Paw-Prints Of The Gods by Steph Bennion Page A

is also on my
list.”
    Ignoring him, Govannon
took the seat at the other end of the bar.
    “Would you care for a
drink, sir?” asked the robot. There were several dents in its
oddly-contoured head. Its humanoid upper body had once worn the
traditional livery of a butler but rust had badly discoloured the
plates upon its chest.
    “Lager,” said
Govannon. “Ice cold.”
    “What have you found
out there?” asked Dagan. “The girl I spoke to last time said
something about a temple, mysterious carvings and all sorts of
fascinating stuff! You’ll be pleased to hear the fossils you found
were warmly received by the Church.”
    “Stealing samples, is
it?” accused Govannon. “What have you done with them?”
    “They are holy relics
and should not have been removed from sacred ground! Your
archaeology is no more than the systematic destruction of history.
What else have you done in the name of science? Perhaps I need to
take a closer look.”
    “You would not be
welcome.”
    “No,” said Dagan. “But
neither are you.”
    He rose from his seat
and regarded Govannon levelly. When the archaeologist failed to
respond, he walked smartly from the bar and out of sight. Govannon
sighed and reached for the schooner tumbler the robot placed upon
the bar. His long-awaited sip resulted in an unexpected assault
upon his senses and he spluttered in disgust.
    “What the hell is
that?” he exclaimed, shoving the tumbler back across the bar.
    “Warm reconstituted
goat’s milk,” the robot replied. “I regret that due to a recent
data infection, I can no longer serve the full range of
beverages.”
    Govannon gritted his
teeth. Sabotaging the molecularisor and taking away his supply of
tea was bad enough, but the bar was his holy ground.
    “Dagan!” he muttered.
“This means war!”
     
    * * *
     
    Xuthus looked at the
pilot, puzzled. The surly red-faced Englishman had on several
occasions expressed distaste at being on some far-flung frontier
planet and not in his old job ferrying wealthy tourists around the
inner Solar System. Yet it was Xuthus’ question about Ravana that
had led the man to scowl and screw his face into a peculiar
defensive frown.
    “I don’t know where
she is,” the pilot snapped. “She didn’t come back with us.”
    “Then where is she?”
asked Xuthus.
    “Are you asking after
your girlfriend?” called Urania, looking around from where she
hogged the holovid console. “Are you upset she ran out on you?”
    “Ravana is not my
girlfriend!”
    Xuthus wished he had
waited until the girls had gone before asking. Just then, the
co-pilot appeared from the airlock, having been outside to connect
the ship’s fuel hoses to the depot’s hydrogen tanks. The tall
Jamaican had not yet taken off his pressure suit and the
bowl-shaped helmet under his arm looked far too small to contain
the mass of dreadlocks tumbling from his smiling features.
    “Hey mon,” he greeted,
nodding at Xuthus. “What’s your grief?”
    “He’s worried about
Ravana,” said Hestia, who up until now had sat quietly unnoticed at
the back of the cabin. “Nobody seems to know where she went.”
    “The freaky Indian
girl?” asked the co-pilot. “Not seen her at all today.”
    “How about last time
we were here?” asked Xuthus. “A fortnight ago?”
    The Jamaican shook his
head.
    “I did see her last
time,” the pilot admitted. “She was talking to that Dhusarian
nutcase down by the bar when the rest of you were in here waiting
to use the transceiver. He’s a weird one, that Dagan. Gave me some
leaflet on aliens.”
    “And she definitely
did not return to Ascension on the ship?” asked Xuthus.
    “I’ve already said as
much!” the pilot said irritably. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”
    “Don’t stress,” his
co-pilot told Xuthus. “Your lady friend will be somewhere. You need
some egg to smooth things out, make you mellow? I can do you a good
price.”
    “You’re dealing
drugs?” Xuthus looked shocked. Egg