“Don’t know why they fail to find you amusing,” George commented. “Maybe it’s your attitude.”
Both eyes swerved to gaze down at the dog. “They perceive only my physicality, and my furies, and do not try to interact with the sensitive inner part that is my true self.”
“Might have something to do with your determination to tear them limb from limb,” Walker pointed out.
“Barbarians. They have technology, are devoid of culture, moneygrubbers!”
“And bulk kidnappers, don’t forget,” George added helpfully.
“My situation languishes, for want of hope, lachrymose laughing.”
Walker pursed his lips. “You’re really very good with words.”
“Do you think so?” Dark, soulful eyes that were nearly as big as the human’s head extended toward him. Walker held his ground. “How can you judge? It is not your manner of speaking.”
“No, it’s not,” Walker admitted readily, “but I recognize true sensitivity when I hear it.” George stared hard at his friend, but said nothing. The human was only doing as the dog had taught him. “Surely you must have songs, poems, composed for purely aesthetic reasons, that have nothing to do with the exchanging of formal communication?”
“Ah, glad I am I did not eviscerate you, and allowed you to eat and drink.” Vertically aligned jaws opened and closed slowly.
“So am I,” Walker replied candidly. One globular black eye was so close that he could see his own mirror image in it.
“Would you like to hear a saga of my people?”
For a second time that morning, Walker settled himself down on the cushiony ground cover. “I’d like nothing better.” As a commodities trader, he had long ago learned to lie with great facility. Though, he had to admit, he was more than a little curious to hear how Braouk would respond. For his part, George winced. The Tuuqalian either did not notice or did not recognize the canine expression.
Walker expected eloquence on the part of the massive alien. What he did not expect, and perhaps should have, was the length to which the Tuuqalian would go to express himself. Anticipating a series of short, choppy poetical phrases, the two captives from Earth were treated to a seemingly interminable exposition in rhyme, meter, and deep-throated quavering song on the loneliness felt by their new acquaintance. That they shared its sense of isolation and separation from home failed to mitigate the ennui that inevitably crept into their minds and threatened to shutter their eyes. Neither dog nor man dared to fall asleep, fearing that the inspired declaimer ranting in front of them might look unfavorably upon such a nonverbal disparaging of his efforts.
After another half hour of solid, nonstop singsong lamentation, however, Walker knew he had to do something. How, however, to bring the recitation to an end without the request being misconstrued? George saved him the trouble.
The dog began to howl. It was at once such a familiar and yet unexpected sound, an echo of an absent, atavistic Earth, that Walker found himself choking up. He did not break down because he was far too concerned with how the Tuuqalian might react to such a response.
Braouk stopped reciting and stared at the dog. Head back, eyes closed, lost in the throes of canine abandonment, George failed to notice that the Tuuqalian had gone silent. Walker tried and failed to get his friend’s attention. Braouk seemed to lean forward. If the giant chose to strike out, Walker knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.
After listening for a long moment, the big alien appeared to fold slightly in upon itself. Then he resumed rhyming, louder than ever, matching his modulations to the yips and yowls of the small dog seated before him. At once relieved and dumbfounded, Walker could do nothing but sit back and listen—and occasionally, when he believed he was not being observed, try as best he could to cover his ears with his hands.
The improbable duet lasted for a very long while, finally ceasing about the time Walker had determined that if it did not he was going to run screaming into the nearest electrical barrier. Something like mutual congratulations were exchanged between Terran and Tuuqalian as the tip of a massive tentacle gently encircled a proffered paw. More than a little numbed, Walker staggered toward them.
“What was that all about?” he asked George, in reference to the bit of muted conversation he had failed to overhear.
George was looking past him, toward the squatting mass of the Tuuqalian. “We were both decrying your lack of sensitivity.” Limpid dog eyes met Walker’s own. “You should have joined in. It would have cemented the relationship.”
“I’ll pick my spots with occasional interjections of poetry, thanks.” He hesitated, regarding the now silent alien. “I think our new friend might have something valuable to contribute to our efforts to get out of here.”
George shook his head slowly from side to side. “Are you still thinking about that? I keep telling you, man, even if we could get out of the grand enclosure, there’s no place to get out to. We’re on a ship. In space. You remember space? Cold, dark, lifeless? No air? Get out to where?”
“One small step at a time, poochie.”
The dog drew itself up as much as it could manage. “Don’t call me that. When we first got together you asked me what you should call me. ‘Poochie’ was not among the acceptable designations.”
“All right.” Walker grinned. “I suppose you wouldn’t like me to call you ‘fuzz-butt,’ either.”
George eyed him warningly. “Would you like me to pee on your leg?”
More seriously, Walker asked, “I have to at least think about trying to escape, George. Otherwise I’ll go crazy just sitting here, waiting until the Vilenjji decide to dispose of us. We may not actually be able to do anything about it, but I’d rather have an impossible goal to focus on than nothing at all.”
The dog shrugged. “Suit yourself. Me, I’m happy to roll around in the grass, or whatever they call the stuff that grows in the grand enclosure, gnaw on food bricks, and take long naps. But so long as it doesn’t get us killed, I guess I’m willing to give a hearing to the occasional human absurdity.”
“No promises,” Walker warned him.
The dog sighed. “So what’s the first step we take down this long road you’ve mapped out to eventual futility?”
“We marshal our forces. We take stock of the assets we have at our disposal. That’s what my work has taught me to do when faced with a difficult set of circumstances.”
“That won’t take long.” One paw came up. “We have no weapons. I can scratch and bite. You can scratch and bite and be irritating.” He looked past Walker to the resting Tuuqalian. “If he’s willing to actively participate in whatever insanity you manage to concoct, our friend Braouk might be able to do rather more. What else have we got? Am I overlooking something?”
Walker considered. “Depends on whether she’s willing to help or not. To find out about that, everyone really should meet everyone else.” Turning, he looked back at the ruminative Tuuqalian. “Braouk, when was the last time you were out in the grand enclosure?”
The huge alien struggled to remember. “I cannot recall. It has been a long while, I think. And it may be that I was so crazed with rage and frustration at the time that I cannot see the history of it in my mind’s eye.”
“Would you be willing to do so now? To come with me and George? There is another I’d like you to meet. Another sentient who shares our sentiments. Our feelings.”
“All do,” the Tuuqalian observed. “All here who are captives share in the same aloneness and isolation. What is special about the one of whom you speak?”
Walker smiled knowingly. “She’s about as social as you. The two of you share a mutual aversion to company.”
Tentacles twisted slowly as Braouk considered. “Is she sensitive, while lost in dreaming, isolation imposed?”
“Actually, she’d as soon eat sand as express compassion. In that way, in spirit, you two are utter opposites. That’s why I want you to meet.”
Alien bulk leaned forward until
Walker and George found themselves in shadow. “I do not understand, Marcus Walker.”
“If we’re ever going to strike back at our captors, we need allies who complement one another, who bring as many different strengths to the table as possible. That’s how a good board of directors operates. Out of conflict arises the best possible solutions.” Turning to his left, he looked down. “Don’t you agree, George?”
“Uh-huh, sure—if they don’t kill each other first. In a pack, it’s simple. You stick behind the biggest dog with the biggest teeth.”
“Or the smartest one,” Walker argued.
A gleam appeared in the mutt’s eye. “I see where you’re going with this. I’m just not sure I want to go there with you.”
“You can always opt out.” Rising, Walker started toward the grand enclosure.
“Right, sure.” Muttering to himself, the dog trotted along behind the human. “Easy for you to say. If things don’t work out, you’ve got a modicum of mass and muscle going for you. Me, I’m snack food.”
Approaching the border between the Tuuqalian’s enclosure and the much larger open space beyond, Walker slowed. Hesitantly, he extended an arm. It passed beyond the boundary without encountering any tingling. Stepping through, he turned as George joined him. Behind them, the Tuuqalian wavered.
Walker frowned. “What’s wrong, Braouk?”
The alien appeared uncertain. “I like you, human Walker. I like your small expressive companion as well. I would not want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Walker beckoned. “Come on. If we hurry, we can begin this before darkness comes.”
Still the Tuuqalian demurred. “Nearly every other time I moved beyond my own space, it was to rampage uncontrollably. I do not know if it was something in the atmosphere that changed, or within me, or something the Vilenjji injected into the immediate environment that so affected my soul.” Dark eyes regarded Walker indecisively. “If when I step outside this time I again lose control, I might injure you without being aware of doing so.”
“You just need to concentrate,” Walker advised him. “On what we’re doing, on where we’re going. I know.” He steeled himself. “How about if you spin us another saga of your people as we travel? Wouldn’t that help to focus your thoughts?”
“An excellent idea, clever and well propounded, tidily conceived.” Advancing on its under-tentacles, the Tuuqalian came toward them—and passed through the inactivated border. It approached very close to Walker, and to George, who had to fight himself to keep from breaking into flight.
It was Braouk who broke, however—into verse. Halfway to their destination, unable to restrain himself, George launched into a series of uninhibited accompanying yips and howls. In response, the Tuuqalian raised the volume of alien baritone to match the canine counterpoint. Walker marched on between them, suffering in silence.
Whether by dog or alien, he dared not be accused of being insensitive.
9
“You can come out. Really, it’s okay.”
There was a slight echo to the reply; no doubt because it emanated from the very depths of the hollow within the boulder. “I am not coming out. It is not okay. You have in your company the dreadful grotesque enormity. Unlike yourself, I would not benefit from being stepped upon by it.”
Walker rose from his crouch before the mouth of the tunnel. Stepping past him, George lowered his head slightly and sniffed at the entrance. “Something in there smells like old, moldy wet towels.” His tail wagged briskly. “I like it.”
“Disinterest flows freely, fond I am not, bitter talkings.” Braouk had both eyes drawn in as close to his body as possible as he strove to shield them from the light rain that was falling. “Also, it is much too wet in here. The Tuuqalia prefer skies that are clear and dry.”
Every cat to its ashcan, Walker thought. Aloud, he said to the massive alien, “Just give her a couple of minutes. She’s . . . shy.”
“I am not shy,” came the voice from within the boulder. Sque’s hearing was sharper than Walker would have expected. “I am selective. I do not engage in conversation with bloodthirsty beings that may also accidentally fall on me.”
Walker took a deep breath, smiling to encourage himself more than his companions. “You don’t have to worry about that, Sque. Braouk is far more agile than his size would suggest.”
“How about his mind?” came the quick response. “Is it also agile?”
An opening. Knowing he was not likely to get a better one, Walker pounced on it. “I’m not qualified to judge such things, Sque. Certainly not to the degree that you are. In fact, I was hoping you’d be able to render an opinion and tell me.”
“Of course I could. If I would.” A pause, then, “What do you call the inquisitive lump of hair with the educated nose that accompanies you?”
The dog inserted itself halfway into the opening. “I’m called George, thank you very much.”
“You are welcome, for nothing that I can perceive.” The echo receded, and the voice grew slightly more defined. “No doubt the receptivity of your nostrils exceeds that of your intellect. Nevertheless, I am at least not nauseated to meet you.”
“Same here,” George barked back. To the human standing alongside him he whispered, “You’re right, Marc. She just oozes charm.”
“I told you: She’s shy.”
“Uh-huh.” The dog nodded. “Like a rottweiler on meth, she’s shy.”
“Give her a chance.” Walker’s gaze flicked from canine to Tuuqalian. “She’s not used to company.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” George kept his voice down. “Could it maybe have something to do with her irresistible personality?”
Walker’s mouth tightened. “Try to be civil. If we’re going to have a chance of doing anything about you-know-what, we’re going to need her.”
“Need her?” The dog’s expression wrinkled. “Remind me again, why do we need her?”
“Because she’s smarter than any of us,” Walker whispered back—just loudly enough to feign confidentiality. The result was as he hoped.
Cautiously, several tentacles appeared in the tunnel’s opening, to be followed by a tripartite body and yet more tentacles. Sunken eyes like polished silver took in man, dog, Tuuqalian, and man again.
Peering down at the K’eremu, Braouk commented offhandedly, “Hardly worth dismembering.”
“Better to be remembered than dismembered,” she responded, looking up at him. “You, for example, are rumored to engage in slaughter for the sheer pleasure of it.” Six or seven tentacles, Walker noted, firmly gripped the rocky surface beneath and behind her, ready to yank her backward into her granite refuge at the first sign of distress.
Walker spoke up hurriedly. “Any injuries Braouk inflicted on other captives were done out of frustration, or because he was provoked. He’s actually very sensitive. Something of a poet, my kind would say.”
Horizontal gray eyes flicked sharply in his direction. “Somehow I do not see myself relying on your species’ definition of aesthetics. Before I will join you outside the tomb that has become my home, I need verification that I will be treated according to my significance, and not mindlessly subject to some primordial tantrum.”
Walker turned to look up at the irritated Tuuqalian. “Braouk would never do that. He’s too busy teaching me how to speak expressively, and George how to sing.”
“Hey, I don’t need any help to—” the dog began, but Walker cut him off.
“You seek lessons in elocution from a stomach that walks?” Sque emerged a little farther. “When I am here?”
“Well,” Walker shrugged and turned half away, “I have to make use of what’s available. Braouk has already helped me in my efforts to improve myself. As well as any sentient can, I suppose.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” The entire rust-hued body was now fully outside the entrance to the hollowed-out boulder. At this point, the fast-moving Braouk could have cut off the K’eremu’s retreat whenever he wished. W
alker tensed. But for whatever reason the Tuuqalian, though clearly annoyed by the K’eremu’s attitude, restrained himself from reacting. Walker could only pray that the giant’s volcanic temperament stayed under control.
The best way to ensure that, he felt, was to engage Sque in active conversation that preferably ignored the big Tuuqalian. “Of course, if you’re willing to help, I can certainly use all the assistance I can get.”
“Yes, that is true.” Tentacle tips gestured agreement. “I am reassured, human Walker. Your recognition of your own abysmal ignorance is encouraging. It may be that there is yet hope for you and by association, possibly your species. Though a great many doubts manifest themselves in my mind.”
“I’m grateful for your forbearance,” he told her humbly. George was eyeing him with an interesting mixture of pity and approval.
“Now then.” Tentacles spread outward in the shape of a flower as she settled herself down. “You have not returned, I think, to request tutoring in the art of diction. As you honestly say, you can certainly use all the assistance you can get. For what specifically do you come seeking my assistance?”
Walker sat down opposite the splay of limbs, saw a distorted image of himself reflected in silvery eyes. “You told me before that there’s no way out of here, no chance of escape. I argued that no matter what, I was going to get out.”
“There would seem to exist a bit of a contradiction in our respective opinions,” she murmured placidly.
He nodded, conscious of George’s eyes on his back. As for Braouk, the Tuuqalian was interested in the byplay in spite of himself. “You may be smarter than me—”
“The term ‘may’ does not apply here,” she interrupted him.
“All right. You are smarter than me. You’re smarter than anyone. Smarter even than the Vilenjji.”
Tentacles gestured. “At last. A modicum of intelligence rears its bone-imprisoned head. I feel a faint hope.”
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