I caught the rest of the crew staring at me; their expressions were a
motley.
* * * * *
Back at the same old stand, open for business, looking at the pitiful
alteration, feeling lonely, feeling vulnerable, too, despite the bug
suit, Moya's parting blast still burning in my mind.
He'd ferried me down to the hilltop in the long shadows of early
morning. I'd had to order him to return to the star ship. I stood now
beside the communal mound. Moya had said, pointing down the hill, anger
making him illogical: "These are the people you sold out when you
transferred to Interstel. They could have used your kind of brains.
Post-mortems aren't going to help them, now."
It was simple, wasn't it?
Something on E-T was a killer: quick and deadly.