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Updated: May 27, 2025
He wanted to slaughter one of the sheep-sized meat-and-milk animals at once and get to work on it. Gofredo advised him to put it off till the next morning. He wanted a large native audience to see the animal being shot with a rifle. The water tower was finished, and the big spherical tank hoisted on top of it and made fast. A pump, and a filter-system were installed.
Everybody, talking idly or concentrating on writing up the day's observations, stiffened. Luis Gofredo, dozing in a chair, was on his feet instantly and crossing the hut to the instruments. His second-in-command, who had been playing chess with Willi Schallenmacher, rose and snatched his belt from the back of his chair, putting it on. "Take it easy," Gofredo said.
The efficiency of a steel hatchet was impressive, and so was the sudden flame of a pocket-lighter, but no word for fire emerged, either. "Ah, to Nifflheim with it!" Luis Gofredo cried in exasperation. "We're getting nowhere at five times light speed. Give them their presents and send them home, Paul." "Sheath-knives; they'll have to be shown how sharp they are," he suggested. "Red bandannas.
Paul, you have authority to requisition personnel from the ship's company. Draft me; I'll stay here and work on it." The rumpus in the village plaza was getting worse. The Lord Mayor and his adherents were being out-shouted by the opposition. "Better do something about that in a hurry, Paul, if you don't want a lot of Svants shot," Gofredo said.
"It's not a big party," Gofredo was saying. "I can't see Oh, yes I can. Only two of them." The humanoid figures, one larger than the other, were moving cautiously across the fields, crouching low. The snooper went down toward them, and then he recognized them. The man and woman whom the blue-robed villager had tried to shove out of the queue, that afternoon. Gofredo recognized them, too.
"We'll need the new apparatus to be positive about it, but it's there, all right," Ayesha said. "That's why Luis' voice pleases them." "That tags me; Old Pump-Mouth," Gofredo said. "It'll get all through the Corps, and they'll be calling me that when I'm a four-star general, if I live that long." Meillard was really worried, now. So was Bennet Fayon. He said so that afternoon at cocktail time.
Like Gofredo, Vindinho must have gotten into the Service on tiptoe; he had a bald dome and a red beard, and he always looked as though he were gloating because nobody knew that his name was really Rumplestiltskin. He had been watching the contact by screen. He lifted his glass toward Meillard. "Over the hump, Paul?" Meillard raised his drink to Vindinho. "Over the first one.
The tank took a long time to fill; until it did, they all sat immobile and fascinated. Even after it stopped, many remained, hoping that it would start again. Paul Meillard began wondering, a trifle uneasily, if that would happen every time the pump went on. "They get a positive pleasure from it. It affects them the same way Luis' voice does." "Mean I have a voice like a pump?" Gofredo demanded.
Then they went into a huddle, arguing vehemently. The argument spread, like a ripple in a pool; soon everybody was twittering vocally or blowing on flutes and Panpipes. Then the big horn started blaring. Immediately, Gofredo snatched the hand-phone of his belt radio and began speaking urgently into it. "What are you doing, Luis?" Meillard asked anxiously. "Calling the reserve in.
With adequate safeguards, I'd even say you could make a viable tissue-graft from a Svant to a Terran, or vice versa." "Ayesha, would the sound waves from that pistol-shot in any conceivable way have the sort of physical effect we're considering?" "Absolutely not," she said, and Luis Gofredo said: "I've been shot at and missed with pistols at closer range than that."
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