Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [74]
If asked, he could not have estimated how much time passed before Sque turned to call back to him. “I have divined an interesting sequence. I will not explain it to you, since your small mind could not follow the pertinent progressions. You do not need to know or to understand it, anyway. Sufficient to say that I believe I can activate it.”
“Then what happens?” George demanded to know.
Those tentacles she did not need to stand upon rose in unison. “If all goes well, chaos.” Expanding slightly, then contracting, she exited the control box. “Now we need to find access to the level above.”
“What about an air shaft, or something like that?” George asked as he trotted alongside her.
“Use what minimal mental capacity you have.” She shuffled forward impatiently, eyes scanning the high-ceilinged corridor ahead, ever alert for signs of approaching Vilenjji. “You and I could possibly pass through such small conduits, but our friends who await us above could not. We must find a route back to this place that is satisfactorily large enough for both of them—the more so for the Tuuqalian than for your biped.”
As it happened, a seemingly solid wall at the end of the corridor provided the kind of evaporating door they had observed in use before. As they approached, an opening appeared that was large enough to easily accommodate a Vilenjji. If he bent slightly and turned sideways, it would also allow entry to the hulking Tuuqalian. As soon as they stepped back, the door “closed.”
“This will do.” A tentacle reached up to rest on George’s head. Though it was cooler than a human palm, the dog did not shake it off. “Now it is up to you.” Another tentacle gestured. “Once you exit here, turn to your immediate left. A few strides should find you in the inspection corridor that circles the enclosures. Find our friends and bring them back here.”
“Nothing to it,” George replied boldly. “Then what? We all hide from the Vilenjji together?”
“A beginning,” the K’eremu admitted, “that may, with luck, lead to better things.”
Following her back to the control box, tongue lolling nervously, the dog nodded. “Right now I’ll settle for being out of the cage. How will I know when to start my run? Will you give me a wave, or something?”
“You will know,” Sque assured him. “Just do not get caught.” She gestured at the underlevel maze of machinery. “The thought of wandering all alone through this vessel for the rest of my days does not appeal to me.”
“What?” he said as she reentered the haze of hovering controls. “You mean you’d actually miss the company of mentally deficient individuals like Marc and myself?”
“I did not say that—exactly,” she murmured. Then she began thrusting tentacles about, occasionally turning a circle as she worked. To an outsider it appeared as if she was gesticulating aimlessly. Except that when intersected by her weaving appendages, lines of control came alive with different colors, while others shifted position within the box.
When the lights went out, he was ready.
As he charged for the doorway, all four legs pumping furiously, he had a bad moment when it occurred to him that Sque might also have shut down automatic portals. But it opened readily for him as soon as he drew near. A high-pitched shrilling filled his ears. Ignoring the screeching Vilenjji klaxon as he burst through the opening, his paws skidding on the slick floor, he rumbled into the first turn and focused on utilizing the emergency glow that emanated from the floor itself to find his way.
Then it was up the rippling ramp Sque had told him to expect; and before he knew it, he was looking at the enclosures for the first time in many days, only with a significant difference. He was looking at them from the outside.
Which way? He thought he had properly oriented himself before starting out. But the combination of screaming alarm, poor visibility, his own excitement, the first sharp turn, and then the ascent up the ramp to a higher level had disoriented him. Skidding to a halt