-mortem be reported promptly and that a record of the Lani concerned
be posted in the death book together with all pertinent autopsy data.
Man Blalok is very fussy about proper records." She drew one of the
chairs to a spot beside the desk and sat down, crossed her long legs,
and waited expectantly.

Kennon's mouth was suddenly dry. This situation was impossible. How in
the name of Sir Arthur Fleming could he dictate a coldly precise report
with a naked redhead sitting beside him? "Look," he said. "I won't need
you. I can operate a voicewriter. You can pick up the material later and
transcribe it."

Her face fell. "You don't like me," she said, her green eyes filling
with quick tears. "Old Doc never--"

"Oh, damn Old Doc!" Kennon snapped. "And stop that sniveling--or get
out. Better yet--get out and stop sniveling!"

She leaped to her feet and fled.

Kennon swore. There was no reason for him to act that way. He had
been more brutal than necessary. But the girl--no, the Lani--was
disconcerting. He felt ashamed of himself. He had behaved like a
primitive rather than a member of one of the oldest human civilizations
in the galaxy. He wouldn't bark at a dog that way. He shook his head.
Probably he was tired. Certainly he was irritable, and unclad females
virtually indistinguishable from human weren't the most soothing objects
to contemplate.

He wondered if his exasperation was real or merely a defense mechanism.
First Eloise, and then this! Confound it! He was surrounded! He felt
trapped. And it wasn't because he'd been away from women too long. A
week was hardly that. He grinned as he recalled the blonde from Thule
aboard the starship. Now there was a woman, even though her ears were
pointed and her arms were too long. She didn't pressure a man. She let
him make the advances.

He grinned. That was it. He was on the defensive. He was the one who was
being pursued--and his male ego had revolted. He shrugged and turned
his attention to the autopsy report, but it was hopeless. He
couldn't concentrate. He jotted a few notes and dropped them on the
desk--tomorrow would be time enough. What he needed now was a stiff
drink and eight hours' sleep.

CHAPTER VII

Kennon stopped at Blalok's house long enough to tell the superintendent
what was causing the trouble. Blalok scowled. "We've never had flukes
here before," he said. "Why should they appear now?"

"They've been introduced," Kennon said. "The thing that bothe