Read Online Quozl by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page B

enough to admit the ship.”
    Flies-by-Tail acknowledged and the little vessel rose on hovering jets as she maneuvered them toward the green wall. Dust accompanied the passage of the ship.
    They were crossing a small meadow, water and green growing things dancing beneath the hovering jets. Then over a narrow stream which emptied into a small lake. On the far side of the lake was a reasonably flat open place bordered by a number of fallen trees whose roots had been undermined by an ancient flood. Flies-by-Tail managed to back the survey ship halfway under the largest. There was a bump as she struck wood, then a sigh as she cut the hovering jets. They settled to the ground beneath the natural lean-to.
    The hardest thing Looks-at-Charts had ever done was to restrain himself while the necessary preliminary checks were run. Long-range measurements and estimates had to be confirmed, new tests done. Though it seemed to take an eternity, the first results appeared on the ship’s instrumentation in rapid succession.
    The air was breathable, the temperature tolerable. They would not have to wear cumbersome equipment. Flies-by-Tail looked longingly at the lake, wondering what the water of Shiraz might taste like—and what potentially upsetting microorganisms it might harbor.
    The second disappointment was personal. As had been prearranged, he and Burden-carries-Far spun a random-numbers disc, and Looks lost. He did his best to conceal his unhappiness, congratulating his colleague, who was appropriately apologetic for having won. Burden offered the honor to Looks, who formally declined, whereupon the joyful Burden sorrowfully prepared to open the hatch door and be the first to set foot on the Shirazian surface.
    They donned side arms, a necessary precaution which had been learned the hard way on hostile Mazna. Such fears and worries as they held, however, vanished the moment the hatch was opened and the descent ramp extended itself.
    The air was thick and warm, full of the scent of living things. They had to paused lest it overwhelm them, like a dozen rich desserts consumed without pause. The air was alive with whistling sounds, not akin to the noise the Quozl made among themselves but sweeter. Clicks and burrps came from deep within the high green plants that lined the sides of the lake. Looks-at-Charts studied the stream which ran almost directly beneath the descent ramp.
    â€œWater. Fresh, not recycled.”
    â€œWater is water, I guess.” Burden-carries-Far marched unceremoniously down the ramp and into the shallow stream, letting it flow over his sandaled feet and soak his fur. “Cold,” he informed them, promptly violating every procedure in the texts by bending to scoop up a handful and conveying it to his mouth.
    Looks heard Walks-with-Whispers gasp behind him, felt Stands-while-Sitting push against his back. “Don’t do that!”
    The scout flung droplets from his fingers and eyed her amusedly. “Nice taste.” He turned and jumped the rest of the stream. “Let’s get moving.”
    Looks-at-Charts hurried down the ramp, followed by Stands-while-Sitting. Flies-by-Tail watched enviously from the pilot’s chair. She could not leave the ship until the scouts declared the immediate vicinity secured. Breathes-hard-Out would remain aboard to continue her atmospheric studies.
    Walks-with-Whispers was a different matter. Neither scout particularly desired the geologist’s company while they made their initial observations, but since there was no visible danger they could not insist he remain on board. After a good deal of verbal posturing and feinting it was decided that he could come and go as he required so long as he stayed within view of the pilot’s chair. He agreed reluctantly but was soon so busy gathering rock and soil samples he’d completely forgotten the disagreement.
    That left the two scouts and their senior xenologist free to tramp through the forest as