Hugh disliked and was embarrassed by pretentious language, but had found long ago that when hampered by code restraints he usually came out ahead using longer but fewer words. It was much easier to let the translators handle vocabulary than to do his own circumlocutions by hand.
He knew that Janice was storing every precious sentence in her memory to use against him later, but didn’t grudge her that bit of fun. He could usually hold his own in marital repartee.
He watched the accident victim being towed upward for a few seconds, then got back to code work.
“Report and info request from Safety One. Naxian H’Feer thermal injury, receiving help. Director, please report on task interrupted and replacement needed.”
The translator responded at once.
“Cra’eth, Equipment Management. H’Feer was taking a projector to the next window site. It will not be urgently needed until the corresponding window in the other pit has been at least rough-polished, probably in another hour. I can most likely find someone to get it there; I will report within ten minutes to Watch if I succeed and to Administration if I have trouble.”
“Logged at Watch,” another translated voice supplemented, and then went on less formally, “This is Rek, Cedars. It looked from here as though the rescue was actually done by that robot — the digger. Should we keep quiet about it?”
“Quiet, not necessarily. Tactful, yes,” keyed Janice. “Keep an honest log, certainly; we can’t distort data.”
“Of course. Both of us will want to talk to you when we get off watch, though.” “How long will that be?”
“A little over four more hours for me, six for s Nash.”
“You both want to talk it over?”
“Very much,” came the translated voice of the Naxian.
“That could be a little harder. Jan and I could ski again while Rek goes flying for fun; but what do you folks do outdoors — for amusement, that is— around here?”
“I can show you — well, maybe not. I can tell you. You’d have trouble doing it, and I doubt that you’d enjoy it, but I’ll explain some time if you’re really curious. I’ll meet you and Rekchellet at the foot of the west slope of the main waste dump at — let’s say nineteen even.”
“Fine.”
“And please have a robot there, if you can find a way to make its presence convenient and reasonable,” added S’Nash.
“Will an ice worker from the dumps be suitable?” asked Janice.
“I would think so.” The translated voices from the watch station fell silent. Hugh and his wife looked at each other, frankly and intensely puzzled, but decided to say nothing even in code for the time being. They swam, not too quickly, to the surface of the Pit, found one of the numerous ladders, ramps, and scoops which allowed members of the various species working on the Project to emerge when necessary — though in Habranha’s gravity there was never any real trouble about this — and made their way to their own quarters.
These were currently very uncomfortable, being full of pressure fluid, but at least the Erthumoi could remove their armor and enjoy some physical contact. They could also talk privately; vocal cords were still useless, but the microphones which normally picked up and broadcast their code through the structure could be cut off, and, of course, after a few Common Years of married companionship they could bypass code for much of what they wanted to say.
“Does S’Nash actually want to talk to a robot? It’s pretty hard to believe.”
“Not quite as hard as though it were Rek,” Janice answered thoughtfully. “If it/he had asked for the digger who made the rescue, I could believe there was some progress here. I don’t see what it/he can want that could be fulfilled by just any robot, though.”
“Rek was listening, and didn’t object. Maybe…” Hugh’s code cut off, and his expressive hands stopped moving.
“Maybe what?”
“Crotonites are often good technicians, and Rek should have no trouble regarding a robot as a machine — in fact, we know he doesn’t; we’ve known him for a long time now, and for a Crotonite he’s pretty tolerant. He hasn’t called either of us a slug, or even seemed to think of us that way, for three years or more.”
“Habra years, you mean.”
“Naturally.” Hugh drifted upright in the liquid; he had removed his armor since no one would miss a chance to do this even for a few minutes, but he was wearing enough belt and ankle ballast to maintain neutral buoyancy in the dense stuff. He went on, “I don’t think this is Rek’s idea at all, though this sort of guessing does no good. We know him pretty well, and for my money the whole proposal is probably S’Nash’s idea.”
“If Rek didn’t approve, he’d have made it clear when we were asked to meet them. We both know him well enough for that. Rekchellet has become positively fond of you and me…” Janice’s signals carried no trace of smugness, but her facial expression did— “but I don’t think he’s extended that feeling to all Erthumoi, much less to the rest of the Six.”
“Right. We’re building on wind, as Rek would say. Let’s eat and get out to the meeting. Much as I like this project, I wish we could spend a few days without juice. I can do without talking, but eating is supposed to be fun.”
Janice nodded, and they ingested nourishment. The reflexes normally closing the human breathing passage when the owner swallows had been neutralized to allow “breathing” of the diving fluid. Eating, therefore, required extreme care, and was confined to substances loose enough not to need chewing but firm and cohesive enough to go down the esophagus together once started in the right direction. Stuff which broke up like cake crumbs could be dangerous; the coughing reflex had also been blocked since this would have ruptured liquid-filled lungs. Careful and rather skilled work with a hand pump was needed when food went the wrong way. If the person concerned was also wearing an environment suit, the problem could become really complicated, though the Cedars had now faced even this emergency often enough to regard it as more of a nuisance than a catastrophe.
They never went anywhere alone, however, while set up for deep diving, except for office or lab where help was nearby.
Funnels sealed directly to the trachea and extending outside the mouth to allow more control over what did reach the windpipe had been suggested often and tried occasionally, but so far had proved less than satisfactory.
Fed, or at least nourished, the couple resumed and tested their armor, left their quarters, made their way to the main residence air lock, checked out with the watch, and headed west.
They were not wearing skis this time; it was not necessary to climb over the piles of ice dust extracted from the Pits, and the level surfaces of Pitville were not dangerously slippery. This had not always been so, but the dust-fine water snow had now been beaten down within the settlement into a solid, almost clear ice pavement by passing feet, armored bellies, wheels, and treads. At the local temperatures, this ice was barely slippery except under pressures not likely to be provided by an Erthuma body on foot under Habranhan gravity. Powdered finely enough, though, the area of contact between grains or flakes could be small enough for moderate force to provide melting pressure; one could ski, or make snowballs.
The path was nearly dark. Energy was cheap, but lighting equipment had not been wasted except where it was considered important. The brightest object in the sky was Fafnir, currently at a distance which made it about as bright as Earth’s full moon. It hung some fifteen degrees above the northwest horizon, so shadows were long. At the moment, thin clouds from the day side gave the sunlet a vague halo and hid most of the other stars.