Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [131]
Screw it.
“Come on, Deswhel—Desvencrapur. We’re outta here.” With the rifle, he gestured at Maruco. “I want the airtruck. I told you, I’ve got an appointment to keep. If coaxed right, I think that truck’ll make it all the way up to the isthmus.”
Keeping his hands in plain sight, the angry poacher nodded in the direction of the accessway that connected the ridge-top living quarters to the shop and garage. “You’ll leave us marooned here.”
“Bullshit.” Cheelo laughed, enjoying the turn of events fully. “Your buyers are going to come running, and they’ll be bringing their own transportation.” He grinned broadly. “Of course, they’re not gonna be real happy with you when they find out that the prize you offered them decided not to hang around. Now, what about that truck?”
“It’s an open design,” Hapec told him. “Take it. I just have to unlock the navigation system.”
“Like hell. All you have to do is activate the cencomp. You think I’m gonna give you a chance to program the engine for self-destruct? D’you think I was born dumb, like you two?” Maruco’s expression tightened, but the poacher said nothing.
“Let’s go.” Cheelo gestured with the muzzle. “Despindo—Des, you follow me. We’ll get as close to this colony of yours as you think we safely can, and I’ll drop you there.”
“Colony?” Maruco’s small black eyes blinked. “What colony?”
Cheelo ignored him, waiting for the thranx’s reply.
“Among my people I am guilty of the most egregious antisocial activity. They would confine me until I could be sent offworld for more formal punishment. So if you do not object, Cheelo Montoya, I would rather continue to travel in your company. For a little while longer, at least.”
“No can do, big-eyes. This boy’s jungle jaunt is over. I got to fly a long ways now, or I’m gonna be late for the dance. Besides, don’t you have your poems, your compositions, to perform for your fellow bugs?”
The blue-green head swayed gently from side to side. “Insufficiently mitigating circumstances, I am afraid. I would far rather continue my ruminations, would much prefer to seek additional inspiration. Some day, of course, I will reveal them to all the hives. But not yet.” Overhead lighting sparkled in his eyes, imparting to the multiple lenses a muted crystalline gleam. “There is still so much more I wish to do.”
“Have it your way.” An indifferent Cheelo gestured again with the rifle. Plenty of time to decide what to do with the bug once they were safely back down in the rain forest. As the two poachers stumbled off ahead of him, Maruco looked back over his shoulder.
“What were you saying about a colony? There’s a whole colony of ’em here on Earth? Down in the Reserva? I never heard nothing about anything like that.”
“Shut your face and keep moving. I know the truck’s coded, so you’re going to start it for me.”
“Then it’s true! There’s an alien outpost in the Reserva that’s being kept from the public.” Rising excitement dominated the poacher’s voice. “And you didn’t say outpost; you said colony.” He looked over at his partner. “This might be the biggest secret on the planet. Any one of the fifty big media groups would pay a lifetime annuity for that kind of information. It’s worth a helluva lot more than one live bug.” Once more he looked back at the stony-faced Cheelo.
“What do you say, vato? We’ve got the facilities here for communicating worldwide while hiding the source of the signal. We sell the information to the highest bidder and split it three ways. Nobody gets sold; nobody gets hurt. Plenty credit for everybody.” When Cheelo failed to respond, Maruco’s agitation increased. “Hell, we don’t need you to sell it. But the Reserva’s a big place, and this colony or base or whatever it is must be really well hid. Hapec and I are down there a lot, and we’ve sure never suspected anything like this was there. You know where it is.