“Crotonite…”
“Nonsense!” the tone was indignant. “Why would any flier ever travel in a crawling machine, and how would he even get into a — a sleeping unit. Fliers don’t wrap themselves up to sleep; they perch or hang, ready to fly!”
The Erthumoi wondered how Rekchellet was reacting to this outburst from his fellow. Privately. Hugh thought he would try to find out from S’Nash, later on. The determination strengthened with the Locrian’s calmly unhurried reply.
“If one allows himself to be blown away instead of flying, one strikes obstacles.” The translator carried no sarcasm or other feeling that Hugh or Janice could detect. Possibly the Crotonite did read something, however, for he fell silent. “I am only Counter-of-Supplies, but I am not blind. I am certainly not as blind as beings whose vision is cut off by walls and armor. I have told you some of what I saw inside this carrier. I will tell you the rest, such as seems important, if you give me time. If you prefer, you may open it and see what your limited senses permit for yourselves. You must eventually do that in any case, since translated words are of admittedly limited value. Shall I continue?”
“Please,” said Rekchellet, to the interest of Hugh and Janice. They had not been sure his language contained an equivalent for the word; they could not remember his using it in their hearing in the Common Year they had known him. The other Crotonites said nothing, but their heads turned sharply toward him as the word was uttered. The beaked faces remained expressionless as far as the Erthumoi were concerned, but once again Hugh hoped he might get information later from S’Nash.
“I did not mean to imply that only a Crotonite was on board. I had not completed my remarks, you will remember. The nature of the food remnants indicate a Flier of that kind, but the control station is configured for Erthumoi hands, body shape and size, and senses, though Locrians could operate it easily. However, such a being must have been wearing recycling armor, as no food or wastes of that species can be seen. There is also the frozen body of a native Habranhan.”
Hugh’s job responsibilities took over. He knew none of the natives present by name except Ted and possibly Switch, who might be one of the others, but two were carrying translator units and would presumably understand his questions.
“Can your people survive being frozen, with or without advanced medical treatment?” he asked, with the recent Naxian incident in mind.
“No,” came the definite answer. “If Counter-of-Supplies is correct, there is nothing to be done. I take it,” the words were now clearly addressed to the Locrian, “that you were speaking literally, and did not merely mean ‘extremely cold.’ “
“The body is embedded in a block of ice, and the body fluids also seem solid, I fear. I am not familiar enough with your anatomy and physiology to say what other damage, if any, there may be, and it would take a very long time to make a detailed comparison of the body with one or more of you. It would be more practical to have an examination made by one of your own medical specialists, even if his or her own senses are stopped at the surface. You presumably have techniques for dealing with that problem.”
Hugh, the sense of urgency gone, let his mind go back to what seemed to be the central problem.
“Counter-of-Supplies, does the truck’s fuel cartridge provide any information?” he asked.
“Not to me. It’s depleted enough to have made many trips between here and the ocean since last being charged, and still holds enough for many more. The truck could have spent much time, and gone anywhere on this hemisphere, since its last servicing.”
“Thanks. Is there evidence of any other people having been on board?”
“Nothing direct. The food evidence indicates a Crotonite, the sleeping equipment at least two Erthumoi. It seems likely that the latter were using recycling armor, and there is nothing to show whether or not there were more than two, or whether or not still other species, also in self-contained suits, were present. It seems unlikely from the size of the cabin that there were many, unless a large number of Samians were for some reason riding close-packed, without artificial bodies.”
“But you have seen no evidence of that.”
“None.”
Neither Hugh nor his wife had a clear idea of the Locrian sense’s limitations, nor how it worked. Unlike the Naxians, the beings were deliberately secretive about its nature. Janice, like many others, had asked one of them the reason for this and been answered frankly enough.
“If you Erthumoi learn how we do it, you will be moved to develop means of blocking our sight. Most of you value what you call ‘privacy’ on occasions. We don’t want it blocked, any more than you would like to be blindfolded without warning.”
Janice was not alone in having her scientific curiosity turned on by the situation, and had done much thinking. Her husband, however, was more concerned with clarifying the present situation.
“Then, to keep things simple, we’re missing a Crotonite who was riding instead of flying, and two Erthumoi.”
Hugh had a strong interest, quite aside from the clumsiness of code, in keeping the summation terse. There was one well known reason why a Crotonite might not be flying. Some nations, some whole planetary cultures, of the species had the grisly practice of amputating the wings of those assigned to deal diplomatically with “slugs” — the various nonflying species, held in contempt by conservative Crotonites. The custom was far from universal, and neither Hugh nor his wife wanted to mention it, since to many Crotonites it seemed as repellent and uncivilized as it did to Erthumoi. Rekchellet, they knew, was one of these; they didn’t know about the others.
“Check the port for what they know of Carrier ABBI-THTHIN-11,” Hugh keyed the sentry group.
knowing that microphones scattered through the town could be counted upon to relay his code. The Guild symbols were visible, not too clearly, under the coating of ice. “If its recent route can be determined, equip fliers, with good lights if necessary, to cover it — aircraft, Crotonites, Habras, anyone not busy at Level B or higher work. Send me whatever new information comes in. Coordinate as usual.”‘
“I thought Erthumoi dropped everything when life, especially Erthumoi life, was at stake,” remarked one of the previously silent Locrians.
“We have that tendency,” Hugh admitted, “but I don’t yet know that this isn’t simply a group who sent the carrier here unmanned for their own purposes and are in no trouble at all.”
“Why is it carrying the body of a native?”
“I don’t know. My first thought was to check the port to find out about the truck itself, which is already being done; my second is to ask Habras il there is any objection to our lab’s trying to date the body. If the problem doesn’t resolve quickly, I’ll either appoint a loss for it or get rid of this diving juice and do my own bossing. Let’s open up this truck and see if there’s anything inside that Counter missed.”
The crust of rime ice which obscured — to the non-Locrians — the view through the control compartment windows also covered most of the upper body of the vehicle, and had to be scraped away from hatch rim and outside controls before ingress was possible. It was two or three minutes before the string of white warning lights which outlined the hatch began to blink and the bottom-hinged section swung slowly out and down, presenting a rampway ridged for traction and negotiable by feet, wheels, tracks, or bellies. This led into an air lock occupying almost the full five-meter width of the truck body, with inner doors in both fore and aft walls. There was ample room even for the Crotonites and Habras, and all swarmed up the ramp. Counter-of-Supplies made sure the entry was clear, closed the outer door, and, without asking Hugh, opened the forward inner one. The safety director and his wife led the way to the control section.