Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [32]
“Who lives in there?” he finally asked one morning as he and George enjoyed a counterclockwise hike around the circumference of the grand enclosure. “Have I ever met them?”
Tellingly, the dog kept his friend between himself and this particular slice of alien ecosystem. “I don’t know, Marc. I’ve never met the occupant. All I know for sure is that it has to be an oxygen breather, like the rest of us. Come to think of it, I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone who has met whoever lives in there. That’s assuming anything does, and that it’s not just an empty cubicle that’s been prepped and made ready in expectation of the arrival of some future unfortunate abductee.”
Having halted beside the environment in question, Walker leaned forward to squint into the depths of the permanent gloom. “If that’s the case, it sure seems like it’s been held in readiness for a long time. Leastwise, it has been for as long as I’ve been here.” Looking to his left, he nodded in the direction of the curving arc of individual living areas. “There are more than a dozen unoccupied spaces, and none of them have been given this kind of elaborate prearrival treatment. I bet somebody is living in there.” He took a step toward the invisible barrier that separated the distinct environment from the grand enclosure.
“Whoa!” George darted around to cut him off. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Walker nodded again, this time straight ahead. “If there’s nobody living in there, I’ll soon find out and there’s no harm in looking. If there is a sentient at home, maybe it’s hurt, or lonely, or otherwise incapacitated, and we can help.”
“Maybe it doesn’t want to be helped.” The dog cast a nervous glance over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s solitary and hermetic by nature. Maybe in its society it’s considered polite to take a bite out of uninvited visitors. And also, what do you mean ‘we’?”
Walker stopped, peered down at his friend. “Who was it who badgered me to be more accommodating, more understanding, of alien needs and customs? Who taught me how to make friends with something that didn’t have a hand to shake?”
“I’d met all of those folks previously,” the dog pointed out. “It was just a matter of introducing you properly, of helping you learn how to acclimatize yourself to alien customs.”
Walker started forward again. “No reason why I can’t do that with whoever’s tucked away in here. If I get in trouble, thanks to you I now know how to fawn and scrape slavishly to get out of it.” He offered his friend a lopsided grin. “If necessary, I can even flop onto my back, stick all four limbs in the air, roll my eyes, and pant with my tongue out.”
“Oh what a funny simian you are,” George growled. “Listen to me, Marc. If there is something living in there, and it never comes out, and it’s not hurt, then it must have good reason for shunning the company of other intelligences. It might not take real kindheartedly to unwarranted intrusion.”
“If it’s dangerous to others, the Vilenjji will stop me. Wouldn’t want one of their trophies to damage another.” Trying to peer through to the corridor beyond, he found that he could not penetrate the gently swirling murk to see if any of their captors happened to be present at that moment.
“Don’t count on it,” the dog warned him. “They didn’t arrive in time to keep the Tripodan from dismembering the Sesu. I’d hate to see that happen