Kaiser let himself ease back in the pilot chair and rolled the tape
thoughtfully between his fingers. Overhead and to each side, large
drops of rain thudded softly against the transparent walls of the scout
ship and dripped wearily from the bottom ledge to the ground.
"Damn this climate!" Kaiser muttered irrelevantly. "Doesn't it ever do
anything here except rain?"
His attention returned to the matter at hand. Why the baby talk? And
why was his memory so hazy? How long had he been here? What had he been
doing during that time?
Listlessly he reached for the towel at his elbow and wiped the moisture
from his face and bare shoulders. The air conditioning had gone out
when the scout ship cracked up. He'd have to repair the scout or he
was stuck here for good. He remembered now that he had gone over the
job very carefully and thoroughly, and had found it too big to handle
alone--or without better equipment, at least. Yet there was little or
no chance of his being able to find either here.
Calmly, deliberately, Kaiser collected his thoughts, his memories, and
brought them out where he could look at them:
The mother ship, _Soscites II_, had been on the last leg of its
planet-mapping tour. It had dropped Kaiser in the one remaining scout
ship--the other seven had all been lost one way or another during the
exploring of new worlds--and set itself into a giant orbit about this
planet that Kaiser had named Big Muddy.
The _Soscites II_ had to maintain its constant speed; it had no means
of slowing, except to stop, and no way to start again once it did stop.
Its limited range of maneuverability made it necessary to set up an
orbit that would take it approximately one month, Earth time, to circle
a pinpointed planet. And now its fuel was low.
Kaiser had that one month to repair his scout or be stranded here
forever.
That was all he could remember. Nothing of what he had been doing
recently.
A small shiver passed through his body as he glanced once again at the
tape in his hand. Baby talk....
* * * * *
One thing he could find out: how long this had been going on. He
turned to the communicator and unhooked the paper receptacle on its
bottom. It held about a yard and a half of tape, probably his last
several messages--both those sent and those received. He pulled it out
impatiently and began reading.
The first was from himself:
YOUR SUGGESTIONS NO HELP. HOW AM I GOING TO REPAIR DAMAGE TO SCOUT
WITHOUT PROPER EQUIPMENT? AND WHERE DO I GET IT? DO YOU THINK I
FOUND A TOOL SHOP DOWN HERE? FOR GOD'S SAKE, COME UP WITH SOMETHING
BETTER.
VISITED SEAL-PEOPLE AGAIN TODAY. STILL HAVE THEIR STINK IN MY NOSE.
FOUND HUTS ALONG RIVER BANK, SO I GUESS THEY DON'T LIVE IN WATER.
BUT THEY DO SPEND MOST OF THEIR TIME THERE. NO, I HAVE NO WAY OF
ESTIMATING THEIR INTELLIGENCE. I WOULD JUDGE IT AVERAGES NO HIGHER
THAN SEVEN-YEAR-OLD HUMAN. THEY DEFINITELY DO TALK TO ONE ANOTHER.
WILL TRY TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THEM, BUT YOU GET TO WORK FAST ON
HOW I REPAIR SCOUT.
SWELLING IN ARM WORSE AND AM DEVELOPING A FEVER. TEMPERATURE 102.7
AN HOUR AGO.