Howling Stones Read Online Free PDF Page A

a response. When none was forthcoming, she added, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to drive the skimmer like this. I have a wraparound.”
    “That’s good.” He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself. Doubtless she was used to it, and too polite to point it out. But what else was he to do? A full head taller than himself, well over the ancient six feet in height, she was a physical amalgam of Hera, several vit heroines, and the female bull dancers of ancient Crete. Her face reminded him of the famous bust of Nefertiti in the Berlin Museum archive. In addition to the sapphire blue eyes, she had shoulder-length blond hair wrapped in four tails. Her skin was the color of new-forged bronze. She was utterly and completely overpowering.
    No wonder the pilot had been amused. Where “local support” was concerned, his unknowing passenger had been displaying ignorance on a global scale.
    It wasn’t Pulickel’s fault. No one had informed him, no one had warned him that he was going to be working with a goddess. What was someone like Seaforth doing running a xenological contact station in the wilds of a frontier world, even as comparatively benign a frontier world as Senisran? Socioanthropology being what it was, he expected he would find out.
    It would be exceedingly rude to ask her, having just been introduced. Meanwhile he would treat her exactly as he would any other colleague, except that he would have to watch where he let his eyes linger rather more than was usual. No doubt she was used to that, as well.
    She laughed again. “Well, I’m glad ‘that’s good.’ Bet you’re tired. We’re a long way from Ophhlia.” Stepping past him, she headed for his travel case. “What do I call you? Senior officer on site, Pulickel, Mr. Tomochelor, or just Pu, as in Winnie the?”
    Following her, he discovered, was no less distracting than talking with her face to face. He made an effort. “Pulickel will do fine, since we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future.” He glanced to his left. “I’m sure there’s plenty of room for my stuff in your skimmer.”
    “You travel light.” Her tone was approving, which shouldn’t have mattered to him but inexplicably did.
    “Experience. The controls for the built-in hoist are located in a recess on the other end.”
    “Glad to hear it. I’m not in a lifting mood.” She held out the chill-cup as they reached the case. “Want a sip?”
    He eyed the protruding siphon. Mindful of her admonition to relax, he tried to make himself sound less officious. “What’s in it?”
    “Fructosoid specimen number one twenty-six. Suaswana in the local lingo. There are about a thousand regional varieties of fruit and juice, some with conflicting names depending on the maturity or location of the relevant tree or bush. I’m still cataloging.” She thrust the container at him.
    He shrugged internally. So long as it was cold and wet …
    The frosty liquid detonated against his palate, blastingout reminiscences of lime, pomegranate, and something almost intolerably sweet. Another exotic trade item, he thought as he passed the cup back. No wonder the big trading houses were salivating over development permits for Senisran.
    “Very nice,” he admitted readily.
    She downed a swallow. “There’s plenty more, some of it even better. You’ll taste for yourself. Come on.”
    Using the case’s integral hoist, they maneuvered his gear up and into the open cargo bay of the skimmer. It had no canopy, only an adjustable windscreen forward.
    “Don’t use the top much,” she replied in response to his query. “It’s back in the shed. I can reattach it when necessary.” Vaulting up into the open cockpit, she turned and reached down. “Need a hand?”
    Shaking his head, he put both hands on the gunwale and pulled himself up and in. Nodding approvingly, she slipped a dirty, stained mechanic’s shirt on over her suit, settled into the pilot’s seat, and flicked contact pads.