "I just thought I’d tell you so’s you could cuss me out in private."
"Consider yourself cussed," she said, but she laughed even as she shuddered. "Oh, well. It won’t be the first time I’ve stood around waiting for George to get blown up. Or torn limb from limb. Or smeared across the pavement. Or squashed like a bug. The shit that man does for fun!" She shook her head, remembering the whitewater and the rock climbing and the dirt bikes.
"You ever hear that old joke about the guy who jumped off the Empire State Building?" D.W. asked her.
"Yeah. All the way down, you could hear him say, ’So far, so good. So far, so good. So far, so good.’ That is George’s