Hal Clement - Iceworld

“She knows about what happened that night. Not about the times I’ve gone out since.”

“All right. After breakfast, get her and come with me. We have a number of things to talk over.”

It turned out that Don was also at the meeting. This was held in a little natural amphitheater a few yards uphill from the house, which had been fitted with split-log benches. Mr. Wing wasted no time, but told the younger children the same story he had told Donald a few days before. Then Roger repeated his tale, mostly for his older brother’s benefit. Don had, of course, seen a Sarrian torpedo by this time, as he had been present when the first load of tobacco had been delivered a few days before; and there seemed to be little doubt that the structure Roger had encountered was of the same origin.

“I don’t understand why they’re shifting their base of operations after all these years.” Mr. Wing looked puzzled. “They’ve been coming back to that same gadget which we think is a directional transmitter every summer since before Don was born.”

“You don’t really know that they haven’t landed anywhere else, though,” pointed out Donald. “It just happened that Roger met one of their torpedoes. There might have been any number of others, anywhere on the earth.”

“That’s true, of course. Rog, you didn’t find any traces of other landings on these night walks of yours, did you?”

“I’m not sure, Dad. There’s a little patch of bushes all by itself on a hilltop out that way, that’s been burnt over. I couldn’t find any sign of a campfire, and there haven’t been any thunderstorms. I thought maybe one of the things had dropped something like the thing that burned my hand, and started the fire; but I couldn’t find anything of the sort. I don’t really know what started it.”

“I see. Then to sum up, we’ve been trading with creatures not native to this world for a long time; we may or may not be the only ones doing so; on at least one occasion they sent down a craft whose primary mission does not seem to have been trade.”

“Unless the light that Rog saw was intended to attract attention, as it did,” cut in Donald.

“In that case they would hardly have had their gold too hot to be touched. Furthermore, I’ve always refused gold — regular prospectors are competition enough without starting a rush of amateurs.”

“We don’t know that other people, if there have been any, felt the same way. But I guess you’re right about the temperature. They must have been conducting an experiment of their own, and the offer to trade was an afterthought when they heard Rog’s voice.”

“It was a dirty trick,” commented Roger.

“It may have been unintentional. Their knowledge of our language is extremely limited, and apparently they can’t see down here. Either they don’t know about television or can’t mount a transmitter in those torpedoes. Besides, if you came on them unexpectedly, they may have forgotten in the excitement of the moment that the gold would be hot. You said it was another container which was providing the light. However, that’s a point there’s not much use discussing.

“I had not planned to take this step until both Roger and Edie were older, and had had training enough to be of more help; but the matter seems to have been taken out of my control in that respect. What I want to do, and will need the help of all of you in doing, is to find out where these things are from, what sort of people are running them — and, if possible, how they work. I don’t have to tell you how important that knowledge would be. I have never tried to get outside experts on the job, because, as I told Don, I was afraid they’d let curiosity overcome prudence. I don’t want the torpedoes scared away by any hasty action. I’m too old to learn a new trade, for one thing.”

“Nuts!” It was Edie’s first contribution to the discussion, though she had listened intently to all that had gone before.

“What are we going to do?” Roger asked, rather more practically.

“First of all, you two will come with us the next time we trade. I may take the younger kids along too, only it’s quite a walk for them. You can listen in, watch, and generally see the whole thing for yourselves. After that, ideas will be in order. I was hoping, Rog, that you’d be an electronics expert by the time this happened. However, we’ll use what we have.”

“Maybe my trouble the other night could be put to use,” Roger suggested. “If they want tobacco badly enough to pay for it in platinum and iridium, they might Be in a mood to apologize.”

“Supposing they realize they hurt you, and could think of a way to transmit the apology. I won’t refuse an extra nugget or two if they choose to send them, but that won’t be very informative.”

“I suppose that’s so. Well, anyway, I’m going to go over the whole neighborhood of where I saw it and where you do your trading, by daylight. If they’ve made any other landings in the woods, I’ll find ‘em — that one broke a lot of branches, and left a dent in the ground the shape of the torpedo.”

If you think it’s worth doing,” remarked Don. “Why should they have landed in this neighborhood? Earth’s a pretty big place.”

“They did once, and I bet I know why!” retorted Roger. “That transmitter is right here! If you were exploring a new world or a new country even, would you make one landing here and another five hundred miles away? You would not. You’d get to know one neighborhood first, and plant an outpost, and then spread out from there.”

There was silence for two or three minutes while the others absorbed this.

“You’re assuming, then,” said Mr. Wing at last, “that after twenty years of mere trading, they suddenly are starting to explore? Why didn’t they do it sooner?”

“Unfair question.”

“True enough. All right, it’s certainly a usable working hypothesis. You may go ahead with your exploring — so may Edie if she wants. I’m not sold enough on your idea to spend the effort myself, but in a day or two I’ll signal for another torpedo. That will give you time to do any looking you want, I suppose?”

“Well—” Roger’s recent mapping activities had given him a much clearer idea than he had formerly held just what the examining of one square mile meant. “We can look around a bit, anyway. I’m going right now, if no one has any real ideas. Coming, Edie? The girl stood up silently, and followed him back to the house. Their father watched them go with some amusement.

“I wish I didn’t have a nagging worry about Rog’s theory,” he said suddenly to Donald. “He might just be right — these creatures might be tired of paying for tobacco and they certainly know more of physical science than we do.”

“They’ll have a fine time looking for the living weed in this neighborhood,” replied his son. “They’ll do better to stay on peaceful terms.”

“Just tell ‘em that, will you?” murmured Mr. Wing.

Roger and his sister wasted no time. This time there was no mistake in the matter of food; they hastily prepared some sandwiches — their mother had long since resigned herself to the fact that raids on the pantry were inseparable from common-sense rules of forest life — and with a canteen of water apiece they set out eastward. Billy and Marge were playing somewhere out of sight, so there was no trouble about leaving them home. Their father’s description had been clear enough so that they had no trouble in finding the Sarrian transmitter, and from there the two began their search. At Edie’s suggestion they split up, she taking the southern slopes on the line back to their home and Roger taking the northern. They agreed to keep to high ground as much as possible, and thus remain in earshot of each other most of the time. There was little point, in the time available, to look for traces in the woods; but it might be possible to sight either burned spots such as Roger had already seen or traces of disturbance in the upper branches of trees while looking from above. At any rate, more territory could be examined. Neither youngster had spent any time debating the question of whether it was better to know about a small area or guess about a large one.