Spacepaw by Gordon R. Dickson Read Free Book Online Page A

to answer in the same language—and not fall into the social mistake of speaking out in either human or Hemnoid, of which latter alien tongue he also owned a hypnoed knowledge.
    “Or, ‘Barrel Belly,’ as our friends here call me,” went on Mula- ay . “I’m a journalist, here to do a series of articles on these delightful people. What brings you among them, my young, human friend?’
    “Bill Waltham,” answered Bill cautiously. “I’m here as part of our agricultural project at Muddy Nose.” Mula- ay might indeed be a journalist, but it was almost certain he was also a Hemnoid secret agent—that was the Hemnoid way.
    “Just part of it?” Mula- ay gave a syrupy chuckle as he answered, like a hogshead of molasses being emptied into a deep tank. There was a note of derision in his chuckling. A note that seemed to invite everyone else to join him in laughing over some joke at Bill’s expense. This in itself might mean something—or it might not. A love of cruelty was part of the Hemnoid character, as Bill knew. It was a racial characteristic which the Hemnoid culture praised, rather than condemned. Nonetheless, it was not pleasant to be the butt of Mula- ay ’s joke, whatever it was. Feeling suddenly ridiculous, Bill took his feet out of the back straps of the Bluffer’s harness and slid down to stand on the floor.
    Now on his feet and facing both the seated Mula- ay and Bone Breaker, Bill found he could look slightly down into the face of the Hemnoid, although his eyes glanced level with the eyes of Bone Breaker.
    “Have a place at my table, Pick-and-Shovel,” rumbled the outlaw chief. His tone was formal, so that the words came out very like a command. “You too, Postman.”
    Without hesitation, the Bluffer dropped down on one of the unoccupied stools. Bill walked around and hoisted himself up on the other empty seat. He found himself with Bone Breaker close at his right elbow; while at his left elbow, with only a few feet between them, sat the gross form of Mula- ay , his Buddha-like face still creased in a derisive smile. Opposite, Bill’s single ally, the Hill Bluffer, seemed far away and removed from the action.
    With the fire lashing its red flames into the air at one side of them, throwing ruddy gleams among the sooty shadows of the bare rafters above them and the outsize figures surrounding him, there came on Bill suddenly a feeling of having somehow stumbled into a nether world, peopled by dark giants and strange monsters. A momentary feeling of helplessness washed through him. All around him, the situation seemed too big for him—physically, emotionally, and even professionally. He broke out rashly and directly to Bone Breaker, speaking across a corner of the table.
    “1 understand you’ve got a Shorty here—a Shorty named Dirty Teeth!”
    For a long second, the outlaw merely looked at him.
    “Why, yes,” answered Bone Breaker. Then, with strange mildness, “She did wander in here the other day and 1 believe she’s still around. Seems I remember she told me yesterday she didn’t plan to leave for a while—whether I liked it or not.”
    He continued to gaze at Bill, as Bill sat, momentarily shaken both by his own lack of caution and by Bone Breaker’s astonishing answer. Now, while Bill was still trying to collect his scattered wits, Bone Breaker spoke again.
    “But let’s not get into that now, Pick-and-Shovel,” said the outlaw chief, still in that tone of surprising mildness. “It’s just time for the food and drink. Sit back and make yourself comfortable. We’ll have dinner first. Then we can talk.”
    Mula- ay , Bill saw, was still grinning at him, evidently hugely enjoying Bill’s confusion and discomfiture.
    “Well … thanks,” said Bill to Bone Breaker.
    A couple of Dilbian females were just at this moment coming to the table with huge platters of what appeared to be either boiled or roasted meat, enormous irregular chunks of brown material that seemed to be some kind