“Good. We have found only a few traces of once living material until recently, but a few Common Days ago encountered the buried, frozen body of a native. We went to some trouble to conceal the discovery — you know how primitive people sometimes feel about disrespect for their dead — but it’s in the cargo section of this truck. Perhaps we could smuggle it to your laboratory, when no Habras are around, and you could find out for me how long it’s been buried.”
Rekchellet thought rapidly. He doubted strongly that Hnnissee had failed to notice the absence of the corpse, but was not surprised at the elusive language since he, too, was a Crotonite. He could now see a reasonable explanation for the sending of the unmanned truck and cargo to Pitville. Ennissee could take it for granted that the team there would examine the specimen in every way possible. His problem would be in learning what they found out about it.
An Erthuma or a Locrian would simply have brought the body in and asked, but that would have involved the tacit assumption that the Pitville workers were equals and conversing with them on that basis, something certainly very difficult and quite likely impossible for Ennissee. Rekchellet’s presence was a convenience, obviously; he could get the information the other wanted, being on familiar terms with the aliens. Naturally, it would be necessary for Ennissee to make his own superiority to the grub-lover perfectly clear before voicing his own needs; it would be demeaning to ask a favor from, rather than give an order to, such a renegade.
Rekchellet was almost, but not quite, amused. He even thought fleetingly how his ability to be amused rather than bitterly indignant stemmed directly from his friendship with Janice Cedar. He was not objective enough, however, even to pretend to accept the suggestion of his own inferiority. The other’s damaged wings were enough to save any Crotonite from that danger, even though they could still be used for flight.
“I’m sure they will respond to courtesy.” was his answer after a bare moment of hesitation. “Naturally you’ll be glad to discuss the source of your specimen. Its provenance will be of great importance to our own investigation.”
S’Nash, had he been present, would certainly have been interested and possibly frightened; Rekchellet could perceive the other’s indignation, but had no idea of its intensity. He was rather glad to have scored.
It was several seconds before Ennissee spoke again.
“You may follow me to my site,” he said at last. “I must set the truck’s driver to bring it back there as well.” He seemed to have forgotten his earlier remark suggesting that he supposed the specimen still to be aboard. “Though it is a long way, we will fly to save time.”
“How about my driver? I don’t believe there is any Locrian food aboard.”
“It will have to eat what there is. I do not choose to waste time carrying it back to your work site. Later that may be convenient.” He turned to the autodriver and began to manipulate its keys, shielding the console with his wings. Rekchellet was not at ail surprised to learn that the vertical record which had forced his own group to drive the vehicle manually could be cut from control, but felt rather annoyed at not having a chance to see how it was done. He used the time, however, the map was within reach, as was his stylus, and he quickly scribbled a few words, hoping someone would be able to read them.
“You may release your driver from the back compartment. You should also tell it that any attempt to cut off or change settings on this control will shut down all power. I will come back to recover it later, but it may be quite cold inside by then.”
Rekchellet was not too disturbed at having an obvious maneuver foreseen and forestalled. He went back through the air lock section as the truck resumed its travel, and opened the door for Third-Supply-Watcher. She was not surprised at his arrival, naturally.
The Crotonite quickly passed on Ennissee’s warning, adding no comments of his own. It was quite likely that they could be heard from the control section. Third-Supply-Watcher was equally cautious, merely acknowledging his words and following him forward. Ennissee paid no attention to her.
“We’ll go now,” he said briefly. “I’ve set the hatch to open for half a minute as soon as the inner lock door closes. You will follow me out. The truck will reach my site before I expect to need it. I assume you have warned your — your responsibility about the driver setting as I instructed.” “Of course.”
“Do you consider it intelligent enough to heed all the implications?” “Of course.”
“Then come along.” Ennissee led the way back to the air lock, waited until Rekchellet had joined him inside, and closed the forward door. As he had said it would, the outer hatch promptly started to yawn. The moment it was wide enough, Ennissee leapt through the gap. Rekchellet followed, and was meters away by the time he heard the panel close behind them. He cast only a quick glance at the moving truck, feeling pretty sure what the Locrian would do, and concentrated on keeping Ennissee in sight. The artificial wing membranes seemed no handicap; Rekchellet began to realize how long it had been since he had rested or eaten.
Inside the truck, Third-Supply-Watcher waited calmly until the two winged beings were out of sight. Then she went to the cabinet where the neutrino transmitter had been kept.
It was empty, and S’Nash might once again have been interested; but the Locrian said nothing even to herself. There had, after all, been no reason to suppose that Ennissee was completely stupid. She looked briefly to make sure the equipment was nowhere on board, wondered how far back he might have jettisoned it, and spent a few minutes examining the driver connections. This took enough of her attention to make her miss the natives who swooped briefly past outside during those minutes.
She was not expert in electromechanical matters and could not be sure of what she saw, but not even S’Nash would have detected any uneasiness in her manner as she stood motionless in front of the control console, thinking carefully, for another minute or two, and then shut off the autodriver.
Chapter Eight
And Clues May Oft But Little Help Provide
“Like Erthumoi, I suppose.” Hugh keyed, not worrying whether his cynicism showed.
“No, you’re easy. Your faces move. But what do we do about Rekchellet and Third? It” it was she in the truck we should find out why, and if it wasn’t we need to find out what’s become of her.”
“And where the new one came from. Right. So you checked in here. Good. I wish I knew what was best, but — where’s Crow? Did he come back, too?”
“No. We thought of that, and then decided it would be smarter for one of us to keep track of the truck. It might start traveling again, or get buried, and be hard to find even for us unless we got within three or four kilometers; and the whole problem started with that truck, didn’t it? And there are a lot of square kilometers on the Solid Ocean.”
“It did. You were right. Are you tired, cold, or hungry?”
“I’d be glad to eat.”
“All right, go ahead. Then tell every other flier in Safety what’s happened. Send a pair of them out to find and relieve Crow so he can come in, too; you can tell them where to start looking, at least.” “Should I report to Administration.’” “I’ll take care of that. Go eat.” Walt left the office without further questions, and Hugh retuned the transmitter.
In spite of his recent conversation with Barrar, he first told Spreadsheet-Thinker’s office what he was doing and why, delivering the information as a statement rather than asking permission. Since he was using code, they knew better than to ask for more details just yet, but Hugh was sure that his sudden monopolization of so much workpower would not go unchallenged for long. Barrar’s calm acceptance of the situation had rather surprised him; Hugh doubted neither the Samian’s willingness nor his ability to back him up, but felt better having the whole matter formally on record. He was not an experienced administrator even yet, but was learning.