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The Dancer of Chimaera [MultiFormat]
eBook by Diana L. Paxson
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$0.59 |
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$0.50 |
eBook Category: Science Fiction/Fantasy
eBook Description: Of course Johnny wanted Mariposa; every man on Chimaera Station did. But why did she want him?
eBook Publisher: Marion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust, Published: Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine #9, 1990
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2009
4 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [17 KB]
, ePub (EPUB) [41 KB]
, Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [12 KB]
, Portable Document Format (PDF) [182 KB]
, Palm Doc (PDB) [12 KB]
, Microsoft Reader (LIT) [69 KB]
, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [83 KB]
, hiebook (KML) [65 KB]
, Sony Reader (LRF) [54 KB]
, iSilo (PDB) [10 KB]
, Mobipocket (PRC) [13 KB]
, Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [51 KB]
, OEBFF Format (IMP) [21 KB]
Words: 3522
Reading time: 10-14 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
They called her Mariposa and she danced in a tavern on Chimaera Station. She was scarcely a woman yet, but she was female enough for the men who did their drinking at the High Orbit. They were Space Forcers on shore leave mostly, or techs from the defense project that was the main reason the Station was there. In the evenings they drank, and watched Mariposa, and tried to forget the war. Johnny Yaleran wavered in the doorway. The heat of the tavern reminded him of the generator room of the Glinka, though the sour smell of spilled beer and the mixed reeks of tobacco and weed were richer than the high ozone air he'd been breathing since he left home. He bent forward, peering through the gloom. A bunch of big techs from the repair docks heading for the door were enough to make up his mind for him. They drew him in their wake towards the bar. Even then he might have retreated, but there was an empty place, and he slid into it, trying to look as if he belonged there. Beyond the bar was a small bare stage and a musician's stand. But the synthetor's lights were dead and canned music strove unsuccessfully with the patrons' din.
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