Perplexed, Lysander frowned at the picture. Something had been added to the ship. A structure was beginning to take shape. Extravehicular-labor Hakh’hli were visible, using small tugs to move concave metal shell sections of—something or other—into position.
“There it is, Lysander,” Boyle said. “They started doing it yesterday. Do you have any idea what it is?”
Lysander shook his head.
“You’ve never seen it before?” Boyle pressed.
“No. Well, I couldn’t have, could I? I mean, that looks pretty flimsy. It isn’t something they could have built onto the ship while it was in drive; it would have needed all kinds of bracing and support, or it would have just broken away.”
“Maybe they didn’t need it before,” Boyle commented.
Marguery stirred. “There’s a chance that it’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Remember, the Hakh’hli were talking about beaming microwave energy down to us. This could just be the antenna for that.”
In the semidarkness, Boyle turned to stare at her. “Do you believe that?”
She shrugged, and looked to Lysander.
“I don’t actually think so,” Sandy said. “Power transmission isn’t my specialty, but I learned a little about it. I think they use a different kind of antenna.”
“Then what?” Boyle demanded. “It’s awfully big, Lysander. Bigger than anything I’ve seen. Bigger than the old dish at Arecibo, even.” He paused. Then he asked brutally. “Is it a weapon?”
“A weapon?” Lysander cried, startled. “Of course not! The Hakh’hli don’t even have any weapons, that I ever heard of. One of the worst things they used to say about Earth people was that they—we—used weapons all the time; I just can’t believe that they would use any themselves.” He shook his head vigorously. “No, maybe Marguery’s guess was right—a microwave beam, only a different design than anything I saw—”
“But Lysander,” she sighed, reaching for his hand again, “even that could be a weapon, couldn’t it? Can you imagine what a beam like that could do if it struck Hudson City or Brasilia or Denver?”
“And why do we have to guess,” Boyle demanded, “when we’ve got tapes of everything they’ve been saying to each other, if you’d only translate them?”
Lysander looked from one to the other of them, then back at the picture. “Do you know,” he said conversationally, “those extravehicular Hakh’hli are bred to be bigger and stronger than anyone else? So they can do that kind of work? Only they don’t live as long. When I was little I kind of wished I could be one of them.”
Neither of them responded. They just continued to gaze at him.
“You said you’d do it,” Marguery reminded him.
Lysander sighed. “Turn it off,” he said. “All right. I’ll translate your tapes.”
It wasn’t that easy. At least, it certainly wasn’t fast. It appeared that one or another of the Hakh’hli on Earth had been in communication with someone on the ship nearly all the time the ship was above the horizon at the Inuit Commonwealth. Even subtracting the conversations Lysander had already heard and those in English, there were nearly twelve hours of tapes to listen to. Some were sound only. Some were full picture displays.
None of them carried much useful information.
After the first half hour Lysander turned from the screen. “Stop it for a moment,” he ordered. “Did you hear the part I just translated?”
“Of course,” Boyle said. “Wait a minute.” He pushed some keys, a speaker whirred and then emitted Lysander’s voice:
“ChinTekki says they will proceed with the third alternative. Bottom says they have completed the rescreening of the lander and are ready to take off on short notice. ChinTekki says it may be necessary to refuel, so that they can fly in atmosphere to Site Double-Twelve. Bottom says they will ask the Earth humans for fuel.”
“They did ask,” Boyle corroborated. “We told them we’d need samples of their alcohol and hydrogen peroxide so we could duplicate them. But what’s this ‘third alternative’?”
“That’s just it,” Lysander said gloomily. “I never heard of a third alternative. I never heard of a Site Double-Twelve, either.”
Boyle thought for a moment, then stood up. “I’ve got some errands to run. Keep going. Maybe there’ll be something more helpful later on.”
Lysander did keep on—and on and on, through the long day. Either Boyle or Marguery Darp was with him all the time. They brought him sandwiches, which he ate while watching the screen and translating into the recording device with his mouth full. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t much to say.
Late in the afternoon it occurred to him to ask whether he shouldn’t call Polly to let her know he was safe. “That’s all right,” Marguery told him. “Ham’s already told her that you’re with me.”
“Yes, but she’ll wonder what we’re doing all this time,” he objected.
“Sandy,” she said, managing a real smile, “she thinks she knows what we’re doing. Let’s get on with this.”
That brightened his mood for a moment. There wasn’t much else that was cheering. When the last tape was played he sat back, rubbing his eyes. He said somberly, “I don’t know what the Hakh’hli are doing. I don’t want to think they are doing anything sinister. But there is a great deal going on that they have never told me about.”
Marguery touched his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s all right, Lysander,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Well,” Boyle said philosophically, “at least we know more than we did.” He caught a fleeting look of inquiry from Marguery Darp, and nodded, grinning. “I think I should tell you, Lysander, that our linguistics people have picked up a few words of Hakh’hli, here and there. You’ll be happy to know that they say your translations seem to check out.”
“Did you think I would lie to you?” Lysander demanded.
Boyle’s face sobered rapidly. “We had to be sure,” he said. “This isn’t fun, Lysander. It might be survival. We’ll do whatever we have to do for the sake of survival.” He seemed about to go on, then changed his mind. The smile came back on his face. “Well, that’s enough for one day,” he said affably. “I’m off.”
“And so are we,” Marguery Darp said, standing up. “Sandy? If you’re really going to take me home—this is the time.”
Marguery’s apartment was on the thirty-fifth floor of an old high-rise building looking out over what she called Lake Jersey. “That used to be all marshland,” she said, “until they filled it in. They built all kinds of things there—look, you can see an old football stadium over there. But when the sea began to rise it all got submerged again.”
He nodded, looking around. Even with all Lysander had on his mind, he found room to be astonished that a solitary human being should have so much space for herself. A “kitchen,” a “bathroom,” a “living room,” a “bedroom.” He stood in the doorway of that one for a moment, looking around with particular interest. But it was all interesting. It was the first time he had been in the actual home of an actual Earth human—farm-animal herders not counted, anyway.
Marguery said apologetically, “It’s a pretty old building. Well, that’s why it’s a high-rise, of course; we don’t build that way anymore. But I’m only in it when I’m not on a mission somewhere. Don’t you want to sit down?”
He did. He looked around, estimating the carrying capacity of all the chairs in the living room, and was unsure of most of them. Marguery saw what he was doing and smiled. She patted the couch next to herself. “This ought to be strong enough to hold you,” she said. When he sat down next to her she looked up at him in an expectant way. He couldn’t be sure, but he really thought she looked as though she intended to be kissed.
He did what was expected of him. Apparently it wasn’t satisfactory, because after a moment Marguery drew back and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Lysander leaned back. He thought over all the things that were the matter and selected one. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“I’m not much of a cook, but we could send out for a pizza.” She looked at him closely. “Is that really what’s bothering you?”
“It’s one of them. Plus about a million others, including betraying the people I grew up with. The people who saved my life in the first place.”
“You haven’t betrayed anything,” Marguery pointed out.
“You mean I couldn’t help you. That just makes it worse. I’m not even a useful traitor!”
Marguery thought that over. Then she said, “Lysander, you’re pretty useful to me.” She hesitated, then added, “There’s something I haven’t told you. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”
“Oh, hell,” he groaned. “You’ve decided we shouldn’t be sweethearts after all?”
She laughed at him. “No. Different. Just—well, you know all those tests they kept me overnight for? They weren’t tests on me, honey.”