Title Page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chandika

A Darkening Stars novel

by

Chris R. Beals

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Fran

 

 

Prologue - Contact

The single clenched fist lifted and ready,

Or the open asking hand held out and waiting.

Choose:

For we meet by one or the other.

Carl Sandburg

 

Stretching, careful not to spill the hot green tea in the clear glass mug, Nancy Drake padded from the kitchen into the living room.

To her right, through twenty-five foot picture windows, Los Angeles lay in bright panorama, the air over the city still not quite clear despite the paucity of carbon-burning traffic.

Just dressed after a shower, her skin still warm and slightly damp, she glanced at her watch.

Nancy noticed a shimmering in the living room.

The room had gone dark. Little by little a space in the middle of the room lightened, like an aura, revealing a slim figure, a little over five feet tall. As the lights came up she noted first all dark burgundy, a floor length dress, high neck with full length sleeves. Then the hands, delicate but…were they red? No, fuchsia. Then the head. Short dark hair, falling just below the chin. It was humanoid, but again a light fuchsia face, with ears extending to rounded points. She was wearing what looked like diamond earrings.

The nose was flat, like a cat, with broad, thin eyebrows, high cheeks, and large oval eyes. The pupils were very dark, almost black, with a tinge of red.

{I am Sartuda.}

Nancy had been expecting a visit, but was taken aback. She had, herself, startled so many people with her own sudden appearances, shifting into room in their midst; seeing another do the same thing was still a little unsettling.

The being—the alien—in front of her took a step, extending long, fur-covered fingers in an obvious gesture—of friendship.

What the female—Sartuda—saw was equally daunting, despite years of study and weeks of intensive preparation for this moment: meeting a Terran in person.

What she saw was a slim figure, above average height, with bouncy dark, shoulder length hair. Her eyes were green, which crinkled when she grinned, which was now less often. The shapely legs were in blue jeans that could have been sprayed on. Her feet ended in shaped nails, easily seen, as she wore no shoes in the thick pile of the carpet.

After staring dumbly at Sartuda for a moment, Nancy asked, “Would you like some tea?”

 

 

Chapter 1. Wonders

For I dipt into the Future, far as human eye could see,

Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson. Locksley Hall

 

After shifting in to an empty women’s room, Nancy checked her face in the mirror, straightened her dress, and stepped into the hallway. Diana waited there with a visitor’s badge. Nancy made a face at the ugly sticky paper thing, putting out a staying hand.

“If they don’t like me they can arrest me.”

Dr. Diana Kreutz, fifty, graying, plump, was number four at NASA, in charge of what little that remained of basic research. Now that the catastrophic dimension breach caused by the synchrotron experiment had, after so much loss of life, been closed, she wanted to return to managing those programs. But too much—everything—had changed. The world knew it was not alone. Samantha, the sentient autonomous monitor placed on the Moon by the Founders, had revealed ‘her’ presence to Nancy, gave the technology to Diana which was crucial to repairing the damage before the Earth’s oceans were boiled away, and guided the efforts of the ‘Terrans’ to adapt their nuclear missile submarines to space flight, so they could enter the rift and retrieve the detritus of the accident.

She had been the first person that Nancy had contacted with the alien’s message, and had been caught up the events ever since. She loved the young woman like a daughter, but heartily wished to have never been dragged into it.

Now she frowned at her friend, more amused than anything else. “Have it your way. Security will not be happy.”

“Why should they be happy? Why am I even here?”

“Because,” Diana explained with a hint of irony, “you opened Pandora’s box. I’m not facing the unreasoning mob alone.”

Nancy had an irritated look; Diana wondered if the young woman was going to just shift out, leaving her to face the bureaucrats and politicians.

“All right,” she said after a moment, “which way?”

 

The conference room was one of the larger ones at the Houston facility. Normally monthly review meetings were held in a smaller space, but since the events more agencies—and media—had taken an interest. This meeting was being ‘graced’ with Senator Croft’s presence. He of unbending opposition to government spending on anything he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand much beyond the ‘good book’, political poll, or an accountant’s chart.

Diana took a seat at the head of the table. She stopped Nancy from sitting in a chair along the wall, pointing to a chair at her right. Not happy, Nancy also sat.

They subvocalized sarcastic comments while the men—and only one other woman—stopped milling about and sat in their turn. The Senator took a seat at the other end, with three aides sitting behind him.

There were several members of the press, taking pictures, and trying to shout questions. Diana peremptorily told them that questions would be answered later, trying to ignore the number of flashes her way. She knew the exposures were of the stunner sitting next to her, interesting not only for her status as official liaison of the Founders to Earth, but also her heart-stopping beauty.

Diana mused, just for a second, that Nancy was not always so drop-dead gorgeous. The alien machine—Samantha—had treated her when she was shot in that riot. It seemed like ages ago, but was just a little over a year past. ‘Before the Arrival.’ Before the…

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Everyone was there. She could gavel the meeting to order. She began by having a assistant read a summary of the previous meeting agenda. She was about to start recounting actions from that meeting when the Senator interrupted.

“That’s all fine,” his gravely voice began, “I won’t be here long. I just want to know what you guys are bringing to our country for all the money we’re spending on you.”

The barely audible buzz which accompanied every government meeting abruptly stopped. Everyone looked from the Senator, whose graying hair was too thin for the comb over he affected, and whose suit should already have been replaced by one to better accommodate is growing girth, and to Diana, before settling on Nancy, whose pastel dress was distinctly out of place in the room, and perfectly distracting.

{You want to take this one, Nancy?} Diana subvocalized, her eyes glancing that way for briefest second.

{Not on your life,} Nancy replied, allowing an almost unseen smile at the audience, her eyes riveted to the camera mounted near the ceiling at the back of the room. {I wouldn’t know what to say.}

{BS.} To the senator Diana answered that development of cutting edge technologies was a long and sometimes doubtful process…

“Bull hockey,” he interjected, not letting her finish, “What do we got from the aliens? It’s free, isn’t it? What about it, little girl?” he asked, his eyes boring in on Nancy. You’re a cute one, ain’tcha? How’d you like to see me in my hotel room? he thought.

Surprised, Nancy realized that she could hear his unspoken thoughts. She had never read the mind of anyone who hadn’t been fitted with one of the Founders’ appliances. Feeling her cheeks begin to warm, she instructed the nanodocs which inhabited her body to control the reddening.

“Senator,” Diana answered, “you know it doesn’t work that way. The Founders only gave us enough of their technology to stop the rift from killing us all.”

“Well what about it? What’s it doin’ for us now?”

“Nothing,” Nancy said, “you know it’s all on the Moon. Only when mankind goes back, under our own power, will we be able to claim it.”

“So,” you work for them, don’tcha? Don’t you know all about it? Why aren’t you…?”

“I’m not a scientist. Do you know how to build your smart phone?”

The senator harrumphed. He looked like he was going to raise his voice.

“Senator,” Diana interrupted, “this is just a status meeting about NASA science projects. With respect, the questions you are asking are, uh, for another forum, don’t you think?”

“Why don’t you guys get that girl and make her tell us,” he roared.

The room went deathly quiet.

Nancy stood, pushing her chair back. She shifted out, reappearing next to the Senator’s chair. Bending over him, heedless of the cleavage she exposed, she spoke, loud enough to be heard in the whole room, certainly sounding like a shout to the senator, whose ear was within inches. “I am getting very close to being rude. I might even say something rash, or utter a threat.“ How would you like a trip to the Moon? The surface? Sun side or shade? Take your pick.

{I heard that,} Diana subvocalized, looking alarmed.

{Good!} “Senator, before I got shanghaied into this job I was an investigative reporter, and a good one. Now I have even more resources. How would you like it if the next time you invite a ‘cute one’ to your hotel room, if there were pictures and sound in some ragblog about it?”

The man shrank back, but tried to bluster. “You—you’re a she-devil!”

“So much the worse for you if you make me your enemy!”

She abruptly shifted out.

 

Alone in her living room, still stewing about the senator, mad at herself for losing her temper, Nancy gazed out the wide floor-to-ceiling windows onto the valley below. A movement at the edge of the property, between her and the mountain side, caught her eye. She got up from the couch and went to the window. A section of the glass detached itself and slid silently aside.

This is Founder technology, she thought idly, I don’t know how it works either.

She stepped outside onto the veranda that ran along the entire wall of the house. She saw it again. Small, dark—it blazed and disappeared in black smoke. Ah, another drone. You’d think they’d learn. {Thank you, Samantha.}

The Founder computer did not reply. Nancy didn’t expect it to, but was disappointed nonetheless.

The expanse in front of her, acres of it, was grass; short, deep green [How do they do that? There’s no water up here. There’s nobody to mow or edge.]  all the way to a row of trees that formed the perimeter, their tops stopping just below her eye level, because of the grade as the hillside fell away between her and the valley beyond, where busy Los Angeles sat, never still, always alive with lights at night, and bustle every day.

Her appliance told her that someone was phoning. It was that OSI agent, Tom Kitchen. She pictured him in her mind. Six feet, young looking, not yet forty, with steel blue eyes that bored right through you. Why did I think that?  Fit and slim, with a ready, if ironic grin. Square chin. Good looking. Why did I think that!?

She answered, using the appliance. Who needed a phone?

He wanted to see her ‘if I may’. The suffixed clause told her it wasn’t personal.

“I can come to you. It’s easier. It’s a long hard drive up here.”

He hesitated. She immediately intuited that he wanted to avoid any place where they might be seen. She wondered why.

“Would your office work? No media likely to see me there.”

After an age he agreed.

“I can be there in thirty minutes. Will that work?”

“Do you know…ah, never mind.”

Even though it was an official visit, she spent the next twenty-five minutes doing her hair, face, and touching up her nails. Her designer levis would do, but she put on a tunic, its v-neck thrusting low, to show her impressive assets. That’s one thing, Samantha, I never had anything like that before you put those nanos in me!  She intended it to distract, or maybe to convey a message, depending on how things went. In either case, she would have the advantage. Spiked heels completed the effect.

She took a last look in the full-length mirror before using the magical Founder technology to shift out. Why am I preening? He’s almost ten years older…  She knew she was kidding herself. After being remade by the Founder nanodocs age was irrelevant. As for experience, she had what seemed a millennium of Founder knowledge floating in her brain, and more available for the asking. When she was a reporter [Ah those days!] she had plenty of experiences, bad and good. She allowed herself an instant to bitterly look back on her lost life. But just an instant.

 

His office was one of many in a multi-use building in Berkeley. The outside façade was starting to look its age. Inside his area it was even drabber.

Why was a Major working in a—what did they call it? Some kind of area office. Oh yes, he’s a reservist on some kind of extended active duty. With his intelligence you’d think that he would have high-paying civilian job. There was a mystery.

So why does he want to see me?  She almost didn’t allow herself to admit that she wished it was personal.

She shifted into a ladies room on his floor, and walked to the door of his office. A small paper sign next to it read ‘OSI resident office.’ She thought about knocking, but tried the handle. The door opened, quiet on its hinges. Inside a matronly woman looked up, smiling uncertainly. People wandered in frequently.

“Nancy Drake for uh, Major Kitchen. I’m expected.”

“Ah yes, Ms. Drake, he said you’d be coming.”

If she was surprised, impressed, disapproving, curious, she betrayed nothing, as she used the intercom. She informed him that a Ms. Drake was there, then told Nancy she could go in. The door next to her buzzed, and Tom appeared. He led her through a short corridor with two offices on each side, taking her into the last one on the right. She noticed that the open office on the other side had windows. His office did not.

He settled her onto a old but not uncomfortable chair next to a small round table—his desk was farther back, facing the wall—and asked if she wanted some water, before he sat not quite a quarter of the way around.

“I’m gratified that you could come on such short notice, Ms. Drake.”

“Please, with what we went through with the rift, I think you can call me Nancy. So, what’s this about?”

He looked away for a moment, obviously not completely comfortable. “I was asked because, uh, we do know each other, at least a little. Gregory…”

Her mind wandered a moment. Gregory Dunn was the other mover in the effort to stop the damage from the rift. He was FBI, married, liked to be around skirts, although she never knew him to stray from his marriage vows. He could have called her…

She realized that Tom was watching her. Waiting.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he answered automatically. “Gregory told me that apparently something was detected arriving from the direction of Saturn. He wanted to know if you knew anything about it.”

Sartuda’s visit. She hadn’t asked Nancy to keep it a secret. Somebody would have to be told anyway. Why not the OSI and FBI?

“I’ve been visited. One of the Founders came to my house—well, their house where I live.” Did I need to say that?

He peered at her for some moments. His gaze was so piercing!

“All right—you’ve actually met a uh, Founder?”

“Her name is Sartuda. She told me her last name too, but like an Indian, it’s unpronounceable, at least by me.”

“What—what did she want?”

“We just chatted. She had some tea. She told me that if I was willing, I would continue to act as their agent. They don’t want anything. She’s here because they must do a post-mortem on what happened. They have their bureaucracy too.”

“And…”

“And nothing. Same ground rules. They won’t meet anyone. Anything they want to communicate, they give to me to pass on. If anyone wants to send them a message, I’m the conduit.”

“Only she’s real. Not a computer.”

“Absolutely real. Body of a woman, long delicate fingers. Face sort of like a cat. I think she’s pretty.”

“And uh, where…”

“Ah. Not on the Moon. She has her ship. She said something about Mars. She said it would be too far for Terrans—that’s us—to reach them until we’re ready.”

“Ready, uh, for…”

“When we’re grown up. No longer so violent, irrational, emotional. I told her to hold her breath.”

Tom was getting agitated. “And when, uh, when were you planning to tell anyone?”

“When you needed to know. There was no reason. Nothing for us Terrans to do about it except get excited and alarmed. It could wait.”

He took in her words, seeming to chew on them. At length he muttered, “I uh, I guess you’re right. I guess, uh, it’s OK to tell Gregory.”

“You’d tell him even if I said ‘no.’ Tell him not to pester me about it. She didn’t stay long, and I told you everything, unless you want to know what she was wearing. She told me she put it on especially for me. Something that looked Terran, familiar.”

She waited. Perhaps he had another question. When he started to thank her for coming, she asked, “If that’s all, Tom, would you be free to have a drink?”

 

* * *

 

Dr. Chen looked out over his employees, assembled in the main room, standing in the aisles among the cubicles. They were all looking back awaiting his announcement, oblivious of the bright posters on off-white walls which needed paint, and expensive stained wooden doors with dents from moving furniture, and post-its stuck everywhere. Every chrome and painted metal desk was piled high with papers, books, magazines. Computer screen savers buzzed with designs or family photos. There was of course no cigarette smell anywhere, but trash cans in the halls were piled high with coke cans and water bottles.

He held up his hands, stretching them toward the anxious crowd. His face was blank, but in a way that heightened the tension.

When the noise level faded, so that one could practically hear the bated breathing, he spoke. “Everybody. We…won the contract. Astronamics will be the main software contributor on Project Pleiades.”

There were scattered, muted cheers, and some dissonant voices. One asked “We didn’t get the integration contract?”

“Sorry, DH got that. That was a disappointment, but this is still the largest contract we’ve ever won. It’ll keep us busy for years, writing the interfaces and implementations for Founder technologies and major spin-offs.”

There was more murmuring. Some disappointed voices, but the upside was sinking in.

“We’ll have to hire some people. And Mr. Williamson will have to find us a larger facility. Something closer to the main DH campus.”

This last was met with groans. Anything closer to DH Industries main facility would be harder to reach. For some, the commute would be a hardship.

As their chief scientist, as he preferred to be called, left with their three managers, including their chief of HR, Williamson, the employees started to break up, returning to their cubes or getting ready to leave for the weekend.

Glen French nearly bumped into Kristi Daniel as she tried to weave past him.

The petite blonde gave him a wry smile. “Want to dance?” she quipped.

He didn’t get it at first. Since his wife had left—put him out of the house, actually—he had precious little money. Being involved in the premature leak about the rift and government efforts to stop it hurt him. No promotion. At least, he mused bitterly, I didn’t get fired. With the divorce, I need the money.

Then he realized that she was joking. He wished she wasn’t. She was good looking. He could…but of course she had a live-in boyfriend.

He gave her a weak, dismissive smile, and returned to his desk.

On her way back to her own cube, she passed Doug Milton, who got into so much trouble with the Feds over that stupid drawing he made of Pleione, with the Ringworld girding complete with LGMs. He didn’t get promoted, either.

Parag, their Pakistani genius, was waiting for her at the entrance of her cubicle. He didn’t want to talk about the contract. As always, he was chewing on a current problem, with the current contract. He worried problems like a determined dog, until, tattered, they gave in.

It was different, not working in secret, being whisked out to Broom Lake, and on the Moon! But that was the emergency. Now life was returning to normal. Was it ever going to be normal again? Knowing that there were aliens, who could do things that might as well be magic! And they wouldn’t have anything to do with the Earth. Put it in quarantine.

 

* * *

 

The house had three bedrooms, the smallest of which Nancy used as an office. In semi-darkness she hunched over a computer, trying to compose—what? Her memoirs, or…

{Nancy, we need for you to do something for us.} It was Sartuda’s voice, speaking inside her head.

{Certainly.}

{Please go to DH Inc., to the main, uh, campus, to Building 6. Visit their Founder technology project.}

{You want me to find out what they are doing?}

{We know what they are doing. We want them to know that we are watching.}

“Oka-ay. I would need to clear it…”

{Just go.}

{They’ll try to stop me.}

She felt Sartuda chiding, gently.

“Ah, I can walk through walls.”

{Make noise.}

“I certainly know how to do that.”

 

“Nancy, this is not a good idea,” Tom protested over the phone.

Nancy spoke into his phone; he was one who was bothered by voices in his head. “I represent the Founders. They want me to go. It’s not like anyone can stop me.”

“Nancy…”

“Meet me there. I’ll come out when you arrive. Don’t forget your badge. You’ll need it.”

 

Lieutenant Colonel Grimm was not happy. Frantic calls interrupted him on the sixth tee. Some woman was wandering the halls, offices and labs of the Rift project. Of course they had tried to catch her. Whenever anyone got close she just—disappeared, only to show up somewhere else.

“Where is she now?”

“She’s in testing lab two, with Ruben Mendiera.”

“She’s what!? What’r they doing?”

“He’s showing her around.”

“He’s…what!? What does he…?”

“Oh yes, we just learned who she is.”

Grimm was getting into his cart, heading in. “All right, who is she?”

“She says she represents the Founders. She’s Nancy Drake.”

 

Tom arrived at Building Six just after the police. His badge phased them not at all. He protested that he knew woman they were called about. That just made them suspicious.

“Is this some kind of security test?”

Tom hesitated, considering, then, “Yes, actually. But not a drill as such.”

The project security manager came out, summoned by the guard. He was distressed, angry. He hardly listened when Tom tried to explain. It was starting to get very tense, when one side of the lobby darkened, and Nancy, dressed in a silvery gray pants suit, stepped out of the shimmering fog. Diffidently, Ruben Mendiera followed, looking disoriented.

“It’s all right, officers,” she said brightly, “he’s with me.”

One, then both policemen reached for their guns, only to find the holsters empty. They looked at her uncertainly, then each other, then back at her.

“Really, don’t you watch the news? You should recognize me, and know my name. I work for the Founders, inside this building they’re working with Founder technology, and I’ve been tasked with inspecting it.” She waited a few moments so that her words could be processed, then continued, “And I’m afraid that the Founders are not pleased.”

“Who the Hell do you think you are!?!” Grimm roared, just arriving, still in his golf shirt.

“I think I’m the one who’s shutting this project down.”

“You…you’re not authorized…!”

“I’m Nancy Drake. I work for the Founders. I’m authorized to do anything they tell me to. Right now they’ve told me that this dangerous project is halted.”

Grimm started to sputter something, but Nancy ignored him, addressing Mendiera. “Ruben, this technology is a dead end. It won’t do what you want it to. Your experiments were getting very close to another accident. We don’t want to open a rift again.”

Then she turned. “Colonel Grimm, you represent the Space Force, which is sponsoring this effort. It’ll be a lot easier if you just instruct your contractor to stand down, instead of me putting the whole building in a bubble.”

 

They watched the employees file out of the building, Grimm in consternation, Tom in awe. He looked at Nancy; her expression was inscrutable.

Noticing him, she stepped over and asked if he was done for the day. “I’m sure you’d like to uh, debrief me.”

Her perfume and Pheromones wafted his way.

“I, uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll be discreet. Go get changed. I’ll meet you at your place.”

 

Tom got out of the shower, put on a fresh shirt, and after hesitating, his best slacks. His most comfortable shoes didn’t quite go with the outfit, but if she wanted to go dancing, he didn’t want to kill his feet. I wonder if I can still do the moves. What are the moves, these days?

She was prompt. At exactly seven his doorbell rang.

Opening it, he was confronted by a very good looking and vaguely familiar African American woman. Light skinned, cute short Afro, revealing dress that ended some inches above her knees.

Her voice was Nancy’s. “Ah, wore your best. We’ll have to get you some new shoes. Hi, Tom.”

“What…?”

“I said I’d be discreet. Do you like my disguise?”

He wavered.

“Oh, the pigmentation is real. It’s a little trick the Founders taught me. Those nanodocs can do anything!”

“I—shape shifting?”

“Not quite, just a little DNA adjustment. I couldn’t bear to lose my eye color, though.”

Her eyes were still green, and still crinkled that way when she grinned, as she was doing now.

“So, let’s go! You drive. Take me someplace extravagant! Don’t worry, I’ll pay. I know how little you make.”

That jolted him, a little. “I’ll pay. I make more than you think…” He stopped. She was grinning mischievously. “You probably know exactly how much I make.”

“Not for the world! Sweep me off my feet!”

 

* * *

 

In a DH Inc. conference room the Project manager, LTC Grimm, and others faced a large screen in a secure link to the program manager in Washington, Major General Pickens. His bald head reflecting the lights in his own conference room, the general scowled.

“What do you plan to do about that woman!?” he growled.

“We don’t know what we can do,” Chris Hutchins, the project manager, pleaded, “She’s completely beyond our control. She demonstrated what can only be described as super powers, and she does represent the aliens.”

“Bah!” cried the general, “You get the project going tomorrow, or I’ll give the contract to someone who will! You leave that meddling female to me.”

When the chastened management in California signed off, the general turned to an aide. “Get me somebody. Look in the files. Everybody who was involved in the rift closing operation.”

“Should I get you the President, sir?”

“No! Leave that politician out of this!”

 

* * *

 

The evening had been special. The food excellent; Nancy knew a dance club where the music wasn’t too frenetic. Her warm body was lithe, pressing his intimately. The perfume she wore might have cost a buck, or a hundred; he was slightly dizzy from it—and the alcohol.

Leading her into his apartment, he admired the silhouette in front of him, then had a daunting thought: why did she choose him? That she chose him was not in doubt.

After he closed the door he turned to find her facing him, her eyes wide and shining. Her whole body seemed to shimmer. Then he realized that she was changing The Afro drooped, straightened to a dark sheen. Her skin seemed to glow, and grow pale. In a few moments the woman he had always known as Nancy drake stood before him.

She put her arms around his neck, tiptoeing so her lips could reach his.

He closed his eyes. The world seemed to flicker through the closed lids. After some moments he opened them, to find his surroundings had changed.

They were in a strange, darkened room. On one side a huge picture window presented a panorama of city lights.

She released him. “We’re in my place,” she said, “I’m, uh, more comfortable here.”

Taking his hand, she led him into the back.

 

It was still dark when she awoke, hearing the tinkle of water falling on Tom’s body.

Not bothering with clothes, she padded into the bathroom, not noticing the icy tiles under her feet.

He was just coming out, almost slipping when he saw her. He quickly righted himself.

“Did you,” he asked as if it were routine, “perhaps bring over some of my clothes?”

She pouted. “You’re not going to go to work, are you?”

“Some of us,” he answered patting himself with a fluffy towel, “have regular jobs. They’ll be looking for me, especially after yesterday.”

She was not pleased, her body language telegraphed it. It was arousing.

He turned away, trying not to look. “I really have to go.”

“I could make you stay. I think I’ll kidnap you, keep you for a toy.”

He put his towel around her. “You know, you really scare me to death,” he said seriously.

“I know. Your clothes are in the second bedroom.”

She followed him, grabbing a robe as they went, leering. He felt her eyes on his back.

In the bedroom her found his clothes just as she said, in the chest of drawers and closet. He tried not to redden as he dressed; she sat on the bed, not taking her eyes off him. She got up when he put his tie on, expertly tying it for him.

“Maybe I’ll get you a bow tie. You’d look good in one.”

“If you buy me one, I’ll wear it.”

“Not one of those clip-ons. A

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Chris R. Beals
Bildmaterialien: Chris R. Beals
Cover: Public Domain
Lektorat: Chris R. Beals
Satz: Chris R. Beals
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.06.2019
ISBN: 978-3-7487-0717-2

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