"The council does not approve of allowing an outworlder on this ship," he signed furiously, interspersing his gestures with angry cheeps of diminishing value equations.
"But it is of great worth to have them here," Narrow Leg said, waving a gentle hand. "Until the day we may fly to the Central Worlds in our own ships and show ourselves, this is the only way they can bring back word. Keff is viewing all for Carialle, and she makes a record."
"He's good," Carialle said.
"Yep," Keff murmured. "I'm glad he's on our side."
"Plus," Narrow Leg chirped, having carried on his argument with Big Voice while Keff and Carialle were conferring, "there is undoubtedly little that they do not already know about the theory of space travel. I have requested access to the archives myself. If we preceded them to Sky Clear it was by a few hundred years, that was all. And," he added with fierce stabbings of his remarkably long forefinger in Big Voice's chest, "they have kept up their space program, while we have allowed setbacks to keep us confined here. All this is in our own people's writing. You would do well to read the documentation."
"Setbacks?" Big Voice said. "Do you designate the overload of planetary Core 103 years ago a setback? Do you call the apocalyptic crash of poorly made colony ship of 85x10 years ago a setback?"
"That was first experiment with portable Cores," Big Eyes whispered to Tall Eyebrow and Keff.
"Four x 102 years of previously successful space exploration brought to halt by disaster after disaster? Attempts to reconnect with former colonies have only begun in last 102 years!" Big Voice stopped, out of breath, to pant angrily.
"We now have open space to meet and interact with a people who were not hampered by constant gaps in space research," Narrow Leg said, without heat.
"This sharing will result in a loss of profit for Cridi industry," Big Voice said, standing his ground. "We will not develop things on our own as we should."
Narrow Leg turned to Keff. "Do all Central Worlds colonies have space travel?"
"Well, no," Keff said. "We require a certain technological and social level to be reached before they can have full membership, but they don't necessarily have to have evolved interstellar travel."
"Don't you see?" Narrow Leg said, turning back to the angry councillor. "This could open up your market to other peoples."
"You'll have to make things larger, though," Keff said, trying out a little exponent humor using IT to describe the proportions between Cridi and humans.
Big Voice was not mollified. "The council will discuss this matter thoroughly and give you their answer." He spun on his flat foot and marched out. The guards, uncertainly, lowered their circuit-covered hands and followed.
"Oh, good," Big Eyes signed behind her fellow councillor's departure. "Then we have years to talk about this before he comes back."
Narrow Leg shook his head wearily. "The fellow's a stone-gets set in one place and never moves again."
"What have your people done in space without the Core?" Keff asked.
"Small Core onboard," Narrow Leg said, and his musical whistling described formulae, circuitry, and elemental weights. "It runs on reserve fuel, serves few Cridi intensively for a time until new Core is built on new world. Until then, we walk in mud." His eyes twinkled as a few of the crew-frogs running tests in the engine room caught his signs and shuddered.
"There, you see?" Carialle said, noting their reactions through Keff's body-camera. "Tell Tall Eyebrow he is a hero in spite of his clunky amulet. None of the homeworld Cridi want to go through what his people did."
Keff, careful to make certain Big Eyes saw his signs, relayed Carialle's message to the Frog Prince. The praise made him glow and stand up straighter, especially when the female stared at him with open admiration. Narrow Leg caught Keff's eye behind the two younger Cridi's backs, and up-nodded wisely.
The message rocket streaked out of the system, shedding a burst of glowing electrons as it hurtled through the heliopause. Its passage attracted the attention of a raider ship lying concealed in the asteroid belt just inside the system's invisible barrier.
"Telemetry?" the ship's captain demanded. She was a lean woman with black hair and a thin nose and chin.
"From the reptiles," the navigator confirmed. He stretched out a wing-finger to extrapolate the path of the rocket from its source. He adjusted the computer screen to another view. The second planet had moved along its orbit, but the point of origin based on its current velocity was positive. "Confirmed. It came off the Slime planet."
"Get it," the captain said.
The pilot glanced over his shoulder nervously at her, but he applied thrust while bringing the cranky old drives on-line. The ship decanted from the hollow asteroid and gave chase.
Without looking away from the navigation screen, the captain tilted her head toward the copilot, who acted as communications officer and navigator.
"Send a message to the other ships. Alex is closer, but Autumn's engines are better."
The Thelerie officer nodded. The captain leaned closer, as if willing her ship to greater velocity. They couldn't let the probe get away. The small rocket had a good head start. It would be a miracle if they caught up with it, flying on their rackety old engines. The captain felt the vibration through her feet, sensing each time that connections missed. She was frustrated. There was never time to make the repairs correctly. They never had the right parts. Now, when it was vital for the engines to perform perfectly, they'd lose security in the system because no one had done a tune-up. The ship shuddered and groaned. Suddenly, the cabin went black except for the screens. The captain clutched for something solid to hang on to. The internal stabilizers cut out for a moment, and her wrists were twisted painfully.
"What happened?" she demanded. Her arms hurt, but she didn't let go.
"Cohiro says he's diverting all nonessential power to thrusters," the Thelerie reported.
The captain relaxed, glad her face was hidden by the dark. "Maximum speed, then," she said.
On the screen, the little rocket was a white dot, growing slowly into a dash.
"Can we get near enough to capture it with the tractor?" she asked.
"Not unless we slow it down," her pilot said. Over his shoulder, the captain could see the gauges. They were increasing in speed, but so was the probe.
"Then blast it," the captain said. She braced herself. The whole deck shook as more power was drained away from life support, this time for the weapons.
The white dash ahead of them shuddered slightly, but kept flying. It had slowed down just a bit. The captain urged her ship forward.
"Damaged it slightly," the Thelerie said. "We may catch it now."
The raider homed in on its prey. The captain stared at the streak, feeling her heart pound as it grew larger and larger.
"We're on it," she said. "Prepare to activate tractor."
"Aye, sir," said voices in the dark.
The ship drew up on the probe. The captain watched her screens, seeing the numbers shrink. Closer. Closer.
"Now!" the captain cried. The ship groaned again as power diverted to the tractor ball. "Do you have it?"
"No, sir," the Thelerie said. "I'm trying again."
"Maximum velocity," cried the pilot's voice. "Steady. Steady." The small streak gained detail. The captain could almost count the probe's tail fins.
"Grab it!" the captain ordered.
"I have a lock on it!" the Thelerie announced, just as all the lights went down. Loud grinding echoed through the walls. The captain was thrown to the floor against the backs of the pilot couches. Suddenly, the cabin lights came up again, and a siren wailed under the floors.