Hal Clement - Fossil

“Because the ocean is loaded with azide-using scavengers who evolved here, and can take care of the remains before they get to the bottom!”

Barrar heard, and thought for a moment.

“But why wouldn’t there be other scavengers, too?”

“I’d guess its non-azide life is all descended from things the Habras’ ancestors brought with them, deliberately or otherwise, when they arrived, and that there hasn’t been time since then for evolution to till very many niches. You ought to consult McEachern or an educated Habra on that.”

“All the Habras seem to be able to talk about that sort of thing, whether they’re farmers or submarine operators or chemists or…”

“I know. It’s interesting. Maybe you should do your article on Habra sociology.”

“You’re laughing at me.” Hugh glanced outside without answering. Naxian attention seemed to be fading. There were now only three of them near the booth, and these seemed to be concerned with a nearby Crotonite as Shefcheeshee casually dismissed the idea that Habranhans might be descended from the mysterious Seventh Race.

“But don’t let that keep you from star travel,” he went on. “You can be a Seventh Race yourselves, or an Eighth if you consider that number taken. There are wonders beyond your atmosphere rivaling those under your sea. You have the knowledge, or most of it; what you lack, we who already enjoy the sights and adventures both of worlds like your own and worlds marvelously different can gladly supply. You can…”

Hugh looked outside again; the question of Habras joining the star-faring races was one on which many Crotonites felt strongly, some on one side and some on the other. Maybe this one was reacting, and the Naxians were enjoying the display.

But the Crotonite unceremoniously spread his wings and departed before either of the Erthumoi could decide whether the Naxians were watching him especially or not. Also, there was no way Hugh could infer either from their own motions or those of the watching Naxians that the Habras were responding at all intensely to the Cephallonian’s appeal. Shefcheeshee finished a few minutes later with a summary which told the Erthumoi nothing that they hadn’t heard from him before and must have left Barrar deeply disappointed. Hugh and Janice rose and started to leave the booth.

Two things delayed them, one sight and one sound.

Hugh’s eye for the first lime really caught the ice which formed the floor of the small chamber, and perceived that it was covered with a pattern of cuplike dents like those S’Nash had pointed out on the road east of Pitville. They did not form any sort of regular trail, however, and this time the reason was obvious enough. They had been made by Barrar’s walker, and his motions in the booth had been irregular. Even Hugh could see them without trouble, since there were no interfering marks.

Before he could comment or explain to Janice, much less confront the Samian, a sound took his attention. Barrar had opened the door, and auditory patterns from outside were reaching his translator again. Some of the loudest were far enough above background to let the equipment separate and interpret them.

“Where have you been, master? Did you hope to find inspiration here? This swimmer doesn’t even rouse Crotonites any more.”

The tone was Naxian. The words had certainly not been addressed to Hugh. Suddenly, however, as one of the nearby serpentlike forms moved and left the one beyond it recognizable as S’Nash, another pattern flowed together in his mind. The words combined with memories to make sense, and the sense was promptly supported.

S’Nash had turned toward the newcomer who had plainly been addressing it/him; now it/he swerved to face Hugh again, hesitated, then finished the turn, with a simultaneous gesture of one of his handlers apparently intended for the other Naxian. The words to Hugh were the same as long before, but this time no effort was made to cut off the sentence.

“Good for you!” That was all; the two wriggled away together. It was for once enough, at least for Janice.

Barrar admitted the details on their way back to the aircraft. He had been tied much more closely with Ennissee’s project than he had admitted earlier. He had helped convey the frozen Habra body from flyer to truck, since the Crotonite had not been strong enough to do the job alone and his Erthumoi were at the “dig.” He had then been carried back by the Crotonite in the Pitville aircraft Ged had been regularly and surreptitiously providing, but only to the outskirts of Pitville, to minimize the time he would have to account for; Spreadsheet-Thinker was not as casual an administrator as Ged had implied when claiming to have all routines worked out. The truck had come to Pitville on its own autodriver, starting enough later to hide any obvious connections, while Ennissee had taken his borrowed flier back to the Cold Pole dig to work out, presumably, the rest of his plans. Ged still disclaimed any closer involvement in these than he had admitted already. The Erthumoi kept their remaining doubts tactfully to themselves.

They still felt quite uncertain. The picture was fuzzy, but there seemed no way to clarify it without interviewing Ennissee, and neither one particularly wanted to do that. Rekchellet would, no doubt, come through in that direction, and neither wanted to spoil either his fun or his results.

More of the picture, however, came from S’Nash after they were back in Pitville, the Samian safely occupied in his office, and the Naxian verbally cornered in Hugh’s office.

“Emotions are fun,” it/he said quite directly. “I almost told you about that long ago when you asked what we do for amusement. A little later I thought you’d about figured it out, but then decided you’d simply spotted the trick Rek and I were playing.

“A lot of people enjoy watching fear or surprise or similar excitement — the obvious stuff. More cultured and artistic ones try to read and grasp really subtle emotions such as those accompanying^ — oh, the realization that one’s reasoning or inspiration has been correct, or the glow of perceiving how both parties have profited from a deal.”

“And you’re one of the latter, of course?” Janice asked.

“I sense irony. I like to think I am, of course, but there are many other challenges to the art. Some beings are much more difficult to read than others. Erthumoi collectively are the easiest, Samians by far the hardest of the Six, though there are of course exceptions like you two in both groups. I like to think I’m an expert with Samians.” Janice had drawn her brows together; her husband was sure what she was thinking about, whether S’Nash knew or not. In fact, both must have been wrong, for her next words rolled out almost without planning or thought on her own part.

“You’d get quite a reading if we told Ged that you’ve known all along what Ennissee was doing, wouldn’t you? That the people at your medical station had enjoyed his feelings as he stole that specimen? I wonder whether they merely gave tacit assistance, or actively tricked him into doing it. That they passed the information on to you and maybe other Naxians here at Pitville so he could be kept under observation as a source of — of amusement?”

“How did you-?” once again the Naxian cut off his speaker too late; as if realizing this, he turned it back on almost as though making a gesture of surrender. “You’re surprised — but you didn’t know until I spoke — you’re triumphant now — I told you myself, then — but you must have had some suspicion, or you could never have said such a thing! Where did the suspicion come from?”

“Like me, Jan is uneasy about coincidence,” her husband answered. “I know as well as you do we Erthumoi often have an unrealistic idea of what makes an improbable coincidence, but you should have allowed for that. As I’m sure you can see, it was all her idea, not mine. We just aren’t as conscious of what goes on in our heads as you people are, I guess. At least. I don’t know why I can recognize Jan’s face or voice. Anyway, you’ve certainly told us now. I wonder what Ged will say, and do? It’s a pity Jan and I can only infer his feelings from his words and actions, isn’t it? They should form a real work of art.”