Hal Clement - Fossil

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.