Power Play - Anne McCaffrey [15]
She was so proud of herself for puzzling this out that she didn’t think to hide. She had become somewhat easier among people since her move to Kilcoole, and more accustomed to what Coaxtl called man things. The Shepherd Howling had not cared much for such things unless they were bringing supplies, so machinery had played little part in the terror of her life among the flock before she met Coaxtl.
So mostly she was curious and watched the shuttle land, despite many hissings from Coaxtl.
She had no idea that such an important-looking craft or the people from it would take any notice of someone like her.
One by one they climbed out and sank promptly into the squooshy hillocks of muskeg. Their lower clothing and legs and feet would be very wet, she knew. Some of them carried long metal sticks; some of them had on long white skirts, and others wore short skirts and high fur boots, and leaned on the arms of companions. Still others wore shiny pants. All of them were much too warmly dressed in layers and layers of fur and down, mittens, boots, coats, mufflers, and hats.
“Aha!” one of the ones in a skirt cried. “There’s one!”
“One what?” asked a woman’s bored voice.
“An aboriginal Petaybean.”
“There’s no such thing,” another protested.
“Ah, you, sir, as a businessman, obviously do not understand the spiritual nature of the relationship between the Petaybean native and his or her Great Benefactor. It has been explained to me and my brethren, however, by an expert on the subject.” And without waiting for further argument, the man in the white skirt slogged forward, squooshing up to his knees with every step. “You there?”
“Brethren.” He had said “Brethren.” Shepherd Howling talked that way, and Dr. Luzon. They were not very nice people, but she had learned to obey them. Half of her wanted to shrink back into the brush, but she stood as if rooted while the man approached, and waited for him to demand that she do something she didn’t want to.
“Oh, little girl, yoo hoo!” another white skirt, this one a woman, called.
“Yes, you!” the man said. “You are an indigenous native of this glorious being upon which we stand?”
“Well,” the girl began.
Youngling . . . Coaxtl’s voice whispered.
“Well, yes, I guess so.”
“Ah!” The man’s nervous smile broadened into a wide grin and he beckoned to those waiting behind the shuttle. “She is! Come along, it’s all right then.”
The others surged forward as awkwardly as the first, carrying their bags and their metal sticks and baskets.
The woman in the white skirt was the first to arrive. “Brother Shale, you’ve been too hasty as usual and frightened her.” The woman pulled back her hood to reveal a shaven head, and took off her mitten to stick out a hand. “Hello, honey. I’m Sister Igneous Rock. Take us to your leader.”
Ponopei II
Torkel Fiske had disguised himself before leaving his shuttle. He didn’t care to be recognized by any of his father’s cronies. A dark colorwash and a quick weave altered his hairstyle to shaggily long with a part instead of his usual cropped red cut; he wore a dark mustache that looked utterly convincing, and a pair of dark glasses well suited for the climate of the resort moon Ponopei II. The white synlin suit and Caribbe seascape-designed shirt were unlike anything he ever wore anywhere else. Woven sandals, no socks, and the sort of jewelry he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in completed his ensemble. He had chemically altered his skin color with the substance designed to keep shipsiders from feeling out of place where sun and sea