Rekchellet’s rigid features, consisting largely of beak, did not permit a grimace, but a sound much like a human snort suggested the same meaning to the Erthuma.
“That was Ennissee, all right. He’s a Wildwinder, a Trueliner, firmly convinced that we’re descendants of the Seventh Race and entitled to everything they’ve left.”
“‘We’ meaning Crotonites in general.”
“Of course. Well, ones who agree with him, anyway. He’s heard of my disagreement with that idea somewhere — I’ve never made any secret of it, though I’ve never flown around making public speeches on the subject — and has a low opinion of me. My association with Naxians, Erthumoi, and similar crawlers doesn’t help either, except to reinforce his opinion.”
“I suppose he tried to change your opinion in the truck.”
“No. I don’t know whether he considered that hopeless, or considered me worthless. He talked about the Pit project, and what we must have found, like plant roots, and maybe whole bushes. What it all led up to was a query whether our people might date the frozen body in the truck.”
“We have, though I don’t know what answer Ian got. Why do you think Ennissee wants to know?”
“I can’t even guess. I’m just suspicious because he didn’t simply ask us. You Erthumoi would have done the work and given him an answer without thinking twice, and Spreadsheet-Thinker is just the same. A Crotonite wouldn’t, and he was being very Crotonite, and trying to trick us out of the information, I’ll bet. What do you think, Reekess?”
“It seems to fit. You’ve met him, though; I haven’t. You have, I judge, more reason to distrust him.”
“I do. Plenty. When we left the truck, he’d never given me back my tracker; his Habras got that when he first took my translator. He said we’d fly to a food cache he’d established and then go on to others until we reached his own dig — he’d said a little about that, but no details; I’m only guessing that that’s where he found that frozen Habra — near the Cold Pole. I was already pretty tired and hungry, and he flew fast. Those factory-made wing membranes of his saved him a lot of heat, too — you know about them?”
“Third-Supply-Watcher told us. We heard a little more at the Guild office. Tell you later.”
“Well, I was pretty well done, and had dropped a kilometer or so behind, when he finally came down. I never saw his cache. I don’t know where it was or what it was, so I don’t know if Habras could spot it. When I landed beside him he was just finishing a food pack, and there were no more in sight. He chuckled, ‘Good-bye, Friend-of-Crawlers!’ tossed me the wrapping, and took off to the west. You know the rest. He doesn’t like me, and it’s mutual. Please don’t do him any favors.”
“So it looks as though the truck was sent to Pitville just to get us to date that body. He knew he’d have no trouble getting it back; we’d be bound to use it to search the track recorded by the autodriver.”
“That’s how I see it,” agreed Rekchellet.
“Except — does he have the truck again now? He must have known we’d find it, even if he hoped we wouldn’t find you and maybe hoped we’d find it too late for Third-Supply-Watcher. He couldn’t have cared much about either of you. The last I knew, it was abandoned where the Locrian stopped it and transferred to our flier. We left power and lights on, so anyone could find it again easily enough, but would he or any of his people have dared to come back after what they did to the two of you?” “I’d think not.”
“‘That puts me back to an earlier idea I was toying with. I wonder if he’s trying to get us to visit this dig he told you about…”
“He’s a liar!”
“Granted. He may still want us to go there tor some reason of his own.”
“A good reason for not going!”
Reekess spoke for the first time in some minutes. “You really don’t want to see him again?”
“I do, very much,” snapped Rekchellet, ““but not until I’m out of this machine and able to fly a few hundred kilometers.”
“You want me to wait ten or twelve Common Days until they’ve patched you up, before we go out there?” Hugh stated.
“I’d certainly appreciate it. Look — think of Hnnissee, waiting to see whether you’ve swallowed his bait — wondering when you’re going to arrive— trying to explain to his Habras why nothing has happened yet…”
“I wouldn’t have supposed he could get Habras to work for him,” mused Hugh. “They don’t go for deceit, and certainly not for the sort of thing that was done to you.”
“You’re generalizing,” pointed out Reekess. “There must be all sorts of Habras, just as there are all sorts of Erthumoi and Crotonites and Naxians. Besides, there were no natives around when Rekchellet was abandoned, as I understand his story. Ennissee’s assistants may not have any idea of the nasty part of his actions; they may simply be helping in another research dig.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Hugh. “You talk like my wife. I assure you that’s a compliment. But they helped take Rek’s tracker…”
“We can find out from them later,” Reekess countered. “We already know Ennissee’s a liar, and why. He could very well have lied to them, too. Are you willing to…”
“What do you mean, you know why?” Rekchellet could move no limbs, but obviously wanted to.
“It seems that he doesn’t want to be the first Crotonite to undergo Naxian regeneration. We think he arranged for you to be a preliminary test subject.”
“In that case,” Hugh keyed hastily, “he must have made some arrangement to have you found while there was still time to use you that way.”
Several Naxians approached, and one of them uttered an admonitory “You are disturbing the patient. He should remain relaxed, and make no effort to move.”
“All right. There’s plenty more to do. I suppose we’d better report all this to the Guild, too, before…”
“NO!” snapped both Crotonites together. “I’ve lost enough self-respect from this,” Rekchellet continued alone. “Asking for help from anyone but personal friends and sharers of responsibility would make it worse.” His beak snapped firmly shut, and he stared hard at Hugh. Reekess was looking at Rekchellet; Hugh couldn’t read any expression on her features but was fairly sure she approved his words, but asking one of the closely watching Naxians was hardly advisable.
“All right. I tell only Janice, and Reekess tells whomever she considers appropriate. She can make up the group to go out to the Pole. We’ll run it pretty much as we planned before, but this time carry food for everyone on the flier. You decide, Reekess, whether we take few enough folks to cram aboard or whether it’s all the flying people I can talk out of Barrar.
“And if anyone comes up with the smallest glimmering of an idea why we’re wanted out there, and how we can keep from doing just what Ennissee wants when we do arrive, please tell me before we start!”
He intended to get another opinion on that point, of course, but not to confide that matter to the Crotonites.
An hour and a half later, they were back in Pwanpwan, and Hugh had made contact with Barrar. The Samian seemed unconcerned about the loss of Rekchellet’s services for a time, and didn’t even appear greatly bothered by the fact that the aircraft were all in use again and it would be a day or so before Hugh and Reekess could be picked up. The Erthuma was beginning to wonder what a steady job of chipping ice at the bottom of a lake of liquid air would be like when the administrator went on: “There’s something Spreadsheet-Thinker wants checked at Pwanpwan while you’re there. We understand there’s another fossil dig being planned,” Hugh’s eyebrows shot up, “and we’d like details. Apparently the entire crew is native, which is reasonable enough, but makes it awkward for Guild contact. You have Habra friends — you’ve been here longer than most Erthumoi, longer than most anyone except the Crotonites, and I can’t see using them where tact is wanted.” Hugh glanced at Reekess, but she seemed to be developing the sort of control Rekchellet had learned. She showed no sign of irritation. “Let us know when you hear something, please,” Barrar continued. “Then we’ll send an aircraft as soon as possible for the two of you.”