Something that Darling could have told him had he wanted to ... or had he been able. But now Walter J. Darling was past all telling. West would have to find out by himself.
West stepped to where he lay, lifted him to the cot and covered him with a tattered blanket.
Perched on the cot head, Annabelle chattered and giggled and drooled.
"Come here, you," said West. "Come on over here."
Annabelle came, slowly and coyly. West lifted her squeamishly, thrust her into an outer pocket and zipped it shut. He started toward the doorway.
On the way out he picked the empty bottle from the floor, added it to the pyramid outside.
CHAPTER TWO
The White Singer
West's craft fled like a silvery shadow between the towering mountain peaks shielding the only valley on Pluto that had ever known the tread of Man.