I am not yet falling,” admitted Haviland Tuf.“Can you truly help us?” asked the round-faced woman at Namor Control.“Why must I always be doubted?” Tuf asked the small grey kitten.“Lord Guardian, we must give him the chance to prove what he says,” insisted Namor Control.Tuf looked up. “Threatened, insulted, and doubted as I have been, nonetheless my empathy for your situation bids me to persist

I am the Ark,” Haviland Tuf told Namor Control.Namor Control was a round-faced woman with close-cropped brown hair, sitting at a console and wearing a deep green uniform with golden piping. She frowned, her eyes flicking to the side, no doubt to a superior or another console. “Ark,” she said, “state your homeworld. State your homeworld and your business, please.”The other ship had opened communications with the planet, the computer indicated. Two more viewscreens lit up... Continuar leyendo