Heavy Planet Part 19

"Borndender?" queried someone. Barlennan gestured affirmatively and went on.

"The snow field started here." He crawled to a spot nearly four feet northwest of the position marker. "It lies between a couple of mountain ridges, which we have indicated only roughly. Destigmet's balloons haven't gotten this far south yet, or at least word hasn't reached us and Don's fliers haven't seen much. just now, while the Kwemb/y was stopped for a routine maintenance check, a heavy wind came up, and then a dense fog of pure or nearly pure ammonia. Then, quite suddenly, the temperature rose several degrees and they found themselves afloat, being blown roughly eastward by the wind. We would like explanations and we badly need constructive advice. Why did the temperature go up, and why did the snow melt? Is there any connection between the two? Remember that the highest temperature they mentioned was only about a hundred and three, twenty-six or-seven degrees below the melting point of water. Why the wind? How long is it likely to last? It's carrying the Kwembly toward the hot regions inside Low Alpha south of the Esket site." He gestured toward a heavily red-marked section of the floor. "Can we tell how far they'll be carried? I didn't want Dondragmer to go out on this trip, and I certainly don't want to lose him even if we don't agree completely.

"We'll call for what help we can get from the men, but you'll have to use your brains, too. I know some of you have been trying to make sense out of Dhrawn's climatology; do you have any worthwhile ideas which might apply here?"

Several minutes of silence followed. Even those in the group most given to uttering rhetorical speeches had been working with Barlennan too long to risk them now. For some time no really constructive ideas came up. Then one of the scientists scuttled toward the door and vanished, with "Just a moment, I have to check a table" floating behind him. He was back within thirty seconds.

"I can account for the temperature and melting," he said firmly. "The ground surface was water ice, the fog ammonia. The heat of solution as they met and mixed would have caused the temperature rise. Ammonia-water solutions form eutectics which can melt as low as seventy-one."

Mild hoots of appreciation and approving gestures of nipper-equipped arms greeted this suggestion. Barlennan went with the crowd, though words had been used which were not entirely familiar to him. But he was not through with his questions.

"Does that give us any idea how far the Kwembly will be carried?"

"Not in itself. We need information about the extent of the original snow field," was the answer. "Since only the Kwembly has been in the area, about the only hope is the photo maps made by the humans. You know how little we can get from those. Half the time you can't differentiate between ice and clouds. Besides they were all made before we landed here."

"Give it a try, anyway," ordered Barlennan. "With luck, you can at least tell whether those mountain ranges to the east are blocking the Kwembly's present path. If they are, it's hard to see how the craft could be carried more than a few hundred thousand cables."

"Right," answered one of the investigators. "We'll check. Ben, Dees, come along; you're more used to the photos than I am." The three vanished through the door. The others broke up into small groups, muttering arguments to each other and waving excitedly, now at the map underfoot, now at items presumably in the nearby laboratories. Barlennan endured this for several minutes before deciding that a little more guidance was needed.

"If that plateau Don was crossing was such pure water, there couldn't have been any ammonia precipitation there for a long, long time. Why should things have changed so suddenly?"

"It almost has to be a seasonal effect," answered one of the men. "I can only guess, but I'd say it had something to do with some consistent change in the wind pattern. Air currents from different parts of the planet will be saturated with water or ammonia according to the nature of the surface they pa.s.s over, mostly its temperature, I suppose. The planet is nearly twice as far from its sun at one time as at another and its axis is much more inclined than Mesklin's. It's easy to believe that at one time of year only water is precipitated on that plateau and at another it gets supplied with ammonia. Actually, the vapor pressure of water is so low that it's hard to see what situation would get water into the atmosphere without supplying even more ammonia, but I'm sure it's possible. We'll work on it, but it's another of those times when we'd be a lot better off with worldwide, year-round information. These human beings seem to be in an awful hurry; they could have waited a few more years to land us here, I should think."

Barlenna made the gesture whose human equivalent would have been a noncommittal grunt. "The field data would be convenient. Just think of yourself as being here to get it instead of having it given to you."

"Of course. Are you going to send the Kalliff or the Hoorsh out to help Dondragmer? This is certainly different from the Esket situation."

"From our point of view, yes. It might look funny to the humans, though, if I insisted on sending out a rescue cruiser this time after letting them talk me out of it before. I'll think it over. There's more than one way of sailing upwind. You do that theoretical work you've just been talking about, but be thinking about what you'd want to take on a field trip up toward the Kwembly."

"Right, Commander." The scientist started to turn away, but Barlennan added a few more words.

"And Jemblakee. No doubt you'll be strolling over to Communications to talk to your human colleagues. Please don't mention this, what was it, heat of solution and eutectic business. Let them mention it first, if they're going to, and be properly impressed when and if they do. You understand?"

"Perfectly." The scientist would have shared a grin of understanding with his commander if their faces had been capable of that sort of distortion. Jemblakee left, and after a moment's thought Barlennan did the same. The remaining researchers and technicians might possibly be the better for his presence to keep their centerboards down but he had other things to do. If they couldn't hold course without his pincers on their helms, they'd just have to drift for a while.

He should talk to the human station soon; but if there was going to be an argument, as seemed rather likely, he had better do a little course-plotting himself. Some of the two-legged giants, Aucoin, for example, who seemed to have a great deal to say about their policy, were reluctant to expend or even risk any sort of reserve equipment, no matter how important the action seemed from the Mesklinite viewpoint. Since the aliens had paid for it, this was perfectly understandable, even laudable. Still there was nothing immoral about talking them around to a more convenient att.i.tude if it could be done. If he could arrange it, the best plan would be to work through that particularly sympathetic female named Hoffman. It was too bad the human beings kept such irregular hours; if they had set up decent, regular watches in their communication section Barlennan would long since have worked out their schedule and been able to pick his party. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the irregular schedule might not be deliberately set up to block that very action, but there seemed no way to find out. He could hardly ask.

The Settlement's comm center was far enough from the laboratories to give him thinking time en route. It was also close enough to his office to encourage a pause for making a few notes before actually opening the verbal fencing match.

The central theme would have to be the question of rescue, if Dondragmer's trouble wound up crippling his cruiser. If the previous situation involving the Esket months before were any indication, the tightwads up above would be basically against sending the Kalliff. Of course, there was nothing they could do if Barlennan chose to go his own way in that matter, or in any other, but the commander was hoping to keep that fact cus.h.i.+oned in the decencies of polite conversation. He would be happiest if that aspect of the situation never came up at all. This was one reason he hoped to work Easy Hoffman into the other end of the discussion. For some reason, she seemed p.r.o.ne to take the Mesklinite side when disagreements arose. She was certainly one reason that there had been no open argument during the Esket incident, though a more important reason was that Barlennan had never had the slightest intention of sending a rescue cruiser before and had therefore actually been siding with Aucoin.

Well, he could at least go as far as the comm room door and find out who was on duty above. With the rippling equivalent of a shrug, he lifted his sprawled fifteen inches from the office floor and made his way into the corridor. It was at that moment that the wind reached the Settlement.

There was no fog at first or for some minutes thereafter. Barlennan, promptly changing his plans as the roof began rippling, got all the way back to the laboratories; but before he had a chance to get any constructive information from his scientists the stars began to fade. Within a few minutes the lights showed a solid gray ceiling a body-length above the Mesklinites. The ceilings here were rigid and did not vibrate in the wind as those in the corridor had, but the sound outside was loud enough to make more than one of the scientists wonder how stable the buildings actually were. They didn't express the thought aloud in the commander's presence but he could interpret the occasional upward glances when the whine of the heavy outside air increased in pitch.

It occurred to him that his present location was about the most useless possible one for a commander who was not a scientist, since the people around him were about the only ones in the Settlement to whom he could not reasonably give orders. He asked just one question, was informed in reply that the wind speed was about half that Dondragmer had reported some ten thousand miles away, then headed for the communication room.

He thought briefly of going back to the office on the way, but knew that anyone wanting him would find him almost as quickly at Guzmeen's station. Meanwhile a question had crossed his mind which could probably be answered by relay from the human station faster than any other way, and that question seemed more and more important as the seconds pa.s.sed. Forgetting that he wanted to make sure that Easy Hoffman was on duty above, he shot into the radio room and politely nudged aside the staff member in front of the transmitter. He began to speak almost before he was in position and the sight of Hoffman's features when the screen lit up was a pleasant surprise rather than a major relief.

"The wind and fog are here, too," he began abruptly. "Some people were outdoors. There's nothing I can do about them at the moment; but some were working in the cruisers parked outside. You could check through their communicators as to whether everything is all right there. I'm not too worried, since the wind speed is now much less than Don reported. Besides, the air is much less dense at this height; but we can't see at all through this fog, so I'd be relieved to know about the men in the cruisers."

Easy's image had started to speak part way through the commander's request, obviously not in answer, since there had not been time enough for the speed-of-light round-trip. Presumably the human beings had something of their own to say. Barlennan concentrated on his own message until it was done, knowing that Guzmeen or one of his crew would be writing down whatever came in. Message crossing under these circ.u.mstances was a frequent event and was handled by established routine.

With his own words on the way, the commander turned to ask what the humans had wanted but the question was interrupted. An officer shot into the room and began reporting as soon as he saw Barlennan.

"Sir, all groups but the two who checked out at the north gates are accounted for. One of these was working in the Hoorsh, the other was leveling ground for the new complex twenty cables north, on the other side of the parking valley. There were eight people in the first group, twenty in the second."

Barlennan made the gesture of understanding, all four nippers clicking shut simultaneously. "We may have radio reports from the s.p.a.ce station shortly on the Hoorsh group," he replied. "How many who were actually outside after the wind and fog arrived have come in? What do they report on living and traveling conditions? Was anyone hurt?"

"No one hurt, sir. The wind was only a minor inconvenience; they came in because they couldn't see to work. Some of them had trouble finding their way. My guess is that the ground-levelling crew is still groping its way back, unless they just decided to wait it out where they were. The ones on the Hoorsh may not even have noticed anything, inside. If the first bunch stays out of contact too long, I'll send out a messenger."

"How will you keep him from getting lost?"

"Compa.s.s, plus picking someone who works outside a lot and knows the ground well."

"I'm not-" Barlennan's objection was interrupted by the radio.

"Barlennan," came Easy's voice, "the communicators in the Hoorsh and the Kalliff are all working. As far as we can see, there is no one in the Kalliff and it's just sitting there; nothing is moving. There are at least three, and possibly five, men in the life-support section of the Hoorsh. The man covering those screens has seen as many as three at once in the last few minutes but isn't too confident of recognizing individual Mesklinites. The cruiser doesn't seem to be affected. The people aboard are going about their business and paying no attention to us. Certainly they weren't trying to send an emergency message up. Jack Bravermann is trying to get their attention on that set now but I don't think there's anything to worry about. As you say, slower wind and thinner air should mean that your settlement is in no danger if the Kwembly wasn't hurt."

"I'm not worried, at least not much. If you'll wait a moment, I'll find out what your last message but one was and try to answer it," returned Barlennan. He turned to the duty officer whose place at the set he had taken. "I a.s.sume you got what she said."

"Yes, sir. It wasn't urgent, just interesting. Another interim report has come up from Dondragmer. The Kwembly is still afloat, still drifting, though he thinks it has dragged bottom once or twice and the wind is still blowing there. Because of their own motion, his scientists won't commit themselves to an opinion on whether the wind velocity has changed or not."

The commander gestured acceptance, turned back to the communicator, and said, "Thanks, Mrs. Hoffman. I appreciate your sending even *no change' reports so quickly. I will stay here for a while, so if anything really does happen I will know as soon as possible. Have your atmospheric scientists come up with predictions they trust? Or explanations of what happened?"

To the other Mesklinites in the room it was obvious that Barlennan was doing his best to keep his expression unreadable as he asked this question. His arms and legs were carefully relaxed, chelae neither too tightly closed nor gaping open, his head neither too high nor too close to the floor, his eyes fixed steadily on the screen. The watchers did not know in detail what was in his mind, but could tell that he attached more than face value to the question. Some of them wondered why he bothered to control himself so, since it was most unlikely that any human being could interpret his body expression anyway; but those who knew him best realized that he would never take a chance on a matter like that. After all, there were some human beings, of whom Elise Rich Hoffman was emphatically one, who seemed to think very easily from the Mesklinite viewpoint, besides speaking Stennish as well as human vocal equipment would permit.

All watched the screen with interest, wondering whether the human being on it would show signs of having noticed the commander's att.i.tude when her answer came back. All communication room personnel were reasonably familiar with human facial expressions; most of them could recognize at least a dozen different human beings by face or voice alone, the commander having long ago expressed a strong desire that such abilities be cultivated. Barlennan, his glance leaving the screen for a moment and roving around the circle of intent listeners, was amused at their expressions even while he was annoyed at his own obviousness. He wondered how they would react to whatever answer Easy returned, but he never found out.

The human female had evidently received the question and was starting to form a sentence in reply, when her attention was distracted. For several seconds she was obviously listening to something and her eyes s.h.i.+fted away from the pickup of the Settlement communicator. Then her attention came back to Barlennan.

"Commander. Dondragmer has reported again. The Kwembly has stopped, or almost stopped, aground. They are still being dragged a little, however; the flow of liquid has not slowed. They have been tipped so that the trucks are out of contact with whatever surface is below them. If they aren't dragged free by the river, they're there to stay; and Dondragmer thinks the level is going down."

4: SMALL TALK.

It was a curious, helpless sensation for Beetchermarlf. The Kwemb/y's helm was connected to the trucks by simple pulley-and-cord rigging; even Mesklinite muscles could not turn the trucks when the vehicle was at rest, and, while forward motion made steering possible, it certainly did not make it easy. Now, as the vehicle floated with the driving units clear of the bottom, the helm flopped limply in response to a casual nudge or even to a slight roll of the hull. In theory, the cruiser was maneuverable at sea, but this required installing driving paddles on the treads, something most easily done on land. Dondragmer had thought fleetingly, as he realized they were adrift, of sending out air suited men to attempt the task, then decided it wasn't worth the risk even if everyone were attached solidly to the hull by lifelines. It was likely enough, as far as anyone could tell, that they might reach the end or the edge of the river or lake or whatever they were floating on before any such job could be completed, anyway. If men were outside when that happened, lifelines would be of little use.

The same thoughts had crossed the helmsman's mind as he lay at his station, but he did not voice them. Beetchermarlf was young, but not so young as to a.s.sume that no one else could recognize the obvious. He was quite prepared to grant his captain's professional competence.

As the minutes slipped by, however, he began to worry at Dondragmer's failure to issue any orders. Something should be possible; they couldn't just drift eastward. He glanced at the compa.s.s; yes, eastward, indefinitely. There had been hills that way according to the last flight reports, the same hills which had bordered the snow field on their left, sometimes showing slightly above the distant horizon, for the last three or four thousand miles. Judging by their color they were rock, not ice. If the surface the Kwembly was floating on was simply melted snow field, they almost had to hit something soon. Beetchermarlf had no more idea than anyone else how fast they were going but his confidence in the strength of the hull matched that of the captain. He had no more wish to strike a reef on Dhrawn than he had ever had on Mesklin.

Anyhow, the wind should not move them too fast, given the air density. The top of the hull was smoothly curved except for the bridge, and the trucks on the bottom should give plenty of drag. As far as the air scouts had been able to tell, the snow field had been level, so the liquid itself shouldn't be moving. Come to think of it, the outside pressure should give a check on that. The helmsman stirred at the thought, glanced up at the captain, hesitated, and then spoke.

"Sir, how about checking hull-squeeze watch? If there is any current where we're floating, we'd have to be going downhill, and that should show-" Dondragmer interrupted.

"But the surface was level-no, you're right. We should check." He reared up to the bank of speaking tubes and called the laboratory. "Born, how is the pressure? You're keeping track, of course."

"Of course, Captain. Both bow and stern safety bladders have been expanding ever since we began to float. We've descended about six body lengths in twice that many minutes. I'm about ready to tap more argon."

Dondragmer acknowledged, and looked back at his helmsman.

"Good for you. I should have thought of that. That means we are being carried by current as well as wind and all bets on speed, distance, and where we stop are off. There couldn't be a current unless the air scouts missed a slope, and if there's a slope this plateau must drain somewhere."

"We're secure for rough travel, sir. I don't see what else we can do."

"There's one thing," Dondragmer said grimly. He reared to the tubes again, and emitted the sirenlike general quarters call. Reasonably sure that all were listening, he pulled his head back so as to be equally distant from all the tubes, and spoke loudly enough to get through them all.

"All hands into air suits as quickly as possible. You are relieved from stations for that purpose, but get back as soon as you can." He lowered himself to his command bench and addressed Beetchermarlf. "Get your suit and mine, and bring them back here. Quickly!"

The helmsman was back with the garments in ninety seconds. He started to a.s.sist the captain with his, but was dismissed by an emphatic gesture and went to work on his own. In two minutes both, protected except for head covering, were back at their stations.

The haste, as it turned out, was unnecessary. More minutes pa.s.sed while Beetchermarlf toyed with the useless helm, and Dondragmer wondered whether the human scientists were ever going to come through with any information and what use it was likely to be if they did. He hoped that satellite fixes could give him some idea of the Kwemb/y's speed; it would, he thought rather cynically, be nice to know how hard they were likely to hit whatever finally stopped them. Such fixes were, he knew, hard to get on order; there were over thirty of the "shadow satellites" in orbit but they were less than three thousand miles above the surface. No attempt had been made to arrange their orbits so that their limited fields of visual and microwave coverage would be either uniform or complete; communication was not their primary purpose. The main human base, in synchronous...o...b..t over six million miles above the Settlement meridian, was supposed to need no help with that task. Also, the ninety-plus mile per second orbital speed of the lower satellites, helpful though the human observers claimed it to be for moving-baseline location checking, still seemed to Dondragmer an inevitable cause of difficulty. He was not at all hopeful about getting his speed from this source. That was just as well, because he never did.

Once, about half an hour after they had gone adrift, a brief shudder ran through the Kwembly and the captain duly reported to the station that they had probably touched bottom. Everyone else on board made the same a.s.sumption and tension began to mount.

There was a little warning just before the end. A hoot from the laboratory speaking tube was followed by a report that pressure had started to rise more rapidly, and that an additional release of argon into the s.h.i.+p's atmosphere had been necessary to keep the safety bladders from rupturing. There was no sensation of increasing speed, but the implication of the report was plain enough. They were descending more rapidly. How fast were they going horizontally? The captain and helmsman looked at each other, not asking the question aloud but reading it in each other's expressions. More minutes pa.s.sed; the tension mounted, chelae gripping stanchions and holdfasts ever more tightly.

Then there was a thunderous clang, and the hull swerved abruptly; another, and it tilted sharply to starboard. For several seconds it pitched violently, and those near bow and stern could feel it yawing as well, though the fog still blocked any outside view which might have explained the sensation. Then there was another, much louder clang and the Kwembly rolled some sixty degrees to starboard; but this time she did not recover. Sc.r.a.ping, grinding sounds suggested that she was moving slightly, but no real change of att.i.tude accompanied them. For the first time, the sound of liquid rus.h.i.+ng past the hull became noticeable.

Dondragmer and his companion were unhurt. To beings who regarded two hundred Earth gravities as normal and six hundred as a most minor inconvenience, that sort of acceleration meant nothing. They had not even lost their grips, and were still at their posts. The captain was not worried about direct injuries to his crew. His first words showed that he was considering matters much further ahead.

"By stations, report!" he bellowed into the speaking tubes. "Check hull soundness at all points, and report all cracks, open breaks, dents, and other evidence for leaks. Lab personnel to emergency stations, and check for oxygen. Life-support, cut tank circulation until the oxygen check is done. Now!"

Apparently the speaking tubes were intact, at least. Hoots of response began to return immediately. As the reports acc.u.mulated, Beetchermarlf began to relax. He had not really expected the sh.e.l.l which protected him from Dhrawn's poisonous air to withstand anything like such a shock and his respect for alien engineering went up several grades. He had regarded artificial structures of any sort as normally inferior in strength and durability to any living body. He had, of course, excellent reason for such an att.i.tude. Nevertheless, it appeared when all the reports were finally in, that there were no major structural failures or even visible cracks. Whether the normal leaks, unavoidable in a structure which had to have entrances for personnel and equipment, not to mention hull openings for instruments and control lines, were any worse than they had been, would not be known for a while. Pressure monitoring and oxygen checking would of course continue as normal routine.

Power was still on, which surprised no one. The twenty-five independent hydrogen converters, identical modules which could be moved from any energyusing site in the Kwembly to any other, were solid-state devices with no moving parts larger than the molecules of gaseous fuel which were fed into them. They could have been placed under the hammer of a power forge without damage.

Most of the outside lights were gone, or at least inoperative, though these could be replaced. Some were still working, however, and from the submerged end of the bridge it was possible to see out. Fog still blocked the view from the upper end. Dondragmer made his way very gingerly to the low end and took a brief look at the conglomeration of rounded rocks with diameters from half his own length to twenty times that, into which his craft had managed to wedge itself. Then he climbed carefully back to his station, energized the sound system of his radio and transmitted the report which Barlennan was to hear a little over a minute later. Without waiting for an answer, he began issuing orders to the helmsman.

"Beetch, stand by here in case the men have anything to say. I'm going to make a complete check myself, especially of the air locks. With all there is to be said for our design, we didn't have this much of a roll in mind when we settled on it. We may only be able to use the small emergency locks, since the main one seems to be underneath us at the moment. It may be blocked on the outside even if we can open the inner door and find the septum still submerged. Chatter with the human beings if you want. The more of us who can use their language and the more of them who can use ours, the better. You have the bridge."

Dondragmer made the habitual, but now rather futile, gesture of rapping on the hatch for clearance; then he opened it and disappeared, leaving Beetchermarlf alone.

The helmsman had no urge at the moment for idle talk with the station above. His captain had left him with too much to think about.

He was not exactly delighted at being left in charge of the bridge, under the circ.u.mstances. He was not even too concerned about the main air lock's being blocked; the smaller ones were adequate, though not for life-support equipment, he suddenly remembered. Well, at the moment the desirability of going out seemed very small but if the Kwembly were permanently disabled that need would have to be faced.

The real question, in that event, was just what good going outside would do. The twelve thousand miles or so, which Beetchermarlf thought of as nearly fourteen million cables, was a long, long walk, especially with a load of life-support equipment. Without that apparatus it was not to be thought of. Mesklinites were amazingly tough organisms mechanically and had a temperature tolerance range which was still disbelieved by many human biologists, but oxygen was another matter. Its partial pressure outside at the moment was presumably about fifty pounds per square inch, quite enough to kill any member of the Kwembly's crew in seconds.

The most desirable thing at the moment was to get the big machine back on her treads. How, and whether, this could be done would depend largely on the stream of liquid flowing past the stranded hull. Working outside in that current might not be impossible, but it was going to be difficult and dangerous. The air suited Mesklinites would have to be heavily ballasted to stay put at any task and lifelines would complicate the details.

The stream might not, of course, be permanent. It had apparently just come into existence with the change in weather and it might cease flowing as suddenly. However, as Beetchermarlf well knew, there is a difference between weather and climate. If the river were seasonal, its "temporary" nature might still turn out to be too long for the Mesklinites; Dhrawn's year was some eight times as long as that of Earth and over one and a half times that of Mesklin.

This was an area where human information might be useful. The aliens had been observing Dhrawn carefully for nearly half of one of its years and casually for much longer. They should have some idea of its seasons. The helmsman wondered whether it would be out of order for him to put such a question to someone in the orbiting station, since the captain had not. Of course, the captain had said he could use the radio for chatter and had made no mention of what might or might not be said.

The idea that there was anything except the Esket incident which should not be discussed with the human sponsors of the Dhrawn expedition had not gone down the chain of command as far as Beetchermarlf. The young helmsman had almost made up his mind to initiate a call to the station when the radio beside him spoke. It spoke, furthermore, in his own language, though the accent was not above reproach.

"Dondragmer. I know you must be busy but if you can't talk now I'd be glad if someone else could. I am Benjamin Hoffman, an a.s.sistant in the aerology lab here at the station, and I'd like two kinds of help if anyone can find time to give it.

"For myself, I'd like practice in language; it must be obvious that I need it. For the lab, we're in a very embarra.s.sing position. Twice in a row we've worked out weather predictions for your part of the planet which have been way, way off. We just don't have enough detailed information to do the job properly. The observations we can make from here don't resolve enough and there aren't anywhere near enough reporting stations down there. You and the others have planted a lot of automatics on your trips, but they still don't cover much of the planet, as you know. Since good predictions will be as useful to you as they will be to us, I thought maybe I could talk things out in real detail with some of your scientists and maybe work out the weather patterns where you know enough to supplement the background calculations and really get good forecasts, at least right in your neighborhood."

The helmsman replied eagerly.

"The captain is not on the bridge, Benjaminhoffman. I am Beetchermarlf, one of the helmsmen, now on watch. Speaking for myself, I should be very glad to exchange language practice when duties permit, as now. I am afraid the scientists will be pretty busy for a while; I may be myself, most of the time. We are having some trouble, though you may not know all the details. The captain did not have time for the full story in the report I heard him send up a few minutes ago. I will give you as complete a picture as I can of the situation and some thoughts which have occurred to me since the captain left the bridge. You might record the information for your people and comment on my ideas if you wish. If you don't think they're worth mentioning to the captain, I won't. He'll be busy enough without them anyway. I'll wait until you tell me you're ready to record, or that you don't want to, before I start." Beetchermarlf paused, not entirely for the reason he had just given. He suddenly wondered whether he should bother one of these alien beings with his own ideas which began to seem crude and poorly worked out to him.

Still, the factual reports had to be useful. There was much detailed information about the Kwemb/y's present situation which the men could not possibly know yet. By the time Benj's approval came from the speaker, the helmsman had recovered some of his self-confidence.

"That will be fine, Beetchermarlf. I'm ready to tape your report. I was going to anyway, for language practice. I'll pa.s.s on whatever you want. Even if your weather men are busy, maybe the two of us could try to do what I suggested with the weather information. You can probably get their measurements, and you're on the spot and can see everything and if you're one of the sailors Barlennan recruited on Mesklin you certainly know something about weather. For all I know, you may have spent a couple of my lifetimes in that place on Mesklin learning engineering and research methods. Come ahead; I'm ready here."

This speech completed the restoration of Beetchermarlf's morale. It had been only ten of Mesklin's years since alien education had started for a selected few of its natives. This human being must be five years old or younger. Of course, there was no telling what that might mean in the way of maturity for his species, and one could not very well ask; but in spite of the aura of supernormality which tended to surround all the aliens, one just did not think of a five-year-old as a superior being.

As relaxed as anyone could well be on a floor with a sixty-degree tilt, the sailor began his description of the Kwembly's situation. He gave a detailed account of the trip down what now had to be recognized as a river, and of its conclusion. He described minutely what could now be seen from the bridge. He explained how they were now stranded off their tracks, and emphasized the situation which faced the crew if this could not be corrected. He even detailed the structure of the air-locks, and explained why the main one was probably unusable and the others possibly so.

"It will help a great deal in the captain's planning," he concluded, "if we can have some trustworthy estimate of what will happen to this river, and especially whether and when it will run dry. If the whole snow field melts at this season and runs off the plateau through this one drain, I suppose we're here for the best part of a year and will have to plan accordingly. If you can give any hope that we can work on dry land without having to wait too long, though, it would be very good to know."

Benj was rather longer than sixty-four seconds in answering this; he, too, had been given material for thought.

"I have your details on tape, and have sent it up to Planning," his words came through at last. "They'll distribute copies to the labs. Even I can see that figuring out the life story of your river is going to be a nasty job; maybe an impossible one without a lot more knowledge. As you say, the whole snow field might be starting a seasonal melt. If the waters of North America had to drain out through one river you'd be there for a long time. I don't know how much of the place your aerial scout reports cover, and I don't know how ambiguous the photos from up here may be, but I'll bet when it's all down on maps there'll still be room for argument. Even if everyone agrees on a conclusion, well, we still don't know much about that planet."

"But you've had so much experience with other planets, many of them!" returned Beetchermarlf. "I should think that would be of some help."

Again the answer was longer in coming back than light-lag alone would explain.

"Men and their friends have had experience on a lot of planets, that's true, and I've read a good deal of it. The trouble is, practically none of it helps here. There are three kinds of planet, basically. One we call Terrestrial, like my own home; it is small, dense, and practically without hydrogen. The second is the Jovian, or Type Two, which tends to be much larger and much less dense because they have kept most of their hydrogen from the time they originally formed, we think. Those two were the only kinds we knew about before we left our own star's neighborhood, because they are the only kinds in our system.

"Type Three is very large, very dense, and very hard to account for. Theories which had the Type Ones losing their hydrogen because of their initially small ma.s.s, and the Twos keeping theirs because of their greater ma.s.s, were fine as long as we'd never heard of the Threes. Our ideas were perfectly satisfactory and convincing as long as we didn't know too much, if you'll forgive my sounding like my basic science teacher.

"Type Three is the sort you're on. There are none of them around any sun with a Type One planet. I suppose there must be a reason for that, but I don't know what it is. Well, nothing was known about them among the Community races until we learned to travel between stars and began to do it on a large scale, large enough so the princ.i.p.al interest of wandering s.h.i.+ps wasn't just new habitable planets. Even then we couldn't study them first hand, any more than we could the Jovian worlds. We could send down a few special, very expensive and usually very unreliable robots, but that was all. Your species is the first we've ever encountered able to stand the gravity of a Type Three or the pressure of a Type Two, for that matter."

"But isn't Mesklin a Type Three, by your description? You must know a lot about it by now; you've been in touch with our people for something like ten years, and some of you have even landed at the Rim, I mean the equator."

"More like fifty of our years. The trouble is that Mesklin isn't a Type Three. It's a peculiar Two. It would have had all the hydrogen of any Jovian world if it hadn't been for its rotation, that terrific spin which gives your world an eighteen-minute day and a shape like a fried egg. There aren't any others like it which we've found yet, and no intermediate cases that anyone's recognized, or at least that I've heard of. That's why the Community races were willing to go to so much trouble and efforts and spend so much time building up contact with your world and setting up this expedition to Dhrawn. We'll find out a good deal in thirty years or so about that world's makeup from the neutrino counters in the shadow satellites but the seismic equipment you people have been planting will add a lot of detail and remove a lot of ambiguity. So will your chemical work. In five or six of your years we may know enough about that rock ball to make a sensible guess why it's there or at least, whether it ought to be called a star or a planet."

"You mean you only made contact with the people of Mesklin so you could learn more about Dhrawn?"

"No, I didn't mean that at all. People are people and worth getting to know for their own sake-at least, both my parents feel that way, though I've met folks who certainly don't. I don't think the idea for the Dhrawn project got started until long after your College was under way. My mother or Dr. Aucoin could tell you when. It was long before I was born. Of course, when it dawned on someone that you folks could make firsthand investigation of a place like Dhrawn, everyone jumped at the chance."

This, of course, forced Beetchermarlf to ask a question which he would ordinarily have regarded as a strictly human affair and none of his business, like the matter of how mature a five-year-old should be. It slipped out before he caught himself; for over an hour thereafter he and Benj were arguing over the reasons for such activities as the Dhrawn project and why such a vast amount of effort should be devoted to an activity with no obvious material return in prospect. Benj did not defend his side too well. He was able to give the usual answers about the force of curiosity, which Beetchermarlf could see up to a point; he knew enough history to have heard how close man and several other species had come to extinction from energy starvation before they had developed the hydrogen fusion converter; but he was too young to be really eloquent. He lacked the experience to be able to point out convincingly, even to himself, the complete dependence of any culture on its understanding of the laws of the universe. The conversation never became heated, which would have been difficult in any argument where there is a built-in cooling-down period between any remark and its answer. The only really satisfactory progress made was in Benj's mastery of Stennish.

The discussion was interrupted by Beetchermarlf's suddenly becoming aware of a change in his surroundings. For the last hour his entire attention had been on Benj's words and his own replies. The canted bridge and gurgling liquid had receded to the far background of his mind. He was quite surprised to realize abruptly that the pattern of lights twinkling above him was Orion. The fog had gone.