“I have to stay and go up to the station. Rekchellet is my responsibility, too, as I told Reekess. Also, it will be pleasant to get out of armor for a while.”
Hugh gave up.
“All right. I don’t know how I can justify that as a safety problem, but you can probably take care of Administration yourself.”
“I’m sure I can.” Janice added the remark to her file.
“Is that all right, Reekess?” Hugh asked. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go.” Hugh pressed his faceplate briefly against his wife’s, not caring what the Naxians read, and followed the Crotonite out of the flier without waiting to watch the transfer of Rekchellet to the shuttle. This must have been done quickly. The two had not reached the Guild offices, only a few minutes away even in Pwanpwan’s maze, when the Naxian vessel began to lift.
The officials in the roofless Crotonite section of the offices were primly courteous to Hugh and extremely sympathetic with Reekess when they heard the story. It seemed to be true, they agreed, that some Naxians had a reputation for skill in tissue regeneration for other species as well as their own. An Erthuma at the Guild office, they said, often dis played a normal-appearing hand which, he said, had lost three digits in an accident only two Habranha years before. They were told of, and referred to if they cared to check with him, a Locrian chemist with a newly grown eye.
A Naxian whose function seemed to be to wipe raindrops or snow from the weather hoods of the office equipment listened with seeming interest while the visitors were told that Rekchellet was quite certainly safe and, if the crawlers in the orbiting hospital had given the assurance, almost as certain of complete cure. Even Hugh could guess at the conflict between reluctance to worry Reekess and reluctance to praise nonfliers which was bothering the speaker; his enthusiasm was plainly forced. Hugh could not tell whether Reekess observed this.
They left the office and started to discuss what should be done while they waited for word from orbit. Hugh was getting uneasy about matters at Pitville, while the Crotonite was starting to wonder aloud whether she shouldn’t have insisted on going up to the station. How would Rekchellet feel when he regained his senses and found no one around him but — she did cut the last word off.
Hugh was trying to reassure her about Rekchellet’s objectivity when they were interrupted. A Naxian stopped beside them and raised the forward third of its body with obvious intent to capture their attention.
“I heard your problem while you were inside,” it stated without preamble. It must have been using S’Nash’s language, as both personal translators handled the words. “I can offer you more than words as assurance that our laboratory can handle alien medical problems. There is a Cephallonian who suffered loss of his main swimming organ — his tail — in a recent accident, and who can show you what we did for him. Would it comfort you, Crotonite, to see our work?”
Hugh thought quickly enough to accept the offer before his companion could say anything.
“Yes. Can you tell us, or are you free to show us, where this swimmer may be found?”
‘Telling would be very complex. I can show you to the Dock of Deep Study, where he is often ashore.”
The trip itself was complex enough. Pwanpwan was far enough from the growing edge of the ring continent to be clearly of some age; and while Crotonites had discovered the world over a hundred Common Years before, the city predated the arrival of nonflying species. The concept of streets had not occurred to the Habras until nonflying aliens had introduced wheeled vehicles for transporting heavy loads. Roofs existed only when something particularly needed protection from weather. Walls, however, were universal, as the natives had a strong and complex territorial drive and territory was a variable on Habranha. Most of the openings in the walls were drains rather than doors, though the latter did exist— equipment too heavy to fly sometimes had to be moved. The air distance from the Guild office to the dock was something like three hundred meters; the path followed by the Naxian was over four times that long before they reached a real road on which a mud transport was passing. This still left them three hundred more to get to the dock area. Reekess was annoyed enough to forget Rekchellet for the moment; she could have flown to their goal in a few seconds if she had known where it was. Hugh wondered why the Naxian had not given her direction and distance, which would have been simple enough. He guessed later.
The dock area had probably occupied a bay in the ice at one time; it was now completely separated from the sea by bergs which had merged with the continent in later years. The only access to the ocean was downward, which did not bother the natives. The only seagoing craft they knew were submarines.
Four of these vessels were under construction on ways giving on the two-hundred-meter-wide open pool which was the Dock of Deep Study itself. More than a dozen others were moored at the edge of the ice. Two of these were unloading mud obtained five hundred kilometers below, to be spread on the ice for agricultural purposes. As far as aliens could tell, this was the Habras’ principal industry.
The Naxian spoke again.
“That ship.” it indicated with a straightened body, “is the research vessel which the Cephallonian you seek finds of greatest interest. You will recognize him easily; his tail is not yet quite of the same color as the rest of his body, and in any case I think he is the only one of his kind here just now. I stupidly forgot to suggest that you obtain translator units for his speech while you were at the Guild office. I must return there now; shall I have them sent to you?”
This time Reekess spoke first. “I’ll get them,” she replied tersely, and took to the air. Hugh added thanks, realizing that the fellow probably couldn’t follow his code but could presumably read the intent. It departed without even having introduced itself.
Reekess was back in two or three minutes with modules for both of them, and they approached the submarine indicated by their guide. This was of the usual open framework construction, with spherical containers for cargo, ballast, and buoyancy fluid spaced along its interior. It appeared to be old; the pods around its midsection contained simple electric motors — the natives were good enough chemists to have developed organic conductors; free metal had been almost unobtainable until the star travelers arrived — rather than the fusion thrusters the Habras had learned to construct from their alien visitors.
It also had a number of natives working around it, and Hugh asked one of these whether a Cephallonian might be found in the area. The fellow put down what appeared to be a piece of electronic gear and answered willingly.
“Yes. Shefcheeshee is working under the ship, but I’ll call him up if you like.”
“No, thanks. Let him finish whatever he’s at. Our wish is less important than his work.” This was standard Habra courtesy and the native would have ignored its literal meaning, but Hugh stopped his turn toward the water with another question.
“Is a ship of this age still in use for mining? I find this surprising.”
“It would more than surprising. The Peeker is far underpowered for modern needs. It’s a research vessel. The water dweller is helping us in a bottom study project.”
“Can he get to the bottom? I hadn’t heard that diving fluid had been developed for his kind.”
“To his great annoyance, it has not; his depth limit is only a few kilometers. He has provided much of our equipment, however, assists with its installation and maintenance, and spends much time publicizing results among both our people and aliens, and seeking material support for further research. He has great personal interest in this project. In fact, a large number of aliens seem to share it; there are some similar operations on, and I have heard in, the Solid Ocean as well as this ordinary sea bottom search.”