Starman by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

of swallows and his brain began to function again. Colombia’s legal narcotic. He found himself considering the complex of communications equipment as he sipped.
    “Listen sergeant, I know you can handle all kinds of exotic transmissions and high-speed signals with that, but what about more commonplace stuff? Can you pick up the regular police bands on that thing?”
    “No problem. Why? You bored already?”
    “It’s not that. Kind of has to do with what I’m out here for. I’m interested in anything really freaky that’s been going on around here. You know: far out, weird, bizarre. It’s all related to what I do.”
    Lemon smiled. “I know a lady you’d like.”
    Shermin grinned back at him, finished the rest of the coffee and set the cup aside. “Better start getting ready, I guess. What’s it like, where we’re going?”
    The radioman was fiddling with his instrumentation. “Like most of Wisconsin: trees, lakes, nice country. You want weird and far out? Man, you’re going to get weird and far out. Just promise me one thing, okay?”
    “What’s that?”
    “After you get through doing your studies or digging or photographing or whatever it is you’re out here to do, you let me know what the hell’s going on.”
    “If I can.” Shermin got off the cot, took his contamination suit off the wall rack and started struggling into it. Lemon watched the procedure thoughtfully while continuing to monitor his instruments.
    “Hey, what’s that for? They didn’t give us nothing like that when they sent us out here to recon.”
    “You’ve been to the site already, then?” Shermin pulled the sleeves of the suit up his arm, made sure the elastic at the wrists was secure and started slipping on the gloves.
    “Yeah, once.”
    “Did you set down in the area?”
    Lemon shook his head. “Just circled and took pictures.”
    “Then you wouldn’t need something like this.” He zipped up the front of the suit and checked to make sure the gloves were secured to the sleeves at the wrists. “What do you think?”
    “Flashy. You look like the baked potato that ate Chicago. Seriously, you think you’re going to need it, down there?”
    “I hope not, but I wouldn’t want to guess wrong and find myself without it. I might like to have kids some day, you know?”
    The last vestige of the radioman’s smile vanished. “I hear you.”
    By the time the S-76 rumbled into the impact area the chopper’s crew was all business. Smoke still rose from blackened trees. The forest fire had burned briefly but intensely, helped along by a gusting breeze. It was out now only because the forestry service and local fire brigades had jumped on it hard and fast.
    Shermin tucked his helmet under an arm. Local monitors already on the scene would inform him if it was necessary. He peered out the side window as they hovered above the devastated area. It was immediately apparent that something more than a simple forest fire had damaged this part of southern Wisconsin.
    In addition to the trees incinerated in the fire there was a long black swath that ran through otherwise untouched forest from west to east. Something had cut through the woods with irresistible force. The path of destruction ended near the center of the fire and was centered on a shallow but still impressive impact crater. Around the crater trees hadn’t been burned as much as they’d been flattened, their needles and leaves and smaller branches blasted off.
    “Jesus,” Shermin muttered.
    “Looks like somebody set off a big one, huh?” Lemon commented without looking up from his equipment.
    “Something like that,” was Shermin’s noncommittal reply. He knew full well that no bomb had caused this havoc, but his employers would crucify him if he started volunteering his professional opinion to the uniformed help. So he kept his thoughts to himself. Lemon took the hint and didn’t ask a second time.
    Two more helicopters were in view, flying circles around the crater,