Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [69]
“After all saying, it is well known, Tuuqalian berserks,” was how the big alien had put it. Familiar as they were with his periodic rages, he believed that one more would not arouse any unusual suspicions among the Vilenjji. To further enhance the drama, Walker would react to Braouk’s feeding frenzy with as much emotion as he could muster. Anything the human chose to do by way of response, Braouk assured him, the Tuuqalian could and would ignore. And, the dog marveled as he lay on his belly and listened to the ceaseless hum and whir and click of busy machinery all around them, it had worked. So far. He and Sque had made it safely outside the enclosure boundaries, perhaps the first captives of the Vilenjji ever to do so. Assuming the Vilenjji believed the evidence of their own electronic eyes, they could reasonably come to no other conclusion than that the small quadruped and decapod were both demised and in the process of being digested. Which meant no one would come looking for them.
“You’ve got to hand it to Marc,” he whispered, trying to look every which way at once. “For a human, he’s pretty damn clever.”
From within the rust-red splay of tentacles bunched up next to him, the K’eremu replied, “I confess I was initially dismissive. The audacity of it defies logic. Yet here we are, for the first time since our captivity, free from the caging of the detested Vilenjji. If only for these few moments of freedom, I am grateful for your friend’s primal cunning.” In the near darkness, watchful eyes glinted. “Given time and sufficient aspiration, I would of course have concocted a similar stratagem myself.”
Sure you would, George thought sardonically—but to himself. Having taught Marc how to grovel slavishly, he was not about to disregard his own counsel. If they were going to build on their immediate success, they needed to sustain the full concentration and enthusiasm of the dank cluster of crafty coils resting alongside him.
He wondered how Marc was doing, still trapped up above, still acting the part of the grievously outraged. He had no doubt that his human was at that moment probably wondering precisely the same thing about him.
Lying there in the almost blackness next to the clammy K’eremu, his fur still thickly matted with the sticky residue of Tuuqalian mouth moisture, the dog marveled at what they had already accomplished.
“I’ll bet we are the first captives to ever escape from a Vilenjji enclosure.”
Nearby, Sque’s flexible form was a conical shadow in the dim light. “I cannot say for certain, but we are certainly the first to do so in all the time I have spent on this disagreeable vessel.” Eyes shifted. “Odd as it may sound, while reposing within our large companion’s capacious mouth and struggling to avoid suffocation therein, it came to me as to how I can adequately deal with my own somewhat quirky tastes.”
“You mean your addiction.” As he scanned the dark accessway in front of them, the dog was panting softly.
Sque was sufficiently aloof to ignore the recurring aspersion. “Our present position places us just outside the good Braouk’s environment and just inside the grand enclosure.” One tentacle pointed toward the food lift they had dodged in the course of making their escape. “A similar device for supplying food and water lies beneath every individual ecosystem. As you know, these are in turn arranged in a circle around the circumference of the grand enclosure.” The limb continued to gesture. “If we follow these successive food lifts around the curve of the zone where captives are kept, we will eventually reach our own. I will then have access to those food squares that are synthesized specifically for my digestive system, and you for yours.”
George considered. “Won’t the Vilenjji, or their equipment, notice if food bricks are missing before they’re served up top?”
“Nourishment is provided thrice daily,” she replied. “A brick or cube here and there ought not to be missed. Even if the absence of one or two prior to delivery are, our captors