Back in the lab, she started a nondestructive examination. Like the Locrian, she was not familiar with Habra internal machinery or tissue structure, and it took her some time to realize that what she was seeing was not entirely animal tissue. When she began to suspect, it was easy enough to check, though she had to go outside once more for a comparison specimen — not, of course, from the body. Not even from a living native, which might have demanded more diplomacy than she yet felt ready to use. She found her specimen quickly enough, immediately outside the building, and spent more time with the microscope. Then she called Hugh.
“I don’t think we’ll need to notify relatives with this one, either,” was her greeting.
“Another fossil, if that’s the right word here?” Her husband’s eyes lit up.
“It’s not a fossil. It’s a frozen specimen of original tissue. Don’t make me get technical in code when you already know. It’s certainly been buried, though.”
“How old is it?”
“I haven’t dated it yet. The point is that the tissue is riddled with microscopic threads which are turning out to be roots.”
“You’re sure they’re not nerves?”
“I wasn’t at first. Then I found them in parts of my ice cores which came from outside the body, and I’ve matched them from plant samples I took right at the lab door.”
“Matched? Same species?”
“I wouldn’t know. Same general structure. That body’s been under the ice long enough for bushes to grow above it and through it. I’ll run some dates now.”
She signed off without formalities, and Hugh resumed thinking. Ninety seconds later he called his wife again.
“Can you save some of your ice for Red, or should he get his own scrapings?”
“I hadn’t thought about microbes. Silly of me. I can supply him. Shall I call him?”
“I will. You’re busy, and it’ll take some explaining. He’ll be annoyed if we can’t give him an age, so get to it, Hon.”
“Right.”
Hugh got in touch with the Erthuma biologist who currently specialized in Habranhan microorganisms and explained matters as tersely as his listener would allow. His thanks consisted of a loud complaint that Biology had not been informed of the Habra body. Hugh pointed out that it had been in their possession less than three hours, identified as a specimen rather than a casualty for less than one, and that if Respected Opinion McEachern knew how to tell the age of such an object at first glance both Cedars would be delighted to hear his opinion. Meanwhile, Janice was attempting a carbon date and would let them know as soon as she could. He was welcome.
Hugh leaned back and flexed the fingers of his code hand.
Then he called the office of Spreadsheet-Thinker and asked whether he could have the assistance of a Locrian of third or lower skill rank for at least twelve hours. The problem would be explained in detail in a written report which Safety Chief Cedar would submit within the next hour to the administration office. He also wanted use of a land-traveling robot and an air-blast sweeper, but expected that this might take longer. It had occurred to him that there was no real need to go on foot.
Hugh then went to a writing keyboard with what would have been a groan of relief if he had had the use of his vocal cords. It was so much easier to write than to send verbal-substitute code. It was a pity that people doing complex and dangerous tasks couldn’t take their eyes off them to read. .
The report was done in a quarter of an hour; the brevity which code constraints had been forcing on him seemed to be carrying over. He transmitted it to Administration and three minutes later was informed that sweeper and Locrian would appear when the latter’s sleep period ended, which was very shortly. Where did Safety Chief Cedar want them in half an hour?
“At the warehouse — the terminal where the road comes in from the port.”
“You will be there to provide instructions, or should we relay them?”
“I’ll be there.”
The Erthuma frowned thoughtfully over the communicator. He would also need a Habra, of course.
Fortunately, Hugh could use one of his own safety people without having to clear through any higher office. There were senders, tied to his own desk, scattered throughout the settlement which would broadcast brief please-check-in messages at inoffensive volume to Habra safety watchers within two or three kilometers.
There was only one other decision to face.
Once again Hugh Cedar was looking at the pumps and condensers of the pressure-fluid equipment. He didn’t look long. He and Janice had spent one period, over half a Common Year before, with only one of them set for deep diving. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but Janice, who had been the diver, had gone back to air breathing well before that project had ended. Little had been said later, but there was a strong mutual feeling that henceforward it would be neither or both when it came to pressure treatment.
Janice was currently far too busy to waste time in changeover, and Hugh could do what was now necessary easily enough with his armor full of liquid. Being less agile might be some hindrance, but being twice as heavy could only help.
Hugh filed a plan of his proposed activities for the next few hours. He didn’t actually call Administration and tell them, but Spreadsheet-Thinker or Ged Barrar or any of their staff would be able to find him if they had to. So could any of his own safety people, especially a few minutes later when he made contact with Ted.
The Habra came plunging out of the dimly-lit haze above the settlement before the Erthuma had gotten fifty meters from his door, and swept in graceful patterns above the street as Hugh made his way slowly toward the warehouse and the start of the Port road. He listened with interest as his chief shared ideas. He listened again, with no obvious urge to interrupt, as Hugh repeated them to the Locrian and to S’Nash who were waiting at the warehouse. The Naxian had apparently been examining the frozen body but did not actually explain its/his presence.
“Eleventh-Worker, we’re going out to the place where the truck which is being back-traced left the road — you know about that?”
“I know about the truck which arrived under automatic control. I heard nothing of an investigation, but I am not surprised that you are making one.”
“I have an idea that it stopped at that point and was deserted by the last, or perhaps by all, of its living occupants there. If it did, it should have left an ice patch similar to that.” Cedar indicated the spot, now partly covered with drifted snow, a few meters from where the ice-shrouded corpse was lying. “It’s likely that any such trace will be covered by now, either by blowing snow or a moving hill. We might find it by digging, but obviously you can save us a lot of time, especially if it’s not there.”
“Of course.”
“The robot will use the sweeper to clean any area you indicate, so that I can examine it too…”
“And I,” S’Nash cut in.
“Sure, if you want to come.”
“I find myself most interested, even though there seem to be no Naxians involved in the Truck Mystery.” The listeners could almost hear the capital letters. “There does seem to be a Crotonite, and there are reasons which I’ll be glad to explain when you have enough time why I am trying to understand the flying ones better than I now do.”
“No need, unless Eleven or Ted wants to hear. I suspect we all feel much the same on that point— though maybe Ted, as a flier himself, has no problem.”
“You star travelers are all strange to us,” the Habra admitted, “the Crotonites no less than the others. The fact that they can fly makes no real difference.”