Hal Clement - Iceworld

“My gosh! I forgot all about Edie! She must think I fell off a cliff or something!” He turned in the direction from which the faint voice seemed to be coming, and put all the strength of his lungs into an answering hail. His sister heard it and responded; and ten or fifteen minutes of lung strain brought her to the scene. She seemed a little dubious about approaching Ken at all closely, to Roger’s surprise.

“What’s the matter with you? He just wants to talk, as far as I can see.”

“Haven’t you got burned again?”

“No; why should I?”

“Can’t you feel the heat?”

Oddly enough, Roger hadn’t. He had never come closer than about fifteen feet to the scientist. The radiation from the armor was easily detectable at that distance without being uncomfortable, but he simply had not noticed it in the press of other interests. For Edith, whose strongest impression of the aliens had been derived from her brother’s experience of a few nights before, it was the most prominent characteristic of the thing standing before them.

With the matter brought to his notice, Roger approached the alien more closely, and extended a cautious hand toward the metal. He stopped it more than a foot away.

“My gosh, he certainly is hot. Maybe that’s what caused the trouble — they never thought the gold would burn me. Do you suppose that’s it?”

“Maybe. I’d like to know how it can live when it’s that hot, though. So would Dad. He ought to be here anyway. Had I better go tell him, while you keep the thing here?”

“I don’t know how I’d keep it. Besides, it would be awful late by the time he got here. Let’s try to make a date for tomorrow.” He turned back to Ken without waiting for Edie’s rather sensible question, “How?”

Actually the “how” proved not too difficult. Time is an abstract quantity, but when it is measured by phenomena like the apparent movement of the sun it can be discussed in signs quite clearly enough for practical purposes. Ken understood without difficulty by the time Roger had finished waving his arms that the two natives would return to their present location shortly after sunrise the following day. The scientist was just as glad to break off the interview, since his feet were now quite numb with cold. He resumed the task of fastening himself to the hovering torpedo, and the children, turning back for a last look as they reached the trees, saw the odd-looking assemblage of suit and carrier drifting upward with ever-increasing velocity. They watched until it had dwindled to a speck and vanished; then with one accord they headed for home.

Mr. Wing was not merely interested; he was enthralled by the youngster’s report. He was sensible enough to realize that nothing any of his family had done could possibly be responsible for the aliens’ starting to make personal exploration of the earth, but the fact that they were doing so seemed likely to be very helpful to his plans. The evening meal consisted very largely of conversation, for all attempts to keep the details from any of the family were abandoned. Mrs. Wing, of course, had known everything from the beginning; Roger and Edie had been pretty well briefed that morning; but Billy and Marge lacked both specific information and basic knowledge to appreciate the situation. Their questions tended to break up the general train of thought, but only Roger showed any impatience. Since even he did not dare become openly contemptuous of their ignorance, the general tone of the conversation remained peaceful, and several important decisions were made.

“It seems to me,” Mr. Wing said, “that these things— maybe we can think of them as people, now that we have some idea what they look like — must at last have some scientists on the job. I can’t even guess at the reason for the delay—”

“Look at an astronomical photo of the Milky Way some time, and you might guess,” cut in Don.

“Reason or no reason, the fact itself may be useful. There will be both explorers and apparatus coming down, beyond reasonable doubt; and they must expect to lose a certain amount of the latter. I don’t mean to encourage dishonesty in my offspring, but if we could acquire some of that apparatus long enough to perform dissection I would be very pleased.”

“I take it you are no longer afraid of scaring them off?” Mrs. Wing stated rather than asked.

“No. Whether they continue trading or not is out of my hands — it will probably depend on the results that their scientists get. I am not worried; they obviously want tobacco badly, and I doubt very much if it grows on any other planet. I could be surer of my ground, of course, if I knew what they wanted it for. I used to think they smoked it as we do, but this knowledge of their normal temperature makes that sound a trifle unlikely.

“But back to the original point. Anyone who talks to them from now on might well suggest that another transmitter be brought down, so they can home on this house. I see no point in walking five or six miles out and the same distance back just for a daily conversation. Incidentally, Rog, I’m wondering whether we mightn’t have made a better impression if we’d tried learning their words for things instead of teaching them ours.”

“Maybe. I didn’t think of that.”

“How about the trading, Dad?” asked Don. “Are you going to keep it up as usual, or try to get these investigators to take our stuff?” His father considered for a moment.

“I think we’d better stick to the old routine,” he said finally. “We have no assurance that the traders and scientists are in with each other, and it would be a pity to disappoint our customers. Perhaps, when we go to keep this date tomorrow, you’d better go on to the transmitter and give the signal. You’d better carry a pack of cigarettes with you; normally, of course, they’re two or three days answering, but if they should be in with the science crowd they may be a lot closer at the moment. You’d better be prepared, in case they answer at once.”

“You mean I’d better stay by the transmitter all day, if necessary?”

“Well — no, not that. Hang around for a while, and then come back to where we’ll be. We can keep an eye in the right direction in case another torpedo comes down — it can’t be more than a couple of miles in a straight line, so we stand a fair chance of seeing it.”

“All right. I signal, and everybody talks, with emphasis on suggesting that another communicator be brought down — always supposing either party learns enough of the other’s language to get any such idea across.” Don shifted the subject suddenly. “Say, Dad, I just had an idea. You say it doesn’t always take the same length of time between the signal and the arrival of the torpedo?”

“That’s right. Never less than two days, never much more than three.”

“Could you give me any specific signalling dates, with the time of arrival? The more the better. I think I can do something with them.” Mr. Wing thought for a moment.

“Some, anyway. I can remember those of the last couple of years pretty well, and probably some odd ones from earlier years if I try. What’s your idea?”

“I’d rather not tell until I’m a little more certain of it. Let’s have what you can recall.”

With the aid of the family, who were able to supply clues on his dates of absence — a diary kept by Edie was very helpful — about two dozen of the dates were fixed with sufficient accuracy to satisfy Don. He immediately went up to his room, carrying the notes he had taken.

From that point the conversation drifted by imperceptible degrees into pure fantasy, and by bed-time a number of wonderful pictures had been drawn about the home life of the fiery visitors. Little Margie’s was the most interesting, if the least accurate.