“Do you really think there’s much likelihood of that?” asked Deeslenver.
“It’s hard to tell. Certainly we’ve been a bit less than completely frank with them, and we have what we consider some very good reasons for it. I’m not really bothered either way. We know some of these people are good at business, and if we can’t keep even with them it’s our fault. All I really would like to be sure of is wheter it’s business or carelessness. I can think of one way to check up, but I’d rather not use it yet; if anyone can suggest an alternative, it will be very welcome.”
“What’s the one yo8u have?” both scientists asked together, Deeslenver perhaps half a syllable ahead.
“The Esket , of course. It’s the only place where we Can get an independent check on what they tell us. At least, I haven’t thought of any other so far. Of course, even that would take a long time; there won’t be another flight from there until sunrise, and that’s twelve hundred hours or so away. Of course, we could send the Deedee even at night—”
“If we’d set up that light relay I suggested—” began Deeslenver.
“Too risky. It would have much too big a chance of being seen. We just don’t know how good the human instruments are. I know most of them stay ‘way up at that station overhead, but I don’t know what they can see from it. The casual way they distribute these picture senders for us to carry around here on this planet suggests that they don’t regard them as very fancy equipment, as does the fact that they used them twelve years ago on Mesklin. There’s just too much chance that they’d spot any light on the night side of this planet. That’s why I overrode your idea, Dee; otherwise, I admit it was a very good one.”
“Well, there’s nothing like enough metal yet for electrical contract that far,” added Bendivence. “And I don’t have any other ideas at the moment — though come to think of it, you might make a simple test on how well the humans can pick up lights.”
“How?” the question came in body attitudes, not verbally.
“We could ask them innocently if there were any way of their hunting for the running lights or the floods of the missing fliers.”
Barlennan pondered the suggestion briefly.
“Good. Excellent. Let’s go — though if they say they can’t, we won’t be sure that they aren’t just keeping it from us. You might be thinking of a further check for that.” He led the way out of the map room where the discussion had been held, and along the corridors of the Settlement toward the communication room. Most of the passageways were relatively dark; the sponsors of the expedition had not stinted on the supply of artificial lights, but Barlennan himself had been rather close-nippered with their distribution. Rooms were adequately lighted; hallways had a bare minim of illumination.
This gave the Mesklinites the comforting feeling that there was nothing overhead, by letting them see the stars without too much trouble. No native of that planet was really happy to face the fact that there was anything in a position to fall on him. Even the scientists glanced up occasionally as they went, taking comfort from the sigh even of starts not their own. Mesklin’s sun, which men called 61 Cygni, was below the horizon at the moment.
Barlennan looked upward more than he looked ahead, but he was trying to get a glimpse of the human station. This carried a beacon light visible from Dhrawn as a fourth magnitude “star,” ant its barely visible crawl against the celestial background was the best long-term clock the Mesklinites had. They used it to rest the pendulum-type instruments which they had made, but which seldom agreed with each other for more than a few score hours at a time.
Stars and station alike faded from view as the trio entered the brightly lighted communication room. Guzmeen saw Barlennan and instantly reported, “No further news of either flier.”
“What reports have you had from Dondragmer between the time the Kwembly ran aground and now — the last hundred and thirty hours or so? Do you know how long ago Don’s first officer disappeared?”
“Only roughly, sir, to the last question. The incident was reported, but nothing specific was said about how recently it had happened. I took for granted it had just occurred, but didn’t ask. The two disappearances were reported quite close together — less than an hour apart.”
“And you didn’t wonder when the second one came in why we heard about both disappearances so nearly simultaneously, even though they must have occurred some time apart?”
“Yes, sir. I started wondering about a quarter of an hour before you did, when the last message came in. I don’t have any explanation, but I thought I’d leave it to you to ask the humans if you think one is needed.”
Bendivence cut it. “Do you suppose Don failed to report the first disappearance because it resulted from a mistake, and he hope to be able to minimize it by reporting disappearance and recovery at the same time as a minor incident?”
Barlennan looked at the speaker speculatively, but lost no time in answering.
“No, I don’t suppose that. Dondragmer and I don’t always agree on everything, but there are some things that neither of us would do.”
“Even if an immediate report couldn’t really make a difference? After all, neither we nor the human beings could really help even after we’d heard the news.”
“Even then.”
“I don’t see why.”
“I do. Take my word for it; I haven’t time for a detailed explanation, and I doubt that I could compose one anyway. If Dondragmer failed to make that initial report, he had a very good reason; and personally I doubt very much that the failure was his. Guz, which humans gave you the reports? Was it always the same one?”
“No, sir. I didn’t recognize all their voices, and they often didn’t bother to identify themselves. About half the time nowadays the reports come in human language. Most of the rest come from the Hoffman humans. There are others who speak our language, but those two seem the only ones who do it comfortably. With the young one particularly, I got the impression that he’d been talking a lot with the Kwembly, and I assumed that if there were casual chatter going on, nothing much serious could be happening.”
“All right. I’d probably have done the same. I’ll use the set; I have a couple of questions to put to the humans.” Barlennan took his place in front of the pickup, the speaker on watch making way for him without being ordered. The screen was blank. The captain squeezed the “attention” control and waited patiently for the minute to pass. He could have started talking at once, since it was a safe bet that whoever was at the other end would lose no time readying his receiver, but Barlennan wanted to see who was there. If the delay made anyone suspicious, he’d have to live with it.
The face which did appear was unfamiliar to him. Even fifty Earth-years of acquaintance with human beings had not sufficed to educate him in such matters as family resemblance, though no human being would have failed to guess that Benj was Easy’s son. Actually, the fifty years had not supplied many different people for comparison; fewer than two score men, and no women, had even landed on Mesklin. Guzmeen recognized the boy, but was spared the need to tell Barlennan by Benj himself.
“Benj Hoffman here,” the image spoke. “Nothing has come form the Kwembly since Mother called you about twenty minutes ago, and there are no engineers or scientists in this room at the moment. If you have questions which need technical answers, tell me so I can call the right one. If it’s just a matter of detail in what’s been happening, I’ve been here in the comm room most of the time for the last seven hours and can probably tell you. I’m waiting.”