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The Meaning of the Word
by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Then I saw something odd, fuzzed with the sand glimmering in the coral
sunlight, and I began to slog my way toward it.
Jhirinki, get back here! Wolton ordered from the skiff. He was sounding
angrier by the minute.
Theres something out— I tried to tell him but Almrid cut me off.
Let him alone, Wolton. Your jurisdiction goes no farther than the skiff.
Then, with scarcely a change in tone, he said to me, You stay here until camp
is set up. I want to know where everyone is.
Wolton gave him a sour smile and motioned me away. But it was important that
they know about that irregularity. I tried again. I saw something out there.
It doesnt look—
Wait until the camp is set up. We need to get some more definitive readings
before we go exploring. And—Almrid added to Wolton—we cant get those
without the prowler.
Wolton jerked the hatch of the skiff open. All right. Heres the prowler. You
know that it cant get any better data from the surface than the monitors
can.
Look, Almrid— I began.
Not now, Peter. Well talk later. When we have more accurate material to work
from. This last was, of course, for Wolton.
It was useless. I stepped back as Wolton reluctantly put the prowler in
action, letting it scuttle out over the hazy sand, scanners clicking
contentedly to itself.
Sumiko Hyasu had barricaded herself behind her equipment, preparing to run
soil tests. She and Langly, the biochemist, worked in silence, the remote
sounds of their breathing murmuring in my earphones.
On the other side of the skiff I knew Parnini and Goetz were furling the sails
of the weather unit. I could hear them swearing occasionally. They were busy.
Wolton and Almrid were still arguing. My eyes were dragged back again to that
irregular spot in the sand that might be what I wanted. That might be digs.
Im calling Captain Tamoshoe, Wolton declared to anyone who would listen.
Im going to give him a status report.
That is your respon
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