H.M. Hoover - Lost Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

have to do something to keep out Buford, the beetles, and their ilk. And at night she could watch the stars.
    She wondered what the supernova looked like. She had been looking forward to seeing it. In those final fusion stages was all matter really converted to iron, and could one actually see that happen, then see the iron-red ball blast into pure energy? By the time she got back, it would all be on film, tapes of the past, like any other nova she had ever seen.
    Her parents must be so excited, so pleased. It was their prediction that this giant star would nova that had prompted the building of the observatory on this distant world. Lian grinned, remembering how little all the learned papers of envious professional rivals, all the vicious attacks had bothered diem. They knew they were right and simply staked their joint and considerable reputations on being so. She wondered if she would ever possess that kind of knowledge and courage.
    As she thought about them, she almost envied their passion, their total absorption in the stars. To care so deeply, so exclusively about one's work must be— Lian couldn't even imagine the feeling. But she knew she lacked that degree of caring. She liked astrophysics because they liked it and because she appreciated the poetry of it, the serene order. But with her it was no passion, but a lonely intellectual interest which she sensed would grow tedious with time.
    The luxury of self-pity was tempting, but it altered nothing, she decided, and rolled onto her back to enjoy instead the luxury of warm sunshine and grass.
    The music crept into her mind without her awareness, almost as part of her daydream. She found herself singing a song she did not know, in words she could not understand. She sat up, frightened, heart beating fast, and heard nothing but the familiar woodland sound.
    It's not my imagination, she thought. It's the same song I heard yesterday when we flew over here. But what is it? And am I the only one who hears it? I must be. Wouldn't they have dug here first if they had heard it? If I tell them about it, will they believe me? They really don't know me . . . what if they think I'm crazy?
    Lost in thought and more than a little edgy, she made her way off the hill. Why did Dr. Scott think the lumpies might be telepaths? Or did she? Because they lived in the site and she "heard things," too, and suspected the lumpies were responsible?
    Lian almost bumped into the lumpie before she saw it. It was standing erect and quite still in the shrubs at the rim of the hill, watching her as if it expected her to talk to it. On impulse, she hummed the song she had just heard.
    A dim, glazed expression entered the lumpie's eyes, as if she had confused it. It tilted its head, and the smiling mouth opened slightly. It had small white teeth, almost human in shape. She repeated the song. The lumpie listened.
    When she had finished, it waved its anemonelike fingers very rapidly and nodded its head. And then it did something that both frightened and excited her. From deep in its throat it began to sing in rich round tones that seemed to trace a pattern in the mind. It repeated the simple melody Lian had hummed, corrected and enriched it and sent it soaring through the trees. Then it stopped abruptly and looked around, as if afraid someone else had heard, its distress so evident that Lian felt nervous sympathy for it.
    "It's all right," she said. "There's no one else here."
    The lumpie looked at her, and she felt helpless to soothe it. And all the time her mind was wondering,
    Was this a song or language? Intelligence or an instinctive territorial call? But if that, then why this evident fear of self-betrayal? Fear of whom or what? The archaeologists? Some carnivore attracted by the sound? And how had she first heard this song from the air?
    There was a rustle of twigs and scrunching leaves. Both she and her companion turned to see two other lumpies running toward them. There was much urgent finger