The Mystery of Ireta_ Dinosaur Planet & Dinosaur Planet Survivors - Anne McCaffrey [164]
Slightly dazed by Sassinak’s totally unexpected parting remark, Varian was halfway to the air lock before she recalled Portegin. Del was quite willing to detour by way of the sick bay.
“We don’t get a skull fracture report from the diagnostic scan, Leader Varian,” Mayerd, the chief medical officer explained, “but he’s clearly disoriented.”
“You mean he has trouble believing this is the ZD-43?” asked Varian, appreciating Portegin’s confusion.
“How did you know?”
Then they were in the infirmary, Portegin its only occupant.
“Krims! but I’m glad to see you, Lieutenant,” he said, urgently beckoning her to approach his bunk. In an anxious whisper he added, “There’s something peculiar going on here, Lieutenant. I don’t recognize anyone. How could they switch crews midtour, unless the heavies—”
“Report, Portegin,” Varian said, mimicking Lunzie’s clipped accents.
“Huh? Oh, Krims!” Portegin fell back against the bolster, tension easing from his face and body as blocked memories flowed back. “I thought something was wrong with me!”
Varian squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. “Me, too.”
“Hey, then everything is all right?” Portegin caught her arm with urgent fingers. “I mean, that heavy-world transport zapped us, and I wake up on a cruiser. Was that rescue mission from the ARCT-10? How’re the others? How come we thought we were from this cruiser?”
Varian gave him what answers she had and then called Mayerd over, indicating Portegin’s improvement and asking to have him released. Mayerd reluctantly agreed, extracting from Varian a promise that Portegin would undertake no strenuous activities for a day or two.
“Nothing more strenuous than juggling matrices and wielding a soldering iron,” Portegin assured her, slipping into the new ship suit he was given.
Once aboard their crumple-nosed sled, Varian filled Portegin in on some of the details while he elatedly sorted through the supplies, exclaiming over the variety of matrices, tool replacements, and packed food-stuffs.
“Hey, we got us a bottle of Sverulan brandy—Ah, fardles! It’s got Lunzie’s name on it. Compliments of Commander Sassinak? A friend of hers?”
“You might say so,” Varian replied, discretion overcoming her wish to confound. It occurred to her that Lunzie might not wish to claim a relationship so far removed in time.
“Fardles! That stuff goes down a treat. Real smooth.” Portegin carefully replaced the brandy and resumed his seat beside Varian. “Hey, we got our escort back. How did they know it’s us with so many other aircraft zipping around?”
“I’ll remember to inquire. Lunzie says they can tell the difference between one of our sleds and those of the Mazer Star.”
“No? Well, every motor has a distinctive sound to it, I’m told, even if they were manufactured in the same place, of identical components, but the signature usually only shows up on sophisticated monitors.”
“Brains are still the ultimate in sophisticated computers. We got some on wings, that’s all. Say, did you happen to notice if they tracked us up from the base camp?”
“It was dark when we left there, Varian, and we were kinda occupied . . . besides using different brains. I don’t know what they think they’re doing for us out there, but I kinda like seeing ’em .”
“So do I. And I’ll be seeing a lot more of them in the next few days if I have