Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [23]
She eyed him curiously. “Why, yes, I suppose so.” Light flashed off the multifarious golden mirrors that were her eyes. “Anyway, if you really want to go there and have a look around, I’ve found someone who might take you.”
His hearts pounded a little faster. “That is interesting. Would I know this person?”
“Perhaps. Her name is Melnibicon. She’s a driver.” When Des indicated his ignorance, Heulmilsuwir elaborated. “We’ve met a number of times, in the course of checking her manifests. It seems that there is a need for a certain medicine in Geswixt. A small quantity of a little-used enzymatic catalyst. Rather than wait to have it shipped from Ciccikalk, our department is sending some over the mountains to Geswixt. A quick courtesy run. Melnibicon is taking it. Since her transport will be pretty much empty except for a single package of medication, I thought she might have room for a passenger.”
“You asked her on my behalf?” Had he not made a conscious effort to suppress it, Desvendapur might have been moved to affection.
“I knew you were interested, and I have enjoyed your recitals so much—and your company.”
“I thought travel was prohibited between Honydrop and Geswixt.” He watched closely for any reaction.
“Restricted. Not prohibited. Otherwise, clearing the requisite bureaucratic strictures would prevent Melnibicon from making the trip. Officially, casual travel is not supposed to take place. But now and again, people do make the journey.” Leaning forward, she reached into a beautifully embroidered, hand-woven abdominal pouch and handed him an embossed plastic rectangle.
“This is where you will find her. She’s leaving mid-midday so she can make it back before dark. It is better to do these things on the cusp of the moment. Too much planning can lead to exposure. Are you going to meet with her and try to do this?”
Gathering all four trulegs beneath him, he slid off the bench. “I don’t know,” he lied. “I’ll have to think about it. If I am found out, it could mean trouble for me.”
“I won’t tell.” The logistics officer flexed her ovipositors coquettishly. “You will get there, have your little look around and visit, and be back before anyone in a position to object realizes that you’ve gone. Where is the harm in that?”
No harm indeed. Eventualities cascaded through his mind like logs swept before a spring monsoon. “I will be back tonight,” he declared flatly.
“Of course you will.” She abandoned her own bench to stand alongside him. “And I will be waiting to greet you, to hear all about your furtive visit to exotic Geswixt.” She gestured amusement.
He started to leave, composing the necessary preparations in his mind. Then he hesitated and looked over at her. “Heul, why this interest in me? Why the persistence on my behalf?”
“You’re a poet, Des. You conform so differently.” With that she was gone, scampering off in the direction of one of the south tunnels. He watched her depart, then headed for his modest quarters. There were several small items he wanted to be sure and take along with him—just in case.
If he was lucky, the opportunity might arise not to come back.
Melnibicon was an older, taciturn thranx whose ovipositors had long since lost their resilience and collapsed against her wing cases. After assuring herself that Desvendapur had come alone and had not been followed, she directed him into the back of the cargo lifter’s cramped cockpit. No one saw him board, the rest of the warehouse facility’s crew being fully occupied with tasks of their own.
Granted clearance, the lifter trundled out through the weather-tight double doors onto a small, spotless landing area. Des was jolted when the craft took off straight up, rising to a height of several hundred feet before leveling off and accelerating eastward.
“Sorry about that.” Melnibicon grunted a terse apology as she kept a careful watch on her instrumentation, occasionally glancing up to take in the daunting view forward. “I’m used to hauling cargo and produce, not sightseers.”
“It’s all right.