Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [19]
“What’s a Tripodan? Where’s Jerenus IV?”
“Shut up and listen to me. The Tripodan, I was told it had caused trouble before. This time, it got into an argument with a Sesu. There are four of them captive here, and they’re about as dangerous as pups. But they’ve got sharp tongues. I mean, sharp verbally. The Tripodan took exception to something one of the Sesu said. Then it took the Sesu apart. The way a human would dismember a fried chicken. I watched, from as far away as I could get, and I know I was whining good and loud the whole time. I was plenty scared, let me tell you, because I had no idea what might happen next.
“What did happen was that a whole squad of Vilenjji showed up and came lurching into the grand enclosure. That’s the big central area where all the captives are allowed to mix with one another. I hadn’t seen that many of them all in one place before, and I haven’t seen that many together again since. They must’ve been pretty ticked off. The Sesu, I later found out, mate in quartets. Remove any one of the four and you lose breeding capability. No wonder the Vilenjji were upset. They carried these funny-looking, squat little balloonlike guns that spat out some kind of fast-hardening glue. In less than a minute that Tripodan, big and strong as it was, had no more range of motion than the statue I used to piss on in the park back home.”
Walker’s tone was subdued. “What did they do to it—to the Tripodan?”
“Took it away. Never saw it again.” The dog rose, stretched. “Maybe now it’s a doorstop in some high-ranking Vilenjji’s office. If they have ranks. If they have offices. Me, I’ve got my standard defense all prepared in case something like that comes after me. I back into a corner and whine my guts out.” He eyed the solemn-faced human tellingly. “You ought to try it. Works wonders. Even on aliens.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Walker intended nothing of the kind. He hadn’t made first string outside linebacker at a major American university by whining in the face of adversity.
Of course, he reminded himself, then he had only been competing against corn-fed 300-pounders from Nebraska and swift tailbacks from the small towns of Texas—not seven-foot-tall aliens who controlled immobilizing electrical fields and paralyzing glue guns. Perhaps under certain circumstances the occasional whine could be countenanced. Like, to preserve his life.
It was getting dark. Walker glanced back at his tent, then toward the invitingly open environment that constituted George’s reconstituted urban backstreet. He studied the decaying trash, the torn and tattered cardboard cartons, the rusting ruin of a once-grand automobile, and decided that a change of surroundings could wait. Apparently, the dog had been thinking along the same lines but had come to a different decision.
“Mind if I stay with you tonight, Marc?”
Walker turned toward the corridor. It was still empty, still silent. Still fraught with ominous possibilities better left unconsidered. “Won’t you miss your place?”
“My ‘place’?” With a twist of his shaggy head, George gestured back the way he had come. “That dump’s just where I happened to be hanging out when the Vilenjji picked me up. I’m an orphan, Marc. Lot of us in Chicago.” Without waiting for further invitation, he trotted past the commodities trader. “Your place looks clean. I’ve never been in the mountains. Not much of that in Illinois.” Dark, soulful eyes stared up at him. “I can whimper longingly, if it will help, and lick your hand.”
Walker had to grin. “I didn’t know dogs were capable of sarcasm.”
“Are you kidding? We’re masters of it. In fact, we’re so good at it that you humans don’t know when we’re having a laugh at your expense. So, what do you say?”
Another glance toward the threatening,