They moved down the twilit lane of booths. Now and again they encountered uniformed men from the spaceport, or occasional civilians, but most of the men, women and children in the market were Darkovans, and they regarded the Terrans, father and son, with faintly hostile curiosity.
Larry thought, Everyone stares at us. I wish I could dress like a Darkovan and mix in with them somehow so they wouldn’t take any notice of me. Then I could know what they were really like. Gloomily he munched the doughnut cake, stopping to look over a display of short knives.
The Darkovan behind the stall said to Larry’s father, “Your son is not yet of an age to bear weapons. Or do you Terrans not allow your young men to be men?” His smile was sly, faintly patronizing, and Larry’s father frowned and looked irritated.
“Are you about ready to go, Larry?”
“Any time you say, Dad.” Larry felt faintly deflated and let down. What, after all, had he been expecting? They turned back, making their way along the row of stalls.
“What did that fellow mean, Dad?”
“On Darkover you’d be legally of age—old enough to wear a sword. And expected to use them to defend yourself, if necessary,” Wade Montray said briefly.
Abruptly and with a rush, the red sun sank and went out. Immediately, like sweeping wings, darkness closed over the sky, and thin swirling coils of mist began to blow along the alleys of the market. Larry shivered in his warm coat, and his father pulled up his collar. The lights of the market danced and flickered, surrounded by foggy shapes of color.
“That’s why they call the planet Darkover,” Larry’s father said. Already he was half invisible in the mist. “Stay close to me or you’ll get lost in the fog. It will thin out and turn to rain in a few minutes, though.”
Through the thick mist, in the flickering lights, a form took shape, coming slowly toward them. At first it looked like a tall man, cloaked and hooded against the cold; then, with a strange prickling along his spine, Larry realized that the hunched, high-shouldered form beneath the cloak was not human. A pair of green eyes, luminescent as the eyes of a cat by lamplight, knifed in their direction. The nonhuman came slowly on. Larry stood motionless, half-hypnotized held by those piercing eyes, almost unable to move.
“Get back!” Roughly, his father jerked him against the wall Larry stumbled, sprawled, fell, one hand flung out to get his balance. The hand brushed the edge of the alien’s cloak—
A stinging, violent pain rocked him back, thrust him, with a harsh blow, against the stone wall. It was like the shock of a naked electric wire. Speechless with pain, Larry picked himself up. The nonhuman, unhurried, was gliding slowly away. Wade Montray’s face was dead white in the flickering light.
“Larry! Son, are you hurt?”
Larry rubbed his hand; it was numb and it prickled. “I guess not. What was that thing, anyhow?”
“A Kyrri. They have protective electric fields, like some kinds of fish on earth.” His father looked somber. “I haven’t seen one in a human town for years.”
Larry, still numbed, gazed after the dwindling form with respect and strange awe. “One thing’s for sure, I won’t get in their way again,” he said fervently.
The mist was thinning and a fine spray of icy rain was beginning to fall. Not speaking, Wade Montray hurried toward the spaceport; walking fast to keep up—and not minding, because it was freezing cold and the rapid pace kept him warm—Larry wondered why his father was so silent. Had he simply been afraid? It seemed more than that. Montray did not speak again until they were within their own rooms in Quarters A, the warmth and bright yellow light closing around them like a familiar garment. Larry, laying his coat aside, heard his father sigh.
“Well, does that satisfy your curiosity a little, Larry?”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Montray dropped into a chair. “That means no. Well, I suppose you can visit the tourist section and the market by yourself, if you want to. Though you’d better not do too much wandering around alone.”