Lucy moistened her lips. She couldn't pay attention. One of the younger men went out of the shack. She strained her ears as she heard him move about outside.
"People should listen to us archaeologists more," said Clark. He didn't seem to care whether anyone listened or not. "In the old days—five hundred to fifty thousand years back—things changed slowly. Kingdoms fell and civilizations died, but never in a rush. Those things happened because climates changed and people had to move, and fight for a place to move to. But those things didn't happen overnight. Things are different nowadays.
"When my grandfather was a boy, men fastened clean stiff collars and cuffs to their shirts so they could wear the body of the shirt for a full week. Women canned vegetables for winter. They swept with brooms, washed in tubs, and made their own soap.
Then, suddenly, they got vacuum cleaners and detergents and preserved foods and washing machines and dishwashers. Things changed fast! And what did we people do? What did women do with all their new leisure? With the time they didn't have to spend sweeping and washing and canning and making soap? You know what they did! They raised their standards of what was clean and how their families should be fed and how often they should take a bath. They cancelled out their spare time! They raised their sights; they aimed higher, to keep from having leisure!
"The same with men. There was a time when a man with a flint hoe might cultivate a garden the size of a city lot. Then he got better tools. He got livestock. But did he keep to the same size garden and enjoy the leisure he could have? Hell, no! He started to farm acres. Tens of acres. Then hundreds! We humans can't take leisure. We simply can't take it!"
He grinned around the strictly temporary shack, which smelled of sawdust and unpainted wood.
"And now," he asked of the floors and walls, "now what will we do? Our way of life has to change, and practically overnight. If what the Greks have given us makes us need to work only one day a week, and not at all for three-quarters of our lives, what'll we do? The one thing certain is that we won't loaf! That's the curse of Adam, that we have to work whether we need to or not. We have to. What new set of demands will we make of ourselves to cancel out leisure such as the Greks are thrusting on us?"
Hackett shrugged, still watching the television screen.
There were footsteps outside. Lucy tensed. But it was the young man who'd gone out a few minutes before. He came in and said, "The Greks are entertaining. I just saw a man come out of the ship. He's a big shot, to judge by his medals. A foreigner. As soon as he was out, another man went in. He wore a diplomatic uniform too."
"The Greks are giving audiences," said Clark, "to prominent citizens. Representatives of the big nations. Why?"
There was no answer. The television screen showed a very famous comedy star making a speech to the celebrators. Not all that he said could be heard, but he cracked jokes, orated humorously about the wonderful time everybody was having, and then made a practiced transition to a pathetic-patriotic bit, spouted for the Greks whom all delighted to honor. When he was done, the camera shot changed and a voice announced that through satellite relay there would be a series of scenes from other farewell parties around the world.
They were only selections, of course. There were too many parties for even half to be transmitted over oceans. Those that were shown were dull. New Delhi. Alexandria. Berlin. Paris. Stockholm. Mexico City. Edinburgh.
A light began to flick off and on in the corner where equipment for archaeological research was stacked. One of the three young men called out. Clark snapped off the television. Someone adjusted something, listening painstakingly.
There came thumphing sounds. The four men in the archaeological party listened with strained attention. There was a metallic clank and then more cushioned bumping sounds. To Hackett it sounded like things being thrown into a hole.
Clark said swiftly, "Underground microphone listening under the Grek ship. It sounds as if they're filling up their garbage pit before leaving. The Army let me hear a tape of the same kind of noises. They've picked it up several times."
They continued to listen. The atmosphere in the little shack was very peculiar. Rough planking formed the walls of the single room. The floor was unfinished, but in one corner there was a pile of equipment for cryptic uses. One of the younger archaeologists hung over a particular instrument, from which indefinite sounds came at erratic intervals.
Hackett saw Lucy's expression, and moved a chair to where she could sit comfortably. The noises went on. There were more clanking sounds, and presently the irregular and intermittent noises ceased and a steady thumping took its place.
"They're finished with the garbage," said Clark. "They're putting in a top fill of dirt, and tamping it. Tidying up before they go away."
The thumping sounds continued for a time; then they stopped. The strained attention of the occupants of the shack lessened. Clark looked pleased. "We'll have something to dig up; that's certain!"
One of the younger archaeologists said, "Five gets you ten there's stuff in there from halfway around the world."
Clark spread out his hands. He wouldn't bet. Hackett asked, "Why? Did they ask for samples of stuff?"
"It's an argument," said the one who'd offered the bet. "Nobody's sure, but there've been Johnson detector reports from different places. Some people say the Greks have a flying something—nobody's seen it—and that they've made some exploration flights."
"But radar—"
"We've tried to make things radar-black, so they'll absorb radar frequencies and not reflect any of them. We haven't succeeded too well, though the Greks may have. But a Johnson detector would spot a flying thing because it wasn't the same temperature as the sky. That's .what's been reported. In a heavy rain, though, or even through clouds, a Johnson detector isn't all one could wish. If they picked storms to take off and return in, we couldn't be sure. Maybe that's what they've done."
Hackett said, "But there's been no hint of such a thing in the news."
"Naturally," said Clark blandly. "The Greks are our friends. In a way, they're our Santa Clauses. Who'd suspect Santa Claus of anything wrong? Why, the bombs under their ship can't be set off!"
Then his tone changed. "Actually, nobody's sure. And in strict honesty, the bombs and the microphones were planted before we were certain they meant us no harm. What's been done in the way of radar watch and so on—including the Johnson detector stuff—was practically routine. We humans like to find out things. The Greks told us plenty, but we wanted to find out more. It's curiosity, not necessarily suspicion."
He moved to turn the television set on again.
"Anyhow, to most people news is purely entertainment. They know what they want to hear. They tune out everything else. So the networks don't broadcast anything that would offend anybody. And anything suggesting bad faith by the Greks—That would be too frightening! The great, democratic, enlightened public would raise the devil!"
He turned the switch. The television screen lighted again. There was a "Special Bulletin" fine on it. A voice said: ". . . Hackett and a Doctor Lucy Thale, who rushed him to a human hospital, communicated with the Grek ship, and thereby saved his fife. The Grek commander wishes to express his gratitude to these two persons. Will they get in touch with the commander through any human authority? All human officials have been asked to bring them to the Grek ship to receive evidences of the gratitude the Greks wish to express."
The "Special Bulletin" line vanished. The farewell party came back. It was essentially unchanged. The floor was practically invisible because of the crowd which believed it was dancing. There were some areas, though, where people had given up the attempt to hear the music and merely walked about or talked, assuring themselves and each other that they were enjoying themselves hugely. And there were more drunks.