Drowning World (2 page)

There
was
permanent dry land, Matthias knew. Up in the western mountains that ran the length of Fluva's single substantial landmass. The mountains caught the flow of moisture from the western ocean and turned it into rain. The rain fed thousands upon thousands of rivers that, for most of the year, overflowed their banks and drowned the immense tropical woodland that the moisture supported. The result was varzea, where the land lay thirty meters or so below the surface of the merged rivers. It was a morass, it was a mess, and the combination had a disconcerting tendency to drive visiting humans insane.

Not the Deyzara. Imported from Tharce IV a couple of hundred years ago, the Deyzara were well adapted to working in Fluva's sodden conditions. They thrived in its climate, working the plantations that produced dozens of highly valued botanicals and other products. Preoccupied with fighting among themselves, the native Sakuntala had accepted the Deyzara's presence from the beginning. Unfortunately, the Deyzara bred rather faster than the locals, with the result that there were now nearly as many Deyzara as long-arms. Now, a highly vocal and influential faction among the Sakuntala wanted all Deyzara off the planet.

Yet these Deyzara knew nothing of Tharce IV. Some were fourth- and even fifth-generation Fluva-born. The consequent conundrum constituted a mess and morass of a different kind. One that fell squarely in the lap of the resident administrator. Her lap. As if that weren't enough, she also had to deal with the plants and animals that were constantly evolving in their attempts to penetrate the perimeter of Taulau Town and the other tentative Commonwealth outposts that were scattered around the planet. Not to mention the problems she had with Jack and Andrea. Her husband, a plant physiologist with the Commonwealth's research and taxonomy division, seemed reasonably content lately. On the other hand, Andrea had decided last month, on the occasion of her twelfth birthday and for no discernible reason (at least, none that an adult could discern), that from then on her given name would be Fitzwinkle.

And then there was the unnerving problem of Sethwyn Case. “Sethwyn Case—always on the chase,” the other women posted to Administration were fond of murmuring and sometimes of giggling. One of many independent contractors who had come to seek their fortune on Fluva, Bioprospector Sethwyn was tall, handsome, bold, with a grin that induced uncommon tremors in parts of her that she had long thought tectonically stable. He would be gone for weeks at a time, always returning with this or that fascinating new specimen or information or, hopefully, profitable discovery.

Once he had checked in, he would always report dutifully in person to Administration. It was not necessary for him to see her to render his report, but he always did so. At such times he would grin and joke and make light of the dangers he had faced. Once or twice, he had brushed up against her. Accidentally, she chose to believe. But there was nothing accidental about that grin or what she felt she saw in his eyes. As if she didn't have enough to worry about.

And now this fool—what was his name?—she checked the hard copy. Shadrach Hasselemoga. This Hasselemoga person, another freelance bioprospector not six months arrived on Fluva, had gone and gotten himself lost in the depths of the Viisiiviisii. One more irritation to add to a list that was already far too big. It was her job, as administrator, to send someone to try to find him. Apparently, and remarkably, the man's emergency beacon had been completely destroyed or, at the least, damaged beyond repair.

She would have sent Case, but he was out somewhere in the foothills of the Varaku mountains. Jillis Noufoetan was on leave at the orbiting station, and Nicolo Manatinga had been laid up with a fever and an infection that mutated as fast as the doctors tried to isolate it. All of which meant she would have to send out a search team consisting entirely of locals. It had been done before, successfully. Staff had presented her with several possibilities, from whom she had selected a couple on intuition and recommendation of past service.

Outside, the downpour was becoming heavier, sealing off the view across the town and into the dense Viisiiviisii beyond. With a sigh and conflicting thoughts of Jack and a certain free-ranging explorer in her mind, she turned and resumed her seat behind the curving desk. Like everything else in the administration building, it was fashioned of resolutely nonbiodegradable materials.

Everything else, that is, except the people.

“Send him in.” The desk's omnipickup identified her voice and relayed the request to Sanuel Pandusky, her administrative assistant. It took several tries before Pandusky responded. Pity it wasn't Case, she thought. I'd have to get on his case.

Stop that,
she told herself firmly. Settling herself into the chair and letting it mold itself against her, she rested elbows on the desk and steepled fingers in front of her. They pressed against one another more tightly than was necessary.

The doorway barrier dissolved to admit a Sakuntala of average height. As the portal had been designed to accommodate his kind, he did not have to bend in order to enter. His waist strappings and chest straps, she noted, were particularly stylish and well equipped. This was a prosperous local who stood before her. She knew that Personnel would not have sent her anything else.

A couple of empty chairs reposed nearby. She didn't offer him one. In the absence of the traditional suspended seat, the Sakuntala preferred to squat rather than sit. At a gesture from her, her visitor eased back onto his lean but powerful haunches.

“I don't believe we've met before. I am called Lauren Matthias.” She stuck out her tongue and braced herself. Though the traditional Sakuntala method of greeting had become second nature to her by now, that did not make the nature of it any less disconcerting.

“I know your status.”

His mouth opened and her visitor's remarkable tongue shot out to curl once completely around her face before the end touched the tip of her own protruding organ. Although the raspy eating surface was turned away from her and only the smooth, wet back side made contact with her skin, she still found herself wincing slightly at the contact. That was a considerable improvement over the first time the gesture had been extended. No one had bothered to warn her, and her screaming, shocked reaction had been a source of considerable amusement to her coworkers. Not informing newcomers to Fluva of the nature of the habitual Sakuntala greeting was always a surefire laugh producer.

As quickly as it had emerged, the tongue recoiled, zipping in reverse around her head to disappear back into the visitor's bulging right cheek pouch. Pitiful as they were, Jemunu-jah reflected, at least the humans had tongues. When among the Deyzara, the Sakuntala had to content themselves with touching tongue tip to the end of the Deyzara's eating trunk. It was a matter of some debate as to whether it would be more proper to touch tongue to speaking trunk or eating trunk. For their part, the Deyzara did not care. They tolerated the Sakuntala gesture only because they had to.

“I am called Jemunu-jah.”

“I know your status.” Matthias fought against the urge to pick up a dehydrating towelette and wipe her face. Most of the time, the Sakuntala tongue didn't leave behind much moisture. But she squirmed internally all the same. “You come highly recommended.”

Both flexible ears dipped briefly toward her. “I thank you for the
mulat
. I say openly to you I would prefer another go in my stead.”

Well, it would be too much to expect enthusiasm, she knew. A
lotl
was bumping up against the back window, trying to get in. Looking for a nesting place, she suspected. Someone unaware and lumpish to lay its eggs within. Fortunately, the football-size
lotl
were almost comically slow-moving. If one flew too near, a single swipe with the back of a hand was usually enough to drive it away. If it persisted, a quick jab with any sharp object would puncture its air sac and send the parasite spinning helplessly into the water below. Unless it caught you when you were asleep. On Fluva, nobody slept unprotected, either inside a building or out in the Viisiiviisii. Not if they valued their bodily integrity.

“You were the one recommended,” she reiterated. “We need the best for this, and you'll be well paid.”

“Why not send one of you own people?” As he crouched before the human chief, Jemunu-jah chewed idly on the lump of the khopo sap stored in his right cheek pouch. The activity did not unsettle humans, he knew, because some of them engaged in similar food-related behavior. A few had even tried khopo sap and liked it, especially when it came with added flavorings. When not being masticated or sucked, he had been told, it was excellent for making temporary repairs to all kinds of machinery.

“Several reasons.” She leaned toward him. With the desk between them, it was not perceived as a hostile gesture. One had to be ever conscious of Sakuntala protocol, because they never traveled outside their homes without at least one weapon. Jemunu-jah's was politely concealed, probably somewhere under his waist straps.

“The human who has gone missing is called Shadrach Hasselemoga.” Seeing her visitor struggle with the syllables, she added, “I am informed that he is often called Hasa, for short. He's an independent bioprospector working on a loan-and-consignment basis. I haven't met him myself, but I'm told that he's at least as competent as most of his kind. He arrived here only six months ago from one of our colony worlds. His documents are all in order.”

Jemunu-jah bobbed his head. “Apparently, he's not quite as competent as all his kind.”

She nodded back, meeting the incredibly sharp, penetrating Sakuntala eyes without flinching. “There's been no word from him since he went south nearly a seven-day ago. No communication, no emergency beacon transmission. Nothing. We know what course he took because he filed a flight plan, but he could have deviated in any direction at any time.”

“What about satellite tracking? Does not that keep constant position of all your skimmers?”

A well-educated Sakuntala indeed, she reflected. The report on this native had been correct. “Mr. Hasselemoga's bounceback failed two days into his journey. We don't know why. For a bounceback and an emergency beacon on a properly equipped and maintained skimmer to both fail simultaneously is very unusual. Six months is not a lot of time to learn about Fluva. Some of my staff speculate he may have gotten lazy, or overconfident, and turned off his avoidance system, or gone to sleep at an unpropitious moment.”

“Or something hit him.” Jemunu-jah exhaled through pursed lips. “Viisiiviisii can do that.”

She nodded knowingly, having seen vits of some of the varzea's larger known inhabitants. As to the unknown ones, even the Sakuntala were themselves sometimes surprised by what came wandering out of the flooded forest.

“That is why we need someone like you to go and look for him. You see things we cannot, and not just because your eyesight is so much better. You know the varzea. We are still learning about it. I'm told you've traveled in skimmers before.”

“
Heesa
—yes. I very much like experience. But I not trained to pilot one.”

“Don't worry. We're sending someone with you who is. Someone who has spent as much time in that part of the Viisiiviisii as anyone we could find.”

“Another of your scout-kind-people?”

“I'm afraid not. Those of our community who would qualify for a task like this are all busy with other assignments or for various reasons are presently unable to help with the necessary operation.” Looking past him, she spoke toward the doorway. “You might as well come in now, Masurathoo.”

Despite his education, despite his comparative sophistication, Jemunu-jah tensed at the calling of the name. It was not a human designation. But he did recognize it.

The Deyzara who entered was shorter than the administrator. Like the majority of his kind, alongside Jemunu-jah the mature male two-trunks would have appeared positively insignificant. The oval opening in the traditional body-swathing lightweight rain cape at the front of the head exposed the upper breathing trunk, the two wide eyes, and the eating trunk that dangled downward below that. The Sakuntala's inherent and traditional preference for low-key dress, a natural consequence of trying to blend in with the teeming and dangerous Viisiiviisii, clashed wildly with the unabashed Deyzara fondness for bright colors and garish patterns. But Deyzara were far less fearful of being eaten by one of the varzea's denizens than they were of being considered unfashionable. Defying the inimical realities of the Fluvan Viisiiviisii and the ongoing disapproval of their Sakuntala neighbors, they continued to adhere stubbornly to the customs of their original home world.

At least this one's facial makeup was less gaudy than the ostentatious splashes of color and lurid phosphorescence favored by some of his kind, Jemunu-jah decided. The Deyzara's skin was a uniform pale pink that contrasted sharply with Jemunu-jah's own strikingly mottled gray fur as well as with the human's light brown epidermis and short mane. He had to remind himself that he was a civilized person and that he and the Deyzara had more in common than they did in difference. As usual, it wasn't easy.

The human gestured in the new arrival's direction. “This one is called Masurathoo.”

Advancing, the Deyzara extended one ropy, rubbery two-digited hand. Lacking a tongue, it preferred the human gesture of greeting to that of the Sakuntala. It was trying to avoid the substitute trunk-touch.

Hiding his distaste, Jemunu-jah flicked his own tongue out and around the hairless head, making contact with the dangling eating trunk only briefly before executing an immediate retraction. He had often seen Deyzara shaking hands with humans or Sakuntala, a gesture they seemed able to manage effortlessly despite having only two digits to the human's five or the Sakuntala's six.

“Ah, I am informed that we shall be working together. I hope you will not find it too disagreeable an experience, as I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to locate this unfortunate human who has gone missing.”