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HINDSIGHT Lacey clambered down to the ground from the cabin of the big helicopter. He was the only passenger to alight. He walked quickly away from the machine so as to be clear of the cloud of dust that would be raised by the downdraught when the great vanes started to whirl again. He heard the little jet units at the tip of each blade cough, heard their high whistle increase in intensity. He turned, watched the aircraft lift into the purple, cloudless sky, watched it eclipse the crimson orb of the sun as it flew eastwards. There was a sense of finality about its departure, a feeling that a river had been crossed, a bridge burned. Lacey smiled wryly at the thought, at the absurdity of it. He knew that he would again be a passenger in the same helicopter later in the day when it made one of its return flights westwards, from Port Dubuque to Carson City. But would it, he wondered, be the same Lacey who boarded her? He hoped not. The Earthman looked at the half dozen villagers who had watched the arrival and departure of the aerial coach. They were ugly brutes — but he had seen uglier on his wide travels. Even so, they barely merited humanoid classification. They had two legs, multi-jointed, and two arms that were more than a little tentacular. Between the terminal joints of these limbs there was a roughly cylindrical body, covered, as were the arms and legs, by sparse, grey hair through which shone the pink skin. The head was little more than an extension of the trunk with eyes — three of them, equally spaced — breathing holes, analagous to human nostrils, and below them an almost circular mouth. Lacey addressed the group of natives, speaking slowly and distinctly. |
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