Hal Clement: Star Light

“Yes,” replied a chemist. “It’s a fascinating example of surface action. It’s sensitive to the nature and particle size of the minerals present, the proportions of water and ammonia in the lubricating fluid, the temperature, and the pressure. The Kwembly ’s weight, of course, was the main cause of trouble; the Mesklinites could walk around on it, in fact, they did, safely enough. Once triggered by a pressure peak, the strength went out of the stuff in a wave — “All right, the rest can serve for a paper,” Aucoin nodded. “Is there any way to identify such a surface without putting a ship onto it?”

“Hmm. I’d say yes. Radiation temperature should be information enough, or at least, it would warn that further tests should be made. For that matter, I wouldn’t worry about its ever getting the barge; the jets would boil the water and ammonia out of such a surface safely before touchdown.”

Aucoin nodded, and passed on to other matters. Cruiser reports, publication reports, supply reports, planning prospectuses.

He was still a little embarrassed. He had known his own failing, but like most people had excused it, and felt sure it wasn’t noticeable. But the Hoffmans had noticed it, maybe others had. He’d have to be careful, if he wanted to keep a responsible and respected job. Alter all, he repeated firmly to himself, Mesklinites were People, even if they looked like bugs.

Ib Hoffman’s attention wandered, important though he knew the work to be. His mind kept going back to the Kwembly, and the Smof and to a well-designed, well-built piece of diving gear which had almost killed an eleven-year-old boy. The reports, punctuated by Aucoin’s sometimes acid comments, droned on; slowly Ib made up his mind.

“We’re getting ahead,” remarked Barlennan. “There was good excuse for taking the vision sets out of the Kwembly, since she was being abandoned, so we’ve been able to work on her with no restrictions. We could use Reffel’s helicopter, since the humans think it’s lost, too. Jemblakee and Deeslenver seem to feel that the cruiser can be back in running state in another day.” He glanced at the feeble sun, almost exactly overhead.

“The human chemists were certainly helpful about that mud she was in. It was funny how the one who talked to Dee about the stuff kept insisting that he was only guessing, while he made suggestion after suggestion. It’s too bad we couldn’t tell him how successful most of his ideas were.

“Self-doubt seems to be a human trait, if it’s safe to make such a sweeping remark,” replied Guzmeen. “When did this news get in?”

“The Deedee came in an hour ago, and is gone again. There’s too much for that machine to do. It was bad enough when we lost the Elsh, and with Kabremm and his Gwelf overdue things are piling up. I hope we find him. Maybe the Kalliff will turn up something; he was supposed to be scouting a route to get her to Don’s camp, so maybe one of Kenanken’s scouts will spot him. He’s less than a day overdue, so there’s still a chance…”

“And with all this, you say we’re ahead?” cut in Guzmeen.

“Sure. Remember, the whole aim of the Esket act was to persuade the human beings to let us use space ships. The self-support business was incidental, though useful. We expected to work the local-life myth up to a major menace before we could persuade Aucoin to let us fly, and spend months building up to it. We’re far ahead on time, and haven’t lost very much, the base at the Esket site, of course, and the Elsh and its crew, and just possibly Kabremm and his.”

“But even Kabremm and Karfrengin aren’t exactly expendable. There aren’t very many of us. If Dondragmer and his crew don’t keep alive until the Kalliff reaches them, we’ll have taken a really serious loss; at least our dirigible crews weren’t our scientists and engineers.”

“Don’s in no real danger. They can always be picked up by Beetchermarlf in the human space ship — I mean our space ship.”

“And if anything goes wrong with that operation we’re out not only our only spaceship but our only space pilots.”

“Which suggests to me,” Barlennan said thoughtfully, “that we should try to regain some lost ground. As soon as the Kwembly is ready she should start hunting a suitable place and start replacing the Esket settlement. Don’s scientists should have little trouble finding a good location; Dhrawn seems to be rich in metal ores. Maybe we should have him search closer to here so that communication will be quicker, though.

“We’ll have to build more dirigibles; the one we have left isn’t nearly enough for the work. Maybe we ought to design bigger ones.

“I’ve been wondering about that,” a technician who had been listening silently up to this point spoke up. “Do you suppose that it would be smart to find out more, tactfully, of course, from the humans about dirigibles? We’ve never discussed the subject with them; they taught you about balloons years ago, and some of our own people got the idea of using the human power sources with them. We don’t know if they ever used them at all. Maybe it isn’t just bad luck that we’ve lost two out of our three in such a short time. Maybe there’s something fundamentally wrong with the whole idea.”

The commander gave a gesture of impatience.

“That’s silly. I didn’t try to pick up a complete scientific education from the aliens, since it was obviously going to take too long; but one thing I did gather was that the underlying rules are essentially simple. Once the humans started concentrating on basic rules, they went from sailing ships to space ships in a couple of hundred years. Balloons, powered or not, are simple devices; I understand them perfectly myself. Putting an engine aboard doesn’t change that; the same rules have to be working.”

The technician eyed his commander thoughtfully, and thought briefly of electron tubes and television circuits before replying.

“I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, “that a piece of a tent being blown away by the gale, and a ship being tacked into the wind, are also examples of the same rules at work.”

Barlennan didn’t want to give an affirmative answer, but he could find nothing better.

He was still trying to shrug off the technician’s remark, but only succeeding in growing more and more doubtful of his situation, some twenty hours later when a messenger called him to the communication room. As soon as he entered, Guzmeen spoke briefly into a microphone; a minute later, a human face which neither of them recognized appeared on the screen.

“I am Ib Hoffman, Easy’s husband and Benj’s father,” the stranger began without preamble. “I’m speaking to you two, Barlennan and Dondragmer, alone. The rest of the observing crew here are concentrating on a new emergency involving one of the cruisers. I’m using your language as best I can, with my wife standing by; she knows what I want to say, and will correct me if I slip too badly. I have decided that it is time to clear up some misunderstandings, but I don’t plan to tell everyone here about them; you’ll see why before I finish, if you don’t already. I’m bothered mostly because I hate to call anyone a liar in any language.

“First, Barlennan, my hearty congratulations. I am just about certain that when we turned the barge over to a Mesklinite pilot we fulfilled one of your chief plans, probably well before you meant or expected it to mature. That’s fine. I wanted that to happen. Probably you want to make interstellar flights on your own later on, too; that’s also fine with me. I’ll help.

“You seem to feel that many or most human beings would try to thwart you in this, and I have to admit that some would, though I think we have the most effective one under control now. You can’t be sure that I’m being sincere now, for that matter; you’re tricky enough yourself to expect it of other people. Too bad. How much you believe of what I say is beyond my control; I still have to say it.