Cap Hanson crumpled the flimsy, jammed it deep into his pocket.
"Not a word about this, Sparks! Not yet. We—we've got to break it gently!"
I nodded just as Biggs, grinning from ear to ear and back again, lurched into the turret. On his right arm he was carrying a queer looking little squeegee. At first I thought it was a teddy bear. Then it moved, and I realized I was in the presence of a native Irisian. He—or it—was a curious little squirrel-like creature with big, goggling eyes, a huge bushy tail and enormous whiskers.
Biggs chirruped cheerfully, "Here's one of the local boys, folks! Sparks, you speak Irisian, don't you? Well—"
He paused, glancing at each of us questioningly. "What's the matter? You two look as if you'd lost your best friend."
Cap Hanson essayed a laugh. It sounded like an echo from a torture chamber.
"Nothin' at all, son. We was just discussin' the difficulties of the problem ahead of us, that's all. So that's an Irisian, huh? And you can talk to it, Sparks?"
He looked at me with new respect. I smiled. "If my Academy prof wasn't just fooling," I told him, "I can." And I turned to the little rodent, twisting my lips into a series of purring whistles which meant "Greetings!"
"Phwee-twurdle-twurdle-pwwht!" replied the Irisian.