Hal Clement - The Nitrogen Fix

She had lived for several months in various jails, improving her survival skills, and then met Earrin with his raft.

The man had been aborted at the normal age from Beehive on the Maine coast, a hundred and fifty kilometers or so north of the Boston area. He had been picked up at once by a long-established Nomad who had taught him the raft life. The older man had already been in his thirties, and had died when Earrin was about fifteen.

Kahvi had taken to the raft to get farther from Blue Hill and its people. Affection for and from Earrin had come later. Their occasional return to the Boston area had always aroused memories, but she had learned to keep them far enough from her active thoughts so that they didn’t bother her — much.

Her upbringing had of course made her self-conscious at first about her pregnancies, even though only Danna had survived. Now, however, self-confidence and self-respect had overcome this feeling, and she was now close to the point where she might have bragged about her family to one of her former fellow citizens. This time, common sense had submerged that urge; if the Hillers found out about Danna, some of them at least would feel it their duty to take the child for Surplus education — as a favor to the little one, of course.

Kahvi’s mind wandered back toward the present. Invaders? Dangerous? Following Earrin?

Obviously some Hiller had seen Bones, very probably the oxygen junkie in the jail had fled to the fire site; the people who had met Earrin could have come from there. Bones, however, had certainly never done anything to worry the citizens of Blue Hill. Were there other natives around? If so, what could they have done? Kahvi couldn’t believe that one of them would actually harm a person — at least, she didn’t want to believe it; she had left Danna in Bones’ care too often in the last five years. Natives ate plants, since there was nothing else for them to eat. They didn’t breathe, but as long as they got an appropriate mixture of nitrates and reducers they were all right. Their main drive was curiosity, if Bones were typical.

Maybe one of them, or more than one, had tried to get into the city to satisfy that urge; but why should that bother the Hillers? The creatures didn’t breathe, so none of their precious air would be lost.

And what had started this crazy notion that the natives had changed the world from a place wherepeople could live outdoors to what it was now?

Kahvi had heard various versions of the legend that Earth had once been habitable for people, but had never really believed any of them even in school. There were lots of books, of course, which told of people being outdoors without any mention of breathing equipment, but some things were simply taken for granted, and of course the art of story telling must be nearly as old as humanity itself. Some things were too hard to believe, however entertaining they might be to hear or read.

However, it was a fact that these Hillers seemed to regard natives as genuinely dangerous. This would have to be told to Bones when she came back; it seemed more serious than the mere unpopularity the native had experienced before. Was this what had been keeping Kahvi awake?

Bones was a good and trusted friend; the idea of her being treated violently by anyone, and especially by Blue Hill citizens, was more than unpleasant.

Danna stirred in her nest on the other side of the entry hatch, breathed more loudly for a few seconds, and was still again. The unborn child twitched slightly, and quieted. Kahvi remembered nothing more for several hours.

Then the moon was shining on her, a waning gibbous disc high in the south. The comet was following it faithfully, four hours behind. Dawn could not be far away. Kahvi sat up and looked around.

Sea and shore were brighter than by starlight, but still far from clear. There was no wind at all, and only a gentle smell moved the rafts and caused the reflections of moon and comet to undulate. Ashore, everything was still. No. There was motion. There were human figures by the pile of cargo, and some of the material had certainly been moved. What was going on? Could the Hillers be taking the material in the hope of not paying? That was hard to believe, but at least one of them was an oxygen waster, and that was equally incredible.

Or was one of the figures Earrin? She could not be sure, even unmasked, that all the figures were human, though of course none was as tall as Bones. No, they were people — ordinary people, that is. But what were they doing? Making something from the cargo? Now they had stopped and seemed to be discussing something — they were all together in a group instead of spread over meters of beach.

Now they were all moving away, toward the jail. There were five of them, and they moved slowly, as though they were tired. Kahvi watched as they approached the building and, one by one, disappeared into the air lock, leaving the landscape motionless again except for the reflections on the water.

Kahvi did not have Bones’ insatiable thirst for information, but she was a human being with normal human curiosity. Human beings, not being parthenogenic, do have other appetites, but curiosity is still a normal and healthy human emotion, especially in an environment where accurate understanding of what is going on usually means life against death. The hunger for knowledge and understanding, therefore, characterizes intelligent beings of any species until age and waning vitality bring the conviction that everything important is already known. Kahvi, at twenty-five, was elderly, but she had lost very little of her vitality. The Hillers might be sleeping — but they might be talking, especially in a straight-oxygen environment.

Carefully, to avoid waking Danna, the woman donned outdoor gear and slid into the water.

Guided by the moon, she was able to stay under water until almost ashore. Carefully she raised her head and looked around; there was nothing moving, near the jail or anywhere else. She stood up and waded ashore as quietly as possible, and once out of the water ran quickly to the building.

The air lock was toward her, with the moon shining on its surface, and she watched for ripples which would warn of someone entering it from inside.

Then she ducked quickly around the northern end and into shadow. She paused briefly to catch her breath. Then she climbed the rough stone of the wall as Earrin had done, carefully raised her head above roof level, and looked through the transparent tissue.

“Bait.” The word was strange to Earrin. His Surplus schooling had included very little about the time before the change, and most of that was admittedly legend. He had never seen a fish or any other nonhuman animal native to Earth, and knew nothing of hunting or fishing or trapping.

Even to the Hiller who had used the word it was shorn of nearly all its ancient implications except the central one. He did not try to explain it to Fyn.

“Come along,” was all he said. The Nomad followed for a few meters and then paused, looking back toward the raft.

“My wife will have to know where I’m going and for how long. Wait while I tell her; I’ll be right back.”

The man shook his head. “We can’t wait. It wouldn’t be safe, and no one knows how long you’ll be gone anyway. One of us will stay here and tell your wife where you are if she seems too concerned.” The fellow gestured, and one of the others turned back. The rest gathered around Earrin as though prepared to use physical force to make him come along. The Nomad was surprised, resentful, and curious, but it seemed wisest to focus on the last of these attitudes. He began walking, and talking.

“I still don’t see what you want me for. I don’t know what ‘bait’ means, and I don’t know why you’re bothered by someone following me.”