“No, sir. I didn’t recognize all their voices, and they often didn’t bother to identify themselves. About half the time nowadays the reports come in human language. Most of the rest come from the Hoffman humans. There are others who speak our language, but those two seem the only ones who do it comfortably. With the young one particularly, I got the impression that he’d been talking a lot with the Kwembly, and I assumed that if there were casual chatter going on, nothing much serious could be happening.”
“All right. I’d probably have done the same. I’ll use the set; I have a couple of questions to put to the humans.” Barlennan took his place in front of the pickup, the speaker on watch making way for him without being ordered. The screen was blank. The captain squeezed the “attention” control and waited patiently for the minute to pass. He could have started talking at once, since it was a safe bet that whoever was at the other end would lose no time readying his receiver, but Barlennan wanted to see who was there. If the delay made anyone suspicious, he’d have to live with it.
The face which did appear was unfamiliar to him. Even fifty Earth-years of acquaintance with human beings had not sufficed to educate him in such matters as family resemblance, though no human being would have failed to guess that Benj was Easy’s son. Actually, the fifty years had not supplied many different people for comparison; fewer than two score men, and no women, had even landed on Mesklin. Guzmeen recognized the boy, but was spared the need to tell Barlennan by Benj himself.
“Benj Hoffman here,” the image spoke. “Nothing has come form the Kwembly since Mother called you about twenty minutes ago, and there are no engineers or scientists in this room at the moment. If you have questions which need technical answers, tell me so I can call the right one. If it’s just a matter of detail in what’s been happening, I’ve been here in the comm room most of the time for the last seven hours and can probably tell you. I’m waiting.”
“I have two questions,” Barlennan responded. “one of them you can probably answer, the other I don’t know. The first has to do with the second disappearance. I am wondering how far from the Kwembly the second helicopter was when it ceased communicating; or if you don’t know the distance, perhaps you can tell me how long its pilot had been searching.
“The second does depend on a bit of your technology which I don’t know, but you may. Is there any possibility of your seeing lights such as those on the helicopters from where you are? I suppose it couldn’t be done by your unaided eyes any more than it could be done by mine, but you have many optical devices which I know little about, and probably some which I’ve never heard of. I’m standing by.”
Benj’s screen image held up one finger and nodded just as Barlennan finished speaking, but boy waited for the other question to reach him before he spoke.
“I can answer your first question, and Mr. Cavanaugh has gone to find someone who can take care of the second,” were his opening words. “Kervenser started out on his scouting flight about eleven hours ago. It wasn’t realised that he must be in trouble until about eight hours later, when everything popped at once — Kervenser and his flier gone, the Kwembly frozen in, and Beetchermarlf and Takoorch somewhere under the ice — at least no one knows that’s where they are but they were working under the hull and there’s no other place anyone can think of for them to be. One of the sailors — Reffel — took up the other flier with a vision set to look for Kervenser, and searched very close to the Kwembly for a while. Then we suggested that he move out to where an accident wouldn’t have been seen or heard from the cruiser, which he did, and of course, Dondragmer lost sight of him from the bridge. Then we got into a discussion with the captain and everyone up here got interested, and it turned out that no one was watching Reffel’s screen for several minutes. Then someone noticed that the screen had gone completely blank — not no-signal-lank but no-light black — and that was that.”
Barlennan glanced at Guzmeen and the scientists. None of them spoke, but none of them needed to. No one had been watching the screen when Reffel used the shutter! It was not the sort of luck one counted on.
Benj was still speaking.
“The sound wasn’t on, of course, since no one had been talking with Reffel, and no one has any idea what happened. This was just before my mother called you, less than half an hour ago. That would make something like two and a half hours between the two disappearances. We’ll have to wait for your other answer, since Mr. Cavanaugh isn’t back yet.”
Barlennan was a little bewildered by the arithmetic, since the boy had used Mesklinite number-words with human number-background, but got it straight with a few seconds of thought.
“I’m not complaining,” he returned, “but I gather from what you say that over two hours passed between the Kwembly’s freezing in and Kervenser’s disappearance, and our being told about it. Do you know why that might have happened? I realize, of course, that there was nothing I could have done, but there was some understanding about keeping me up to date with the land-cruisers. Of course, I don’t know just what your job is at the station, and you may not have that information; but I hear from my communications man that you have been talking a lot to the Kwembly, so you may be able to help. I’m waiting.”
Barlennan had several motives behind his closing remark. One was obvious enough; he wanted to learn more about Benj Hoffman, especially since the latter was good with the Mesklinite language and, if Guz were right, seemed to want to talk to Mesklinites. Maybe he would be like the other Hoffman, a second sympathy-center in the station. If so, it would be important to know just how much weight he could swing.
Also, the commanded wanted to check unobtrusive on Guzmeen’s notion that Benj ad been chattering with Kwembly crew members. Finally, even Barlennan could tell that Benj was young for a human being doing serious work — his selection of words and general narrative style had been a giveaway. That fact might well be put to good use if a reasonably close relationship could be established.
The boy’s answer, when it finally came, was inconclusive one way, but promising in another.
“ I don’t know why you weren’t told about Kervenser and the freeze-up right away,” he said. Personally, I thought you had been. I’d been talking a lot with Beetchermarlf — I guess you know him; one of Don’s helmsmen; the one can talk with and not just listen to — and when I heard he’d disappeared I was concentrating on what could be done about it. I wasn’t here in the comm room quite all the time; it’s not my duty station — I just come when I can talk with Beetch. I admit someone should have told you sooner, and if you like I’ll try to find out who should have and why he didn’t. My mother ought to know, or Mr. Mersereau.
“I don’t know how much explaining I’d better supply about the background to my job here. On Earth, when someone finishes basic education — the sort of thing everyone has to get, like reading and physics and sociology — he has to work as unskilled labor on some essential job for two or three of our years before he is eligible for either specialises or general higher education. Nobody says it right out, but everyone knows that the people your work for have the main say in what you can do afterward. Nominally I’m assigned to the aerology lab here as a sort of picker-upper and hey-you; actually anyone in the station who yells first and loudest gets me. I must admit they don’t make my life very hard. I’ve been able to spend a lot of time talking to Beetch the last few days.”