Through the Eye of a Needle Part 11

They tried to continue the search while waiting for Maeta, but even with Venus helping the gibbous moon, progress was slow.

Fortunately the girl was back in a few minutes with a flashlight, and to Bob's relief was willing to hold it while he did the digging. He worked very carefully, with the girl's and the Hunter's vision supplementing his own, and after another hour all three were prepared to certify that there was nothing within a fifteen-foot radius of the point under the patch site which could possibly penetrate the human skin, except for a few sh.e.l.ls. None of these showed a trace of blood, even to the Hunter.

This was more than interesting, since skin had certainly been penetrated.

"He'd have been smarter to leave it here. It could have been an accident, then," Bob remarked.

"Like tightening up your bike again," Maeta pointed out. "Is this really someone who's not very bright, which I could believe of Andre, or is there some reason we haven't thought of for making it obvious these aren't accidents?"

Bob had not thought of that possibility, and had no answer to the suggestion. They returned thoughtfully to the Seevers' with their report.

The doctor had finished his work, and Jenny was on a couch with the damaged foot heavily bandaged and splinted to immobilize toes and ankle. During the ensuing discussion, in which the Hunter took little part, Bob and he heard for the first time of her bicycle trouble. Everyone admitted that coincidence was being stretched far beyond its yield point. Bob was the most reluctant, in spite of the evidence, to believe that there was deliberate interference with the project to save his life, but even he was halfhearted in asking Seever whether other people on the island had been showing a larger than normal incidence of burns, falls, cuts, and other accidents. The answer was a qualified negative as Seever put it; nothing of the sort had caught his attention.

"Of course, with a population this small-" Bob was starting, when Jenny made one of her few interruptions of the evening.

"Swallow that with your degree, Bob. You know as well as I do that these aren't accidents. They're just the sort of thing young Andre has been doing for years, to his family and to me and sometimes to other people. It's just that they're worse now; and you've been added to the list. I admit I don't really know he's the one, but I feel pretty sure, and tomorrow I'm going to know."

"You're not going anywhere tomorrow," her father said firmly.

"All right, then he'll come here. You tell his father he's due for a shot, or something. I've put up with a lot from that kid even if this isn't part of it, and I'm going to find out why."

"You've changed your mind about Shorty?" Bob asked.

"Not entirely, but he wouldn't do things like that to you, I don't think. You get Andre here, Dad, and then leave him with me.

We've been through this before, and I thought we'd settled it a year ago. I suppose Bob and Mae will be out beyond the reef tomorrow, and you certainly won't let me go, but I'm going to get something done."

"Even if it has no connection with the main job," Bob remarked.

"Even then, if it really hasn't. What else could have gotten him interested in you?"

"I still don't see why you're so sure he's the one," Maeta said.

"I expect an art student would call it recognition of style," the redhead answered. "Never mind. You just get that s.h.i.+p checked out, and let me know the answer as soon as you can."

"How sure of that are you?" asked Bob.

"Not sure enough. Well report to each other. Dad, I'm sleepy and this foot hurts. Anything you can do?"

Bob and Maeta took the hint. At the road outside they paused for a moment, their homes lying in opposite directions.

"D'you think Jenny could be right about the desChenes kid?"

Bob asked "How well do you know him?"

"Pretty well. After all, you're almost the only one on the island these days who doesn't know practically everybody. He certainly is a pest; Jenny and Shorty are both right about that. He does seem to get fun out of being a nuisance, and even out of hurting people.

I've never had much trouble from him myself, unless it was he who hid my paddles a couple of times. He damaged some library books about three years ago, soon after I started working there, and I took away his card for a couple of months. The first paddle incident came right after that. I found them easily enough both times, and never bothered to find out who did it."

"I would have!"

"And thereby made the day for the one who'd done it," Maeta retorted. The Hunter agreed with her, but kept the thought to himself.

"Where does he live?" asked Bob. "I know what he looks like- a little bit plump for his height."

"East of the dock road, close to the beach. Yes, he's a little on the heavy side. He's not very active; I see him in the library a lot of the time. He doesn't seem to get around with his own age group much."

"Doesn't he like them, or don't they like him?"

"I've never thought about that. I'd guess it's his own choosing.

As I said, he's reading a lot of the time-at least, he usually has several books at once out of the library, and pretty often is curled up somewhere inside the place with a book. Jenny may be right, but I'm not at all sure. Her father, remember, is blaming someone else for what happened to you and her; he thinks you didn't manage to kill that other creature the Hunter was after. I sort of agree with him. Would your masculine pride be offended if I walked home with you now?"

Bob felt uncomfortable at the suggestion, and might have dismissed it too tersely for real politeness, but the Hunter expressed himself sharply.

"Bob, even if you don't want to believe she could protect you from anything, she would at least be a witness. Her presence could prevent something from happening, or give us a better chance of finding how it happened. Never mind what she calls your masculine pride; use your human brains."

"All right, Mae." Bob spoke aloud. "The Hunter is on your side. I was just going to suggest I take you home, since the accidents seem to be spreading, but I suppose there's no evidence they're interested in you. All right, let's go."

The walk was uneventful. There was very little talk; all three were listening carefully for evidence of others on or near the road.

The moon, though high in the northeast, was of little help; this was the jungle branch of the island, and the trees shadowed the road itself as well as the underbrush on each side. Once past the school there were no streetlights.

Bob pointed out to Maeta the scene of the bicycle trap, though there was nothing useful to see in the shadows and even her flashlight revealed little. He and the Hunter had checked the scene over very carefully, in full daylight, the day after the incident, but even the experienced detective had found nothing informative or even suggestive. It bothered his pride. Maeta left them at the Kinnaird's door, refusing the suggestion that she come in. Her last remark was the recommendation that Bob's father come with them the next day if he were free. As usual, Bob had to hold this item until his sister was upstairs for the night. It then led to some discussion, and was modified firmly by the lady of the house.

"Arthur has been having all the fun," she pointed out. "I love our daughter, but I think it's my turn to get a day on the water with you young folks, and let your father entertain Daphne tomorrow. All right, Dear?"

The Hunter suspected that it was not entirely all right. As far as he knew, Arthur Kinnaird had not had any "fun" on the project either. However, no one was greatly surprised when the man made no objection to his wife's idea.

He took the child off after breakfast, and the rest of the group headed northwest along the road as soon as father and daughter were out of sight. Bob's bicycle had not yet been repaired, but he used his father's and they reached North Beach in a few minutes.

Maeta was waiting for them, and after a quick but careful inspection of the canoe itself and the search equipment, they shoved off.

The women paddled, while Bob undid the wires fastening the pipe to the rest of the gear. The plug and telegraph had been repaired, but he tested the latter again. Then he tied the new rope, which had been supporting the concrete box, very securely around the pipe, and placed one hand in the open end of the latter.

The Hunter left through the skin of the hand, the process as usual taking several minutes, and signaled with the buzzer when it was complete. Bob told the others. The alien could hear their voices, but did not yet bother to make an eye.

"We're ready here," Bob said. "Are we close to your marker, Mae?"

"Pretty near. We have, to hide Tank Four behind Seven, and line the north corner of Eleven against the middle of Nine. It will be a few minutes yet."

She had provided these bearings, the night before, and the Hunter had mapped them. He knew without looking, therefore, that they were about a mile north and a little west of North Beach, a little less than that straight west of Apu, and about half a mile from the nearest breakers.

Eventually the young woman called, "There it is. Be ready, Bob." The Hunter felt his pipe being lifted. Then came, "All right, we're right over it," and almost instantly warm water closed over him and his protection.

He made an eye, but there was little to see until he reached the bottom. The pipe was nearly horizontal, and turning slowly; sometimes he could see the line from the buoy marking the location, sometimes his eye was directed away from it. The boat was not visible, as the Hunter had formed the eye a little way inside the pipe to minimize stray light, and the open end of the pipe itself was slanted slightly downward.

Bob had felt the tension go off the line when the Hunter reached bottom, and had stopped paying out. However, the alien found himself almost buried in the soft mud, and buzzed the signal to pull up slightly. The spin had stopped, of course, but slowly resumed as torsion in the rope tried to relieve itself, and he slowly scanned the whole circ.u.mference.

The light was more than adequate, and he could see a long, low hillock on the mud, corresponding roughly in size to Maeta's description. There was less coral this far from the reef, but some had grown on and over the ridge; the feature must have been there for some years at least.

He was ten or twelve feet to one side of the nearest part of the elevation. He extended his eye briefly, to see which way the canoe was pointing, buzzed directions, and in a minute or less was over the ridge near its center. Then he gave the "down" signal, and in a moment was on the bottom once more, not so deeply buried this time.

Feeling at least as much tension as any of the others had been showing, he extended a pseudopod into the slimy mud. It was at least six inches thick even at the top of the hillock, but under that six-inch layer was metal. He was tempted to leave the pipe entirely, but very luckily did not. He kept groping with hair-fine tendrils, adding detail to the picture he was developing. Yes, the girls were right. It was his quarry's s.h.i.+p, the upper portion at least nearly intact. He could feel and read symbols identifying service connections, and presently found one of the small valves which his own species used for entrance and exit. The larger ports, for cargo and for the trained animals they sometimes used to manipulate controls, would be in the lower part of the hull, which seemed to be right-side up.

The access valve was shut. He felt around for the power control and activated it, but was not very surprised when nothing happened. It was much harder to operate the manual control, but after several minutes he had the opening cracked enough to let himself flow in. He thought once again of leaving the pipe entirely - and entering the s.h.i.+p with his whole substance, but once again decided to wait. It was not real foresight, at least not conscious foresight, but it was lucky.

He buzzed a "yes" to those above, blaming himself for not ending their suspense sooner, and reached farther into the hull through the partly open valve.

He had time to realize what was happening to him, but not enough to do anything about it.

11. First Aid

The three in the outrigger received and correctly interpreted the Hunter's last signal, and for some time were far too excited and exultant to pay any attention to events on the bottom. None of them was ever sure just how much time pa.s.sed before anyone began to wonder why no more signals were coming through; and even for Bob it took still longer for curiosity to become anxiety.

Eventually he gave a few jerks to the rope-the surface-to- depth telegraph was still only a plan. Naturally, there was now no response. He decided that his symbiont must have left the pipe and was exploring the s.h.i.+p in detail. No plans had been made for signaling or any other action in such a situation, and Bob spent some time abusing himself verbally for the omission. The Hunter agreed later that they had both been pretty stupid, but insisted on taking his share of the blame, since he had after all been in a much better position to foresee what actually happened. After all, Seever had mentioned "normal police procedures."

Something like half an hour was spent waiting and occasionally pulling on the rope before the three became really disturbed.

Maeta finally went overboard and swam down to see, if possible, what was going on, but even diving goggles did not let her examine the pipe in real detail. She was quite sure, when she pulled it out of the mud, that the Hunter was inside, and to make really certain she checked by touch.

For two reasons she failed to detect the tendrils the Hunter had extended from his main ma.s.s; they had broken when she lifted the pipe; and they were too fine anyway. The damage to the Hunter when they broke was negligible; the memory patterns which formed his ident.i.ty were stored with multiple redundancy throughout his tissue. Cutting him into two equal parts would have been bad unless they could have rejoined almost at once, but the few milligrams he had lost in the s.h.i.+p would not have bothered him even if he had been conscious.

The s.h.i.+p had been b.o.o.by-trapped with a half-living substance designed to immobilize members of his species; but it had no effect on the far coa.r.s.er human cells, so Maeta herself was able to return to the surface, get her breath, and report.

Bob, wasting no more time, hauled up the pipe. He had been hoping that the trouble was merely electrical failure up to this, point; but when he left his hand in contact with the jelly for several minutes without becoming aware of the Hunter's presence by any sort of word or signal; he knew that something much more serious was wrong. They headed for sh.o.r.e at once, with Bob wondering aloud why the Hunter had never given him a course in first aid for symbionts.

They headed at top speed for the Seevers' home, giving no thought to practical jokers. Fortunately their bicycles seemed intact. Maeta carried the pipe, since Bob had only one really usable arm and none of the bicycle carriers was adequate. The girl found it quite awkward; she had to carry the pipe open end up, after discovering that the Hunter's unconscious form-to use the noun loosely-was slowly pouring out when she held it horizontally.

None of them really expected that Seever could be of much help, but no other line of action occurred to them.

They were rather disconcerted, upon entering the reception room, to find Jenny seated beside her usual desk with the damaged foot on a ha.s.sock in front of her. She was talking, apparently quite amiably, to Andre desChenes, who did not react at all at the sight of the newcomers. No one else was in the room.

Jenny saw the pipe, but did not realize at first that it was occupied. Her first a.s.sumption, she admitted later, was that something had gone wrong with the detector. Then she realized that they would hardly have brought such a problem to her father, and decided that something more serious had happened; but the delay kept her from asking reflexively any hasty and injudicious questions with the boy present. She came, she confessed, within a split second of asking whether the s.h.i.+p they had found was an instrument error.

"Is anyone with your father?" Maeta asked before any of them could make a slip.

"No, he's in the next room, or if he isn't, call," replied Jenny.

The three went into the inner room, and met Seever just entering by the other door. He looked at Maeta's burden and frowned.

"Trouble?" Bob described the situation tersely, and Seever looked closely into the pipe at its unresponsive occupant.

"You've touched him and nothing happened."

"I kept my hand on him all the way to sh.o.r.e and nothing happened."

"Hmph." The doctor was out of his depth as far as direct experience went, but he was a logical man. "I can't tell offhand whether he's unconscious, paralyzed, or dead. We'll a.s.sume one of the first two, since the last doesn't give us anything to go on.

a.s.suming he's alive, the first thing is to keep him that way. We know he needs oxygen. He may be getting enough through that six or eight square inches, since he can't be using much at the moment, but I'd say we'd better pour him into something which will give him more exposed surface. What's his volume-a couple of quarts? A pie plate won't be enough and I don't suppose separating him among several would be a very good idea. He must have some essential continuity to his structure, even if shape doesn't mean anything to him. Here, maybe this will do." He had found a large enamel basin, and they inverted the pipe over it.

After a few moments Bob suggested that the plug at the upper end also be removed. Seever finally managed this while Maeta held up the pipe itself.

The alien tissue was very viscous and flowed slowly. Seever thought this might be a good sign, implying that whatever forces permitted the being to control his shape must still be operating. He was right, as it happened, but none of them could be sure. Bob's mention of rigor mortis helped no one's morale.

Eventually the ma.s.s of green semi-fluid was in the basin, spreading slowly toward the edges. "Bob, you're, the chemist,"

said Seever. "What else has he told you about his needs? I a.s.sume they include water."

"Not the way we do. It's not inside his cells; they're: not really cells in the way ours are, just complex single molecules. There is water, but it's bonded to the surface for the most part and doesn't form part of the inside architecture."

"Then there's no osmotic problem-it won't matter if we give him fresh water or salt?"

"No. He can exist in both, as well as in our body fluids. You probably needn't give him any, but I suppose it won't do any damage and might be safer. I'd be more worried, though, about food."

"Why?" asked Seever.

"That's really his smallest reserve. He can last for a while outside a host body without-well, fuel-but the time is limited. He has nothing corresponding to human fat or glycogen as a reserve.

When he was under water in the pipe he was always catching and eating small organisms which were trying to eat him, he said."

"I see. I suppose any of his so-called cells can carry out digestion, as they seem to do everything else. Well, then, all we can do is sprinkle a little water on him, drop in a piece of cheese-protein seems most likely to have everything he'd need chemically-and hope. It's logical, but somehow it doesn't seem like medical practice."

Whatever it seemed like to Seever, it was what they did. They used only a small amount of water, so as not to shut tile patient off too completely from air. This was unfortunate, since more water would have absorbed the paralyzing agent more quickly. Its distribution coefficient between water and the tissue of the Hunter's species was very small-it had to be, to be as quick a trap, as it was-but it was far from zero.

That left the group with nothing to do but sit and theorize. Most were concerned about the Hunter himself. Bob's mother had already started to wonder what the alien's prolonged separation would do to her son, but did not at first mention this to the others.

Maeta suggested that they go back to the waiting room to see what Jenny had learned from Andre, but the older people thought this injudicious, since Andre might still be there, and Bob did not want to leave his symbiont. His mother offered to stay with the patient while Bob got something to eat, but while they were still discussing the matter the door opened and Jenny crutched herself in.

Her question about what had happened at the reef collided with several about her progress with her young suspect, but Jenny, won, and some minutes were spent by Maeta and Bob, telling the story of the morning's events. Jenny took her first really good look at the Hunter with great interest, and was with some difficulty persuaded to take her attention from the hospital basin and report on her interview. Her words were suggestive but inconclusive.

"I can't really prove anything," she admitted, "but I'm more certain than before that he's done most of these things. He's harder to get hold of than a jellyfish. He never actually, denied any of the tricks, but he wouldn't admit them in so many words, either."

"Which ones did you ask him about?" asked Bob.

"The boat? The rope? My handlebars? Your foot?"

"Not all of them. I started with my foot, since I had the sample available, and pointed out how I could have bled to death if there hadn't been anyone around to help. He agreed that this was bad, and remarked that if people were going to leave gla.s.s around the island everyone would have to start wearing shoes the way they do in Europe and the States. I didn't ask why he thought it was gla.s.s instead of metal or a sh.e.l.l; I wanted to save his slips, if that was one, to dump on him all at once later. "I mentioned your broken arm, and he said you must have gotten out of bike practice while you were away. How many people did you tell how that happened, Bob?"

"I didn't tell anyone the whole story, except of course you folks here, and Dad. I told the fellows at work that I'd had a fall."

"Did you mention it was off a bike?" she asked emphatically.