Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [37]
“Also,” she added, “I am more intelligent than any of the other captives. Coupled with the natural impatience that is endemic to my kind, I therefore cannot avoid finding them and their attempts at conversation uninteresting and boring.”
Walker nodded slowly. “I see. And how do you find me?”
One limb reached out to rest against his knee. The contact was gentle, almost reassuring, in a feminine sort of way—if the touch of an alien cephalopod could be called feminine.
“Interesting,” she told him. Without quite knowing why he should, he swelled slightly with pride. “And boring,” she added. Ego deflation was immediate.
“It is not your fault,” she hastened to add. “You cannot help what you are. Everyone knows that intelligence exists in direct proportion to the number of a species’ manipulative limbs.”
Reflexively, Walker found himself regarding his two hands and wondering if his feet would qualify. He could, after all, though with some effort, pick up a pencil with his toes.
“There are many measures of intelligence,” he muttered defensively.
“There, there.” The rubbery, flexible limb stroked his knee. “Do not take it so hard. Some species are bigger and stronger than others. Some smell better. Others have sharper eyesight, or better hearing. Some run faster. The K’eremu simply happen to be smarter.”
“Not too smart to be captured by the Vilenjji,” he threw back.
“I was alone. That was typical. Even so, I ordinarily would not have been sufficiently surprised to have been abducted. I had access to means of communication, to ways of calling for help. Naturally, beings that habitually prefer their own society need to have ways of drawing upon the assistance and expertise of others.”
Walker was intrigued. “Then why didn’t you? Call for help.”
“I was, ummm, not my usual self.”
Listening, the human wondered if the translator had rendered her speaking accurately. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“There are among my kind several easily ingestible herbal blends of particular potency. Among these is one called si’dana, another joqil. I am perhaps to some extent overly enamored of both, and certainly was so at the time of my taking.”
His perception of the remarkable alien changed abruptly. “You’re an addict!”
The accusation did not appear to sting. “Like any K’eremu, I like what I like.”
“How do you cope?” He gestured at their damp surroundings. Thankfully, the light drizzle had once more given way to a heavy, enshrouding mist. “Here, I mean.”
“The Vilenjji take care to study each species they intend to sample before settling on the specific individuals they wish to seize. In my case, that apparently extended to a chemical analysis of the food I was eating. Thankfully, a sufficiency of both stimulants is incorporated into my daily rations.”
He nodded. “Among my people, addiction to ‘stimulants’ is not considered a sign of intelligence.”
“Would you recognize such a sign if it were waved in front of you? Do not think to criticize your betters!” The limb tip slid off his knee.
His initial reaction was to snap back. But he had learned George’s lessons well. He merely nodded, wondering how she would perceive the gesture, and elected to change the subject. No wonder the K’eremu were a race of solitary intellects. If they were all as sarcastic and insulting as this one, it was difficult to see how they could stand one another, let alone anyone else.
“You know how the Vilenjji operate?”
Limbs flexed. He thought he was starting to get the hang of the manifold semaphoring. “Certainly. I talk to them occasionally.”
He started. “You talk to them? I’ve been trying to talk to one of them, any of them, ever since I was brought here. They just stare back and ignore me.”
More limb fluttering. “What did I just say about relative intelligence? I can understand why they would want to talk to me. Why would they want to talk to you?”
Walker opened his mouth to reply, thought a moment, closed it. Far worse than the