Tiny flecks of light, Orofan saw. The spectrometer read them as hot helium....
Orofan felt suddenly cold all over. Fusion-drive spacecraft! "The system is inhabited!" he hissed.
"You understand our dilemma," Lassarr said heavily.
Orofan understood, all right. The Dawnsent's scooping procedure would unavoidably set up massive shock waves in the star's surface layers, sending flares of energy and radiation outward....
"How is our fuel supply?" Lassarr asked.
Orofan knew, but let Pliij check anyway. "Down to point one-oh-four maximum," the Pilot said.
"We can't reach our new home with that," Lassarr murmured.
"Correction, Voyagemaster," Orofan said. "We can't reach it in the appointed time. But our normal scooping gives us sufficient fuel to finish the voyage."
"At greatly reduced speed," Lassarr pointed out. "How soon could we arrive?"
There was silence as Pliij did the calculation. "Several lifetimes," he said at last. "Five, perhaps six."
"So," Lassarr said, short tentacles set grimly. "I'm afraid that settles the matter."
"Settles it how?" Orofan asked suspiciously.
"It's unfortunate, but we cannot risk such a delay. The sleep tanks weren't designed to last that long."
"You're saying, then, that we continue our present course? Despite what that'll do to life in this system?"
Lassarr frowned at him. "I remind you, Shipmaster, that we carry a million of our fellow Sk'cee—"
"Whose lives are worth more than the billions of beings who may inhabit that system?"
"You have a curious philosophy, Shipmaster; a philosophy, I might add, that could be misunderstood. What would the ancestors say if you came among them after deliberately allowing a million Sk'cee to perish helplessly? What would