Lost and found_ a novel - Alan Dean Foster [99]
With their rounded but roughly triangular bodies facing forward, he could clearly make out the three legs that provided sturdy tripodal support. Each of three legs terminated in three long, supple digits. A small, feathery hearing or smelling organ was located above each eye. One of the latter faced forward while the other two scanned the creature’s surroundings to its right and left. There was nothing resembling nostrils. Below the forward-facing eye, a small, roughly triangular mouth opened and closed as the alien spoke. Except for being far smaller, more delicate, and devoid of visible teeth, this alien orifice was in shape and evolved structure not unlike Braouk’s massive clashing jaws. What epidermis Walker could see sticking out of their attire was a light beige.
Unlike the Vilenjji, who favored loose, baggy attire, the newcomers were clad in form-fitting ensembles equipped with a no-nonsense array of supplementary straps, belts, and equipment of jewel-like precision and finish. Every piece of the latter was vibrantly color-coded, while the triangular suits themselves glowed a slightly brighter shade of white than their vessel. This garb terminated in pallid slippers within which each of the three long toes was clearly delineated.
While the majority of devices on display could be operated by one or two hands, one newcomer neatly balanced an intimidating-looking piece of equipment that wrapped completely around the front of its body and required all three hands to operate. Walker could not imagine what it did, nor did he especially wish to find out.
“You’re not going to hand us back to the Vilenjji?” George’s hesitant query reflected the same uncertainty that was at that moment being experienced by every one of his friends.
“We find ourselves confronted by a set of circumstances as potentially unsettling as they are peculiar,” the unarmed leader replied. Its tone, insofar as the translator implant could reproduce it accurately, struck Walker as determinedly neutral. He decided to regard that as promising. “Nothing will be resolved in haste. Most particularly, nothing will be settled here. We decide nothing imprudently.” Stepping to one side, he gestured in unmistakable fashion.
With nothing to be gained by objecting, and failing to see how their situation could be made any worse by complying, the four escapees acceded to the newcomer’s demand. As they filed past, Walker noted that while the armed aliens appeared to be impressed by Braouk’s size, neither were they visibly intimidated. An impressive people, to be sure.
“Who are ‘we’?” he asked the leader as he strode past it. “I mean, you. You don’t look anything like Vilenjji.”
“I am the facilitator Choralavta of the neuter gender. We are of the Sessrimathe,” it added, as if that explained everything.
As they were marched out of the lock and into a waiting chamber that was clearly not part of the Vilenjji ship, Walker leaned over to whisper to Sque, who was scuttling along beside him.
“These are Sessrimathe. Ever hear of ’em?”
“I have not.” She glanced up at him from out of the deep recesses of her eye sockets. “As such, I have no notion of how they may think or of what they may intend.”
“Returning us to the Vilenjji, probably,” George muttered aloud as he trotted along slightly ahead of them both. “Or taking us for themselves, to sell later.”
“It’s a sad thing,” Walker informed the dog irritably, “that all mutts don’t have your incurably positive outlook.”
The dog looked back over a shoulder at him. “Gee, I can’t imagine why I haven’t been bubbling over with optimism lately. Maybe you can explain the failing to me—if we live out the day.”
In contrast to the colossal craft from which it had been sent, the Sessrimathe transfer vessel was modest enough to be considered compact. With Braouk tucked uncomfortably in the back, there was barely enough room for the aliens and their four—what? What were they now? Walker wondered.