“What is that?” she said to Ondo.
“I have no idea.”
On Maes Far there"d been venomsnakes lurking in the upland flower meadows: shy, sly creatures that reacted to a perceived attack by rearing up and opening their mouths wide in a clear display of aggression. If you ignored the display and went too close, they struck. What she saw through the bulkhead reminded her of one of those snakes: the gaping maw, the knotted curl of the sinuous body behind it. The sprung pose spoke to her of danger: a riled venomsnake could kill with a single bite, as every child she"d grown up with knew well.
Details of the object became clearer. Now it resembled nothing so much as a brass musical instrument, all winding tubes and a flared open end. Or, no, better still, it was a vast, wide-mouthed g*n: the co
