Fossil

Chapter Eight And Clues May Oft But Little Help Provide

“Like Erthumoi, I suppose.” Hugh keyed, not worrying whether his cynicism showed.

“No, you’re easy. Your faces move. But what do we do about Rekchellet and Third? It” it was she in the truck we should find out why, and if it wasn’t we need to find out what’s become of her.”

“And where the new one came from. Right. So you checked in here. Good. I wish I knew what was best, but — where’s Crow? Did he come back, too?”

“No. We thought of that, and then decided it would be smarter for one of us to keep track of the truck. It might start traveling again, or get buried, and be hard to find even for us unless we got within three or four kilometers; and the whole problem started with that truck, didn’t it? And there are a lot of square kilometers on the Solid Ocean.”

“It did. You were right. Are you tired, cold, or hungry?”

“I’d be glad to eat.”

“All right, go ahead. Then tell every other flier in Safety what’s happened. Send a pair of them out to find and relieve Crow so he can come in, too; you can tell them where to start looking, at least.” “Should I report to Administration.’” “I’ll take care of that. Go eat.” Walt left the office without further questions, and Hugh retuned the transmitter.

In spite of his recent conversation with Barrar, he first told Spreadsheet-Thinker’s office what he was doing and why, delivering the information as a statement rather than asking permission. Since he was using code, they knew better than to ask for more details just yet, but Hugh was sure that his sudden monopolization of so much workpower would not go unchallenged for long. Barrar’s calm acceptance of the situation had rather surprised him; Hugh doubted neither the Samian’s willingness nor his ability to back him up, but felt better having the whole matter formally on record. He was not an experienced administrator even yet, but was learning.

He then retuned the communicator, and with rather more complication managed to reach Janice’s lab.

“Hon? I think I’ve talked Spreadsheet-Thinker out of an aircraft, but it may take a while to materialize. There are things to do out there in the dark. Have you found out anything more about our iceberg?”

“Yes. Age. Tell you when we’re together.”

He confined himself to “That all?” His wife presumably had reasons for secrecy.

“H’Feer came by the lab with thanks. It/she’s back at work. Wants a job in Safety.”

“Good. See you.”

Hugh was perfectly willing to have more and different people under his charge if Administration didn’t mind, but was not going to discuss the matter without knowing more about the Naxian, especially about how well it/she had recovered from being frozen alive. That was something else which could wait. He signed off and left the office, still planning.

Janice was a thoughtful and foresighted partner. Hugh had mentioned wanting an aircraft. She knew as well as he that Administration would have to approve the request and, at reflex level, probably wouldn’t. She greatly enjoyed the sense of accomplishment when it could honestly be experienced, and did some planning of her own.

By the time her husband reached their quarters, she had called around and unobtrusively determined the present official location and assignment of all four of the aircraft used by the Project, just to provide Hugh with ammunition he might need.

She was not too surprised at his worried state when he detailed the situation to her; he was a responsible person, and Rekchellet a good friend. She showed him the information she had gathered about the aircraft. He looked at it, grinned, and did the best job of kissing her that a room full of diving fluid allowed.

“Beautiful. There are two they could spare without hurting a thing. I can surely talk them out of one, especially since some of our own people are now unaccounted for.”

“Will they blame you for their getting lost?”

“Why? They approved what we were doing.”

“What they knew of it.”

“Spreadsheet-Thinker wouldn’t like to admit there was anything going on here she didn’t know about. It would reflect on her administrative efficiency. Come on; I’ll have the use of that machine in five minutes.”

Actually it was nearly five hours. Hugh had misjudged something. He thought some bad language, arranged for communication with the flying searchers he had so hastily sent out while on the way back along the road, and calmed himself with a meal as Janice had done. They even slept, briefly; he had not realized how tired he was, and she had been in the lab through most of his absence.

The hours were fruitful only in determining a fairly large area where Rekchellet did not seem to be. The truck had not moved, but the watchers could now see no one inside. They had not tried to enter or attract attention, judging that the search for Rekchellet was more important; the slow vehicle could be found easily enough, they now felt, even if it did resume travel.

All this was reported to Hugh by relays of his own personnel, and he in turn dutifully reported the details to Administration with ever louder insistence that he be given the use of a flying machine. He never understood with any certainty what caused the delay; Spreadsheet-Thinker remained noncommittal. The Erthumoi suspected that in spite of Janice’s earlier research, one or more of the vehicles was being used without authority and the administrators simply didn’t know where it was. Hugh almost mentioned this to S’Nash, when the Naxian appeared and asked how the search was progressing, but decided against it. The snaky being would already be aware of his irritation and coded complaint would be conversational overload.

Finally, however, clearance came. Hugh sent out a relayed message for one of the Habras or Crotonites on the search to come back toward Pitville to meet him and act as a guide. Husband and wife had been wearing most of their armor all along. Now they donned helmets, checked out, and made all possible speed to the hangar. S’Nash was now there, and while Naxians had no reputation for radiating their emotions, both Erthumoi felt a shade of self-satisfaction when it/he spoke.

“About the best we could get, I’d say.” It/he did not amplify, and neither Erthuma went beyond casual agreement; but both wondered a bit.

Hugh had asked for the services of another Locrian, and there was a further brief delay while they waited for this one’s arrival; naturally, he had not been released from regular work until after clearance of the flyer. The being appeared with what under any other circumstances would have seemed commendable speed and climbed into the ten-place machine, introducing himself as Plant-Biologist.

Janice and he talked quiet shop about Habranhan vegetation while Hugh lifted off and headed slowly northwest, blinking his lights in the standard here’s headquarters pattern of the Safety Office. S’Nash, who had come aboard without asking administrative clearance, curled up behind the pilot seat and said nothing.

The truck, they knew, was nearly a hundred kilometers from Pitville. The flier could have covered the distance in moments, but not safely; there were too many living searchers in the air, many of them not carrying lights yet in spite of Hugh’s efforts in that direction. The Habras were cooperative enough, but their eyesight covered nearly the full sphere and no one had yet designed a running light, other than a rather useless one pointing straight to the rear, which they could carry without the glare’s interfering with the bearer’s vision. From their own point of view, of course, their electrical senses made such equipment superfluous; they could detect each other and Hugh’s ship with no trouble.

But if the craft were moving at anything like its full speed, they could never spot it in time to dodge.

After endless minutes, the radio receiver picked up a Habra voice. “I see you, Hugh. Descend to one kilometer, and slow down to comfort speed.” This, to Habras, was about fifty kilometers per Common Hour. “Good. I’ll be with you in a minute or two. You’re heading in almost the right direction. I will come close enough to let you see me.”

There was a pause. Then Jan jumped slightly as the crimson-patterned cylinder of the Habra’s trunk suddenly appeared a scant two meters — less than its own length — above the pilot canopy of their craft. As usual, the wings were invisible, partly from their transparency, partly from their rapid motion; the cockpit light was bright enough to have shown them had they been in glide mode, since it was bright enough to show the body’s color. Harness ornaments which both Erthumoi knew to signify maleness glinted.

Hugh gestured to indicate that he saw, and the native drew smoothly ahead and down until he was directly in front of the cockpit and level with it.

“Follow. You’ll see the truck in about five minutes,” his voice came again. “When you do, tell me and I’ll cut over to one side so I can watch you better. We’ll both stand by in case you have anything for us to do. We just relieved the last pair, and can stay for a couple of hours with no trouble.”

“I’ll watch him,” said Hugh to the others aboard. “You keep your eyes on the ground. Let me know when you see the truck.” A mixed murmur and buzz of agreement allowed the man to focus his attention on his leader, and for the promised five minutes nothing more was said.

It was the Locrian who spotted the truck first, partly because the native led them directly over it and neither Hugh nor his wife could see straight down. Plant-Biologist, his vision not blocked by the floor of the little craft, calmly reported the sighting.

“The truck is below us. You will have to fall back or go to one side to observe it through any of your windows.”

Janice was mildly annoyed, but tried to retain her scientific objectivity. They were still five hundred meters above the hilltops, and the Locrian’s words had just invalidated her favorite personal theory of how their penetrating vision worked.

She pushed that thought into the background, as Hugh called to the Habra, slowed abruptly, and swung around in a tight circle to let more conventional eyes confirm the report.

It was correct. Dark as the landscape now was, with the rime-covered body of the vehicle little different from the ice dust around it. even human eyes could see it.

He went down as close as he could, but still could not see satisfactorily. The vehicle was in a narrow valley; if he flew low enough beside it to get a look through the driver’s window, dividing his attention to take the look could be disastrous. There was no reason to suppose that the local hills were as loosely constructed as the waste pile at Pitville.

Still, he had brought Plant-Biologist along for a reason; he might as well use him. Hugh hovered over the truck and asked the Locrian to examine it as thoroughly as he could, with special reference to who and how many were aboard. The other settled more comfortably in his seat, unshielded his eye, and went to work.

“There is only one living being there,” he said at last. “The Locrian is alone in one of the after compartments, apparently relaxing. There is no one else in that chamber, in the lock, or in the driving section.”

“Is it Third-Supply-Watcher? Or are you acquainted with her?”

“Yes to both questions.” “Can you talk to her?”

“We cannot hear each other. If we can attract her attention and she sees me, we can signal.”

“Good. Our obvious questions are why she slopped and what has happened to Rekchellet. I don’t really expect an answer to the latter. I’ll try to get to a position where she can see you — I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed us already — and you can start your arm-waving or whatever the signs involve.”

Third-Supply-Watcher remained motionless and apparently uninterested in her surroundings for several minutes, until Hugh asked the Habra to pound on the shell of the truck. This produced results.

“She has noticed our ship and looked at it several times. I don’t know why she hasn’t looked inside— wait; she sees me now.”

Plant-Biologist fell silent. He made no motions that either Erthuma could see, but with Locrian eyesight there was no need for motions to be external. It seemed best not to interrupt, and Hugh waited as patiently as he could for the next few minutes. The scientist finally reported.

“She was told that if she turned the guiding equipment off, the main power would also be cut. She doubted this, but took the chance in order to make the truck easier to locate. As you can see, she does not have full-recycling armor. She does not know her precise location, but did not want to get any farther from Pitville. There is no Locrian food aboard, and stopping here seemed better than allowing the vehicle to proceed as it had been set. I agree with her.”

“Her armor will let her join us here,” pointed out Janice.

“True,” agreed Hugh. “I’d have her come over in a shot if I thought she were in immediate danger.”

“She is very hungry,” remarked Plant-Biologist.

“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” The man pursed his lips, and hesitated. “I’d love to know where that thing is supposed to have been going, but there’s no one here who can set the autodriver up again if we do anything but simply turn it back on.”

“Rek did,” his wife pointed out. “There are other Crotonites in your own crew, some of them probably within fifty kilometers. Why should Third have to…”

The biologist made a querying sound.

“Sorry. I meant Third-Supply-Watcher.”

“She shouldn’t,” admitted Hugh. “Tell her to stop worrying for now. We’ll land, and she can come over here. Have you any food with you?”

“Of course.” This time the biologist, or his translator, had no trouble with the address ambiguity. He fell silent once more as he signaled his fellow on the truck.

“We’ll have to get out and work the lock controls from outside,” Janice pointed out. “They’re mechanical, and Third-Supply-Watcher may not be strong enough to handle them.”

“Wait a minute. Something’s funny,” returned her husband. “She said the power would go off, but the drive cabin lights are still on.”

“She is operating the inner lock, and passing through. Now she is closing it, and has operated the switch of the outer hatch.” The three watched as the door swung out and down as the Erthumoi had seen it do before. Hugh hastily grounded the flier as the lightly armored insectile figure emerged. He opened his own air lock, and Plant-Biologist reached for the pack he had brought aboard.

Third-Supply-Watcher did not remove her helmet after coming aboard; Habranhan air was crushingly dense for her species, and Hugh had not bothered to drop the ship’s pressure, since he, Janice, and S’Nash had long been used to it themselves. However, her armor had a feeding lock and she promptly made use of it. Presumably she thanked the other Locrian, but neither Erthuma could detect the communication. Hugh, not wanting to interrupt her meal, went through the lock to check the truck out himself. Two winged figures promptly landed beside him. One was a Crotonite, which could be helpful. He beckoned them to follow him inside.

The power, in spite of what had been said, was still on; it had not been a matter of some emergency exit device operating. The outer hatch closed behind them as Hugh tripped the switch, and the forward lock door opened with equal docility. The inside was comfortably warm by both Erthumoi and Locrian standards; it was only as this fact tapped on the door of his consciousness that Hugh realized what a chance Third-Supply-Watcher had taken. If the power had actually been cut, she could easily have frozen before being rescued.

There was only one difference that Hugh could see from the way things had been when he had previously examined the vehicle, not too much more, he realized with a start, than a Common Day before.

This was a sheet of printing fabric half a meter long and a third as wide fastened to a set of clips on a side panel. He looked at it closely.

It bore a zigzag pattern of short, straight, continuously connected line segments. From one end of this pattern there extended a longer line for a distance of about three centimeters; from the other a still longer one, nearly the length of the sheet, almost parallel to but diverging slightly from the first and broken into dashes for about the middle third of its length. Each segment was marked with tiny characters, and close examination showed that the lines themselves were made of almost microscopic writing. After a few seconds, Hugh decided that this must be the chart Rekchellet had persuaded the autodriver to print and which he and his companions had been trying to follow back to its end. The larger symbols were presumably location data and the tiny ones a continuous record of height. The spot near the Cold Pole which Rekchellet had mentioned was presumably the terminus of the longest of the lines, and the second longest must end at Pitville if the Crotonite’s interpretation had been sound.

He turned to the two fliers and told them his suspicions. He knew the Crotonite slightly though he was not sure whether she hailed from Rekchellet’s home world.

“Kesserah, can you read these? Rekchellet said they must be numbers, and claimed they were enough like his own to be legible. He said this point,” Hugh indicated, “was near the center of the dark hemisphere. That means this thing can’t be all to one scale.”

“It isn’t,” replied the Crotonite. “The dashed section implies ellipsis. Rekchellet was probably right. I interpret the characters as he did.” She turned the sheet over. “That’s Rekchellet’s writing.”

“What does it say?”

“It makes no sense to me. Just, ‘Make Ennissee pay before you tell him that date’.”

“Who is Ennissee?”

“Ed say it was a Crotonite name, but it doesn’t call up a wing pattern to my memory. Has Rek met any Crotonites since you saw him last?”

“Apparently yes, Walt told me. Something funny has happened to him, and it started in the air, I’m told. But if that involved this Ennissee, Rek must have been back on the truck since. I hope Third-Supply-Watcher has finished eating; I’ll have to ask her right now.”

Hugh emerged as quickly as the lock system allowed, followed by his winged helpers. All entered the flier, where there was plenty of room for everyone. Third-Supply-Watcher was still eating, Hugh saw, and he made suitable apologies, but could not wait with his question.

“Please! I’m sorry to interrupt, but I must know. Did Rekchellet come back to the truck after you reported his absence to me?”

“Yes, but not at once. The outside hatch controls were operated by someone of whom I only caught a glimpse. That showed a Crotonite, and I looked only casually, assuming it was Rekchellet. Then the one who entered came to the driver’s cabin and dragged me away from the controls. He stopped the truck, then pushed me back to the cargo section and locked me in. Then he waited, while snow covered the truck. Presently another Crotonite, who did prove to be Rekchellet, found the buried vehicle and entered. He met the first one, and they talked — argued, it seemed to me — for a long time, though I could neither hear nor understand. Rekchellet was not at first carrying his translator, but the other gave him one.

“Eventually, after much discussion, they set the truck going again. The other Crotonite adjusted the autodriver, and while he was doing that Rekchellet wrote something on the back of the map we had been using. Then he came back and unlocked my door and said that he had been told what I told you — that the autodriver had been set to shut off the main power if it were interfered with. Otherwise, the truck was supposed to follow where the other Crotonite was taking him. The other was listening, and his translator could certainly handle Rekchellet’s language, so I judged Rek didn’t want to say more, and I waited for a chance to read what he had written.

“They opened the main hatch and set it to close after them, and left by wing while the truck was in motion. I looked at Rek’s note, but couldn’t read it, and saw nothing to do except stop while I was still reasonably near Pitville and hope I’d be found before I starved or froze. When the truck didn’t cool down, I tried some of the light circuits and realized the story about total cutoff was false, but I still couldn’t see what to do except wait. I could have driven without the automatic, but wasn’t sure which way to go, and staying here seemed to offer the best chance of being found before I starved. I’m not sure I would have been if I’d wandered at random.”

“Nor I,” answered Janice. “Rek must have been pretty sure we’d be along, though. I know he’s a Crotonite and you’re not a flier, but he’s a pretty good fellow.”

“Perhaps. What now’” asked Plant-Biologist. Hugh pursed his lips again.

“If both you Locrians are willing to come, we’re looking for Rekchellet and then for something a bit north of the Cold Pole,” answered Hugh, “and we can certainly use you.”

But heading for the Grendelian antipodes wasn’t quite that easy, and not yet the right thing to do. Hugh saw his wife’s raised eyebrows through the faceplate of her armor and paused to think.

The cold pole of Habranha was nearly 4900 kilometers from the terminator, over 4500 from their present position. That meant nothing to the machine they were flying, but a great deal to two other groups — their winged and unwinged helpers, and Rekchellet and Ennissee, if the unknown Crotonite had actually been that individual. Rekchellet could not have flown the distance equipped as he was. The other—

“Third-Supply-Watcher, could you see clearly what sort of equipment the other Crotonite was carrying when they left the truck?” Hugh asked.

“Just ordinary Crotonite warmth harness, with very little decoration, and one or two small items of equipment. A translator, of course.”

“Any sort of breathing mask?”

“No.”

That disposed of recycling equipment; Crotonites, like Erthumoi, exhaled large amounts of water with their breath, and any efficient recycler had to trap that.

“Was there anything else noticeable about him?”

“Yes, definitely. His wing membranes were artificial. He had lost the natural ones in some way, and those he had were of artificial film.”

“How about the bones — the framework?”

“Quite natural. He had lost only the membrane.”

Hugh turned to Kesserah. “Have you ever heard of such an injury, or how it could have been suffered? Do you know of anyone who has been injured that way?”

“No to the first and last. Wing membranes are tough but not impossible to tear. Also, they carry blood. If one were torn, I can imagine a surgical need to replace it completely if it failed to heal properly — and possibly to treat the other side to match, though I’m no medic and don’t know that that would always be needed. It’s also possible that they could be lost to frostbite, though we have alcohols in our blood which give it a low freezing point.”

“Thanks. At least, even I should be able to recognize this one if we meet him. The trouble is, there’s no way he and Rekchellet could fly on their own over four thousand kilometers over this dark hemisphere, is there?”

“None that I can imagine. I certainly wouldn’t try it.”

“Then either he lied about where he was going, as he did about shutting down the autodriver; or he had another vehicle hidden somewhere within flying distance of here; or he had caches of supplies which would let him stock up along the way. In any case,” Hugh chewed his lower lip reflectively, and looked around at the others, “in any case he’s told us in too many ways about this place near the Cold Pole to leave me in much doubt that he wants us to go there. I wonder why. Any ideas?” He glanced around once more.

“The note Kesserah read for us mentioned a date we might tell him,” Janice said slowly. “I can think of only one date we could know which has any connection at all with that truck. That’s, of course, assuming the Crotonite with the damaged wings is the Ennissee Rek wrote about; nothing seems to make sense otherwise.”

“What is the date you mean?” asked S’Nash.

“The age of the frozen specimen we found on the truck. I don’t see anything special about it; I took samples, and made the usual checks, and it’s not as old as the wing we found in one of the Pits a while ago, but it’s certainly not current.”

“What is the age?” asked the Naxian.

“I’m wondering why it’s important, and why Rek wrote that we should make this Ennissee pay for the knowledge,” the woman answered obliquely. “I wonder if he meant simply payment in the ordinary, literal sense of exchange tokens or service obligations, or in some more Figurative fashion — as though this person had already contracted an obligation, and owed us something because of whatever he’d done to Rek or to us or to someone else.”

S’Nash did not repeat his question. He must have known that, whatever her reason, Janice did not intend to answer it right then and didn’t care how obvious she made the fact. She was quite sure he didn’t know her reason; she wasn’t completely sure she knew it herself yet. She could not sec what harm the information would do, but intended to follow Rekchellet’s guidance until the matter became clearer. It boiled down to the fact that she trusted the Crotonite more than the Naxian, though she could give no objective basis for the feeling. She certainly did not dislike snakes — at least, no more than bats. She had never seen either in the original, but their ecological niches were well filled on Falga and traditional images from the mother planet had carried over. She did not think of Naxians as snakes and Crotonites as bats, or of Locrians as mantises or Cephallonians as fish or dolphins; she had grown up regarding them all as people.

None of this crossed her conscious mind but whatever feeling was underneath kept S’Nash quiet.

Hugh was thinking again, and for fully a minute no one spoke. It was he who finally broke the silence.

“All right. This machine’s points are speed and carrying capacity. It will take a small group of people and a good supply of food to the Cold Pole. Most or all of the group will be Habras, because I expect what we seek will be under the snow. It better be all, so we can concentrate on their food — no, I can’t do that. I’ll have to carry Crotonite supplies, too.

“The Crotonites will please study this chart— here, Kesserah — and use it as a guide. It may not be a very good one, but it’s all we have to go on for the great circle route to the place we hope Ennissee and Rekchellet were going. You will follow along that course, looking for signs of the two we hope we’re following. Every five hundred kilometers I’ll leave a cache of food for you, well lit so you can see it from a good distance and with a neutrino communicator so you can tell me when you’ve reached it and what you’ve found. You all have inertial trackers, don’t you?”

“Most of us.”

“And lights.”

“Of course.”

“All right, you can start now from here. Get your group together and tell them what I want, and look carefully. I’m not sure this Ennissee person really cares much what happens to Rekchellet once he’s sure we’re heading the way he wants. Third-Supply Watcher, did Rek have his translator when he left the truck?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“But not when he arrived, you said.”

“No. The other Crotonite apparently had it, and gave it back to him during their argument.”

“We don’t know how he got it away from Rek in the first place, though, so we don’t know he didn’t do it again. Kesserah, I’m more and more worried about Rekchellet all the time. Look carefully, please. I know that sounds silly along a four thousand kilometer search line, but I mean it.”

“We’ll do our best. I suggest you recruit more people — fliers — to help.”

“If I can get them. Everyone not in Safety supposedly has a job schedule which may interfere and which I can’t override, but I’ll do what I can.” The Crotonite gestured understanding and made her way to the air lock.

Once again Hugh’s hands were aching from code transmission, and once again he was wondering whether it might not be better to get out of the diving fluid filling his armor. It seemed likely that he would not be in the Pits for some time, as things were now going.

But such a move would waste time, and there might not be time. Rekchellet had no food or water.

Hugh turned to the Habra. “You heard all I said to Kesserah.”

“Yes.”

“Please have four of your people ready to come with me on this machine. You can all return to Pitville now; those who don’t accompany me had better stay there and resume routine duty. Things could still happen in town, after all. Please tell Ted he’s in charge until Rekchellet or I get back. Tell everyone to stay below one kilometer going back; I’ll be above three, at full speed until I’m near town. What’s your name?”

“I’m Holly.”

“Good. Thanks. If you’ll get outside and start spreading the word, we’ll go for supplies.” The Habra operated the air lock without assistance. Hugh waited until the indicator showed the outer portal safely closed, went to the controls, and lifted off cautiously. He was reasonably sure that none of his safety crew would be directly overhead, but had developed professional habits of his own.

At one kilometer he nosed upward and applied more power; at three, eight seconds later, he leveled and began to tear through protesting air. Even at Habranha’s nightside temperature, the feeble gravity kept air pressure and density from dropping quickly with height. The aircraft’s shell warmed significantly in the few minutes of the trip.

There was, of course, more delay than he had hoped at Pitville. This did not originate with Administration this time; Barrar was extremely cooperative, to the extent of deciding to come along himself, though a little later he reported that Spreadsheet-Thinker had issued a veto on that plan. Hugh, however, had forgotten to assign Pit safety duty to anyone. The only species who had developed the pressure fluid were Erthumoi and Habras, and the latter did not yet have protection against liquid air temperatures. The Naxians could stand the pressures reached so far in the digging. So could Cephallonians, but the only members of this race attached to the Project or, as far as Hugh knew, on Habranha were otherwise occupied and certainly elsewhere on the planet. Two of the Erthumoi in Pitville had expressed willingness to serve a pressure term, but Hugh didn’t consider them well enough trained yet; and after explaining this to them as tactfully as he could, he assigned a pair of Naxians to Pit safety. After all, a majority of the workers in the liquid air were of that species anyway, and would be until a depth of two or three kilometers had been reached. Erthumoi were being recruited for the remaining nearly five hundred kilometers, though it was hoped that adequately insulated armor for Habras could also be developed in time. The natives, at least the many who had worked at mud collection in their submarines, were by far the most experienced performers under high pressure.

But Hugh could not get Rekchellet out of his mind, and worked in a state of frantic irritation while he set matters up to take care of themselves, or be taken care of by Ted, or — reluctantly on his part — by higher administration officials while he was gone. The top office seemed perfectly content to allow Ted to take over the job; Hugh was not sure, down at the emotional level, how he should feel about this. Of course, if Spreadsheet-Thinker decided to make the change permanent, Hugh could always keep himself busy in the Pits.

At least there was no trouble about the food he was taking. Counter-of-Supplies did not, as far as Hugh could tell, even check with Administration; she set her muscular Erthumoi workers loading everything Hugh requested onto the aircraft, including transmitters.

Four Habras, presumably the ones Holly had been commissioned to locate, were orbiting over flier and building as the loading went on. Hugh paid no attention to them until the job was finished. He was learning another administrative skill, to avoid worrying about a task delegated to someone else. Only when the last of the food cartons and water tanks was aboard did he address the natives.

“Ready to go, I think.” They swept to the snow before the open air lock instantly, and the Erthuma gestured them inside.