tailieunhanh - Voodoo Planet

Talk of heat—or better not—on Xecho. This water-logged world combined all the most unattractive features of a steam bath and one could only dream of coolness, greenness—more land than a stingy string of islands. The young man on the promontory above the crash of the waves wore the winged cap of a spaceman with the insignia of a cargo-master and not much else, save a pair of very short shorts. He wiped one hand absently across his bare chest and brought it away damp as he studied, through protective sun goggles, the treacherous promise of the bright sea. One could swim—if he wanted to lose most of his skin | feedboo is Voodoo Planet Norton Andre Alice Published 1959 Categorie s Fiction Science Fiction Source http 1 About Norton Andre Alice Norton February 17 1912 - March 17 2005 science fiction and fantasy author with some works of historical fiction and contemporary fiction was born Alice Mary Norton in Cleveland Ohio in the United States. She published her first novel in 1934. She was the first woman to receive the Gandalf Grand Master Award from the World Science Fiction Society in 1977 and she won the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award from the SFWA in 1983. She wrote under the noms de plume Andre Norton Andrew North and Allen Weston. Source Wikipedia Also available on Feedbooks for Norton The Time Traders 1958 Galactic Derelict 1959 Key out of Time 1963 Star Born 1957 Plague Ship 1956 Star Hunter 1961 The Defiant Agents 1962 All Cats Are Gray 1953 Storm Over Warlock 1960 Rebel Spurs 1962 Copyright Please read the legal notice included in this e-book and or check the copyright status in your country. Note This book is brought to you by Feedbooks http Strictly for personal use do not use this file for commercial purposes. 2 Chapter 1 Talk of heat or better not on Xecho. This water-logged world combined all the most unattractive features of a steam bath and one could only dream of coolness greenness more land than a stingy string of islands. The young man on the promontory above the crash of the waves wore the winged cap of a spaceman with the insignia of a cargo-master and not much else save a pair of very short shorts. He wiped one hand absently across his bare chest and brought it away damp as he studied through protective sun goggles the treacherous promise of the bright sea. One could swim if he wanted to lose most of his skin. There were minute organisms in that liquid that smacked their lips if they had lips every time they thought of a Terran. Dane Thorson licked his own lips tasting salt and plodded back through the