Free H.M. Hoover - Lost Star by H. M. Hoover Page B

game in progress when the airtruck came back in late afternoon. Scotty and Lian were playing mixed doubles with amalfis. Tolats watched from the sidelines.
    Pok-pok was one of those rare games that sentient species could play together. It was a mongrel mixture of tennis and amalfi netball. Humans could play in conventional style. The amalfis wore breathing gear to keep from exhausting themselves in this dry atmosphere.
    Tolats never played pok-pok or any other game except their own, which was called "lump!" The smallest tolat could jump ten times its own length and frequently did so.
    Since the game was being played on the landing pad, it was interrupted by the airtruck's arrival. Only Dr. Farr and the tolat medic were aboard. It was hard to tell about the tolat, but Dr. Farr looked tired.
    "Your colleagues will recover," Dr. Farr told the group that ran to meet them. "They were out of shock when we left. Zizzori has a fractured topshell. Both he
    and Zarr will need extensive resheathing on their fore-claws and grippers. They were badly scorched. Tsri Zahr is going to stay with them for a day or two until the prosthetic shell is molded."
    After Dr. Farr excused himself and went to his quarters to bathe and change, the tolat contingent gathered around the tolat medic to question him further, translators off. The only thing Lian understood was repeated reference to Tsri Farr.
    No one felt like resuming the pok-pok game once the crowd broke up. The players went off to take their respective showers. Lian was beginning to get butterflies in her stomach at the thought of telling Dr. Farr about the dome and the lumpies. Her hands were icy as she toweled and dressed. There was no point in putting it off.
    Buford was stretched out in the sun in front of Dr. Farr's door when she got there—a band of vivid orange against the gravel. His antennae quivered at her approach, but he did not move. The door was open, and she could hear the man talking; apparently he had a visitor. Not wanting to disturb him or Buford, she was turning away when he called out, "Lian?" and came to the door.
    "I—could I talk to you later—privately?"
    "Surely. But why not now? I'm finishing my personal log entry. It'll only take a few minutes more." He saw her look at Buford. "Don't mind our watch worm. Just step over him."
    "Do you—like him there?" she said as she made sure her feet cleared the millipede by a wide margin.
    "Shhh." His voice lowered to a stage whisper. "Buford's very sensitive. Many staff members don't want him around. He finds this traumatic since he is accustomed to lumpie attention."
    "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
    Dr. Farr's eyebrows angled up. "Buford?"
    "No. Lumpies. I don't really want to tell you, but I think I have to. Lumpies are—an intelligent species. This city is theirs."
    Dr. Farr's expression went blank. He searched her eyes for a moment, then reached over and pulled up a folding chair for her. "You are serious?" he said, and when she nodded, "What makes you think so?" As he sat down on the edge of the bed, she saw him turn the log recorder back to "on."
    "Shall I begin at the beginning?" she asked for the benefit of the recording.
    "I think that would be best."
    "Yesterday I was on top of the dome—the center of the eye?—and I heard the same music that I heard before."
    He frowned at that but did not interrupt. In fact, he said nothing for the ten minutes it took her to relate the basic story.
    When she had finished, Dr. Farr sat there on the bed, still staring at her in expressionless silence. Lian's hyperactive imagination darted in all directions. Was he wondering if she was sane? Angry because she hadn't told him yesterday? In shock?
    "You will see that no harm comes to the lumpies?" she said.
    At that he stirred and took a deep breath. "Forgive me for sitting here like a lump—" he said. "Poor choice of words—I'm sorry. Of course we'll protect them—if they need it. What I was wondering was if I