The Lani People
a puff adder and she collects men. The other man is Douglas’s father, Henry. The plump redhead beside him is his wife, Anne. The other woman is my mother, Clara, even though Eloise and I don’t look like her. We take after Father.”      

       “Where’s he?” Kennon whispered.     

       “Dead,” Alexander replied. “He was killed twenty years ago.”      

       “I’d like to present Dr. Jac Kennon, our new veterinarian,” Alexander said into the hush that followed their entrance. The introductions that followed were in proper form, and Kennon was beginning to feel more at ease until Eloise sent one of her Lani with a summons. He looked around for Alexander, but the entrepreneur was the center of a three-cornered argument, hemmed in by Douglas, Henry, and Anne. Henry’s voice was raised in bitter protest that Alexander was exceeding his authority. He shrugged. There was no help there.     

       “All right,” he said, “tell your mistress I’ll be along in a moment.”      

       “Yes, Doctor,” the Lani said, “but the Woman Eloise says for you to come, and she is not accustomed to being disobeyed.”      

       “Tell her what I said,” Kennon replied. “I shall be there directly.” He crossed to the table and examined it, selecting a cluster of odd purple fruit which looked more interesting than it tasted. When he had finished he walked leisurely over to where Eloise sat.     

       She looked at him angrily. “I am accustomed to being obeyed by my employees,” she said coldly. Her dark eyes, oddly like her brother’s, traversed his hard body like twin scanners.     

       He returned her appraising stare with one of his own. “I’m not your employee,” he said bluntly. “I was hired by your brother, and there’s a full peeper rider on my contract.” His eyes traveled slowly over her carefully arranged hair, her make-up, her jewelry at throat and arms, her painted finger- and toenails, and then across the slim small-breasted lines of her body half revealed under her thin ankle-length tunic of Lyranian silk.     

       “Satisfied?” she asked.     

       “On Beta,” he said bluntly, “your appearance would qualify you for a parasite camp. Six months of hard 
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