“No,” snapped the Crotonite. “Answer my question.”
“Was this second test planned before that accident, or did you two get the idea after you saw what happened in the Pit?”
S’Nash answered this time. “It was my idea when I saw the other rescue. Rekchellet disapproved, but I convinced him. Please answer his question. I want him to know.”
Neither human being commented on the implication that the Naxian knew already, but both wondered briefly why it/he cared.
“In my opinion,” Hugh keyed carefully, “we didn’t break word or trust. None of these robots is intelligent by our standards. You should know; you’ve at least seen the Big Boxes, and probably done some work with them even if you didn’t like it. None of these robots has anything to do with data identification or interpretation, and no machines do except the dedicated number-spinners you and everyone else know about.
“However, I consider it my responsibility to have brains in any robot working where a living project member might be in danger. Not high-class brains, but ones capable of simple decisions. One person is alive now probably because of that judgment — at least, S’Nash here says the Pit accident a few hours ago was not a setup. I don’t suppose you were really in trouble up the hill here, Rekchellet, but if you had been none of us but the robot could have done you any good.” Hugh paused, realizing that he was being defensive and not liking it.
“So what are you going to do about all this? Complain to Spreadsheet-Thinker or the Guild about the robots? If they do anything negative about them, it will only lessen the personal safety of those working here on Darkside.”
It was the Naxian who answered. “We’ll say as little as possible — nothing, if we can get away with it, though I expect she would probably agree with you. Let me give you our reasons.” It/he was interrupted by a single word from the robot.
“Evaluation?”
“Proper and adequate, interpretation and action,” Hugh keyed.
“Anything superfluous?”
“Most of it, but data on that fact came afterward. Your response was proper and adequate. Back to routine.” The robot and sweeper disappeared into the shadows south of the pile. Thoughtfully, Hugh watched it go. S’Nash did not.
The serpentine schemer coiled into a presumably comfortable attitude and started its/his explanation, managing to give the impression of an educator going into lecture mode.
“I was never really worried about your betrayal of trust, Cedars. I don’t think Rekchellet would have been either if he had thought things through carefully, but I wanted his help in getting you to the test we have just made. I had little time to think, and gave him none. I played on his feelings. I apologize, Rekchellet. I acted selfishly, crudely, improperly, discourteously, and have betrayed your trust. I am a worm and a slug, and I ask your forgiveness and a chance to earn that trust back. You may use me if you wish as I have used you.”
The Crotonite had stirred uneasily, and the great wings had half spread at the first part of S’Nash’s admission. They folded again hastily as a gust threatened to carry him away with the snow, and the next few sentences seemed to calm him a little. Both Erthumoi guessed that S’Nash was using its/his emotion sense to the full, trying different sentences like keys on a shop console in the hope that they would forestall or calm real anger on the part of the winged listener.
Janice also suddenly found herself wondering how trustworthy the speaker could really be if it/he were so ready to use words and promises merely for immediate effect — just to play on another being’s attitudes as though an intelligent personality were a macbine tool. Of course, it/he had confessed before seeking excuse, and the confession had not seemed necessary. Equally, of course, it might have been politic, or covered a need not yet obvious.
Janice hoped her own appreciation of the skill involved was easier for S’Nash to read than the under-lying distrust which it was arousing, but this seemed a lot to hope for. The latter feeling was much stronger.
She had always known, in an academic way, that most members of the other Five Species who could get really friendly with an Erthuma would almost by definition be regarded as mildly insane by their fellows. She had kept this knowledge out of her conscious mind with, she hoped, the firmness of a flat-world believer forced to look at its planet from space; the ability to let wish color reason, so common in her species though not confined to it, was sometimes useful. How effective this might be with Naxian powers she could not be sure, however.
Like most Erthumoi, she had a personal hypothesis about the way this ability worked. She was a scientist, so her idea was essentially physical rather than mystical, but so far she had had little opportunity to test it.
At least she herself, subjectively, did not consider either S’Nash or Rekchellet insane by her own standards. There was no need to worry about what the Naxian could read on that point.
“It seemed only wise and fair to admit my deceit,” S’Nash was saying, “before you came to suspect it from other cause and ceased forever to trust me. If you can’t feel confidence in my word even now, please say so. I will understand and not — well, try not — to blame.”
Janice wondered whether this sentence, though seemingly directed at Rekchellet, might not be meant for her; it certainly could have been inspired by a grasp of her present feelings. She became even less sure of the Naxian. She’d have to talk the matter over with Hugh when they had a chance — not that the dear fellow’s judgment would be any better than hers, but they should at least try to agree on tactics. Rekchellet interrupted her musing. “I can see why you were in a hurry. Go on with your explanation to Hugh and Janice.”
This time husband’s and wife’s thoughts ran in parallel. It would have been nice for the Crotonite to say definitely whether he was forgiving the deceit or not. S’Nash must know already, and only the Erthumoi were left in doubt. Of course, one could fairly say that it was none of their business; but it would have been convenient to know just how Rekchellet might be expected to react to the next request, demand, or promise from the Naxian or how firmly he would feel bound to meet with any commitment he himself made to the schemer.
Janice forced her attention back to S’Nash’s words.
“The plan to dig the two Pits, you remember, was settled only after much argument. We seek fossils and similar data to help clarify the prehistory of Habranha. There is strong biochemical evidence that the civilized beings now living here did not evolve on this world but are descended from colonists of unknown origin — possibly, and importantly to many, from the Seventh Race, whose relics have been found on so many other planets. The evidence is supported, some insist, by a lack of data about the general course of evolution here. But the latter really proves nothing, since neither the natives nor we visitors have done any real paleontology here. The conditions are unique. No part of the ring continent where the Habras live lasts more than two or three thousand Common Years; it is always melting at the sunward edge and on the cold side accreting bergs which have come from the Solid Ocean, as they call it.
“Darkside itself is mainly water-ice, which we hoped might contain organic remains. We know now that it does, but no standard fossil study techniques apply; we knew we would have to learn as we went along. No one minds that.
“The only remaining part of the planet where fossils might reasonably exist is the sunward hemisphere under five hundred kilometers of ocean. Darkside seemed more promising.” Hugh stirred impatiently but, he hoped, imperceptibly. He had been with the project from the beginning. S’Nash’s wordiness was sparing his own code fingers, but it would be nice to hear the point.