“The membranes will thaw in this temperature in a minute or two. If the cracked areas start to bleed within that time, he is certainly alive; if not, he still may be. He could have, and probably did, shut down circulation to the area before it froze. Until they thaw, there is nothing to do; we must not risk more wing damage — there has been too much already, though I could not expect you to appreciate that.”
“He is alive,” said S’Nash firmly.
“How do you know? Is he conscious? Can you sense his emotions?” asked Janice.
“Not exactly. He is not conscious, I am sure, but some of the factors I normally perceive in reading emotion are operating.”
Janice, grim as the situation was, couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to its beloved theory. She wasn’t sure how this fit, but at least it was more data.
Hugh kept closer to the main problem.
“Then we get him to Pwanpwan as last as this thing will go. We’ll have to get the Habras aboard — we can’t abandon them out of flying range of town — and Reekess can tell the Crotonites to go back to Pitville. There’s plenty of food for them to make the trip on at the cache. All right, Reekess? Can you tell me where the Crotonite medical center is at Pwanpwan, or should I call them as I go?”
“I’m not sure anyone can handle this,” was the slow answer. She seemed about to add something when S’Nash cut in.
“Get him to our facility. I’ll come along. They can take care of him. Tell your safety crowd, and let’s go.”
Erthumoi and Crotonite looked at the serpentine speaker with surprise, but Hugh hesitated only a moment.
He remained the pilot, but S’Nash, however informally, became commander. It/he said almost nothing during the trip back to Pitville, the disembarkation of the Habras, and Hugh’s terse reporting to Barrar, but those few words had carried weight, with one exception. Reekess refused to follow the suggestion that she, too, remain behind when the flier started for Pwanpwan. She declared her firm and complete indifference to what the administrative office might have to say about the matter if its members were told. Job responsibilities were real, but so were others, she insisted. The Naxian did not press the matter, and she was still aboard as Grendel appeared above the horizon ahead of them and iceberg-dotted open water began to show below.
Pwanpwan was fairly close to the cold, or growing, side of the ring-shaped ice “continent,” since the visitors from the stars were in no hurry to have it reach the warm side and be forced to move when this melted, but it was a long way north of Pitville’s latitude. The trip took several minutes, giving plenty of time to heat the flier’s hull by friction once more.
Most of the Iris, as organisms with Erthuma-type eyes called the ice continent, was a crazy-quilt of varicolored vegetation. Much, but not all, of this was cultivated by the Habras for food, but they deliberately left many patches running wild to provide a reference base for biological information and buffering. The Cedars had been told by natives that most of the “events” in the long but placid recorded history of the world had occurred when ecological oscillation had threatened its food supplies.
Pwanpwan was rendered fairly distinct on this landscape by its concentration of buildings; Hugh would have had no trouble finding it even without the flier’s instruments. He set the craft down at S’Nash’s terse directions close to a shuttle of obviously Naxian build cradled in an open space among the structures. Reekess became visibly uneasy as an enclosed catwalk began to extend from the side of the shuttle toward their flier.
“You’re taking him off planet?”
“Yes. Our medical laboratories are in orbit, with available free fall.”
“But what can you do? Do you really know anything about Crotonite physiology?”
“A great deal, I guarantee. We can heal him, even to restoring the destroyed wing tissue. We can give similar help to any of the Six Races. I don’t mean that Naxians in general can, but my own world’s people are noted for such skills. That’s why we have a lab here; we are on the point — may have reached it by now; it’s not my personal field, and I haven’t checked for a while — of being able to do tissue regeneration for Habras, too.”
“Why should you be interested in the health of other races?”
“I’m not sure we are, in any personal sense. Why are you, yourself, on a world other than your own’.’ There are many kinds of exploration, and curiosity is an aspect of intelligence.” The Crotonite was silent for a time, while the air lock connection was sealed to the extended catwalk, and a powered stretcher accompanied by half a dozen lightly armored Naxians came through.
“I’ll have to go with him.”
“You will find the air unsuitable. We’re prepared to keep him in appropriate atmosphere, but not his entire surroundings.”
Hugh spoke for the first time since they had left Pitville. “They’ll take care of him, Reekess. Won’t it be better to go back to Pitville with us and let work ward off worry?”
“You’re going back?”
“Yes. I’ve done all I can for Rekchellet now, and have other responsibilities. What do you expect to do here, or up in the Naxian station?”
Crotonites tend to be outspoken beings where other races are concerned, especially nonflying ones, but this time Reekess actually seemed a little embarrassed. She didn’t quite want to follow her feelings and say that she distrusted the Naxians and regarded crawlers’ abilities with contempt, since her mind told her that neither remark would be justified. Her feelings, however, were hard to fight down, especially since she knew that every Naxian in sight was aware of them, and she couldn’t help resenting that fact. Erthumoi were not the only beings who resented invasion of privacy under some conditions.
S’Nash broke the impasse. “Did Rekchellet ever tell you that he was doing work for me — had responsibilities to me?”
“No.”
“Well, of course he wasn’t supposed to. However, he has done many things in the last Habranha year or two which should convince you of this if you think them over. I have responsibilities to him, myself.”
“I don’t know what he’s been doing. I don’t know him that well. We aren’t really close personal friends. I just don’t like seeing a flier helpless in the — you can’t even call them hands—of crawlers.” She hadn’t meant to be quite that free with her words, but she couldn’t apologize. Neither S’Nash nor any of its/his fellows seemed bothered, and they certainly could not have been surprised.
Hugh spoke more urgently.
“I think we’re delaying Rek’s treatment. Will you compromise? You can stay here in Pwanpwan and check in with your own people at the Guild. I can make that reasonable with Administration at Pitville. You can call me there when you’ve either found out enough to satisfy you, or decided that you want something else done, though I admit I don’t see what else it could be; could your own people repair Rekchellet’s wings?” The Erthuma nodded toward the cracked and torn membranes, now warmed and pliable, still wrapped around the unconscious figure. “Not as far as I know.”
“And even I know pretty well what losing wings means to you people. I think he’d want to take the chance. I would.”
Reekess shifted uneasily. “All right. With one other provision. I talk to Rekchellet as soon as he can talk.”
“How will you know?”
“I won’t unless I’m told. If I find out later that I was delayed, from Rekchellet or anyone else, there will be trouble. I’ll leave it at that.”
“But I don’t want you to be — wait a minute. I’m going to rule this a safety matter, and if Barrar and Spreadsheet-Thinker don’t agree they can give Ted my job, which they may be planning to do anyway. I’ll stay with you, and help you check at the Guild, and go up to the Naxian station myself if it seems indicated. Jan, you can fly this machine back so Ged won’t complain about our monopolizing it, and take S’Nash with you…”