Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [127]
“Doesn’t look like your bug buddy is too upset. Make it easy on yourself. Tell it this is all part of some weird human welcoming ritual.”
“Tell it yourself,” Cheelo spat, his anger making him thoughtless.
Hapec’s hand started to come up, but he was restrained by his companion. “Don’t give him any excuses. And we really don’t want to upset our prize pretty if we can avoid it.” Leaning close, Maruco stared hard into the snugly manacled thief’s eyes. “You, on the other hand, I don’t mind upsetting. Behave yourself, and you’ll end up with a nice, free, private suborbital ride. Make trouble and we’ll just have to sell the bug without an interpreter.” Straightening, he turned to regard the thranx, which was presently engaged in a detailed examination of the kitchen facilities.
“What does it eat? Is it hungry?”
Subdued and unhappy, Cheelo replied in a reluctant mumble. “It’s strictly vegetarian: hates the sight of meat. It can digest a lot of terrestrial plants. I don’t know what kind are the most nourishing. I’ll have to ask it.” He held up his bound wrists. “Of course, I can’t talk to it with my hands tied.”
Maruco’s expression twisted. It was clear neither poacher had thought of that when they’d secured him. With a knife, he slit the wrist bindings. “Okay, but as soon as you get the answers we need, you get tied up again. And no tricks.”
Cheelo spread his palms wide. “What am I going to do? Tell it to call the rangers? Remember, it’s here covertly, too.” Turning his attention to Desvendapur, he began an elaborate wiggling and twisting of his fingers.
The poet paid dutiful attention to these meaningless gestures before replying with truhand and foothand gesticulations of his own. What he said with his hands was that Cheelo was a pontik, a particularly slow and stupid kind of grub. The two antisocials were pepontiks, or pre-pontiks, an even lower class of intelligence not bright enough to be classified as stupid. None of the three humans had the slightest idea what his complex gestures meant, of course, but it amused him to respond so.
Determining how best to reply not to Cheelo’s meaningless inquiry but to the antisocial’s actual query was a bigger problem. Since he could not speak, he would have to establish his dietary requirements in some other fashion. Turning away, he embarked on an up-close examination of the sink, leaving Cheelo to fend for explanations himself.
Deprived of support, Montoya improvised. “It’s not hungry right now, and when it’s not hungry it doesn’t like to talk about food.”
Maruco grunted. “We’ll thaw out a selection of fruits and vegetables. It can pick out what it wants or needs. Meanwhile, I’ve got a sale to advertise. Hapec, you unload the truck.” His partner nodded and headed for the access corridor that linked the two main buildings. The other poacher’s gaze narrowed as he considered his one bound prisoner. “You bounce around enough to make me think you’re trying to slip out of those seals, and I’ll put a couple of ’em over your face.” His smirk widened. “You can tell the bug it’s part of the ritual.” He glanced in Desvendapur’s direction.
“I’m not going to check its pack, or container, or whatever that thing is riding on its back, because I don’t want to upset it. I know it’s not carrying any weapons because if it was it would have tried using them by now.”
Cheelo nodded. “Like I told you: It was doing research. That’s why it has cooperated so far. It’s not armed.” This, insofar as Cheelo knew, was the actual truth.
“Fine. We’ll leave it at that—for now, anyway.” Reaching down, the poacher slapped another self-sealing strap on the other man’s wrists. In seconds they were tightly bound again. “That’s so you can’t ‘talk’ to it behind my back while I’m working.”
Turning, he walked to a desk near the rear of the room and settled himself into a chair. Within minutes he was communicating with faraway places and the representatives of an orderly succession of individuals whose ethics were as impoverished as their bank accounts were expansive.
While a helpless Cheelo