Hal Clement - Iceworld

“You’ll do what you’re told, Mr. Ken. I don’t care how you do it, as I said before; but if we’re not growing tofacco in a reasonable time, someone’s going to be awfully sorry.”

Ken’s response was slightly muffled, as only his head was now protruding from the suit. “That, of course, you can do; I can’t stop you. However, if you’ll let me do this my own way, I honestly think things will go faster. Use your head, after all — who does know this planet?” He paused too briefly for the question to have any but rhetorical significance, and went on: “The natives, of course. They not only know the planet, they presumably know where the tofacco can be obtained, since they sell it to you. You’ll have to work hard to convince me that there’s any better way of learning what we want to know than getting the information from the natives.”

“But it takes so long to learn a language!”

“True. It also takes quite a while to explore two hundred million square miles of territory, even if you count out the three quarters of it that seems to be flatland — and you can’t really do that; these natives may be on good enough terms with the flatlanders to get the tofacco from them by trade. How about that? I understand you had your fill of exploring the flatlands quite a while ago— what was it, nineteen out of nineteen torpedoes lost, or twenty out of twenty? The percentage was embarrassing in either case.”

“But suppose they don’t want us to learn where it can be obtained? They might be afraid we’d get it ourselves, instead of paying them for it”

“That would not be too stupid of them. Sure, they may suspect just that. I never denied that a certain amount of tact would be needed. If you don’t think I can exercise it, I repeat — do it yourself. We have more suits. I want to go down anyway, to study the place, but come right along — the torpedo will carry you and me and the tank easily enough!”

“I may not be a genius, but I’m not completely insane. I’ll be there by proxy. If I don’t like your tact, you needn’t bother to come back.”

“Don’t you want the suit? I thought they were expensive,” Ken said sweetly, and pulled the massive helmet into place with a clang.

Feth, who had been listening in, dogged the piece in place. He was just a trifle worried; he himself had not talked to Drai like that for years, and still retained unpleasant memories of the last time he had done so. He knew, of course, the purpose behind Ken’s attitude; the scientist wanted to annoy Drai sufficiently so that he would not suspect more than one thing at a time. That one thing was to be exactly what Ken wanted. Feth admitted to himself that that part of the conversation had been well handled. Nevertheless, he was not too sure he liked the expression of Laj Drai’s face as that individual draped himself within easy earshot of the radio.

His attention was shifted from the matter as Ken called in from the air lock, reporting that he was attached.

“Let me get out of here with my own controls, and move around a bit while I’m close enough to judge results,” he finished. “I’d better get the feel of this thing while I have just inertia for trouble, and before there’s weight as well.”

“Sound enough,” Feth approved, and took his tentacles from his own controls. One eye remained on the indicators, while the other sought the nearest port. In a few seconds the cigar-shaped bit of metal came into view, darting this way and that, swinging the clumsy figure of the armored scientist from a point near its bow and the rectangular box of the vivarium a few feet farther aft — it, too, was too large to go into the cargo compartment. Ken seemed to be having no trouble in controlling the sloppy-looking assembly, and presently signified that he was ready for the dive.

“All right,” Feth replied, “I have it. Be sure all your own controls are neutral — they’re not cross-connected, and impulses will add algebraically. By the way, all the stuff is in the cargo compartment.”

The other torpedo with the first batch of samples had been salvaged from its lonely perch on Mercury, and Laj Drai knew that; so Feth hoped he would not notice the slight accent on the “all.” The mechanic had placed the extra radio in with the other objects, but had done so at the last moment and had had no time to tell Ken about it. He hoped the fellow knew how to operate the set.

Ken, as a matter of fact, had not realized what Feth was implying. He was much too occupied in bracing his nerves for the descent that had been so hard on them the previous time. He succeeded better on this occasion, largely because he was able to keep most of his mind on the problems that would be facing him after he was down. They were numerous enough.

He had little trouble finding the scene of the previous meeting, though Feth did not succeed in lowering him exactly over it. He was, he realized, early; the sun was barely up. All to the good. He reported his arrival to Feth to make sure, announced that he was resuming control, and went to work.

His first step was to guide the torpedo downhill to the edge of a fairly extensive patch of plant growth. Before doing anything else, he made sure that the patch was isolated; the reaction of the vegetable matter of this world to hot metal had impressed him strongly, and he had a good imagination. Then he lowered the carrier until the vivarium was touching the ground, and detached the clumsy box. The double lids opened without difficulty— Feth had allowed for the probable effect of low temperature on the metal hinges — and set to work.

The samples of earth came speedily from the cargo compartment, and were dumped into the box — all at one side. Using a strip of metal he had brought along for the purpose, Ken levelled out the dark pile into a layer some three inches deep and a foot wide along one side of the container; then he began to use the strip as a crude shovel. Tiny bushes, patches of moss, and other growths were pried out of the ground, the scientist carefully refraining from allowing his armor to contact them and laying the strip down to cool at frequent intervals. He investigated the widely varying root systems, and carefully dug an extra allowance or soil from the spot where each plant had been removed, so that there would be a sufficient depth in the box beneath it. One by one he transferred his specimens to the vivarium, placing them much too close together to have pleased a human gardener but setting them firmly into the soil so that they stood up as they had before. Once or twice he looked longingly at larger bushes, but gave up. They were too tall, and a brief investigation showed that their roots were too long.

He had covered perhaps two of the six square feet he had to fill when the Wings arrived. Roger and Edie were noticeably in advance of the rest; the two youngest would probably have been close behind them if the scene had not been so far from home. As it was, they had begun to get a little tired, and arrived at the same time as their parents.

Ken did not hear them coming; the microphone in the torpedo was not as sensitive as it might have been, and this time Roger did not call as soon as he saw the scientist. Instead, the children came as close as they dared, trying to see what he was up to. That proved obvious enough, but it was only after his curiosity was satisfied on that point that Roger gave an audible greeting.

“I see you’re here early.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?” snapped the voice of Laj Drai from the speaker.

“I didn’t see them; I’ve been working,” replied Ken quietly. “Now, if you expect us to get anywhere with communication, kindly keep quiet. They have no means of telling when I’m the one who’s talking, and extra sounds will just confuse them.” He fell silent, and watched solemnly as the rest of the human beings arrived. The size of Mr. and Mrs. Wing surprised him a little; it took him some seconds to decide that the individuals he had seen first were probably children. The adults were more impressive, if one was impressed by mere size; Ken decided that either one would outweigh the average Sarrian by fully a quarter, assuming that they really filled their queer clothing and had flesh of comparable density. There was something a little more commanding about the manner of the older natives, also; a dignity and seriousness of purpose which he now realized had been decidedly lacking in the immature specimens. For the first time, Ken really thought of the natives of Earth as possibly civilized beings.