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had to exist.
"What are we going to do? Carry out some kind of formalburial ritual?" Despite his dismay at the
carnage that had oc-curred, it would not prevent the poet from recording thedetails of what promised to
be a particularly fascinating hu-man rite.
"More like an informal one." Locating a control panel,Cheelo brushed touchplates, activating lights,
servos, and anautomatic washer before finding the one that operated thegarage door. Cold, intenselydry
air swept in from outside asthe barrier rattled upward.
Working together, they hauled the bodies of the two poach-ers one at a time to the rim of the nearest
obliging precipiceand shoved them over the edge, watching as each limp lump of dead meat rolled and
bumped its way into cloud-swathedoblivion. Desvendapur was disappointed by the lack of cere-mony,
having anticipated a certain amount of exotic alienchanting or dancing. But the biped who had become his
com-panion mouthed only a few words, and none of them struck the poet as especially complimentary to
or respectful of thedeceased.
That onerous duty done, they returned to the deserted out-post where Desvendapur did his best to
assist the human incleansing the garage floor of blood. When he was satisfied,Cheelo stepped back to
survey their work, wiping sweat fromhis forehead. Though the exudation of clear fluid by the bi-ped's
body as a means of maintaining its internal temperature was a process Desvendapur had already
observed in theforest, he never ceased to be captivated by it.
"There!" Cheelo sighed tiredly. "When their buyers arrive,they won't know where their favoriteninlocos
have hopped off to. They'll see that the airtruck is still here we can't doanything about that but that
won't automatically lead them to assume that something's happened to them. They'll start a search, but
one that's considered and unhurried. By the timethey find the bodies,if theyfind the bodies, and figure out
thatmaybe they ought to be looking for somebody like us or like me, anyway we'll both be safe and
out of sight backdown in the Reserva. I know if I follow the river it'll take me into Sintuya, where I can
book a flight back to Lima. I stillhave enough time to make it to Golfito." Walking back to the wall, he
yanked the sonic rifle free from the charging bracket.
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"Expensive little toy, this." He rotated the sophisticatedweapon in his hands. "So our trip up here wasn't
a total loss.Let's help ourselves to the pantry and get out of here beforenanny shows up."
"I cannot."
Cheelo blinked at the alien. "What d'you mean, 'you can-not'? You sure as hell can't stay here." He
indicated a windowthat revealed the barren plateau outside. "Whoever comeslooking for those two
ninlocos won't hesitate about shoving you in a cage." Nobody'd make any money off it, either, he
reflected.
"I will explain matters to them. That I wish to study them."Antennae bobbed. "Perhaps a mutual
accommodation can bereached."
"You can take your goddamn studying for inspiration and ... !" Cheelo calmed himself, remembering that
the visibly flinching thranx was sensitive to the volume ofthe booming human voice. "You don't
understand, Des.These people who are coming, they're gonna be nervous andon edge because they're
unable to contact their two guys here.They'll come in fast and quiet, and if the first thing they seeis a giant,
big-eyed bug wandering around loose instead ofproperly caged up, they might not stop to smell the
roses orthe alien that smells like one. They're liable to blast you intohalf a dozen pieces before you get
the chance to 'explain mat-ters' to them."
"They might not shoot first," Desvendapur argued.
"No, that's right. They might not." He pushed past thethranx, striding toward the corridor that led to the
outpost'sliving quarters. "I'm going to start packing. You want to stayhere and put your life in the hands of
a bunch of seniorninlocoswho aren't exactly experienced in the formalities of un-anticipated interspecies
contact, you go right ahead. Me, I'drather put my trust in the monkeys. I'm heading down into theforest."
Left behind in the garage to meditate on his limited op-tions, Desvendapur soon turned to follow the
biped into theother part of the station.
"You don't understand, Cheelo Montoya. It is not that Iwantto remain here. The fact is that I have little
choice in thematter."
Cheelo did not look up from where he was stuffing hand-fuls of concentrates from the outpost's food
locker into hisbackpack. "Ay? Why's that?"
"Did you not notice that I was barely able to help you re-move and dispose of the two cadavers? It was
not becausetheir weight was excessive. It was because the air here is fartoo dry for my kind. More
importantly, the temperature isborderline freezing."
Pausing in his scavenging, Cheelo turned to regard thealien. "Okay, I can see where that could be a
problem. Butfrom here it's all downhill into the Reserva. The lower we go,the hotter and more humid it'll
become and the better you'llfeel."
The heart-shaped head slowly nodded acquiescence whiletruhands and antennae bobbed
understandingly. "I know thatis so. The difficult, and critical, question is: Will it becomehot and humid
enough soon enough?"
"I can't answer that," the human responded evenly. "I don'tknow what your tolerances are."
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"I cannot answer it myself. But I fear to try it. By the wingsthat no longer fly, I do."
From hidden, long-unvisited depths Cheelo dragged upwhat little compassion remained in him. "Maybe
we can rigyou some kind of cold-weather gear. I'm no tailor, and I don'tsee an autogarb in this dump, but
I suppose we could cut upsome blankets or something. Your only alternatives are towait here and hope
you can talk faster than the people whoare coming can shoot, or to strike out across this plateau andtry
and find another place far enough away that they won'tsearch it."
The thranx indicated negativity. "If I am to walk, better toaim for a more accommodating climate than
one I alreadyknow to be hostile." Turning, he gestured at the terrain be-yond a window. "I would not
make it across the first valleybefore my joints began to stiffen from the cold. And re-member: I have one
bad leg."
"And five good ones. Well, you think about it." Cheelo re-turned to his foraging. "Whatever you decide
to do, I'll helpyou if I can provided it doesn't cost me any more time."
In the end, Desvendapur decided that despite his increas-ing mastery of the human's language, he was
neither confi-dent nor fluent enough to risk an encounter with the deadpoachers' customers. Already he
had experience of the vola-tile nature of human response and its reaction to unforeseenevents. Not
knowing what to expect within the outpost thatnow failed to respond to their queries, whoever was
comingin search of the absent poachers might well unload a rush oflethality in his direction before he
could explain himself.
Whatever the chastisement meted out to him upon his re-turn to the colony, it would not include
summary execution.The question was, could he make it all the way down to thesalubrious surroundings of
the lowland rain forest? It seemedhe had no choice but to try. Certainly the biped thought so. Having
made the decision, the poet fell to scrounging sup-plies of his own from the outpost's stores, relying on
thehuman to elucidate the contents of the bewildering variety ofmultihued food packages and containers.
When their respective packs were bulging with supplies,human and thranx turned their attention to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]