Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [53]
“Hey,” Walker told him encouragingly, “we’re here. We’ll comfort you.”
Bulbous eyes turned back to him. “Can you sarang a turath? Is it within you to morrowmay the tingling ubari?”
“Uh, I’m afraid not, no,” Walker was obliged to reply.
“Don’t look at me,” George added hastily.
“I hear hoping, your tendering is touching, emotive still.” The Tuuqalian squatted down on its under-tentacles. “It is good to at least at last have another of understanding and compassion to talk with. I was tired of eating those others who were first placed with me.”
“You mean, eating with them?” Walker asked uncertainly.
“No.” Saw-toothed dentition made soft clacking sounds against itself. “You sing too much sense not to know of what I speak.”
Walker nodded slowly, and a bit unwillingly. “I can see where that would put a damper on casual conversation.” Despite the highly unpleasant image his mind insisted on constructing, he settled himself down on a patch of ground cover while George hesitantly sipped from the water cistern. “Tell me something, Braouk: Why do you react like that? Why did you react with hostility toward me when the Vilenjji put me in here with you? You knew nothing about me, either as an individual or as a representative of a different species.”
The Tuuqalian did something Walker had not seen before: it sat down. Or rather, it sort of folded up in the middle, ending up not on a nonexistent backside but instead looking like a large lump of yellow-green fur from which four tentacles of varying thickness and length protruded aimlessly. Swaying slowly on the ends of their stalks, the two large eyes assumed even greater prominence, while the menacing maw in the middle was partially concealed from view. If not exactly inoffensive, it rendered the creature’s appearance considerably less threatening.
“When I was abducted and brought to this vessel, I lost all sense and reason. Four of the unspeakable ones I injured, despite the quantity of narcoleptic they pumped into me.”
Water dripping from his chin, George looked up from his drinking. “Hey, good for you, big guy! No one else I’ve met here managed to resist with any success.”
Both spherical eyes swiveled to meet the dog’s admiring gaze. “I am not proud of what I did. The Tuuqalia are a peaceful race. We ask only to be left alone, to sing our songs and compose our verses. Into peace intruding, the hated Vilenjji came, stealing souls. Stealing me.” Tentacles powerful enough to rip trees from the ground knotted in barely controlled fury. “I was not happy.”
Walker nodded understandingly. “I tried to fight back, too. With little success, I’m afraid. But I tried.”
Not wishing to be left out of the pissing contest, George ventured tentatively, “I think I might have nipped one of the ones that picked me up.”
“For a long time,” Braouk told them, “I was irrational in speech and manner. I raged, and struck out blindly. One time I was so upset that my anger became a shield almost strong enough to allow me to pierce the restraints that were placed upon me.” He indicated the invisible electrical barrier that prevented him from reaching the section of corridor immediately outside his enclosure. “But the deeper one drives, the stronger the field becomes, and I was ultimately forced back. After that, I lay for several days recovering from the experience.” Eyes moved up and down on their supportive stalks. “While I could not move, I fed on the pain of my anger.” His voice rose.
“There are still times occurring when I let the frustration at my condition overtake me. Frenzy of frustration, striking out so blindly, nothing gained!”
“Easy there, big fella, easy.” An alarmed Walker scuttled a yard or so backward on the ground cover. “We’re friends, remember? Rhyming and reason, talking to each other, exchanging pleasantries?”
Calming down, Braouk looked back at the anxious, seated human. “That’s not too bad.”
With a start, Walker realized what he had done. He was unconsciously