Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

The Drommian seemed stunned, but remembered enough of his manners to shift languages.

  “You had already asked Swift to tell the way from the camp to where you are?” he asked rather lamely.

  “Oh, yes. ’Mina thought of it some time ago. I should have told Dr. Raeker or one of you sooner.” The news that it had been his son’s idea calmed Aminadabarlee considerably; privately, most of the men in the room wondered how much truth the girl was speaking. They knew the effective age of the young Drommian, and they were coming to know Easy.

  “How long will it take to get to you—for Nick, that is?” asked Aminadabarlee.

  “Swift thinks by midafternoon, on foot; he doesn’t know how fast the boat goes, though.”

  “Did you tell him about the boat?”

  “Of course. He was wondering how he could get over closer to the ship here; this pool we’re in the middle of is too deep for his people to wade, and they don’t seem to swim. I suggested floating over on a raft made of wood, but the wood on this crazy planet sinks, we found out.”

  “You seem to be getting in a lot of talk with those people. Are you really good at their language?”

  “Pretty good, but we’re still very slow. If there’s anything you want to ask Swift, though, let’s have it.”

  “No—nothing right now,” said the Drommian hastily. “You didn’t suggest that your friend Swift make a raft of the sort Nick has?”

  “I did, but he can’t do it. His people can get all the skins they’d need, of course, but they can’t make tight enough—I was going to say air-tight—bags out of them. They don’t know how to make the glue Nick used, and neither do I. He’s waiting until Nick gets here with the boat.”

  “And then will take it away from him, of course.”

  “Oh, no. He has nothing against Nick. I’ve told him who Nick is—how the robot stole the eggs from the place where Swift’s people leave them to hatch. I think he may be a little mad at the robot, but that’s all right. I’ve said I’d teach him anything he wanted to know, and that Nick had learned a lot and would help. We’re getting along very well.” The Drommian was startled, and showed it.

  “Did Dr. Raeker suggest all this to you?”

  “Oh, no; I thought of it myself—or rather, ’Mina and I did. It seemed smartest to be friends with these cave people; they might not be able to hurt the ship if they got mad at us, but we couldn’t be sure.”

  “I see.”

  Aminadabarlee was a trifle dazed. He ended the conversation casually and courteously—he had never used toward Easy the mannerisms which were so natural with him when he talked to other human beings—and started to make his way back to Racket’s observation room. The scientists were questioning the girl once more before he was out of the room.

  He seemed to be fated to choose bad times to move, that day. He had been in the corridors when Easy had given the bathyscaphe’s location to Raeker and Nick; he was in them when the four explorers who had discovered the volcano returned and made their report to their teacher. He had stopped to eat, as a matter of fact, and didn’t get back to the observation room until the report was finished. By that time the four natives and the robot were heading south with the cart in tow, answering a ceaseless flood of questions from the scientists, some of whom had been content to use the relay system while others had come down to the observation room. The bewildered Drommian found the latter compartment almost as crowded as the communication room had been a while earlier, and it took him some time to get up to date from the questions and comments flying around.

  “Maybe we could get the distance by triangulation—the wind at camp and ’scaphe must be blowing right toward it.”

  “But we don’t know absolute directions at either place. Besides, the wind might be deflected by Coriolis action.”

  “Not much, on a world like Tenebra. You have it backward, though; the mountain is already on the maps. With a little more data we could use the wind direction to pin down the ’scaphe—” That was what the Drommian heard as he came in; it confused him badly. A little later, when he had deduced the existence of the volcano, it made a little more sense; he could see how such a source of heat could set up currents even in Tenebra’s brutally compressed envelope. By then it was another question that was perturbing him.

  “How strong do you suppose the wind will get? If it brings the sea farther inland each night, and tire sea carries the bathyscaphe with it, how close will those kids be carried to the volcano?”

  “I don’t think we need worry for quite a while. Wind or no wind, the sea that far inland will be mostly water, and won’t float them very far. I’ll bet if that thing keeps on, too, there won’t even be liquid water within miles of it, by night or day.”

  “Liquid or gas, it might still move the ship. The difference in density isn’t worth mentioning.”

  “The difference in viscosity is.” Aminadabarlee heard no more of that one, either; it had given him something to worry about, and he was good at worrying. He started back to the communicating room at top speed, which for him was high; he didn’t want anything else to happen while he was out of touch. He managed to reach his goal without hurting anyone, though there was a narrow escape or two as his long form flashed along the corridors.

  The scientists had left Easy for the new attraction, and the bathyscaphe screen was blank for the moment. Aminadabarlee didn’t pause to wonder whether the children were asleep or just talking to the cave dwellers; also, he didn’t stop to wonder whether the question he had in mind should be mentioned in their hearing or not. He would have berated Raeker soundly for such a thing; but this, of course, was different.

  “Miss Rich! ’Mina!” he shrilled unceremoniously into the microphone. For a minute or so there was no answer, and he repeated the call with what another member of his race would have recognized as overtones of impatience. Few human beings would have caught any difference from his normal tones. This time Easy appeared on the screen rubbing sleep out of her eyes, a gesture which either meant nothing to him or which he chose to ignore.

  “Where’s my son?” he asked. “Asleep.” Easy would not normally have been so short.

  “Well, you’ll probably do. Did you hear that they’ve found out what caused the wind?”

  “Yes; I gather it’s a volcano. I went to sleep just after that. Has anyone come up with more news?”

  “Not exactly news. It’s occurred to some of those human fortunetellers that your ship may be blown a little closer to the volcano each night, until you’re in serious trouble. What does your friend Swift think about that? He’s supposed to be able to predict what his planet is going to do, and he seems to have been able to find you each morning so far.”

  “Well, we certainly can’t get there for several days; we can’t see the light from the volcano from here.”

  “You mean you can’t; it’s what the natives can see, and what they think, that counts. Have you asked Swift?”

  “No. I didn’t know about this until just now. Anyway, I’m not worried; if they’d seen the light they’d have mentioned it—they’d have thought it was the robot. We can’t possibly reach the volcano for several of Tenebra’s days—certainly not by tomorrow.”

  “Who cares about just tomorrow? How you human beings ever achieved even the civilization you have is a mystery to me. Intelligent people plan ahead.”

  “Intelligent people don’t usually jump to conclusions, either,” snapped the girl, in the first display of temper she had shown since die accident. “I’m not worried beyond tomorrow, because by the end of that day we’ll be away from here. Please tell Mr. Sakiiro to have the shuttle ready to meet us.” She turned her back and walked—stalked, rather—out of the field of view; and Aminadabarlee was too startled even to resent the discourtesy.

  XII

  Easy was awake again by the time Nick reached the bathyscaphe. He had had no trouble finding it; the glow from its lights was quite visible from the coast. The wind was blowing straight toward the light, but Nic
k and his friends knew nothing of the volcano at the time and didn’t have to worry about whether they were heading for the right light. They came ashore, shouldered the raft, and headed for their beacon.

  Fagin and the other four pupils had arrived before them; travel on foot was a good deal faster, even for the robot, than by the decidedly clumsy raft. Swift seemed to be in a very tolerant mood. He didn’t actually greet the newcomers effusively, but he was talkative enough. He took for granted that they were his people—people who had gone a trifle astray, and didn’t always know just how to behave, but who might be expected to grow up properly if given time. As long as they treated him as chief, it seemed likely that there would be no trouble.

  Within a few minutes of the arrival of John, Nancy, Oliver, Dorothy, and the robot he had demanded to be shown how to make a fire. Easy, with her two-second advantage in reaction time, told John to go ahead before Raeker even knew the order had been given. John, knowing that the person in the bathyscaphe was one of his teacher’s race, obeyed without question. He took out his friction gear and had a blaze going in two or three minutes.

  Swift then demanded to be shown how to work the device himself; and by the time Nick, Betsey, Jim, and Jane arrived with the raft the chief had succeeded in lighting his own fire and was in the highest of spirits.

  This was more than could be said for anyone on the Vindemiatrix. Aminadabarlee was more than ever convinced that human beings were an ugly-tempered, uncoperative lot; and just now he had more than the usual reason for his opinion. Every human being in the ship was furious with the Drommian, taking their lead from Elise Rich. A night’s sleep had not restored her usual sunny temper; she was indignant at the alien’s insults of the evening before, and not only refused to explain to Aminadabarlee her justification for saying she would escape within a Tenebran day, but would say nothing more about it to anyone for fear he would hear. It was a childish reaction, of course; but then, Easy was a child, for all her adult speech and mannerisms. Her father had been asked to persuade her to talk; he had stared at her imaged face in the screen for a moment, but no word was spoken. Something must have passed between them, though, for after a moment he turned away and said, “Please have Mr. Sakiiro get the shuttle ready to meet the bathyscaphe. I understand it takes some time to install and adjust outside boosters.” He promptly left the room, ignoring the questions hurled at him, and disappeared into his own quarters.

  “What do we do?” The question was not in the least rhetorical; the geophysicist who put it was a close friend of the Rich family.

  “What he says, I should think,” answered another scientist. “Rich seems to be sure the kid knows what she’s talking about.”

  “I know he’s sure; but does she? He’s her father; she’s all the family he’s had for ten years, and he’s done a marvelous job of bringing her up, but he sometimes overestimates her. She convinced him, just then, that everything is all right; but I don’t—we don’t know. What do we do?”

  “We do just what he asked,” pointed out another. “Even if the kid’s wrong, there’s no harm in having the shuttle ready. Why is everyone so shaken up?”

  “Because we know what will happen to Easy and her father if she’s wrong,” replied the geophysicist. “If she’s been speaking from her own knowledge, fine; but if that ten-legged weasel made her lose her temper and shoot her mouth off so as to justify her actions—” He shook his head grimly. “She believes her own words now, all right, and so does her father. If they’re disappointed—well, the kids have stayed alive down there so far because of the self-control of the Rich family.” He ended the discussion by cutting in another phone circuit and transmitting Rich’s request to the engineers.

  Raeker had been eating and, occasionally, sleeping in the observation room; he’d forgotten by now how long he had been there. The robot was rather out of things, but he could still watch. His pupils seemed to have been re-absorbed into Swift’s tribe, and were being told what to do alternately by the chief himself and by Easy in the bathyscaphe. Nobody was asking Fagin what to do or how to do it, but in spite of this things were happening almost too fast for Raeker to keep track of them. He knew that Easy had had an argument with Aminadabarlee, though he wasn’t clear as to the details; he had been told about her promise to be off the ground the next day, but had no more idea than anyone else how she expected to do it. He had had his share of Aminadabarlee’s temper, for the Drommian had not by any means been silenced by Easy’s flare-up, and had spent some time pointing out to Raeker the foolishness of separating his pupils from their own culture, and how much more would have been learned about Tenebra if contact had been made with Swift’s people in the first place. Raeker had not actually been rude, but his answers had been rendered vague by his preoccupation with events on the ground, and he had thereby managed to offend the lutroid more than ever. He knew it, but could not bring himself to worry seriously about the prospect of severed relations between Sol and Dromm.

  He knew in a general ‘way what people were doing on the ground, but he couldn’t understand all of it, and no one bothered to tell him. It never occurred to Raeker that this might have been at Easy’s request; that she might be going to extremes to make sure that nothing like useful information got back to the Vindemiatrix and the being who had angered her so. He could only watch, photograph, record what conversation he could hear, and try to interpret what went on.

  The raft was launched, and Nick and Betsey took Swift out on the surface of the pool to a point just outside one of the bathyscaphe’s observation ports. Raeker could see the meeting between Tenebrans and the ship’s two occupants, but could not hear their conversation—Easy was, of course, using the outside speakers, and the robot was too far away to hear these directly. The talk was long, and quite animated, for the gestures of all parties concerned could be seen—the port was large enough to let Raeker see fairly well into the ’scaphe even from the robot’s vantage point He tried to interpret the motions, but had no luck. The conversation did not end until nearly night; then the raft returned to the shore, and everyone began to pack up. A dozen cave dwellers helped carry the raft, others helped pull the cart. For the first time, Swift paid attention to the robot; he ordered it to come along, using Nick as an interpreter. Raeker agreed briefly; the journey was obviously to escape the sea, which would presumably come at least as far inland tonight as it had before.

  “Where will the big ship go tonight?” he asked, more to secure a demonstration of the cave people’s abilities than because the answer made any difference to him. He rather expected Swift would not bother to answer, but the chief was in a very good humor—everything had been going just as he wanted it all day. Once the group was under way, he walked beside the robot and talked quite cheerfully. Nick relayed his words, and he described in great detail the country which they were approaching and the point to which he expected the bathyscaphe to be washed. He also explained his reasons for this opinion, and the geophysicists listened, took notes, and watched with motherly care the recorders which were storing the conversation. For the first hour or two of that night there was more general happiness than the region of Altair had experienced for decades. About the only people not sharing in it were Aminadabarlee and Raeker.

  Swift stopped his cavalcade after a scant two hours of rather slow travel. Night had fallen, and the rain was starting to do likewise; he set everyone to work gathering firewood, and ordered Nick to place the guard fires for a camp. Nick and his fellows obeyed without argument; Raeker suspected that they were human enough to enjoy the chance to show off their knowledge. Cave dwellers were at each of the fire sites practicing with friction drills, and one by one the piles of fuel began to glow.

  For sixteen years, the lighting of the evening fires had been a signal for a forty-eight hour period of relaxation on the Vindemiatrix, since nothing but rain ever happened at night on Tenebra. Now that was changed; discussion, sometimes verging on argument, went on full tilt. The engineers were busy festooning
the outside of the shuttle with hydroferron boosters and their control lines. The diplomats wouldn’t have been speaking to each other if they had followed their personal inclinations, but professional pride kept them outwardly courteous. People who knew them, however, listened to their talk very uneasily, and thought of jammed reactor control rods.

  A few enthusiasts kept watch through the robot’s eyes, partly in the hope that something would happen and partly to keep Raeker company. The biologist refused to leave the observation room; he felt sure that matters were building to some sort of climax, but couldn’t guess just what sort. Even during the night this feeling grew worse—particularly at such times as he happened to see or hear one of the diplomats. Actually, Raeker was suffering badly from a sudden lack of self-confidence; he was wondering how he could possibly teach his students to make the necessary repairs on the bathyscaphe, even if they chose to listen to him. If they wouldn’t, or he couldn’t, he didn’t want to see or hear of Rich or Aminadabarlee again; he had convinced himself, quite unjustly, that his own arguments had caused them to pin their faith in him and not undertake any other steps toward a rescue.

  In spite of the anxiety which let him sleep only for moments at a time, he managed to get through the night. The departure of the shuttle distracted him for a few minutes—at one point he almost convinced himself that he should go along with it, but common sense prevailed. Several times incidents occurred at the camp, and were” pictured on the robot’s screen, which would have made him laugh under different circumstances. The cave dwellers were not at all used to fires yet, and had some odd ideas of their properties, uses, and limitations. Several times Nick or one of the other human-educated natives had to make a rescue as someone ran blithely into the dead air zone of a boiled-away raindrop to relight a fire. When they finally realized that a newly-destroyed raindrop was like a newly-boiled lake in the early morning, some of them took to waiting a long time before venturing near the extinguished fires, so that the fuel cooled too far to let the blaze spring back to life at the mere touch of a torch. Several of them grew worried about the fuel supply, which the experienced group had pronounced sufficient, and kept trying to persuade Swift to organize woodcollecting parties. Raeker could not, of course, understand these requests, but he heard a couple of his own people commenting on them with something like contempt in their voices. This made him feel somewhat better; if his pupils felt that way about the cave dwellers, perhaps they still had some attachment for their teacher.