They went forward, past the first of the jerrybuilt structures. Inside it, someone was talking over the telephone. The second building was long and high. It had enormous doors so the earth-moving machinery could get in. The next building was a first-aid station. Lighted windows allowed a glimpse of hospital beds inside. In the last shack there was a television set turned on. Hackett opened the door without knocking and ushered Lucy in.
It was brightly lighted, with three unshaded electric bulbs, and there were four men in it. Three of them were barely Hackett's age, and there was one man with gold-rimmed spectacles and startling wisps of sandy-colored hair. Two of the younger ones played cards. The third leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. Those three looked as if they might be graduate students, or maybe college seniors. The man with sandy hair seemed to be listening critically to strange, supposedly musical sounds from the television set. He looked up, nodded, and rose. Hackett introduced them in turn.
"This is the Rogers University strictly unofficial archaeological expedition to the Grek ship's lift-off," he explained to Lucy. "They're here because they're the only people who thought I might be worth listening to, after the Greks rated me as a retarded child."
The man with the wispy hair had been introduced as Clark. He grinned.
"We diggers are classed subnormal, too," he said comfortably. "So we think kindly of Jim. He was on the Rogers faculty, you know. We've got better than an even chance of finding out some interesting stuff here. It wouldn't have been thought of except for Jim."
The younger man who'd been smoking said judicially, "It's a most promising idea. If it works out we may rise in status from archaeologists to garbage analysts. A new profession, and a distinguished one!"
Lucy said helplessly, "I don't quite understand."
"Tell her," suggested Hackett.
"We're going to analyze the Grek garbage," said Clark cheerfully. "It's Jim's idea. When the Army dug out a cradle for the ship to land in, they naturally planted a few atom bombs under it—to have in the house in case of sickness, you might say. They also planted underground microphones to find out if the Greks detected them and dug them out. They didn't. The atomic boys are tearing their hair right now; but their ground microphones did report that, though the Greks didn't bother the bombs, they did dig a hole somewhere else. From time to time they've dumped stuff in it. The obvious conclusion is garbage. So we're going to examine it after they leave."
"And we're experienced," said another of the younger men. "We can tell plenty from a garbage pit a thousand years old. There's no telling what we can do with fresher material."
The third of the younger men added mildly, "One archaeologist found out and proved that the average sandal size of Roman legionaries was almost exactly the same as the modern child's size-ten shoe. You see? We may do wonders!"
The television set broke off its musical broadcast. A "Special Bulletin" line appeared on its screen. A voice said resonantly, "At the request of the commanding officer of the Grek ship, we offer this special bulletin. Early today an Aldarian member of the Grek ship's crew was badly injured in an automobile accident on his way to rejoin his ship. His injuries would have caused his death but for the prompt action of a Mr. James Hackett and a Doctor Lucy Thale, who rushed him to a human hospital, communicated with the Grek ship, and thereby saved his life. The Grek commander wishes to express his gratitude to these two persons. Will they get in touch with him? All human authorities have been asked to bring them to the Grek ship immediately, to receive evidence of the gratitude the Greks wish to express."
The "Special Bulletin" line disappeared. After a moment's pause the musical din resumed.
Hackett looked grimly at Lucy. She was pale. He said, "No! Absolutely not!"
She shook her head.
"I'd—much rather not. I was near that Grek in the hospital. I felt—I felt horribly creepy! I don't want to go near any of them again!"
"And I won't let you," said Hackett flatly.
"If you won't go, I won't," said Lucy shakily. "So that's settled. But do you think they can find us?"
The sandy-haired Clark looked shrewdly from one to the other.
"We don't want to be found," Hackett told him coldly. "Lucy'll tell you why—if she wants to."
Carefully, hesitatingly, Lucy told the story of the Aldarian's wreck, his attempt to tell her something, and his desperately forming words, when all Aldarians were supposed to be congenitally deaf. If they were a race that had never heard sounds, they couldn't possibly have developed a spoken language. But—
She stopped and looked at Hackett. He made no sign to tell her either to end it there or to go on. She had to make the decision. So she hesitated for a moment, and then described the terrified effort of the injured alien to thrust something into her hand, and the impassioned pleading that she hide it.
Clark said briskly, "Hm. The Grek who came for him didn't think of thanking you then, did he? It seems odd that he'd develop an urgent gratitude only after some time and a possible—ah—discovery that there was something going on he didn't approve of. Did you keep what was given you?"
She produced it. It was a small, flat, round object, hardly larger than a woman's wrist watch. There was a stud on one side which could be moved. The flat part of one surface yielded a little to pressure. The object wasn't finely finished. Tool marks remained on it. It wasn't a timepiece. It wasn't anything that could be imagined. It was wholly cryptic.
The sandy-haired man examined it very carefully. He did not shift the stud in any way. He said meditatively, "In our line, we don't go pushing things around at random. They might break. I'd be inclined to X-ray this very carefully to see what's inside. This isn't a Grek artifact, you know! There's a feel to such things. I've seen Grek objects. This is not one. Considering everything, I'd say it was definitely Aldarian."
"I don't know what to do with it," said Lucy.
"I'll find out," said Clark, "with your permission." She nodded, and he put the object in a small safe. He explained, "We don't know what we may find, so we have this safe here to keep souvenir hunters from making off with anything we do find." Then he added, "This is no time or place to play with your gift. We don't know what it may do."
There was a tap on the door. He spun the safe's knob while one of the younger men got up and opened the door. A policeman came in.
"Sorry to bother you," he said amiably, "but you people come from Rogers University, don't you?"
"That's right," said Clark, cordially. "What's up?"
"Nothing bad," the policeman assured him. "There was a guy named Hackett who used to be there. You know him?"
"Yes," said Clark. "Physics Department. What about him?"
"He did the Greks a big favor," explained the uniformed man. "They want to find him and a girl who was in the car with him. Want to give him a present or something. They're anxious about it. So they asked us to hunt up everybody he might get in touch with and have 'em tell him."
"Right," said Clark. "If I see him, I'll tell him. He'll report in at traffic headquarters."
"Fine! If he comes there they'll tell the Greks he's turned up. He and that girl are kind of heroic, to the Greks. They want to do something for 'em. I wouldn't mind being in his shoes, would you?"
"Not a bit," said Clark. "If I see him I'll certainly tell him."
The policeman went out. There was silence. After a moment Hackett said, "Thanks." Then he added, "I gave my name and Lucy's to the cop who wanted to report the accident. I also gave my car license number. And Lucy's registered by name for one of those cubbyholes with a bunk in it. If the Greks have gone as far as having the police look up people who might know me, the cops will have my car and Lucy's bunk staked out. With the best of intentions, of course!"