Star Born

Star Born

Andre Norton
1
SHOOTING STAR
THE TRAVELERS had sighted the cove from the sea -- a narrow bite into the land, the
first break in the cliff wall which protected the interior of this continent from the
pounding of the ocean. And, although it was still but midafternoon, Dalgard pointed the
outrigger into the promised shelter, the dip of his steering paddle swinging in harmony
with that wielded by Sssuri in the bow of their narrow, wave-riding craft.
The two voyagers were neither of the same race nor of the same species, yet they worked
together without words, as if they had established some bond which gave them a rapport
transcending the need for speech.
Dalgard Nordis was a son of the Colony; his kind had not originated on this planet. He
was not as tall nor as heavily built as those Terran outlaw ancestors who had fled political
enemies across the Galaxy to establish a foothold on Astra, and there were other subtle
differences between his generation and the parent stock.
Thin and wiry, his skin was brown from the gentle toasting of the summer sun, making
the fairness of his closely cropped hair even more noticeable. At his side was his long
bow, carefully wrapped in water-resistant flying-dragon skin, and from the belt which
supported his short breeches of tanned duocorn hide swung a two-foot blade -- half
wood-knife, half sword. To the eyes of his Terran forefathers he would have presented a
barbaric picture. In his own mind he was amply clad and armed for the man-journey
which was both his duty and his heritage to make before he took his place as a full adult
in the Council of Free Men.
In contrast to Dalgard's smooth skin, Sssuri was covered with a fluffy pelt of
rainbow-tipped gray fur. In place of the human's steel blade, he wore one of bone, barbed
and ugly, as menacing as the spear now resting in the bottom of the outrigger. And his
round eyes watched the sea with the familiarity of one whose natural home was beneath
those same waters.
The mouth of the cove was narrow, but after they negotiated it they found themselves in a

pocket of bay, sheltered and calm, into which trickled a lazy stream The gray-blue of the
seashore sand was only a fringe beyond which was turf and green stuff. Sssuri's nostril
flaps expanded as he tested the warm breeze, and Dalgard was busy cataloguing scents as
they dragged their craft ashore They could not have found a more perfect place for a
camp site.
Once the canoe was safely beached, Sssun picked up his spear and, without a word or
backward glance, waded out into the sea, disappearing into the depths, while his
companion set about his share of camp tasks. It was still early in the summer -- too early
to expect to find ripe fruit But Dalgard rummaged in his voyager's bag and brought out a
half-dozen crystal beads. He laid these out on a flat-topped stone by the stream, seating
himself cross-legged beside it.
To the onlooker it would appear that the traveler was meditating. A wide-winged living
splotch of color fanned by overhead; there was a distant yap of sound. Dalgard neither
looked nor listened. But perhaps a minute later what he awaited arrived. A hopper, its
red-brown fur sleek and gleaming in the sun, its eternal curiosity drawing it, peered
cautiously from the bushes. Dalgard made mind touch. The hoppers did not really think --
at least not on the levels where communication was possible for the colonists -- but
sensations of friendship and good will could be broadcast, primitive ideas exchanged.
The small animal, its humanlike front paw-hands dangling over its creamy vest, came out
fully into the open, black eyes flicking from the motionless Dalgard to the bright beads
on the rock. But when one of those paws shot out to snatch the treasure, the traveler's
hand was already cupped protectingly over the hoard. Dalgard formed a mental picture
and beamed it at the twenty-inch creature before him. The hopper's ears twitched
nervously, its blunt nose wrinkled, and then it bounded back into the brush, a weaving
line of moving grass marking its retreat.
Dalgard withdrew his hand from the beads. Through the years the Astran colonists had
come to recognize the virtues of patience. Perhaps the mutation had begun before they
left their native world. Or perhaps the change in temperament and nature had occurred in
the minds and bodies of that determined handful of refugees as they rested in the frozen
cold sleep while their ship bore them through the wide, uncharted reaches of deep space
for centuries of Terran time. How long that sleep had lasted the survivors had never
known.