The Forerunner Factor Read Online Free PDF Page B

challenged. Yet Simsa could see nothing but the ramp and, above its summit, the stir of guild guards.
    Not for the first time, she longed for clear communication with the creature. Though during the seasons she had nursed and sheltered the zorsal, she had learned to judge much of the creature’s emotions by its small actions, many times she could only guess. The zorsal now was nearly as alert as if she perched within striking distance of a ver-rat den and the den sharers were stirring, about to venture forth.
    The girl clucked to the zorsal, drew the fingers of her right hand slowly and soothingly about the base of those half uncurled antennae. She could read no sign of alarm in the other’s watchfulness, merely an alertness. Still, that was enough to make her divide her own attention between the ramp and the starship.
    The cargo hatch was closed now. A light had snapped on to glow outward from the smaller aperture which gave upon the landing stair. Below, the merchants were growing restless, there were noisy quarrels erupting here and there as they pushed and shoved for front-line showing.
    Finally, there were crewmen coming out; Simsa counted five of them. They were too far away from her own place—badly chosen she now decided, and they seemed far more eager to reach the town above than to carry on any private trading ventures. In fact, in their tightly fitted ships-clothing, they had no pouches which showed that they transported anything of value. Also, none carried a bag or bundle and they passed the calling traders on either side without so much as a glance at what they had to offer. Instead, they ignored those, chattering among themselves and quickening pace towards the city ramp and whatever pleasures they had marked down for their own during a night of planetside freedom.
    Simsa fought down her disappointment. She had been very foolish to think that she might make the beginning of her fortune on the first such try. Certainly, none of these looked to be the kind of man to pore over bits of broken carvings and consider them worth a price no matter how small a price she might make it. She studied them carefully, however, as they brushed past the merchants, sometimes actually pushing some overly importunate man or woman out of their paths, talking in their sharp, clicking language which resembled at times a zorsal’s grunts.
    Nor did she raise her hand or voice to try to catch their attention as they strode past her chosen place to tramp up the ramp. Ruefully, she stooped, picked up her pieces, drew out bits of rag to rewrap them. Tomorrow would be another day. Men long in space could well have other things on their minds this night beside trading, though that might be their whole way of life.
    Here and there, one of the disappointed merchants had already turned back to his or her pitch, set a brazier burning, getting ready a scrap meal. They would sleep curled among their wares, await the coming of sun and another contingent of starcrew, or else these who had gone on their way back, their space starved appetites of the body sated, ready to think once more of long-term gain rather than fleeting pleasure.
    Simsa hesitated over her own choice. She had promised herself that this night she would sleep in a real bed place in one of the taverns on the lower reaches of the street where carveneers sheltered during their stay in Kuxortal. Weighing her one sleeve was a twist of broken silver from which she could pinch a finger’s length to ensure her that much. Also, her position here by the ramp was not so choice a one that she need defend it by hunching there to sleep in the chill open.
    She made her decision and started back up the ramp where the crew men, well ahead, were just entering into the town. The Guild guards glowered at her but there was no reason for any questioning. They did not police the field market, and unless she were one who wore a cheek brand of a failed, outlawed thief, or committed some act against the