a patrol cruiser ready to fight?

The Throg technicians made a last check of the beam, reporting in clicks
to the officer. The alien gave an order to Shann's guard before
following them out. A loop of wire rope dropped over the Terran's head,
tightened about his chest, dragging him back against the chair until he
grunted with pain. Two more loops made him secure in a most
uncomfortable posture, and then he was left alone in the com dome.

An abortive struggle against the wire rope taught him the folly of such
an effort. He was in deep freeze as far as any bodily movement was
concerned. Shann closed his eyes, settled to that same concentration he
had labored to acquire on the Throg ship. If there was any chance of the
Wyvern communication working again, here and now was the time for it!

Again he built his mental picture of Thorvald, as detailed as he had
made it in the Throg ship. And with that to the forefront of his mind,
Shann strove to pick up the thread which could link them. Was the
distance between this camp and the seagirt city of the Wyverns too
great? Did the Throgs unconsciously dampen out that mental reaching as
the Wyverns had said they did when they had sent him to free the captive
in the skull?

Drops gathered in the unkempt tight curls on his head, trickled down to
sting on his tender skin. He was bathed in the moisture summoned by an
effort as prolonged and severe as if he labored physically under a hot
sun at the top speed of which his body was capable.

Thorvald----

Thorvald! But not standing by the window in the Wyvern stronghold!
Thorvald with the amethyst of heavy Warlockian foliage at his back. So
clear was the new picture that Shann might have stood only a few feet
away. Thorvald there, with the wolverines at his side. And behind him
sun glinted on the gem-patterned skin of more than one Wyvern.

"Where?"

That demand from the Survey officer, curt, clear--so perfect the word
might have rung audibly through the dome.

"The camp!" Shann hurled that back, frantic with fear than once again
their contact might fail.

"They want me to call in the transport." He added that.

"How soon?"

"Don't know. They have the guide beam set. I'm to say there's illness
here; they know I can't code."

All he could see now was Thorvald's face, intent, the officer's eyes
cold sparks of steel, bearing the impress of a will as implacable as a
Throg's. Shann added his own decision.

"I'll warn the ship