Drowning World

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Well, I suppose that's something, anyway.”

  They stood together for a couple of moments, surveying the forest, listening to the ceaseless litany of soft chattering sounds that emerged from the rain-swathed interior. Finally, Hasa shrugged and moved to gather up his gear.

  “Maybe I've spent too much time looking at the Viisiiviisii. Now I've got it in my head that it's starting to look back.”

  “Forest spirits can be very deceptive.” Jemunu-jah wished to be understanding.

  “So can creeping dementia.” Hasa fiddled with his pack, making sure it was sealed against moisture. When he saw the Sakuntala eyeing him quizzically, he added by way of explanation, “Think of it as a kind of parasite.” That was easier, he decided, than trying to explain the inner workings of the human mind: a discussion for which he was not in the mood.

  But though he dropped the matter, his skin continued to crawl, and not from any new infestation of microscopic life-forms. At which point Masurathoo let out a half hoot, half shriek of such intensity that it rose well above the sound of falling rain, the cacklings of unseen forest denizens, and the bioprospector's own restless thoughts.

  “It has me!” the Deyzara was screaming. “Something has got hold of me!” He was thrashing around on the moss bed, flailing behind and beneath him with his flexible arms.

  Weapons drawn, Hasa and Jemunu-jah were at his side in an instant, flanking their panic-stricken companion. “Where?” Jemunu-jah queried the spasming, contorting Deyzara. “Where do they have you?”

  “Everywhere! They are all over me!” Rain-cape-clad arms continued to flail away beneath the convulsing form.

  Holstering his gun but not securing it, Hasa bent carefully toward the Deyzara, whose naturally protuberant eyes now threatened to pop out of his head. “Whatever it is, it's got him from below. Let's try to turn him over.”

  Jemunu-jah managed to get hold of the Deyzara's ropy, wildly kicking legs. Together, he and the human simultaneously lifted and twisted. Masurathoo was not heavy. In an instant, he was lying on his ventral side, still lashing out and hollering.

  That was when Hasa finally identified the preponderance of hooting that was emerging from the Deyzara's speaking trunk. They were not yells of pain. Stepping back, he frowned down at the bouncing pilot.

  “Son of a bitch. He's not squealing in agony. He's laughing.”

  “Laughter?” Jemunu-jah stared uncertainly at their pink-faced colleague. “Amusement? I don't understand.”

  “Look at him. At the way he's moving. See any wounds? Any blood?”

  Careful to avoid being struck by the Deyzara's flailing whiplike limbs, Jemunu-jah bent over the shuddering body. “No. But I do see kaema.” Extending his right hand, he gestured with his three middle fingers.

  Peering at where Jemunu-jah was pointing, Hasa saw an ear-size bulge attached to Masurathoo's back. Dark green splotched with black streaks and spots, it was clearly visible through the transparent rain cape and between shredded folds of shockingly bright attire.

  While Hasa did his best to hold the twitching, gurgling Deyzara down, Jemunu-jah unsealed and removed their companion's rain cape. Unwinding their companion's body wrappings proved more difficult, as there were as many different ways for a Deyzara to arrange his attire as there were clashing colors to choose from. Eventually, the Sakuntala managed to expose the Deyzara's ventral side from neck to lower torso.

  At least two dozen kaema had attached themselves to the smooth bright pink skin. They either had been living in or had come up through the moss mass. Hasa studied them in fascination. They looked like so many green limpets fastened to pink granite. He spoke the first thought that came to mind.

  “Parasites?”

  “Actually, no.” Sitting back on his haunches, the Sakuntala no longer appeared concerned. “The kaema are benign travelers. Left alone, they do no harm to those they choose to ride. Attach themselves to any creature traveling through forest.” Making a six-fingered cup shape with one hand, he held it out over the convulsing Deyzara's bare back. “Underside of kaema looks like this. Secure to travel host with suction. Drop off when reach a place they like.” His lips parted, showing sharp teeth. “Sakuntala usually not bothered. Hard to get a grip on fur with suction.”

  Hasa silently digested this explanation. “Then why is this fool laughing hard enough to tie his trunks in knots?” He eyed the pale exposed flesh with undisguised distaste. He'd seen newborn babies with darker skin. Newborn human babies, he corrected himself. The transient image of a newborn Deyzara broodling was sufficient to raise the bile in his gut.

  “I think I know.” Jemunu-jah regarded the occupied Masurathoo with some sympathy. “Outside of kaema cup is lined with tiny legs. What you call, I believe, cilia. To make travel host move, and keep moving, kaema move these legs against its skin, causing irritation.”

  Hasa let go of the Deyzara's arms and stepped back. Left alone on the moss bed between his companions, Masurathoo continued his violent twisting and hooting, his half-naked body now exposed to the falling rain. The prospector shook his head slowly.

  “Obviously the damn things don't rub off. What do we do?” Intending to try to pluck it free, he started to reach for one of the toothless but persistent vermin.

  Jemunu-jah forestalled him. “Suction is too powerful. Any grip strong enough to pull away kaema will also pull away skin and flesh.”

  Hasa's fingers continued to hover over one of the green-black protuberances. “It ain't my skin and flesh.” A bit reluctantly, he drew his hand back. “Okay then. They can't be pulled off. What then?”

  Jemunu-jah was reaching into one of the pouches attached to his waist strappings. “Fire. Is fire in Viisiiviisii only in time of fleeting dryness. No creatures have resistance to it.”

  The prospector examined their sodden surroundings. “Makes sense.” Glancing back down at poor Masurathoo's body, he considered how best to proceed. Weakened by nonstop laughter, the Deyzara's movements were beginning to slow.

  Having withdrawn a small cylinder the size and shape of a pencil, Jemunu-jah knelt beside the quivering body. At the Sakuntala's touch, a small blue light emerged from the tip of the device. Working carefully and deliberately, he touched the beam to each kaema. One by one, they dropped off the Deyzara's back. Smoke curling upward from the center of their shells, a few scuttled out of sight, burying themselves back in the moss. Those that clung longest to their intended transport suffered deeper burns. When they finally fell off, they lay atop the moss bed and did not move.

  Only when the last of the persistent outriders had been expunged did Masurathoo roll over onto his back. As he sucked in air through his breathing trunk, it expanded and contracted with the effort. After a few minutes, he was able to sit up, then stand. With as much dignity as he could muster, he began rewrapping himself with his frayed folds of garishly hued apparel. Warm rain coursed down his face and exposed pink torso.

  Grudgingly, Hasa felt compelled to ask, “How you feelin'?”

  “Exhausted. Embarrassed. Most highly mortified.” A strip of gold and blue wound itself around his upper body, over one shoulder, and down his back. Though intricate in execution, the mannered procedure of Deyzara dressing was only interesting the first time it was observed. “My entire back feels as if it has been flayed by flies.”

  “The itching will pass,” Jemunu-jah assured him. “Better to laugh at such things than scream in pain.”

  “One reaches a point where it becomes exceedingly difficult to tell the difference.” Right arm quivering, he used the two wide, strong digits to fasten a length of wrapping beneath his other arm as he turned his gaze on Hasa. “I appreciate your not shooting at me in a misguided attempt to rid me of the damnable affliction.”

  “Don't mention it,” Hasa replied without breaking a smile. “You sure you're okay?”

  “There will be some small marks,” Jemunu-jah commented. “In a few days, they all faded away. Next time, be more carefuling where you put dow
n your backside.”

  Masurathoo's reply was, for an instant, the coldest thing in that part of the Viisiiviisii. “Thank you for that most small admonition. And now, if you don't mind, I find myself entirely too open to the elements.” Bending, he moved to recover the rain cape that the ministering Jemunu-jah had set aside. In so doing, his foot crashed through a narrow place in the moss bed, promptly sending him headfirst into the shallow depths of the soft green pad.

  As they worked together to pull him out, Jemunu-jah and Hasa found that even without the presence of any hitchhiking, tickling kaema on their bodies, it was their turn to laugh.

  Another river. Wider than the one they had been forced to swim previously. Wider and this time boasting a significant current.

  Recovered from his humiliating encounter with the kaema, Masurathoo contemplated the broad waterway that stretched out before them with understandable trepidation. Though there was nothing to suggest the presence of another giimatasa, or something even worse, he had no doubt that the river's unseen depths were home to other kinds of predators as resourceful as they were voracious.

  “Raft,” he declared curtly.

  “No time.” Though his tone was unchanged, even Hasa was a bit discouraged by the width of the watercourse. “If we wanted to spend a lot of time in one place, we would've stayed with the skimmers.”

  “I tell you right here and now, sir, that I am not swimming that. Our last aqueous excursion provided more than enough excitement for me. I have no desire to repeat the experience.”

  Nearby, Jemunu-jah was scrutinizing the trees that grew right to the edge of the open water. “Not much here good for making raft anyway.” He looked back at the Deyzara. “Since we also cannot make a skimmer out of leaves and vines, we have to swim. Deyzara are good swimmers. You show that before.”

  “Not as good as the local flesh eaters.”

  Hasa was willing to concede the Deyzara's point. “Maybe we don't have time to build a boat, but we might look around for some kind of natural protection. Thorns, poisons we could dump in the water around us. That sort of thing.” He focused on Jemunu-jah. “I don't recognize anything useful here. You got any ideas?”

  The Sakuntala paused, then gestured approvingly with his tongue. “Maybe something we passed a little while ago. I think it will do what is needed. But it will be difficult make work.”

  Hasa frowned. “Difficult how?”

  Turning, Jemunu-jah beckoned for them to follow. “Easier to show than explain.”

  Back within the trees five minutes later, they stood on branches looking down at a cluster of blossoms floating on the water. They were undoubtedly the most beautiful flowers Shadrach Hasselemoga had ever seen in his life, on any world. Without question, collectors of rare and exotic flora would pay a fortune for their seeds, seedlings, cuttings, or samples. While he had no idea what Jemunu-jah had in mind, he did know that the Sakuntala had unintentionally led him to a new source of income.

  “Where are the thorns, or are the leaves toxic?” He found himself enthralled by the beauty floating on the water at his feet.

  “Vatulalilu has no thorns, no poisons.” After making a quick scan of the surrounding waters for lurking predators and finding none, Jemunu-jah started down. His companions followed.

  Up close, the individual blooms were even more spectacular. From a cream white center individual metallic blue petals as long as Hasa's arm thrust outward in all directions. They shaded from a pale turquoise, to a deep royal blue, to, in a few isolated instances, dark purple. Gold flecks danced within the anthers. Each time a raindrop landed on one of the leaves, the spot where it struck seemed to explode with golden fire. From the center, crimson stamens curved up and out in graceful arcs, to terminate in pistils tipped with black the color of obsidian. The breathtakingly beautiful blooms were, without question, the most stunning single life-form Hasa had yet encountered in his exploratory forays through the Viisiiviisii.

  Yet . . . he had spent too much time on too many treacherous worlds to accept the alluring display of floral beauty unquestioningly. True to Jemunu-jah's words, no thorns or other protective adaptations were visible. That did not mean they did not exist. Needing sunlight, the vatulalilu had put down its long roots where its spectacular blossoms were not blocked by spreading branches or overhanging fungi. It stood open to the rain and the intermittent sun. This also exposed the staggering display of color to any wandering herbivores who might hop, swim, or fly past. Yet insofar as he could tell, the closely packed water plants had not suffered a single tear or bite mark. Despite advertising its presence with an unsurpassed burst of color, the vatulalilu pushed its blossoms toward the sky unscathed.

  “I know.” He spoke aloud in reply to his own unasked question. “The flowers have a bad taste. Probably concentrates ammonia or something in the leaves.”

  “Not bitter.” Standing in the rain to one side of the eruption of efflorescence, Jemunu-jah once more wielded the small flare tool he had employed earlier to remove the tickling kaema from Masurathoo's back. Stretching out his arm, he drew the blue light of the versatile cutting tool across one huge bloom, leaving several cuts in half a dozen petals.

  Human and Deyzara both tensed, but nothing happened. After a respectful pause, a mystified Hasa stepped forward to inspect the damage. A pale liquid the color and consistency of honey oozed from the multiple cuts. It was thick enough to maintain its texture in the rain.

  He leaned closer. Jemunu-jah had assured them nothing about the vatulalilu was toxic. Could it be corrosive? Extending one tentative finger toward the thick goo, he half expected the Sakuntala to warn him off. Instead, Jemunu-jah continued to stand off to one side, watching silently. A suspicious Hasa drew his hand back anyway. At that point, he caught his first full whiff of the golden ooze.

  He retched so violently that he fell backward. Only reflexes honed from years of exploring the most inhospitable reaches of alien worlds allowed him to grab onto a couple of branches and keep from falling into the water below. Eyes wide, he continued to vomit with such vehemence that he felt like his stomach was going to rise right up through his throat and burst out his mouth.

  Observing this, the always alert Masurathoo took a couple of prudent steps backward along the branch on which he was standing. “What ails our unhappy colleague?”

  Ignoring the heaving human, Jemunu-jah walked back to the plant and began making measured slices on every blossom. Honey-hued fluid promptly began to flow from each successive cut. When he was satisfied with his destructive but measured handiwork, the Sakuntala put away the flare tool. Using his long fingers, he began to scoop up the thick, sticky liquid and smear it strategically on his body. Every now and then, with a look of resigned expectation, he would pause to throw up. Each time one of these startling episodes of strenuous but measured upchucking concluded, he would resume the work.

  Eventually, Hasa's digestive system had nothing more to give. Too weak to be really angry, the prospector rose to his feet to confront the Sakuntala.

  “You scrawny, underhanded excuse for an alien monkey-rat! You could have told me the plant was protected by an olfactory defense!”

  Methodically applying daubs of golden goo to his fur, the Sakuntala regarded him out of double-lidded eyes. “If I had described in detail what going to happen, would you still have been willing undergo the experience?”

  Hasa started to respond, hesitated, then replied in a low murmur of grudging acceptance, “Not likely.”

  “You see?” Having exhausted the supply of glistening golden stink from one flower, Jemunu-jah moved on to the next. “You need not put it on you bodies. The vatulalilu sap will stick plenty enough to your clothing.”

  Masurathoo's speaking trunk hardly moved. “Plenty enough for what purpose, my dear Jemunu-jah?”

  “The scent of vatulalilu flower holds its strength even in water. Well covered in it, we can safe swim the river that blocks our way. Water dwellers may come close to us, but nothing will bite.”r />
  “I can believe it. With that stench smeared all over, I wouldn't want to come too close to me, either.” Swallowing hard while fighting to steady what remained of his stomach, Hasa clenched his lips and advanced on the nearest spray of blindingly beautiful blossoms. Turning off his rain cape, he removed it, folded it neatly for a second time, and stuffed it into its vacant pouch. Reaching down, he scooped up a fingerload of the shimmering liquid and began to spread it across his chest. He promptly gagged, fought down the automatic reaction, and continued to battle the retching reflex as he treated first his torso, then his limbs.

  Masurathoo watched until his companions were almost finished. Then he sighed softly through his breathing trunk, moved forward to join them, and began to emulate their actions. Hasa paused in his work, his expression one of grim expectancy. Jemunu-jah did likewise.

  Manifesting supreme indifference to the vatulalilu flowers' ferocious fragrance, the Deyzara blithely smeared large fingerfuls of the potent syrupy extrusion all over his body. After several minutes, he finally noticed the dumbfounded stares of his companions.

  “What? Oh, I understand. You're wondering why I am not regurgitating the remnants of my last several meals all over the forest.”

  “You could say that.” As familiarity with the golden fluid did not breed acceptance, Hasa was still having to fight down a constant and all but overwhelming urge to puke.

  Masurathoo returned to the work at hand. “That is easily explained. We Deyzara have a well-known tolerance for strong odors.” He held a double-digited handful of the goo up to the end of his breathing trunk, a gesture sufficiently profound in its implications that it very nearly did make the queasy Hasa throw up all over again. “To me, this substance smells only slightly sweetish.”

  “And yet,” Jemunu-jah observed, “there is an internal scientific logic to this. Deyzara smell so bad naturally it not surprising they would not be bothered by essence of vatulalilu. Petal perfume would be hard to detect over own body odor.”