Mid-Flinx (9 page)

Very much to the contrary, it was slowly but inexorably crawling up the sides of his boots even as he watched.

Alarmed at the abrupt change in her master’s emotional state, Pip rose to hover anxiously. From time to time she dove combatively toward the depression, perceiving it to be the source of Flinx’s upset, but there was nothing she could do. This time there were no inimical eyes to focus upon, no head to strike at.

The branch beneath him quivered slightly and Flinx flailed wildly to keep his balance. If he fell over and got his front or back stuck in the thickening goo, he’d be unable to move at all. He tried not to think of what might happen if he fell facedown. He would suffocate rapidly and unpleasantly.

A section of branch directly in front of him suddenly rose. It was pointed, rough-edged, and designed to fit flush with the top of the hollow that had been excavated in the living wood. Reaching down, Flinx fought to release the rip-fastener that secured his front boot. If nothing else, he could try stepping out of his footwear and making a leap for safety, an alternative denied to this extraordinary predator’s accustomed prey. If he could make it over the side of the branch he would be safe.

Depending on how far he fell and what he landed on, he reminded himself.

A semicircle of nine opalescent orbs bordered the apex of the creature’s head, if such it could be called. Devoid of irises or pupils, the organs might be no more than primitive light-and-motion sensors. More than adequate for the creature’s needs, he told himself. The gunk gripping his boots continued to flow energetically upward. When it reached his pants he’d have to consider abandoning them as well.

As he reached for his boot fastener, a deep bubbling noise emerged from the depths of his undefinable assailant. The surface heaved beneath him and he found himself, arms swinging madly, catapulted over the side of the branch. As he fell he realized that the predator must have some way of separating what was edible from what was not. Leaves, branches, and other debris must frequently fall from above, he realized. Like a spider cleaning its web, it was natural to expect that the glue-sucker would have a way of detecting and ridding itself of the inedible.

Plasticized travel boots, for example.

It was seven hundred meters or so to the actual ground. Surely he would fetch up against something before he reached that final, unyielding destination.

Even as he pondered the possibilities, he found himself entangled in a cluster of thin, unyielding green vines. His momentum snapped several before his fall was arrested. For several moments he hung twisting in their knotted grasp, his feet kicking at the air, before he realized they were pulling him
up
.

Tilting back his head, he found himself staring at the source of the vines: something like a giant lavender orchid squatting on a dense mound of reeds. Only the dark, ominous opening in the underside spoiled the otherwise elegant effect. Within the gaping maw, sharp-pointed cilia palpitated expectantly.

Another plant evolved to act like an animal, he thought. Another camouflaged carnivore. Wasn’t there anything on this world that didn’t grasp or bite? He struggled to reach his needler, but the tendrils’ grip was unyielding. He continued to rise.

Darting upward, Pip released a stream of venom at the source of her master’s distress. The corrosive liquid burned a section of the puffy, main mass but did nothing to halt Flinx’s inexorable rise toward the waiting mouth. The area affected by the minidrag was too small and neuronically insensitive to trouble the expansive growth.

Another three, four meters and those questing, eager cilia would be able to reach his head. Propelled by tendril and cilia, he would enter the creature’s stomach head first, no doubt to be consumed slowly and as necessary. First the head, next the shoulders, then the torso, much as he would munch satay on a stick.

Still, it was with quite a start, despite his situation, that he found himself gazing across open space at an obviously intelligent green face directly opposite his own.

Chapter Six

The owner was short and stocky. Though it was hanging upside down, it was clearly not a permanent dangler like the six-armed hooters he’d encountered earlier. About the size of a St. Bernard or small mastiff, it hung from a thick creeper by means of six short, powerful legs. Each foot ended in half a dozen long, curving, and very impressive claws.

Three eyes ran across the front of the blunt-snouted head. A pair of pointed ears faced toward him. An upward-curving tusk protruded from either side of the powerful lower jaw. As he stared, a snort came from the large nostrils. The creature was covered completely in short, thick, green fur.

Moving foot over foot along the creeper, it approached to within half a meter of his face, supremely indifferent to however the carnivorous quasiorchid overhead might choose to react. The large, limpid eyes examined him curiously. Then it spoke, in comprehensible if strangely accented symbospeech.

“Stupid person.”

“Not a person,” insisted a second voice, pitched slightly higher than the one challenging Flinx.

He managed to twist around just far enough to see another of the green talkers squatting on quadruple haunches on a nearby branch, surveying the scene with bucolic aplomb. The differences between the two were minor: a notched ear on the first speaker, a slightly longer tail on the second. As he gaped and Pip darted in tight nervous circles, the one on the branch swatted lazily at a brightly colored insectoid.

“Is.” The upside-down scrutinizer regarded Flinx with comical seriousness.

“Is not.” The sitter ignored Pip, who buzzed the blocky head several times. “Just look at it, Moomadeem.” A heavy paw waved in Flinx’s direction as he continued his inexorable ascent toward the waiting, cilia-lined digestive cavity. “See how tall it is. And it has reddish fur.”

“Green eyes, though.” Triple oculars squinted at Flinx’s face. “That’s right.”

“Not a person,” the other continued to insist.

“Has to be, Tuuvatem.” Advancing, it came to within licking range. A thick, musty, but not entirely unpleasant odor assailed Flinx’s nostrils. “Everything else right.”

“Look at its feet,” suggested Tuuvatem. “Too stubby.
Not a person
.”

“Maybe an old injury.”

Flinx didn’t have time to wonder what was wrong with his hair and his feet. The top of his head was less than a meter from the dark, slimy maw. Fringing cilia twitched expectantly.

“Save him and then decide.” Moomadeem swung effortlessly from his vine.

“Save not. Not a person.” Tuuvatem was inflexible.

All Flinx needed to hear was the word “save.” “Look, I don’t know what
you
are, or how you learned my language, but if you can understand me, all I can tell you is that by any standard you’d care to apply I am a ‘person,’ and if you can do anything to help me out of this, afterward I’ll personify myself to your satisfaction the best I can.”

“He talks.” Moomadeem looked smug. The lower lip curled up over the upper. “Has to be a person.”

“Does not!”

“Can’t we argue about it later?” Flinx struggled violently in the creepers’ grasp.

The one called Moomadeem shoved out its lower jaw, thrusting the sharp tusks into even greater prominence. “Speaks sense, too!”

Up on the branch, Tuuvatem groomed the front of her furry muzzle and executed a startlingly humanoid shrug. “Well—maybe
half
a person.”

The one called Moomadeem emitted a snort of satisfaction. Retreating slightly, it drew back a powerful, clawed foot. Flinx flinched, but the blow wasn’t intended for him. Instead, the sharp claws snicked through the air just above his head, cleanly severing a couple of the numerous creepers engaged in hoisting the plant’s intended prey. Flinx felt himself drop a few centimeters and bounce to a stop.

“That’s it! Keep going, don’t stop now. I
am
a person! A—visiting person. A person from elsewhere.”

“See?” Moomadeem looked back. “He is a person from a faraway tribe.”

“Makes sense.” Tuuvatem conceded the point grudgingly. “But
very
stupid.”

Flinx knew they were intelligent because, to his great surprise, he found that both were generating emotions strong enough and developed enough for him to detect. Primitive and childlike they might be, but they were far in advance of anything else he’d encountered on this world.

But how had they come to learn the Commonwealth lingua franca?

Displaying an agility all the more astonishing for the indifference with which it was employed, the solemn skeptic jumped off the upper branch and latched effortlessly onto another vine on the side opposite Moomadeem. With both of them methodically ripping and tearing at the creepers, Flinx found himself jostled about like a preadolescent in a stim-can.

When a pair of tendrils reached for Tuuvatem, Flinx shouted a warning. Showing no reaction, the creature used the claws on its front feet to shred the futile counter-strike. Trailing glutinous sap, shards of shorn creeper spun in ever-increasing lengths down into the green depths.

Finally, the plant responded to the ongoing devastation of its underside by releasing its intended prey. Thus freed, Flinx would have offered his heartfelt thanks except for the fact that he was now plunging downward, grabbing futilely at inadequate lianas and branches as he fell. Pip followed, hissing helplessly.

From above, his lugubrious saviors followed his descent with interest. “Maybe less than half,” declared Tuuvatem. “Can’t climb worth a crap.”

Flinx would have argued with them had he been close enough to overhear. He let out a yelp as he struck something unyielding yet comparatively soft. Dazed, he felt himself being turned upright and gently set on a solid surface. Pip immediately landed on his shoulder and began caressing his cheek with her tongue.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he turned to confront the creature who had caught him. It was identical in most respects to the two who had freed him from the grasp of the creepers while simultaneously debating his personhood. The most notable difference was in size. This one was many, many times larger than his original rescuers, massing as much as the Kodiak bears that still roamed protected islands in Terra’s chill northern hemisphere.

He noted the same six legs and massive claws, the three eyes and twin tusks, and a slightly higher, more intelligent brow. While the two who had saved him from the carnivorous plant had done effective combat with the inimical growth, this was an altogether more formidable creature.

The three eyes regarded him thoughtfully, the head tilted slightly to its right. While the posture duplicated the quizzical aspect of a curious dog, it was clear this was a far more intelligent animal. For one thing, its perceived emotional state was much more complex.

It snorted, and the exhalation washed over Flinx; warm, moist, and pungent. Pip reacted with spread wings, but Flinx put out a hand to restrain her.

“Take it easy, girl. I think these are friends. Unless I’ve been saved to make a meal.”

“You can cook?” rumbled the huge green shape.

A choice slice of the surreal, Flinx decided. “That’s not what I meant. Are you a friend?”

“Have to be,” grunted the creature. “You a person, I a person. All persons are friends.”

Flinx wasn’t about to argue the point. A crashing from above revealed the two much smaller animals descending toward him with casual abandon. For such burly creatures, their agility was astonishing. He found himself wondering if the smaller pair were the offspring of the adult who’d caught him. They certainly acted like a family group. But a family of what?

Answers were to be forthcoming from still another and even more unexpected source. “Moomadeem, Tuuvatem—behave yourselves! Be nice to the new person.”

“See?” Flinx watched as Moomadeem, clinging to a thick maroon vine, took a playful swipe at its companion. “Told you was a person!”

“Three-quarters,” argued back the other, conceding points only with the greatest reluctance.

A rustling behind him prompted Flinx to turn. When the first of the creatures had spoken to him, he’d believed himself immune to any greater shock. He was wrong.

The woman and two children didn’t so much emerge from the vegetation as silently manifest themselves. They’d been standing just behind him for some time, blending in perfectly with their surroundings as they took the measure of the strange visitor. He’d been concentrating so hard on the emotions of his alien rescuers that he hadn’t sensed the human feelings immediately behind.

Now he adjusted his perception and felt the jar in his mind of familiar yet very different emotions. There was curiosity, concern, and wariness all mixed up together. The emotions of the children were less intense, not as complicated by experience. All three likewise projected that same feeling of internal warmth he had been experiencing since he’d first stepped off the landing site and made his way down into the hylaea.

All three were clad in a minimum of clothing woven from some dark green fiber. Each wore a cloak fashioned of similar material as well as a backpack and belt made from something sturdier and darker. In addition, a green pipe or tube of some kind was strapped to the woman’s back.

She approached him without fear, perhaps due to the presence of the massive animal next to Flinx. It was evident from her call to the two small ones that all six were traveling together. Her next words confirmed it.

“Thank you for catching him, Saalahan. He could have been seriously hurt.”

The creature grunted softly. “Very strange person. Very strange and very clumsy.”

The young woman looked up at Flinx. Though well-proportioned, she was quite short, and the children shorter still. “Why didn’t you catch a vine after Moomadeem and Tuuvatem freed you?”

Flinx knew there was no reason for him to be embarrassed, but he felt himself flushing anyway. “It’s not like I didn’t try.”

She considered this. “I am Teal.” When she extended her hand, he reached out to shake it. Instead, her palm rubbed against his. He memorized the greeting and made no move to inflict the more traditional one on her.

The children crowded closer. “This is Dwell,” she said, indicating the boy. Flinx guessed him to be about ten. “And Kiss.” The girl was perhaps a year younger.

Certainly they came from the same stock. All three had long brown hair and green eyes, a deeper green than Flinx had ever seen. His own were pale by comparison. Their skin was a uniform light coffee color. Most remarkable of all were their feet. The toes were long and flexible, longer even than their fingers.

Except for that and their short stature, they were as human as anyone who walked the streets of Terra or Moth or any of the other humanx-colonized worlds. That they or their forbears had originated on one of those worlds he didn’t doubt for a moment. Either that or he was witness to the most extraordinary instance of convergent evolution on record.

Besides, there was their use of familiar and easily understandable symbospeech, even if their accent was sharp enough to qualify as archaic.

“What are these?” He gestured back at the enormous green shape that had saved him from an uncomfortable landing. It blinked at him once before turning away.

The woman gawked at him. “You mean you don’t know? Saalahan is a furcot, of course. My furcot.”

“Let me guess. The others belong to your children.”

“Belong?” Her brow furrowed. “Furcots don’t belong to people any more than people belong to furcots. At least, not in the way you are meaning. Moomadeem is Dwell’s furcot, and Kiss is Tuuvatem’s person.”

“Fur coat?” said Flinx.

“Furcot.” She leaned to look past him. “Where is yours?”

“Mine? I don’t have one.”

Tuuvatem was sniffing his leg. “Who ever heard of a person without a furcot?”

Flinx didn’t feel deprived. “I have Pip.” He caressed the flying snake as it slithered forward on his shoulder, straining for a better look.

The two children tensed. Apparently his winged pet and companion bore a resemblance to something local and dangerous. Considering some of the life forms he’d encountered in the short time he’d been on this world, he could only sympathize with their caution.

“She’s not a furcot,” he told them, “but she is my friend. It’s all right; she won’t hurt you.”

“She?” Teal rose on tiptoes to see better.

“Yes. Like you and Kiss and Saalahan.”

“Like Kiss and I,” she corrected him. “Saalahan is not female.”

“Oh. He’s the father of the other two, then.”

“Saalahan is not male, either.”

Flinx made no effort to hide his confusion. “I don’t understand. Then what is—it?”

“I told you. Saalahan is a furcot.” And that was all the explanation he could get out of her. The creature’s sex organs, assuming it had any, were not readily in evidence, and Flinx wasn’t about to venture any requests that might be construed as impolite. Not after he’d seen what those claws could do. It was a quandary that could be resolved later.

“You should know that,” the woman told him. “Can’t you emfol them?”

“Emfol? I don’t know that word.”

Teal’s look was pitying. “You are a strange person indeed. Any person should be able to emfol their furcot along with everything else.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t see any harm in revealing a little of himself to these abandoned, isolated people. “I can sense what Pip is feeling and she can do the same to me. Is that kind of what your relationship to your furcots is like?” He didn’t say anything about being able to sense her emotions or those of her children.

“Emfoling is different.” She shook her head slowly, registering bafflement. “How different you are.”

Odd little lady Teal, he thought, you don’t know the half of it.

“And ignorant.” Tuuvatem stalked fearlessly up to Flinx. “Stepped right into a mistyr, he did. And that after almost sticking his arm in a spiralizer.”

Flinx thought back to the breathtakingly beautiful flower with the razor-edged petals. “You were watching me then?”

“Been watching you long time,” the furcot informed him. “Trying to decide what you were.”