But such a thing would never again happen at Kira Barra. With his controls and amplifiers, he was more than a match for the most powerful of the great psionics—so long as they didn’t meet him with affectionate sympathy.
He stood silently as the servitor put the cap on his head and placed the cloak about his shoulders. Then, tucking his heavy duty distorter under his arm, he turned toward the outer door. The control jewels on his cap burned with inner fire as he raised himself a few inches from the floor and floated out toward the dock.
Not far from the forest shaded village of Tibara, logs had been lashed together to form a pier which jutted from the shore and provided a mooring for the hollowed logs used by men of the village in harvesting the fish of the lake. Several boats nested here, their bows pointing toward the fender logs of the pier. More were [p 21] drawn up on the gravel of the shore, where they lay, bottoms upward, that they might dry and be cleaned.
A few villagers squatted by their boats and near the pier. Others were by the nets which had been spread over the gravel to dry.
One large section of the pier was vacant. Always, this area was reserved for the use of the Lord of the Mountain Lake.
As Barra’s boat sped through the water, he concentrated his attention on the logs of the pier, urging his boat to increasing speed. The sharp prow rose high in the water, a long vee of foam extending from it, to spread out far behind the racing boat.
As the bow loomed almost over the floating logs, Barra abruptly transferred his focus of attention to his right rear, pulling with all the power of the boat’s drive crystals. The craft swung violently, throwing a solid sheet of water over pier and shore, drenching the logs and the men about them.
Then the bow settled and the boat lay dead in the water, less than an inch from the pier’s fender logs.
Barra studied the space between boat and logs for an instant, then nodded in satisfaction. It was an adequate landing by anyone’s standards.