Hal Clement - Fossil

“Janice says to fill every one of the bags, and if any record is ambiguous you know what she’ll do,” the native reported to Hugh. “She says that any clue to what part of the truck anything fell from will be helpful. She also wants at least twenty chips of plain ice from the melted area, with no plant remains visible in it.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” answered Hugh.

“Visible to whom?” queried Eleventh-Worker.

‘Tin sure she meant me,” replied the Erthuma. “I doubt there’s anything on the planet in which you couldn’t spot impurities.”

“You flatter me. I have no reason to believe that my resolving power is any better than your own. I am merely less hampered by what you find to be obstacles.” Hugh filed this remark as well.

“All right. Let’s dig. S’Nash, point out one of those track marks, or whatever they are, please; I’ll chip it out complete for the lab, too.”

The Naxian complied, and in due course the envelopes were filled. “Due course” meant a fortunate twenty minutes of absolutely still, clear air; another twenty of rising fog, while Fafnir slowly sank behind a hill to the northwest; and ten of increasing wind which cleared the view again but threatened to broadcast the collecting envelopes over the snowscape. Two of them were indeed snatched from unprepared hands to vanish against the dimly lit whiteness, but they were of nonconducting material, quickly picked up a frictional charge as they blew across the snow, and were found easily enough by Ted.

Hugh suspected that the Naxian was a little disappointed by this, and that it/he would have liked to make another test of the robot’s powers. The Erthuma was just as glad that nothing of the sort had happened. He didn’t want things to go too fast.

They restored the envelopes to Ted’s bag and sent him back to the settlement and Janice. The ground travelers boarded the sweeper caisson and returned more slowly. It would be half of another Common Day before Fafnir really set, but the sunlet was now behind hills nearly all the time, and the road was almost completely dark. The organic members of the group were tired and hungry, but still reasonably alert. Hugh called the truck twice during the trip to learn whether Rekchellet had found anything.

The first answer was a simple negative from the Crotonite himself, who chanced to be inside and resting, though about to go out again.

The second, a little over an hour later, was answered by Third-Supply-Watcher. Hugh was exhausted enough to react only very slowly to the report that all the fliers were out of sight and had not communicated since Rekchellet’s last departure from the vehicle.

However slow, the reaction was violent enough. The robot’s inability to get more speed out of the caisson they were riding made it worse. For an instant, Hugh considered taking it on the track of the other vehicle. Then sanity prevailed. The trail was unmarked, and even though both he and S’Nash were wearing recycling suits Eleventh-Worker was not. They were simply not prepared for an indefinite trip. There were supplies on the truck itself, but no assurance that they could find it; the communicator, as a by-product of its near-instantaneous signal speed, could not be lined up — all direction-finding devices from the earliest radio days had depended basically on the fact that the carrier impulse reached one side of a loop antenna or similar structure measurably earlier than the other. The Habras with Rekchellet and the truck also seemed to be gone even if Ted could get close enough to talk to them directly.

Hugh ordered the robot to take them back to Pitville at the greatest possible speed.

A little later he explored the idea of sending the robot alone to the truck’s aid. The machine, however, had only auditory communication, understood only Hugh’s own language and code, and carried no translator. Also, it was probably not a good idea to entrust an artificial intelligence with that much responsibility in front of S’Nash and Eleventh-Worker.

The Naxian and Locrian had heard the message from the truck. Ted presumably had not. Hugh now called the Habra down and explained the situation. The native, not surprisingly, responded with a plan of action.

“I’ll head over in the general direction they were going and try to get in touch with Walt and Crow,” he said promptly. “If you keep that light on at its present power and spread I can find you again more easily than by field alone. I can’t hear you or talk to you from very far, of course, but as long as the air is clear I can see that light from many kilometers away, and I’ll have no trouble sensing the carrier and robot from three or four at least. Ask Third-Supply-Watcher to call you right away if any of the fliers reports in, so you can tell me when I get back in touch.”

“All right. If possible, come back over us to report, even negatively, every few minutes, please. It may help to know what areas we don’t have to cover with an all-out search.”

“I understand.”

Hugh turned back to the transmitter to send Ted’s request, and found himself getting no response from the truck. After several minutes of this, he rather foolishly asked the robot whether they were going as fast as possible. He was told that they were. The machine did not add anything like, “Of course,” or, “As you ordered,” but Hugh was sure that S’Nash was reading the embarrassment which washed over the Erthuma’s sense of anger and helplessness.

Frustratingly, the air remained clear; visibility was hemmed in only by the surrounding snow dunes. At first, some of their tops were still brightened by the last rays of Fafnir, but these became fewer and fewer until only a few high cirrus clouds were illuminated.

After about a quarter of an hour they heard Ted’s voice.

“I’ve covered only about twenty kilometers. I stayed low and looked closely. Have you heard from anyone?”

Hugh reported that the truck seemed to be missing, too.

“Would it be wise for me to climb to, say, a kilometer, which is about my limit in these clothes, and sense only for the truck, and examine it when I find it, then report back to you, before looking further for the fliers — who may be moving around anyway?”

“That seems a good idea, Ted.” Hugh glanced up and caught a brief glimpse of the slender figure silhouetted against the faintly lit clouds.

If the truck were really missing, something worrisome was going on. Hugh had refused to let himself get really concerned about the fliers, who might merely have found something interesting and be trying to find out what it was before reporting, but a dozen tons of surface-bound metal had no business vanishing, or even letting itself get buried, which was the easiest way for it to disappear. It might conceivably have been lifted off the planet by a spacecraft, but surely the Locrian would have considered that worth reporting. If she could.

Hugh made four more efforts to call Third-Supply-Watcher before the caisson brought them back to the warehouse. None got any answer. By arrival time, Hugh had a formal search fairly well planned. Finding Ged Barrar checking out the frozen Habra body was extremely convenient. He saw no reason to wonder about the administrator’s activity, which seemed perfectly in character. The Samian had no obvious special observing or measuring equipment on or in his skeletonlike walker, but this meant nothing; Hugh knew nothing about the species’ natural sensory equipment, and couldn’t even identify the “eyes” of the machine.

The Erthuma wasted no time on courtesy.

“I’m going to commit all my fliers to a search,” he keyed as the caisson came to a stop. “We’ll have to reschedule some sentry assignments. Also, I may need one of the transport aircraft — possibly; I don’t know yet whether I’ll have to go along myself.”