Warhorse by Timothy Zahn Page B

today.”
    â€œThe animal studies and everything else, I think,” Sanderson said. “Dr. Tenzing, I suggest we gather a few plant samples together and then come back up to the ship. No one’s going to get much more done down here today.”
    â€œI agree,” Tanzing said. “At the very least, we have to devise a way to either shield our instruments or else distract the local fauna away from them. I’ll instruct the lander crew to start their pre-flight checklist. That is,” he added, as if suddenly remembering this wasn’t a university expedition with himself in charge, “if that’s all right with you, Captain.”
    â€œPerfectly, Dr. Tenzing,” Roman assured him. He had, in fact, already come to the same conclusion. “Lieutenant Kennedy, so instruct the lander crew.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Kennedy said, and busied herself with her intercom.
    â€œOne other thing, Captain,” Tenzing spoke up again. “We’re going to need a couple of the Amity ’s electronic engineers to build whatever we come up with to keep the animals away. Can you have someone assigned to us?”
    â€œI’ll do better than that,” Roman told him. Barely a full day out of port, it was already becoming clear that the politicians who’d set this whole thing up had assumed that the scientists of Amity ’s survey section would be operating more or less independently of the larger ship community, with their own equipment, living areas, and chain of command. The first two Roman was willing to concede them; the last, he wasn’t. “It seems to me, Dr. Tenzing, that we need better communication and coordination between your people and mine. Accordingly, I’m going to assign one of my officers to act as a liaison. Assist you in getting whatever you need from ship’s stores or personnel; making sure your work and procedures stay within standard ship safety limits—that sort of thing.”
    There was just the briefest pause. “I see,” Tenzing said at last. “I was under the impression that—well, never mind. A liaison would probably be a good idea, at that. You have someone in mind?”
    â€œYes,” Roman said, unconsciously bracing himself. It was a gamble—indeed, something of a long shot—and he knew there was a good chance he would live to regret it. But he knew, somehow, that he had to make the effort. “I’m assigning Commander Ferrol to the job.”
    He looked up to find Ferrol’s startled eyes on him. “Sir, with all due respect—”
    â€œThe job’s yours, Commander,” Roman told him evenly. “I suggest you get to the hangar and prepare to receive the landing party. Make sure their samples are properly sealed, and that they stay that way until they reach the lab.”
    Ferrol took a deep breadth. “Acknowledged. Sir.”
    â€œVery good, Commander. Dismissed.”
    With a grimace, the other left the bridge, his back very straight.
    So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Ferrol thought darkly as he headed aft toward Amity ’s hanger. He puts human lives at risk because the Tampies tell him to— comes within a chip-skin of complete disaster—and when I try to put his priorities straight, I get sent to Coventry. He wanted to stomp, but the ship’s slow rotation was already being brought to a halt, robbing him of even that minor satisfaction. Insult piled on top of injury, particularly since the lander wasn’t even due for at least another hour. Briefly, he thought about the needle pistol and envelope hidden in his cabin…
    No , he told himself. He had to let the mission run its course; had to let Amity ’s crew demolish this last feeble attempt to prove that humans and Tampies could be anything but bitter enemies. A draw would only lead to more stalling on the pro-Tampies’ part.
    In fact—it suddenly occurred to