Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  “The first result was a complete cessation of the sounds we had tentatively associated with life forms. Presumably they were small animals, and were scared away by the noise. The wind, if that’s what it was, continued as expected. The first time we increased the noise, after a quarter rotation of the planet, we began to get a faint echo. That suggested that the sound was at least not being muffled very close to the speaker, and if any intelligent beings came within a considerable radius they would hear it.

  “To make a long story short, we got a response after the fourth increase of power. We thought it was a distorted echo at first, but it got louder while our power remained constant, and finally we could tell that the sounds were different. They formed a tremendously complex noise pattern, and every one of us who heard them was sure from the beginning that they represented intelligent speech.

  “Eventually we began to hear more footstep-sounds between the bursts of alien language, and we cut off our own broadcast. It became evident that the creature was close enough to detect the torpedo by other means than hearing, for the footsteps continued to approach. At first they were interrupted every few seconds by a loud call; but presently the thing must have actually reached the machine, for the sounds suggested that it was walking around at a nearly constant distance, and the calls were replaced by much less powerful but longer and more complex speech-noises. Probably the creatures can see much as we do, though the light is so much weaker on that planet.

  “Presently the photocell inside the cargo compartment indicated that something had cut off much of the light One of the operators moved to close the door, and the boss knocked him clean out of the control room. He took the torpedo controls himself, and began attempting to imitate the voice sounds of the creature we couldn’t see. That produced results, all right! If noise means anything, the native got wildly excited for a minute or two; then he buckled down to producing apparently as wide a variety of sounds as his vocal apparatus would permit. Certainly we couldn’t imitate them all.

  “That lasted for some time, with nobody making any real progress. Nobody had any way of telling what any of the other fellow’s noises meant, of course. It began to look as though we’d gone as far as we could, in learning about the planet, and that the knowledge was not going to do anyone any good.

  “Then someone remembered the old swap-boxes. I don’t know whether you’ve heard of them; they were used, I guess, before our race ever left the home planet, when people who didn’t speak each other’s language wanted to trade. They are simply two trays, hinged together, each divided into a number of small compartments. One side is empty, while the compartments of the other are filled with various articles that are for sale. A glass lid covers each of the full compartments, and cannot be removed until something has been placed in the corresponding compartment of the other tray. It takes a pretty stupid savage not to get the idea in fairly short order.

  “We didn’t have any such gadget, of course, but it was not difficult to rig one up. The trouble was that we could not tell what had been put in the empty tray until the box came back to us. Since we were more interested in talking than trading, that didn’t matter too much at the time. We sent the box down in another torpedo, homing it on the location signal of the first and hoping the flat-land people wouldn’t detect it, opened the thing up, and waited.

  “The native promptly investigated; he was apparently intelligent enough to put curiosity ahead of fear, even though he must have seen the second torpedo in flight. He behaved exactly as expected with the box, though of course we couldn’t watch him—he put something in every compartment of the empty section, and presumably cleaned out the other; but he put most of the stuff back. One of the things he gave us proved useful—the stuff we still trade for—so we sent the box back with only the compartment corresponding to the one he had put that stuff in full. He got the idea, and we’ve been on fine terms ever since.”

  “But about the language?”

  “Well, we know his words for ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ his names for a few metals, and his name for the stuff he sells us. I can give you either a tape of his pronunciation or a written record, if you want to talk to him.”

  “Thanks a lot. That makes the whole situation a good deal clearer. I take it you have had no more trouble from these flatlanders?”

  “None. We have carefully avoided contacting any other part of the planet. As I said, our interests are now commercial rather than scientific. Still, if you want to send down machines on your own, I suppose we shouldn’t interfere with you. Please be careful, though; we’d hate to have contact cut off before we were in a position to do our own producing.”

  Ken gave the equivalent of a grin. “I notice you are still carefully refraining from telling me what the stuff is. Well, I won’t butt in. That’s none of my business, and I don’t see how knowing it could help me out. Right now, I guess, it would be best for you to give me all the physical data you have on the planet. Then I can make a guess at its atmosphere, and send a torpedo down with equipment to confirm or deny the guess. That will be easier than trying to bring back samples for analysis, I imagine.” Drai pulled himself together from the rack on which he was sprawled, and gave the equivalent of an affirmative nod. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t know what we get from the planet,” he said. “But I shall most certainly make a hammock from the skin of the first member of this organization who lets you find out!” The technician, who had been listening in the background, turned back to the mechanism of another torpedo, and spoke for the first time without looking up.

  “That won’t be difficult; there’s little to tell. The planet is about three-tenths larger than ours in diameter, making its volume rather over twice as great as that of Sarr. Its mass is also over twice ours, though its average density is a shade less. Surface gravity is one and a quarter Sarr normal. Mean temperature is a little below the freezing point of potassium. Atmospheric pressure uncertain, composition unknown. Period of rotation, one point eight four Sarr days.”

  “I see. You could duplicate temperature readily enough on this planet, by choosing a point far enough around toward the dark side; and if necessary, there wouldn’t be too much trouble in reproducing the periodicity of night and day. Your problem is atmosphere. I’ll spend some time thinking out ways and means of getting that, then.” Sallman Ken moved slowly away in the direction of his assigned quarters. His thoughts were not exclusively occupied with the problem of atmosphere analysis; he was thinking more of a mysterious race inhabiting the flat, bleak plains of Planet Three and the possibility of cutting off trade with the planet—always, of course, assuming that its mysterious product was what he feared.

  He was also wondering if he had overdone his disclaimer of interest in the planet’s chief export.

  IV.

  A circle of three-mile radius has an area of slightly over twenty-eight square miles, or roughly eighteen thousand acres. It follows that the map prepared by Roger and Edith Wing was not as detailed as it might have been. On the other hand, as their father was forced to admit, a tree-covered mountain side does not offer too many details to put on a map; and the effort the children turned in did show every creek and trail of which Mr. Wing had knowledge. Still more to the point, it showed clearly that they had actually travelled over the area in question. This was the defect in the girl’s experience which he had wanted corrected before she was released from the “stick-to-the-trail” rule.

  He looked up presently from the tattered notebook. The family was gathered around the fireplace again, and the two cartographers were ensconced on either arm of his chair. Don was on the floor between the seats with Billy draped across his neck; Marjorie was in her mother’s lap. All were listening for the verdict.

  “You seem to have done a pretty good job here,” Mr. Wing said at last. “Certainly anyone could find his way around the area with the aid of this map. Edie, how do you think you could do without it?”

  “All right, Dad, I’m sure,” the girl replied in a
slightly surprised tone. “Do I have to?” Her father shrugged.

  “You know best whether you want to carry this with you all the time. No, you don’t have to, as far as I’m concerned. How have the two of you made out on the patrol schedule?” Roger took over the conversation, curling a little closer to his father’s shoulder and using the map to illustrate his points.

  “There are eight trails leading into the three-mile circle at different points. Don and I used to go around the circle each day, going along each one far enough to be sure no one had been using it. There are spots on each which it’s practically impossible to go through without leaving some sort of trail. Going from one trail to another we’d try to cut across places of the same sort—where we could tell if people had been through.

  “This time we’re working it a little differently. I’m still checking the ends of those trails, but we’ve been listing places from which people could watch anyone bound away from here—there aren’t nearly so many of those. Edie can cover nearly all of them in two hour-and-a-half walks morning and afternoon—we’ve tried it; and I can do the rest when I take the outer trails. That’s a lot like the way you’ve always worked it when you were going out, anyway; you took a zigzag path, and had us checking for watchers, so that one of us could cut across and warn you if we saw anyone—we never have, that I can remember, but I don’t suppose that proves anything.” Mr, Wing smiled briefly.

  “I may be stretching the precautions a little too far,” he said. “Still I have certain reasons for not wanting the place I get the metal to become known. Half a dozen of the reasons are in this room with me. Besides, I think you get fun out of it, and I know it keeps you outdoors where you ought to be this time of year. If two or three more of you grow up to be scientists, we may be able to do some work together that will let us forget about secrecy.”

  The younger girl, who had been displaying increasing signs of indignation during her brother’s talk, cut in the instant she thought her father had finished.

  “Daddy, I thought I was supposed to be helping with this. I heard Roger say so yesterday, and you said it the first night.”

  “Oh? And how did you hear what I said that night? As I recall, the matter was not discussed until after you were in bed. What I said then goes—you can go with either Roger or Edie on their walks, but you still observe the limits when you’re by yourself. Billie, you too! There’ll be plenty of long trips for all of you, without your having to go off on your own, and there’s always been plenty to keep you occupied around here. I’ve been promising for five or six years to get a load of cement up here if you folks would get enough loose rock together to make a dam out here—I’d like a swimming pool myself. Don doesn’t think we need cement for it, but that’s something he’ll have to prove. I’ll be glad if he can do without it, of course.” He leaned back and stretched his legs. Billy promptly transferred his perch from Don’s shoulders to his father’s shins, and put his own oar into the conversation. He wanted one of the trips before his father went prospecting, and expressed himself at considerable length on the subject. Mr. Wing remained non-committal until the striking of the clock brought relief. He pulled in his legs abruptly, depositing the youngster on the floor.

  “Small fry to bed!” he pronounced solemnly.

  “Story!” yelled Margie. “You haven’t read since we got here!” Her father pursed his lips.

  “How long do you suppose it would take them to be ready for bed?” he asked, as though to himself. There was a flurry of departing legs. Mr. Wing turned to the bookcase beside the fireplace, and encountered the grinning face of his second son. “All right, young man, we need some fun—but some of us need discipline, too. Suppose you and Edie save time by popping upstairs and imitating the excellent example of your juniors!” Still chuckling, the two did so.

  For some reason, the story lasted until quite late. The beginning was vastly exciting, but the pace calmed down later, and Billy and Margie were both carried up to bed at the end—though they refused to believe the fact in the morning.

  Roger tried at breakfast to make the small boy tell the end of the story and was surprised when Billy refused to accept his inability to do so as evidence that he had been asleep. The older boy gave up at last and went to saddle the horses; he was constitutionally unfitted to hold his own in an argument where the opponent’s only words were “I was not either!”

  It was shopping day, and Roger’s turn to go down to Clark Fork with his mother to obtain the necessities for the next week. They left as soon after breakfast as the animals could be readied. Edie and the younger children went off on their own; as soon as everyone was away from the house Mr. Wing and Don dressed themselves in hiking clothes and headed east. Roger would have given much to see them go.

  The trails were good, and for a couple of hours the two made very satisfactory progress. For the most part they followed the creeks, but once or twice the older man led the way over open spurs of rock which involved considerable climbing.

  “This is about the quickest way to the transmitter, Don,” he said at one point. “It’s a lot closer to the house than even your mother realizes—though goodness knows I wouldn’t hide it from her if she cared to come on one of these hikes. On the regular trips, I follow a very roundabout path I worked out years ago when I was really afraid of being followed. That was just after the first World War, long before I’d even met your mother. There were a number of people around this part of the country then who would cheerfully have tossed me off a hilltop for a fraction of the value I brought back from the first trip. I tell you, I did some pretty serious thinking on the way in from that trip. You’ll see why very shortly.”

  Don made no immediate answer to this. His attention seemed to be fully taken up with negotiating the slope of loose rock they were traversing at the moment. It was a section practically impossible to cross without leaving prominent traces, and he had been a little puzzled at his father’s going this way until he realized that the idea was probably to permit a check on any trailers as they returned. Once across the treacherous stuff and angling back down the slope, he finally spoke.

  “You said a while back, Dad, that we were the reasons you didn’t make public this source of metal. It seems to me that even that shouldn’t have carried weight while the war was on—it might have been better to let the government develop the find and use it. I don’t mean that I don’t appreciate getting a college education, but—well—” he paused a little uncomfortably.

  “You have a point, son, and that was another matter for thought when the war started, with you in high school and Billy just learning to walk. I think I might have done as you suggest, except for the fact that the most probable result of publicity would be to remove the source of metal. Just be patient a little longer—we’ll be there in a few minutes, and you will see for yourself.”

  Donald nodded acceptance of this, and they proceeded in silence for a short time. The course Mr. Wing was following had led them into a narrow gully after crossing the scree; now he turned up this, making his way easily along the bank of the tiny brook which flowed down its center. After some ten minutes’ climb the trees began to thin out, and a few more rods found them on practically bare rock. This extended for some distance above them, but the older man seemed to have no desire to get to the top of the hill.

  Instead, he turned again, moving quickly across the bare rock as though a path were plainly marked before him; and in a few steps reached the edge of a shallow declivity which appeared to have acted as a catch basin for rocks which had rolled from farther up the hill. Winding his way among these, with Donald close at his heels, he finally stopped and moved to one side, permitting his son to see what lay before them.

  It was an almost featureless structure of metal, roughly cubical in shape and a little less than a yard on each edge. There was a small opening on one side, containing a single projection which had the appearance of a toggle switch. Several bolt heads of quite conventional appearance were also vis
ible on different parts of the surface.

  After allowing his son to look the object over for a few moments, Mr. Wing took a small screwdriver from his pocket and set to work on the bolts, which seemed very loose. Don, lacking tools, tried a few of the projecting heads with his fingers and had little difficulty with them; in two or three minutes, the older man was able to remove several metal plates and expose the interior of the block to view. Don looked, and whistled.

  “What is it, Dad? Not an ordinary radio, certainly!”

  “No. It seems to be a radio of some sort, however. I don’t know what sort of wave it uses, or its range, or its power source—though I have some ideas about the last two. There’s nothing to using it; I imagine the makers wanted that to be easy, and there is only the single control switch. I’m not so sure that the interior was meant to be so accessible.”

  “But where did it come from? Who made it? How did you get hold of it?”

  “That’s a rather long story, and happened, as I said, before you were born.

  “I was just out of college, and had gotten interested in this part of the country; so I decided to see some of it first hand, and eventually found myself here in the hills. I started at Helena, and went on foot up to Flathead, through Glacier Park, west along the border to the Kootenai, and back along the river past Bonner’s Ferry into the Cabinets. It wasn’t a very exciting jaunt, but I saw a lot and had a pretty good time.

  “I was crossing the brook we just followed up here, just after I had gotten under way one morning, when I heard the weirdest racket from up the hill. I really didn’t know too much about the neighborhood, and was a bit on the uneasy side; but I had a rifle, and managed to convince myself that I was out to satisfy my curiosity, so I headed up toward the noise.