H.M. Hoover - Lost Star by H. M. Hoover Page A

centuries to mean a stupid but harmless animal or person. My guess would be that these creatures were named lumpies by one of the first ore freighter crewmen to visit this planet, and the name stuck, as cruel but superficially apt nicknames do."
    Lian regarded her with new interest. "Do you think the lumpies are smart?"
    "When I watch the joy they take in swimming, yes," she said. "They certainly are charming animals."
    "We of the planet Tola do not trust any . . . (untranslatable)," said a tolat standing behind them. The speaker on its translator amplified the hiss of its voice. "Not when we are ignorant of their habits and hungers. You unshelled ones are far too soft. . . ."
    Considering the benign appearance of lumpies versus the formidable looks of a tolat, Lian thought that an odd statement. How could a lumpie hurt a tolat, short of sitting on it? Then, in an effort to be fair, she thought she probably was prejudiced because, like the lumpies, she too could walk upright and smiled and cried and was unshelled. One always had to allow for the chauvinism peculiar to individual races and species.
    To her, tolats were so uncomfortably crablike, with their quick scuttling movements, their eyes like oblong blue gems on sticks that lifted up and out or retracted into neat slots in their shelled bodies. To watch them walk, bowllike body suspended between four matched pairs of jointed legs, was to see synchronization as an art form. To watch them eat, delicately shredding their food with foreclaws and with exquisite precision inserting the bits into their wedge-shaped mouths, did strange things to Lian's stomach. It was, of course, impolite to say this, since tolats probably found the feeding apparatus of humans equally revolting.
    When the sun almost touched the horizon, the lumpies began to leave the beach in groups of three or four. The last of the swimmers came ashore and stood looking at the water, as if making sure everyone was safely out. One small lumpie turned to observe the observers, then reached over to touch a friend and pointed toward their audience. Too quickly, as if to cover the gesture, Lian thought, the friend or parent caught the other's hand and they hurried off together into the woods with the rest of the group.
    "Wasn't that cute?" someone said, and there was nervous laughter from the staff; they had not enjoyed being observed.
    Why was that funny? Lian wondered, her glance flicking over her companions. Of all the species she might encounter in the twilight, any but the humans would terrify her. And she wasn't sure about the humans.
    No matter who or what they were, lian thought, most sentient creatures felt the need to feel superior to the others. She never understood why. Her father said it was a question of dominance; her mother said Lian was being unfair and would understand when she was older and had the responsibility of a staff of her own. But this was one of those things lian did not want to understand because she suspected that when she did, it would make her very sad. Without waiting for the others, she slid off the rock and started up the path.
    Dew was rising. Among the shrubs night-blooming flowers were opening and scenting the air. The wortles were muttering in their dark burrows. Insects sang. From across the river something called three flute notes and liked them so well it repeated them over and over.
    "There's a big star!" a human voice called, and the hills echoed, "Star—star—star." The line of people ascending the path stopped, and faces turned to the north to look at this beauty, coolly glittering high above the horizon.
    "Make a wish."
    "It's a good omen."
    "It must mean a successful expedition." Dr. Farr's remark was greeted with appreciative murmurings.
    Lian looked and with an odd little twinge of pain recognized the beautiful star for what it was—the supernova, the fiery death of a distant sun. She was going to tell them that, then decided not to. People did not always