Through the Eye of a Needle n-2

by Hal Clement

  "No," was all she said. "Forget it. I'll talk to you later." The four people in the waiting room had obviously been listening, and at least two of them were openly amused. Jenny glared at one of these, a girl about her own age, went back to her desk, and very pointedly busied herself with her paper work. Bob tried to catch her eye, but she didn't look up, and after a few seconds he left. Outside, he steered the bicycle toward the dock, rather than back home.

  "You know," be muttered to his guest with less than impressive originality, "there's something queer going on. I wish I could guess whether it has anything to do with us or not. Her question about fire suggests it does, but that's all. I could believe she was having some sort of feud with Shorty-"

  "Which needn't be connected with the fire matter at all," cut in the alien.

  "True." Bob's train of thought was momentarily derailed, and he brooded silently as they rolled down the road. Finally he said more firmly, "Maybe we'd better hunt up Shorty and get another piece or two to this jigsaw." The Hunter agreed that this was sensible, but it did them no good; Malmstrom was not to be found.

  It was Friday and he should have been working, but that did not help in locating him. Both working times and working places tended to be variable on Ell, since the population was small and the work had to be done when it had to be done. Malmstrom was still part of the youngest and least skilled section of the work force-what Bob thought of as a "hey-you" -and he might literally be anywhere on the island. However, some places were more likely than others. He was not at the seaplane float, where the Catalina was moored unattended. Bob remembered that Dulac had said he was to have this day off. Malmstrom was not anywhere around the refinery and pumping station at the end of the dock. There was no tanker in that day, so the pumps were idle, but the refining section was always busy; it took the best part of an hour to make sure the one they sought wasn't there. This was partly because of the changes which had taken place since Bob's boyhood; the refinery had expanded and grown much more complex during the Korean troubles. To the original marine fuels and lubricants which had once been the principal products of the organization, there had been added the more volatile liquids needed to slake the enormous thirst of jet engines; and more recently still, raw materials for plastics had been placed on the list.

  The same expansion was noticeable along the northeast leg of the island, where they went next. There were more culture tanks; the distillation plant had been duplicated; and new and faster-growing vegetation covered the areas devoted to tank fodder. There were plenty of people at work, but Malmstrom was not among them.

  He could, of course, have been at any of the tanks which dotted the lagoon. He could have been somewhere on the longer northwest leg of the island, though none of the industry was located here-it was all residential where it wasn't jungle. He might, Bob admitted to his companion, be hiding out from work anywhere around the lagoon, though that seemed unlikely. Everyone on the island was a PFI shareholder from birth, and the general attitude toward parasites was very negative.

  The search ended just before noon, when Bob's muscles gave out. Neither he nor the Hunter was particularly surprised. There was nothing to be done about it but rest. They were near the northeast tip of the main island at this point, on a slope with the coral reef running out straight ahead of them, the lagoon to their left, and the empty Pacific to the right. There were no houses in this part of Ell, though parts of three culture tanks could be seen behind the ridge. They were on the road, which was narrow here and closely bordered by fodder-plants-the quick-growing stuff which was constantly being harvested and dumped into the culture tanks to feed the hydrocarbon-producing bacteria. There was no one in sight, which was a relief to both of them.

  Lying down was distasteful but unavoidable; Bob had to rest. The' soil consisted largely of tank sludge, and was one reason there were no residences at this end of the island. The smell was as offensive to the Hunter as to his host; the former avoided it by withdrawing from Bob's lungs-where he usually left a small part of his tissue directly exposed to the incoming oxygen-and making do with that available in the blood stream. The alien's need for the element was small except when he was operating independently of a host.

  "It's an awful place to rest, and I know it bothers you too, but there's not much else we can do," Bob said as he settled down beside the bicycle. "I'll have to get back into at least walking condition if we're to keep that date with Jenny this afternoon."

  "Perhaps we could make the doctor's house from here by going on foot very slowly," the symbiont suggested. "At least, shouldn't we try? He would certainly want to examine you in this condition, I'm sure, and even if you haven't recovered by four o'clock you could still talk to the young woman."

  "Two miles? Forget it. Besides, if I walked in like this-or more probably crawled in-she'd have to have some explanation."

  "I've been thinking about that," the symbiont replied. "If you use her boat, you'll probably have to explain a lot anyway, as you yourself were saying to her father. Also, you can't go alone to do the searching; neither your parents nor the doctor will be available for help much of the time; it's her boat, she'll probably want to go along with us at least part of the time, and we're going to have trouble finding a convincing reason why she shouldn't. Bob, I know you like it much less than I do-after all, I'm merely following a reasonable regulation which can legally be violated if circumstances demand it, while you are quite reasonably afraid of being thought crazy or a liar by people who don't get the story first-hand and with all the evidence; but I am getting resigned to the idea that we're going to need several more of your people in this operation with us-fully informed."

  "You can really get away with breaking your regulations?"

  "I would have to justify my actions, but we tend to have much respect for the judgment of the man in the field. I have already exercised that discretion with you, the doctor, and your parents, and am not worried about any penalties when we are rescued. I am quite certain that none of you will let out the word in such broadcast fashion as to interfere with the work of any exploring team. I do believe, now, that a few more members of this in-group are going to be needed to save your life-which I regard as much more important than holding certain principles inviolate."

  "And you think Jenny is a good prospect?" asked

  Bob.

  "I don't know. She should be useful; she is clearly intelligent or she could not be doing the work she does for her father. She appears physically strong- she is nearly as tall as you, and I judge not much lighter. If she uses this boat of hers very much, I feel safe in assuming that a reasonable fraction of the weight is muscle. Another point from the work she does-her father evidently trusts her discretion, or she wouldn't be doing.his medical records. Your species has what I consider an exaggerated idea of the importance of privacy in such matters. Think it over- but I think I'm right."

  Bob did not think for very long; he fell asleep. This was one of the most inconvenient human habits, from the Hunter's viewpoint. He himself could not sleep in anything like the human fashion; he remained conscious as long as the oxygen supply was adequate. His humanoid hosts on his home world spent less than a tenth of their time in sleep, and the cultural situation was based on this fact and provided activities for the small symbionts during these periods.

  When, and if, Bob's medical problem was solved, the Hunter knew that he would have to work out some rather difficult details about their partnership. Presumably the examination team, if it decided to join up with humanity, would have solutions to offer.

  At the moment, he could do something. The surrounding vegetation was strange to him-the breeds were always being replaced with new ones by the biological engineers-and there existed a small chance, that something useful in the medical problem might be present. The Hunter extended a fairly large pseudo-pod through the skin of his host's hand and gathered in some of the material, pulling it close against the skin, digesting it, and checking the breakdown products for new
materials. A few seemed promising, and samples of their molecules were absorbed through Bob's pores and between the cells: of the inner skin layers for local, very careful testing of their biological effects. The Hunter himself did not leave his own tissue outside for long; sunlight drove him back inside. The Castor C twin suns produced strong ultraviolet only during the aperiodic flare times, and he could stand very little of it.

  He devoted the rest of the sleep to investigation. He had to experiment; dangerous as it might be, ignorance was even more so. He increased and decreased hormone secretion, trying to decide when one or another was not only doing a primary job but also affecting the flow of still others.

  It was detective work, but he wished he had studied biochemistry more carefully a couple of human lifetimes ago.

  4. Arrangements and People

  Robert Kinnaird woke up with the weakness gone for the moment, but with a brand new trouble to consider. He had not eaten since breakfast, their search not having taken them anywhere near his home, and he had a completely empty stomach, for which the Hunter could vouch. For some reason, however, he was feeling an extreme nausea. The suggestion, even the thought, of eating made him double up, almost out of control. He didn't dare ride in that condition, having no confidence in his ability not to think of food, so |they set off toward the village on foot, wheeling the machine.

  After a mile or so the sensation wore off, but since they did not know the cause and couldn't be sure it would not come back, they decided against riding.

  The road was wider, with buildings now quite frequent on either side; the Hunter saw and remembered the one which had figured in the flaming climax of their adventure seven years before.

  As they approached this structure, a child of about ten or eleven appeared from behind it, watched them, silently until they were in front of him, and then fell in beside them.

  The Hunter was curious, but could not take a good look while Bob was keeping his eyes on the ground.

  The group walked another hundred yards or so before the youngster spoke. Then he asked abruptly, "What's wrong with the bike?"

  "Nothing," answered Bob, looking directly at him for the first time.

  "Why aren't you riding it?"

  "Why do you care?" The child looked startled at first, then rather resigned.

  "No special reason." He didn't quite shrug his shoulders, but somehow gave the impression that he felt like it.

  "Just curious. If you don't want to tell me, don't."

  Bob pulled himself out of his negative mood and said, "Sorry. I've been having stomach cramps, so I couldn't ride and felt terrible, but I shouldn't take it out on you."

  "That's all right. Going to the doctor's?"

  "Yes, it seems a good idea. Wouldn't you?"

  The conversation dropped. The Hunter had had his good look at the youngster, but hadn't gained much by it. The only even slightly unusual characteristic of the child was his weight. The Ell children tended to run lean, since a high level of physical activity was the accepted thing. This one was not really plump, but by island standards was decidedly heavy for his height. His features and complexion were standard for the island, a mixture of Polynesian and European; his skin was brown, hair black, eyes blue, nose and chin rather sharp. He wore the usual shorts which were equally stylish in or out of the water.

  There was simply nothing remarkable about him, and neither Bob nor the Hunter gave him another thought, for a few minutes. Their attention was completely diverted from him when another bicycle pulled up beside them to reveal that their morning's search was over. Kenneth Malmstrom was with them.

  "Hi, Bob. Just heading home for lunch? Mine was late, too."

  "I'd sort of forgotten about eating," Bob responded. "Been riding all over the place to make myself at home again. I'd like to do the same on the water, maybe tomorrow. Too bad the others aren't with us- and the old boat."

  "I'd go, but I'm not free this weekend-at least, I'm not exactly working, but I have to stay in hearing of a phone tomorrow. I suppose you'll want to go anyway, before you start work too. Any idea when that'll be?"

  "Well, Doc checked me over this morning. Unless he finds something out of line, I suppose Monday. I wouldn't know where or what. If you're not free tomorrow or Sunday, I might as well row a bit by myself, if I can find a boat."

  "Lots of those around," Malmstrom assured him. "I'd let you have mine, but I sold it to a kid over a year ago-didn't have enough time for it to make it worth the upkeep work. Speaking of boats and fun-you, Andre. Have you been around the airplane again?"

  "When?" The boy who had been standing silently, beside them seemed neither surprised nor indignant at the question.

  "Any time since it got here yesterday, but especially this morning. You remember what you got told after you tied the wheel struts to the float under water, where no one could see the rope?"

  "I remember." Bob, with the memory of his father's injury the night before rising in his mind, looked at the child with interest; but neither he nor the Hunter could read anything from Andre's expression. There was certainly no fear, and no really obvious amusement. Malmstrom was not trying to analyze; he already had his suspicions and intended to air them.

  "Well, someone's done it again. I hope no one's seen you around with a length of rope, or you're in trouble."

  "They haven't. I'm not." The young face remained expressionless. Malmstrom eyed the boy sternly for half a minute, but got nothing for his trouble and finally returned to the earlier subject.

  "I sometimes miss the old boat, but there are plenty around-you can always borrow one."

  "So I gather," replied Bob. "The Doc said his girl had one she might be willing to lend; I'll go back after I eat and-what's so funny?" Malmstrom was grinning broadly.

  "Doc's a swell guy," he chuckled, "but he's too fond of Jenny. She can't do anything wrong-ask him. Wait till you see the boat. She made it herself."

  "So? Don't most people? What's wrong with it?"

  "She used some kind of kit she sent away for. It's mostly canvas. I wouldn't get into it for money."

  "Did you tell her that? Did she ask you to ride in it?"

  "No, she sure didn't. I've been kidding her ever since she started making it."

  "I see. Well, I'll be seeing Doc again anyway, but thanks for the warning. I'll use my judgment about Jenny's boat. See you later; I'm hungry."

  "And I'm late. So long." The tall youth pedaled rap-idly away in the direction from which the others had come, and all three looked after him thoughtfully.

  "He's pretty dumb," the child suddenly volunteered!

  "Why?" asked Bob. "He found out about your tying up the airplane, the other time."

  "No, he didn't. He couldn't find his own nose if it was after dark. Someone told him I did that, and now he blames everything on me."

  "And he's never right?"

  "Sometimes. A busted clock is right twice a day." There was still no expression behind the words or on the face.

  "Is he right about Jenny Seever's boat?"

  "You said you'd see for yourself." There might have been reproach in the child's tones, this time. Bob was somewhat amused, and the Hunter was developing a real interest in Andre. He, too, had thought about the incident of the footlocker.

  Bob had resumed wheeling the bicycle toward the doctor's. Andre accompanied them as far as the road which led down to the dock. He turned down this way while the others went on, eventually reaching the Kinnaird home.

  Bob's mother had expected them much earlier and had obviously been worried; her son made excuses and apologies without mentioning the fatigue attack. As he ate, he gave a somewhat edited report of his talk with Seever, mentioned that he and the Hunter had bicycled around much of the island, and eventually spoke of the possibility of using Jenny's canoe.

  "Do you know anything about that, Mom?" he asked. "We met Shorty Malmstrom just before we got here, and when I said something about Jenny's boat he nearly split. He said he'd never want to
ride in it. She didn't strike me as exactly incompetent; is she?"

  "I don't believe so," his mother answered. "I know the Seevers very well, of course; Ben and Ev are probably our best friends. Jenny took care of Daphne quite often when she was very small. I never heard anything about her boat, or about any fuss between her and Shorty. Of course, there could be some story current among the teen-age set that I might never have heard; you should check with someone younger. Even Daphne might know more than I."

  No opportunity of consulting his sister arose, how-ever; she seemed to have gone with friends after school, and her mother did not expect her until suppertime.

  Bob rested until nearly four, and then headed back to the Seevers'. He used the bicycle, but not without some hesitation and discussion with the Hunter. It might delay the onset of the next fatigue attack; on the other hand, it would be a nuisance if the nausea struck again. The Hunter could not even guess which was more likely to happen, since he had not yet come up with a specific cause for either, so he voted for speed.

  There were still patients in the waiting room when they arrived, and Jenny was still at her desk. When she saw Bob, however, she slipped the papers in front of her into a folder, rose, and came toward him.

  "Let's go," she said, "I'll show you the boat, if you still want it."

  "What about the other people here?" asked Bob in some surprise.

  "They don't need me. It's Dad they're after. Did you think he'd gotten so formal that everyone has to be escorted from waiting room to office?"

  "It looked like it this morning."

  "Not the story. He expects me to be useful and tactful-"