Hal Clement - The Nitrogen Fix

“You’ve been talking about practical lessons,” the child said, “for a long time now. Would this be a good time for them?” The teachers were a little startled for a moment.

“It certainly would,” Zhamia admitted, “but we could take only Betty outside. We’ll have to get the parents of you others. We can’t leave the air room here unattended, either. Let’s see. We’ll pick half of you by whack, and those can go and get their parents. We’ll meet at North-Up-Two. The rest of you will have to stay on duty here. Mort, do you have the gold?”

“Sure.” The man drew an old medal from his harness pouch. “I’m ready.” He turned his back on the others. “Face goes, inscription stays. Pick one.” Zhamia touched one of the children.

“Toss,” she said quietly.

The ceremony took only a few minutes. Seven goes were tossed before everyone had been touched, but there were no complaints; all were used to the method.

“I’m coming, too,” Genda said abruptly. The others merely nodded; regardless of their preferences, she had the right to come if she pleased.

However, it was nearly two hours before the group was outside. Most of the time was spent in a large room with a huge map of the Blue Hills area which Earrin and Bones did their best to memorize, while assignments to the various jails and agreements on where and when to meet were made.

Once through the lock, most of the family groups went off in different directions toward their assigned buildings. All were carrying supplies of the appropriate spores or pseudolife fragments. The teachers, their ten-year-old Betty, Genda, Earrin, and Bones-Two started the three kilometer trip northward toward the raft. It was fairly late afternoon, but they hoped to reach it before dark. Genda walked silently, but kept her eyes roving over everything they passed. The child asked almost constant questions which were answered usually by her parents but sometimes passed on to Earrin or even Bones. The Nomad said nothing except when answering or interpreting; he was learning quite enough without steering the conversation.

Genda suddenly stopped and pointed. “Look!” she snapped. “Those young creatures have been making new life forms, too.”

Earrin was curious. “That’s just a Newell block,” he said. “They’ve been around for years. You folks are always making variations; what’s wrong with that? I’ve bought lots of new kinds of food and air plants from you Hillers over the years.”

“Taking advantage of natural changes is one thing. Making something entirely new involves the Evil.”

“But what’s new about this? It’s grown for long before I was born — years — around some of the cities. My raft is made of it. I sold a piece to you people three or four years ago for a very nice milk plant. I don’t know why this one is growing here; it may have been planted on purpose, or someone accidentally dropped a piece. It’s been here for several years, certainly — it’s big enough almost to make another raft.”

“You mean it’s natural?” Genda was unconvinced.

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. It seems to have no natural enemies, and almost completely stops wing when it reaches about four cubic meters.

Pseudolife was planned that way to minimize the risk of its spreading out of control, you know. You haven’t been outdoors much, have you? I know there are other samples of this stuff growing around.”“I haven’t seen any,” was the rather evasive reply. Fyn didn’t press the question; Zhamia and her daughter looked at each other and barely managed to conceal their smiles.

They were now on the south slope of the last hill which barred their sight of the raft, and when they topped it Fyn was relieved to see that his home was still there. He was less happy to see a dozen people busy around the site where the cargo had been left. Just shoreward of this point was something which had not been there before. It was a dome-shaped structure fully ten meters across and half as high.

Earrin had of course never seen an igloo, so the resemblance escaped him. He was not yet close enough to see the panes of glass among the spongy block of Newell tissue, but two or three of these windows were so placed as to reflect sunlight toward the newcomers, so their nature could be guessed.

There was no way to be certain that the workers were members of the Hemenway group, but it seemed likely. Fyn, after a moment’s thought, turned to Bones.

“Get into the water before these people see you, and wait at the raft. If Kahvi or Danna are there, tell them what’s happening. These are probably the same people who were interested in finding out how to kill you.”

“They are. I recognize some of them,” the Observer gestured. The slender form promptly made its way back down the southeast side of the hill, and slipped over to the water. The human beings resumed their walk toward the jail.

They were not seen until they were almost at the building; then one of the masked workers looked up, and immediately called to the others. As had been agreed, Zhamia and Genda went at once to the air lock with their supplies of nitrogen producers, while Mort, Earrin, and Betty went on toward the new structure. It was understood that if anything even slightly suggestive of violence were to start, the women and the child were to run back toward the city at full speed, while the men did what they could to delay pursuit. Neither of the men actually believed that anything of the sort could happen, but Bones had by now told of the glass caltrops.

Earrin would have preferred to check with Kahvi before talking to this group, but it seemed unwise to head for the raft right now. Maybe she would see him and come ashore to help.

And maybe she wouldn’t. Behind the approaching Hillers, now close enough to recognize individually, a short distance out in the water, the figure of the smaller Bones suddenly appeared and stood upright. It was close enough for even Earrin to see clearly. There was only one likely reason why the being had not stayed at the raft as requested, and the message sent by the gesturing tentacles was no surprise. “There is no one on the raft.”

The native promptly disappeared again.

Neither Kahvi nor Bones had made any plans for such an event, but both acted as though there had been careful rehearsal. The woman did not even slow down, but hurtled with her full running speed into the man who had suddenly appeared in her path. This unfortunate had heard her voice as she called to Bones, but had not seen her in time.

He was therefore not braced for any impact, and went over backward. Even worse from his viewpoint, Kahvi had crossed her arms in front of her body and. taken the force on her elbows in an almost instinctive gesture to protect the baby.

The man’s ribs were not actually broken, but it was some days before he was sure of that. His immediate trouble was landing in the glass-covered area, flat on his back. His howl warned the woman, and since the collision had almost stopped her anyway, she was able to keep her feet out of the caltrops.

Bones, fully aware of the location of the glass, made even better use of the incident; the body of the guard, writhing though it was, made an adequate bridge. It was too dark to signal to Kahvi, but communication was not needed. The woman snatched up Danna, Bones pulled the sandals from the feet of the guard, and they were off down and around the hill. Kahvi confessed afterward that she had beentempted to stay and trip some of the others into the glass, but admitted she was glad she hadn’t. The shrieks of the single victim, fading as they fled, did not provide the anticipated pleasure. She felt sick again, but managed to keep it under control.