Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [54]
“You sure you’ve never been off the planet before, Marc?”
“Not to my knowledge. Although there were times when my profession seemed pretty otherworldly.” Standing, he brushed at the back of his pants, stretched. “You have to learn to contain your temper and manage irritation,” he told Braouk. “There are things you can’t control. Restraining yourself doesn’t mean giving up.” He glanced significantly toward the corridor. “As we say in the commodities business, the day may come when the chance presents itself to make a killing, and you have to be mentally ready to take it.” Would the watching, monitoring Vilenjji translate his analogy, or take his words literally? he wondered.
The Tuuqalian was large, loud, and intimidating, but he was not unintelligent. He said nothing, preferring instead to gesture with all four tentacles. Walker hoped it was an indication of understanding.
“Right,” George barked in agreement. “That means not eating friends.”
“Are you then my friends? I have no friends,” Braouk rumbled despondently.
“You do now. Two of ’em.” And, showing more courage than Walker had known the dog possessed, the mutt trotted up to the looming wall of the Tuuqalian and deliberately licked the end of one tentacle. Walker held his breath.
Both eyestalks bent to regard the tiny quadruped. Walker knew how fast the Tuuqalian could move if it wanted to. If Braouk was so inclined, if the alien was the least bit irritated by the gesture, the dog would disappear in a single gulp.
Instead, Braouk watched silently as George backed away. “So I have friends, it seems. Stiff of joint, awkward of speaking voice, unusual compassion. I accept your presence, and your offering.” Both eyes focused on the dog. “Do not do that again, though.”
“Got it,” George replied with alacrity. “Among my kind, it’s a gesture of liking.”
“Among my kind,” the Tuuqalian responded, “it is a gesture of tasting.”
“Is that why the Vilenjji have kept you isolated so much, and for so long?” Walker wanted to know, anxious to change the subject. “Because you, uh, kept having dinner with anyone you came in contact with?”
“To some extent, I am sure. Certainly each time I made a meal of another of their captives, it cost them future profits.” The Tuuqalian looked away. “Partly also, I am sure, they isolated me because I have so often displayed unpredictability in my nature. This prevents them from properly assessing me. My mindless rages they mistake for ignorance, condemning me. Not that, if granted the opportunity, I would in any event wish to squat and communicate pleasantries with them.” Tentacles rippled. “What I would like to do is first remove their outermost limbs, then their genitalia, then their eyes, then their—”
“I can’t see why they’d shun your presence,” George observed perceptively, “or why they wouldn’t find you a laugh riot at pack parties.” The dog cocked his head to one side. “Do the Vilenjji laugh? You know more about them than Marc or I.”
“A stimulating question.” Interestingly, when the Tuuqalian turned thoughtful, his eyes moved toward one another, as if seeking enlightenment in each other’s reflection. “I have not observed any behavior that could be definitively classified as such. But then, those times when they enter into the presence of the ensnared may not be the ones when they elect to relax in collective jollity.”
“Don’t know why they fail to find you amusing,” George commented. “Maybe it’s your attitude.”
Both eyes swerved to gaze down at the dog. “They perceive only my physicality, and my furies, and do not try to interact with the sensitive inner part that is my true self.”
“Might have something to do with your determination to tear them limb from limb,” Walker pointed out.
“Barbarians. They have technology, are devoid of culture, moneygrubbers!”
“And bulk kidnappers, don’t forget,” George added helpfully.
“My situation languishes, for want of hope, lachrymose laughing.”
Walker pursed his lips.