Needle n-1

by Hal Clement

"No, it's all right, son; I came home to grab an early bite. I have to go back to the tank; we want to get the last of the forms for the back wall in place and pour tonight, so that the concrete can set over Sunday."

  "May I come along?"

  "We don't expect to be done till midnight anyway. Well, I guess it won't hurt. I expect if your mother were asked politely she would give her consent, and perhaps even double the sandwich order she's preparing at the moment."

  Bob bounced toward the kitchen but was met halfway by his mother's voice.

  "All right this time; but after you're back in school this sort of thing is out. Bargain?"

  "Bargain." Bob seated himself opposite his father and began asking for further details. Mr. Kinnaird supplied them between mouthfuls. It had not occurred to Bob to wonder where the jeep was, but he understood anyway when its horn sounded outside. They went out together, but there was room for only one more in the vehicle. The fathers of Hay, Colby, Rice, and Malmstrom were already aboard. Mr. Kinnaird turned to Bob.

  "I forgot to mention-you'll have to take your bike. You'll also have to walk it home, unless you have that light fixed, which I doubt. Still want to come?"

  "Sure." Bob turned to the space under the porch where he stored the machine. The other men looked at Kinnaird with some surprise.

  "You going to take a chance on having him around while we pour, Art?" asked the senior Malmstrom. "You'll be fishing him out of the cement."

  "If he can't take care of himself by now, it's time we both found out," replied Bob's father, glancing in the direction his son had vanished.

  "If there's anything in heredity, you won't find him in much danger," remarked the heavy-set Colby as he shifted to make room in the jeep. He spoke with a grin that was meant to remove the sting from the words. Mr. Kinnaird was apparently unaffected by the remark.

  The red-haired driver turned the jeep and sent it down the drive, Bob pedaling furiously behind. Since the distance to the road was not great and the curve at that point sharp, he held his own down the drive; but once in the main road the men quickly drew ahead. Bob did not care. He rolled on through the village to the end of the road, parked the bicycle, and proceeded on foot along the path the boys had taken that morning. The sun had set during the ride, and darkness was closing in with typical tropic speed.

  There was no lack of light at the scene of construction, however. Wherever there seemed the slightest need big portable fluorescents blazed. They were all powered from a single engine-driven generator mounted on a dolly parked at one side of the already smoothed floor; and for some time Bob occupied himself finding out all he could about this installation without actually taking it apart. Then he wandered over to the rear wall where the forms were going up, and, applying the principle the boys had long since found best, helped for a while carrying the two-by-fours that were being used to prop the great, flat, prefabricated sections in place. He met his father several times, but no word either of approval or censure was passed.

  Like the rest of the men, Mr. Kinnaird was far too busy to say much. He was a civil engineer by training, but, like everyone else on the island, he was expected to turn his hand to whatever job needed doing. For once the work came very near to his specialty, and he was making the most of it. The Hunter saw him occasionally, when Bob chanced to be looking somewhere near the right direction, and he was always busy-clinging precariously (it seemed to the alien) to the tops of ladders gauging the separation of the molds; stepping across the thirty-foot-deep chasm which the concrete was to fill, to climb the slope beyond and check the preparations of the men at the mixers; freezing over a spirit level or a theodolite as he gauged location or angle of stance of some newly positioned part; checking the fuel tank on the generator engine; even taking a turn at the power saw where the ends of the props were cut to the proper angles-jobs which would each have been done by a different man anywhere else, and jobs which sometimes scared even the watching Hunter. The alien decided that he had been overhasty in condemning the man for letting his son do dangerous work. Mr. Kinnaird just didn't think of that phase of the matter. Well, so much more work for the Hunter. Maybe someday he could educate the boy to take care of himself; but if he had had fifteen years of this example the chances were smaller than the detective had hoped.

  The man was not completely ignoring his son, however. Bob succeeded in concealing one yawn from everyone but his guest; but his father spotted the second and ordered him away from work. He knew what lack of sleep could do to a person's coordination and had no desire to see the elder Malmstrorn's prediction fulfilled.

  "Do I have to go home?" asked Bob. "I wanted to see them pour."

  "You won't be able to see if you don't get some sleep. No, you needn't go home; but stop working for a while and catch a nap. There's a good place up at the top of the hill there where you can see what's going on and lie down in comfort at the same time. I'll wake you before they pour, if you insist."

  Bob made no objection. It was not yet ten o'clock, and he would never have ordinarily dreamed of sleeping so early; but the last few days had been a tremendous change in activity from the routine of the school, and even he was beginning to feel the results. Anyway, he knew that objecting would do him no good.

  He climbed the hill accordingly, and on the very top found a spot which answered to his father's description. He stretched out on the soft grass, propped his head up on his elbows, and regarded the brilliant scene below him.

  From here he could see almost everything at once. It was as though he looked down from a balcony onto a lighted stage. Only the area at the very foot of the wall to be was hidden by the molds; and there was plenty to watch elsewhere in the work area. Even outside this something could be seen; there was the faint glow from the water of the lagoon, with the nearer tanks silhouetted against it and the brighter band of luminosity that limned the outer reef. Bob could hear the breakers if he listened for them; but, like everyone else on the island, he was so accustomed to their endless sound that he seldom noticed it. To his left a few lights were visible, some on the dock and some in the half-dozen houses not hidden from his gaze by the shoulder of the hill. In the other direction, to the east, there was only darkness. The machines used to mow the lush vegetation grown there to feed the culture tanks were abandoned for the night, and the only sound was the rustling among the pithy stalks caused by small animals and vagrant breezes. There were a few mosquitoes and sand flies as well, but the Hunter also believed his host needed sleep, and frightened off with tiny pseudo-pods any that landed on the boy's exposed skin. It may have been listening to these faint noises which proved tot be Bob's undoing, for in spite of the firmest determination merely to rest and watch he was sound asleep when his father came up the hill to find him.

  Mr. Kinnaird approached silently and looked down at the boy for some time with an expression that defied interpretation. At last, as the sound of the mixers below swelled abruptly, he nudged the prone figure with his toe. -This proving ineffective, he bent over and shook his son gently; and eventually Bob emitted an audible yawn and opened his eyes. It took him a second or two to take in the situation, then he got to his feet at once.

  "Thanks, Dad. I didn't think I'd go to sleep. Is it late? Are they pouring?"

  "Just starting." Mr. Kinnaird made no comments about sleep. He had only one son but knew the minds of boys. "I'll have to go back to the floor; I suppose you'll want to watch from the top. Just to be sure someone's around to see you if you fall in." They started downhill together without further talk.

  At the mixers Mr. Kinnaird bore off to the left, continuing down past the cut made for the tank, while Bob stayed by the machinery. It was already in action, and more of the lights had been moved up to the scene, so that every operation was clearly visible. The upper ends of the machines received apparently endless supplies of sand and cement from stock piles previously built up and of water pumped up from one of the big desalting units at the edge of the lagoon. A smooth, gray-white river of co
ncrete poured from spouts at the lower end and into the chasm between the carefully placed mold boards. The scene of activity was gradually being obscured under a haze of cement dust. The men were protected from it by goggles, but Bob was not, and presently the penetrating stuff began to get into his eyes. The Hunter made a halfhearted attempt to do something about it, but it meant putting tissue on the outside of the boy's eyeballs which would interfere with sight from both their proper owner and himself, so he let the tear glands do the job. He had no particular ulterior motives, but was far from disappointed when his host moved a little way up the hill to get out of the dust cloud; for, as usual, Bob had been watching things with an annoying disregard for his own safety and had had to be ordered out of the way several times by some of the men.

  Just before midnight, with the pouring almost done, Mr. Kinnaird reappeared and located Bob, who was asleep again. He did not fulfill his promise of making the boy ride home on his bicycle.

  Chapter XIV. ACCIDENTS

  SUNDAY morning the boys met as planned, bringing lunches with them. The bicycles were cached as usual, and the group splashed down the creek to the boat, where all but Bob changed to bathing suits. He kept on shirt and slacks, as his sunburn was not quite at the stage where another layer would be advisable. He and Malmstrom took the oars, and they rowed along the shore toward the northwest. They stopped for a moment at Hay's tank and tasted the water, which seemed now to be ordinary sea water; then they headed the small craft between the islet and the north end of the beach. They were forced ashore at the seaward end of the passage, as the surf was too heavy for rowing; they splashed overside in water that one moment was knee deep and the next barely reached their ankles, and towed the boat for the half mile that lay between them and the gate. Here they re-embarked, and the exploration of the southern reef began.

  This barrier ran much closer to the island than did that on the northern side, the stretch of water enclosed by it usually only a few hundred yards wide and never more than half a mile. The islets were fewer as well, the reef consisting for the most part of a forest of branching corals that appeared above water only at low tide, though it was wide enough to block even the heaviest breakers. It was a harder place to loot, from the boys' viewpoint, since the flotsam in which they were apt to be interested frequently lodged in the midst of a jagged, marble-hard labyrinth. The boat could not possibly be taken among those growths, and someone had to wade, wearing heavy shoes.

  Bob, of course, was no longer seeking clues, but Hay had a box of wet seaweed and a number of jars which he hoped would accommodate specimens for his pool, and the others all had their plans. The section had not actually been deserted since the boat and gate had been out of commission, for other youngsters on the island had boats, and not all were too lazy to row around the long way; but these would have worked the east end of the reef first. It was very likely that the day might be profitable, and everyone was in high spirits.

  They had worked their way a mile or so along the reef, and Hay in particular had had very good luck. His jars were all filled with sea water and specimens, and he was talking about going back early to establish them in the pool and get the screening in place-they had decided that the small hole would be enough. The others, naturally, wanted to continue with the original program. They thrashed the problem out while they ate their lunch on one of the few soil-covered islets available, and the result was a draw. The exploration was not continued, and they did not take the specimens to the pool.

  The solution was taken out of their control quite unintentionally by Rice, who stood up in the bow of the boat after all were aboard, with the intention of shoving off from the coral ledge to which it was moored. It had not occurred to the boys that where one board had been rotten enough to yield to a fourteen-year-old's weight others might be in like state. They were reminded of the possibility when Rice's left foot, with a loud crack, went through the plank adjacent to the new one and he saved himself from falling overboard only by a quick snatch at the gunwales. He might as well have let himself go, for in a matter of seconds the craft had filled and left them sitting waist deep in the lagoon.

  For a moment everyone was too startled for any reaction. Then Colby laughed, and the others, except Rice, joined in.

  "That'll be the last I hear about stepping through the bottom of a boat I hope," Hugh finally got out between chuckles. "At least I did it near enough to home so there was no trouble getting it there."

  They waded to the shore only a yard or two away, taking the boat with them. There was no question of procedure. All could swim, all had had experience with swamped boats, and all knew that, even full of water, their craft was perfectly capable of supporting their weight if they kept their bodies low in the water. They simply made sure all their property was accounted for-most of Hay's specimens had escaped-reentered the water, and pushed off across the narrow lagoon toward the main island. Once away from the reef and in water deep enough for swimming they removed their shoes and placed them in the boat. Each clung to the gunwales with one hand, pushing it along as he swam. No particular difficulty was encountered, though somebody cheerfully pointed out, when they were about halfway across, that they had just finished eating.

  Once ashore another disagreement arose, the question this time being whether they should leave the boat here and bring the -wood and tools across the island, or take it around to the creek. The actual distance to their homes directly across the ridge was not great, but most of it was jungle; and carrying heavy loads through that would be no joke. The things could, of course, be brought around by the beach, but that involved extra distance. Since the next day was Monday, with school, they could not hope to do the job in one trip, and it was finally decided to take the boat back to the creek.

  There was plenty of time before them, however, and before starting they pulled the craft up on the shore to examine the damage in more detail. Obviously the entire plank would need replacing. It had rotted away from the screws that held it to the sidepieces near the bow and cracked right in two midway between that point of attachment and the first crosspiece, opening downward like a double trapdoor. If Rice had tried to pull straight up without working his way loose carefully, the two pieces would probably have clamped firmly on his legs. It was fortunate, the boys agreed, that their craft was not a larger one carrying ballast.

  It finally occurred to them to examine the rest of the woodwork; and the fact gradually forced itself upon them -that satisfactory repair of the boat was going to amount almost to a rebuilding job. A good deal of scavenging was going to be necessary before the craft would once more be seaworthy, for the big plank they had been using would never be sufficient.

  Bob came forth with a suggestion. "Why don't we leave it here for now and go over to the new tank? There's lots of scrap lumber there, and we can pick up what we need, take it to the creek, and bring the boat around either tonight or tomorrow."

  "That would mean an extra trip over here," pointed out Malmstrom. "Why not do what we planned, and go up to the tank afterward?"

  "Besides, there'll be no one there," added Colby. "We're going to need more than scraps, and we can't take the big stuff without permission."

  Bob admitted the justice of this, and was willing to relinquish his suggestion, when Rice had another thought.

  "I'll tell you what we might do," he said. "We're apt to be a long time finding just what we want. Why don't one or two of us go up like Bob says and pick out what we could use, and sort of put it to one side, while the others take the boat around-that won't need very many hands. Then after school tomorrow we can just ask for the stuff we've put aside all at once and be able to go to work without wasting time."

  "That's O.K., if you think we can get it all at once. Sometimes it's better to ask for one thing at a time," Hay pointed out.

  "Well, we can make more than one pile and ask different people. Who'll go up to the tank and who pushes the boat?"

  It was eventually settled that Bob and Norman wo
uld set out at once for the construction site and the others would work the rowboat back to the creek. No one was in a hurry to start, but at last they dragged the wreck back into water deep enough to float it, and the two emissaries returned to shore, with Rice's voice behind them grunting the song of the Volga boatmen.

  "I'm going home first and get my bike," said Norman as they headed away from the water. "It's easier, and'll save time."

  "That's a thought," agreed Bob. "We'll lose a little cutting through the jungle, but the bikes should make up for it. I'll wait for you at my drive, shall I?"

  "O.K., if you get there first. I know your place is closer to here, but the jungle is narrower up my way. I'll go up the shore till I'm opposite my house before I cut over."

  "All right."

  The boys separated, Norman walking rapidly along the beach in the direction taken by the others-whom he speedily overtook and passed-while Bob headed uphill into the heavy growth he had already shown to the Hunter. He knew the island as well as anyone, but no one could say he knew that jungle. Most of the plants were extremely fast-growing varieties and a path had to be in constant use to remain in existence. The larger trees were more permanent and would have made satisfactory landmarks had it been possible to proceed directly from one to the other; but the thorny undergrowth usually prevented it. The only really reliable guide was the slope of the ground, which enabled one to take a straight course with the assurance that he would come out somewhere. Bob, knowing where he was in relation to his house, was reasonably sure of reaching the road within a short distance of the dwelling-or even hitting it exactly if he bore enough to the right to cross the comparatively well-used trail he had employed a few days before. He plunged into the undergrowth without hesitation.

  At the top of the ridge they paused, more to let Bob get his breath than his bearings. Ahead of them, down the slope where the houses should be, was a wall of brush. Even Bob hesitated at the sight and looked to each side; the Hunter cringed mentally and prepared himself for action. For the first time the boy went down on his hands and knees to thread his way through the barrier. It was a little better close to the ground, since the worst bushes tended to grow in chimps and spread as they rose, but it was still far from clear, and the scratches began mounting up. The Hunter had thought of something really biting to say on the subject of just how much time and effort were being saved by the short cut, when his attention was taken by something he saw from the corner of Bob's eye.