"Yeah. Well, if we're going to have any chance at all, we'd better find ourselves that assault group. And it could take days, at this rate; this is a damn big ship." He thought for a moment. "You did say you can sense the presence of a shield. Isn't there any way you can use that to speed this up, find them all today?"
"There is one way," Corina admitted, "but I dislike using it. I could find shielded minds, then direct you to a nearby unscreened one to determine location. That, however, involves probing many who lack Talent."
"And I know how you feel about that. But you can't be absolutely sure you've guessed Thark's timing right, can you?"
Corina shook her head. "No, I cannot. You are correct, the necessity for speed is more important than my reluctance. Very well, but go no deeper than you must to determine location."
"Right."
No longer interested in a physical search, the two Rangers found an unoccupied passenger lounge and began the mental one. With Corina's Talent and Medart's knowledge of the ship, it went quickly; they found eleven, besides the known three, with enough shield to be worth further testing. Hobison's, they already knew, was adequate, and Corina was less than enthusiastic about meeting Greggson again, so they decided to check with the young Sandeman first. His shield was strong, she knew from the demonstration, and she knew his pattern from the combat demonstration, which made it a simple matter to touch him, find someone nearby, and let Medart identify his location. "Zero-gee gym," the human Ranger said. "I think you're going to like what you see."
When they reached the mid-level observation platform glassed off from the gym itself, Corina had to agree. Nevan was practicing flight-shooting, clad only in exercise trunks that set off his dark skin. Small and slender he might be, but there was no denying his strength or his grace as he pushed himself off one gym wall, drew his bow in a single smooth motion, and fired as he tumbled through the air.
"Beautiful," Corina said. "I have never seen a human move with such economy or precision. That is a combat bow, is it not?"
"Instead of a practice one? Right—no target sights, and it's a lot heavier. That one pulls close to seventy kilos. I can't even get the string back ten centis, and he makes it look like nothing."
Nevan hit the far wall feet-first. There was the solid sound of him kicking off again, the scream of a hollow pierced-shaft arrow, the thud of it hitting the small remote-controlled target less than a centimeter from the first. That was repeated half a decade times, with what appeared to be effortless ease.