Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [86]
“I am pleased with the arrangement, but why do you wish your presence here to remain unknown? Surely secrecy is not a necessary component to the work of a naturalist?”
Cheelo did not think as fast as the poet, but he managed to improvise a reply before Desvendapur could grow uneasy.
Lowering his voice, he moved a little nearer. As the lanky bipedal form loomed over him, Des took a step backward, then forced himself to halt. Was this not, after all, what he had come for? The decreasing distance that separated them would have been easier to deal with if the human had not smelled so bad. The climate of the humid rain forest served to magnify the pungency of its body odor, which unavoidably reeked of previously ingested flesh.
“To tell you the truth, I’m sort of here illegally myself. Access to this part of the Reserva is restricted. Not everyone can get a permit to do work in the Manu. And I needed to be here.” Oh, how I needed to be here, he thought. “So I just kind of slipped in, quietly and on my own. It’s not hard to do, if you know how to go about it. The Manu is big, and ranger outposts hereabouts are isolated and lightly staffed.” He drew himself up proudly.
“Not many people would think of exploring this region on their own, much less actually try to do so. You might say that I’m an exceptional person.”
“Yes, I can sense that.” Were humans, too, vulnerable to praise and flattery? It was another similitude, but this time one that Desvendapur chose not to expound upon. Such knowledge could prove valuable in the days ahead.
“Well, this has been fascinating, really fascinating, but I have to get on with my work, and I’m sure you feel the same about your own.” Demonstrating astonishing balance, the biped pivoted and turned to leave. In so doing, Desvendapur saw the wrenching, intense inspiration he had worked so long and hard to access disappearing with it.
By taking several steps forward, he induced the human to turn back once again. Rather abruptly, the poet came to a decision. “Your pardon.” He fought down the churning in his stomachs that was induced by proximity to the creature. “But if you would not object, I would just as soon adapt my route so that it coincides with yours.”
14
Words had never been Cheelo Montoya’s forte. Needing some to cope with an unexpected moment deep in the rain forest was no exception. He found himself fumbling for an appropriate response.
The last thing he wanted was company. The more alone he was, the better his chances of avoiding the attention of local authorities. He saw no advantage to having his tracks shadowed by a curious artist, be it human or alien.
Unable to think of an all-inclusive reply, he stalled. “Why would you want to tag along with me?”
“I am—I have been interested in your kind ever since I learned of the inaugural project that was set up on Willow-Wane to try and facilitate communication and understanding between our species. Long ago I resolved to thrust myself, with only my studies and my wits, into direct confrontation with your kind, seeking in it a source of inspiration as new to me as it was forbidden to my brethren.”
Cheelo could not help but respond with a short, derisive snort. “If it’s inspiration you’re looking for, you won’t find it in my company.”
“Allow me to be the judge of that.”
Formal sort of bug, Cheelo found himself thinking. He wondered if they were all like this. “I travel alone.” He indicated the surrounding rain forest. “Isn’t this enough alien inspiration for you? A whole new world to explore?”
“It is wonderful,” Desvendapur agreed, “but better I see it through your eyes, peculiar as they are, than only through mine. Don’t you see? In your company I experience everything twice: as I apperceive it, and as you do.”
“Well, you’re going to have to damn well apperceive it by your lonesome. I don’t like company.” For the second time he turned away.
“If you do not allow me to travel with you, I will expose you to the local human authorities,” the poet declared rapidly.