Hal Clement - Fossil

“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.”