by Hal Clement
Katini fell silent, and waited for Dondragmer’s answer. Benj was still thinking, and all the others within hearing had their eyes fixed on the captain’s screen. His shift of language had attracted even those who might otherwise have waited patiently for a translation.
This was unfortunate from the human viewpoint. Barlennan, later, wrote it off as a stroke of luck.
“All right,” Dondragmer’s answer finally came. “We will take off the metal bar and try to use it as a heater. I am now ordering men outside to start detaching the small brackets. I will have one of the communicators set up outside so that you can watch as we cut through the conductors, and check everything before we turn on power. We will work slowly, so that you can tell us if we are doing something wrong before it has gone too far. I don’t like this situation — I don’t like anything when I am so unsure of what is happening and what is likely to happen. I’m supposed to be in command here, and I can only wish I had learned more of your science and technology. I may have an accurate picture as far as it goes, and I’m sure I can trust your knowledge and judgement for the rest, but it’s the first time in years I’ve been so uncertain of myself.”
It was Benj who answered, beating his mother by a second.
“I heard you were the first Mesklinite to see the general idea of real science, and that you were the one who did the most to get the College going. What do you mean you wish you had learned more?”
Easy cut in; like Benj, she used Dondragmer’s own language.
“You know far more than I do, Don, and you are in command. If you hadn’t been convinced by what Katini told you, you wouldn’t have given those orders. You’ll have to get used to that feeling you don’t like; you’ve just collided with something new again. It’s like that time fifty years ago, long before I was born, when you suddenly realized that the science we aliens were using was just knowledge carried on past the common-sense level. Now you have bumped into the fact that no one — not even a commander — can know everything, and that you sometimes have to take professional advice. Calm down, Don!”
Easy leaned back and looked at her son, who was the only one in the room to have followed her speech completely. The boy looked startled, and almost awestruck. Whatever impression she had made on Dondragmer — or would when her words got to him — she certainly had got home to Benjamin Ibson Hoffman. It was an intoxicating sensation for a parent; she had to fight the urge to say more. She was assisted by an interruption, in a human voice.
“Hey! What happened to the helicopter?”
All eyes went to Reffel’s screen. There was a full second of silence. Then easy snapped, “Benj, report to Dondragmer while I call Barlennan!”
9
The weather had long since cleared at the Settlement, the ammonia fog blown into the unknown central regions of Low Alpha and the wind dropped to a gentle breeze from the northwest. Stars twinkled violently, catching the attention of occasional Mesklinites who were outside or in the corridors, but going unnoticed for the most part by those in the better lighted rooms under the transparent roof.
Barlennan was in the laboratory area at the west side of the Settlement when Easy called, so her message did not reach him at once. It arrived in written form, borne by one of Guzmeen’s messengers who, in accordance with standing orders, paid no attention to the fact that Barlennan was in conference. He thrust the note in front of his commander, who broke off his own words in mid-sentence to read it. Bendivence and Deeslenver, the scientists with whom he was speaking, waited in silence for him to finish, though their body attitude betrayed curiosity.
Barlennan read the message twice, seemed to be trying to recall something, and then turned to the messenger.
“All this just came in, I take it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how long has it been since the preceding report from Dondragmer?”
“Not long, sir — less than an hour, I’d say. The log would show; shall I check?”
“It’s not that urgent, as long as you know. The last I heard was that the Kwembly had grounded after washing down a river for a couple of hours, and that was a long time ago. I assumed that everything was all right, since Guz didn’t pass any more on to me about it. I assume now that he either heard interim reports at the usual intervals, or asked the humans about it?”
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t been on duty the whole time. Shall I check?”
“No. I’ll be there in a little while myself. Tell Guz not to send anything out after me; just hold any calls.” The runner vanished, and Barlennan turned back to the scientists.
“Sometimes I wonder wheter we shouldn’t have more electrical communication in this place. I’d like to know how long it’s taken Don to get into this mess, but I want to learn some other things before I walk all the way to Guzmeen’s place.”
Bendivence gestured the equivalent of a shrug. “We can do it if you say the word. There are telephones here in the lab which work fairly well, and we can wire the whole Settlement if you want the metal used that way.”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll keep to the original priorities. Here, read this. The Kwembly has gotten herself stuck in frozen water or something, and both her helicopters have disappeared. One had a communicator to the human beings aboard and in use at the time.”
Deeslenver indicated his emotion with a soft buzz, and reached for the message in turn; Bendivence passed it over silently. The former read it silently — twice, as Barlennan had done — before he spoke.
“You’d think the humans would have a little more information if they were watching at all carefully. All this says is that Kervenser failed to come back form a flight, and that a flier searching for him with a communicator on board stopped sending — the screen just went blank all of a sudden.”
“I can see one possible reason for that,” remarked Bendivence.
“I thought you would,” returned the command. “The question is not what blanked the screen but why it should have happened there and then. We can assume that Reffel used the shutter on his set — it would have been nice if you’d thought of that trick before the Esket went out; it would have simplified that operation a lot — because something had come into his field of view which wouldn’t have fit in with the Esket story. But what could it have been? The Kwembly is five or six million cables from the Esket. I suppose one of the dirigibles could be down that way, but why should it be?”
“We won’t know until another flight gets back from Destigmet’s place,” replied the scientist practically. “What interests me is why we didn’t hear about Kervenser’s disappearance earlier. Why was there time fro Reffel’s mission to be flown and for him to disappear, too, before we were told about it? Was Dondragmer late in reporting to the human observers?”
“I doubt that very much,” replied Barlennan. “Actually, they may have told us about Kervenser when it happened; remember, the runner said that other messages had been coming in. Guzmeen might night have thought the disappearance worth sending a runner for until Kerv had been gone for a while. We can check up on that in a few minutes, but I imagine there’s nothing funny this time.
“On the other hand, I’ve been wondering lately whether the people up there have always been relaying information completely and promptly. Once or twice I’ve had the impression that — well things were being saved up and sent in one package. It may be just sloppiness, or it may not really be happening—”
“Or they may be deliberately organizing what we hear,” said Bendivence. “Half our crew could be lost at this point without us knowing it, if the humans chose to play it that way I can see their being afraid we’d quit the job and demand to be taken home, according to contract, if risks proved too high.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” admitted Barlennan. “It hadn’t occurred to me just that way. I don’t think that particular notion is very likely, but the more I consider the situation, the more I’d like to think of a way of checking things — at least, to make sure they’r
e not taking tie to hold conference s on just how much to tell us every time something does go wrong with an exploring cruiser.”
“Do you really think there’s much likelihood of that?” asked Deeslenver.
“It’s hard to tell. Certainly we’ve been a bit less than completely frank with them, and we have what we consider some very good reasons for it. I’m not really bothered either way. We know some of these people are good at business, and if we can’t keep even with them it’s our fault. All I really would like to be sure of is wheter it’s business or carelessness. I can think of one way to check up, but I’d rather not use it yet; if anyone can suggest an alternative, it will be very welcome.”
“What’s the one yo8u have?” both scientists asked together, Deeslenver perhaps half a syllable ahead.
“The Esket , of course. It’s the only place where we Can get an independent check on what they tell us. At least, I haven’t thought of any other so far. Of course, even that would take a long time; there won’t be another flight from there until sunrise, and that’s twelve hundred hours or so away. Of course, we could send the Deedee even at night—”
“If we’d set up that light relay I suggested—” began Deeslenver.
“Too risky. It would have much too big a chance of being seen. We just don’t know how good the human instruments are. I know most of them stay ‘way up at that station overhead, but I don’t know what they can see from it. The casual way they distribute these picture senders for us to carry around here on this planet suggests that they don’t regard them as very fancy equipment, as does the fact that they used them twelve years ago on Mesklin. There’s just too much chance that they’d spot any light on the night side of this planet. That’s why I overrode your idea, Dee; otherwise, I admit it was a very good one.”
“Well, there’s nothing like enough metal yet for electrical contract that far,” added Bendivence. “And I don’t have any other ideas at the moment — though come to think of it, you might make a simple test on how well the humans can pick up lights.”
“How?” the question came in body attitudes, not verbally.
“We could ask them innocently if there were any way of their hunting for the running lights or the floods of the missing fliers.”
Barlennan pondered the suggestion briefly.
“Good. Excellent. Let’s go — though if they say they can’t, we won’t be sure that they aren’t just keeping it from us. You might be thinking of a further check for that.” He led the way out of the map room where the discussion had been held, and along the corridors of the Settlement toward the communication room. Most of the passageways were relatively dark; the sponsors of the expedition had not stinted on the supply of artificial lights, but Barlennan himself had been rather close-nippered with their distribution. Rooms were adequately lighted; hallways had a bare minim of illumination.
This gave the Mesklinites the comforting feeling that there was nothing overhead, by letting them see the stars without too much trouble. No native of that planet was really happy to face the fact that there was anything in a position to fall on him. Even the scientists glanced up occasionally as they went, taking comfort from the sigh even of starts not their own. Mesklin’s sun, which men called 61 Cygni, was below the horizon at the moment.
Barlennan looked upward more than he looked ahead, but he was trying to get a glimpse of the human station. This carried a beacon light visible from Dhrawn as a fourth magnitude “star,” ant its barely visible crawl against the celestial background was the best long-term clock the Mesklinites had. They used it to rest the pendulum-type instruments which they had made, but which seldom agreed with each other for more than a few score hours at a time.
Stars and station alike faded from view as the trio entered the brightly lighted communication room. Guzmeen saw Barlennan and instantly reported, “No further news of either flier.”
“What reports have you had from Dondragmer between the time the Kwembly ran aground and now — the last hundred and thirty hours or so? Do you know how long ago Don’s first officer disappeared?”
“Only roughly, sir, to the last question. The incident was reported, but nothing specific was said about how recently it had happened. I took for granted it had just occurred, but didn’t ask. The two disappearances were reported quite close together — less than an hour apart.”
“And you didn’t wonder when the second one came in why we heard about both disappearances so nearly simultaneously, even though they must have occurred some time apart?”
“Yes, sir. I started wondering about a quarter of an hour before you did, when the last message came in. I don’t have any explanation, but I thought I’d leave it to you to ask the humans if you think one is needed.”
Bendivence cut it. “Do you suppose Don failed to report the first disappearance because it resulted from a mistake, and he hope to be able to minimize it by reporting disappearance and recovery at the same time as a minor incident?”
Barlennan looked at the speaker speculatively, but lost no time in answering.
“No, I don’t suppose that. Dondragmer and I don’t always agree on everything, but there are some things that neither of us would do.”
“Even if an immediate report couldn’t really make a difference? After all, neither we nor the human beings could really help even after we’d heard the news.”
“Even then.”
“I don’t see why.”
“I do. Take my word for it; I haven’t time for a detailed explanation, and I doubt that I could compose one anyway. If Dondragmer failed to make that initial report, he had a very good reason; and personally I doubt very much that the failure was his. Guz, which humans gave you the reports? Was it always the same one?”
“No, sir. I didn’t recognize all their voices, and they often didn’t bother to identify themselves. About half the time nowadays the reports come in human language. Most of the rest come from the Hoffman humans. There are others who speak our language, but those two seem the only ones who do it comfortably. With the young one particularly, I got the impression that he’d been talking a lot with the Kwembly, and I assumed that if there were casual chatter going on, nothing much serious could be happening.”
“All right. I’d probably have done the same. I’ll use the set; I have a couple of questions to put to the humans.” Barlennan took his place in front of the pickup, the speaker on watch making way for him without being ordered. The screen was blank. The captain squeezed the “attention” control and waited patiently for the minute to pass. He could have started talking at once, since it was a safe bet that whoever was at the other end would lose no time readying his receiver, but Barlennan wanted to see who was there. If the delay made anyone suspicious, he’d have to live with it.
The face which did appear was unfamiliar to him. Even fifty Earth-years of acquaintance with human beings had not sufficed to educate him in such matters as family resemblance, though no human being would have failed to guess that Benj was Easy’s son. Actually, the fifty years had not supplied many different people for comparison; fewer than two score men, and no women, had even landed on Mesklin. Guzmeen recognized the boy, but was spared the need to tell Barlennan by Benj himself.
“Benj Hoffman here,” the image spoke. “Nothing has come form the Kwembly since Mother called you about twenty minutes ago, and there are no engineers or scientists in this room at the moment. If you have questions which need technical answers, tell me so I can call the right one. If it’s just a matter of detail in what’s been happening, I’ve been here in the comm room most of the time for the last seven hours and can probably tell you. I’m waiting.”
“I have two questions,” Barlennan responded. “one of them you can probably answer, the other I don’t know. The first has to do with the second disappearance. I am wondering how far from the Kwembly the second helicopter was when it ceased communicating; or if you don’t know the distance, perhaps you can tell me how long its pilot had been searching.
/>
“The second does depend on a bit of your technology which I don’t know, but you may. Is there any possibility of your seeing lights such as those on the helicopters from where you are? I suppose it couldn’t be done by your unaided eyes any more than it could be done by mine, but you have many optical devices which I know little about, and probably some which I’ve never heard of. I’m standing by.”
Benj’s screen image held up one finger and nodded just as Barlennan finished speaking, but boy waited for the other question to reach him before he spoke.
“I can answer your first question, and Mr. Cavanaugh has gone to find someone who can take care of the second,” were his opening words. “Kervenser started out on his scouting flight about eleven hours ago. It wasn’t realised that he must be in trouble until about eight hours later, when everything popped at once — Kervenser and his flier gone, the Kwembly frozen in, and Beetchermarlf and Takoorch somewhere under the ice — at least no one knows that’s where they are but they were working under the hull and there’s no other place anyone can think of for them to be. One of the sailors — Reffel — took up the other flier with a vision set to look for Kervenser, and searched very close to the Kwembly for a while. Then we suggested that he move out to where an accident wouldn’t have been seen or heard from the cruiser, which he did, and of course, Dondragmer lost sight of him from the bridge. Then we got into a discussion with the captain and everyone up here got interested, and it turned out that no one was watching Reffel’s screen for several minutes. Then someone noticed that the screen had gone completely blank — not no-signal-lank but no-light black — and that was that.”
Barlennan glanced at Guzmeen and the scientists. None of them spoke, but none of them needed to. No one had been watching the screen when Reffel used the shutter! It was not the sort of luck one counted on.
