Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [65]
Trying what? They didn’t even have a real goal, except to do something different, something that for a change was not controlled by the vile Vilenjji. Maybe, he thought, that was enough. For now, it would have to suffice.
Given a choice, he would rather have perished, like his imaginary friend, from eating too much chocolate, but on board an alien vessel racing across the cosmos that was sadly not a fate that was open to him.
10
It was a damned bright and sunny morning, with the temperature a damned perfect warmth, as it was just about every damned day. Damning the Vilenjji-synchronized repetitiveness of it, Walker and George set off across the grand enclosure to visit Braouk. Along the way, they paused to pick up Sque. The K’eremu emerged from her sodden surroundings in a mood that was unusually subdued even for her. As she was understandably preoccupied, Walker had to spur her to participate in the general conversation.
Finding the hulking Tuuqalian sunk in a dark mood of his own, tentacles and eyestalks entwined in a thick, tight knot, there was some discussion as to whether they should even intrude upon him. After a brief, purposefully loud debate, it was determined that as friends it was their duty to try and rouse him from his proportionately enormous funk. As it was nearly breakfast time, it was either join him in eating or else retrace their steps all the way back to their individual enclosures. It was decided to proceed.
Though they knew the Tuuqalian, none of them knew all the vagaries of his many moods, and so they approached guardedly, keeping close together. As they advanced, a pair of eyes on muscular stalks emerged from the tangle of tentacles to stare down at them intently.
“You three again. I grow sick, dealing with the sight, all obnoxious.”
“Take it easy, Braouk.” Walker continued to approach, flanked by his friends. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
Globular orbs turned away from him, toward the expansive circular patch of open surface where nothing grew. “Hungry. Affects it does the Tuuqalian emotional as well as physical state. Did not eat last night, and should have. Emptiness in belly, screaming loudly of deprivation, addles thinking.”
“It’ll be all right.” Smiling, Walker indicated the circle where the bricks and drink always emerged from below. “Food’ll be up soon enough.”
Limbs like tree trunks trembled. “Hungry now.”
George started to back up, muttering urgently, “This isn’t good, Marc. I don’t like this at all. Let’s come back later.”
“Foolish four-foot no-hands,” Sque admonished him. “We are here now. We came to converse now. I, for one, will not be driven to flight by the anarchic hunger pangs of an overstuffed sentient with only eight serviceable extremities. Far less by one with no head.” Disdaining Walker’s restraining fingers and moving forward on her own ten limbs, she sidled toward the crouching, markedly unhappy Tuuqalian.
“Here now; stop this nonsense and act your intelligence. Such as it is. We have no time to waste on such puerile indulgences.”
Eyestalks swiveled sharply to confront her. The huge, powerful body began to rise on its thick hind limbs. “Always the condescending, disdainful of any other, haughtily patronizing.” Menacing black pupils seemed to expand slightly. “Perhaps better stimulating when engaged in another way.” Tentacles began to unknot.
Walker’s eyes widened. He started to join George in backing up. “Sque—run!”
Perhaps she was too certain of her own unassailability. Perhaps she felt proximity to the mountainous Tuuqalian forestalled any realistic attempt at flight. Or perhaps there was another reason. Regardless, the K’eremu remained rooted to the spot as the angry Tuuqalian loomed over her.
Walker looked around wildly. Sque was caught between Braouk and the corridor. Unexpectedly, a Vilenjji appeared there,