CUM GRANO SALIS.
BY DAVID GORDON
Illustrated by Emsh
Just because a man can do something others can’t does not, unfortunately, mean he knows how to do it. One man could eat the native fruit and live ... but how?
“And that,” said Colonel Fennister glumly, “appears to be that.”
The pile of glowing coals that had been Storage Shed Number One was still sending up tongues of flame, but they were nothing compared with what they’d been half an hour before.
“The smoke smells good, anyway,” said Major Grodski, sniffing appreciatively.
The colonel turned his head and glowered at his adjutant.
“There are times, Grodski, when your sense of humor is out of place.”
“Yes, sir,” said the major, still sniffing. “Funny thing for lightning to do, though. Sort of a dirty trick, you might say.”
“You might,” growled the colonel. He was a short, rather roundish man, who was forever thankful that the Twentieth Century predictions of skin-tight uniforms for the Space Service had never come true. He had round, pleasant, blue eyes, a rather largish nose, and a rumbling basso voice that was a little surprising the first time you heard it, but which seemed to fit perfectly after you knew him better.