“I give regular talks here at the port on our results, and what they mean to the natives in both philosophical and practical ways. The next one is not yet planned in detail, but the Guild office will tell you a little later when it’s to be given; I’ll make a point of asking them.”
Hugh thanked him, suggested that he get back in the water and rest after his near-accident, and thanked him again more fulsomely than was really comfortable in code. The swimmer, unhampered by code constraints, returned even more voluminous gratitude for Hugh’s help and finally admitted that others must be waiting for him. Erthuma and Crotonite left the port area deep in thought.
“I guess they’ll do all right with Rek,” the latter said as they approached the road. “Can you find your way back to the office? I can steer you from overhead if it will help.”
Hugh reviewed his memory of the Naxian-guided trip and accepted the offer, so they entered the Guild structure together a quarter hour later and reopened with the first Crotonite official they could find the discussion of Rekchellet’s safety.
This one, who had not been present at the time of their earlier visit, also admitted that the Naxians in the orbiting station did claim ability to do major physical repairs even on fliers, but no one had yet been willing to take them up on the offer. He knew a male named Ennissee who had lost wing membranes to freezing and was currently using prosthetics; these were less than satisfactory, but he had loudly declared that he would never be the first to subject himself to the experiments of a bunch of crawlers.
Hugh and Reekess heard this with great interest but little surprise, nor were they astonished to hear that the Guild office did not know Ennissee’s present whereabouts. He was believed to be somewhere on the Solid Ocean, but his vehicle had no neutrino transmitter.
At this point, the most obvious explanation for what had happened to Rekchellet was a little hard for a civilized being to believe, in spite of the way some Crotonite societies treated their ambassadors. It tended to make Reekess think rather more kindly of nonfliers, or at least to narrow the culture gap a little. They thanked their informant and let him go his way.
Hugh took the opportunity to call Pitville, in the line of duty. Nothing serious had happened in the dig, and he had of course postponed the intended exanimation of the Cold Pole site until his return; the people he had drafted had returned to their regular tasks. He wanted to be there himself if and when anything were found. At the moment, Pitville life was pure routine, Janice told him with a straight face and steady fingers. Hugh promised to return as soon as possible to corrupt it for her, and turned his attention to an impatient and verbose Guild subordinate who seemed to care for little except that everyone should know he was a native of Earth itself and that he wanted to use the transmitter. The discussion provided no useful information.
Hugh had not thought to ask about the age of the corpse since his wife had evaded S’ Nash’s question so many hours before, and for the moment nothing was farther from his mind.
Even with the rather halfhearted enthusiasm of the Crotonites in the office, Reekess seemed to feel a little better about Rekchellet’s being under Naxian care by the time a call came down from the orbiting station. She listened closely, however, as the few words came through their translators.
“Rekchellet is conscious. His mind appears undamaged. He wants to talk to friends. His wings will need extensive regeneration, as will his hands and feet. This will take about half a Habranhan year.”
Hugh acknowledged with appropriate thanks, and turned to his companion.
“I’ll go up to see him. I assume you’ll come too, regardless of air.”
“I can get a breather here. Certainly I’m coming. You sent our flyer back with Janice; how do we get there?”
“Our machine wouldn’t have made it safely anyway; it could drive in space, but might not protect its occupants properly. There are regular Naxian shuttle flights, I gather. Get your mask and come on.” Reekess obeyed, and a few minutes later they were back at the site where they had left their own craft a few hours before.
There was another Naxian shuttle waiting, and no objection was made to their boarding, though neither attempted any explanation. It did not lift immediately, however; it seemed to be a scheduled carrier, and fifteen or twenty minutes passed before its hatch closed without announcement and the craft headed skyward. Over a quarter of an hour was spent on the flight, much of it in maneuvers presumably designed to match orbits without straining passengers used to low gravity. The vessel did not attach itself to an outer lock via catwalk or tube, but entered a much larger one, and waited for the doors to close behind it and the surrounding space to fill with air. The lock chamber was only a little larger than the shuttle, however, so the latter process was brief.
They were at the station axis, in free fall. Hugh and Reekess were both reasonably experienced in this condition, and followed a Naxian guide with no trouble. Presently rotation, still by far the most reliable form of artificial “gravity,” made itself felt, and in a few minutes they were progressing along a passage which had a definite floor. Weight increased until they had about a quarter Erthumoi normal, standard for Crotonites but noticeably more than either Hugh or Reekess had experienced for a long time. A few meters of travel along a corridor at this weight level brought them to a door, like all in the station capable of making an airtight seal, and this led into Rekchellet’s room, if it could be called that.
It was much larger than a typical hospital chamber and contained much equipment, only a little of it obvious in function to the visitors. A number of Naxians were busy at various stations. The Crotonite’s body was hanging from padded straps; all his limbs passed through sealed sleeves into opaque tanks in which, presumably, the cold-damaged tissue was being replaced by new growth.
The general setup impressed Hugh as an experimental arrangement combining biological and mechanical gear, which might not be too far from the truth.
If Rekchellet could move any limbs the fact was not evident, but his eyes were open and it became clear at once that he could speak.
“Hugh! And — Reekess, isn’t it? Sorry I made such an idiot of myself.”
“We don’t know much of what happened,” the Erthuma answered, “but the fact that we found you just as you planned suggests that you handled things pretty well. We gather you came up against another Crotonite, so you needn’t feel too low.”
“What have you figured out? I’ll correct what’s necessary and fill in the rest. It’s a little hard to talk with my wings pinned this way.”
“I won’t say I understand that, but I can believe you. All right, you met this other Crotonite— Ennissee? — who was accompanied by several Habras while you were herding the truck westward on the long leg of its map. Somehow they got your translator away from you, and delayed you while they took over the truck from Third-Supply-Watcher. Then you came back to the truck, got or were given your translator back, and had an argument or at least a discussion with Ennissee, who seems not to speak your language.
“We don’t know what was said, of course. Eventually the autodriver was set on a westward path and the truck started, the Locrian was freed and told falsely that interfering with the autodriver would shut off the general power and endanger her life. You had written a rather obscure note about not giving Ennissee date information freely, while he or she was setting up the driver. The two of you left together. We found another note from you on a food wrapper which did help us find you; we knew you couldn’t have been planning to fly directly to the Cold Pole, and searched the truck’s line until we found your note, and then were guided by it until we found you. I’m afraid there’s a good deal you’ll have to tell us, even if talking isn’t easy. Make believe you’re in my armor, full of diving juice and using code.”