on a dense mound of reeds. Only the dark, ominous opening in the underside spoiled the otherwise elegant effect. Within the gaping maw, sharp-pointed cilia palpitated expectantly.
Another plant evolved to act like an animal, he thought. Another camouflaged carnivore. Wasn’t there anything on this world that didn’t grasp or bite? He struggled to reach his needler, but the tendrils’ grip was unyielding. He continued to rise.
Darting upward, Pip released a stream of venom at the source of her master’s distress. The corrosive liquid burned a section of the puffy, main mass but did nothing to halt Flinx’s inexorable rise toward the waiting mouth. The area affected by the minidrag was too small and neuronically insensitive to trouble the expansive growth.
Another three, four meters and those questing, eager cilia would be able to reach his head. Propelled by tendril and cilia, he would enter the creature’s stomach head first, no doubt to be consumed slowly and as necessary. First the head, next the shoulders, then the torso, much as he would munch satay on a stick.
Still, it was with quite a start, despite his situation, that he found himself gazing across open space at an obviously intelligent green face directly opposite his own.
Chapter Six
The owner was short and stocky. Though it was hanging upside down, it was clearly not a permanent dangler like the six-armed hooters he’d encountered earlier. About the size of a St. Bernard or small mastiff, it hung from a thick creeper by means of six short, powerful legs. Each foot ended in half a dozen long, curving, and very impressive claws.
Three eyes ran across the front of the blunt-snouted head. A pair of pointed ears faced toward him. An upward-curving tusk protruded from either side of the powerful lower jaw. As he stared, a snort came from the large nostrils. The creature was covered completely in short, thick, green fur.
Moving foot over foot along the creeper, it approached to within half a meter of his face, supremely indifferent to however the carnivorous quasiorchid overhead might choose to react. The large, limpid eyes examined him curiously. Then it spoke, in comprehensible if strangely accented symbospeech.
“Stupid person.”
“Not a person,” insisted a second voice, pitched slightly higher than the one challenging Flinx.
He managed to twist around just far enough to see another of the green talkers squatting on quadruple haunches on a nearby branch, surveying the scene with bucolic aplomb. The differences between the two were minor: a notched ear on the first speaker, a slightly longer tail on the second. As he gaped and Pip darted in tight nervous circles, the one on the branch swatted lazily at a brightly colored insectoid.
“Is.” The upside-down scrutinizer regarded Flinx with comical seriousness.
“Is not.” The sitter ignored Pip, who buzzed the blocky head several times. “Just look at it, Moomadeem.” A heavy paw waved in Flinx’s direction as he continued his inexorable ascent toward the waiting, cilia-lined digestive cavity. “See how tall it is. And it has reddish fur.”
“Green eyes, though.” Triple oculars squinted at Flinx’s face. “That’s right.”
“Not a person,” the other continued to insist.
“Has to be, Tuuvatem.” Advancing, it came to within licking range. A thick, musty, but not entirely unpleasant odor assailed Flinx’s nostrils. “Everything else right.”
“Look at its feet,” suggested Tuuvatem. “Too stubby.
Not a person
.”
“Maybe an old injury.”
Flinx didn’t have time to wonder what was wrong with his hair and his feet. The top of his head was less than a meter from the dark, slimy maw. Fringing cilia twitched expectantly.
“Save him and then decide.” Moomadeem swung effortlessly from his vine.
“Save not. Not a person.” Tuuvatem was inflexible.
All Flinx needed to hear was the word “save.” “Look, I don’t know what
you
are, or how you
Another plant evolved to act like an animal, he thought. Another camouflaged carnivore. Wasn’t there anything on this world that didn’t grasp or bite? He struggled to reach his needler, but the tendrils’ grip was unyielding. He continued to rise.
Darting upward, Pip released a stream of venom at the source of her master’s distress. The corrosive liquid burned a section of the puffy, main mass but did nothing to halt Flinx’s inexorable rise toward the waiting mouth. The area affected by the minidrag was too small and neuronically insensitive to trouble the expansive growth.
Another three, four meters and those questing, eager cilia would be able to reach his head. Propelled by tendril and cilia, he would enter the creature’s stomach head first, no doubt to be consumed slowly and as necessary. First the head, next the shoulders, then the torso, much as he would munch satay on a stick.
Still, it was with quite a start, despite his situation, that he found himself gazing across open space at an obviously intelligent green face directly opposite his own.
Chapter Six
The owner was short and stocky. Though it was hanging upside down, it was clearly not a permanent dangler like the six-armed hooters he’d encountered earlier. About the size of a St. Bernard or small mastiff, it hung from a thick creeper by means of six short, powerful legs. Each foot ended in half a dozen long, curving, and very impressive claws.
Three eyes ran across the front of the blunt-snouted head. A pair of pointed ears faced toward him. An upward-curving tusk protruded from either side of the powerful lower jaw. As he stared, a snort came from the large nostrils. The creature was covered completely in short, thick, green fur.
Moving foot over foot along the creeper, it approached to within half a meter of his face, supremely indifferent to however the carnivorous quasiorchid overhead might choose to react. The large, limpid eyes examined him curiously. Then it spoke, in comprehensible if strangely accented symbospeech.
“Stupid person.”
“Not a person,” insisted a second voice, pitched slightly higher than the one challenging Flinx.
He managed to twist around just far enough to see another of the green talkers squatting on quadruple haunches on a nearby branch, surveying the scene with bucolic aplomb. The differences between the two were minor: a notched ear on the first speaker, a slightly longer tail on the second. As he gaped and Pip darted in tight nervous circles, the one on the branch swatted lazily at a brightly colored insectoid.
“Is.” The upside-down scrutinizer regarded Flinx with comical seriousness.
“Is not.” The sitter ignored Pip, who buzzed the blocky head several times. “Just look at it, Moomadeem.” A heavy paw waved in Flinx’s direction as he continued his inexorable ascent toward the waiting, cilia-lined digestive cavity. “See how tall it is. And it has reddish fur.”
“Green eyes, though.” Triple oculars squinted at Flinx’s face. “That’s right.”
“Not a person,” the other continued to insist.
“Has to be, Tuuvatem.” Advancing, it came to within licking range. A thick, musty, but not entirely unpleasant odor assailed Flinx’s nostrils. “Everything else right.”
“Look at its feet,” suggested Tuuvatem. “Too stubby.
Not a person
.”
“Maybe an old injury.”
Flinx didn’t have time to wonder what was wrong with his hair and his feet. The top of his head was less than a meter from the dark, slimy maw. Fringing cilia twitched expectantly.
“Save him and then decide.” Moomadeem swung effortlessly from his vine.
“Save not. Not a person.” Tuuvatem was inflexible.
All Flinx needed to hear was the word “save.” “Look, I don’t know what
you
are, or how you
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