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manufactures with enthusiasm."
She nodded. "Not here they haven't. They say it goes against their kusum.
Also, they think magic is better. Of course, they don't really use magic.
Everything they do, everything that happens in Parramat has a logical and
ra-tional exegesis. I just haven't had time enough to study it. I've been too
busy trying to get them to make treaty with the Commonwealth." She smiled up
at him. "I'm expect-ing you to explain it all to me."
"I'll do my best," he replied without a hint of guile. "But as you say, a
treaty is paramount. The section in my study guide on Parramati customs was
slim. I
expect you to warn me where not to step, what not to say, and how not to act."
"Don't worry, Pulickel. I'll take good care of you."
He tensed, but she didn't reach over to pat him on the head. Intellectual
condescension he could handle, but not the physical kind. Especially not frown
an attractive woman. If that was irrational, so be it.
The skimmer slowed as they approached a narrow stretch of yellow‑white
beach at the head of the inlet. Beyond the sand he could see where jungle had
been cleared away, leaving a wide path through the forest. Something in shades
of blue equipped with multiple legs scurried piglike across the clearing and
into the trees.
She drove the skimmer off the water and up onto the beach, rising to clear a
large berm that was anchored in place by a peculiar, corkscrewing
green‑red vine. Purple fruiting bodies burst from conelike structures
that emerged at random from each shiny coil. Without being obvious, he paid
careful attention to everything she did. Unbeknownst to her, one of his
ancillary tasks in accept-ing the Parramat assignment was to render and report
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a formal job evaluation on one
Fawn Seaforth.
It was early, but so far his opinion was equivocal. Not that he was grading
out at the top of his form since his ar-rival, either. How could he have known
about the apa-panus? Senisran was rich in unknown and undescribed inimical
species. He was confident only in what he knew. He decided that her lapses in
protocol could be over-looked in view of the fact that she'd saved his
life‑and might well do so again.
Of one thing he was already certain. This assignment could go one of many
ways‑‑but "by the book" wasn't going to be one of them.
Well, he'd improvised before. Adaptability was the hallmark of the truly
successful.
A hundred meters from the water's edge, the skimmer hangar came into view. It
was a large, unlovely, wholly functional structure: a roof, three walls, and a
sliding bar-rier. Fawn pulled inside, cut the engine, and monitored
instrumentation as their vehicle settled onto its mount-ing pad.
"The station's just up ahead." She jumped over the side. "Pass down your case
and we'll walk the rest of the way."
Using .the integrated hoist to control the heavy bag-gage, they walked the
remaining meters along a narrower path that ran in a straight line through the
trees. Pulickel was enveloped by the rich, musky aroma of growing things.
Alien odors assaulted his nostrils. The majority, though not all, of them were
pleasant.
Ideally, a contact station should blend harmoniously with its alien
environment without challenging the posi-tion or preeminence of native
structures or religious icons. This was not a problem on Torrelau since the
nearest Parramati village was located several kilometers distant, over an
intervening ridge.
It was important that the installation reflect the techno-logical superiority
of its builders without being over-awing. The idea was to impress without
terrifying. Nor could it be too elaborate or expensive; not with a world like
Senisran requiring dozens of such installations. It should also be relatively
quick and easy to assemble.
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Therefore it wasn't surprising that Seaforth's habita-tion was of a design
Pulickel recognized. It looked like a fat wheel mounted on an axle that had
been shoved into the ground, with the body of the wheel parallel to the earth.
Ascent to the main body of the station, whose rim was ringed with windows and
observation ports, was via a lift located in the supporting axle. In the event
of power failure, a spiral stairway encircled the elevator shaft.
With the wheel‑shaped body of the station ten meters above the ground,
it offered occupants safety as well as a pleasant view of the encroaching
forest.
The main work areas faced the exquisite, narrow bay, muting instead of
encouraging hard work. A circular defensive perimeter consisting of charged
posts that would deal unpleasantly with any living thing that attempted to
pass between them ensured a safe outside working zone beneath the overhang of
the station itself.
With its prominent reds and blues, the surrounding jungle was more colorful
than its relentlessly green Ter-ran counterparts. Pulickel recognized
variations of the star‑crowned trees beneath which Fawn had awaited the
arrival of the transport. Among the other botanical stand-outs was a
medium‑size bush armed with scythelike spines. It looked like a refugee
from some desert clime but was obviously happy to be growing deep within the
forest. Flowers flared in abundance and in odd places.
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Beneath the shady wheel of the station and within the defense perimeter was a
junkyard of empty packing crates, storage containers, and unidentifiable
debris.
It stained the ground just as grease and soil marred Sea-forth's overshirt.
Its presence was strictly against general regulations and guidelines for the
maintenance and opera-tion of such an outpost. All nonrecyclable trash was
sup-posed to be properly disposed of or neatly packaged for removal at some
future date.
As they drew near, half a dozen small scavengers of unknown type burst from
the mess and scattered into the trees. He could hear them banging through the
under-brush. Several had neither feathers nor scales and ap-peared to be
little more than fleshy blobs on legs.
He found himself gesturing. "It would appear that the station's defense system
is not turned on."
She nodded slowly. "So it would appear."
"That is a violation of regulations." He gestured at the flagrant pile. "What
do you call that disgusting mess?"
"Convenient. The Parramati get a kick out of poking through it. They use some
of the smaller discarded packaging to store water or carry pickings. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]