by Hal Clement
“I have never denied who I am, and never expect to,” snapped Rekchellet. His indignation was mixed with another emotion. In the improved though still dim light, he could see that the other’s wings were not clothed but were partly prosthetic; the polymer film he had glimpsed in flight was not covering the membranes but replacing them.
“Don’t talk to me as though you had self-respect. I tell you I know who you are. I have heard you deny your own hatch right. You have spoken of the Seventh Race as though you were a Cephallonian or a Samian, denying that there are only Six Races Between the Stars. You deny that your own people are the ones whose ancestors left the cities and machines we find on so many worlds, and to which we are entitled because we are their descendants.”
“I deny only that it’s been proved,” Rekchellet replied firmly. “I’d like to believe it as much as anyone would.”
“It’s obvious! They were fliers…”
“Possibly.”
“Certainly!”
“There are many flying people. The natives of this world are one set, for example.”
“But the Habras are not related to us! They can’t possibly be descended from the same ancestors!”
Rekchellet was about to point out the fallacy of this reasoning, but paused. He had never encountered a religious or political extremist, though Trueliners had been described to him, and only now began to realize what he was getting into. He could not bring himself to agree with someone he suspected of being from Wildwind, but he could see that outright disagreement would certainly interfere with his own job. He still wanted to know what had become of Third-Supply-Watcher.
Rekchellet had developed rudiments of the art of tact in the last Common Year or so, trying to keep on living terms with his own people and on friendly ones with Janice and Hugh Cedar.
“That’s true enough, I must admit,” he made a gesture indicative of accepting a social superior’s opinion. “I didn’t mean to deny such an obvious fact. I was worried about the Locrian who was driving this vehicle a short time ago; her safety is part of my assigned duty, and you wouldn’t ask me to shirk a responsibility.”
“I could easily criticize your accepting responsibility for the welfare of creepers.” The other did seem mollified. Rekchellet noted thankfully. “However, your charge is unharmed. I removed it from the controls of my vehicle and placed it in the passenger section. I fear there is no Locrian food there, but it will do for a time.”
“Your vehicle?”
“For the time being. I and a colleague arranged with the Guild for its use, and it is my responsibility. You wouldn’t interfere with that, of course.”
“Of course not. If it’s yours, we have nothing to worry about — or disagree about, I hope. It arrived unmanned at Pitville, and our safety people were worried about those who had obviously been aboard. We had reason to believe that a Crotonite and two Erthumoi, and possibly others, were missing. It was assumed at first to be one of our own supply carriers, until we studied the record of its autodriver. Some of our crawler-workers even started to remove supplies.” Rekchellet deliberately avoided mentioning the frozen Habra corpse which had been aboard; he wanted to hear what, if anything, the other would say about it on his own. He was not really suspicious yet, but increasingly curious.
“You spoke of knowing my name,” he added after a moment. “You probably know also that my world of hatching is Tekkish. Is it at all likely that I have heard of yours? I am most known and active in the visual communication field, as you must be aware.”
The other stared at Rekchellet silently for several seconds, making him wonder what could have been tactless about such a question. Surely this fellow didn’t expect the whole galaxy of Crotonite worlds to know his name — or did he?
There was no sign of anger or other emotion in the answer when it finally came, however.
“My name is Ennissee. I feel sure you can guess my hatching world, but lest I embarrass you, it is Wildwind. You have heard of it.”
“I have,” agreed Rekchellet. “More relics of the — the Ancient Ones have been found there than anywhere else in the galaxy, I understand.”
“Quite right. One of our reasons for being sure we are their descendants, naturally.”
“I see.” Rekchellet refrained from pointing out that Wildwind was known, on the basis of well documented history, to be a third-stage colony world and not the one on which the Crotonites had originally evolved. That planet had been well and solidly identified from its fossil record, besides being covered by documented history extending back before star travel.
This was a point one could safely infer that Ennissee would prefer not to discuss.
“By the way,” said the Wildwinder in a voice which suggested that he was willing to drop controversial subjects for the moment, “I have been supporting some research here on Habranha much like that of the group you are working for. We’ve been digging with experimental equipment for remains of ancient life on the dark hemisphere. At first, I didn’t like the idea of associating with — you know. However, it has occurred to me that your workers could be helpful. Your group is equipped to date specimens, of course.”
“I understand so.” Rekchellet accepted the implied truce, though uneasy about the sudden change of attitude.
“Good. We have found only a few traces of once living material until recently, but a few Common Days ago encountered the buried, frozen body of a native. We went to some trouble to conceal the discovery — you know how primitive people sometimes feel about disrespect for their dead — but it’s in the cargo section of this truck. Perhaps we could smuggle it to your laboratory, when no Habras are around, and you could find out for me how long it’s been buried.”
Rekchellet thought rapidly. He doubted strongly that Hnnissee had failed to notice the absence of the corpse, but was not surprised at the elusive language since he, too, was a Crotonite. He could now see a reasonable explanation for the sending of the unmanned truck and cargo to Pitville. Ennissee could take it for granted that the team there would examine the specimen in every way possible. His problem would be in learning what they found out about it.
An Erthuma or a Locrian would simply have brought the body in and asked, but that would have involved the tacit assumption that the Pitville workers were equals and conversing with them on that basis, something certainly very difficult and quite likely impossible for Ennissee. Rekchellet’s presence was a convenience, obviously; he could get the information the other wanted, being on familiar terms with the aliens. Naturally, it would be necessary for Ennissee to make his own superiority to the grub-lover perfectly clear before voicing his own needs; it would be demeaning to ask a favor from, rather than give an order to, such a renegade.
Rekchellet was almost, but not quite, amused. He even thought fleetingly how his ability to be amused rather than bitterly indignant stemmed directly from his friendship with Janice Cedar. He was not objective enough, however, even to pretend to accept the suggestion of his own inferiority. The other’s damaged wings were enough to save any Crotonite from that danger, even though they could still be used for flight.
“I’m sure they will respond to courtesy.” was his answer after a bare moment of hesitation. “Naturally you’ll be glad to discuss the source of your specimen. Its provenance will be of great importance to our own investigation.”
S’Nash, had he been present, would certainly have been interested and possibly frightened; Rekchellet could perceive the other’s indignation, but had no idea of its intensity. He was rather glad to have scored.
It was several seconds before Ennissee spoke again.
“You may follow me to my site,” he said at last. “I must set the truck’s driver to bring it back there as well.” He seemed to have forgotten his earlier remark suggesting that he supposed the specimen still to be aboard. “Though it is a long way, we will fly to save time.”
“How about my driver? I don’t believe there is any Locrian food aboard.”
&nb
sp; “It will have to eat what there is. I do not choose to waste time carrying it back to your work site. Later that may be convenient.” He turned to the autodriver and began to manipulate its keys, shielding the console with his wings. Rekchellet was not at ail surprised to learn that the vertical record which had forced his own group to drive the vehicle manually could be cut from control, but felt rather annoyed at not having a chance to see how it was done. He used the time, however, the map was within reach, as was his stylus, and he quickly scribbled a few words, hoping someone would be able to read them.
“You may release your driver from the back compartment. You should also tell it that any attempt to cut off or change settings on this control will shut down all power. I will come back to recover it later, but it may be quite cold inside by then.”
Rekchellet was not too disturbed at having an obvious maneuver foreseen and forestalled. He went back through the air lock section as the truck resumed its travel, and opened the door for Third-Supply-Watcher. She was not surprised at his arrival, naturally.
The Crotonite quickly passed on Ennissee’s warning, adding no comments of his own. It was quite likely that they could be heard from the control section. Third-Supply-Watcher was equally cautious, merely acknowledging his words and following him forward. Ennissee paid no attention to her.
“We’ll go now,” he said briefly. “I’ve set the hatch to open for half a minute as soon as the inner lock door closes. You will follow me out. The truck will reach my site before I expect to need it. I assume you have warned your — your responsibility about the driver setting as I instructed.” “Of course.”
“Do you consider it intelligent enough to heed all the implications?” “Of course.”
“Then come along.” Ennissee led the way back to the air lock, waited until Rekchellet had joined him inside, and closed the forward door. As he had said it would, the outer hatch promptly started to yawn. The moment it was wide enough, Ennissee leapt through the gap. Rekchellet followed, and was meters away by the time he heard the panel close behind them. He cast only a quick glance at the moving truck, feeling pretty sure what the Locrian would do, and concentrated on keeping Ennissee in sight. The artificial wing membranes seemed no handicap; Rekchellet began to realize how long it had been since he had rested or eaten.
Inside the truck, Third-Supply-Watcher waited calmly until the two winged beings were out of sight. Then she went to the cabinet where the neutrino transmitter had been kept.
It was empty, and S’Nash might once again have been interested; but the Locrian said nothing even to herself. There had, after all, been no reason to suppose that Ennissee was completely stupid. She looked briefly to make sure the equipment was nowhere on board, wondered how far back he might have jettisoned it, and spent a few minutes examining the driver connections. This took enough of her attention to make her miss the natives who swooped briefly past outside during those minutes.
She was not expert in electromechanical matters and could not be sure of what she saw, but not even S’Nash would have detected any uneasiness in her manner as she stood motionless in front of the control console, thinking carefully, for another minute or two, and then shut off the autodriver.
Chapter Eight
And Clues May Oft But Little Help Provide
“Like Erthumoi, I suppose.” Hugh keyed, not worrying whether his cynicism showed.
“No, you’re easy. Your faces move. But what do we do about Rekchellet and Third? It” it was she in the truck we should find out why, and if it wasn’t we need to find out what’s become of her.”
“And where the new one came from. Right. So you checked in here. Good. I wish I knew what was best, but — where’s Crow? Did he come back, too?”
“No. We thought of that, and then decided it would be smarter for one of us to keep track of the truck. It might start traveling again, or get buried, and be hard to find even for us unless we got within three or four kilometers; and the whole problem started with that truck, didn’t it? And there are a lot of square kilometers on the Solid Ocean.”
“It did. You were right. Are you tired, cold, or hungry?”
“I’d be glad to eat.”
“All right, go ahead. Then tell every other flier in Safety what’s happened. Send a pair of them out to find and relieve Crow so he can come in, too; you can tell them where to start looking, at least.” “Should I report to Administration.’” “I’ll take care of that. Go eat.” Walt left the office without further questions, and Hugh retuned the transmitter.
In spite of his recent conversation with Barrar, he first told Spreadsheet-Thinker’s office what he was doing and why, delivering the information as a statement rather than asking permission. Since he was using code, they knew better than to ask for more details just yet, but Hugh was sure that his sudden monopolization of so much workpower would not go unchallenged for long. Barrar’s calm acceptance of the situation had rather surprised him; Hugh doubted neither the Samian’s willingness nor his ability to back him up, but felt better having the whole matter formally on record. He was not an experienced administrator even yet, but was learning.
He then retuned the communicator, and with rather more complication managed to reach Janice’s lab.
“Hon? I think I’ve talked Spreadsheet-Thinker out of an aircraft, but it may take a while to materialize. There are things to do out there in the dark. Have you found out anything more about our iceberg?”
“Yes. Age. Tell you when we’re together.”
He confined himself to “That all?” His wife presumably had reasons for secrecy.
“H’Feer came by the lab with thanks. It/she’s back at work. Wants a job in Safety.”
“Good. See you.”
Hugh was perfectly willing to have more and different people under his charge if Administration didn’t mind, but was not going to discuss the matter without knowing more about the Naxian, especially about how well it/she had recovered from being frozen alive. That was something else which could wait. He signed off and left the office, still planning.
Janice was a thoughtful and foresighted partner. Hugh had mentioned wanting an aircraft. She knew as well as he that Administration would have to approve the request and, at reflex level, probably wouldn’t. She greatly enjoyed the sense of accomplishment when it could honestly be experienced, and did some planning of her own.
By the time her husband reached their quarters, she had called around and unobtrusively determined the present official location and assignment of all four of the aircraft used by the Project, just to provide Hugh with ammunition he might need.
She was not too surprised at his worried state when he detailed the situation to her; he was a responsible person, and Rekchellet a good friend. She showed him the information she had gathered about the aircraft. He looked at it, grinned, and did the best job of kissing her that a room full of diving fluid allowed.
“Beautiful. There are two they could spare without hurting a thing. I can surely talk them out of one, especially since some of our own people are now unaccounted for.”
“Will they blame you for their getting lost?”
“Why? They approved what we were doing.”
“What they knew of it.”
“Spreadsheet-Thinker wouldn’t like to admit there was anything going on here she didn’t know about. It would reflect on her administrative efficiency. Come on; I’ll have the use of that machine in five minutes.”
Actually it was nearly five hours. Hugh had misjudged something. He thought some bad language, arranged for communication with the flying searchers he had so hastily sent out while on the way back along the road, and calmed himself with a meal as Janice had done. They even slept, briefly; he had not realized how tired he was, and she had been in the lab through most of his absence.
The hours were fruitful only in determining a fairly large area where Rekchellet did not seem to be. The truck had not moved, but the watchers could now see no one inside. They had not trie
d to enter or attract attention, judging that the search for Rekchellet was more important; the slow vehicle could be found easily enough, they now felt, even if it did resume travel.
All this was reported to Hugh by relays of his own personnel, and he in turn dutifully reported the details to Administration with ever louder insistence that he be given the use of a flying machine. He never understood with any certainty what caused the delay; Spreadsheet-Thinker remained noncommittal. The Erthumoi suspected that in spite of Janice’s earlier research, one or more of the vehicles was being used without authority and the administrators simply didn’t know where it was. Hugh almost mentioned this to S’Nash, when the Naxian appeared and asked how the search was progressing, but decided against it. The snaky being would already be aware of his irritation and coded complaint would be conversational overload.
Finally, however, clearance came. Hugh sent out a relayed message for one of the Habras or Crotonites on the search to come back toward Pitville to meet him and act as a guide. Husband and wife had been wearing most of their armor all along. Now they donned helmets, checked out, and made all possible speed to the hangar. S’Nash was now there, and while Naxians had no reputation for radiating their emotions, both Erthumoi felt a shade of self-satisfaction when it/he spoke.
“About the best we could get, I’d say.” It/he did not amplify, and neither Erthuma went beyond casual agreement; but both wondered a bit.
Hugh had asked for the services of another Locrian, and there was a further brief delay while they waited for this one’s arrival; naturally, he had not been released from regular work until after clearance of the flyer. The being appeared with what under any other circumstances would have seemed commendable speed and climbed into the ten-place machine, introducing himself as Plant-Biologist.
Janice and he talked quiet shop about Habranhan vegetation while Hugh lifted off and headed slowly northwest, blinking his lights in the standard here’s headquarters pattern of the Safety Office. S’Nash, who had come aboard without asking administrative clearance, curled up behind the pilot seat and said nothing.