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Authors: Hal Clement

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“That would be wasting a tremendous amount of work, and ruining what still seems a promising operation,” Bendivence replied thoughtfully. “You don’t want to do that any more than I do; but of course we can’t abandon those two helmsmen.”
“We can’t,” Barlennan agreed slowly, “but I just wonder whether we’d be taking too much of a chance on them if we waited out one other possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“If the human beings were convinced that we could not possibly carry out
the rescue, it’s just possible, especially with
two
Hoffmans to do the arguing, that they’d decide to do something about it themselves.”
“But what could they do? The ship they call the ‘barge’ will only land here at the Settlement by its automatic controls, as I understand Rescue Plan One. They certainly can’t fly it around on this world from out at the orbiting station; if it took them a whole minute to correct any mistake, they’d crash it right away. They certainly can’t fly it down personally. It’s set up to rescue
us,
with our air and temperature control, and besides Dhrawn’s gravity would paint a human being over the deck.”
“Don’t underestimate those aliens, Ben. They may not be exactly ingenious, but there’s been time for their ancestors to think up a lot of ready-made ideas we don’t know about yet. I wouldn’t do it if I felt there was a real chance of our getting there ourselves, but this way we’re not putting the helmsmen in any worse danger than they are already; I think that we’ll let the human beings get the idea of making the rescue themselves. It would be much better than giving up the plan.”
 
“What it boils down to,” said Beecchermarlf to Takoorch, “is that we somehow have to find time between plugging leaks and cleaning poison out of the air units to convince people that the
Kwembly
is worth salvaging.
“The best way would be to get her going ourselves, though I doubt very much that we can do it. It’s the cruiser that’s going to set the policy. Your life and mine don’t mean very much to the humans, except maybe to Benj, who isn’t running things up there. If the ship stays alive, if we can keep these tanks going to supply us with food and air, and incidentally keep from being poisoned by oxygen ourselves, and make real, reportable progress in repairing and freeing the cruiser,
then
maybe they’ll be convinced that a rescue trip is worth while. Even if they don’t, we’ll have to do all those things for our own sakes anyway; but if we can have the humans tell Barlennan that we have the
Kwembly
out and running, and will get her back to Dondragmer by ourselves, it should make quite a few people happy, especially the commander.”
“Do you think we can do it?” asked Takoorch.
“You and I are the first ones to convince,” replied the younger helmsman. “The rest of the world will be easier after that.”
 
“What it boils down to,” said Benj to his father, “is that we won’t risk the barge for two lives, even though that’s what it’s here for.”
“Not quite right on either count,” Ib Hoffman answered. “It’s a piece of emergency equipment, but it was planned for use if the whole project collapsed and we had to evacuate the Settlement. This was always a possibility; there was a lot that just couldn’t be properly tested in advance. For example, the trick of matching outside pressure in the cruisers and air-suits by using extra argon was perfectly reasonable, but we could not be sure there would be no side effects
on the Mesklinites themselves; argon is inert by the usual standards, but so is xenon, which is an effective anaesthetic for human beings. Living systems are just too complicated for extrapolation ever to be safe, though the Mesklinites seem a lot simpler physiologically than we are. That may be one reason they can stand such a broad temperature range.
“But the point is, the barge is preset to home in on a beam transmitter near the Settlement; it won’t land itself anywhere else on Dhrawn. It can be handled by remote control, of course, but not at this range.
“We could, I suppose, alter its onboard computer program to make it set itself down in other places, at least, on any reasonably flat surface; but would you want to set it down anywhere near your friend either by a built-in, unchangeable program or by long-delayed remote control? Remember the barge uses proton jets, has a mass of twenty-seven thousand pounds, and must put up quite a splash soft-landing in forty gravities, especially since its jets are splayed to reduce cratering.” Benj frowned thoughtfully.
“But why can’t we get closer to Dhrawn, and cut down the remote-control lag?” he asked, after some moments’ thought. Ib looked at his son in surprise.
“You know why, or should. Dhrawn has a mass of 3,471 Earths, and a rotation period of just over fifteen hundred hours. A synchronous orbit to hold us above a constant longitude at the equator is therefore just over six million miles out. If you use an orbit a hundred miles above the surface you’d be traveling at better than ninety miles a second, and go around Dhrawn in something like forty minutes. You’d remain in sight of one spot on the surface for two or three minutes out of the forty. Since the planet has about eighty-seven times Earth’s surface area, how many control stations do you think would be needed to manage one landing or lift-off?”
Benj made a gesture of impatience.
“I know all that, but there is already a swarm of stations down there, the shadow satellites. Even I know that they all have relay equipment, since they’re all reporting constantly to the computers up here and at any given moment nearly half of them must be behind Dhrawn. Why can’t a controller riding one of these, or a ship at about the same height, tie into their relays and handle landing and lift-off from there? Delay shouldn’t be more than a second or so even from the opposite side of the world.”
“Because,” Ib started to answer, and then fell silent. He remained so for a full two minutes. Benj did not interrupt his thinking; the boy usually had a good idea of when he was ahead.
“There would have to be several minutes of interruption of neutrino data while the relays were being preempted,” Ib said finally.
“Out of the how many years that they’ve been integrating that material?” Benj was not usually sarcastic with either of his parents, but his feelings were once more growing warm. His father nodded silently, conceding the point, and continued to think.
It must have been five minutes later, though Benj would have sworn to a greater number, that the senior Hoffman got suddenly to his feet.
“Come on, son. You’re perfectly right. It will work for an initial space-tosurface landing, and for a surface-to-orbit lift-off, and that’s enough. For surface-to-surface flight even one second is too much control delay, but we can do without that.”
“Sure!” enthused Benj. “Lift off into orbit, get your breath, change the orbit to suit your landing spot, and go back down.”
“That would work, but don’t mention it. For one thing, if we made a habit of it there
would
be a significant interruption of neutrino data transmission. Besides, I’ve wanted an excuse for this almost ever since I joined this project. Now I have one, and I’m going to use it.”
“An excuse for what?”
“For doing exactly what I think Barlennan has been trying to maneuver us into doing all along: put Mesklinite pilots on the barge. I suppose he wants his own interstellar ship, some time, so that he can start leading the same life among the stars that he used to do on Mesklin’s oceans, but he’ll have to make do with one quantum jump at a time.”
“Is
that
what you think he’s been up to? Why should he care about having his own space pilots so much? And come to think of it, why wasn’t that a good idea in the first place, if the Mesklinites can learn how?”
“It was, and there’s no reason to doubt that they can.”
“Then why wasn’t it done that way all along?”
“I’d rather not lecture on that subject just now. I like to feel as much pride in my species as circumstances allow, and the explanation doesn’t reflect much credit either on man’s rationality or his emotional control.”
“I can guess, then,” replied Benj. “But in that case, what makes you think we can change it now?”
“Because now, at the trifling cost of descending to the same general level of emotional reasoning, we have a handle on some of man’s less generous drives. I’m going down to the planetology lab and filibuster. I’m going to ask those chemists why they don’t know what trapped the
Kwembly,
and when they say it’s because they don’t have any samples of the mud, I’m going to ask them why they don’t. I’m going to ask them why they’ve been making do with seismic and neutrino-shadow data when they might as well be analyzing mineral samples carted up here from every spot where a Mesklinite cruiser has stopped for ten minutes. If you prefer not to descend to that level, and would rather work with mankind’s nobler emotions, you be thinking of all the heart-rending remarks you could make about the horror and cruelty of leaving your friend Beetchermarlf to suffocate slowly on an alien world parsecs from his home. We could use that if we have to take this argument to a higher authority, like the general public. I don’t think we’ll really need to, but right now I’m in no mood to restrict myself to clean fighting and logical argument.
“If Alan Aucoin growls about the cost of operating the barge (I think he has too much sense), I’m going to jump on him with both feet. Energy has been practically free ever since we’ve had fusion devices; what costs is personal skill. He’ll have to use Mesklinite crews anyway, so that investment is already made; and by letting the barge drift out here unused he’s wasting
its
cost. I know there’s a small hole in that logic, but if you point it out in Dr. Aucoin’s hearing I’ll paddle you for the first time since you were seven, and I don’t think the last decade has done too much to my arm. You let Aucoin do his own thinking.”
“You needn’t get annoyed with
me
, Dad.”
“I’m not. In fact, I’m not as much annoyed as I am scared.”
“Scared? Of what?”
“Of what may happen to Barlennan and his people on what your mother calls ‘that horrible planet.’”
“But why? Why now, more than before?”
“Because I’m coming gradually to realize that Barlennan is an intelligent, forceful, thoughtful, ambitious, and reasonably well-educated being, just as my only son was six years ago; and I remember your homemade diving outfit much too well. Come on. We have an astronautics school to get organized, and a student body to collect.”
At two hundred miles, the barge was just visible as a starlike object reflecting Lalande 21185’s feeble light. Benj had watched the vessel as it pulled up to that distance and moved into what its pilot considered a decent stationkeeping orbit, but neither he nor the pilot had discussed technical details. It was so handy to be able to hold a conversation without waiting a full minute for the other fellow’s answer that Benj and Beetchermarlf had simply chattered.
These conversations were becoming less and less frequent. Benj was really back at work now and, he suspected, making up for lost time. Beetchermarlf was often too far away on practice flights to talk at all, and even more frequently too occupied to converse with anyone but his instructor.
“Time to turn it over, Beetch,” the boy ended the present exchange as he heard Tebbetts’ whistling from down the shaft. “The taskmaster is on the way.”
“I’m ready when he is,” came the reply. “Does he want to use your language or mine this time?”
“He’ll let you know; he didn’t tell me. Here he is,” replied Benj.
The bearded astronomer, however, spoke first to Benj after looking quickly around. The two were drifting weightless in the direct-observation section at the center of the station’s connecting bar, and Tebbetts had taken for granted that the barge and his student would be drifting alongside. All his quick glance caught was the dull ember of a sun in one direction and the dimly lit disc of Dhrawn, little larger than Luna seen from Earth, in the other.
“Where is he, Benj? I thought I heard you talking to him, so I assumed he was close. I hope he isn’t late. He should be solving intercept orbits, even with nomographs instead of high-speed computers, better than that by now.”
“He’s here, sir.” The boy pointed. “Just over two hundred miles away, in a 17.8-minute orbit around the station.”
Tebbetts blinked. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t think this heap of hardware would whip anything around in that time at a distance of two hundred feet, let alone that many miles. He’d have to use power, accelerating straight toward us—”
“He is, sir. About two hundred g’s acceleration. The time is the rotation period of Mesklin, and the acceleration is the gravity value at his home port. He says he hasn’t been so comfortable since he signed up with Barlennan, and wishes there were some way to turn up the sunlight.”
The astronomer smiled slowly.
“Yes. I see. That does make sense. I should have thought of it myself. I have some more practice exercises for him here, but that’s about as good as any of them. I should do more of that sort of thing. Well, let’s get at it. Can you stay to check my language? I think I have the Stennish words for everything in today’s work, and space is empty enough so that his mistakes and mine should both be relatively harmless, but there’s no need to take chances.”
 
“It’s too bad the
Kwembly
couldn’t be salvaged after all,” remarked Aucoin, “but Dondragmer’s crew is doing a very good and effective study of the area while they’re waiting for relief. I think it was a very good idea to send the
Kalliff
after them with a skeleton crew and let them work while they waited, instead of taking them back to the Settlement in the barge. That would have been pretty dangerous anyway, until there are practiced Mesklinite pilots. The single landing near the
Kuembly
to get the two helmsmen, and a direct return to space while they were trained, was probably the safest way to do it.
“But now we have this trouble with the
Smof.
At this rate we’ll be out of cruisers before we’re half way around Low Alpha. Does anyone know the
Smof’s
commander the way Easy knows Dondragmer? You don’t, I suppose, Easy? Can anyone give a guess at his ability to get himself out of trouble? Or are we going to have to risk sending the barge down before those two Mesklinites are fully trained?”
“Tebbetts thinks Beetchermarlf could handle a surface landing now, as long as it wasn’t complicated by mechanical emergencies,” pointed out an engineer. “Personally I wouldn’t hesitate to let him go.”
“You may be right. The trouble is, though, that we certainly can’t land the barge on an ice pack, and not even the barge can lift one of those land-cruisers, even if there were a way of fastening them together without an actual landing. Beetchermarlf and Takoorch may as well continue their training for the moment. What I want as soon as possible, Planetology, is the best direction and distance for the
Smof’s
crew to trek if they do have to abandon the cruiser, that is, the closest spot where the barge
could
land to pick them up. If it’s close to their present location, don’t tell them, of course; I want them to do their best to save the cruiser, and there’s no point in tempting them with an easy escape.” Ib Hoffman stirred slightly, but refrained from comment. Aucoin, from one point of view, was probably justified. The administrator went on, “Also, is there definite word on the phenomenon that trapped the
Kwemb/y?
You’ve had specimens of the mud, or whatever it is, that Beetchermarlf brought up, for weeks now.”
“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 welldesigned, well-built piece of diving gear which had almost killed an elevenyear-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 space ship 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.
“I don’t know how much of the basic situation you set up, but I can guess. I’m nearly sure the
Esket
disappearance was not genuine. I’m uncertain of the real status of the
Kwembly.
You probably know more of Dhrawn than you’ve reported. I won’t say I don’t care, because I do; we’re here to learn as much as possible about Dhrawn, and what you don’t tell us is a loss to the project. I can’t threaten you with penalties for breach of contract, since I’m not completely certain you’ve broken it and am in no position to carry out threats. And in any case have less than no desire to even make threats. I do want to persuade you, though, that it will be better for both of us if we do without secrets. We’re at a point where anything less than complete frankness is likely to cost us a lot and cost you everything. To make that point, I’m going to tell you a story.
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