by Hal Clement
“What do our biological friends say?” asked Hugh.
“Just what you’d expect. Irritated because this or that part is missing, so they can’t check this or that theory of Habra evolution.”
“But they are sure it is a Habra ancestor?”
“They seem to be taking it for granted. I may be doing them an injustice, of course.”
“It’s a pretty key point. If there is this much evidence that the Habras did evolve here, that undersea project gets very important indeed.” Janice had not heard about this; Hugh had been too occupied otherwise to remember to tell her what he had learned from Bill and Shefcheeshee on his earlier return from Pwanpwan. He clarified the story now and she nodded.
“Have you told Ged about your dates yet?” her husband asked.
“Yes. There seemed no reason not to.”
Hugh was less sure of this, but reflected that it would take the Samian time to get his article written, if it were to be of degree caliber. If Ged didn’t realize that, which he might not, then perhaps it would be just as well if Janice’s name didn’t appeal on the work. In any case, it was a safe bet that the author would be back with more questions, since Janice was still at work. No need to worry.
In fact, there suddenly seemed no need to worry about anything. The original frozen body, beyond serious doubt, had been brought back in the truck and foisted on them more or less as a dress rehearsal. It would be nice to know where it had actually come from — Ennissee’s mole? From how deep under the ice — but that information could be worked out of Ennissee. It would be a little surprising if both specimens had been found near the Cold Pole.
And Hugh suddenly realized how surprising it was. His own native assistants could never have reached that point without the supplies in the aircraft, or some complex arrangement of food caches such as he had set up earlier for the Crotonites. That was something to be checked immediately through Ted; there might be historical records of such an expedition, or even several, though it was surprising that nothing of the sort had been mentioned in earlier discussion of the truck specimen.
If the other find represented a remote ancestor of the present natives there would of course be no historical record for it — but how had it flown that jar? It had smaller wings than the present species, and at least superficially a smaller brain. How could the Habra equivalent of a Lucy have made such a journey? Where had the specimen actually been found? Granted the general Habranhan chaos, which presumably extended to the surface and subsurface glaciers of the night hemisphere, what were the chances of a primitive flier from the ring continent being carried by a storm to or shortly past the terminator and then borne by ice currents all the way to the Cold Pole?
The first chance was probably respectable, granting Habranha’s storms. The second seemed remarkably close to zero. The seismic study of the Solid Ocean discussed a year or so ago by S’Nash suddenly seemed urgent.
Ennissee would have to be questioned in such a way as to establish the truth or falsehood of his answers beyond reasonable doubt, no argument about it. Rekchellet could be trusted to help with that, since it would make the other Crotonite look subservient to an Erthuma. There could hardly be a better revenge in Crotonite eyes.
The truck might bear further study; it could have been used to transport the second specimen as well. In any case it ought to be either returned to the Port, or have its location reported to the owners. That was not really Pitville responsibility, but Hugh’s people had been involved, and it would be a courtesy. No further excuse should be needed.
Maybe Jan and I should fly out, Hugh thought, with someone to take the aircraft back, and drive the truck back here ourselves. That could be fun; not even a Locrian within dozens of kilometers. We need a vacation from the diving juice. I’ll have Rek give me a quick lesson on that autodriver — no, he doesn’t know how to make it avoid elevation data— wait, that’s all right, if we’re just setting a new route and not back-tracing—
Janice thought it a great idea, though there were many small specimens yet to be dated. Barrar made no fuss this time about a few minutes of flier use; both had rather expected this after recent events. Most unfortunately there was no chance to dejuice themselves; inspection of the Pits was still important, and no one else could yet do it. Hugh, exasperated, had a long conversation with Ted, who seemed to know the people working on the Habra cold protection problem. He got some encouragement, but no assurance of any immediate solution. The Erthumoi decided to take the break anyway.
Third-Supply-Watcher flew them out to the truck, which was still where they had abandoned it, let them off, and waited until they had powered it up and signaled that everything was in working order. The Locrian promptly departed, and the couple began setting up the controls.
It was some time later, with the vehicle well on its way back to Pitville, that an object in the living quarters caught Hugh’s eye.
“That’s the tech supplementary translator we found before, when we hoped to figure who the Erthuma on board might be. Remember that one I told you about, who claims to be from Earth? She probably is. One of the modules seemed to be an Old Planet language.”
“Is it still there?” asked his wife, not greatly interested.
“I suppose so. The unit is. We took the modules out to examine, and then — Hmph. I don’t remember. Let’s see.”
Hugh opened the device. Apparently whoever had been holding the modules when the line of activity had swerved had felt that the best place to put them down was back in their own sockets; they were indeed there. Hugh extracted them, one by one, checking the symbols and nodding slowly, putting each back before extracting the next.
“This is it,” he said at last. “Do you know what it is?”
“No. Like you, I’d guess it’s Mother Planet. Shall we take them with us when we get back, and try to find out?”
“Strictly speaking, we have no business doing anything of the sort. They’re not our property.”
“They’re probably Ennissee’s,” the woman pointed out.
“If either of us were Rekchellet. that would probably be an excuse. Tell you what. We’ll write down the ident code, and call the Guild office when we get back. We might even want a copy of that module; couldn’t you use some information from that Erthuma on collection details? Ged said that one of them usually went with Ennissee in the mole, and you were worried about some of the sample labels. They weren’t helpful out at the site, but maybe talking to them without Ged around would be different.”
“We could ask Ennissee himself.”
“We could, but I’d rather not, for several reasons.
The way he treated Rek is only one, though it’s the basis of the others, I suppose. I know Rek plans to find him and settle matters…”
“You mean a duel or something like that?”
“I don’t think so. Crotonites are civilized. He wants revenge, but not violence; he wants to embarrass the fellow. It will complicate things for Rek if he finds us dealing on friendly terms with his enemy, and maybe complicate his feelings for us.”
“I think he’s safely our friend now, regardless. He’s known us a long time, and makes allowances of all sorts for our being crawlers and Erthumoi.”
“You may be right, but let’s not strain it. We’ll try those Erthumoi assistants first, until Rek finishes his business; after all, he may get the knowledge we want. Making Ennissee come crawling to us with information would be a very satisfactory revenge, I suspect.”
“So you said before. All right, let’s get in touch with this Chen person.”
Nothing further relevant to the problem occurred on the way back to Pitville, and with the truck parked by the still undisturbed Habra corpse they went to Hugh’s office.
The Guild was able to help them. Mahare Chen was indeed, according to their records, a native of Earth, and the office had translator modules of her language. If Explorer Cedar would load his communicator appropriately, a duplicate would be transmitted for his o
wn unit at once. A Falgite module would be provided for Engineer Chen, and the office would attempt to locate her, deliver the module, and request that she make contact with Explorer or Chemist Cedar at Pitville. No trouble.
Janice went back to her lab. Hugh called Ged and tactfully tried to find out what progress had been made on his article, especially in the matter of getting information from Ennissee. The Samian replied ruefully that he had had no time for either the article or Ennissee, that some of Spreadsheet-Thinker’s chart sections needed serious modification, and that he hoped Hugh would not need fliers or large numbers of people for the next few Common Days. Hugh promised to do his best but mentioned the intrinsic nature of his job. It sometimes called for— “I had noticed that,” interrupted Barrar, and ended the conversation. Again, Hugh found himself wondering unhappily how much of what he had been told could be believed, and intensely disliking the sensation.
S’Nash came in, and Hugh wondered whether the Naxian had sensed his emotions from outside. Janice’s theory, which she had not yet explained in detail, implied that the beings had to see the subject of their analysis. She was not, however, sure of this and Hugh was even less so. S’Nash seemed to turn up very often when it/he could be of help; maybe people broadcast, something more subtle than a visual image.
It was nearly two more hours, and the Naxian was still in the office being useful, before Mahare Chen returned his call. It was five minutes after he had started talking to her, just after Janice had also come in, that he discovered with shock what the words “Palaksee” and “Pilldahn” meant, and decided with relief that he could probably trust the Samian after all.
Ennissee, however was another problem. Hugh could only hope that he was safely immobilized.
And S’Nash was still another, but he tried to put this out of his mind for the moment.
Hugh asked several more questions, which Chen answered, but sometimes rather hesitantly.
“Are Jayree and I in trouble?” she asked bluntly, after one of them. Hugh shrugged.
“Not with the Guild, as far as I’m concerned. Most of your work for Ennissee was legitimate. All anyone could object to is this joke, if that’s what it was. If your consciences bother you, tell the story to Rekchellet. He should be very much on your side.”
“We thought it would affect only a few Crotonites who didn’t seem to be flying with both wings and were about ready for a correspondence course in astrology anyway. And the pay was good,” she added.
“If you mean extra pay for the joke, that should have warned you of something. Never mind, though; we’ll try to calm down the rest of the population. I suggest you stay around Pwanpwan, or leave a very specific forwarding address if work takes you elsewhere. It will make a much nicer picture with the Guild than disappearing, and I’m sure Rek will be delighted to take your side if any Trueliners get indignant about your telling me the story. I don’t suppose there are many of them on Habranha anyway, and you could make Ennissee look pretty foolish among the ordinary Crotonites if he tried to make trouble for you.”
The woman still looked slightly uneasy, but admitted that Hugh was probably right. He hoped her trouble was conscience, but couldn’t be sure under the circumstances that she had one.
He was about to break the connection when another thought struck him.
“You might get a lot more people on your side,” he pointed out, “if you and your friend helped reconstruct that mole. You must know a good deal about it, and I know at least one person who is already very upset about what happened to it, and is going to be a lot more so when he finds out about the faking. You know him, too; it’s the Samian who was out there with you.”
“Didn’t he know about the trick?” The question startled Hugh; it was a possibility which hadn’t occurred to him.
“I don’t think so, but I can find out pretty reliably, I think. Keep in touch with the Guild, anyway.”
Janice and he took brief counsel, but there seemed only one decent thing to do, and that at once. They asked S’Nash whether he could and would tell them whether Barrar was hearing something new when Hugh told him about the fossil, as he proposed to do immediately.
“From here, even if I can watch him on the screen, I doubt it,” was the answer, “but if you’ll give me time to get over to his office so I can watch him first hand, probably yes. Samians are something of a challenge, but it will be fun to try. Give me time to get over there before you call him.” The Naxian left the safety office without waiting for an answer.
The Erthumoi allowed what seemed a reasonable time to pass, and called the administration center. They thought at first they had gotten Barrar directly but realized almost at once that they were talking to another Samian wearing a similar walker. Ged, they were informed, had left firm orders that he was not to be interrupted; perhaps his recent complaint about his work load had been based on fact. Hugh wrestled briefly with his own conscience, won, and stated that the call was an emergency one from the safety office, glad that the being on the other end was not a Naxian and rather happy that S’Nash had left. Of course, it/he would presumably not have betrayed him, but Hugh was embarrassed at lying before anyone but his wife. She would understand.
An image of Barrar, wearing a dome-shaped body with a dozen arms ensconced on a platform in the center of what he probably thought of as a desk and surrounded by numerous data-handling and communicating devices, appeared in a few seconds. Hugh gave him no time to complain.
“Ged, did you ever have much talk with the Erthumoi working for Ennissee?”
“No. Practically none, and that little was all through him. Neither they nor I had appropriate translator mods. Why?”
“Did you ever hear them talking between themselves? And if you do, do you remember the words ‘Pill-Dahn’ or ‘Palaksee?’ “
“Thanks for the flattery. I have a brain, not a mechanical recorder. I heard them talk often enough, but don’t remember a syllable. Why? Get to the point, if any. Spreadsheet-Thinker is screaming about empty cells.”
“I’d like to hear a Locrian scream, but you’ll have to do. The words both mean the same, in the language of one of the Erthumoi — the female, if you care.”
“I don’t. Get to the point. What do they mean?”
“Faked fossil. I don’t know why that should rate a single word, let alone two, in any language but I suppose it’s a historical…”
“Shut up!” Barrar’s speech mechanism was not designed to produce a scream, but it had a more than adequate volume control. Hugh and his wife decided it might not be necessary to ask S’Nash how the Samian was feeling.
Chapter Thirteen
Every Idea Has To Face Its Test
“Why, how, and how do you know?” The questions came with surprising speed, considering the usual pace of Samian thought, and at a much more moderate volume than the initial reaction. Hugh answered them together, describing his conversation with Mahare Chen in detail though not verbatim.
“Ennissee is from Wildwind, where a lot of Seventh Race material has been found. Crotonites like to assume that it was a flying species, though if you really corner one he’ll usually admit there’s no real proof. It’s generally taken for granted, though, on Wildwind, and often carried to feeling that Crotonites are the natural heirs to any relics left by the Seventh Race.”
“I’ve heard of that idea, but never took it seriously.”
r “I don’t see why anyone should, but people do. Anyway, when Habranha was discovered by Crotonites a few decades ago — Common time, not Habra; they’ve been here longer than any of us — it turned out likely for chemical reasons that the Habras hadn’t evolved here but are descendants of some colonizing race. Since there is only one other star-faring species we’ve ever had a trace of, and the Habras certainly aren’t related to any of the Six, the natural implication sent the wilder Wildwinders out of control.
“To boil things down, Ennissee came here to ‘prove’ that the Habras had evolved here. Like a lot of true be
lievers, he didn’t much care how he did it; he was spreading the truth, and if he had to juggle mere facts a bit to convince the unbelievers that was all right. Personally I don’t think much of that attitude, but I can’t say all Erthumoi are above it. How many other Wildwinders were in it with him, or even how many would go that far, I have no idea, but I’m afraid we’ll have to publicize this affair in the interests of ordinary historical honesty and protection of the naive.”
“But — well, yes, of course. I see that. But what evidence other than the word of this Erthuma do you have that the fossils are false? How were they made? Was the first body…”
“The first body was genuine enough, and fairly modern. Jan has it well inside carbon range in age, and of course it’s a perfectly ordinary native. It’s a real accident or storm victim, apparently, found by Ennissee on Darkside. Chen says there were several more at the same site, but that Ennissee had said one was enough.”
“He told me it had come from just a few meters down,” said Barrar, “and he was sure it was recent, too, but he said he found it with his mole instruments while he was testing it and deciding where to start boring. Now I wonder how good the mole was, really. I never went very far down in it.”
“Oh, it seems to have been all he told you, according to Chen. Janice has found quite a bit of the plant stuff from Ennissee’s base to be beyond carbon range in age. It could have done good work. I hope it can be rebuilt. He destroyed it to keep anyone from checking the spot where he claimed to have found the second specimen.”
“Destroyed it!” How could he? It was — it was useful! How could anyone destroy such a thing? A mass-produced truck, or aircraft, or communicator, something easy to replace, one could understand; but this was specially designed equipment! And how could he have taken such a chance with the Erthumoi and me?”
“The explosion was thermite, set off under the ice where he’d parked it. Of course the steam made it impressive, and he must have been planning the whole thing well in advance to have so much thermite at the site. He would certainly never have used it for fossil digging. I’m a little surprised that the building you and the Erthumoi were in survived. I know the stuff isn’t really an explosive, but that much of it under ice would have to make a lot of steam. He probably cared a little more about you and his workers than he did for Rekchellet, but not too much. He also knew about when we would be coming — didn’t he? You were out there, after all.”