Needle

Chapter XIII. ENGINEERING INTERLUDE

SATURDAY was not too profitable from the Hunter's point of view-at least as he judged it then-and even less so from that of Norman Hay. The boys met at the culvert as planned, Norman bearing his piece of netting, but nobody had brought anything that looked capable of doing much to the cement plugs Hay had installed.

It was decided, therefore, to go to the other end of the island, where a new culture was under construction, to see what might be available. They rode together down the road, across the larger creek, and past the school to Teroa's house. Here, instead of turning down toward the dock, they continued straight on, past some more corrugated-iron storage sheds, to the end of the paved surface. This left them on the shoulder of the islands' highest hill though still on the lagoon side. Somewhat below and ahead of them was a row of three small tanks which had been there for some years; higher and still farther ahead was a new structure almost as large as the tanks in the lagoon. This had been completed only a month or two before; and another, the boys knew, was being built beyond it. This was their immediate goal.

While the hard-surfaced road stopped at the last of the sheds, the construction machinery had beaten a very plain trail which formed a continuation of it. It proved better, however, to traverse this section on foot, and the boys soon abandoned the bicycles rather than walk them. It was not far to go-three hundred yards to the big tank, seventy more along its lower wall, and as much farther to the scene of activity.

Like its neighbor, the new tank was on the hillside, partly cut into the ground and partly above it. The floor had been laid, reinforced, and the concrete cast; those portions of the walls that lay against the earth of the hillside were occupying the attention of the men at the moment. The boys noted with relief that digging seemed to have ended; it should, then, be possible to borrow the tools they needed. They had, as a matter of fact, surprisingly little trouble; they encountered Rice's father almost at once, and he readily located a couple of crowbars and gave permission to take them. He may have had ulterior motives; nearly all the children of the island between the ages of four and seventeen were underfoot at the time-the men were seriously considering having a local regulation passed ordering school to keep seven days a week-and anything that looked as though it might get rid of some of them would have been encouraged. The boys cared nothing about his reasons; they took the bars and returned the way they had come.

It was an encouraging start, but the rest of the morning was less so. They reached the pool without noteworthy delay, and went to work, diving by turns and pecking away at the concrete with the crowbars. They could not even work on the seaward side of the plug; anyone entering the water on that side of the islet would have been cut to pieces against the coral by the first breaker. They had chipped away enough to encourage them by dinner-time but there was yet much to be done.

After the meal, however, meeting at the usual place, they found one of the jeeps parked by the culvert. Standing beside it were Rice and his father and in the back seat was some equipment which the boys recognized.

"Dad's going to blast the gate for us!" called the younger Rice, quite superfluously, as the others arrived. "He got away from the tank for a couple of hours."

"Anything to get you out of my hair," remarked his father. "You'd better stick to your bikes-you, too, Ken. I'll ride the sticks."

"It's safe enough!" remonstrated Bob, who wanted to examine the plunger more closely.

The man looked at him. "No remarks from you," he said. "Your father would have the bunch of you stay here while he laid the charge and come back here with you to fire it! And I don't blame him a bit." He climbed under the wheel without further comment; and Bob, who knew that Mr. Rice had spoken the truth, mounted his bicycle and headed northwest, followed by the others.

At the Hay house the jeep was parked and its load removed. Mr. Rice insisted on carrying the dynamite and caps himself, though Bob thought he had a good argument when he claimed they should not be carried together. The wire and plunger were taken in charge by Bob and Malmstrom, and everybody headed for the beach on foot. They went a little to the left of the course the boys had followed Wednesday and emerged at the southern end of the strip of sand.

Here, as at the pool, the reef reappeared, curving away to the south and east, eventually to circle the island almost completely. On the southern side the lagoon was narrower, the reef never being more than half a mile from the shore, and no attempt had so far been made to build any installations on this side. Where the barrier started at the south end of the little beach was a passage from open sea to lagoon similar to that isolating the islet of the pool; but this was much narrower, offering at the base barely passage for a rowboat.

This was the "gate" to which Rice had referred. It looked, from a little distance, as though it were perfectly clear; but a closer inspection showed, as Rice had said, that there was an obstruction. The end of the passage toward the beach, which was exposed to the waves from the open sea to the west, had been neatly plugged by a brain coral about six feet in diameter, which had been dislodged from some point farther out in the reef and rolled about, probably by successive storms, until it had wedged securely where the waves could drive it no farther. Even the boys had not had to look twice to know they could never shift the huge thing by hand labor, though they had made some half-hearted attempts to break away-enough coral to clear a passage around it.

It was possible, obviously, to reach the southern lagoon in a boat by rowing around the other end of the island, but it was generally agreed that clearing the gate would be worth the trouble.

Mr. Rice unbent sufficiently to allow Colby to place the charge-he did not want to go under water himself- after careful instruction; but he made everyone follow him back to the palm trees and take shelter behind the sturdy trunks before he fired it. The results were very satisfactory: a column of spray and coral chips fountained into the air, accompanied by a moderate amount of noise -dynamite is not particularly loud stuff. When the rain of fragments seemed to be over, the boys raced back to the gate and found that there would be no need of a second blast. About a quarter of the original piece was visible, rolled some distance from its original site; the rest had completely disappeared. There was ample room for the boat.

The boys controlled their exuberance sufficiently to help Mr. Rice pack the blasting equipment back into the jeep; but from that point their opinions were divided. Hay and Malmstrom wanted to go back to work on the pool; Bob and Rice wanted to take advantage of the newly opened gate to explore the southern reef. Colby, as usual, cast no vote. None of them thought of splitting up; and, oddly enough, Hay won the argument, his main point being that it was already well along in the afternoon, and it would be much better to start in the morning and spend the entire day on the reef.

Bob would have been considerably more insistent, in order to let the Hunter examine the rest of his "probable landing" area, but the detective had informed him the night before of the nature of the piece of metal that had indirectly caused Rice's accident.

"It was a generator casing from a ship similar to mine," he said. "And it certainly was not from my own. I am certain of my facts; if I had merely seen it, there might be a chance of error-I suppose your people might have apparatus that would look like it from a little distance- but I felt it while you were pulling at it barehanded. It had line-up marks etched into the metal, indicated by letters of my own alphabet."

"But how did it get there, when the rest of the ship isn't around?"

"I told you our friend was a coward. He must have detached it and carried it with him for protection, accepting the delay such a load would have caused. It was certainly good armor, I will admit; I cannot imagine any living creature breaking or piercing that metal, and he would have to stay so close to the bottom that there would be no chance of being swallowed whole. It was a rather smart move, except that it left us evidence not only of the fact that he has landed on the island, but also where."

"Can you judge what he would do then?"

"Exactly what I said before-pick up a host at the first opportunity, anyone he could catch. Your friends are still definitely under suspicion, including the young man who went to sleep near the reef with a boatload of explosive."

In consequence of this information, Bob was willing to forego the examination of the southern reef, and to spend an afternoon at dull work. It would give him time to think; and thought seemed necessary. He was rewarded during the afternoon with one idea, but he was unable to speak clearly enough with the others around to get it across to Hunter. He finally gave up trying for the time being and concentrated on chipping concrete.

By the time they were ready to go home for supper they had actually penetrated the plug-at least a hole large enough to accommodate one of the crowbars was all the way through. The trip back to the creek was chiefly occupied with an argument whether or not this hole would be sufficient. The discussion was still unsettled when the boys separated.

Once alone Bob promptly put his suggestion up to the Hunter.

"You've been saying all along," he said, "that you would never leave or enter my body when I was awake-that you didn't want me to see you. I don't think I'd mind, but I won't argue the point any more.

"But suppose I put a container-a can, or box, or almost anything big enough-in my room at night. When I was asleep-I couldn't possibly fool you on that-you could come out and get in the box; if you like, I'll promise not to look inside. Then I could plant it next to the house of each of the fellows in turn and leave it there overnight. You could come out, do all the inspecting you wanted at that house and get back to the can by morning. I could even put some sort of indicator on the can that you could move to tell me whether you wanted to come back to me or go on to the next house."

The Hunter thought for several minutes. "The idea is good, very good," he finally answered. "Its big disadvantages, at least as far as I can see, are only two: first, I could examine only one house each night, and would then be even more helpless than usual until the next night. Second, while I am making those examinations, you will be left unprotected. That might not ordinarily be too bad, but you must remember we now have reason to suspect that our quarry has identified you as my host. If he sprang a trap of some sort while I was away, it might be very bad."

"It might also convince him that I am not your host," pointed out Bob.

"And that, my young friend, might not do either of us the least good." As usual, the Hunter's implied meaning was plain.

At home, Bob found his father already eating, somewhat to his surprise.

"I'm not that late, am I?" he asked anxiously as he entered the dining room.

"No, it's all right, son; I came home to grab an early bite. I have to go back to the tank; we want to get the last of the forms for the back wall in place and pour tonight, so that the concrete can set over Sunday."

"May I come along?"

"We don't expect to be done till midnight anyway. Well, I guess it won't hurt. I expect if your mother were asked politely she would give her consent, and perhaps even double the sandwich order she's preparing at the moment."

Bob bounced toward the kitchen but was met halfway by his mother's voice.

"All right this time; but after you're back in school this sort of thing is out. Bargain?"

"Bargain." Bob seated himself opposite his father and began asking for further details. Mr. Kinnaird supplied them between mouthfuls. It had not occurred to Bob to wonder where the jeep was, but he understood anyway when its horn sounded outside. They went out together, but there was room for only one more in the vehicle. The fathers of Hay, Colby, Rice, and Malmstrom were already aboard. Mr. Kinnaird turned to Bob.

"I forgot to mention-you'll have to take your bike. You'll also have to walk it home, unless you have that light fixed, which I doubt. Still want to come?"

"Sure." Bob turned to the space under the porch where he stored the machine. The other men looked at Kinnaird with some surprise.

"You going to take a chance on having him around while we pour, Art?" asked the senior Malmstrom. "You'll be fishing him out of the cement."

"If he can't take care of himself by now, it's time we both found out," replied Bob's father, glancing in the direction his son had vanished.

"If there's anything in heredity, you won't find him in much danger," remarked the heavy-set Colby as he shifted to make room in the jeep. He spoke with a grin that was meant to remove the sting from the words. Mr. Kinnaird was apparently unaffected by the remark.

The red-haired driver turned the jeep and sent it down the drive, Bob pedaling furiously behind. Since the distance to the road was not great and the curve at that point sharp, he held his own down the drive; but once in the main road the men quickly drew ahead. Bob did not care. He rolled on through the village to the end of the road, parked the bicycle, and proceeded on foot along the path the boys had taken that morning. The sun had set during the ride, and darkness was closing in with typical tropic speed.

There was no lack of light at the scene of construction, however. Wherever there seemed the slightest need big portable fluorescents blazed. They were all powered from a single engine-driven generator mounted on a dolly parked at one side of the already smoothed floor; and for some time Bob occupied himself finding out all he could about this installation without actually taking it apart. Then he wandered over to the rear wall where the forms were going up, and, applying the principle the boys had long since found best, helped for a while carrying the two-by-fours that were being used to prop the great, flat, prefabricated sections in place. He met his father several times, but no word either of approval or censure was passed.

Like the rest of the men, Mr. Kinnaird was far too busy to say much. He was a civil engineer by training, but, like everyone else on the island, he was expected to turn his hand to whatever job needed doing. For once the work came very near to his specialty, and he was making the most of it. The Hunter saw him occasionally, when Bob chanced to be looking somewhere near the right direction, and he was always busy-clinging precariously (it seemed to the alien) to the tops of ladders gauging the separation of the molds; stepping across the thirty-foot-deep chasm which the concrete was to fill, to climb the slope beyond and check the preparations of the men at the mixers; freezing over a spirit level or a theodolite as he gauged location or angle of stance of some newly positioned part; checking the fuel tank on the generator engine; even taking a turn at the power saw where the ends of the props were cut to the proper angles-jobs which would each have been done by a different man anywhere else, and jobs which sometimes scared even the watching Hunter. The alien decided that he had been overhasty in condemning the man for letting his son do dangerous work. Mr. Kinnaird just didn't think of that phase of the matter. Well, so much more work for the Hunter. Maybe someday he could educate the boy to take care of himself; but if he had had fifteen years of this example the chances were smaller than the detective had hoped.

The man was not completely ignoring his son, however. Bob succeeded in concealing one yawn from everyone but his guest; but his father spotted the second and ordered him away from work. He knew what lack of sleep could do to a person's coordination and had no desire to see the elder Malmstrorn's prediction fulfilled.

"Do I have to go home?" asked Bob. "I wanted to see them pour."

"You won't be able to see if you don't get some sleep. No, you needn't go home; but stop working for a while and catch a nap. There's a good place up at the top of the hill there where you can see what's going on and lie down in comfort at the same time. I'll wake you before they pour, if you insist."

Bob made no objection. It was not yet ten o'clock, and he would never have ordinarily dreamed of sleeping so early; but the last few days had been a tremendous change in activity from the routine of the school, and even he was beginning to feel the results. Anyway, he knew that objecting would do him no good.

He climbed the hill accordingly, and on the very top found a spot which answered to his father's description. He stretched out on the soft grass, propped his head up on his elbows, and regarded the brilliant scene below him.

From here he could see almost everything at once. It was as though he looked down from a balcony onto a lighted stage. Only the area at the very foot of the wall to be was hidden by the molds; and there was plenty to watch elsewhere in the work area. Even outside this something could be seen; there was the faint glow from the water of the lagoon, with the nearer tanks silhouetted against it and the brighter band of luminosity that limned the outer reef. Bob could hear the breakers if he listened for them; but, like everyone else on the island, he was so accustomed to their endless sound that he seldom noticed it. To his left a few lights were visible, some on the dock and some in the half-dozen houses not hidden from his gaze by the shoulder of the hill. In the other direction, to the east, there was only darkness. The machines used to mow the lush vegetation grown there to feed the culture tanks were abandoned for the night, and the only sound was the rustling among the pithy stalks caused by small animals and vagrant breezes. There were a few mosquitoes and sand flies as well, but the Hunter also believed his host needed sleep, and frightened off with tiny pseudo-pods any that landed on the boy's exposed skin. It may have been listening to these faint noises which proved tot be Bob's undoing, for in spite of the firmest determination merely to rest and watch he was sound asleep when his father came up the hill to find him.

Mr. Kinnaird approached silently and looked down at the boy for some time with an expression that defied interpretation. At last, as the sound of the mixers below swelled abruptly, he nudged the prone figure with his toe. -This proving ineffective, he bent over and shook his son gently; and eventually Bob emitted an audible yawn and opened his eyes. It took him a second or two to take in the situation, then he got to his feet at once.

"Thanks, Dad. I didn't think I'd go to sleep. Is it late? Are they pouring?"

"Just starting." Mr. Kinnaird made no comments about sleep. He had only one son but knew the minds of boys. "I'll have to go back to the floor; I suppose you'll want to watch from the top. Just to be sure someone's around to see you if you fall in." They started downhill together without further talk.

At the mixers Mr. Kinnaird bore off to the left, continuing down past the cut made for the tank, while Bob stayed by the machinery. It was already in action, and more of the lights had been moved up to the scene, so that every operation was clearly visible. The upper ends of the machines received apparently endless supplies of sand and cement from stock piles previously built up and of water pumped up from one of the big desalting units at the edge of the lagoon. A smooth, gray-white river of concrete poured from spouts at the lower end and into the chasm between the carefully placed mold boards. The scene of activity was gradually being obscured under a haze of cement dust. The men were protected from it by goggles, but Bob was not, and presently the penetrating stuff began to get into his eyes. The Hunter made a halfhearted attempt to do something about it, but it meant putting tissue on the outside of the boy's eyeballs which would interfere with sight from both their proper owner and himself, so he let the tear glands do the job. He had no particular ulterior motives, but was far from disappointed when his host moved a little way up the hill to get out of the dust cloud; for, as usual, Bob had been watching things with an annoying disregard for his own safety and had had to be ordered out of the way several times by some of the men.

Just before midnight, with the pouring almost done, Mr. Kinnaird reappeared and located Bob, who was asleep again. He did not fulfill his promise of making the boy ride home on his bicycle.