Mid-Flinx (14 page)

“This right here, somethin’ in it could jump out and swallow us right up. Never notice it until it was too late.” He looked around sharply. There was nothing there—and everything there.

Aimee put an arm through his and hugged gently. “Take it easy. Not everything here is carnivorous. It wouldn’t make sense. This world is dangerous, but it’s not irrational.” Lifting one leg, she stomped hard on the underlying wood, twice. Four meters thick, it didn’t even quiver.

“See? It’s just a branch. Solid as any bridge, maybe more so. Plain, ordinary wood. Not everything here bites or snaps or stings. You just have to be careful.” She lifted her gaze and smiled. “Look at those.”

A tangle of slender blue-green vines tumbled from somewhere overhead. Thin and fragile, they formed elegant spirals of uncommon attractiveness. Dozens of tiny lavender flowers striped with gold lined the delicate strands, exuding a subtle yet rich fragrance. Even Coerlis was impressed.

“Striking appearance and aroma.” He inhaled deeply before moving on. “Hopefully, it can be distilled.”

“See?” The engineer gave her wavering companion a reassuring squeeze. “They’re just flowers. Gorgeous flowers, at that. If you let this place get to you, you’ll end up hiding under a leaf and just shivering. Paranoia’s more dangerous than anything we’re likely to encounter.” She smiled comfortingly. “Just remember rule number one for this place: don’t touch unless you’re sure.”

Pausing next to the glittering cascade of fragrance and color, she bent forward slightly to smell the most accessible cluster of blossoms. None were larger than a centimeter across. Each had the look of an individual, faceted gem. Petals flashed with absorbed silicon. When she brushed them with her hand, they sparkled like diamonds and the intense perfume went everywhere.

Nothing lethal responded. No creepers or tentacles reached for her, no hidden hands grasped at her throat. There was only the rush of dazzling beauty. Her smile widened.

Rundle’s nerves steadied and his breathing slowed. The gold and crystal lavender blossoms put the most beautiful flowers he’d ever seen before to shame. The engineer was right: there was beauty here as well as death.

Taking out her service knife, Aimee excised a perfect natural bouquet and used a clip to fasten it in her hair. It caught the sunlight like a Marquise’s tiara, as splendid as a crown of colored diamonds. She executed a small pirouette.

“What do you think, Charlie? Does it suit me?”

A reluctant smile crept over the big man’s face. “Maybe you’re right. Feng was stupid. It still stinks, but it was his own fault.”

“That’s right.” She resumed her place alongside him. “Just don’t touch anything.”

He indicated the gleaming headdress. “You just did.”

“I checked them out first. They’re only flowers. Don’t you see, Charlie? Everything here can’t be dangerous.” Her expression turned playful. “You still haven’t told me what you think.”

“It’s very becoming.” Coerlis shoved aside a handful of vines. They trembled slightly at his touch. “Keep up.”

Rundle gripped the pistol he was holding a little tighter. “Be careful and try not to touch. Right. Got it.” He managed a determined smile.

“That’s better.” She ducked beneath an overhanging limb. “We’ve made some mistakes, suffered some losses, but we’ll be on this kid pretty quick and then we’ll be out of here. Concentrate on that.”

He nodded vigorously, feeling a little better about things. The image of Feng, his body engulfed by the pink membrane, the two adorable little furballs gnawing voraciously at his insides, began to fade from his thoughts.

But despite strenuous efforts, he could not make it disappear entirely.

Chapter Eleven

This time it didn’t stop raining until less than an hour before sunrise. Though Flinx was eager to leave, he allowed Teal to restrain him.

“It’s not good to move with the first light. Better to wait an hour or so.”

“Why?” Curled up in a corner of the shelter, a sleepy Pip unfurled her glorious wings and stretched.

“Sunrise is the coolest part of the day.” The perpetually saturated and perspiring Flinx accepted this as a relative term. “Those who hunt at night are seeking to make a final kill, while those who feed during the day are most active. Better to wait for the first frenzy of feeding to fade before moving.”

Sampling the sodden air of morning, Flinx found himself agreeing. While he would have called it less saunalike rather than “cool,” he had to admit it was easier to take than the atmospheric stew that was midafternoon. Something roared in the distance, its triumphant cry reverberating through the branches, and he willingly resumed his seat. Folding her wings, Pip slithered into his lap.

“It will not take long,” Teal assured him. “Soon the hunters of the first light will lie down to eat. Then we will bury Ciinravan.”

Flinx studied the surrounding forestscape, peering out from beneath the huge green-black leaf where they’d spent the night. Though a dozen or so such leaves grew from a single immense epiphyte, one was large enough to shelter them all. The plant could have sheltered an entire tribe.

Behind him, Dwell and Kiss were stirring. Given the opportunity, most children their age would sleep until awakened or till a much later hour. On this world, indulging in such a luxury would invite visitation by exploring, curious scavengers. They were soon wide-awake.

After a leisurely breakfast, Teal stepped out from beneath the leaf to study the verdure overhead. “We must go up.”

Flinx rose to stand alongside. “Up? Isn’t this the third level?”

“No. We are still on the second, and we must go up to the first.”

“But you said that your people lived on the third, that they preferred the third, and that you fear the sky.”

She lowered her gaze. “We will not go all the way to the openness of the Upper Hell. But it is good for a spirit to be near the sun. We will find one of They-Who-Keep and climb it.” At Flinx’s look of confusion she added, “There we will bury Ciinravan.”

He frowned. “On the tree?”

“In the tree. In that way Ciinravan will be returned to the world.”

Her guest turned thoughtful. “I hope we don’t have to do much digging.”

She laughed then. A nice laugh, he thought. Unpretentious and compassionate.

“You will see Flinx.”

With the help of the young furcots and the children, they managed to position the considerable dead weight of Ciinravan on Saalahan’s broad back. Teal cut lianas, and with these secured the limp mass in place. Flinx’s admiration for the furcots’ abilities went up another notch as he watched Saalahan maneuver the great load upward. Powerful curving claws dug deep into the wood of branches and trunks as they began to ascend, searching for the right tree while doing their best not to stray any farther than necessary from the positioner’s indicated course.

They were lucky, finding a They-Who-Keep that lay in their path. Seeking out an efficacious combination of vines, creepers, branches, and smaller trees, they started up. The hylaea began to thin perceptibly, and the already partially acclimated Flinx found himself watching the larger openings warily. Once, he had to follow the others in ascending a suitable creeper hand over hand. At such times it was best not to dwell on the fact that it was some six hundred meters to the actual ground, intervening vegetation notwithstanding.

The tree was the size of an office tower, a gargantuan spire of wood and greenery. When he remarked on this to Dwell, the boy responded with something less than awe.

“It’s a good-sized They-Who-Keep, but I have seen larger. Besides, They-Who-Keep are not the biggest trees. That would be a Pillar.”

Flinx looked to right and left, unable to see around the epiphyte-infested bole, and wondered what a Pillar tree might be like.

Teal called a halt and began to inspect each of several branches. Even this far from the base, they exceeded in diameter all but the largest trees on Moth or Terra. Their weight, Flinx decided, must he enough to depress the very earth beneath them.

“See the vines-of-own?” Teal pointed out a knot of flower-stricken creepers that clustered in a notch where the trunk split. Their scent was sharp but not unpleasant. “Don’t brush against them. Their seed sacs are under great pressure and will burst on contact. The pollen expands inside the lungs and suffocates. It will kill anything that breathes it.”

“These vines, they grow on your Home-tree as well?”

“Of course.”

“You must have a hard time avoiding them.”

She laughed again. “Not at all. Our Home-tree knows us.”

“Knows you?”

“Yes. The vines respond to those who live with the tree. Their flowers recognize our spit. These flowers would not know us.”

“Emfoling?” Flinx wondered aloud.

“No, chemistry,” she corrected him.

Where the broad wooden avenue of a large branch paved with grasses, fungi, and small flowers emerged from the trunk, the wood had developed a massive crack. Often the cavity was the home of a creature Teal called a
volute
, but this one was dry and deserted.

After she cut away the binding creepers, the body of Ciinraven was carefully and reverently lowered into the crack. Humans and furcots then spread out to gather leaves, dried fruits, moss, and whatever other available and easily accessible vegetation they could find. This was alternately dumped, packed, piled, and pressed into the cavity, until Ciinravan was completely hidden from view and the upper edge of the opening was once again flush with the surface of the branch. In addition to hiding the body from view, the decomposing vegetation would speed Ciinravan along the proper path, while the neutralizing aroma of special mosses would discourage prowling scavengers.

Flinx did his best to help, until he was forced to dump his third load. His hands felt like he’d shoved them into an open fire. Shaking them wildly in an attempt to cool them off, he saw that tiny red pustules were breaking out all over his fingers and palms. Sensing her master’s distress, Pip darted about anxiously. But this was no antagonist she could deal with.

Teal put her own armful down and hurried over. “What’s the matter?”

He showed her his hands. “Stings,” he told her.

“I’m sure it does. What did you pick?” He indicated the pile of soft, easily uprooted plants.

“Grivets.” She was nodding to herself. “Its leaves are covered with fine hairs that release a strong chemical. Properly distilled, it makes a marvelous spice.”

“I can understand that.” He grimaced. “My hands feel like they’ve been shot with pepper.”

“I don’t know what that is. Come with me.”

Eyes beginning to water, he followed her as she searched the surrounding vegetation. Eventually she paused next to a bromeliad whose tall green leaves were spotted with pink. Floating in the plant’s internal pool were half a dozen thumbnail-sized pure milk-white spheres. As she reached in and pulled one out, he saw that each floating bulb was attached to its parent by a wire-thin stem.

“Hold out your hands, palms up.”

Lips compressed against the pain, he complied.

When she squeezed the sphere, it released a large quantity of thin, clear fluid. “Don’t drop any,” she warned him as she flung the crushed pulp aside. “Rub your hands together. Rub it all over your fingers.”

As he did so, the bulb’s healing capabilities manifested themselves. Cool and soothing, the analeptic juice quickly took away the stinging. The pustules began to pale.

“O’opaa fruit,” she informed him. “It’s very good for any kind of skin irritation.” Picking up her load, she carried it over to the crevice and began packing it in.

“I think from now on I’ll just help you carry.” He blew alternately on his spread fingers.

“You cannot emfol.” She put a reassuring hand on his arm. “That is why you ignorantly picked the grivet.”

“This emfoling’s something I’m really going to have to work on,” he replied earnestly. “Can it be taught?”

Her expression was one of honest surprise. “I don’t know. I have no idea if it can be learned by one who was not born to it. We will have to ask Overt the Shaman.”

He nodded, then turned suddenly and sharply to his right. Were those two bushes laughing at him? He put it down to an overactive imagination suffering from a surplus of stimuli.

When all was done, the little group assembled around the grave hundreds of meters in the sky. Led by Teal, the children recited several touching and straightforward verses, not all of which Flinx understood. When they finished, the three furcots put back their heads, tusks in the air, and began to howl. It was a strangely melodious, mewling sound, not unattractive but quite incomprehensible: what a trombone might sound like if it could be an amplified clarinet for a day.

When the furcots finished, everyone turned and started off through the forest as if nothing untoward had transpired. Following Flinx’s positioner, Teal led the way westward and down.

“The imbalance has been addressed,” she told him. “All will be well now.” He chose not to comment, still woefully ignorant of her people’s personal philosophy. He noted that despite her confidence and reassuring words, neither she nor the children had in any way reduced their constant vigilance.

“What happens when one of you dies?” he asked.

“Humans and furcots are treated alike.” She looked back at him. “Balance. One of our elders knew of an ancient word handed down by his great ancestors. ‘Hozho.’ ”

“Don’t know it.” Flinx spared a last look back at the rapidly receding burial site. At this distance it was quite indistinguishable from the rest of the branch. Speculating silently on the relationship between furcots and humans, humans and Home-trees, he realized that the nutrients in Ciinravan’s body would be absorbed by the tree and not the ground, as would have been the case with a more traditional burial. Something Teal had said earlier flashed again in his mind:
Chemistry
.

Not for the first time, Flinx wished he had enjoyed the time and resources to indulge in advanced education. This was not a world where the ability to pick locks or unlatch sealed doors was of much use.

Teal slid lithely down a bundle of creepers, paralleled by Kiss and Dwell. The furcots jumped from branch to branch while Flinx did his best not to hinder the pace. Though he was agile and strong enough, and doing better, his size was still a disadvantage when it came to negotiating the intricate tangles of the hylaea.

A flock of fluorescent flitters flashed past, blurs of electric color amidst the green and brown. There was so much to see here, so much to absorb, and he was missing most of it because he had to be careful of where he put his feet. He resolved that once he had helped Teal and her family return to their home, he would make time simply to study and enjoy.

They found the most magnificent spot imaginable to spend his third night away from the shuttle. Expecting another hollow in a tree trunk or cluster of shed-sized leaves, he was completely unprepared for the excited Dwell’s discovery. The boy came racing back to join them, the lumpish yet somehow lovable Moomadeem loping along at his side.

“Mother, Kiss—come and look, come and look!” Without waiting to see if they were following, he whirled and retraced his path, his green cloak flapping against his slim back.

“Must be something special to get Dwell that excited,” Flinx commented.

“You mustn’t be hard on him.” Teal vaulted effortlessly over an intervening aerial root that Flinx had to climb. “You are his competitor.”

Flinx frowned. “Competitor? For what?”

“Dominant human male in this family grouping.”

“But I’m not—” he started to say, then stopped. In this place it was Dwell’s perception that mattered, not his own.

The horizontal cavity had been caused by lightning. Located on the western side of the branch, it was a couple of meters high and three wide. The blackened gash penetrated deep into the wood, forming a cave in the curving brown flank. Flinx watched as the three furcots dug their claws into the wood and simply stepped over the edge, hanging out over emptiness as they walked into the hollow.

“It’s safe!” Saalahan called out moments later. Leaning over cautiously, Flinx found he couldn’t see the furcot. Thus concealed, they would be able to spend a comparatively relaxed night.

“It’s all right.” Digging the claws of its four hind feet into the wood, the big furcot reached out and up for him. “Come down, Flinx person. I won’t let you fall.”

Flinx hesitated while Teal, Dwell, and even the diminutive Kiss scrambled over the side of the branch and swung with practiced skill into the waiting cavity. The dropoff below the branch itself was precipitous. It promised a safe night’s sleep but did little for his nerves. Bracing himself, he turned his face to the branch and slowly eased himself over the edge. His fingers dug at the bark while his feet slipped and skidded on the wooden arc.

Then he felt powerful paws grasping his lower body, and he allowed Saalahan to pull him into the blackened opening. The adult furcot considered him with its three eyes.

“You have learned much in short time. Next, better learn how to climb.” Flinx responded with a grateful if slightly embarrassed smile.

“I’m actually a pretty good climber, Saalahan. It’s these surroundings I’m not used to.” With a soft snort, the adult shambled off to inspect the underside of the branch, looking for concealed predators and leaving Flinx to take stock of his surroundings.

What made the site special was its location. The cave in the branch looked out across a valley in the forest, a vine-and-liana-swathed depression that dug all the way down to the fifth level. Thick moutire and coculioc vines dangled from branches above, shielding the cavity from attack by arboreal hunters. The panorama visible through the curtain of vines to anyone sitting on the edge of the opening was nothing less than spectacular, filled as the green valley was with a fecund riot of flowers and flying creatures. Gliding shapes great and small picked and grazed on the exposed vegetation as well as upon one another.