One of the other Locrians opened the other door and, accompanied by most of the rest of the group, went aft to the living and cargo sections.
Counter-of-Supplies had been quite right; there was no living being, and no robot more complex than the built-in automatic driver, on board. The body of the native was in the cargo space. It was rather smaller than any of the Habras present, about three and a half meters long and under thirty centimeters in diameter at its thickest. Its general structure was similar to that of a Terrestrial dragonfly, with distinct head, thorax, and long abdomen. The head had about the same volume as that of an Krthuma, and the four eyes mounted equally spaced around an imaginary circle a little forward of the midpoint of the skull could, given adequate backup nerve wiring, provide stereoscopic vision in all directions except directly behind. The three pairs of wings, only a little over half a meter long, were attached to the thorax and now folded back against it and the forward part of the abdomen. The body plates had the typical random patterning in shades of red, with wings a barely visible transparent yellow.
Still without checking with Hugh, the three Erthumoi supply workers began carrying crates to the air lock. Rekchellet stopped them.
“Wait. Do you know what’s in those crates?”
“They’re standard food containers, going by size, shape, and label,” answered the largest of the human beings, rather impatiently. The Crotonite stared at the boxes for a moment. He was at least as imaginative as Hugh, and shared the Erthuma’s responsibility for general safety. Then he gestured with a wing tip to one of the Locrians who was standing silently by. He was casual about using the Locrian ability, though he understood it no more than Janice did.
“Look inside.” The being addressed had already uncovered her single eye for deep-penetration work, not because she knew that Rekchellet was Hugh’s deputy but because it was part of her routine supply-handling job.
“The labeling is correct. This,” she indicated one container, “is food for Samians. The other two now being transported are for Crotonites. One has been unsealed, and six of the unit packages originally inside are gone. The wrappings of two are…”
“Hugh!” Rekchellet did not wait for the rest of the report. The Erthuma acknowledged from forward, and he went on, “Crotonite food is missing from the cargo.”
“How much?” the coded response came at once. The Locrian answered before Rekchellet, who opened his beak and then realized that he didn’t know how much a unit package represented.
“Packages for six normal work-and rest cycles are gone from one of the crates. However, only two sets of wrappings are in the waste receptacles on the truck.”
“Suggesting that a Crotonite spent two days or so on the truck, going Reason knows where, and then left with food for four more.”
“A reasonable inference, I would say.”
“How about Erthumoi food?”
“The evidence is that any Erthumoi aboard were using recycling suits,” Counter-of-Supplies’ translated voice reminded him.
“True, but please check food anyway — and any other points you think might tell us anything. Even emergency supply food tastes a lot better than the stuff from a recycling suit, and it’s worth looking for signs of nibbling.’”
“There is another object of possible interest on board.”
“Who’s speaking?”
“Third-Supply-Watcher. The truck has a tech-specialized translator supplement containing four modules.”
“I’m coming. Open it up and we’ll see who can read their labels. Maybe we’ll have to put them in the main…”
“That won’t tell us, if no one here uses any of the languages,” pointed out Rekchellet.
“One move at a time,” tapped Hugh as he entered the compartment. “Do you have it open yet?”
The Locrian silently indicated the small, rectangular metal container, one of its sides now folded back on a hinged edge. The modules were hexagonal prisms about three centimeters in length which might have been cut from a lead pencil, though none of those present would have used that simile. They were shiny black, and could have been made of any of half a hundred of the common information storing materials. All could see the four mentioned by Third-Supply-Watcher, resting in holes in resilient packing material. There were two more holes of similar size and shape, empty. There was no way of guessing whether these had been occupied when the truck set out on its journey. Hugh dismissed the point as unworthy of worry.
Everyone silently examined the prisms as Third-Supply-Watcher removed them from their housing and handed them around. Janice and Rekchellet started to speak almost at once; being a practical person, the woman yielded the floor.
“This one holds a Crotonite language, but I don’t know which world or group. I don’t recognize the coding after the main set symbol.” Hugh nodded, which was much easier than acknowledging by code; Rekchellet was familiar with the Erthumoi gesture, the Naxian wouldn’t need it, and it didn’t matter for the moment whether the others grasped it or not. Waiting a moment to be sure her winged friend had no more to say, Janice keyed in her own point.
“Two of these have Erthumoi main set symbols, but hold different languages. One I can’t guess; the other is almost surely one from Earth itself — low code number; look, Hugh.” Her husband looked, and nodded.
“I learned a little Swahili in required Human History, never mind how long ago, but I don’t know its translator symbol. We could try it,” he keyed. “Do any of you others know any of the Mother Tongues?”
One of the Erthumoi started to answer, but Rekchellet cut in abruptly.
“The research would be interesting, but it would be more straightforward to ask the people themselves when we find them. We now seem to be certain that one Crotonite, two Erthumoi, and one — what is the other module? Has anyone recognized it?” Two or three negatives punctuated a background of silence.
“Do you all know the set symbols for your own translator codes?” This time the affirmative answers came from the four star-faring species represented. “Then there could also be a Samian or a Cephallonian…”
“Surely not without other traces of its presence!” S’Nash spoke up for the first time in many minutes.
“Well, maybe just Samian — or pardon me: no doubt a Habra could have been present in recycling armor.” Hugh and Janice smiled to themselves. A Crotonite’s apologizing was a memorable event, though, of course, Habras were fliers and thus not subject to “ground slug” prejudice. “Anyway, this sort of guessing is pointless; what we know is that people are missing and need to be found. Even if they’re missing and in no trouble, and merely failed to tell where they were going, they need to be found — if they’re stupid enough not to file travel plans, they’re stupid enough to get themselves in trouble later.”
“And you don’t really have to be stupid to get in trouble,” added one of the Erthumoi. Rekchellet ignored her.
“When we find them, our questions will, no doubt, be answered easily.”
“Where to look?” keyed Hugh.
‘We start along the route of the truck, of course.”
“Ocean four hours away. Crotonite passenger consumes two days’ food before disappearing. What was the truck route?”
Rekchellet’s face could not show a smirk, and the translator failed to get one into his voice, but both Hugh and his wife read the body attitude.
“As Counter-of-Supplies mentioned, the mechanical driver of this vehicle is of Crotonite manufacture. It will have recorded the path taken — unless,” Rekchellet slowed uneasily for a moment, “unless it was specifically set not to. I’ll check. We should be able to trace its path, including such details as halts along the way.”