by Hal Clement
As they reached the shore end of the causeway, Bob looked off to his right along the beach. Jenny's kayak was lying bottom up where it had been for several days, two or three hundred yards from where he and Maeta stood, but the owner was nowhere in sight. Many other craft were on the lagoon, though most were heading for shore, dock, or anchorage as the sun sank.
"Maybe she's finished already," Maeta answered the unuttered question. "She's had a couple of hours, and it was just a matter of cementing a patch."
"Likely enough," Bob admitted. Maeta had not mentioned Jenny's brake trouble, and it had not occurred to her that anything else was likely to happen to the younger girl. Bob, so far, had seemed to be the principal target, if anyone was really shooting. Maeta, therefore, had forgotten about the brake, and failed to mention it as they walked. The three of them had another few hundred yards of calm as they strolled toward the Seever home. It evaporated at the door, where Jenny's mother met them.
"I thought you weren't coming at all!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you just got away from your work, Bob. Look, you're both to go to Jenny's boat, Ben says, and look very carefully for something sharp. We want to find out what it was."
Bob and Maeta started to ask the obvious questions together, but the woman held up her hand to stem them.
"I'm sorry; I know that's out of order. I'm upset. Just as Jenny got to her boat an hour or so ago-she stopped here for a while first-she stepped on something in the sand that cut her right foot, just behind the base of the big toe, all the way to the bone. Her father is still sewing tendons together. A couple of young people brought her home, but she's lost a lot of blood and hasn't been able to tell us much. Ben and I want to know what she stepped on. So do you. It isn't as| though this was the States, paved with broken bottles; this is a civilized community."
"Will she be all right?" asked Bob, and "Did she lose too much blood?" was Maeta's more specific inquiry.
"Yes to you, Bob, and I don't think so, Mae. You two get down there and find out what she stepped on, please."
Neither of them argued. They headed straight toward the beach, short-cutting the road but of course avoiding gardens. There were large spots of blood along the faint path which they followed; Jenny had evidently been helped home this way.
The beach was well peopled, though the sun was almost down. Most of the boats were now ashore or at anchor. No one, however, seemed aware of Jenny's accident; at least there was no crowd around her canoe, and no excited clusters of people. It was a perfectly ordinary Ell Saturday just before suppertime.
Bob and Maeta were adequately shod, so they did not hesitate to approach the kayak. The sand a yard or so from its near side was blood-caked, and this seemed a reasonable place to start looking. With a brief, "On the job, Hunter, and skip the speeches," Bob knelt beside the brown patch and began scooping sand away from it. The Hunter had to admit that his host was working with reasonable caution, considering the circumstances, so he said nothing and got on the job -ready to take care of things if Bob found the thing they wanted the hard way.
After a minute or two, with the immediate site of the stain excavated to a depth of six or eight inches Maeta began to dig as well. After disposing of Bob's objections, which sounded very much like those the Hunter used on Bob himself when he felt his host was being careless, she started along the side of the boat and searched for a couple of feet in either direction from the spot on the boat which had obviously been prepared to take a patch. Then she began working out toward Bob. Unfortunately they had not come very close to meeting when the sun set.
"We'll have to try again in the morning," Bob said, straightening up with an effort. "I wonder when we can get out to check the ship or whatever you found?"
"Stay here," was Maeta's injunction. "I'll go home and get a light, our place is closerthan the doctor's."
"You think it's worth the trouble? No one else is likely to get hurt before morning."
"Yes, it is," the girl said firmly. The Hunter, a little surprised at Bob's obtuseness, added, "Of course it is, Bob. Remember your bike trip-wire. We must either find what she stepped on, or make certain that it's gone." Maeta had disappeared by the time this sentence was completed, but Bob answered aloud anyway. "Oh, of course. I hadn't thought of that. I guess I was expecting to be the only victim, if there was anything to that idea. If this really wasn't an accident-I suppose that's what Jenny's mother was talking about-where do you suppose they'd hide it?"
"Close to the boat, where anyone working on the patch would be most nicely to step on it," the Hunter answered rather impatiently.
"Oh-then that's why Mae started digging where she did."
"I would assume so." The alien restrained himself with a slight effort; after all, his host was not completely as he should be and in any case had freely admitted that he was not always quick on the uptake.
They tried to continue the search while waiting for Maeta, but even with Venus helping the gibbous moon, progress was slow. Fortunately the girl was back in a few minutes with a flashlight, and to Bob's relief was willing to hold it while he did the digging. He worked very carefully, with the girl's and the Hunter's vision supplementing his own, and after another hour all three were prepared to certify that there was nothing within a fifteen-foot radius of the point under the patch site which could possibly penetrate the human skin, except for a few shells. None of these showed a trace of blood, even to the Hunter.
This was more than interesting, since skin had certainly been penetrated.
"He'd have been smarter to leave it here. It could have been an accident, then," Bob remarked.
"Like tightening up your bike again," Maeta pointed out. "Is this really someone who's not very bright, which I could believe of Andre, or is there some reason we haven't thought of for making it obvious these aren't accidents?"
Bob had not thought of that possibility, and had no answer to the suggestion. They returned thoughtfully to the Seevers' with their report.
The doctor had finished his work, and Jenny was on a couch with the damaged foot heavily bandaged and splinted to immobilize toes and ankle. During the ensuing discussion, in which the Hunter took little part, Bob and he heard for the first time of her bicycle trouble. Everyone admitted that coincidence was being stretched far beyond its yield point. Bob was the most reluctant, in spite of the evidence, to believe that there was deliberate interference with the project to save his life, but even he was halfhearted in asking Seever whether other people on the island had been showing a larger than normal incidence of burns, falls, cuts, and other accidents. The answer was a qualified negative as Seever put it; nothing of the sort had caught his attention.
"Of course, with a population this small-" Bob was starting, when Jenny made one of her few interruptions of the evening.
"Swallow that with your degree, Bob. You know as well as I do that these aren't accidents. They're just the sort of thing young Andre has been doing for years, to his family and to me and sometimes to other people. It's just that they're worse now; and you've been added to the list. I admit I don't really know he's the one, but I feel pretty sure, and tomorrow I'm going to know."
"You're not going anywhere tomorrow," her father said firmly.
"All right, then he'll come here. You tell his father he's due for a shot, or something. I've put up with a lot from that kid even if this isn't part of it, and I'm going to find out why."
"You've changed your mind about Shorty?" Bob asked.
"Not entirely, but he wouldn't do things like that to you, I don't think. You get Andre here, Dad, and then leave him with me. We've been through this before, and I thought we'd settled it a year ago. I suppose Bob and Mae will be out beyond the reef tomorrow, and you certainly won't let me go, but I'm going to get something done."
"Even if it has no connection with the main job," Bob remarked.
"Even then, if it really hasn't. What else could have gotten him interested in you?"
"I still don't see why you're so sure
he's the one," Maeta said.
"I expect an art student would call it recognition of style," the redhead answered. "Never mind. You just get that ship checked out, and let me know the answer as soon as you can."
"How sure of that are you?" asked Bob.
"Not sure enough. Well report to each other. Dad, I'm sleepy and this foot hurts. Anything you can do?"
Bob and Maeta took the hint. At the road outside they paused for a moment, their homes lying in opposite directions.
"D'you think Jenny could be right about the desChenes kid?" Bob asked "How well do you know him?"
"Pretty well. After all, you're almost the only one on the island these days who doesn't know practically everybody. He certainly is a pest; Jenny and Shorty are both right about that. He does seem to get fun out of being a nuisance, and even out of hurting people. I've never had much trouble from him myself, unless it was he who hid my paddles a couple of times. He damaged some library books about three years ago, soon after I started working there, and I took away his card for a couple of months. The first paddle incident came right after that. I found them easily enough both times, and never bothered to find out who did it."
"I would have!"
"And thereby made the day for the one who'd done it," Maeta retorted. The Hunter agreed with her, but kept the thought to himself.
"Where does he live?" asked Bob. "I know what he looks like-a little bit plump for his height."
"East of the dock road, close to the beach. Yes, he's a little on the heavy side. He's not very active; I see him in the library a lot of the time. He doesn't seem to get around with his own age group much."
"Doesn't he like them, or don't they like him?"
"I've never thought about that. I'd guess it's his own choosing. As I said, he's reading a lot of the time-at least, he usually has several books at once out of the library, and pretty often is curled up somewhere inside the place with a book. Jenny may be right, but I'm not at all sure. Her father, remember, is blaming someone else for what happened to you and her; he thinks you didn't manage to kill that other creature the Hunter was after. I sort of agree with him. Would your masculine pride be offended if I walked home with you now?"
Bob felt uncomfortable at the suggestion, and might have dismissed it too tersely for real politeness, but the Hunter expressed himself sharply.
"Bob, even if you don't want to believe she could protect you from anything, she would at least be a witness. Her presence could prevent something from happening, or give us a better chance of finding how it happened. Never mind what she calls your masculine pride; use your human brains."
"All right, Mae." Bob spoke aloud. "The Hunter is on your side. I was just going to suggest I take you home, since the accidents seem to be spreading, but I suppose there's no evidence they're interested in you. All right, let's go."
The walk was uneventful. There was very little talk; all three were listening carefully for evidence of others on or near the road. The moon, though high in the northeast, was of little help; this was the jungle branch of the island, and the trees shadowed the road itself as well as the underbrush on each side. Once past the school there were no streetlights.
Bob pointed out to Maeta the scene of the bicycle trap, though there was nothing useful to see in the shadows and even her flashlight revealed little. He and the Hunter had checked the scene over very carefully, in full daylight, the day after the incident, but even the experienced detective had found nothing informative or even suggestive. It bothered his pride. Maeta left them at the Kinnaird's door, refusing the suggestion that she come in. Her last remark was the recommendation that Bob's father come with them the next day if he were free. As usual, Bob had to hold this item until his sister was upstairs for the night. It then led to some discussion, and was modified firmly by the lady of the house.
"Arthur has been having all the fun," she pointed out. "I love our daughter, but I think it's my turn to get a day on the water with you young folks, and let your father entertain Daphne tomorrow. All right, Dear?"
The Hunter suspected that it was not entirely all right. As far as he knew, Arthur Kinnaird had not had any "fun" on the project either. However, no one was greatly surprised when the man made no objection to his wife's idea.
He took the child off after breakfast, and the rest of the group headed northwest along the road as soon as father and daughter were out of sight. Bob's bicycle had not yet been repaired, but he used his father's and they reached North Beach in a few minutes. Maeta was waiting for them, and after a quick but careful inspection of the canoe itself and the search equipment, they shoved off.
The women paddled, while Bob undid the wires fastening the pipe to the rest of the gear. The plug and telegraph had been repaired, but he tested the latter again. Then he tied the new rope, which had been supporting the concrete box, very securely around the pipe, and placed one hand in the open end of the latter.
The Hunter left through the skin of the hand, the process as usual taking several minutes, and signaled with the buzzer when it was complete. Bob told the others. The alien could hear their voices, but did not yet bother to make an eye.
"We're ready here," Bob said. "Are we close to your marker, Mae?"
"Pretty near. We have, to hide Tank Four behind Seven, and line the north corner of Eleven against the middle of Nine. It will be a few minutes yet."
She had provided these bearings, the night before, and the Hunter had mapped them. He knew without looking, therefore, that they were about a mile north and a little west of North Beach, a little less than that straight west of Apu, and about half a mile from the nearest breakers.
Eventually the young woman called, "There it is. Be ready, Bob." The Hunter felt his pipe being lifted. Then came, "All right, we're right over it," and almost instantly warm water closed over him and his protection.
He made an eye, but there was little to see until he reached the bottom. The pipe was nearly horizontal, and turning slowly; sometimes he could see the line from the buoy marking the location, sometimes his eye was directed away from it. The boat was not visible, as the Hunter had formed the eye a little way inside the pipe to minimize stray light, and the open end of the pipe itself was slanted slightly downward.
Bob had felt the tension go off the line when the Hunter reached bottom, and had stopped paying out. However, the alien found himself almost buried in the soft mud, and buzzed the signal to pull up slightly. The spin had stopped, of course, but slowly resumed as torsion in the rope tried to relieve itself, and he slowly scanned the whole circumference.
The light was more than adequate, and he could see a long, low hillock on the mud, corresponding roughly in size to Maeta's description. There was less coral this far from the reef, but some had grown on and over the ridge; the feature must have been there for some years at least.
He was ten or twelve feet to one side of the nearest part of the elevation. He extended his eye briefly, to see which way the canoe was pointing, buzzed directions, and in a minute or less was over the ridge near its center. Then he gave the "down" signal, and in a moment was on the bottom once more, not so deeply buried this time.
Feeling at least as much tension as any of the others had been showing, he extended a pseudopod into the slimy mud. It was at least six inches thick even at the top of the hillock, but under that six-inch layer was metal. He was tempted to leave the pipe entirely, but very luckily did not. He kept groping with hair-fine tendrils, adding detail to the picture he was developing. Yes, the girls were right. It was his quarry's ship, the upper portion at least nearly intact. He could feel and read symbols identifying service connections, and presently found one of the small valves which his own species used for entrance and exit. The larger ports, for cargo and for the trained animals they sometimes used to manipulate controls, would be in the lower part of the hull, which seemed to be right-side up.
The access valve was shut. He felt around for the power control and activated it, but was not very surpr
ised when nothing happened. It was much harder to operate the manual control, but after several minutes he had the opening cracked enough to let himself flow in. He thought once again of leaving the pipe entirely -and entering the ship with his whole substance, but once again decided to wait. It was not real foresight, at least not conscious foresight, but it was lucky.
He buzzed a "yes" to those above, blaming himself for not ending their suspense sooner, and reached farther into the hull through the partly open valve.
He had time to realize what was happening to him, but not enough to do anything about it.
11. First Aid
The three in the outrigger received and correctly interpreted the Hunter's last signal, and for some time were far too excited and exultant to pay any attention to events on the bottom. None of them was ever sure just how much time passed before anyone began to wonder why no more signals were coming through; and even for Bob it took still longer for curiosity to become anxiety.
Eventually he gave a few jerks to the rope-the surface-to-depth telegraph was still only a plan. Naturally, there was now no response. He decided that his symbiont must have left the pipe and was exploring the ship in detail. No plans had been made for signaling or any other action in such a situation, and Bob spent some time abusing himself verbally for the omission. The Hunter agreed later that they had both been pretty stupid, but insisted on taking his share of the blame, since he had after all been in a much better position to foresee what actually happened. After all, Seever had mentioned "normal police procedures."
Something like half an hour was spent waiting and occasionally pulling on the rope before the three became really disturbed. Maeta finally went overboard and swam down to see, if possible, what was going on, but even diving goggles did not let her examine the pipe in real detail. She was quite sure, when she pulled it out of the mud, that the Hunter was inside, and to make really certain she checked by touch.
