Hal Clement: Fossil

Robots supposedly dedicated to digging reported to Hugh Cedar, from their work stations at the bottom of each pit, in code which rode the siren frequencies and did not affect most translators, as being in rescue mode with full decision capacity engaged.

And Hugh and his wife slid toward the digs from the powdered-ice pile among Pitville’s structures which served as a ski jump. When they had heard the alarm howl, they had simply glanced at each other, nodded, and without bothering to use even the briefest message to one another or the Habras they had been talking to, headed east. As they went, Hugh keyed a query to the watch.

“What’s wrong?” His use of code identified him.

Rekchellet and his fellow sentry had by now learned the position of the troubled Naxian, and the Crotonite responded through the general public speakers.

“Pit One, x twenty-one, y thirty-one, z three ninety-five decreasing slowly. Naxian apparently in trouble, no clear comm. no further details.”

S’Nash, presumably hoping the contradiction would not irritate its/his partner, added one item. “Subject maintaining vertical attitude by request. You should be able to identify it easily.” He expected an indignant whistle, but apparently the Crotonite realized that his “no further details” had been a little hasty and was willing to let the matter pass.

Hugh acknowledged, and the couple headed for Pit One, shedding their skis and going over the edge without diminishing their speed. The fluid was only a little less dense than water — it was maintained carefully at an oxygen-nitrogen proportion which would offset the pressure of the surrounding ice at any given depth — so the impact could have been violent in stronger gravity. Neither Erthuma even noticed the shock, however; all that bothered them was a brief vision blur as bubbles of air, some carried down with their suits and some formed as the armor’s heat boiled the surrounding liquid, momentarily obscured their view. These, however, lifted away or condensed again almost at once, and the couple could look around the now brilliantly lit pool. They extended fins and hand webs and swam rapidly downward toward the indicated spot.

By the time the Erthumoi had reached it, several minutes after the alarm, there were two other Naxians already there. Their snakelike shape allowed them to swim very much faster than human beings, and they had not had nearly as far to come. There was still no difficulty, however, in identifying the one in trouble, or even the basic nature of its problem.

The victim and both its newly arrived fellows were all trying to work on the same area of armor, about half a meter back of the sufferer’s head. Even the wearer could reach the spot with the rather clumsy handlers installed on the Naxian suits, but no one seemed able to do anything about a stream of bubbles which was flowing from the spot.

The bubbles were collapsing again a few centimeters away, with a swirl of heated liquid rising visibly from their vanishing point for about as much farther. Clearly, there was some damage to the thermal insulation of the armor. The instrument case the being had been carrying had now been abandoned and was inking very slowly; the two-meter-plus serpents were rising under their own buoyancy even less rapidly as the Erthumoi approached.

“What can we do?” keyed the woman.

“Do you have any insulation patches?” one of the Naxians asked.

“No.” It would take too long to explain by code that Erthumoi bodies were massive enough to let them — probably — swim to the surface and leave the Pit before losing a dangerous amount of heat from such damage. In any case, the fact that no such help was on hand was the important one; excuses were irrelevant, even if Hugh Cedar was supposed to be in charge of safety.

“Can you supply energy to the area?” The question was in code, and for a moment Hugh failed to see why his wife was asking it. Of course he couldn’t — then he realized that she wasn’t addressing him. The robot had reached the group. How it knew the question was meant for it Hugh never asked — it was a courtesy-rooted standard procedure not to treat robots as rational beings in the presence of non-Erthumoi members of the Six Races, and even when people forgot this the robots themselves usually remembered. However, this one answered promptly.

“No. I am operating at ambient temperature and have only essential heaters for moving parts.”

“We can’t get it/her to the surface fast enough,” cut in one of the Naxians, “and you Erthumoi are even slower swimmers. Sentries, can a rescue craft reach us within, say, forty seconds?”

“No.” S’Nash’s buzzes and Rekchellet’s whistles could be heard as faint background to the translated word.

“Then the armor must be removed, as nearly instantly as possible. If H’Feer can be frozen quickly enough to forestall crystallization, it/she can be saved with suitable treatment. Can you understand me, H’Feer? Do you agree? Are you willing to face the risk and discomfort?”

The response was as wordless as it had been before, but even the Erthumoi interpreted the sounds as whimpers and thought they could read the agony in them. They glanced at each other. Fleetingly, Hugh wondered what having one’s body gradually frozen from midsection to ends might feel like.

The helping Naxians received the victim’s feelings far more strongly, of course, and read them correctly in spite of its/her inability to speak. For once even the Erthumoi were right on an emotional matter. The clumsy handlers on the snakelike beings’ armor reached for the victim’s release catches, and stopped.

“That’s the trouble! It/she’d have done it already, but the release is frozen or jammed somehow! Erthumoi, your grippers are stronger than ours.

Grasp the flaps on either side of the helmet and pull straight apart. The suit should split open lengthwise.”

Hugh seized one of the indicated projections and Janice the other. The woman straddled the serpentine form and, bracing her feet against her husband’s armored chest, pushed as hard as she could.

The suit held. Hugh was about to add his own legs to the system when the robot firmly shoved him aside, grabbed one flap in each of two handlers, made a precise incision at the front of the Naxian’s helmet with one of its ice shavers, and with a single continuous motion split and pulled the armor free of its occupant. There was a brief cloud of bubbles as the air in the suit escaped and liquid contacting flesh boiled; then vision cleared and the burbling hiss died out as a swirling mass of warmer than average liquid air drifted upward from the scene.

The Naxian floated rigid in the grasp of its/her fellows, quick-frozen. It would not have worked fast enough for an Erthuma even had the liquid been helium instead of air, but no part of the slender body was more than a few centimeters from the nearest surface, and heat could escape quickly.

One of the others spoke up. “There’ll probably be severe tissue damage near the injury to the armor, where there has been slow freezing going on for minutes, but at least it/she should live. We will get it/her to the surface, and…”

Hugh interrupted; he had been busy with code. “There will be an aircraft with a liquid air bath at the Pit edge in two minutes, to take H’Feer to Pwanpwan. One of your people should call ahead; I don’t know in any detail the medical work needed. I believe Th’Terro would be best, but if it/she is not available there must be others at your biology station.”

“You are right about Th’Terro, Erthuma Hugh. Thank you for the arrangements.”

“My job.” Hugh keyed. “Sorry I wasn’t set up to accomplish it more quickly. I’ll try to think of other ways to be ready, and will gladly welcome suggestions on other possible precautions and how they may be implemented within the Project’s logistic framework.”