by Hal Clement
“How would Administration feel?” he asked. “I should think you’d have checked that.”
“Ged Barrar is a Samian. You know that as well as I do. All he’d want is for the investigation to come up with a convincing answer, so the Project will be listed as a success on his administrative record.”
Janice knew there was more difference among Samian personalities than S’Nash claimed, and was sure it/he knew it, too. However, there was no point arguing the matter in code, especially since Barrar had frankly admitted holding precisely that view point as part of a much more complex one only hours earlier. S’Nash had no doubt based its/his remark on something much more solid than a general attitude toward Samians.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t help out,” she keyed, hoping her doubts didn’t show, or at least that they were blanketed by her interest, but realizing resignedly that the snaky alien would know both feelings anyway.
“It sounds like fun,” added her husband. She could see a smile which might mean enthusiasm through his faceplate. She was no Naxian. but knew he was thinking about their other job, and how it might just have become somewhat easier.
If S’Nash grasped anything beyond the sincerity of the Cedars’ words, it/he said nothing to reveal it. Naxians seldom went out of their way to make their own emotions obvious to aliens. Janice, who tended to think the best of everyone, assumed that the need would never occur to them, and did not suppose they were displaying Locrian-style secretiveness about their powers.
“Can you tell us more about this seismic project?” she keyed. “Is it set up anywhere near here, o haven’t they actually started work yet?”
S’Nash had no chance to respond. The wind had been rising ever since their arrival, making it progressively more difficult for the Crotonite to stay on the ground even with his wings tightly folded. Now a sudden gust lifted him off the snow, and he had to spread and flap frantically for control. The Erthumoi merely staggered, but S’Nash’s serpentine form was snatched out of sight, moving as frantically as the Crotonite but far less effectively. Habranha’s air was dense, but not dense enough for swimming while it was gaseous.
Hugh had thought of this problem not very long ago, he told himself bitterly. Unfortunately, he had not thought of a solution. Nevertheless, he could try….
“Rek!” he keyed, with his sounder at full volume. S’Nash has blown away! Are you in control, and can you hear me?”
The answer, barely audible over the wind and through the impedance-matching equipment in Hugh’s armor, was encouraging if not courteous. The last question would have been put first by a rational being. Of course I’m in control.”
“Can you see S’Nash?”
“No. It/he either has hit the surface again and dug in for stability, or is at least under the blowing snow layer.”
“But you can estimate something. You can certainly tell which way the wind is blowing.”
“Which way, easily. How fast, never.”
“Toward the town? Will the buildings provide shelter for him — for it/him?”
“No, fortunately. They’d…” the translated voice died out in the howl of the wind, which was still counting. Hugh had to reason out for himself why Rekchellet considered it lucky that S’Nash was not blowing toward the buildings, which were not made of loose snow.
At least, he told himself, time would be no problem; the Naxian had been wearing full-recycling environment gear. As long as the armor itself suffered no injury, of course; the memory of the Pit event a few hours before was not encouraging. Still, the present temperature was well above that of liquid air.
But well below that of freezing water. S’Nash had better not blow into anything much harder than a snow hill.
Hugh had radio equipment of a sort, since he had to talk to Habras. He didn’t like to use it since he lacked the Habra senses which went with its use. The natives could detect each other at up to three or four kilometers, and their radio “voices” were varied in volume according to need. Hugh lacked the electrical senses and had no way of knowing whether his transmitting volume was uselessly weak or painfully loud unless he could see the other participant in the conversation. Trial and error was seldom satisfactory and sometimes uncomfortable for the natives when Erthumoi impatience or Habranhan occupation delayed an answer until after the next trial.
There were no Habras in sight at the moment, however, and the safety chief faced what might be a life-and-death problem. He had spent a good part of his life in exploration; he was used to making quick decisions. More to the point, though he wasted no time in self-congratulation, he had foreseen that problems of this sort might come up and made preparations.
He turned the transmitter of his Habra communicator to maximum volume for a moment and uttered a single syllable which any of his native safety crew would understand; then he promptly brought the output back to a level appropriate for conversation at a hundred meters, set his receiver to maximum sensitivity, and waited.
It seemed far longer, but within two minutes he heard a faint Habra voice. He began repeating the alarm symbol at intervals of a few seconds, very slowly increasing his volume again, and at the third repetition received a welcome response.
“I sense you, Hugh. What’s the trouble?”
Even by code, it took only a few seconds to get the main details across.
“All right. We see Rekchellet. The Naxian is presumably somewhere between you and him. I assume it’s wearing armor.”
“Yes. Full-recycling, plenty of metal and electrical gear. You should spot it easily.”
“There’s a lot of static being set up by the blowing snow, but if the armor is good we shouldn’t have to hurry. Shall we bring it back to your location, or into the settlement?”
“Whichever it/he wants. Jan and I will start back now. The work here is done.”
Characteristically, the Habra didn’t bother to ask what the work might have been; though most of the species had a powerful curiosity drive and culturally had little grasp of the privacy concept, there was a job to be done.
The Erthumoi were more than content to leave the others to do it, worried as Hugh was about S’Nash. The gale was still rising, and it was becoming hard to stay on their feet. The layer of wind-borne ice dust was growing deeper, and orientation was becoming harder; only occasional glimpses of Fafnir could be obtained, and they could no longer identify the big waste pile with certainty. Horizontal vision was down to a few meters, and smaller dunes were forming and moving, not as fast as the couple could walk, but quite fast enough to make the surroundings confusing.
Finally, sure that at least one of his safety workers would be nearby above the drift, Hugh felt compelled to call again.
“Ted, or whoever is there, can you tell us which way we’re going, and whether it’s toward the town?”
“This is Switch,” came the prompt answer. “I’ve not been watching you closely. Move on a bit; I’ll try to correct your course when I know what it is.”
“Thanks. Just a minute.” Hugh connected his armor with his wife’s, using a five-meter safety line. She went ahead and he followed, keeping the line taut. “Our heading should show now,” he keyed.
“It does. If you make no change in direction, you will be among buildings in half a kilometer; if you swerve a sixth to the right, you will reach them even sooner.” Fortunately, Hugh knew Habra direction concepts well enough to know that the “sixth” which came through as a pure number meant a sixth of a right angle, and moved a short distance to his left to correct Janice’s aim.
“Thanks. Any luck with S’Nash?” he asked.
“Not yet. We suspect it had a chance to dig in, and took it. It seems likely that this would have happened as soon as it could manage after being blown away. Rekchellet has told us where this occurred, and we are starting a more careful examination of the ground from there. If the wind would drop, there would be little trouble, but snow blowing against snow creates much friction fog. Wait a moment.” There was a
pause of several seconds in Switch’s communication. “We think we have found it, dug in as I suggested. We can’t do anything on the ground ourselves in this wind; neither can Rekchellet. Does the Naxian have Habra communication? It makes no answer to our calls.”
“I’d think it/he would, but I don’t know for certain, It/he may be hurt. Can you guide us to the place?”
“Yes, easily. Simply head directly to your left. There will have to be correction as you near the spot, but that will suffice for now. The distance is only about three hundred meters.”
As it turned out, Switch had underestimated the difficulty of keeping the pair of Erthumoi aimed properly, and heading corrections were frequent, especially as they neared the burial site and forgot repeatedly to keep their line taut. Once there, however, actually finding the suit of armor was simple enough. Janice began calling the Naxian by code, but got no response; either the snow was muffling the sound, the wind was drowning it, or S’Nash was indeed in trouble. Hugh remembered the drastic steps taken a few hours ago in the Pit, and began to worry again even though he knew that the present ambient temperature was far above that of liquid air.
“You are there!” the Habra reported suddenly. “It is between you, a meter or so to the left of the line connecting you. Its depth is about a meter — yes, draw together as you are now doing. You are right above it. A little digging should be all you need. We’ll stand by, though.”
Digging in loose snow and high wind, with no tools but their armored limbs, was easier than they had expected, since displaced ice dust blew away instantly. The hole they produced tended to fill almost as fast, but this time they did not have a hillside sliding down on them. Both pairs of hands met the tube of Naxian armor almost simultaneously.
Hugh raised one end, strongly relieved to find it not frozen rigid. A quick glance showed that he was not at the head, and they both hand-over-handed to the other end, raising it to look anxiously into the transparent helmet. A pair of gold-brown eyes looked back at them.
“You’re all right!” exclaimed Hugh for the second time in less than an hour.
“Quite,” came S’Nash’s calm response. “My armor is in perfect shape. My thanks for an efficient job of rescue; I was expecting it to take much longer.”
“You weren’t worried?” keyed Janice.
“Of course not. The wind would not last indefinitely; even if I were not found, I could easily dig out when it ended.”‘
“Unless a five-meter dune had stopped right over you,” keyed Hugh.
“I didn’t think of that. Neither did Janice, I perceive. The danger was worth the reward.”
The Erthumoi had no chance to get this remark clarified.
“Trouble!” roared the settlement’s danger horn.
Chapter Four
And Icy Death Can Come From Sunlit Night
The modulations giving details of the emergency were hard to make out over the wind, but listening carefully the Erthumoi read most of the message. Not the Pits this time,” keyed Janice. “No specific location-something or someone missing!” agreed her husband. He called Switch, presumably still overhead. “Where and what? Can you get in touch with Central Watch? Who’s on duty there?”
“Missing person. Reported from Supply Arrival by Third-Supply-Watcher. Naxian Th’Fenn is on watch, its companion was not identified.”
The distance to the supply warehouse on the other side of Pitville was over two kilometers. Hugh thought quickly.
“S’Nash, can you wrap around one of us so you won’t blow away again?” The Naxian coiled about his waist without verbal reply.
“Switch, or one of you, please steer us toward the town. We can find the warehouse once we’re among buildings.”
“You should not need our help for more than another minute or two,” the Habra replied. “The edge of the squall is almost here. Snow is settling very quickly only half a kilometer to your west. If you wait briefly, you can make the trip on your own, without having to listen to heading corrections.”
“Good. Thanks. We’ll wait. Is Rekchellet still with you up there?”
“Yes,” the Crotonite answered for himself. His own translator was also radio-equipped, as he had as much need as his chief to talk to the natives.
“Good,” keyed Hugh. “Please get over to the supply depot and learn what you can. Do whatever seems in order. I’ll head that way until I hear from you again, but if you can manage the whole thing by yourself I’ll be glad to take S’Nash back to the quarters first. Keep me posted, please.”
“I’ll be there as soon as the squall gets past the depot. I’m over it now, but can’t go down. I’m having the horn cut.”
Hugh acknowledged and stood waiting with some relief. The last few minutes had been fatiguing, and the alarm horn, whose howl ceased a moment after Rekchellet finished talking, carried subsonics designed to be disturbing to the Erthuma safety chief.
Supply vehicles from the port, where ice gave way to ocean, regularly parked by the largest of the settlement buildings, a half-kilometer-square, two-story structure used primarily as a warehouse. This was not quite a kilometer east of the Pits.
Most of its personnel were either Locrians, able to examine the contents of containers without opening them, or Erthumoi with their high gravity physical strength, recruited mainly for that quality. Hugh knew none of them very well personally, and hoped that Rekchellet would face no problems demanding tact by either party before he and Janice got there.
Another thought crossed his mind as the wind began to slacken.
“Switch, or whoever is up there?”
“It’s Ted, Hugh.”
“Fine. Have the sentries reported who is missing, or at least what sort of person?”
“No. I asked, and Th’Fenn replied that it, too, had asked and been told that the supply chief didn’t know.”
“That seems strange.”
“So I thought. I wanted to investigate myself, but you told Rek to go and I thought I’d better stay here in case you had further orders.”
“Good. Thanks. I think I’ll head for the warehouse anyway as soon as we can see. Janice can take S’Nash home.”
“I don’t need to go home. My armor is in perfect condition, and so am I. I have no duty scheduled for many hours and am as curious as you are about the disappearance. I will come with you, and Janice wants to come also.”
One did not question a Naxian’s reading of emotion, and Hugh knew his wife’s feeling anyway; assigning her to serpent care had been unavoidable, in his own opinion, and if she hadn’t shared it she would probably have spoken up even more quickly than S’Nash had.
It was some minutes before the air cleared, and many more before the trio reached the site, the Erthumoi’s diving fluid roaring in their ears, the other showing no signs of exertion obvious to its/his companions.
Rekchellet was already there. So were two other Crotonites, three Erthumoi, and three Locrians. Moments after Hugh, his wife, and S’Nash arrived, half a dozen natives including Ted settled out of the sky around them.
Beside the building, its power unit melting the snow beneath it and ice encrusting its hull and cabin windows, stood a tracked cargo carrier. Its doors and hatches all seemed to be sealed, at least on the side which Hugh could see.
“What’s happened? Who’s missing?” he asked of the world in general.
A Locrian gestured to indicate that she was the speaker, and answered. “This truck arrived a short time ago. It was not scheduled, but that’s not unusual. It was obviously on automatic control as it approached, which is not surprising, but it parked itself which, as you know…” the voice of the vaguely humanoid and less vaguely insectile speaker took on a perceptibly prim tone even through the translator…”is less usual. We waited for a minute or more. There was no communication from within, and no one emerged. We examined it closely and there is no person or other living being aboard. I therefore reported missing personnel to the Safety Watch.”
Hugh decid
ed to face what was presumably going to be the music.
“Is there a robot?”
“No.” Hugh and Janice looked at each other; one of the other human beings, whose thoughts had apparently paralleled the Cedars’, gave a grunt of surprise. “Just the automatic controller, which I judge to be of Crotonite manufacture,” the Locrian concluded.
“But you know that someone has been there.” Hugh made it a statement; after all, the missing-person alarm had gone out.
“Yes. There are food containers which seem to have been recently used; at least, the traces they still contain have neither dried nor decayed noticeably. There are two sleeping units which appear to have been used and not repacked. Waste recyclers…”
“What species?” cut in Janice. She was not squeamish about waste receptacle contents, but felt that the Locrian had made her point. She wanted more useful information.
“Crotonite…”
“Nonsense!” the tone was indignant. “Why would any flier ever travel in a crawling machine, and how would he even get into a — a sleeping unit. Fliers don’t wrap themselves up to sleep; they perch or hang, ready to fly!”
The Erthumoi wondered how Rekchellet was reacting to this outburst from his fellow. Privately. Hugh thought he would try to find out from S’Nash, later on. The determination strengthened with the Locrian’s calmly unhurried reply.
“If one allows himself to be blown away instead of flying, one strikes obstacles.” The translator carried no sarcasm or other feeling that Hugh or Janice could detect. Possibly the Crotonite did read something, however, for he fell silent. “I am only Counter-of-Supplies, but I am not blind. I am certainly not as blind as beings whose vision is cut off by walls and armor. I have told you some of what I saw inside this carrier. I will tell you the rest, such as seems important, if you give me time. If you prefer, you may open it and see what your limited senses permit for yourselves. You must eventually do that in any case, since translated words are of admittedly limited value. Shall I continue?”