United States or Ecuador ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I'm not taking chances on this." He spoke again into the phone, then called over his shoulder: "Rienet; three one-second bursts, in the air!" A Marine pointed a submachine gun skyward and ripped off a string of shots, then another, and another. There was silence after the first burst. Then a frightful howling arose. "Luis, you imbecile!" Meillard was shouting.
"Give that another half hour and we'll have visitors, with bows and spears." "Ayesha, you have a recording of the pump," Meillard said. "Load a record-player onto a jeep and fly over the village and play it for them. Do it right away. Anna, get Mom in here.
The Lord Mayor rose, made an odd salaamlike bow toward the Terrans, and then turned on the people, striking with his staff and shrieking at them. A few got to their feet and joined him, screaming, pushing, tugging. Others joined. In a little while, they were all on their feet, straggling away across the fields. Dave Questell wanted to know what it meant; Meillard explained.
Then the pump started again. The Lord Mayor's hands tightened on the staff; he was struggling tormentedly with himself, in vain. His face relaxed into the heartbroken expression of joy; he turned and shuffled over, dropping onto his haunches with the others. "Shut down the pump, Dave!" Meillard called out. "Cut the power off." The thugg-thugg-ing stopped.
They gave each of them a pair of blankets and a pneumatic mattress, which delighted them, although the cots puzzled them at first. "What do you think about feeding them, Bennet?" Meillard asked, when the two Svants had gone to bed and they were back in the headquarters hut. "You said the food on this planet is safe for Terrans." "So I did, and it is, but the rule's not reversible.
There was a stir to right and left, among the Marines deployed in a crescent line on either side of the contact team; a metallic clatter as weapons were checked. A shadow fell in front of them as a combat-car moved into position above. "What do you suppose it means?" Meillard wondered. "Terrans, go home." He drew a frown from Meillard with the suggestion. "Maybe it's supposed to intimidate us."
The big town was two hundred and fifty miles down the valley, at the forks of the main river, a veritable metropolis of almost three thousand people. That was where the treaty would have to be negotiated. "You'll want more huts. You'll want a water tank, and a pipeline to that stream below you, and a pump," Questell said. "You think a month?" Meillard looked at Lillian Ransby. "What do you think?"
Paul wouldn't keep a linguist who offended the natives' every sensibility with every word she spoke. He didn't want that to happen. Lillian and he had come to mean a little too much to each other to be parted now. Paul Meillard and Karl Dorver had considerable difficulty with Mom, that afternoon. They wanted her to go with them and help trade for cattle. Mom didn't want to; she was afraid.
"Ayesha's coming down this afternoon, with a lot of equipment," she said. "We're not exactly going to count air molecules in the sound waves, but we'll do everything short of that. We'll need more lab space, soundproofed." "Tell Dave Questell what you want," Meillard said. "Do you really think you can get anything?" She shrugged. "If there's anything there to get.
Signal reactions. Only Paul Meillard made the semantically appropriate response: "What do you mean, Mark?" "They don't hear sound; they feel it. You all saw what they have inside their combs. Those things don't transmit sound like the ears of any sound-sensitive life-form we've ever seen. They transform sound waves into tactile sensations." Fayon cursed, slowly and luridly.
Word Of The Day