Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [40]
Nothing happened.
When he struggled to find the words and sounds to describe his encounter with the human, nothing suitable manifested itself. Oh, there were sounds and phrases at his disposal: an ocean of suitable components wanting only inspiration to lock them tightly together. He assembled several stanzas—and erased them. Attempting to mime the sound of the human voice while utilizing thranx terminology, he constructed an edifice of hoarse clicks—and tore it apart.
What was wrong? The words were there, the sounds—but something was missing. The consecution lacked fire, the framework elegance. Everything had happened so fast he had only been able to react, when what he really needed was time to absorb, to study, to contemplate. Concentrating on survival, he had not had time to open himself to inspiration.
The only explanation, the only solution, was obvious. More input was needed. More of everything. More contact, more conversation, more drama—though next time, not of the life-threatening variety. He remembered the words of the human Niles. But how could he apply for a professional position in the human sector that might not even exist? Or if it did, how could he ingratiate himself with the necessary authority without revealing information he was not supposed to know?
He would find a way. He was good with invention, with words. Not inspired, perhaps. Not yet. But he did not need to be inspired to proceed. He needed only to be clever.
Would the human speak of their encounter to his own superiors or coworkers? And if he did, would word of the unauthorized contact reach the thranx authorities who administered the indigenous half of the complex? Desvendapur waited many days before he was convinced that the human had kept the details of the confrontation and rescue to himself. Either that, or his coworkers did not feel the incident worthy of mention to their hosts. Only when Des felt halfway confident that news of the occasion had not been disseminated did he risk probing possibilities.
“I do not understand.” Rulag, Des’s immediate superior, was gazing at the readout on her screen. “It says here that you are to report for service to the human sector tomorrow morning at sunrise. You have been assigned to the inner detail.”
Somehow Desvendapur managed to contain himself. This was what he had been waiting for. “I have repeatedly applied for any opening in food preparation in the human sector, in the hopes that they might expand our presence there.”
“You know very well that they have been doing so, albeit slowly and carefully. But that’s not what puzzles me.” With two digits of a truhand she indicated the readout, which was positioned out of Des’s line of sight. “It says here that you are to bring all your belongings with you. Apparently you are not only to work in the human sector; you are also to reside there.” She looked up at him. “To my knowledge, all thranx who work with the bipeds have their quarters here, on the border of Geswixt proper.”
He shifted edgily on all four feet. “Obviously there has been a change in policy. Or perhaps it is part of some new experiment.”
Her interest as she studied him was genuine. “This doesn’t bother you? You are prepared to go and live among the humans?”
“I will be with others of my own kind.” He genuflected confidence. “Surely I’m not the only one to be so assigned. The humans would not request only a lowly assistant food preparator to come live and work among them.”
“No, there have been others. You are right about that. Only you from our division, but I have talked with other level-nine supervisors. One from meteorology has been similarly assigned, another from engineering—you will have company.” She gestured brusque negativity. “I couldn’t do it.”
“You don’t have a sufficiently open or exploratory nature,” Desvendapur replied gently. It was not a criticism.
“Yes I do, but only where innovative food preparation is concerned.” Rising from the desk, she dipped her antennae toward him. “I will miss you, Desvenbapur. Not particularly on a personal basis, but in the