Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [56]
George shook his head slowly from side to side. “Are you still thinking about that? I keep telling you, man, even if we could get out of the grand enclosure, there’s no place to get out to. We’re on a ship. In space. You remember space? Cold, dark, lifeless? No air? Get out to where?”
“One small step at a time, poochie.”
The dog drew itself up as much as it could manage. “Don’t call me that. When we first got together you asked me what you should call me. ‘Poochie’ was not among the acceptable designations.”
“All right.” Walker grinned. “I suppose you wouldn’t like me to call you ‘fuzz-butt,’ either.”
George eyed him warningly. “Would you like me to pee on your leg?”
More seriously, Walker asked, “I have to at least think about trying to escape, George. Otherwise I’ll go crazy just sitting here, waiting until the Vilenjji decide to dispose of us. We may not actually be able to do anything about it, but I’d rather have an impossible goal to focus on than nothing at all.”
The dog shrugged. “Suit yourself. Me, I’m happy to roll around in the grass, or whatever they call the stuff that grows in the grand enclosure, gnaw on food bricks, and take long naps. But so long as it doesn’t get us killed, I guess I’m willing to give a hearing to the occasional human absurdity.”
“No promises,” Walker warned him.
The dog sighed. “So what’s the first step we take down this long road you’ve mapped out to eventual futility?”
“We marshal our forces. We take stock of the assets we have at our disposal. That’s what my work has taught me to do when faced with a difficult set of circumstances.”
“That won’t take long.” One paw came up. “We have no weapons. I can scratch and bite. You can scratch and bite and be irritating.” He looked past Walker to the resting Tuuqalian. “If he’s willing to actively participate in whatever insanity you manage to concoct, our friend Braouk might be able to do rather more. What else have we got? Am I overlooking something?”
Walker considered. “Depends on whether she’s willing to help or not. To find out about that, everyone really should meet everyone else.” Turning, he looked back at the ruminative Tuuqalian. “Braouk, when was the last time you were out in the grand enclosure?”
The huge alien struggled to remember. “I cannot recall. It has been a long while, I think. And it may be that I was so crazed with rage and frustration at the time that I cannot see the history of it in my mind’s eye.”
“Would you be willing to do so now? To come with me and George? There is another I’d like you to meet. Another sentient who shares our sentiments. Our feelings.”
“All do,” the Tuuqalian observed. “All here who are captives share in the same aloneness and isolation. What is special about the one of whom you speak?”
Walker smiled knowingly. “She’s about as social as you. The two of you share a mutual aversion to company.”
Tentacles twisted slowly as Braouk considered. “Is she sensitive, while lost in dreaming, isolation imposed?”
“Actually, she’d as soon eat sand as express compassion. In that way, in spirit, you two are utter opposites. That’s why I want you to meet.”
Alien bulk leaned forward until Walker and George found themselves in shadow. “I do not understand, Marcus Walker.”
“If we’re ever going to strike back at our captors, we need allies who complement one another, who bring as many different strengths to the table as possible. That’s how a good board of directors operates. Out of conflict arises the best possible solutions.” Turning to his left, he looked down. “Don’t you agree, George?”
“Uh-huh, sure—if they don’t kill each other first. In a pack, it’s simple. You stick behind the biggest dog with the biggest teeth.”
“Or the smartest one,” Walker argued.
A gleam appeared in the mutt’s eye. “I see where you’re going with this. I’m just not sure I want to go there with you.”
“You can always opt out.” Rising, Walker started toward the grand enclosure.
“Right,