it?”
“Won’t know until we check the processing plant.”
The farmer remained impassive.
“Doesn’t that concern you?” Alger asked him.
“Concern? Of course. After a while, though, you get it beaten out of you. The skipper was a friendly woman. Been here before. I was pleased to see her. Get my crops off.”
Drin had been studying the farmer. The man seemed empty to him, a lack of anger, of petulance even. He looked as if he had no energy, no will, that he would have preferred to sit down only he couldn’t be bothered, so he had remained standing where he had stopped on entering the room.
“Doesn’t it bother you that those crops may have been destroyed?” Alger tried to prick the farmer’s apathy.
“Once they’re aboard the ship that’s the company’s concern. Their insurance will cover it.”
The farmer realised the impression he was making. He endeavoured to explain,
“I’m not being callous Sergeant. It’s just that... How much grief can anyone take? My youngest son has disappeared, we don’t know where. My two eldest children are somewhere Out There. They don’t write. Not that I can blame them after the way I treated them. But I can’t feel anymore. I’m sorry.” He apologised, not for his emotions, but for talking so much, for telling so much: planetary dwellers take a pride in being undemonstrative.
“I understand Sir,” Alger softly said, but knew that he didn’t.
“You tell yourself that it won’t happen to you,” the farmer looked down at the floor. “Not your children. Now all three have gone.”
Once back in the ship Drin and Alger studied the record of the freighter’s departure. Both men had been subdued by the Senate Member for North Three’s undoubted despair.
“What we’ll do is this,” Alger told Drin. “We’ll repeat the freighter’s departure to the letter. Instruct the ground here to track us. And see what happens.”
Drin laid in the course to the processing plant.
“But we’ll be on the alert for any contingency,” Alger said as they lifted off. “I’ll be ready to go to manual immediately. You be ready with the guns.”
“We not going to give them another fireworks display?”
“No. No testing this time. Maybe that’s what scared ‘em off last time.”
“Them?” Drin said.
Alger didn’t answer.
The ship’s ascent was smooth and gradual, and unimpeded. They were 800 kilometers out and accelerating on their predetermined course when Alger called for manual control. They had met nothing, seen nothing.
Turning the ship, Alger headed back to North Three.
At the farm they checked the ground tracking with their ship’s log. The ground scanners had lost contact with them at the same place, in the ionosphere, that they had lost contact with the ground; and the ship had been far below light speed.
“Suppose,” Drin said, “that girl, Belid Keal, was telling the truth. Such an explosion would normally have been visible on the planet. Wouldn’t it?”
“Exactly.”
“What I’m trying to say is that if they can block the other electromagnetic frequencies, like radio and radar, why not light?”
“Fine theory college boy. Now tell me how. And who.”
They tried again. This time they had their ship follow the flight path of Halk Fint’s ship. A thousand kilometres out Alger again took manual control, again returned to the planet.
“Maybe they did all abscond,” Drin said.
“I don’t see what else it can be. Not on this evidence.”
“Either way I can’t help feeling sorry for him,” Drin referred to the farmer. “If his son has done a bunk, or if something’s happened to him, either way he’s gone.”
Back at the farm it was dawn, the same dawn that had been with them at the Spokesman’s farm, but here was a wet gleaming blue. The ground records again showed that contact had been lost at the same point and place that it had with Halk Fint.
“Machine error?” Drin said.
“Yea, but what happened to their
“Won’t know until we check the processing plant.”
The farmer remained impassive.
“Doesn’t that concern you?” Alger asked him.
“Concern? Of course. After a while, though, you get it beaten out of you. The skipper was a friendly woman. Been here before. I was pleased to see her. Get my crops off.”
Drin had been studying the farmer. The man seemed empty to him, a lack of anger, of petulance even. He looked as if he had no energy, no will, that he would have preferred to sit down only he couldn’t be bothered, so he had remained standing where he had stopped on entering the room.
“Doesn’t it bother you that those crops may have been destroyed?” Alger tried to prick the farmer’s apathy.
“Once they’re aboard the ship that’s the company’s concern. Their insurance will cover it.”
The farmer realised the impression he was making. He endeavoured to explain,
“I’m not being callous Sergeant. It’s just that... How much grief can anyone take? My youngest son has disappeared, we don’t know where. My two eldest children are somewhere Out There. They don’t write. Not that I can blame them after the way I treated them. But I can’t feel anymore. I’m sorry.” He apologised, not for his emotions, but for talking so much, for telling so much: planetary dwellers take a pride in being undemonstrative.
“I understand Sir,” Alger softly said, but knew that he didn’t.
“You tell yourself that it won’t happen to you,” the farmer looked down at the floor. “Not your children. Now all three have gone.”
Once back in the ship Drin and Alger studied the record of the freighter’s departure. Both men had been subdued by the Senate Member for North Three’s undoubted despair.
“What we’ll do is this,” Alger told Drin. “We’ll repeat the freighter’s departure to the letter. Instruct the ground here to track us. And see what happens.”
Drin laid in the course to the processing plant.
“But we’ll be on the alert for any contingency,” Alger said as they lifted off. “I’ll be ready to go to manual immediately. You be ready with the guns.”
“We not going to give them another fireworks display?”
“No. No testing this time. Maybe that’s what scared ‘em off last time.”
“Them?” Drin said.
Alger didn’t answer.
The ship’s ascent was smooth and gradual, and unimpeded. They were 800 kilometers out and accelerating on their predetermined course when Alger called for manual control. They had met nothing, seen nothing.
Turning the ship, Alger headed back to North Three.
At the farm they checked the ground tracking with their ship’s log. The ground scanners had lost contact with them at the same place, in the ionosphere, that they had lost contact with the ground; and the ship had been far below light speed.
“Suppose,” Drin said, “that girl, Belid Keal, was telling the truth. Such an explosion would normally have been visible on the planet. Wouldn’t it?”
“Exactly.”
“What I’m trying to say is that if they can block the other electromagnetic frequencies, like radio and radar, why not light?”
“Fine theory college boy. Now tell me how. And who.”
They tried again. This time they had their ship follow the flight path of Halk Fint’s ship. A thousand kilometres out Alger again took manual control, again returned to the planet.
“Maybe they did all abscond,” Drin said.
“I don’t see what else it can be. Not on this evidence.”
“Either way I can’t help feeling sorry for him,” Drin referred to the farmer. “If his son has done a bunk, or if something’s happened to him, either way he’s gone.”
Back at the farm it was dawn, the same dawn that had been with them at the Spokesman’s farm, but here was a wet gleaming blue. The ground records again showed that contact had been lost at the same point and place that it had with Halk Fint.
“Machine error?” Drin said.
“Yea, but what happened to their
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