Lost and Found

by Alan Dean Foster

  Walker continued. “And since you’re smarter than anyone, you’re going to help us get out of this.” He took a deep breath. “Otherwise, you and all the K’eremu are nothing but big bags of rope-flailing water and hot air, too enamored of their own snobbery and arrogance to admit to the truth.”

  George tensed. Braouk looked on expectantly. In front of Walker, the middle two-thirds of the K’eremu’s body swelled alarming, turning in color from a warm maroon to a dull carmine that bordered on bright crimson. The recessed eyes bulged forward so far that the pupils were nearly flush with their sockets. This disquieting demonstration lasted for several seconds. Then the swelling began to subside, the skin to blush a less livid hue.

  “Your impertinence exceeds your ignorance—something I would not have thought possible. Do you really believe you can induce me to participate in some as-yet-unquantifiable suicidal scheme by irritating me with infantile name-calling?”

  Walker nodded, wondering if the gesture would be properly interpreted. “Yes, I do. Either you’re as smart as you say or you’re not. Prove it. You talk the talk, now walk the walk. Or squirm the squirm. Pick your own analogy.” Inside, he was on edge. Such in-your-face challenges had worked wonders when trading raw materials. Would they have any effect on a sophisticated alien?

  “You would not be partial to the one on which I am presently ruminating,” she told him curtly. Silence followed. Walker could hear George panting expectantly behind him. A dull rumbling emerged from Braouk, though whether an untranslatable comment or mild intestinal upset Walker could not be sure.

  Eventually, damp tentacles gestured through the enveloping mist. “I must be in need of additional joqil. Otherwise, I would react rationally and retire to my abode. In lieu of that, I am made curious as to the unreasonable and unfathomable workings of your primitive mind. How would you propose initiating such an investigation?”

  Walker let out a long, slow sigh of relief. “As clearly the most intelligent among us, everything must start with you, Sque. So I tell you by way of beginning that there’s an old saying among my people: ‘Know thy enemy.’ ”

  Behind him, George muttered softly, “I usually hear ‘watch where you’re stepping.’ ”

  Walker ignored the dog. “You say that you’ve spoken with the Vilenjji.” He leaned forward eagerly. “Are they always watching? Always listening?” He gestured at their immediate surroundings. “What about when vision is obscured, as it is now by the mist and fog that dominates your enclosure’s restricted atmosphere?”

  Sque emitted the equivalent of a sigh. “Poor biped. Your consuming ignorance almost draws forth my pity. Do you know nothing of physics? Like any species, the Vilenjji suffer from a range of characteristic physical limitations. Also like any advanced species, they have developed technology that allows them to overcome these. Be assured they are watching us even now. Surely you do not think a little water vapor in the atmosphere can mask our presence here?”

  “Uh, no, I guess not,” Walker mumbled.

  Gray eyes turned toward the empty corridor, barely visible off to his right. “I would be surprised if in addition to simple visuals they did not also have in use the most basic devices for sensing and interpreting heat signatures, for identifying outlines through weather far worse than this, and for keeping track of every one of their captives every moment of every day and night, even in utter darkness. Only a child of a minimal technology could fail to realize this. I do not think they have bothered to place trackable implants in individual bodies. They would regard that, rightly, as an unnecessary expense. One that could additionally be off-putting to a buyer.” When Walker did not comment, she added, “As to monitoring sound, that is even easier.”

  He nodded slowly. “What if two of us happened to whisper to each other while the other two sang, or recited poetry. Loudly. Wouldn’t that confuse their auditory pickups?”

  Sque considered. At the mention of poetry, Braouk looked more alert than usual. “Quite possibly. However, it does not matter if we manage to agree on a course of action privately. We can only act on a course of action publicly. There is no way we can hide ourselves from the Vilenjji’s eyes, may they fester with disease and dry out. Even the most basic surveillance equipment operated by brigands such as our captors should be capable of seeing through rain, fog, snow, and if properly directed, solid stone. There is nowhere we can hide from them.” Unexpectedly turning her attention to the watching Tuuqalian, she added, “I am not expecting to encounter elegance of language from one with a reputation for consuming his audience. I am most interested to hear proof of this doubtful claim for myself.”

  “Yes, Braouk.” To his credit, Walker picked up on her meaning immediately, sidling over to be as close to her as possible. Trying to appear enthusiastic without wincing, he added, “Sing us a saga of your people! Sing it bold, sing it clear. Sing it loud.”

  The Tuuqalian hesitated. Alien or not, Walker’s stare was enough to galvanize the giant with purpose. Immediately, he launched into recitation, booming forth verse in clipped yet stentorian tones forceful enough to all but induce ripples in the enveloping mist.

  While the towering alien thundered back and forth, tentacles writhing, eyestalks contorting, voice reverberating, Walker and George huddled as close to Sque as they could without sitting on her tentacles.

  “Even if this juvenile ploy should succeed in preventing the Vilenjji from overhearing our conversation,” she whispered, “it does not matter.”

  “Are they likely to intervene if they can’t?” Walker voiced the question as softly as he could.

  “I think not. We appear to be listening to and commenting upon your weighty friend’s deafening oration. There is no reason for the Vilenjji to suppose that the subject of our ongoing conversation might include plans for sedition.”

  “You say that you’re smarter than the Vilenjji.” While talking, the human kept his attention focused on the boisterous Braouk, who was by now getting fully into the spirit of the moment. Good, Walker thought. It would be that much more successful in distracting any observing Vilenjji.

  “If I managed to get you out of here, maybe with one other to assist you, do you think you could find a way to deactivate the external barrier that seals off all the enclosures from the rest of this ship?”

  She almost—almost, but not quite—turned sharply to look at him. “You speak of doing something impossible and follow it by asking me to do likewise.”

  His tone tightened. “If I can hold up my end of the bargain, you have to come through with yours. Otherwise, the consequences might reflect poorly on a certain someone’s loudly expressed notions of racial superiority.”

  “I have never turned from a challenge. Certainly not from one posited by an ill-mannered primitive.” One tentacle crept sideways until it was resting meaningfully on his thigh. “You spoke of freeing me and perhaps one other to try this thing. I sense that you do not think of yourself as that other. After expending so much effort, you will then remain behind?”

  “For the idea I have in mind, it can’t be otherwise. I have to stay behind, for reasons that will become clear when I explain it.” He nodded toward the rambling, rumbling Tuuqalian. “When Braouk finishes, we’ll have George take a turn serenading us and I can explain the details to him. We’ll rotate performances so that someone is always making enough noise to garble any auditory pickup the Vilenjji may be employing. If they’re as egotistical and overconfident as you say, they probably won’t even notice.” He leaned so close that he could smell the alien dampness of rubbery flesh.

  “Here’s my idea. If you can deactivate the barrier and we can prepare a few other residents for what’s going to happen, it means that many captives will make a break for temporary freedom all at the same time. That will allow the four of us to rendezvous. If properly surprised by the breakout, the Vilenjji will be busy trying to round up any escapees they can. They’ll have no reason to focus on us because our fellow captives will be running every which
way, trying to make their short-lived freedom last for as long as they can.”

  The tentacle moved. “And we four? We will not be running every which way?”

  “No. At least, I hope not. That’s where you come in. At that point, everything will depend on your knowledge of the Vilenjji and their technology.”

  “Thus it all comes down to me.” The fleshy body pulsed noticeably. “It would, of course. Very well. I accept the challenge, together with its concomitant responsibility. I do not think whatever you have in mind has a shed sucker’s chance of succeeding, but I am willing to try most anything to spike the boredom imposed by this wretched daily existence.” Tightening against his leg, the gracile tentacle showed surprising strength.

  “Whatever foolishness you have in mind, human Walker, we should commence it soonest. Residents are periodically removed without warning, never to be returned, presumably having been sold. While I expect that to happen to me, as well as to you and to all of us who are being held on this execrable vessel, I do not look forward to the eventuality.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Walker was aware that Braouk’s recitation was beginning to draw to a close. “Unreserved enthusiasm. I believe that you believe the Vilenjji are not omnipotent. That says to me that we can overcome them.”

  “The Vilenjji, perhaps.” From within the splayed mass of tentacles, the pink speaking trunk moved back and forth. “Unfortunately, beyond the Vilenjji lies interstellar space. That cannot be overcome by clever notions and primitive assaults.”

  Walker nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Then we’ll just have to think of another way to overcome it. But it won’t be done if all we do is squat here and cry in our beer.”

  “That last did not translate,” she informed him uncertainly.

  “Never mind. I kind of wish I hadn’t mentioned it.” At that moment, in that place, he would have given a typing finger right down to the bone for a single tall cold one. Licking condensation from the backs of his hands was a pretty piss-poor substitute.

  Ensuing days saw the exceedingly odd foursome congregating in one or another’s designated enclosure. At such times thunderous poetry, bad song, and enthusiastic howling was seriously indulged in. Only Sque did not participate in these strident vocal exhibitions. Through no fault of her own, the K’eremu did not possess enough lung power to effectively mask the conversations of her companions.

  It did not matter. One at a time, a whispering Walker was able to expound on the particulars of his proposal to his fellow sentients. Each time, he was met with doubt and derision. Each time, he explained the details over and over, addressing every complaint, unfailingly pursuing the central proposal with relentless enthusiasm, until he had them half convinced it just might, could just possibly, succeed. He did it so well and so often he even managed to half convince himself.

  Anyway, George facetiously commented, if nothing else, making the attempt would provide an interesting morning’s diversion. If it failed, they were unlikely to face retribution from their captors. The merchandise might be revolting, but he was counting on the fact that the Vilenjji were too greedy to want to damage it. He chose not to remind himself that they were perfectly capable of meting out punishment without causing lasting injury.

  Today they had gathered in Walker and George’s transplanted bit of homey Sierra Nevada. While Braouk propagated the requisite camouflaging noise in the form of a loud recitation of the Anaaragi Saga, part twelve, the remaining threesome gathered in the chilly shallows of the fragment of Cawley Lake. Finding the alpine air far too dry for her liking, Sque would only participate in conversation while lying half submerged in the hydrating cold water. Walker sat close to her, George resting in his lap, while the three of them pretended to watch and listen to the animated vocal performance of the flailing, impassioned Tuuqalian.

  Contrary to the attitude of general indifference she usually chose to present, Sque had plainly been devoting some time to studying the plan. “For this to have any chance of working, the Vilenjji must be kept as busy as possible as soon as it is put into effect.”

  George nodded his agreement. “The larger a squabbling pack, the easier it is for a dog with a cool head to slip away with the biggest piece of carrion.”

  While his eyes were on the stomping, roaring Braouk, Walker’s attention was directed at his other two companions. “We can’t tell anyone else what we’re planning. You never know who might be Ghouabaesque and who might not.”

  George frowned. “Then how do we motivate our fellow captives to start the diversion?”

  “By not telling them, my short and stumpy quadruped,” Sque explained carefully, “that they are being asked to engage in such an endeavor. Human Walker is quite correct. Tell but one other the details of our venture, and there is every chance it will soon be known to all. I have no doubt that would be fatal to the enterprise.” The cartilage that formed her deep eye sockets would not permit squinting, so she compensated by leaning toward her companions.

  “What we can do is spread the story—that did not originate with any of us, of course—that we were told, by one who had heard, from another in a position to know, that there was a rumor that at a certain time, without warning, the barrier that surrounds all the enclosures would have to be momentarily deactivated. For what reasons, this rumormonger did not know. Maintenance, perhaps, or a periodic checking of the structure that delivers power to the system. The reason will not matter to those who are alerted. All they will want to know is when will this happen.

  “If it does, when it does, then everyone will be free to react to the resulting state of affairs as each sees fit. Some may elect to do nothing. Some may choose to take a step or two out into a corridor and then retreat to the safety and familiarity of their personal enclosures. But some—hopefully many—may opt to make a break for as much fleeting freedom as they can achieve.”

  Chilled as Walker’s backside was becoming from sitting in the icy water, he was reluctant to stand for fear of having to raise his voice, thus risking that some sensitive, unseen Vilenjji pickup might overhear. So he remained seated, and cold, and continued to whisper in between shivers.

  “Even if the Vilenjji are informed of the ‘rumor,’ or overhear discussions about it, it’s still only a rumor. Most likely they’d ignore it. If they try to track it to its source, they’ll fail, because everyone including us will say that we heard it from someone else. In the unlikely event that they get really interested, and ultimately manage to isolate one of us as the originator of the story, we can just say that we were trying to boost the spirits of our fellow captives by spreading around an artful fiction.”

  “What if they do get curious?” George wanted to know. “And start paying extra attention to us?”

  Walker found himself gazing at distant sham mountains, wishing so hard they were real that his stomach knotted. “We’ll just have to do the best we can. We can’t ever be sure when they’re increasing surveillance or when they’re disinterested, and we can’t wait forever because one day, you or I or Sque or Braouk is going to be tranquilized and hauled out of their private enclosure never to be seen again. And this idea won’t have a chance of succeeding without all of us working together.”

  Sque could not keep herself from demurring. “Actually, human Wal . . . Marc, while I see the need for the active participation of the Tuuqalian, and I, and even yourself, I confess that I am at a loss to recognize the necessity of your small companion’s involvement.” Gleaming horizontal eyes regarded the dog impassively. “Nothing personal.”

  “On the contrary,” Walker quickly shot back before the dog could respond, “George’s participation is critical to the success of our undertaking. Among other things, his presence will be vital to looking after your welfare.”

  “Oh.” Dexterous tentacles stroked back and forth, making lazy ripples in the cool, clear water. “I confess that I had not thought of that. Naturally all would be doomed to failure should some harm befall me.” Her gaze turned t
o him. “You are learning, Marc. You show promise. Of course,” she added, “when one begins one’s ascent from the absolute bottom of the cerebral pit, noticeable advances are easier to make.”

  Though impressive, Braouk’s stamina was finite. The Anaaragi Saga was difficult to sustain in the telling, and part twelve especially so. The Tuuqalian was starting to show signs of slowing down.

  “How soon?” While George’s excitement was betrayed by the rapid wagging of his tail, any watching Vilenjji should put it down to his apparent enjoyment of the Tuuqalian’s resounding recitation.

  For an answer, Walker looked to Sque. As long as it was relatively soon, it did not matter to him when they made their move, and she would appreciate being asked to be the one to make the decision. Still, her reply surprised him.

  “Tomorrow, at the occasion of the first feeding for those of us who are diurnal. I know the Vilenjji to be light-lovers, as are the majority of their captives. Those who do nocturnal duty will be growing tired and are therefore likely to be less alert and reactive than normal, while those assigned to the daytime period will not yet be fully awake and active enough to participate in the confusion we hope to spawn.”

  Walker nodded, glanced down at his ready companion. “George?”

  “I don’t give a cat fart,” the dog muttered impatiently. “We’ve been talking about doing this and planning it for so long I can hardly hold my water from thinking about it.” From beneath bushy brows, brown eyes looked up at the human. “Marc, even if we can pull this off, do you really think it will lead to anything?”

  “I don’t know.” Walker looked away. “But I do know that being proactive is better than doing nothing. Maybe something unexpected will present itself. We can’t take advantage of an opportunity we don’t try to make.”

  “Blatantly obvious.” Like a long, sentient pink worm, Sque’s speaking tube swayed slowly back and forth. “There is one small problem that has not, as yet, been discussed. I have been somewhat reluctant to bring it up, lest its import be misconstrued.”