Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [3]
His actions were being observed and subjected to the same kind of rigorous analysis that he was applying to the ground beneath his feet. The eyes that watched him were not compound, nor did they belong to representatives of the indigenous wildlife.
“What is he doing?” Clad in color-shifting, pattern-changing camouflage garb, the AAnn advance scout was virtually invisible where she stood crouching within the wall of weaving lakeside sylux. Together with her companion, she watched the blue-carapaced intruder shift his six-legged device, wait, then move it again.
“I enjoy no personal familiarity with thranx scientific mechanisms,” the other scout confessed. “Perhaps he is taking weather readings.”
The slightly larger of the two females gestured third-degree dissent and followed it with a hand movement indicating second-level impatience. “Why send a lone technician out here with a single small device to analyze the weather? Orbiters are far more efficient.”
“That is so,” her companion conceded testily. “I was simply trying to suggest possibilities in the absence of information.”
The concealed reptilian visage peered through the gracefully swaying, dark blue stems. Their constant motion made detailed observation difficult. Furthermore, it was far too humid out here on the surface for her liking. While the thranx thrived in rain forest surroundings—the steamier the better—the AAnn were most comfortable breathing air that was starved of moisture.
“It takes readings of its surroundings. So we will take readings of it taking readings.” Removing a small, tubular device from her belt, she activated it and aimed the shiny, reflective end at the thranx. It was a bit of a gamble, but so preoccupied was the settler with his own work that he did not notice the occasional brief, transitory light flashing from among the dense, oscillating stand of sylux.
The results confirmed the worst fears of both scouts.
“He is making subsurface sonic readings.”
Her companion was properly alarmed. “That cannot be permitted!”
“Correction,” her superior gestured. “The taking of readings can be allowed. What must be prevented is the reporting of those readings to his peers.”
“Look!” Heedless of the fact that her sudden movement might reveal their position in spite of the camouflage gear, the other scout straightened and pointed.
The thranx was folding up his equipment. Turning, he started resolutely back through the grass, making a straight line for his waiting transportation. Keeping low, their suits shifting pattern and hue to match grass instead of sylux, the two scouts followed, steadily closing the distance between themselves and the visitor. As they stalked him, they debated how best to proceed.
“We should call this in,” the smaller female decided.
“Cannot. By the time the seriousness of the situation is realized and a decision handed down, the intruder will be gone and it will be too late to halt the dissemination of the information he has gathered. A broken tooth must be filed down before it can spread infection.”
“I dislike making a decision of such gravity without authority from above.”
“So do I,” her larger companion agreed, “but that is why you and I are here, and most everyone else is not.”
The second scout straightened to her full height, her scaly tail switching nervously back and forth. “He is nearly to his vehicle.”
“I can see that,” hissed her colleague. “The time in which to debate how best to resolve this matter has passed.” Powerful legs pumping, she broke into a sprint.
Worvendapur opened the storage compartment and carefully slid the folded sounder inside, making sure that the cover