Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [130]
Slowly, the poacher knelt and ran the blade across the restraining plastic. With a curt gasp of relief, Cheelo kicked his feet apart.
A thranx did not need to look out of the corner of its eyes to see action transpiring off to one side. Multiple lenses scanned a much wider field than human eyes could see, allowing for considerably greater peripheral vision. He shifted the tip of the weapon significantly in the direction of the larger human, who had risen and taken a step in the direction of the other gun.
“Although I am not familiar with the kind of result it produces, I believe I know how this weapon operates. I also believe that you should move the other way and stand alongside your friend.”
“It’s bluffing.” Maruco began edging away from Cheelo, who had risen from the chair where he had been imprisoned and was now stomping about in an attempt to get circulation flowing to his feet again. “It doesn’t know how to fire the gun.”
“Yeah?” Keeping his hands in plain sight, Hapec slowly and carefully came around behind the table to join his colleague. “Then you go pick the other one up.”
As he studied the weapon-wielding bug, Maruco spread his hands innocently wide, ignorant of the fact that the subject of his supplication did not know the meaning of the gesture.
“Okay, so you can talk. There’s no need for this. We mean you no harm.” Smiling ingratiatingly, he nodded at the now-standing Cheelo. “Our tying him up is just part of a special greeting and guest ritual.”
“No it isn’t,” Desvendapur responded in his whispery but increasingly articulate Terranglo. “You forget that while I did not speak, I could listen. I have heard and understood everything that has been said since you first appeared before us in the forest. I know that you meant to kill us until Cheelo convinced you to sell us instead.” He did not need to be familiar with the extraordinary diversity of human facial expression to interpret the one that now dominated the muscles of the poachers’ countenances.
Still rubbing his wrists and flicking out his feet to stimulate the long-restrained muscles, Cheelo walked over to his alien companion. Having resigned himself to being sold as part of a package deal, he now found himself in a position he thought not to experience again for some time.
“You’re full of surprises, bug.”
The heart-shaped head and its great golden eyes turned toward him. “My name is Desvendapur.”
“Ay, right.” He reached out with both hands. “I’ll take that now. Not that I don’t think you can use it, but I’m probably a better shot than you.” As the poet complaisantly handed over the weapon, Cheelo added by way of afterthought, “You do know how to use it, don’t you? You weren’t bluffing?”
“Oh, I’m sure I could have activated it. The firing mechanism is simple, and although the weapon is designed for human arms and hands, it fits well enough in mine. I would never have done so, of course.”
“What’s that?” Maruco strained to make certain he had heard properly.
“Although we have had to fight to defend ourselves in the past, and have evolved from primitive ancestors who battled constantly among themselves, we have become a peaceful species.” Antennae bobbed elaborately. “I could never have shot you unless my life was directly threatened.”
“It was threatened!” Cheelo reminded him.
The thranx shook its head, further surprising the poachers by its mastery and utilization of a common human gesture. “My freedom of movement was at risk, not my life. Although my preference is to return to the colony, I could have tolerated being transported to another part of your planet, could have lost myself in exposure to an entirely new environment and surroundings.”
Maruco blinked. “Then why did you pick up the gun in the first place?”
“As I said, because for many reasons I would prefer to return to the hive. Also because my life and freedom of movement were not the only ones at stake.” Both antennae dipped in Cheelo’s direction.
A welter of conflicting emotion surged to the fore within the thief as the thranx