The Tar-Aiym Krang
Alan Dean Foster
Language: English
Pages: 251
ISBN: 034530280X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Moth was a beautiful planet, the only one with wings -- two great golden clouds suspended in space around it.
Here was a wide-open world for any venture a man might scheme. The planet attracted unwary travelers, hardened space-sailors, and merchant buccaneers -- a teeming, constantly shifting horde that provided a comfortable income for certain quick-witted fellows like Flinx and his pet flying snake Pip. With his odd talents, the pickings were easy enough so that Flinx did not have to be dishonest ... most of the time.
In fact, it hardly seemed dishonest at all to steal a starmap from a dead body that didn't really need it anymore. But Flinx wasn't quite smart enough. He should have wondered why the body was dead in the first place...
The Reality Disfunction (Night's Dawn Trilogy, Book 1)
Schritt in die Zukunft (Perry Rhodan Neo, Band 15; Expedition Wega, Band 7)
Hellworld (Twilight of the Empire, Book 3)
Geburt einer Dunkelwolke (Perry Rhodan Silberbände, Band 111; Die Kosmischen Burgen, Band 6)
almost one hundred and fifty parsecs from Branner lies the home world of a primitive race of hominids, little visited by the rest of the galaxy. They are far off the main trade routes and have little to offer in the way of value, either in produce or culture. They are pleasant, pastoral, and nonaggressive. Seemingly they once possessed star travel, but sank back into a preatomic civilization and are only just now beginning to show signs of a scientific renaissance. Interestingly enough, they also
the reverse was induced he turned into a vegetable. No use had been found for that state, but for the former. . . . It was kept fairly quiet. After a number of gruesome but honest demonstrations put on by the thranx and their human aides, mankind acknowledged the truth of the discovery, with not a small sigh of relief. But they didn’t like to be reminded of it. Of course a certain segment of humanity had known it all along and wasn’t affected by the news. Others began to read the works of
weaving in and out of the retreating pattern with characteristic unpredictability. Occasionally a brief, terse flare would denote the spot where another ship had departed the plane of material existence. And a voice drifted somehow over the roaring, screaming babble on the communicator, a voice that could belong to no one but Major Gonzalez. Over and over and over it repeated the same essential fact in differing words. “What happened what happened what happened what . . .?” Bran at this time
DV they pulsed with a faint yellow light. They were perfect for his needs, being solid and of a uniform consistency. A small crowd began to gather. He added a fifth ball now, and began to vary the routine by tossing them behind his back without breaking rhythm. The word was passed outward like invisible tentacles, occasionally snatching another person here, another there, from the fringes of the shuffling mob. Soon he had acquired his own substantial little island of watchful beings. He whispered
shook his head with a confidence that would have made Mother Mastiff proud. “No. I really don’t know what happened. My mind was. . . .” He broke off as the outside light was abruptly extinguished. The shuttle had slipped into her mooring dock in the cargo hold of the Gloryhole. “And that is that,” said Malaika, unnecessarily. To everyone’s great satisfaction, his pipe had gone out. “I’d love to discuss this all further with you gentlebeings, but at some future nafasi, ndiyo? If I do not get
