Fossil

Chapter Thirteen Every Idea Has To Face Its Test

“Why, how, and how do you know?” The questions came with surprising speed, considering the usual pace of Samian thought, and at a much more moderate volume than the initial reaction. Hugh answered them together, describing his conversation with Mahare Chen in detail though not verbatim.

“Ennissee is from Wildwind, where a lot of Seventh Race material has been found. Crotonites like to assume that it was a flying species, though if you really corner one he’ll usually admit there’s no real proof. It’s generally taken for granted, though, on Wildwind, and often carried to feeling that Crotonites are the natural heirs to any relics left by the Seventh Race.”

“I’ve heard of that idea, but never took it seriously.”

r “I don’t see why anyone should, but people do. Anyway, when Habranha was discovered by Crotonites a few decades ago — Common time, not Habra; they’ve been here longer than any of us — it turned out likely for chemical reasons that the Habras hadn’t evolved here but are descendants of some colonizing race. Since there is only one other star-faring species we’ve ever had a trace of, and the Habras certainly aren’t related to any of the Six, the natural implication sent the wilder Wildwinders out of control.

“To boil things down, Ennissee came here to ‘prove’ that the Habras had evolved here. Like a lot of true believers, he didn’t much care how he did it; he was spreading the truth, and if he had to juggle mere facts a bit to convince the unbelievers that was all right. Personally I don’t think much of that attitude, but I can’t say all Erthumoi are above it. How many other Wildwinders were in it with him, or even how many would go that far, I have no idea, but I’m afraid we’ll have to publicize this affair in the interests of ordinary historical honesty and protection of the naive.”

“But — well, yes, of course. I see that. But what evidence other than the word of this Erthuma do you have that the fossils are false? How were they made? Was the first body…”

“The first body was genuine enough, and fairly modern. Jan has it well inside carbon range in age, and of course it’s a perfectly ordinary native. It’s a real accident or storm victim, apparently, found by Ennissee on Darkside. Chen says there were several more at the same site, but that Ennissee had said one was enough.”

“He told me it had come from just a few meters down,” said Barrar, “and he was sure it was recent, too, but he said he found it with his mole instruments while he was testing it and deciding where to start boring. Now I wonder how good the mole was, really. I never went very far down in it.”

“Oh, it seems to have been all he told you, according to Chen. Janice has found quite a bit of the plant stuff from Ennissee’s base to be beyond carbon range in age. It could have done good work. I hope it can be rebuilt. He destroyed it to keep anyone from checking the spot where he claimed to have found the second specimen.”

“Destroyed it!” How could he? It was — it was useful! How could anyone destroy such a thing? A mass-produced truck, or aircraft, or communicator, something easy to replace, one could understand; but this was specially designed equipment! And how could he have taken such a chance with the Erthumoi and me?”

“The explosion was thermite, set off under the ice where he’d parked it. Of course the steam made it impressive, and he must have been planning the whole thing well in advance to have so much thermite at the site. He would certainly never have used it for fossil digging. I’m a little surprised that the building you and the Erthumoi were in survived. I know the stuff isn’t really an explosive, but that much of it under ice would have to make a lot of steam. He probably cared a little more about you and his workers than he did for Rekchellet, but not too much. He also knew about when we would be coming — didn’t he? You were out there, after all.”

“Yes,” admitted the Samian after a pause. “He left in the aircraft I had used to get there, shortly before you arrived. I still can’t believe he would have risked us.”

“I’ve always been unhappy with coincidences,” answered Hugh, feeling a trace of smugness which presumably didn’t show in his key work. “After all, he must have had a flyer from somewhere. I’m sure you didn’t deliberately send him to Pwanpwan on one of the Pitville machines, but you might ask whoever piloted you out there last time just where he or she dropped the Crotonite off.” Ged made no answer.

“And you didn’t know what happened to Rekchellet until afterward,” Janice remarked. The Samian seemed, if anything, grateful for the change of subject; Hugh felt he would have a lot to ask S’Nash at their next meeting.

“Yes. I am friendly with many of the local Habras, just as you are, and had asked them to help me keep in touch with Ennissee whenever he was in the neighborhood. Some of them helped when we brought the frozen body back by air. The truck has never been very far from Pitville; Ennissee set up the autodriver and its record after he decided we were ready to get you people out to his dig and display the first body.”

“You got it that long ago?”

“Oh, yes. Several years. He was going to show you the mole, and all the other specimens he had collected, and his records — everything, he told me. That was why I was so upset when the mole was destroyed, and begged so hard for the material to be taken here for Janice to examine. How did he actually get the specimen? You say it’s faked somehow?”

“Yes. You’ve wandered off the question of how you found out about Rekchellet.”

“Oh. Sorry. When Ennissee asked them to help him take Rek’s translator and tracker, they complied because it seemed to fit my request but weren’t really happy about it. They decided to watch Rek, too. Unfortunately, only one of them at a time did this while the others reported back to me. She saw the two Crotonites leave the truck, followed them, saw them land together, and then start to fly once more with Ennissee drawing ahead. My instructions had been to watch Ennissee, so she lost track of Rekchellet fairly soon. However, she had a very good idea of his actual path. She also knew just what he was wearing and carrying, so that she knew what he — well, about the only word is ‘looked’ like to Habra electrical senses. She was in your search group, not by chance I assure you; I had managed to get instructions to my people by then. She was responsible for the change in search pattern which bothered you, I gather, but which resulted in Rekchellet’s being found.”

“Why didn’t she just tell the story? We could have concentrated on the right area much sooner.”

“She wanted to, and was bothered by the conflicting requests. She didn’t have a clear idea of what was going on, and did not want to upset either your plans or mine.”

“She’s one of my people, too?”

“Yes. Holly. A very capable person. You should tell your assistants more of the background when you have them out on missions. She could have decided much more quickly and easily.”

“But if Ennissee wanted Rek found while he was still alive to serve as a test subject for the Naxians, he must have made some such arrangement, too. Didn’t you know about that?”

“Of course not. I knew nothing about his plans then, or about what happened to Rekchellet after he and Ennissee separated until you told me you were looking for him. Then I got word to Holly through other Habras. Now let’s get back to my question, please. How was that primitive specimen made, if it wasn’t real?”

“It’s an experimental tissue culture from the Naxian bio lab, part of their early work toward repairing Habras. Chen didn’t know how Ennissee got hold of it, but he’d been up there finding out about their repair methods, remember. Maybe seeing that thing scared him enough to make him unwilling to take a chance on being the first Crotonite to go through the line.”

“Maybe. If that’s so, maybe he did want Rek found, too, after he’d been fairly well frozen, as you say, and would have made sure it happened even if I hadn’t. We’ll really have to talk to that (no-symbol-equivalent). But you should have told Holly and the others…”

“You should. She knew we were looking for Rek, and that he might be in danger. Your secrecy was unimportant compared…”

“Save it. please. Cultured Beings,” Janice cut in. “We have most of the picture now, and blame doesn’t seem useful. It’s happened, and at the moment Ged seems to be suffering most. He no longer has a subject for his paper, which means quite a lot to him, I gather.”

“It shouldn’t take a Naxian to tell you that,” admitted Barrar.

“It didn’t. S’Nash isn’t here, for once,” answered Hugh.

“I know. It/he is here, to help me compare earlier duty arrangements with the ones I’m trying to set up. I thought some time ago it was time to put his communication and recording specialties to work, instead of using him mostly on safety watch, but he couldn’t get to me until now. I’ll have to pin its/his schedule down more firmly.”

“Leaving, I hope, some spaces in your own,” keyed Hugh. “I did suggest to Chen that she and her friend might recover grace by helping you rebuild the mole. And who is on watch? My own job screen, which I thought I’d made out myself, shows blank for the next sixty hours.”

“That’s one of the things I’ve been rearranging. Get some sleep. You start sentry in two and a half hours. Janice, I’m not scheduling you; I assume you’re planning lab work around your own need for sleep, and I don’t have you posted for anything else. If the two of you will let me get back to work, we can talk later.” The communication panel went blank, and Hugh’s schedule screen suddenly filled.

“For once, I hope watch stays boring,” Hugh said slowly. “There’s too much here for me to get straight all at once. I wish I didn’t have to fill my mental chart one box at a time.”

“Don’t change. At least, don’t turn Locrian. I prefer mammals. And don’t let it keep you awake,” replied his wife. “Get that sleep Ged advised. I’m going back to the lab.”

She turned toward the door, but lingered while Hugh thought for a moment, then recorded a message to Barrar, to be taken at the latter’s convenience. She listened with interest.

“Remember the submarine fossil hunt. I have contacts, if you want.” Janice grinned and left.

No one was surprised that Ged did want, or that he scheduled Hugh for contact with the submarine group a very small fraction of a year later. For once, the latter spent no time wondering whether he should get rid of the diving juice. There had been some sort of breakthrough in Habra armor design, and he would, he hoped, have to be back in Pitville fairly soon to train native Pit workers. Janice, the Cold Pole material all dated and her regular work back at routine level, went with him.

Bill was not at sea, though about to be under it, according to the word Hugh and Janice received in Pwanpwan. There was little difficulty in confirming that the submarine he commanded was in its usual port, and with a small flyer at their complete discretion — they wondered whether Spreadsheet-Thinker knew about it — the fact that the port was a thousand kilometers farther north meant nothing. There was no such thing as a large city on the planet. Even streetless Pwanpwan could be crossed by an Erthuma on foot in an hour or two, since the winged natives had no particular reason to assemble large aggregates of dwellings. Their principal industry was agriculture. Such devices as electric or fusion powered submarines with open framework hulls made of wood or plastic were merely an adjunct to farming, and the fact that Erthumoi science historians had trouble feeling right about this made it no less true.

The Cedars decided to update initially from someone other than Shefcheeshee; it seemed a good idea to face the Cephallonian with ammunition which could provide leading questions.

Bill would not be leaving port for another twenty hours or so, and responded happily within a few minutes to Hugh’s paging. Habranha’s social amenities did not include bars or anything very similar; few intelligent flying species went far in personal use of chemicals which interfered with either sensory acuity, motor coordination, or breathing efficiency. The Erthumoi, however, had foresightedly brought snacks for themselves, and the three ate on the ice beside Bill’s ship while talking.

The sea bottom fossil hunt was still going on, but its personnel remained in touch with the Iris and were reporting positive results. Very positive. Organic remains, it seemed, occupied practically every cubic meter of the sediments. They were seldom well preserved, and so far had consisted almost entirely of species known to use ATP rather than azide. As deeply as had been probed so far, they were not truly fossilized; the material was mostly original tissue, though of course more decomposed than that found in Darkside ice. Mineralized remains might, of course, be found in deeper strata.

This lent hope that Habra relics might turn up some time, but no one expected that it would be soon. The current hypothesis was that azide remains were destroyed by microorganisms of their own sort before or shortly after reaching the bottom; this was considered to lend some support to the idea that the Habras had come from elsewhere, too recently for really effective ATP scavengers to have evolved from the microorganisms they had presumably brought with them. Not even the sternest critic of Wildwind logic would call it proof, however.

The philosophical implications were fascinating, but Bill lacked time to go into them deeply; he had to start pre-castoff checks for his submarine’s next trip. His farewells included best wishes for their planned interview with Shefcheeshee.

“That alien’s not really a student,” the Habra remarked. “He’s helpful, knows a lot of the appropriate technology, but he’s extremely emotional, it seems to me. He gets very excited about things. He usually has several Naxian Snoop-players in tow.”

‘What’s a Snoop-player? That’s new to me,” said Janice.

“You find them where people are doing dangerous or otherwise exciting or surprising things. You know Naxians read emotions.”

“Of course.”

“Some of the less usefully employed, to put it kindly, make a sport of finding excited or stressed beings and trying to read them in as much detail as possible. I gather they try to describe the emotions competitively, later, and I’ve heard that some of them try to recreate the feelings for themselves; but it’s hard to get a Naxian to talk about that. I only heard that much when I finally got very annoyed with one who wouldn’t get out of the way when I was preparing to launch. Apparently I frightened it/ him, thereby arousing gratitude in several others.”

Hugh was very thoughtful as they left their winged friend, Janice even more so. Neither felt sure how closely the Habra version of Naxian amusement matched that mentioned by Barrar, but there could easily be a connection.

After walking for a while through the maze of the port — in spite of the minimal Habras use for streets, their most recent settlements on the cold side of the Iris had made some concession to the presence of wingless aliens — Hugh asked slowly, with his translator off, “How do you feel about being used?”

Janice looked surprised, but followed his example with her own instrument before answering. “I don’t suppose I’d like it, except when it’s mutual, of course.”

Her husband shrugged impatiently. “I don’t mean that. Do you remember when S’Nash confessed to Rek about ‘using’ him, at that meeting it/he’d called with us and the robot?”

“Of course. I wondered then why it/he admitted it in front of us. Some of the things said during the apology I thought must be aimed at us, but I couldn’t see any way to make sure.”

“Neither could I. When S’Nash first asked us to that meeting it/he said something about making it look normal. I pointed out that we ski for fun, and Rekchellet flies for fun, but I didn’t know what Naxians did which would make good cover — well, I didn’t say it just that way, but you don’t always pick your words carefully talking with Naxians; they know what you mean most of the time anyway, from the feelings that go along with the words. Right?”

“Supposedly,” Janice answered carefully. “I’ve wondered for years — and I don’t mean Habra years — how that sense of theirs works, and I’m sure it must have limits.”

“They’re not supposed to be able to read thoughts.”

“No. On the other hand, no rational beings would want it generally known if they could.” The woman was still coding slowly, as though her ideas were far ahead of her words and only a fraction of her mind were back keeping her sentences coherent.

“You think they can?”

“No. I’m almost sure they can’t. I’ve been trying to figure out how they do it for a long, long time, and I’ve set up situations where a Naxian would be put in an awkward position unless it could get my real thoughts, and they’ve always fallen into the trap.”

“Have you ever set one of your traps so the Naxian would be badly hurt or killed?” “No. Of course not.”

“Then you can’t be sure. They’d certainly go a long way to keep a secret like that. Risking ridicule or even pain would mean nothing. You or I could put up with it as long as we thought it was important. We have to credit them with as much guts as we have. As far as ridicule goes their own people would know the truth, and they wouldn’t care about our ridicule.”

“True.” Janice thought for a moment. “I still don’t think they’re really mind readers, but I admit my reason’s a bit circular. I’ve been incubating a theory, and it doesn’t lead that way, and good deal has happened lately to support it, including what Bill said a few minutes ago.”

“What’s your idea?”

“I suspect that they sort of muscle read. That they perceive the tiniest motions and twitches and physical reactions in the people they see, and that some aspect of their nervous systems — some built-in wiring we’ll be a very long time understanding because we don’t have it — gives them a special facility in associating those reactions with fear or anger or libido or the feeling that goes with knowing you’ve just told a lie. Remember S’Nash’s pattern-spotting out on the road?”

“But the reactions would be different for different species, and the Naxians can…”

“I know they can. I’d bet they have to learn. I’m postulating something we can’t imagine in detail for the same reason we can’t imagine a dog’s universe of odor, except that I think the difference with the Naxians is more in processing than in perception. It fits with S’Nash’s remark that Samians were a particular challenge — remember?” Hugh nodded.

“Look, you can learn fantastic, detailed things if you start early enough,” she went on. “You know your own language, which is complex enough. You can distinguish my voice from my sister’s, which is fantastic. The average human being can identify hundreds of people by face; with the right cultural start they apply the same ability to identifying tracks of people or animals they’re following — without conscious analysis, they dismiss the part of the landscape which is undisturbed and notice what has been upset in some way practically invisible to others. I’m not saying it very well, but…”

“But you’re using extremely good analogies. All right, it’s at least testable. You think what Bill said about Snoop-players fits in?”

“Yes, especially with the idea that it’s something they can learn, and improve with practice.”

“I like it. It fits my thoughts, too.”

“What part of them?”

“My question of a few minutes ago: How do you like being used?”

“But you wouldn’t say a Naxian was using you as long as it/he just read your emotions! That wouldn’t be any worse than,” she smiled, rather impishly, “girl-watching, would it?”

Hugh let only a flicker of her smile cross his own face.

“No,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t mind, as long as it stays a — well, a spectator sport. If I ever had reason to suppose I were being manipulated to cause me to have special emotions, or if I got the idea that I had even the most remote resemblance to a gladiator in an arena, I would certainly feel differently.”

“Of course you would. So would I. But no one’s pushing us around. Who could?”

“I don’t know, and hate to sound paranoid. I just can’t help wondering whether everyone associated with us who has caused us anxiety, worry, fear, or their opposites in the last few Habra years, let’s say, has been acting with complete, comprehensible common sense? That they’re not being pushed around?”

“But we can’t expect them to! They’re not all Erthumoi…”

“And only we have common sense?”

“Don’t be silly. You know what I mean. Each race has different ideas of what makes for common sense.”

“Or ethics? Down at the life-risking level?” Janice was silent. So was her husband, for a time, but before they reached the aircraft he keyed out one more notion, or part of one.

“I was wondering how Shefcheeshee got his harness tangled in that thruster. I wish I’d examined it more closely, and not just worked them apart.” Janice said nothing.

Finding the Cephallonian through the Guild office was not too difficult, but starting a conversation once he was found was another matter. The Cedars had worked with Cephallonians before and liked them — Janice, of course, liked everybody. It is, however, awkward to talk to someone from even a very low flying aircraft when the party is swimming, and apparently totally absorbed in doing gymnastics with the wave patterns of a singularly chaotic ocean dotted with ice floes. It is worse when the floes are punctuated by city-sized bergs and a conscientious autopilot insists on moving the aircraft tens of meters with very little warning.

It is not, however, impossible, if one is patient. The porpoiselike swimmer eventually ceased his violent antics and slid out on top of a half-hectare floe, and began to check his environment suit and oxygen supply; the ammonia in Habranha’s sea was a strong irritant to Cephallonian skins, while the one third atmosphere oxygen partial pressure, high enough to be risky to human beings if breathed for too long, was inadequate for the sea folk when they were being really active. The Erthumoi were now able to get his attention. He had not been rude — they knew his kind well enough to be sure of that; he simply hadn’t noticed them. Hugh introduced his wife.

Shefcheeshee was as willing as before to talk at great length about anything connected with the deep-sea fossil project. This time he seemed more upset that no one had yet perfected a diving fluid for his race, so he could not reach the ocean bottom himself. Instead of happy reports, he complained extensively. Hugh wondered whether nothing had been learned from the sea bottom since their last conversation, or Shefcheeshee were simply in a different mood this time. The latter seemed more probable; the mere fact that the Cephallonian remembered everything he had said earlier to one Erthumoi appeared unlikely to stop him from going through it all over again for another.

Neither Janice nor Hugh tried to make suggestions; Habranha’s gravity was feeble, but under five hundred kilometers of water it still produced a hydrostatic pressure of about ten thousand bars. Vessels could be built to resist this, but not so far to let people work through their walls to dig rocks. The Cedars simply listened sympathetically, and eventually the subject matter became more interesting.

Shefcheeshee was as sure as anyone that the Habras were descendants of colonists, not indigenous to the planet, though he lacked strong feeling about the matter. In response to a question slipped in edgewise, he had heard of the Trueliners, but none of them had ever approached him with an attempt to change his mind on that subject. If any of them knew anything relevant, naturally, he’d be glad to hear it; could the Cedars put him in touch with such a person?

Hugh, carefully not looking at his wife, said that they knew an enthusiast on the subject who might be available in a few Common Days and would be, Hugh felt sure, most willing to expound his views. Shefcheeshee, shifting position to keep from melting his way too far into the floe, responded as they had hoped, with wild excitement.

“Wonderful! The Box at the digging site reports by sounder every thirty hours, and as soon as I can make a summary of its information I incorporate it in my next public presentation at the Port of Deep Study. I told you about the one after we first met; I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, but you are both welcome to the next, in about thirty hours. I intend it for the Habras mostly, of course, since the knowledge concerns their planet, but there are always many listeners.”

“Naxians, largely, I expect,” Hugh couldn’t resist suggesting.

“Oh, yes. It was a Naxian group which contributed heavily to the project originally. I was rather surprised, since an Erthumoi artificial brain was involved in the actual work, but they admitted that probably nothing else could be used at such depths since Habras would take a long time to train in the instrumentation and coring equipment, and there are too few Erthumoi free, competent, and interested. It’s a great pity that we have not yet produced a pressure fluid for my race, especially since we are, after all, the natural ones for undersea research.”

Janice started to key words at once sympathetic and discouraging to a return to that subject, but this proved unnecessary. The Cephallonian was wavering only slightly in his course.

“I have, of course, been tactful about the wordage of my explanations — if you were not Erthumoi I would say I had kept it clean where mention of the artificial mind is concerned; but you know what I mean.”

This time it was Hugh who agreed, but both filed the same thought. Naxians were probably the most likely of the Races to accept artificial intelligence eventually on pragmatic grounds, in spite of the Cephallonian philosophical bent. Since there were many more Naxians on Habranha anyway, this was probably convenient. The principal remaining uncertainty was the one newly raised by Bill’s information.

Were the supporters interested, pragmatic Naxians who would carry weight with the rest of their kind, or were they just the Snoop-players? And were Snoop-players more nearly the Naxian equivalent of artists, sport fans, or chemical dependents?

This didn’t seem to be anything which could be learned either from Shefcheeshee or by casual inquiry at the Guild office.

The talk with — more accurately, by — Shefcheeshee went on for nearly another hour, since there seemed no courteous way to terminate it, but both Erthumoi were guilty of allowing their thoughts to wander much of the time. Fortunately, the Cephallonian was quite content to talk, and asked few questions of his audience.

They both agreed, when he asked, to attend his next presentation, since they had already decided to do so; they wanted to observe any Naxian attendees themselves. The fact that their own feelings would be plain to the serpentine listeners could not be helped, and might possibly be made useful.

Shefcheeshee eventually decided that he was straining his oxygen budget, since he had fifty or sixty kilometers to swim. He once again made sure they would attend his talk, and slid into the water. The Erthumoi reentered their flier, which Hugh had parked on the floe after careful testing of the latter’s buoyancy, and decided to return to Pitville for sleep. There was after all ordinary work to be done, especially by Janice. They reported to Administration before going “home.”

They had forgotten to check on Ennissee at the Naxian medical station, and Ged claimed to be annoyed. He only forgave them, he said, because Rekchellet had been really responsible for the matter. It was too much trouble to point out that he could call the Naxians just as well himself; the couple simply listened. The Samian said nothing about S’Nash, and neither Erthuma caught sight of it/him between flier and office or office and home. They didn’t even think of individual Naxians.

Just of the species in general, and even more generally, the subject of Entertainment.

Neither Hugh nor his wife was surprised when Ged Barrar stated his intention of attending the Cephallonian talk. They were even less so when S’Nash appeared unannounced at the aircraft. The man gestured to Janice to take the controls, but the only one to speak was the Samian.

“It’s lucky I hadn’t started actually putting that article together,” he remarked. “But now that I think of it, maybe something could be made of it after all. Janice, did you find anything about the specimen itself to prove it was not genuine? Is there anything to go on except that Erthuma’s word?”

Hugh had given his wife the controls in the hope of sparing her this predictable inquisition, and did his best to answer for her.

“It was a good job, unless you want to call Ennissee just lucky. Remember, the Naxians do their culturing from chemically purified solutions and synthesized compounds, and start their synthesis from minerals — I think I mentioned Rekchellet’s complaining about that. Naturally, that meant there was no carbon-fourteen present in the specimen, since the carbon would have come from carbonate rock somewhere off Habranha, and it registered maximum age on that count. Of course, there was no argon-forty either and no way to tell whether there was too much calcium-forty; but the first was explainable enough. It was frozen in ice I, which has a very open structure, and you could argue that the argon had leaked out as fast as it formed.”

“How about the biological structure itself? Was it a reasonable one for an ancestral Habra?”

“I couldn’t say, except to point out that one dot on a graph — or two, if you count the present species— don’t go for much. McEachern didn’t seem very startled by anything, but of course he hasn’t had much time with it yet. The mere fact that it was an early attempt to grow a Habra body would have given something reasonable along that line, I’d guess.”

“Then we have only the Erthuma’s story?” Barrar was plainly disappointed. Hugh smiled rather grimly.

“No. There’s one other fact. According to the claim, the item was found at a depth of — I forget just how many kilometers, but it was far below the depth at which Ice I would change to the distinctly denser Ice III. I don’t know how the collection was done, but I don’t see how the body could have been brought down to normal pressure without a lot of cell damage as the ice changed back, or for that matter during the original compression. There’s no evidence of such damage. Its ice had never changed phase.”

“But wouldn’t there have been damage anyway as it froze originally? Liquid water expands as it forms Ice I. That’s why freezing is so bad for most life forms.”

“Habras, like Crotonites, have alcohols in their blood which inhibit crystallization, Jan says. You’ll really have to have a talk with McEachern, though, if you want enough details for a meaningful paper.”

“But Respected Opinion McEachern would expect…”

“Academic credit. So does Janice. We’re landing. We’ll have to show you the way. Shefcheeshee has a setup down at the port, here — a tank with microphones.”

Barrar showed no sign of being disgruntled either by Hugh’s last statement about his wife, or by the rather pointed change of subject, but of course the Erthuma couldn’t tell. S’Nash might be getting a real kick from the reaction, he suspected. Which is to he found out. He exchanged glances with Janice, who gave a half smile and nodded. It didn’t matter that S’Nash must know their feelings; it shouldn’t even matter, in a few minutes, if it/he could actually read their minds.

The Habras were not very real estate conscious except when they had to relocate people from the melting side of the Iris, and Shefcheeshee had apparently met with no objection when he turned the top of a local hill into a lecture hall, though “hall” was hardly an appropriate term; the Cephallonian had never seriously considered putting a roof over his winged audience, the Erthumoi were sure. The ice was bare, smooth, and by nature or art shaped like half a stadium bowl focusing on a level area originally at the edge of the sea. New icebergs had changed this last fact, but the Habras maintained the open water of their port behind his lecture platform. The Cephallonian had arranged to place meter-square patches of roughened polymer sheeting, separated by narrower lanes of bare ice, over most of the sloping surface to provide traction.

There were a few enclosed cubicles, also of clear polymer, around the upper edge of the bowl, for attendees who were uncomfortable in Habranhan atmosphere or temperature and preferred not to wear armor too long at a time. Hugh and Janice had learned about these earlier, and made them part of their plan; what they wanted to do would be discourteous if the general audience could hear them. They guided Barrar to one of the cubicles and entered, watching with interest while S’Nash decided, after visible hesitation, to remain outside.

There was a bench, not specifically designed for Erthumoi but usable, and the two sat down. Barrar remained standing in his mechanical walker.

There was already a large crowd, mostly natives, and it was possible to turn up translator receivers again without hearing only a hopeless blur of incomprehensible overload noise. The Habras, Janice noticed, were quite willing to press side by side, wings folded, with far too little space around most of them to allow takeoff; the few Crotonites, predictably, remained near the upper edges of the bowl and made sure they could spread their wings. Erthumoi, Locrians, and Naxians were scattered through the area, indifferent to flight opportunity. Janice nudged Hugh without speaking; her hypothesis had made another correct prediction. One might have thought that the snakelike part of the audience would have wanted to gather at the front, where they could hear and especially see the speaker more easily, since there were no facilities for them to elevate themselves above the floor anywhere in the bowl. They did not seem to be doing this.

Janice now strongly suspected that it was not just the speaker they would want to watch. Both Erthumoi looked around more closely, but couldn’t be certain that there was any real concentration of serpentine bodies around Crotonites The Naxians were too hard to see in the crowd.

The Erthumoi tensed as Shefcheeshee leaped far out of the water into the huge, transparent tank which formed the speaker’s rostrum, and began his talk without preamble.