Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
They were red-brown in color, completely hairless; they had long necks, almost chinless lower jaws, and fleshy, beaklike noses that gave them an avian appearance which was heightened by red crests, like roosters' combs, on the tops of their heads. "Well, aren't they something to see?" Lillian Ransby, the linguist asked. "I wonder how we look to them," Paul Meillard said.
That was something to wonder about, too. The differences between one and another of the Terrans must puzzle them. Paul Meillard, as close to being a pure Negro as anybody in the Seventh Century of the Atomic Era was to being pure anything. Lillian Ransby, almost ash-blond.
They have quite a diversity of crops, and I suspect that they have some idea of crop-rotation. I'm amazed at their musical instruments; they seem to have put more skill into making them than anything else. I'm going to take a jeep, while they're all in the village, and have a look around the fields, now." Charley Loughran went along for specimens, and, for the ride, Lillian Ransby.
"When they make the second landing in the mountains, I'm going to do a lot of hunting," Loughran added. "I'll get wild animals for you." "Well, I'm going to assume that the vocal noises they make are meaningful speech," Lillian Ransby said. "So far, I've just been trying to analyze them for phonetic values. Now I'm going to analyze them for sound-wave patterns.
Lillian Ransby, who had not gotten to sleep before sunrise and had just gotten up, was discouraged. "I don't know what we're going to do next," she admitted. "Glenn Orent and Anna and I were on it all night, and we're nowhere. We have about a hundred wordlike sounds isolated, and twenty or so are used repeatedly, and we can't assign a meaning to any of them.
"Six different opinions about what we mean, and now the band's starting an argument of their own." "Phase Two-A," Lillian said firmly, stepping forward. She pointed to herself. "Me Lillian Ransby. Lillian Ransby me name. You name? "Bwoooo!" the spokesman screamed in horror, clutching his staff as though to shield it from profanation.
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?"
Potato-flour hotcakes, with Baldur honey and Odin flameberry jam. And two big cups of coffee apiece. It's a miracle they aren't dead now. If they're alive for lunch, we won't need to worry about feeding them anything we eat, but I'm glad somebody else has the moral responsibility for this." Lillian Ransby came out of the headquarters hut.
Word Of The Day