"I see," Moon said. Then, pointing, "What about that one over there? It's got some kind of design on it, do you see? The red and white stripes, the blue with the white stars?"
"I can't see," Sork complained—and then the car seemed to lurch as abruptly it decelerated. Sork clutched for the webbing and almost missed it. It was the space captain, Francis Krake, who reached out with one strong arm and kept him from flying into the cluster of disapproving Turtles, glaring and murmuring at them.
"Thanks," Sork muttered, hastily lashing himself in.
"That's all right," Krake said. "You were asking about the insignia?"
Sork looked up at him. "What insignia?"
"On the ship you were looking at. The red, white and blue? That's my ship, the Golden Hind. That thing painted on the side—I had it put there. It's an American flag."
Of them all, only Krake had been off Earth before. Getting out of the lift car every one of them found himself stumbling and swaying. "Microgravity," Krake warned, grinning. "You'll get used to it—but make sure you're holding on to something every chance you get until you do, all right? Now, let's see if we can find Chief Thunderbird and get my crew back." He started to turn away, then paused, looking at Sork. "Are you all right?" he demanded impatiently.
Sork licked his lips. He felt so odd\ As though he were floating—but not floating serenely like a cloud in a summer sky, but uneasily slipping, sliding—Sork had never been at sea, but he recognized the term "seasickness." "I—think so," he said hoarsely, and then corrected himself. "Well, not very," he admitted.
His brother was no better off than he, and Moon Bunderan was holding tight to the arm of her Taur, her face mirroring interior problems of her own. Sue-ling looked at the brothers with worry. "It's not serious, you know," she told them. "It's just what's called vestibular disorientation. Try not to move your heads any more than you have to; moving around shakes up the little ear canals." But Sork saw that she was showing signs of strain herself.
"Oh, hell," Krake said, exasperated. "Come on, let's go to the surgery. You'll feel better if you keep doing something. Anyway this won't last too long ... I hope," he finished, in a lower voice.
Sork swallowed and tried to obey orders. Moving about in microgravity was a whole unlearned skill for him, but he saw how Krake pulled himself along by railings, hardly bothering to walk at all. Hazily, Sork was aware of his surroundings. He noticed, in a dim way, the unnatural stillness of the orbit station: There were great lashed-down mounds of supplies, redfruit seed and machinery and all the myriad commodities the Turtles traded to Earth. But they were not being transferred to the down cars that would take them to the surface of the human planet. They were simply sitting there, and the few Turtles in sight seemed dazed, or obsessed—some wandering at random, some hurrying recklessly about. The shock that had disabled the Turtles on the surface of the Earth had clearly reached here too.
There were no other human beings in sight, but Sork hadn't expected any. Everyone knew that the whole orbit station was Turtle territory.
Sork did his best to follow the instructions of the expert. They helped a little. By holding his head as rigid as possible, and especially by fixing his eyes on things as far distant as possible, he managed to still most of the uneasiness in his belly. He felt Krake's encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Almost there," the waveship captain said, and Sork nodded gratefully.
Then Krake stopped short.
Sork saw that a Turtle half again as tall as Litlun, twice as tall as any human, stood commandingly in their way. His shell was ruby red, his beak black and hooked as he challenged them.
"That's Chief Thunderbird—the 'Proctor,' they call him," Krake whispered. "He's in charge of the port. Let me do the talking."
As they approached, the Turtle gave all of them a withering glance from each eye. He addressed the space captain. "You," he stated, engaging his transposer to make his words intelligible, "are the one who is permitted to captain one of our ships. Who are these other creatures?"
"My new crew," Krake said without hesitation. "I've added a few for—for special purposes. They are Kiri and Sork Quintero, Sue-ling Quong, Moon Bunderan. I will require additional supplies for them. At least twice the usual quantities."
The huge Turtle's roving eyes scanned them all again before he spoke. Both locked on Thrayl, gazing mildly at the Turtle. "One has heard of this Taur," Chief Thunderbird said. "It is an adult male, but neither castrated nor dehorned."
"Thrayl isn't dangerous!" Moon Bunderan said quickly. "I promise he won't do any harm."
The eyes swiveled briefly toward her, then focused on Sork and Kiri. "Quintero and Quintero," the Turtle said musingly. "One has heard of these humans as well." Then the eyes returned to Francis Krake, and the Turtle said, "It is permitted. Additional supplies are appropriate and will be installed. It will be done at once."
"Fine," Krake said. "Now, what about my crew? Are they ready to travel?"
One of the huge Turtle's eyes remained on Krake, the other seemed to wander at random. Once again the Proctor took his rime about replying. "They are," he said at last.
Krake said suspiciously, "What are you hiding? Is something wrong I haven't been told?"
The Turtle shrugged the massive carapace indifferendy. "Nothing is Svrong.' It is simply that certain events have caused unanticipated changes in large-scale planning," he squawked. "Your crew has been summoned. As soon as they arrive here you may proceed to your ship, for it is necessary to leave soon."
Krake glared at him, puzzled. "What do you know about when it's time for my ship to leave?"
The Turde did not answer, but simply turned and stalked off. Krake scowled after him, until Sork Quintero, who had been glancing from one to the other, touched his arm. "Is he always like that?" he asked.
Krake shrugged irritably. "I don't know him that well. I never even saw him until I came in a few days ago, with Marco and Daisy Fay needing attention, and I certainly don't see that he has anything to do with when my ship leaves."
"What about your crew?" asked Sue-ling.
"I wish I knew! I guess the only thing we can do is wait here at the Proctor's office until they show up," said Krake, tugging angrily at his beard. He was obviously very displeased.
Sork Quintero said, "If you want my opinion, Krake, you're handling this all wrong. Why do you let that Turde push you around?"
Krake turned the scowl on Sork. "And what is it that you think I should do?"
"Why—just go to wherever your people are and pick them up-"
"Where's that? Where's the place where my crew is?"
"How should I know that?" Sork said, sounding indignant. "You're the one who's supposed to know his way around this place."
"Thank you. I wish it was true. IVe been here exactly once before in my life, and only for a couple of hours then," Krake pointed out.
"So we're just going to stand here, doing nothing?" Sork blustered. "God, Krake! If that's the way you run your ship, maybe we're better off with the Turdes after all!"
"Sork, Sork," said his brother, distressed. "Captain Krake, too—let's not argue like this."
"Kiri's right," Sue-ling seconded. "Sork, don't get so belligerent, please. Remember, we're all going to be together in a small ship for a long time, so we'd better work at getting along."
Sork stared at his twin and his love, the picture of offended innocence. "What did I do?" he demanded. "I was only saying that it's stupid to be just standing here. If that hurt your feelings, I'm sorry."
Then Kiri put his hand on Sork's shoulder to quiet him. Kiri was studying the space captain's face. "Francis," he said, his voice gentle, "is there something wrong that you haven't told us?"