occurred to him that anything that tried to grow in the depression would find itself subject to permanent if shallow inundation. Any hopeful epiphyte that took root in the hollow would find its roots rotting quickly. Striding forward into the liquid, he watched it slide over the tip of his boot. A swarm of tiny red ovals with outsized black eyespots scurried away from his foot. Apparently they lived in the water without coming to any harm.
He was halfway across the depression when he was forced to pause. His right foot was refusing to comply with the instructions from his brain. Irritated that he might have momentarily stepped in a deeper crack and caught himself, he looked back and down.
There was no crack. It was the water itself that had undergone a startlingly rapid transformation. He leaned forward. His leg refused to move. When he tried to turn to gain more leverage, he found that his left foot was also stuck fast. He was locked in place, unable to advance or retreat, his boots entrapped by a thick, transparent, tarlike substance. Furthermore, it wasn’t inactive.
Very much to the contrary, it was slowly but inexorably crawling up the sides of his boots even as he watched.
Alarmed at the abrupt change in her master’s emotional state, Pip rose to hover anxiously. From time to time she dove combatively toward the depression, perceiving it to be the source of Flinx’s upset, but there was nothing she could do. This time there were no inimical eyes to focus upon, no head to strike at.
The branch beneath him quivered slightly and Flinx flailed wildly to keep his balance. If he fell over and got his front or back stuck in the thickening goo, he’d be unable to move at all. He tried not to think of what might happen if he fell facedown. He would suffocate rapidly and unpleasantly.
A section of branch directly in front of him suddenly rose. It was pointed, rough-edged, and designed to fit flush with the top of the hollow that had been excavated in the living wood. Reaching down, Flinx fought to release the rip-fastener that secured his front boot. If nothing else, he could try stepping out of his footwear and making a leap for safety, an alternative denied to this extraordinary predator’s accustomed prey. If he could make it over the side of the branch he would be safe.
Depending on how far he fell and what he landed on, he reminded himself.
A semicircle of nine opalescent orbs bordered the apex of the creature’s head, if such it could be called. Devoid of irises or pupils, the organs might be no more than primitive light-and-motion sensors. More than adequate for the creature’s needs, he told himself. The gunk gripping his boots continued to flow energetically upward. When it reached his pants he’d have to consider abandoning them as well.
As he reached for his boot fastener, a deep bubbling noise emerged from the depths of his undefinable assailant. The surface heaved beneath him and he found himself, arms swinging madly, catapulted over the side of the branch. As he fell he realized that the predator must have some way of separating what was edible from what was not. Leaves, branches, and other debris must frequently fall from above, he realized. Like a spider cleaning its web, it was natural to expect that the glue-sucker would have a way of detecting and ridding itself of the inedible.
Plasticized travel boots, for example.
It was seven hundred meters or so to the actual ground. Surely he would fetch up against something before he reached that final, unyielding destination.
Even as he pondered the possibilities, he found himself entangled in a cluster of thin, unyielding green vines. His momentum snapped several before his fall was arrested. For several moments he hung twisting in their knotted grasp, his feet kicking at the air, before he realized they were pulling him
up
.
Tilting back his head, he found himself staring at the source of the vines: something like a giant lavender orchid squatting
He was halfway across the depression when he was forced to pause. His right foot was refusing to comply with the instructions from his brain. Irritated that he might have momentarily stepped in a deeper crack and caught himself, he looked back and down.
There was no crack. It was the water itself that had undergone a startlingly rapid transformation. He leaned forward. His leg refused to move. When he tried to turn to gain more leverage, he found that his left foot was also stuck fast. He was locked in place, unable to advance or retreat, his boots entrapped by a thick, transparent, tarlike substance. Furthermore, it wasn’t inactive.
Very much to the contrary, it was slowly but inexorably crawling up the sides of his boots even as he watched.
Alarmed at the abrupt change in her master’s emotional state, Pip rose to hover anxiously. From time to time she dove combatively toward the depression, perceiving it to be the source of Flinx’s upset, but there was nothing she could do. This time there were no inimical eyes to focus upon, no head to strike at.
The branch beneath him quivered slightly and Flinx flailed wildly to keep his balance. If he fell over and got his front or back stuck in the thickening goo, he’d be unable to move at all. He tried not to think of what might happen if he fell facedown. He would suffocate rapidly and unpleasantly.
A section of branch directly in front of him suddenly rose. It was pointed, rough-edged, and designed to fit flush with the top of the hollow that had been excavated in the living wood. Reaching down, Flinx fought to release the rip-fastener that secured his front boot. If nothing else, he could try stepping out of his footwear and making a leap for safety, an alternative denied to this extraordinary predator’s accustomed prey. If he could make it over the side of the branch he would be safe.
Depending on how far he fell and what he landed on, he reminded himself.
A semicircle of nine opalescent orbs bordered the apex of the creature’s head, if such it could be called. Devoid of irises or pupils, the organs might be no more than primitive light-and-motion sensors. More than adequate for the creature’s needs, he told himself. The gunk gripping his boots continued to flow energetically upward. When it reached his pants he’d have to consider abandoning them as well.
As he reached for his boot fastener, a deep bubbling noise emerged from the depths of his undefinable assailant. The surface heaved beneath him and he found himself, arms swinging madly, catapulted over the side of the branch. As he fell he realized that the predator must have some way of separating what was edible from what was not. Leaves, branches, and other debris must frequently fall from above, he realized. Like a spider cleaning its web, it was natural to expect that the glue-sucker would have a way of detecting and ridding itself of the inedible.
Plasticized travel boots, for example.
It was seven hundred meters or so to the actual ground. Surely he would fetch up against something before he reached that final, unyielding destination.
Even as he pondered the possibilities, he found himself entangled in a cluster of thin, unyielding green vines. His momentum snapped several before his fall was arrested. For several moments he hung twisting in their knotted grasp, his feet kicking at the air, before he realized they were pulling him
up
.
Tilting back his head, he found himself staring at the source of the vines: something like a giant lavender orchid squatting
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