Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [73]
From their hiding place, the escapees watched as the two Vilenjji continued on down the accessway. Reaching an apparently blank place in the wall at the end of the corridor, they paused for a moment until an opening appeared, allowing them to step through. The doorway closed behind them, leaving in its wake what appeared to be solid metal.
“We will have to proceed with far greater caution here.” Sque was carefully edging out from beneath their hiding place. “We have moved from the realm of machines into a part of the vessel that is actually inhabited.”
As he emerged, George unconsciously sidled closer to the K’eremu. “Do you still think we have a chance of bringing this off? If we try accessing anyplace sensitive, won’t we run into some of them?”
She eyed him tolerantly. “Despite the size of this craft, I do not believe there are so very many Vilenjji on it. The operational details of travel between the stars remains the province of machines that can carry out the steady stream of requisite intricate functions without the well-meaning interference of clumsy organics. Particularly since they are engaged in a highly illegal enterprise, I would think that the complement of this crew is not very large. When faced with an emergency such as we hope to engender, they will be compelled to rely for rectification, at least at first, on their mechanicals. Properly anticipated, that can be to our advantage.” She moved out into the light.
George instinctively held back. “Hey, where are you going?”
Continuing to advance on her tentacles, she turned her upper body to look back at him. “Nothing is to be gained by clinging to the shadows. We seek not places to hide, but places to act. In lieu of access to relevant instrumentation, we must find something of significance that we can break—or break into.”
Trotting out of the darkness, the dog quickly caught up to her. She was agile, but not very fast. From what he had learned of the K’eremu, boldness was something he had not expected from her. But then, aliens were full of surprises.
It took several days of searching, occasionally ducking back into the maze of machinery to hide from promenading Vilenjji, before Sque let out a cross between a squeal and a hiss that George later learned was the K’eremu equivalent of an expression of surprise.
They were standing before what looked like a three-dimensional representation of a neon sign that had collided with a truckload of predecorated Christmas trees. In the course of their cautious explorations they had encountered several similar softly humming fabrications, but without exception they had been much smaller—no larger than mailbox size. This one was big enough for a pair of Vilenjji to enter. It was also the first one to have sparked visible excitement in his companion.
“What is it?” he asked dutifully.
Sque’s eyes had expanded slightly in their recesses. “A control box. A significant one. If fortune favors us, the one that we seek.” She started forward.
“Wait a minute.” The dog looked around nervously. “What if it’s protected by an alarm or something?”
“Why should it be?” The K’eremu spoke without looking back at him. “Who would it be alarmed against? Escaped captives? There is no such thing as escaped captives. Keep watch while I work.”
Ready to bolt at the first sign of alarm, George followed her progress as she ambled into the lambent control box. There was a slight frisson in the air as she entered, but that was all. Once inside, she began to study the floating, semisolid lights and lines that constituted the actual controls.
She need not have asked George to stand watch. He would have done so automatically, since as soon as she entered the control area her attention became totally focused on the airy instrumentation surrounding her. All around them, vast complexes of machinery labored to provide not only for the health and well-being of