Plague Ship Andre Norton (book recommendations website .TXT) đ
- Author: Andre Norton
Book online «Plague Ship Andre Norton (book recommendations website .TXT) đ». Author Andre Norton
By Andre Norton.
Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint I: Perfumed Planet II: Rivals III: Contact at Last IV: Gorp Hunt V: The Perilous Seas VI: Duelistâs Challenge VII: Barring Accident VIII: Headaches IX: Plague! X: E-Stat Landing XI: Desperate Measures XII: Strange Behavior of a Hoobat XIII: Off the Map XIV: Special Mission XV: Medic Hovan Reports XVI: The Battle of the Video XVII: In Custody XVIII: Bargain Concluded Colophon Uncopyright ImprintThis ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.
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I Perfumed PlanetDane Thorson, Cargo-master-apprentice of the Solar Queen, Galactic Free Trader spacer, Terra registry, stood in the middle of the shipâs cramped bather while Rip Shannon, assistant Astrogator and his senior in the Service of Trade by some four years, applied gobs of highly scented paste to the skin between Daneâs rather prominent shoulder blades. The small cabin was thickly redolent with spicy odors and Rip sniffed appreciatively.
âYouâre sure going to be about the best smelling Terran who ever set boot on Sargolâs soil,â his soft slur of speech ended in a rich chuckle.
Dane snorted and tried to estimate progress over one shoulder.
âThe things we have to do for Trade!â his comment carried a hint of present embarrassment. âGet it well inâ âthis stuffâs supposed to hold for hours. Itâd better. According to Van those Salariki can talk your ears right off your head and say nothing worth hearing. And we have to sit and listen until we get a straight answer out of them. Phew!â He shook his head. In such close quarters the scent, pleasing as it was, was also overpowering. âWe would have to pick a world such as thisâ ââ
Ripâs dark fingers halted their circular motion. âDane,â he warned, âdonât you go talking against this venture. We got it soft and weâre going to be credit-happyâ âif it works outâ ââ
But, perversely, Dane held to a gloomier view of the immediate future. âIf,â he repeated. âThereâs a galaxy of âifsâ in this Sargol proposition. All very well for you to rest easy on your finsâ âyou donât have to run about smelling like a spice works before you can get the time of day from one of the natives!â
Rip put down the jar of cream. âDifferent worlds, different customs,â he iterated the old tag of the Service. âBe glad this one is so easy to conform to. There are some I can think ofâ âThere,â he ended his massage with a stinging slap. âYouâre all evenly greased. Good thing you donât have Vanâs bulk to cover. It takes him a good hour to get his cream onâ âeven with Frank helping to spread. Your clothes ought to be steamed up and ready, too, by nowâ ââ
He opened a tight wall cabinet, originally intended to sterilize clothing which might be contaminated by contact with organisms inimical to Terrans. A cloud of steam fragrant with the same spicy scent poured out.
Dane gingerly tugged loose his Trade uniform, its brown silky fabric damp on his skin as he dressed. Luckily Sargol was warm. When he stepped out on its ruby tinted soil this morning no lingering taint of his off-world origin must remain to disgust the sensitive nostrils of the Salariki. He supposed he would get used to this process. After all this was the first time he had undergone the ritual. But he couldnât lose the secret conviction that it was all very silly. Only what Rip had pointed out was the truthâ âone adjusted to the customs of aliens or one didnât trade and there were other things he might have had to do on other worlds which would have been far more upsetting to that core of private fastidiousness which few would have suspected existed in his tall, lanky frame.
âWhewâ âout in the open with youâ â!â Ali Kamil, apprentice Engineer, screwed his too-regular features into an expression of extreme distaste and waved Dane by him in the corridor.
For the sake of his shipmatesâ olfactory nerves, Dane hurried on to the port which gave on the ramp now tying the Queen to Sargolâs crust. But there he lingered, waiting for Van Rycke, the Cargo-master of the spacer and his immediate superior. It was early morning and now that he was out of the confinement of the ship the fresh morning winds cut about him, rippling through the blue-green grass forest beyond, to take much of his momentary irritation with them.
There were no mountains in this section of Sargolâ âthe highest elevations being rounded hills tightly clothed with the same ten-foot grass which covered the plains. From the Queenâs observation ports, one could watch the constant ripple of the grass so that the planet appeared to be largely clothed in a shimmering, flowing carpet. To the west were the seasâ âstretches of shallow water so cut up by strings of islands that they more resembled a series of salty lakes. And it was what was to be found in those seas which had lured the Solar Queen
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