"We're
not exactly going to count air molecules in the sound waves, but
we'll do everything short of that. We'll need more lab space,
soundproofed."
"Tell Dave Questell what you want," Meillard said. "Do you really
think you can get anything?"
She shrugged. "If there's anything there to get. How long it'll
take is another question."
* * * * *
The two sixty-foot collapsium-armored turtles settled to the ground
and went off contragravity. The ports opened, and things began being
floated off on lifter-skids: framework for the water tower, and
curved titanium sheets for the tank. Anna de Jong said something
about hot showers, and not having to take any more sponge-baths.
Howell was watching the stuff come off the other landing craft. A
dozen pairs of four-foot wagon wheels, with axles. Hoes, in bundles.
Scythe blades. A hand forge, with a crank-driven fan blower, and a
hundred and fifty pound anvil, and sledges and cutters and swages
and tongs.
Everybody was busy, and Mom and Sonny were fidgeting, gesturing
toward the work with their own empty hands.
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