Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [34]
Missing him, it struck the wall to his left, crackled with energy, and went dead. Instantly, the alien slid off the unidentifiable piece of furniture. Standing behind this, simultaneously demonstrating that any or all of its multiple limbs could be used either for digital manipulation or as legs, it gaped at Walker. Its two recessed, silvery, horizontal eyes goggled in his direction. It was about that time that he noticed that the ten limbs, as well as the bulbous body that rode atop them, were lavishly adorned with all manner of tiny cut gems, bits of polished metal, swirls of gaily colored cloth, beads, and less readily identifiable decorations. Visible in the gaps between this extraordinary assemblage of personal ornamentation was smooth, slick flesh tinted maroon, with suggestions of yellow mottling. As for the body, though undeniably cephalopodian in appearance, it was divided into three sections, with a distinct head on top. There was neither neck nor waist, however, and the divisions between the three body sections were not immediately obvious.
In contrast, there was no mistaking the tone of voice that emerged from the pinkish mouth tube that peeped out from among the tangle of limbs at the bottom of the garish apparition. “What by all the Ten Tintinnabulations of Tevoresan are you, and what are you doing in my place of abode?”
Thanks to the technical competence of the Vilenjji implant, Walker was able to immediately discern two things about the creature’s rejoinder. One, it was as shocked by his unexpected appearance as he was by its, and two, it bore a slight but unmistakably feminine lilt.
“Uh, my name’s Marcus Walker. I’m a captive here, like you. I’m a human, Homo sapiens, from the planet Earth, which is . . .” His response trickled away. Having no idea either where Earth was or where he was in relation to it, he could not be expected to explain it in terms that would make any sense. He took some consolation from the likelihood that the quasi-cephalopodian doubtless languished in a similar situation, astronomically speaking, and suffered from a similar sense of loss and displacement.
True or not, it did not alleviate the other’s anger. Moving cautiously on all tens while extending itself to its full height, all four feet of it came scuttling out from behind the table, or bed, or whatever it was. Its gaze, however, never left the intruder.
“Did I invite you into my lodgings, Marcus Walker of Earth?”
“No, but—”
“Did I extend a general invitation to every biped, multiped, and noped that they could encroach on my privacy whenever the whim might strike their atrophied brainpans?”
“I doubt it, but I—”
“Did I let it be known that I would welcome the presence in my residence of any smelly, warmed-over, limb-shorted, flat-faced, calcium-jointed primitives from worlds no one has ever heard of?”
“Now hold on.” Having begun by backing down the entranceway that led out of the boulder, Walker found that the stream of insults was beginning to override the initial dismay he had felt at having so visibly upset the inhabitant of the mist-laden ecosystem. “If you’ll give me half a chance, I’ll apologize.”
That finally persuaded the creature to cease its advance. Or maybe it was the dawning realization that not all of the intruder was immediately visible, and that a considerable portion of its very real bulk remained concealed by the tunnel.
“What makes you think,” it snapped in a fashion Walker could only categorize as bitchy, “that I would accept an apology from a barely cognizant creature as gross and mannerless as your own dismal, pathetic self?”
By now it had become clear