• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Finally she caught the smell; like all smells, it seemed different than she remembered, but it was unmistakable. Crawling half under a file, she struggled with, then managed to roll out a big grease pencil.

There were lots of paper scraps about, and they managed to find some fairly large sheets. Then Joshi took them in his mouth while she held the pencil in hers. They left.

Over the next day, in their hideout beneath the pier, Mavra tried holding the pencil in her mouth while he held paper with his hooves. It was tough, and there were several false starts until she managed an intelligible message. It was shaky, uneven, a terrible scrawl, but finally she made one that was readable. Wandering in frail lines all over the paper, it said: i am mavra chang help me dont tell

She hoped it was good enough.

Now she had to wait; the ship then in port was heading in the wrong direction. For her only the Trader would do.

* * *

The streets of Hygit were crowded with Wuckl of all sizes scurrying to and fro. The clamor of trams, some motorized traffic, and all the rest of the sights and sounds indicated a big city in a high-tech hex. The foursome making their way down one of the streets drew a great deal of attention even in a city used to the strange life forms of passing ships.

Vistaru, perched on Domaru's rump, grumbled, "You could hide an army in a place like this." Her soft, tiny voice was almost drowned out by the sound.

Renard, leading the great horse through the crowd, nodded in agreement. "It does look rather hopeless, doesn't it? But she's here, I'll bet on it. This is the only east coast port."

"She will be down by the docks," Wooley added. "It may not be as hopeless as you think. Consider how long and involved a journey it has been to this point, and now we have closed the gap. I feel that the search will end here. Come, let us go to the wharves."

The city's low hills dropped off abruptly at the coast; a cliff had been smoothed mechanically and they descended a steep, final incline to the piers, one of which, from the top, afforded a panorama of the port complex and the rough seas out to the horizon.

"Look!" Renard noted, pointing. "Smoke. A ship's coming in!"

"Going out, more likely," the Yaxa replied. "It draws a bit farther away. I should not like to be on it—that sky looks very threatening."

It did indeed, but the dark clouds and occasional distant lightning contrasted with the warmth and sunshine they enjoyed. Another hex lay in that direction; Wuckl's slightly pinkish atmosphere and somewhat darker water marked the border between Wuckl and the next hex.

Of course, such differences existed between each Southern hex, but they were usually minor—a matter of humidity, carbon-dioxide content, the addition or subtraction of some trace gas. In only a few was it necessary for visitors to use respirators or protective gear. Nonetheless, all hexes were slightly uncomfortable for nonresidents.

"It is disappearing," Vistaru noted. "Look—you can't see the smoke any more. They're making speed."

"Zanti is high-tech," the Yaxa reminded them. "They will have full power and speed."

Ordinarily two high-tech hexes did not adjoin, but there were exceptions. For their part, the Wuckl swam poorly and could not tolerate more than a dozen or so meters depth; the Zanti, nearly immobile plants few had seen, could not stand depths of less than one hundred fifty meters. In this case the two hexes were well balanced; neither had anything the other wanted, and in the few matters—like fishing rights—that required interhex cooperation, they got along well.

Renard had a funny feeling all of a sudden about that ship. "You know," he said glumly, "wouldn't it be a bitch if that's the Toorine Trader, or something, and they're on it?"

Theirs had been a long and tiring hunt; suddenly all three felt that he was right. Their pace accelerated.

At the docks they found tired longshoremen packing their gear. The Wuckl were fascinated