dolphin officer asked.
Orley looked again at the ship. There was a good chance that in the confusion of battle none of those contending over Kithrup had bothered to note where this sparrow had fallen. He already had a few tentative ideas, one or two of which might be bold, unexpected—and idiotic—enough to work.
“Let’s give it a look,” he nodded. “I suggest we split into three groups. Team one heads for any center of emissions, particularly probability, psi, or neutrino radiation, and disables the source. They should also watch out for survivors, though that seems unlikely.”
Suessi snorted as he looked at the pounded wreck. Orley went on.
“Team two concentrates on harvesting. Hannes should lead that one, along with Ti-tcha. They’ll look for monopoles and refined metals Streaker can use. With luck, they might find some replacements for those coils we need.
“With your permission, Tsh’t, I’ll take team three. I want to look over the structural integrity of that ship, and survey the topography of the surrounding area.”
Tsh’t performed a jaw clap of agreement. “Your logic is good, Tom. That is what we’ll do. I’ll leave Lucky Kaa with the other sled, on alert. The ressst shall join their teams at once.”
Orley grabbed Tsh’t’s dorsal fin as she was about to whistle the command. “Oh, we’d better go with breathers all around, hadn’t we? Trinary may not be efficient, but I’d rather put off complex conversations in Anglic than have to risk everybody shuttling back and forth for air, and maybe someone getting hurt.”
Tsh’t grimaced, but gave the command. The party was composed of disciplined fen—the pick of Streaker’s crew—so the gathering at the sled was occasion merely for low-pitched grousing and indignant bubbles as each dolphin was fitted with a wraparound hose of air.
Tom had heard of prototype breathers that would give a fin a streamlined air supply without hindering the speech-mouth. If ever he found the time, he might try to rig some up himself. Speaking Trinary posed no real difficulty for him, but he knew from experience that the fen would have problems conveying technical information in anything but Anglic.
Old Hannes was already grumbling. He helped pass out the breathers with ill-disguised reluctance. The chief artificer was conversant in Trinary, of course, but he found the three-level logic difficult. To cap things off, he was a lousy poet. He obviously didn’t look forward to trying to discuss technical matters in whistle rhyme.
They had their work cut out for them. Several of the picked petty officers and crew that had accompanied them on the rescue effort had gone back to the ship, escorting Toshio and Hikahi and the other victims of the stranding waves. Only a short score of fen remained in the party. Should anything dangerous come up, they would have to take care of it. No help from Streaker could arrive in time to do any good.
It would have been nice to have Gillian here, Tom mused. Not that inspecting alien cruisers was her area of expertise, but she knew fins, and could handle herself if things got sticky.
But she had work of her own aboard Streaker, trying to solve the puzzle of a billion-year-old mummy that should never have existed in the first place. And in an emergency she was the only other person aboard Streaker, barring, possibly, Creideiki himself, who knew about the Niss machine.
Tom smiled as he caught himself rationalizing again.
Okay, so there are good and logical reasons why the two of us can’t be together. Take it for what it’s worth. Do a good job here, and maybe you can be back to her in a few days.
There had never been any question, from the moment they had met as adolescents, that he and she would make a pair. He sometimes wondered if their planners had known in advance, in choosing gametes from selected married couples, that two of the growing zygotes would later fit so perfectly—down to the simple telempathy they sometimes shared.
Probably it was a happy accident. Human genetic planning was limited by law and custom. Accident or no, Tom was grateful. In his missions for the Terragens Council he had learned that the universe was dangerous and filled with disillusionment. Too few sophonts—even those equipped for it—ever got enough love.
As soon as the breathers had been distributed Tom used the sled’s speaker to amplify his voice. “Now remember, everybody; though all Galactic technologies are based on the Library, that collection of wisdom is so huge that almost any type of machine