One hand firmly gripping a liana for support, the human had stopped and was staring at something. Droplets coursed off the top of his rain cape and ran down its transparent back. Catching up to him, Jemunu-jah and Masurathoo soon saw what had brought the seemingly indefatigable Hasa to a halt.
The Viisiiviisii was a labyrinth of merging rivers. They had finally come to one too wide for branches and vines to span.
“What now, sirs?” Masurathoo eyed the turgid, slow-moving waterway uneasily. “It is time for everyone to put their engineering skills to the test and construct a temporary craft to use in crossing, yes?”
“No.” Hasa eyed the Deyzara querulously. “You people are good swimmers. So are the Sakis.” He indicated the river. “Current here is practically nonexistent. With a village maybe another couple of days’ trek from here, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit around and try to bang out a boat.”
Masurathoo touched the pistol slung at his hip. “I must say, with the three of us working together I do not think it would be too very difficult to burn out the interior of a log and fashion a crude but serviceable dugout.”
“Why don’t you try digging out some sense?”
While the human slipped out of his rain cape and began to fold and pack it for carrying, Jemunu-jah commenced an examination of his own gear to ensure that all was secure. He did not bother to check whether any of it was capable of withstanding the proposed crossing. He didn’t need to. The first prerequisite of anything imported for use outside a building on Fluva was that it had to be waterproof.
Masurathoo watched these preparations with increasing apprehension. “Surely, my friends, you are not suggesting that we swim across this potentially deadly watercourse?”
“Nope.” Hasa efficiently stowed his folded rain cape in a storage pouch at his belt. “We’re not suggesting. We’re doing.” He looked back at the reluctant Deyzara. “Same rules apply as always. Come with us or stay here.” The by now familiar humorless smile returned. “I’m sure you can make yourself a dugout or a raft or something in a few days.” He glanced up into the trees. “Plenty of building material to work with. So long as you don’t become something’s lunch in the meantime.” Having expended himself of that less than useful advice, he started down, using branches and vines to descend toward the waterway. Disdaining the vines, Jemunu-jah simply used his long arms to lower himself from one branch to the next.
Once again, Masurathoo was faced with the decision to follow or stay behind. And as before, he had no choice. He tried to steel himself. What was he so afraid of? So long as he kept the human in front of him and the Sakuntala behind, he was screened from any attack. Unless, he reminded himself, it came at him from either side. Or from below.
Stop this, he told himself. You are as competent as either of these two vulgarians and more intelligent than either. Use that intelligence, and a little common sense, and you will soon find yourself safely on the other side. Besides, the human was right. The Deyzara were good swimmers. And thanks to the design of his respiratory apparatus, he could submerge completely and still breathe, while a human or Sakuntala would soon drown. He was the one with the natural advantages.
Starting downward, he began to hyperventilate. Not out of nervousness but to charge his lungs with extra oxygen. In the water, his boneless legs and arms would allow him to move more agilely than his muscular but stiff-jointed companions. In his mind’s eye he saw himself swimming circles around both. But only in his mind’s eye. Once in the water, he intended to travel only one way, and that was in a straight line toward the opposite shore.
No, not shore, he corrected himself. The shore in the Viisiiviisii was far beneath his feet, where the trees of the forest took root in the submerged soil of sodden Fluva. No one would see any “shore” hereabouts for another half year yet.
Hasa was already in the river, his arms moving from front to side as he treaded water. Jemunu-jah was slipping in alongside him. Masurathoo soon joined them.
“Ready?” Hasa eyed the Deyzara dubiously. “Once we start out, we stay together and move fast. Falling behind’s not a good idea.”
From the depths of new assurance Masurathoo stared back at the human out of damp, protruding eyes. “If you are of a mind, sir, I will race you.”
Hasa hesitated, then responded with a tight smirk, “Maybe you will make it out of here without becoming flacc food.” He turned serious. “No racing. No wasted motion. No flailing around, no splashing. Slow, steady kicks only. I was right about the current: there isn’t any.” He turned to Jemunu-jah. “Ready?”
The Sakuntala’s ears were aimed out to the sides, listening intently for any untoward noise or the sound of something large entering the water. “Floating wastes time. Talking wastes time.”
Responding with a terse, somber nod, Hasa turned and struck out across the open water.
This wasn’t so bad, Masurathoo found himself musing when they were halfway across. The rain was not coming down hard enough to obstruct their vision, nothing armed with tooth or fang appeared to challenge their transit, and the enveloping water was warm against his hairless body. Supported by anywhere from three to a dozen thin-skinned floats apiece, platforms of dark blue, pale red, and yellow fungi drifted past like so many electrified flowers. So brilliant were their colors and patterns that they seemed to mimic iridescence electric even in the rain.
Something small and bright sprang from one miniature mushroom barge to another. Its action was soon being imitated by more and more of the finger-sized creatures. Each had a single powerful leg protruding from the middle of its underside and a single eye on top. In between was a cylindrical body lined with bioluminescent spots that flashed every color of the rainbow. Springing between gaudy floating fungi, the brilliantly adorned creatures looked like dancing jewels.
Marveling at the glittering miniature ballet, Masurathoo found that he was approaching the far side of the river faster than ever and seemingly with greater ease. With each contraction, his muscles were growing used to the effort. Only when he tried to linger to examine a particularly radiant cluster of fungi and its shimmering, energetically hopping passengers did he realize he was moving toward the looming forest wall without making any effort.
“Giimatasa!” Jemunu-jah was yelling. Masurathoo did not know what a giimatasa was. He did know that Jemunu-jah did not shout unless the Sakuntala had good reason for doing so. In the Viisiiviisii, that reason was not likely to be benign.
Flexing hard, Masurathoo tried to change course, found himself unable to do so. Something was dragging him and his companions south of their course, in the direction of a dark coiled mass of tree that loomed out over the river. Searching as he swam, he sought evidence of something inimical hiding in the tree, saw only a few small pius—tiny brown-and-blue winged creatures that were little more than balls of fluff composed of wiry, rain-shedding feathers. Further examination showed that the tree itself was nothing more than what it appeared to be and not some monstrous lurking predator in woody disguise.
Nothing had latched onto his body. No tentacles or ropy limbs swathed his legs or torso. No claws or jaws had snapped shut on his arms or neck. In the absence of visible or tactile interference it was impossible to tell what was pulling him toward the tree. Then it occurred to him that it was the water itself that was dragging him southward downriver.
Fighting hard, Hasa soon curved around to face him. Then the human seemed to be behind him, with Jemunu-jah to the north. Masurathoo felt himself moving faster and faster. In addition to the physical discomfort and bewilderment he was feeling, he found himself growing dizzy. Then he looked down and saw the giimatasa.
Or rather, part of it. Only the open maw was visible, inky dark and menacing. That and the large swiftly stirring fins that were generating the artificial whirlpool that was sucking them down toward the riverbed. It was shallow here, close to the shore beneath the shadowing tree. Shallow and a bit of a backwater. This made it easy for the giimatasa to spawn its prey-snat
ching vortex. Having detected the three bodies swimming in its general direction, the creature had set in motion a singular feeding behavior that threatened to draw all three of the travelers into the waiting mouth below. Even as he was being sucked downward toward a horrifying death, Masurathoo found himself wondering by what astounding physiological mechanism the giimatasa managed to take in and simultaneously expel such vast quantities of water.
Recognizing the danger, the human had finally ceased trying to swim clear of the inexorable eddy and had drawn his side arm. Jemunu-jah did likewise, but his shot went astray. It was hard to keep one’s head out of the water, battle the drag, and aim at the same time. Fumbling with his own weapon, Masurathoo had to struggle just to hang on to it. When his head was pulled underwater, it was hard to know which way to thrust his breathing trunk.
With his feet scraping whirling fins and the outer edges of the gaping oral cavity, Hasa fired repeatedly downward. Though the water absorbed much of the energy from the explosive shells, enough penetrated to discourage, if not kill, the giimatasa. The finning slowed, the mouth closed, and the whirlpool buckled. They were free again, but underwater.
Moments later, one head after another broke the surface of the river. Without waiting to see if his companions were all right, Jemunu-jah struck out for the near shore. The great tree that had seemed so ominous now extended welcoming branches down into the water, providing convenient handholds for him to pull himself up and out. Relieved but worn out, the Sakuntala helped the exhausted Masurathoo drag himself up onto the branch on which his taller companion was sitting. Together, they contemplated the section of river from which they had narrowly escaped.
Jemunu-jah’s sharp eyes scanned the surface, shifted quickly to the surrounding undergrowth. “Where is the human?”
Rolling onto his side, Masurathoo studied the river with bulging eyes. “I most greatly fear that I do not see any sign of him.”
As Jemunu-jah was considering whether to slip back into the water to search for their companion, Hasa’s head broke the surface. Sputtering and cursing, he spotted them sitting on the low-lying branch. A few kicks and he had rejoined them.
“What happened?” Jemunu-jah studied the human, shorter but so much broader of torso and thicker of limb than himself. “Did giimatasa try a second time to drag you down?”
“Hell no.” Sitting in the light but steady rain, Hasa removed his rain cape from its pouch, unfolded it, and slipped it over his head and body. A flick of the activation control showed that it still retained more than half its original charge. The cape’s electrostatic field repelled water, keeping the falling drops a fraction of a centimeter away from the actual material. When the field was on, the transparent fabric was always dry to the touch.
“After the whirlpool collapsed, I went back down to try to kill the sumbitch. You can see it pretty clearly when it’s not generating a killing vortex. Looks like a big, fat olive green lump half buried in the bottom muck. Nothing much shows but the mouth and all those fins it uses to create a whirlpool. I didn’t see any eyes.” He wiped river water from his face. “Probably detects potential prey by sensing pressure changes in the water.” Squinting into the rain, he glanced upward. “Locating in a calm place under something like this big overhanging tree makes sense. The water’s easier to eddy and the tree’s shade helps conceal it from unsuspecting victims.” His gaze returned to the river. “And other predators.”
Jemunu-jah indicated agreement. “One of first things Sakuntala parent teaches cublings is where is safe to swim and where is not.” A long, slender arm reached out toward the water. “I not know this place, so not able to predict what might lie in wait here.”
“That’s the Viisiiviisii for you.” Hasa seemed none the worse for their near-death encounter. “Chock-full of lies. The big clawed meat eater that crosses your path isn’t hungry, but the water is.” He rose from where he was seated. “Squatting here philosophizing ain’t bringing us any closer to that village.”
“Please.” Having risen to a sitting position, Masurathoo discovered that was as far as his weary body was willing to take him. “I am afraid I must impose upon you both for a brief respite. I have to rest.” When neither of his companions responded, he waved a double-digited hand. “If you must go on, then do so. At the moment, the Grand Nasuth himself could not stir me from this spot.”
Hasa deliberated. “Maybe the Grand Nasuth couldn’t, but I bet if I pushed you back into the river you’d get moving quick enough.”
Masurathoo fluttered both trunks. Emerging from his speaking trunk, his voice sounded like it was still underwater. “I would only commence a slow floating downstream. My strength is fled. I must rest.”
Espying a comfortable cluster of soft-stemmed seglet basidiocarps, Jemunu-jah sat down in the middle of the chubby, bulging fungi. A number of the taut fruiting bodies burst beneath the weight of his angular backside. Instantly knocked down and washed away by the rain, the prematurely released spores were condemned not to reproduce but only to serve as food for hungry scavengers.
“It do no harm to camp ahead of schedule for a change. Fight against giimatasa has made me hungry early.”
“‘Hungry early,’ eh?” Hasa did not move to join them. “Sounds like an itinerant musician.” He indicated the water that was flowing slowly past in front of them. “Camping by a river’s not a real good idea. While it’s full of good things to eat, it’s also full of things that want to eat you.”
“Ordinarily I agree with you.” Jemunu-jah was setting out his gear. “But this place of water is safe because giimatasa is here. Its presence keeps other meat eaters away.”
Masurathoo eyed the turgid flow uncertainly. “Then I am correct in assuming it will not bother us up here, on these branches?”
Utterly at home in the varzea, Jemunu-jah leaned back against the convenient stalk of an emerald-striped mushroom that was nearly as tall as he was. “Giimatasa kills with whirlpool. Has no arms, nothing else with which to fight. Not like darter or casoko. Or nougusm,” he finished with a wary look.
Confronted with one fellow traveler who was completely exhausted and another evidently preparing to spend the night, a dissatisfied but resigned Hasa found himself a suitable resting place slightly higher, where several intertwining branches formed a constricted but adequate sleeping platform. He chose to remain with his companions not because he felt uncomfortable about forging ahead or traveling by himself, but because he was prudent enough to know that in a place like the Viisiiviisii it was useful to have someone always watching your back.
Even if that someone was a skinny sumbitch like an overeducated, know-it-all Sakuntala or a goggle-eyed, malodorous wimp of a Deyzara.
10
Expecting chaos, Lauren Matthias was not disappointed. Having been almost completely taken over by the several departments responsible for local affairs, the skimmer port had been transformed into the largest refugee camp on Fluva. Thousands of displaced Deyzara crowded onto the main liftoff platforms, spilled over onto walkways and service chutes.
Supported by deep-driven pylons, the central portion of the port was as sturdy as anything ground-based could be on Fluva. But the ancillary facilities, like most of the structures added later by the Commonwealth, were underpinned or hanging from cables of strilk. The strands wouldn’t break, she knew, but the same could not be said for the trees or smaller pylons to which the glistening lines were attached. As she was escorted toward the port’s administrative offices, she saw at least two seriously stressed spinner crews working nonstop to reinforce dangerously overloaded lines.
“I’ll come with you, if you want,” Jack had told her that morning. Smiling, he’d added, “If only so that you’ll have someone around you can talk to without having to worry about their individual or cultural political agenda. No one’s getting much work done at the lab these last few days anyway.”
She’d seriously considered taking him up on the offer, before finally turning him down. “Thanks, s
weetie, but it wouldn’t look good. People on staff as well as independents and natives would start wondering if maybe you had some influence over Commonwealth policy.”
“Don’t I?” He’d punctuated the comment with a playful kiss.
She had to smile back. “Of course you do.” She put a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell anybody—it’s a Church secret between me and the Last Resort.”
“You’re the Last Resort here,” he’d reminded her.
That was the thought she carried with her now. Even by Commonwealth standards, Fluva was a long way from the government and Church nerve centers on Earth and Hivehom. While bureaucrats on both worlds dithered, she was the one on-site. The one faced with issuing life-or-death edicts. The one responsible not only for her own people but, to a lesser extent, for the Deyzara and the Sakuntala as well.
She didn’t want it. What she liked was the routine, the sane, and the predictable. Signing off on directives that came from her superiors, implementing modest improvements, and facilitating the humdrum. Instead, she was faced with a refugee crisis not of her own making and an escalating interspecies war. She would have been within her rights to ignore it. Within her rights but not her conscience. Had the situation been reversed and it had been the Sakuntala who were being driven from their homes by the Deyzara, she would have reacted in exactly the same way.
True, the Commonwealth was responsible insofar as it was its shortsighted decision that had allowed the emigration hundreds of years ago from Tharce IV to Fluva. But that had nothing to do with her. She wasn’t hundreds of years old. Neither, she reflected, were the Sakuntala who were presently on the rampage, but she knew that argument was useless. It had been tried decades ago and had had no moderating effect on the determined predecessors of the extremists who were behind the current uprising.
The steady caterwauling of Deyzara broodlings overrode the usual forest sounds. The massed squealing did nothing to discourage the active predators who had gathered in large numbers in the water beneath the port. Occasionally, she had been told, they would pick off the isolated Deyzara who lost his footing and fell from a walkway or port structure. Few lingered to mourn such losses. The collective communal anguish was too great, too extensive, to allow for much in the way of individual sorrowing.