He then retuned the communicator, and with rather more complication managed to reach Janice’s lab.
“Hon? I think I’ve talked Spreadsheet-Thinker out of an aircraft, but it may take a while to materialize. There are things to do out there in the dark. Have you found out anything more about our iceberg?”
“Yes. Age. Tell you when we’re together.”
He confined himself to “That all?” His wife presumably had reasons for secrecy.
“H’Feer came by the lab with thanks. It/she’s back at work. Wants a job in Safety.”
“Good. See you.”
Hugh was perfectly willing to have more and different people under his charge if Administration didn’t mind, but was not going to discuss the matter without knowing more about the Naxian, especially about how well it/she had recovered from being frozen alive. That was something else which could wait. He signed off and left the office, still planning.
Janice was a thoughtful and foresighted partner. Hugh had mentioned wanting an aircraft. She knew as well as he that Administration would have to approve the request and, at reflex level, probably wouldn’t. She greatly enjoyed the sense of accomplishment when it could honestly be experienced, and did some planning of her own.
By the time her husband reached their quarters, she had called around and unobtrusively determined the present official location and assignment of all four of the aircraft used by the Project, just to provide Hugh with ammunition he might need.
She was not too surprised at his worried state when he detailed the situation to her; he was a responsible person, and Rekchellet a good friend. She showed him the information she had gathered about the aircraft. He looked at it, grinned, and did the best job of kissing her that a room full of diving fluid allowed.
“Beautiful. There are two they could spare without hurting a thing. I can surely talk them out of one, especially since some of our own people are now unaccounted for.”
“Will they blame you for their getting lost?”
“Why? They approved what we were doing.”
“What they knew of it.”
“Spreadsheet-Thinker wouldn’t like to admit there was anything going on here she didn’t know about. It would reflect on her administrative efficiency. Come on; I’ll have the use of that machine in five minutes.”
Actually it was nearly five hours. Hugh had misjudged something. He thought some bad language, arranged for communication with the flying searchers he had so hastily sent out while on the way back along the road, and calmed himself with a meal as Janice had done. They even slept, briefly; he had not realized how tired he was, and she had been in the lab through most of his absence.
The hours were fruitful only in determining a fairly large area where Rekchellet did not seem to be. The truck had not moved, but the watchers could now see no one inside. They had not tried to enter or attract attention, judging that the search for Rekchellet was more important; the slow vehicle could be found easily enough, they now felt, even if it did resume travel.
All this was reported to Hugh by relays of his own personnel, and he in turn dutifully reported the details to Administration with ever louder insistence that he be given the use of a flying machine. He never understood with any certainty what caused the delay; Spreadsheet-Thinker remained noncommittal. The Erthumoi suspected that in spite of Janice’s earlier research, one or more of the vehicles was being used without authority and the administrators simply didn’t know where it was. Hugh almost mentioned this to S’Nash, when the Naxian appeared and asked how the search was progressing, but decided against it. The snaky being would already be aware of his irritation and coded complaint would be conversational overload.
Finally, however, clearance came. Hugh sent out a relayed message for one of the Habras or Crotonites on the search to come back toward Pitville to meet him and act as a guide. Husband and wife had been wearing most of their armor all along. Now they donned helmets, checked out, and made all possible speed to the hangar. S’Nash was now there, and while Naxians had no reputation for radiating their emotions, both Erthumoi felt a shade of self-satisfaction when it/he spoke.
“About the best we could get, I’d say.” It/he did not amplify, and neither Erthuma went beyond casual agreement; but both wondered a bit.
Hugh had asked for the services of another Locrian, and there was a further brief delay while they waited for this one’s arrival; naturally, he had not been released from regular work until after clearance of the flyer. The being appeared with what under any other circumstances would have seemed commendable speed and climbed into the ten-place machine, introducing himself as Plant-Biologist.
Janice and he talked quiet shop about Habranhan vegetation while Hugh lifted off and headed slowly northwest, blinking his lights in the standard here’s headquarters pattern of the Safety Office. S’Nash, who had come aboard without asking administrative clearance, curled up behind the pilot seat and said nothing.
The truck, they knew, was nearly a hundred kilometers from Pitville. The flier could have covered the distance in moments, but not safely; there were too many living searchers in the air, many of them not carrying lights yet in spite of Hugh’s efforts in that direction. The Habras were cooperative enough, but their eyesight covered nearly the full sphere and no one had yet designed a running light, other than a rather useless one pointing straight to the rear, which they could carry without the glare’s interfering with the bearer’s vision. From their own point of view, of course, their electrical senses made such equipment superfluous; they could detect each other and Hugh’s ship with no trouble.
But if the craft were moving at anything like its full speed, they could never spot it in time to dodge.
After endless minutes, the radio receiver picked up a Habra voice. “I see you, Hugh. Descend to one kilometer, and slow down to comfort speed.” This, to Habras, was about fifty kilometers per Common Hour. “Good. I’ll be with you in a minute or two. You’re heading in almost the right direction. I will come close enough to let you see me.”
There was a pause. Then Jan jumped slightly as the crimson-patterned cylinder of the Habra’s trunk suddenly appeared a scant two meters — less than its own length — above the pilot canopy of their craft. As usual, the wings were invisible, partly from their transparency, partly from their rapid motion; the cockpit light was bright enough to have shown them had they been in glide mode, since it was bright enough to show the body’s color. Harness ornaments which both Erthumoi knew to signify maleness glinted.
Hugh gestured to indicate that he saw, and the native drew smoothly ahead and down until he was directly in front of the cockpit and level with it.
“Follow. You’ll see the truck in about five minutes,” his voice came again. “When you do, tell me and I’ll cut over to one side so I can watch you better. We’ll both stand by in case you have anything for us to do. We just relieved the last pair, and can stay for a couple of hours with no trouble.”
“I’ll watch him,” said Hugh to the others aboard. “You keep your eyes on the ground. Let me know when you see the truck.” A mixed murmur and buzz of agreement allowed the man to focus his attention on his leader, and for the promised five minutes nothing more was said.
It was the Locrian who spotted the truck first, partly because the native led them directly over it and neither Hugh nor his wife could see straight down. Plant-Biologist, his vision not blocked by the floor of the little craft, calmly reported the sighting.