Drowning World (13 page)

Both turned to regard their muscular, insular companion as he easily jumped the watery gap. Despite Masurathoo's silent wish, the vuniwai did not erupt from the water a second time to swallow the Deyzara's tormentor. Sputtering water from both trunks, he resignedly started to follow.

Later, once they had climbed to a comparatively safe height above the water, Jemunu-jah murmured softly to the miserable Masurathoo, “If it of any kind solace, know that I not find human's action funny, either.”

The Deyzara turned goggle eyes on his much taller, leaner companion. “It is most considerate of you to say this thing.” Water spilled in tiny cascades from the wide brim of his rain hat. “I most assuredly
did
see movement in the water. Perhaps the next time neither of you will be in quite such a rush to enjoy laughter at my expense.”

Jemunu-jah dipped his head and ears slightly in the Deyzara's direction. “Perhaps,” he admitted.

But that won't keep us from laughing at the sorry sight of you, he mused as he followed the soggy lump of pink flesh deeper into the trees.

Their first night away from the shelter of the skimmers was terrifying to Masurathoo. A highly educated administrator and executive, he had spent all his life in the developed towns of Fluva. In his mind and those of his fellow managers,
camping out
and
going to hell
had interchangeable meanings.

At least, he reflected as he sat in the supportive crook of several large branches some five meters above the water, he was traveling in the company of two tough individuals. They were used to surviving such conditions (even, he reminded himself with a certain degree of satisfaction, if they were incapable of recognizing the potential danger to be found in a pool of unnaturally disturbed water). All he had to do was remain in one piece, keep up with the pace they set, stay between them, and he would get out of this with both trunks intact.

Anyway, that was what he kept telling himself, over and over.

A truly deafening cacophony of mewlings, howls, roars, peeps, twitters, hisses, and scratching sounds filled the air when the exhausted clouds finally cleared for a while. Able at last to slip out of his rain gear for a few hours, Hasa carefully laid his attire over smaller branches in the hope it would dry out a little. The human, however, did not stop there but continued disrobing until he was completely naked. Squatting down, he set out a small emergency light and began eating his evening rations. In a wishful dream, the light would be seen by any skimmers or aircraft that happened to pass overhead.

Unaccustomed to the sight of an unclothed human, Sakuntala and Deyzara contemplated their naked companion. Hasa was completely oblivious to their stares. He would have reacted exactly the same had he been traveling with a dozen of his own kind. In the Viisiiviisii, any inhibitions vanished as rapidly as did clean clothing.

After a moment's hesitation, Masurathoo removed what remained of his own brilliantly colored but badly tattered attire and laid it out as neatly as he could manage over the same welcoming branch, alongside the human's garments. Jemunu-jah observed this procedure in silence. His own strappings were as comfortable wet as dry and were designed to reflect his status and wealth rather than enclose his body. Of course, he had his fur to keep him comfortable in the constant rain and damp. Deyzara and, with spotty exceptions, humans had no such natural protection and were forced to make do with bulky, binding coverings of artificial fabric. He felt sorry for both of them.

“You would like your garments to be dry,” he stated thoughtfully.

The naked, muscular human glanced up at him. “Damn right I would. Kind of an impossibility, though, out in the Viisiiviisii. Even if your rain gear stays fully charged and keeps the rain off you, your clothes get soaked with sweat while you're working or walking. Either way, a man ends up sopping wet by the end of the day.”

“Would you like have them dry for little while, anyway?”

Pale blue eyes narrowed. “What is this—Sakuntala humor?” Holding a half-full cup in one hand, Hasa gestured with the other. “You can't make a fire out here. Nothing'll burn. And I'll be damned if I'll use up the charge in my cutter to dry my underwear.”

“True so. But can find heat.”

He disappeared into the tangle of branches and vines. An apprehensive Masurathoo watched him depart. “Whatever he is thinking of, is it wise to go looking for it? The darkness conceals many dangers.”

“Shut up, two-trunks.” Hasa's expression was as sour as his tone. “Something I've always wondered. If a Deyzara presses the end of his breathing trunk against his eating trunk, can he snort food out of his own stomach?”

Masurathoo's own eating trunk recoiled at the image that was raised by the human's words. This Hasa was by an order of magnitude the most unpleasant example of his species Masurathoo had ever encountered. Brutish, uncouth, racist, devoted only to his own well-being, he was not the sort one would want to encounter at a party or official function. How well such characteristics were suited to survival remained to be seen.

To Masurathoo's very great surprise, he gave vent to what he was feeling. It was most atypical of him, and he was startled by his own audacity.

“I—I don't like you, sir. Not even a little bit.”

Hasa looked up over his cup. Though promulgated by such small eyes, Masurathoo noted, an unbroken human stare could be exceedingly unnerving.

Tossing aside the remnants of his coffee, Hasa laughed loudly, indifferent to whatever menacing creatures lurked nearby that his voice might alert.

“Well, I'll be damned! Somebody once told me a few of you baby-butt skinned shopkeepers had guts. I didn't believe 'em. Glad to be corrected.” He indicated the side arm that lay among the Deyzara's clothes. “Maybe you'll get a chance to use that. I'd like to think that the next time some purple-pussed fiend drops out of the trees on top of us, you'd be able to save my ass for a change.”

It took Masurathoo a moment to classify the colloquialism. “I would think, sir, you would have a greater care for your brain.”

For some unknown reason, this set the human to laughing again, much harder this time.

Hasa had settled down by the time Jemunu-jah returned. In his long, thin arms the Sakuntala carried more than a dozen sausage-sized lumps of dark blue flesh. Tiny cilialike feet allowed them to creep slowly over and around one another, forcing the Sakuntala to continuously turn back one creature after another lest it crawl out of his arms. Dozens of what appeared to be glass tubes protruded from their backs.

Carefully he set them down underneath the branch that held the two sets of clothing, human and Deyzara.

Pivoting carefully on his naked backside, an uncertain Hasa eyed the result of the Sakuntala's hunting. “Look like oversize millipedes. Are they good to eat?”

“Nawenaa might be tasty, but too dangerous to try to eat one.” Jemunu-jah settled down on his knees next to his slow-moving menagerie, his body straps flapping around him.

“What are they?” Masurathoo had never seen anything quite like the lumpy, seemingly helpless creatures. “Poisonous? Or do those silicaceous growths on their dorsal sides break off and shatter inside a predator's mouth?”

“No, not poisonous. And not break off. Watch.”

As Hasa and Masurathoo looked on, Jemunu-jah took a clawed finger and poked one of the slow-moving organisms in its side hard enough to draw blood. Letting out a barely audible keening, it immediately curled up into a ball, exposing to the watching world only the glassy spines on its back. Hearing their companion's cry, the others did likewise. While human and Deyzara watched, the spines began to glow. Yellow at first, then a deep red-orange.

“Nawenaa can produce chemical reactions in their bodies that generate heat. This rises up into and warms the spines on their backs.” He smiled at his companions. “Hungry predator that bites nawenaa ends up with burned mouth.” Reaching down, he carefully prodded another of the creatures. The glow on its back intensified.

Even from where he was sitting, Hasa could feel the concentrated blast of heat. He nodded in the direction of the unexpected exhibition of biothermics. “That's why I'm here,” he observed. “This place is full of interesting, and potentially profitable, life-forms. Growing things are more my line, though. Especially macromycetes.” Rubbing his chin, he eyed the Sakuntala sagely. “Long as we're traveling together, maybe you could point out to me one or two rare growths that have unique properties? I'd share any ensuing profit with you, of course.”

“Of course you would.” Jemunu-jah's tone was impossible to interpret. “I might be able to find you interesting fungus, or flower. But I only do such a thing for someone who helps me.”

Rising, Hasa moved to check his clothes. Bathed in the warming heat from the agitated nawenaa, they were indeed drying out. “Hey, we're all in this together. Got to help one another or we're not likely to make it out alive, right? You can count on my help, Jemunu-jah.” His smile widened. “As sure as my name's Shadrach Hasselemoga.”

“I have no way of verifying that,” the Sakuntala replied dryly enough to earn a commendation from a Deyzara solicitor. “Will settle for now for you being a little nicer. No more insults.” Seeing the appallingly naked Deyzara staring at him, he added, “To either of us.”

The human glanced from one alien to the other. “All right, it's a deal. The help I can promise. No insults—hey, we are who we are. But I'll work on it. How's that?”

“Enough for now.” The Sakuntala poked a nawenaa that was trying to crawl away back into the pile. “Another hour, you have dry clothes, I think.”

Jemunu-jah was as good as his word. Compliments spilled from both human and Deyzara the following morning as, for the first time since they had been forced down in the Viisiiviisii, they were able to don their respective rain gear over dry clothing. The gear kept the rain that began to fall with first light away from their attire.

By evening, as Hasa had observed the night before, both human and Deyzara were once again soaked with perspiration. This time, Jemunu-jah could only comment on their sodden clothing with a hum of compassion. Not for the first time, he was intensely puzzled by the fact that among all the advanced intelligent species he had encountered personally—human, Deyzara, and thranx—only the Sakuntala possessed a proper covering of fur. No doubt, he told himself, it had something to do with the rains of Fluva. An evolutionary adaptation, he had read. Quite possibly there was a direct link between inherent native intelligence and hairlessness.

He chose not to ponder any further ramifications.

9

T
he following day offered a rare mid-morning break in the rain. A good time to pause, rest, and eat, since sunlight was the time of the hunters. Freed from the need to see through mist and rainfall, predators scrambled to gorge themselves on prey exposed to the light. In the brief period of open air and bright illumination, an orgy of consumption ensued. Carnivores large and small seized the opportunity to seek out and hunt down those who relied for cover on the otherwise omnipresent rain.

It was also a time of riotous propagation. Swelling visibly beneath the stimulus of the rarely seen sun, millions of basidiocarps burst, sending forth trillions of spores. Settling on branches and leaves, these formed hyphae that reproduced in situ to create new growths, new mycelium.

Other plants exploded in billows of fertilized seeds, while some growths reproduced in ways new to Commonwealth science. Jemunu-jah could give names to these without entirely understanding the processes involved. It was as if the life of the Viisiiviisii, quiescent and huddled in dark places during the persistent rain, momentarily set aside all its caution in a frenzy of reproductive enthusiasm. The same activity took place during the brief dry season, but in a more measured and stately manner. All around them, Hasa reflected, Nature was shooting up on sunshine. He marveled at the outburst of life force, searching it for profit.

They hunkered down in half a split branch and waited for the pandemonium of life to subside. As they sat quietly, it was possible to watch all manner of carnivores, plant and animal alike, busy at the business of catching and consuming prey. It was also important to keep fruiting bodies and certain windblown seedlings from taking root on one's clothing and skin. Certain prolific rusts and opportunistic fungi were capable of establishing themselves within minutes of making contact. Hasa had always had trouble with wax accumulating in his ears. That was problem enough. He did not want to dig in one morning and find something blossoming there.

They looked out for one another. Not because they wanted to, not because friendship had suddenly bloomed among them, but because if they weren't careful and alert, other things might. So Hasa brushed red dust that was actually emukawa hyphae from Masurathoo's sloping shoulders, Jemunu-jah picked needle-rooted bohlaka seedlings from Hasa's bald pate before they could take root, and Masurathoo delicately and somewhat tentatively groomed the fur on the Sakuntala's back in search of arthropoidal flyers who sought to lay their eggs therein. For once, Jemunu-jah saw an advantage in not sporting fur. It was impossible for a bug to hide itself and its parasitic intentions on the Deyzara's or the human's bare skin. The natural oils in Jemunu-jah's fur gave him some protection from the vermin that during the dry season and these isolated episodes of sunshine would otherwise try to set up housekeeping for their offspring inside his body.

It was tempting, particularly for Hasa and Masurathoo, to keep moving while the sun was shining. Every time they considered doing so, something within range of their sight or hearing died or screamed. It was as if the Viisiiviisii had gone momentarily mad, as if the clock of life had suddenly decided to run forward at triple speed. Step out of their place of shelter and concealment and there was no telling how many or what kind of lurking killers might leap upon them.

Not all were leapers or flyers. As the morning wore on and the clouds finally began to gather themselves once more, the sharp-eyed Jemunu-jah pointed to a branch in the tree opposite theirs. The branch hung low over the water, but not so low that they wouldn't have passed close to it while resuming their way northeastward.

“Tawalakuikin,” he murmured.

When Masurathoo couldn't get his speaking trunk around the word, Hasa supplied the simpler terranglo equivalent. “That one's been classified. Called a darter.”

“Why?” Masurathoo was as unfamiliar with the creature as he was with its name.

Hasa's expression was as flat as ever. Sunlight was dimming as dark cumulus continued to coagulate above the treetops. If the predator in question was going to make a last move before the rain resumed, it would have to strike soon.

“Watch.”

In appearance, the darter was neither attractive nor intimidating. Its long, low, flat body lay draped over the branch on which it reposed. Carpeted in stubby brown bristles, its neckless torso and short, thick legs looked barely capable of moving it forward. Each of the half-dozen legs terminated in a single curved hoof or claw that was designed to grip wood rather than prey. No fangs hung from the upper lip of the pointed snout; no stinger protruded from the stunted, useless tail. But the four jet-black eyes arrayed across the front of the head were alert and glistening, and the narrow, forward-pointing ears reminded Masurathoo of Jemunu-jah's. More than anything else, the darter looked like a sharp-eyed rug.

A pod of pekawa put in an appearance on the water. Pale, fat, and lightly feathered, they were more buoyant than they looked. A flotilla of tiny pink eyes encircled the head that jutted straight up from the plump central body, giving each individual a full and constant 360-degree range of vision. Its four finned feet could send a pekawa shooting rapidly away in any direction. Where a duck would have glided across the surface of the water, the pekawa advanced in short sprints, scooting from cover to cover, never lingering too long in any one spot. With their eating apparatus located on the undersides of their bodies, they never had to dip their heads below the surface to feed. This allowed them to dine while keeping continuous watch for potential predators.

Masurathoo tensed. Positioned above the active, always moving pod, an ordinary predator might have flexed its muscles or claws. Not the darter. Instead, it slowly and quietly began to swell.

It was several times its original size and no longer flat when something shot silently from its pointed proboscis. Hasa was put in mind of the tongue of a frog or chameleon. But what fired from the darter's muzzle was tipped not with glue but with spikes.

They struck one of the mature pekawa right where the neck met its bulbous body. Trying to escape, the pekawa jerked violently several times while the rest of the pod scattered. The spikes held fast. Within less than a minute, the unfortunate creature lay quivering on the surface of the water. Attracted by the commotion, other disturbances appeared, moving toward it. Before the curious submerged carnivores could investigate the dead pekawa, the darter was reeling in its catch. Masurathoo and his companions watched as the arboreal predator began to suck up its prey through its versatile expanded snout.

Hasa enlightened the Deyzara where he was resting: “Those spikes contain a powerful poison that dissolves as well as kills. They're propelled by air the darter sucks in and uses strong bands of abdominal muscle to expel. It doesn't have any teeth because it doesn't need them. It doesn't move fast because it doesn't have to. It'll make a leisurely meal of the pekawa's insides as they liquefy.” He rose. “You could walk right up to it now and give it a pat and it would ignore you. It'll certainly ignore us as we pass.”

Though the human was true to his word and both he and Jemunu-jah passed less than an arm's length from the quietly feeding predator, Masurathoo still gave it as wide a berth as the surrounding vegetation would allow. The darter was an unlovely sight, but not as gruesome as the slowly liquefying remains of the pekawa. Masurathoo's mind conjured up an unwanted image of himself similarly darted and dissolving, his muscles and organs sickeningly subsiding into an easily ingestible lump of red ooze while he was still alive, his—

He forced himself to concentrate on the path ahead, aware more than ever how much he was compelled to rely on his companions to warn him of or protect him from such barely detectable dangers. Every rustle of leaves, every whisper of tiny legs tiptoeing across protruding shelf fungi, every still of mold, portended in his mind something horrific, indescribable, and lethal. How he longed for his clean, antiseptic office back in Taulau! If his friends and family could see him now, they would simultaneously hoot at his bedraggled appearance and bemoan his unhygienic surroundings.

Self-pity, he knew, would not get him out of the Viisiiviisii. It slew the sympathetic as callously as the exploiter. Momentarily absorbed in such thoughts and temporarily distracted as rain began to fall again, he nearly tripped over the slow-moving creature that had emerged in front of him.

His startled whoop turned Hasa right around and brought Jemunu-jah up fast from behind. When they saw what had sent Masurathoo fearfully toppling backward into the brush, they exchanged a laugh. Or at least, Jemunu-jah laughed, in the manner of his people. The human's corresponding loud verbalization suggested contempt as much as amusement.

“A sevasalu,” Jemunu-jah explained. He did not offer the fallen Deyzara a hand up.

As he struggled back to his feet, Masurathoo saw that if he had landed only a little more to the left, he would have missed the cushioning cluster of parasitic plants that had broken his fall, and plunged right through to the water below. Remembering the triple-jawed vuniwai, he shuddered.

Ears rotating back and forth in a sign of exasperation, Jemunu-jah sighed softly. “Sevasalu not dangerous. Interesting, yes, but not dangerous.”

Taking a couple of tentative steps toward the beast that was making its careful, languid way into the denser foliage, Masurathoo made an effort to see what was so interesting about the animal. When he finally screwed up sufficient courage to move near enough, he needed no further explanation from Jemunu-jah or Hasa.

Advancing slowly on four short legs equipped with inward-facing gripping toes, the sevasalu carried its head low, swinging it deliberately back and forth as it grazed on the fungi that sprouted profusely from many branches. Prehensile lips enabled it to pluck the choicest pieces from holes and cracks in the wood. Heavy-lidded eyes with doubled pupils added to the appearance of a creature that existed in a perpetual state of near-somnambulence. Instead of fur, it was covered with small green scutes. This armor provided a certain amount of protection from roving predators. What really kept it safe, Jemunu-jah pointed out, was the taste of its flesh. Impregnated with alkaloids, it was exceedingly bitter.

From the base of its neck the sevasalu's spine split in two, one backbone running down each side of its body. Between the two was a deep swaybacked depression filled with rainwater. Within this mobile pool dwelled small plants, whirling arthropods, tiny vertebrates, and the occasional larger amphibious predator. There were even a few fruiting fungi whose free-floating mycelium drew nutrients from the decaying bodies of dead creatures and other detritus that sank to the bottom of the sevasalu's deeply swayed back. As a by-product of feeding, the mycelium excreted certain strong alkaloids. Absorbed into the sevasalu's body, these were what gave its flesh the unpalatable taste that caused wandering predators to avoid it.

The sevasalu carried on its back a miniature self-contained ecosystem.

Setting aside for the moment all fear of his surroundings, a thoroughly entranced Masurathoo followed the sevasalu as it made its deliberate, lazy way down a branch running parallel to theirs. So absorbed was he in investigating this new, motile zoological wonder that he threatened to fall behind his guide. Seeing that the human was steadily expanding the distance between them, Jemunu-jah did his best to chivy the Deyzara forward.

“We will see more,” he told Masurathoo. “Hurry up.”

Reluctant to take his leave of the most fascinating creature he had yet encountered in the Viisiiviisii, Masurathoo nevertheless forced his attention away from the indifferent sevasalu and back to the trail-breaking Hasa.

“Most marvelous, I think!” Carrying a world on its back, the sevasalu was quickly swallowed up by the dense vegetation and the intensifying rain. “What happens if it falls, or trips and turns over?”

“The sevasalu is very surefooted,” the Sakuntala assured him.

Hasa commented without turning as he pushed relentlessly forward, “Same thing that happens if a planet turns over. Everything living on it dies.”

Bending one flexible ear across his head, Jemunu-jah used the pointed tip to scratch the back of the other one. “A sevasalu that loses its world will go down into water to fill it back up again. Not with water. Rain does that. But with population of small things. Then it must find right kind of fungi in trees. Rub against bulbs, get spores to grow in water on back. Start new little world.”

“Speaking of going down into the water . . .” Hasa's voice trailed off.

One hand firmly gripping a liana for support, the human had stopped and was staring at something. Droplets coursed off the top of his rain cape and ran down its transparent back. Catching up to him, Jemunu-jah and Masurathoo soon saw what had brought the seemingly indefatigable Hasa to a halt.

The Viisiiviisii was a labyrinth of merging rivers. They had finally come to one too wide for branches and vines to span.