literally for me.”
“Very funny.” Still, her attitude relieved his anxiety. He had been afraid they would be in combat almost immediately. In a week or so, Streaker might be able to make a good accounting of herself before being destroyed or captured. Right now, she had all the punch of a drugged rabbit.
“I take it the Galactics aren’t landing yet.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, though Makanee and I are standing by in the infirmary just in case. Bridge crew says at least three fleets have popped into space nearby. They immediately started having it out, just like at Morgran. We can only hope they’ll annihilate each other.”
“Not much hope of that, I’m afraid.”
“Well, you’re the tactician of the family. Still, it might be weeks before there is a victor to come down after us. There will be deals and last-minute alliances. We’ll have time to think of something.”
Tom wished he could share her optimism. As the family tactician, it was his job to “think of something.”
“Well, if the situation’s not urgent …”
“You can spend a while longer with your roomie there—my electronic rival. I’ll get even by going intimate with Herbie.”
Tom could only shake his head and let her have her joke. Herbie was a cadaver—their one tangible prize from the derelict fleet. Gillian had determined that the alien corpse was over two billion years old. The ship’s mini-Library seemed to have seizures every time they asked what race it once belonged to.
“Tell Creideiki I’ll be right down, okay?”
“They’re waking him now. I’ll tell him I last saw you hanging around somewhere.” She gave a wink and switched off.
Tom watched the place where her image had been, and once again wondered what he had done to deserve a woman like her.
“Out of curiosity, Thomas Orley, I am interested in some of the undertones of this last conversation. Am I right in assuming that some of these mild insults Dr. Baskin conveyed fell into the category of affectionate teasing? My Tymbrimi builders are telempathic, of course, but they, also, seem to indulge in this pastime. Is it part of a mating process? Or is it a friendship test of some sort?”
“A little of both, I guess. Do the Tymbrimi really do the same sort of …” Tom shook himself. “Never mind about that! My arms are tired and I’ve got to get below. Have you anything else to report?”
“Not of significance to your survival or mission.”
“I take it you haven’t managed to coax the ship’s mini-Library to deliver anything on Herbie or the derelict fleet.”
The holo flowed into sharp geometries. “That is the main problem, isn’t it? Dr. Baskin asked me the same question thirteen hours ago.”
“And did you give her a more direct answer?”
“Finding ways to bypass the access programming on this ship’s mini-Library is the reason I was put aboard in the first place. I would tell you if I had succeeded.” The machine’s disembodied voice was dry enough to dessicate melons. “The Tymbrimi have long suspected that the Library Institute is less than neutral—that the branch Libraries sold by them are programmed to be deficient in subtle ways, to put troublesome races at a disadvantage.
“The Tymbrimi have been working on this problem since days when your ancestors wore animal skins, Thomas Orley. It was never expected we would achieve anything more on this trip than gathering a few shards of new data, and perhaps elimination of a few minor barriers.”
Orley understood how the long-lived machine could take such a patient perspective. Still, he resented it. It would be nice to think something had come of the grief Streaker and her crew had fallen into. “After all the surprises we’ve encountered, this voyage must have served up more than a few bits to crunch.”
“The propensity of Earthlings to get into trouble, and to learn thereby, was the reason my owners agreed to this mad venture—although no one expected such a chain of unusual calamities as befell this ship. Your talents were under-rated.”
There was no way to answer that. Tom’s arms had begun to hurt. “Well, I’d better get back. In an emergency I’ll contact you via ship’s comm.”
“Of course.”
Orley let go and landed in a crouch by the closed doorway, a rectangle high on one steeply sloping wall.
“Dr. Baskin has just passed word, Takkata-Jim has ordered the survey party home,” the Niss spoke abruptly. “She thought you would want to know.”
Orley cursed. Metz might have had a hand in that. How were they to repair the ship without looking