by Hal Clement
“Your ship is out on the landing ramp, which is on the thirtieth level,” he said. “Can I help you in locating it?”
“I thought I had reached the thirtieth level,” replied Vickers. “Serrnak Deg told me that the elevator buttons were in order, and I certainly pressed the thirtieth.” The Heklan looked steadily at him for several seconds, and blinked once more. Then he nodded his head violently.
“I think I see what must have happened,” he said. “You counted upward from the bottom of the panel. You are now on the sixteenth of the forty-five levels. The station was dug downwards from the top of the mountain, and it was natural to number in that direction. Do your people normally number from the ground up?”
“Yes, we do, on buildings above ground level; but if I had stopped to recall that this place is underground I should at least have asked Deg whether you counted up or down. It is a silly error on my part. Now that I am here, however, do you mind my seeing your department? I will try to keep out of the way of any activity.”
The big eyes blinked again, as their owner hesitated. Vickers decided that the expression on the grotesque face denoted discomfort.
“I dislike to appear discourteous,” the answer finally came, “but the trouble in the computing department has thrown a heavy load on us. We are all extremely busy, so that I can neither guide you around our section myself, nor provide another to do so. Some of the equipment is too dangerous to permit your examining it unattended. I am extremely sorry, but there is nothing I can do to grant your request. Do you think you can find the way back to your ship from here? If not, I can show you to the landing stage.”
He started to move toward the elevator before Vickers could answer him; but the Earthman declined the offer of guidance. The Heklan pointed out the proper button—they were labeled in Heklan characters, but the numbers happened not to stand out very clearly to blue-sensitive eyes—and returned to the chamber of electrical devices, leaving an elevator with a decidedly thoughtful occupant.
Vickers retraced his original way from the ship without further misadventure, passed through the air lock, still pondering. Until the time he had left Serrnak in his laboratory, everything had appeared to be proceeding favorably. The meteorologist had evidently been convinced of his sincerity—Vickers chalked up another point in favor of the policy of sticking to the truth as much as possible; but the technician on the sixteenth level had been patently anxious to get rid of him. The creature had said the entire force was too busy to show him around the department, and in the same breath had offered to guide him back to the spaceship. A personal dislike, or actual physical repugnance to a member of an alien race might be responsible, of course; but the apparently genuine effort at courtesy suggested some other cause.
Vickers settled down in a well padded chair—his ship was a converted lifeboat, and he had personally fitted it with items of luxury seldom found on such a craft—and gave his mind to the problem. In the first place, no Heklan except Serrnak Deg had had opportunity to become acquainted with him; during the three months in which he had learned the language of this race, Vickers had confined his attention to that one individual, and had caught no more than fleeting glimpses of the other inhabitants of the station. It seemed, therefore, that the Heklan on the sixteenth level either had formed an instantaneous dislike of the Earthman, had acquired one from Deg, or had been ordered by the same individual not to permit Vickers to examine that level. The first possibility the man had already dismissed as unlikely; and the other two posed the same question—to wit, what had he done or said to arouse the Heklan’s suspicion or dislike? Deg must be a fine actor, if Vickers’ opinion of his own ability to judge the expression of the Heklan face was not overrated; for no suggestion of any emotion save friendly interest had been apparent to the man in Serrnak’s attitude.
The conversation of the last hour or two was the most probable source of trouble. Vickers reviewed his words, with the aid of a nearly eidetic memory. He had, in the first place, adhered strictly to the truth in describing the Federation and its method of establishing contact with “new” races. He had described himself as an agent of the Federation, which was his only serious departure from scrupulous verity; but the lie should not have been obvious to Deg. He had answered the Heklan’s questions plausibly—and truthfully, as he recalled. He had known more than one Federation ambassador, and knew their usual troubles.
It was at this point that a recollection of the nature of Deg’s questions suddenly stood out in Vickers’ mind. There had been only one of importance, though he had asked it more than once, and in a variety of ways. The Heklan had been unable to understand why membership in or dealings with the Federation had been refused by some races; and—had he been entirely unmoved by Vickers’ speech, “A certain suspicion of strangers is natural”? A moment later he had said that “naturally” he could not answer for the attitude of the rest of his people; had the inflection of his voice as he uttered that word denoted sarcasm, or some other emotion—or was Vickers’ imagination adding to the picture painted by memory?
The man had not learned so much as he had meant to of the living conditions on Hekla. If the population were small and conditions hard, an instinct of co-operation rather than competition might be dominant; such cases were not unknown. If this were true of Hekia, Deg and his people would not be merely reluctant to have dealings with outsiders; they would be terrified at the mere thought, after the impression the meteorologist must have gained from what Vickers had considered “natural.”
The theory made Vickers extremely uncomfortable, but long cogitation produced no other. He berated himself for giving so much information without obtaining any in return; but there was no use reviving a dead issue. He determined to return to the observatory, both to check his theory and to obtain some of the missing information. He arose, opened the air lock, and walked across the small plateau toward the great entry way.
Twenty minutes later, a very thoughtful man, he was sitting in his control room. He had met four Heklans inside the entrance; they had been extremely polite; but he had not reached the elevator. Something was decidedly wrong. He had learned nothing new or helpful on the second trip, but it seemed pretty certain that action was required.
Action was not Vickers’ strong point, and none knew the fact better than he. Where a good personality and a working knowledge of practical persuasion were required, he shone; but if there were need of a more specialized field of knowledge, he knew when to call for help.
He turned to the panel below the outer vision screens, and pulled a small section out and down to form a shelf. On this was mounted a small medium-crystal unit. Such a transmitter was standard lifeboat equipment, but this set’s crystal had been recharged, removing it from the universal distress medium, and matched to only one other unit, which was in the interstellar ship now resting on Hekla’s innermost satellite. The set was keyed, as the high-frequency interrupter which permitted voice and, later, vision to be sent and received even by a ship in second-order flight had not at that time been developed.
Vickers checked the tiny green light which assured him that heat or stray static charges had not altered the crystal’s medium; then, at a very fair speed, he began rapping out a message. He had to wait several minutes for an acknowledgment, but finally a brief series of long and short flashes blinked from a second bulb above the key, and he closed the unit, satisfied.
There was nothing more he could do at the moment. He had been active since mid-morning, and it was now well after noon; he suddenly realized that his legs and back were aching fiercely from the unaccustomed walking under Heklan gravity. Vickers rose, closed and secured the inner air lock door, and dropped thankfully onto his bunk.
When he awoke, the sun was quite low in the west. Its enormous disk, ill-defined at the best of times, was nearly hidden in haze; the western half of the sky was tinted a deep blood-red never approached by a terrestrial sunset. The daily cumulus cloud was still above the mountain, its top streamin
g away inland and forming a crimson-lit finger pointing at Observatory Hill. Vickers, looking at it, was reminded to turn on the homing transmitter in his ship, in case his help should have difficulty in locating him.
He spent more than an hour at the board, using all his radio equipment in every combination and on every band he could reach, in an effort to pick up Heklan communications. On the entire electromagnetic spectrum, except the bands of too high frequency for communication beyond the horizon, static was strong and constant; frequency modulation did little to help, and brought nothing that might have been an intelligent message. He considered charging a spare crystal, but realized that no unit so far energized on any Federation world had chanced on the medium of a widely separated crystal, and the chances against doing so had been computed as something like the number of electrons in the universe. Two crystals had to be charged in physical contact to respond to each other across what, for want of a better name, was called a “medium.” Even if Heklan science had reached such a point, there was no hope of discovering the fact by searching the legions of possible media. Vickers took that for granted, and after some time at the radios was prepared to state that they had no other means of long-range communication.
He had given up the search and was eating, when a second lifeboat settled down beside his own. Vickers failed to notice it for several minutes; when he did, he immediately snapped on the standard communicator and tuned to the frequency his crew normally used on such occasions. He gave the set a moment to warm, and then called.
“Hello, Dave! Is everything all right?” The answer came back at once.
“This is Macklin. Rodin is here, all right. He’s in the air lock, compressing; I’m afraid he’s a little annoyed at you. Why in the name of common sense didn’t you let us know that you had an atmospheric pressure of forty pounds on this blasted hilltop? He could have ridden all the way in the lock, building up gradually. He’ll be over there as soon as possible; as soon as he opens the lock, you’d better trot over and help him. He had enough stuff to set up in business for himself. All right?”
“All serene. Can you stay with us, or do they want the boat back in a hurry?”
“I have to go back. I don’t know what they want with this can, and I’m much too modest to suppose they’d need me, but them’s the orders. You’d better watch for Dave; the lock pressure is nearly forty now.”
“All right. Don’t get lost.”
Vickers snapped off the set, and opened the inner lock door. A glance through the control room port showed that the other ship was still sealed, but he strolled out onto the landing stage and waited there for Rodin to emerge. He noted with a shiver that the temperature at the top of the hill had not increased perceptibly since morning.
He had only a few moments to wait; the lock of the visiting ship opened silently, and its occupant hailed him.
“Hello, Alf? What have you messed up this time?”
“Don’t take so much for granted, cloud-chaser,” returned Vickers. “As a matter of fact, I’m not quite sure what, if anything, has been botched. I’m just a little doubtful of the attitude I aroused in the lad who runs this place. It’s a weather station, and he’s a member of your honored and ancient profession, so I called on you to stand by and assist in further negotiations.”
“You would. I’d just gotten back on a more or less human eating and sleeping schedule. Will you help me get my stuff over to your ship? Mack is probably getting tired of waiting.” Vickers nodded and they set to work; Rodin continued to talk, commenting unfavorably on Hekla’s atmospheric pressure, gravity—this as he tried to lift a piece of apparatus normally well within his strength—temperature, and various other characteristics. He did not mention its weather, except to say that it looked interesting from an academic viewpoint.
The equipment had been transferred, and the men were settled in the warmth of Vickers’ ship before Rodin asked for details of the situation. Vickers gave a report of the last three months, pointing out that he had refused either to give an explanation of himself or request information of his hosts until he was sure of his ability to use their language; that Serrnak Deg, the only Heklan with whom he had come into more than momentary contact during this time, had seemed both friendly and interested until exchange of information had begun; and that Vickers had given much more information than he had received. He stressed the fact that the Heklan’s behavior had not become openly hostile; they were carefully keeping him away from anything in the observatory that might do him good, but they were being very polite about it. Rodin asked a question at this point.
“If they don’t want you, who aren’t a scientist, wandering around the place, what good will I do? Don’t you want them to know I’m a meteorologist?”
“I don’t want to wander. Deg said he’d call for me as soon as his emergency had passed—which may merely mean when he’s made the place safe for inspection by a suspicious alien. I’ll introduce you to him as a fellow meteorologist. Your inability to speak his language will take care of any risk there might be of your saying the wrong thing. I don’t know how advanced their metro is—the lab I saw looked quite imposing, but they may not be up to us. That’s one thing I’d like you to pass judgment on. If they’re behind us, we’ll try to make you helpful to them in as many ways as possible—generally produce a good impression. If they know more than you, we’ll decide on some other course of action.”
“You’re the boss. You must have learned something about these folks, and formed some plans, so I’ll follow your lead. I don’t suppose you noticed anything pertinent about the climate and local weather, did you? I know it’s summer, of course; but is this a representative temperature? How’s the lapse rate? Did you notice anything of the prevailing winds and general cloud forms? Don’t answer—I can tell by your expression. I have my work cut out for me. Can you get hold of any locally produced weather maps, or even a decent relief map either of the continent or the whole planet?” Vickers pursed his lips doubtfully.
“The only weather maps I’ve seen are those big globes in the integration laboratory, unless the screens of those computing machines could be called maps. I think they put out their answers in terms of the squiggles you fellows deface paper with. If Deg will let us into that laboratory again, you can judge that for yourself; but I wouldn’t count on that happening. I don’t know about printed maps or charts; I’ve seen books, bound like ours, but I haven’t even tried to read their language, and haven’t seen how their books are illustrated. They undoubtedly have relief maps; if you need them in meteorology; I suppose they do too, and should have them around; but getting hold of one is something you’ll just have to pray for.”
Rodin nodded, and dropped the subject. They discussed the physical appearance of the Heklans, speculating on their probable evolutionary history; the doings on Hekla’s satellite during Vickers’ three-month absence from the interstellar ship; and every subject that occurred to them. They had plenty of time, for two of Hekla’s long days had rolled by and the sun was again in the west before Serrnak Deg appeared outside the air lock.
Vickers heard him slap the outer door with the flat of his hand, and immediately opened the lock. The pudgy being walked—in spite of his build, his motion was nothing like a fat man’s waddle—into the control room, where Rodin was waiting. The tarsierlike face showed no surprise as the big eyes took in the two Earthmen. Vickers forestalled any remarks by speaking himself.
“This is David Rodin, a meteorologist from the crew of the ship that brought me to this planetary system,” he said. “I called for him after I left you two days ago. If I had known the nature of this place, I would have arranged to have him accompany me when I came, and learn your language at the same time. I imagine you would find a member of your own profession a more interesting conversationalist than I. I shall do my best to make up for my failure by acting as interpreter—I shall have to learn more of your meteorological terms, as well as our own, if you start to talk shop. Rodin would like to
see your observatory with us, if you are ready to show the rest of it to me.”
“We noticed your friend’s arrival,” replied Deg. “I regret being kept busy for so long. I will gladly show him the integration room if you wish it—perhaps he will understand our simple installations without explanation. I should be grateful for any improvements he might suggest. Do you wish to come now, or would you rather show me some of the photographic material you promised to let me see the next time I visited you?”
Vickers felt slightly nonplussed, and admitted to himself that Deg, if he were trying to be an unobtrusive hindrance to further human exploration of his observatory, could scarcely have done better. He gave the only possible answer.
“By all means stay and see the material. Dave’s arrival had driven it from my mind. The pictures are accompanied by much printed information which you won’t be able to read; but we can probably make up for that. Rodin has traveled even more than I, and can give first-hand explanations of much that you will see. The atlases are in the library to the rear of the ship.”
Vickers took care to hide his annoyance as the two men and the Heklan examined and discussed the records of the dozens of worlds that made up the Federation and the human, near-human, and completely unhuman beings that peopled them. Deg expressed surprise that his own world, so comparatively close to Earth and Thanno, the principal Federation planets, had remained overlooked while Federation sway had reached across the Galaxy and beyond to its sprawling satellites, the Magellanic Clouds. The men pointed out the vast number of stars, which rendered surveys either cursory in nature or prohibitively long in duration. A sun was likely to be investigated closely enough to detect its planets, if any, only if there were something intrinsically peculiar about the star itself, as was the case with R Coronae. Privately, Vickers wondered how soon the Federation actually would become interested enough in the giant variable to give it a close looking over.
