Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [104]
“What about applying a sterile covering or spray?”
“The necessary materials for sealing the wounds are in my pack. Once treated, the internal perforations will heal on their own.” His abdomen shifted. “The break is another matter.”
Cheelo sighed. Why he didn’t just offer a final salute and farewell and return to the solitary depths of the rain forest on his own he didn’t know. Perhaps it was because it was beginning to occur to him that there might, just might, be a way to realize some profit from his unexpected encounter. Experience had taught him that there was always money to be made from the new and the different, and if the alien wasn’t new and different, why then, nothing qualified.
“Let’s have a look.”
It was the lower portion of the middle right limb that had been snapped. Blood poured from the split more freely than it would have from any human. Under Desvendapur’s direction, Cheelo applied sealants and dressings from the thranx’s kit to freeze and close the wound, binding it shut with a pastelike composite that would set the fracture firmly. Derived from a synthetic chitin, it would become as much a part of the alien’s body as his natural limbs.
It did not set instantaneously, however. They would need to move slowly for several days. Additionally, the broken limb required supplementary support. Demonstrating a dexterity that surprised the poet, Cheelo fashioned a makeshift double splint from available wood, securing it to the mended limb with multiple twists of tough vine.
“That should do you.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“It will suffice very well,” the thranx agreed. “But then, it’s only natural that someone who spends his time working alone in vast tracts of jungle should have mastered such necessary survival skills.”
“That’s right.” Cheelo did not go on to explain that the jungle whose survival skills he had mastered consisted of dark streets and back alleys, shadowy business enterprises and their glowering associates. On reflection, it was not surprising how many of the abilities that allowed someone like himself to survive the threats and dangers of the urban jungle were applicable to survival in the natural world as well.
In lieu of a suitable couch, Desvendapur settled himself across a broken stump padded with thriving fungi, resting as much of his abdomen as possible on the wooden brace. “Now that immediate problems have been dealt with, I was wondering if you could answer a question or two for me?” His human companion was not surprised to see that the alien’s scri!ber was out and activated.
More in an endless succession of queries about humankind, Cheelo grumbled silently. For someone who had developed a healthy dislike of questions, he found himself answering an awful lot of them lately.
“Okay, as long as we don’t waste the rest of the day playing Who’s Got the Answer. I’m working on a schedule. What do you want to know this time? How our ‘hives’ are organized? What our hobbies are? Why we keep other animals as pets? Details of our mating habits?” His face broke into a wide smirk. “Ay, yeah—let’s talk about mating habits. Only this time, for every one of your questions I answer, I get to ask one of my own.”
“For the moment I would prefer not to delve into matters so intimate, though in a way my first question might be considered even more personal.” The thranx was staring at him. Leastwise, Cheelo thought it was staring at him. Given the amorphousness of those multiple compound lenses, it was hard to tell.
“Like what, for instance?” The human was still grinning. It pleased him to think that his directness might have unsettled the alien.
“Like, for instance, why have you been lying to me?”
Cheelo tensed. There was no reason for him to do so, not with the only other intelligent creature for kilometers around an alien—and one that was reduced to hobbling on a busted wheel to boot. His reaction was pure reflex.
“Lying to you? Who’s been lying to