Retief
looked down and saw the massed lights of the native section swooping up to meet
him. A wall rushed close; Retief felt the whistle of air as he brushed it; then
he was hurtling past low towers with lighted windows behind which alien faces
gaped briefly. He swept low over a narrow street ablaze with colored lights,
felt a shock as the catwalk brushed a building somewhere above; then the street
was falling away below as the free-swinging catwalk cracked-the-whip, soaring
upward in a wild zoom, slowing now ...
A
wall loomed before him with a narrow balcony before lighted windows. For an
instant, it seemed to hang before his face—and Retief lunged, kicked his legs
free of the twisted wicker. He caught the heavy rattan guard rail. He hung on,
groping with his feet, with the gale tearing at him, shrieking in his ears ...
Hands
gripped him, hauling him up. He shook his head to clear it, felt a heavy
hanging brush his face. Then he was standing on a yielding floor, blinking in
the soft light of a primitive incandescent lamp, feeling the warmth and
strange, spicy odor of an alien room.
A
five-foot native stood before him, staring up anxiously with large protruding
green eyes in a smooth, olive-colored face. The wide, almost human mouth opened
showing a flash of pink interior.
"Are
you all right, buddy?" a strangely resonant voice inquired in the bubbly
local tongue.
Retief
felt of his jaw, moved his shoulders gingerly. "A little dazed by the
speed with which the boys work, but otherwise fine," he replied.
"You
speak Poon like a native, by Hoop!" the alien said. "Here sit down.
How about a drink of Yiquil?" He indicated a low couch heaped with
varicolored cushions and turned to a cupboard, wide webbed feet in bright
yellow sandals gripping the swaying floor.
"You
fell off a catwalk, eh?"
"Something
like that," Retief accepted a deep two-handled porcelain jug, delicately
shaped. He sniffed the drink, then sipped.
"My
name's Url Yum. I'm a netter for Matwide Fooderies."
"I'm
Retief. I'm with the Terran Consulate." He glanced around the room.
"Handsome apartment you have here."
"Oh,
it's all right." There was a sharp whistle at the door.
"You
feel like meeting a bunch of people? I guess they saw you fall, and they'll be
crowding in now to take a look at you. We don't often see Terries here in town,
you know."
"I'd
rather not go on exhibit right now. Yum."
"Sure,
I know how you feel. I had to go over to Dryport on business a few months back,
and every damn do-gooder wanted to have me in for tea and look me over."
The
whistle sounded again at the door. Url Yum padded across to the closet, brought
out a large satchel and pulled out bright-colored gear of plastic and metal.
"I
was just about to go for a swim. Why don't you join me? You don't want to go
back up tonight in this wind. We can go down the back way. How about it?"
"A
swim? In this weather?"
"The
best time. Hunting's good. The small stuff shelters under the Mat, and the big
stuff is in there hunting them—and we hunt the big stuff." He held up a
polished spearhead.
"Look,
Yum, I'm just a Terry. I can't hold my breath more than a minute or two."
"Neither
can I. That's what the gear's for. You burn oxygen, same as we do, don't
you?"
The
whistle came again, more peremptory now. "Hey, Yum!" a voice called.
Retief
finished his drink. "That yiquil's great stuff, Yum; it's already
affecting my judgment. Let's go!"
They
stood in a narrow way that wound between high walls hung with lights and
signboards, studded with balconies from which pennants fluttered, crowded with
brilliantly mantled and jeweled Pupoony, filled with the shriek of wind, the
chatter of whistled conversation, and over all the polyphonic creaking of the
city.
"I've
heard of twisting roads," Retief called. "This is the first time I
ever saw one that really twisted."
Yum
put his mouth close to Retief's ear. "You know the whistle dialect?"
"I
can understand it," Retief shouted back. "But I can't whistle
it."
Yum
motioned, led the way down a side alley to a sea-shell ornamented hanging and
pushed into a low room with couches along one wall, open shelves on another. A
portly Poon waddled forward.
"Oi,
Yum! Oi, stranger."
"Oi,"
Yum said. "Gipp, this is Retief. We're going down. Can you fix him up with
a spray job?"
"Lucky
you came to my place, Yum. I happen to have a compound specially prepared for
Terry requirements, a fresh batch, just concocted yesterday."
"Good.
Retief, put your stuff over there." Yum opened his satchel, took out
equipment and laid it out on a low table. He selected a pair of goggles, handed
them to Retief. "These are a little big, but I think they'll seat all
right." He handed over a heavy cylinder the size and shape of a beer
bottle, added other items.
"Okay:
propulsion, communication lights, breathing apparatus, emergency gear. Now,
after you strip and get your equipment buckled on, Gipp will fit you with
water-foils and spray you in."
Retief
donned the gear and watched with interest while the portly proprietor shaped a
putty-like material to his feet, forming large fins which stiffened to a
rubbery consistency, then brought out a portable apparatus with a tank,
compressor and hose with a wide nozzle.
"Give
him a Striding Devil job, Gipp," Yum ordered.
Gipp
hesitated, looking at Retief. "I suppose you've had a lot of
experience—?"
"He'll
be all right," Yum put in. "He catches on fast, and he's got a good
arm."
"Whatever
you say, Yum—but you ought to warn him that a Death Angel will jump a Strider
on sight."
"Sure.
That way we don't have to go looking for em.
"Well,
if you get one remember I'm paying top sprud for stones."
"You'll
get first crack."
Gipp
started up the compressor, twiddled knobs, then directed a heavy spray of
viscous, greenish fluid on Retief's chest, working it in a pattern that covered
him to the knees. Then the Poon shut down and set about changing hoses.
"What's
this stuff for?" Retief inquired, studying the thick, soft layer hardening
on his skin.
"Protective
covering. It's tough as yuk skin. And it has an osmotic action; passes oxygen
in and CO-out. The color disguises you so you don't scare off the game—and the
finished job holds all your gear in place. It's a good insulation, too. That
water's cold. It strips off easily when you come back in."
Gipp
worked for another five minutes. Retief craned his neck to look at himself. His
back, he saw, was a dull black, with red and white flecks, separated from the
glossy green front by pale gray sides. Broad pink gill-flaps flared from throat
to shoulders. The ankles and fin-covered feet were a vivid red.
"He's
got the build for it," Gipp said, looking him over. "if I hadn't done
the job myself, I'd swear he was a Strider, by Hoop!"
"That's
the idea, Gipp. Now just give me a straight Big Mouth outfit." Yum took a
flask from a side pocket and offered it to Retief, who took a generous pull,
then passed it to Gipp, busy with his apparatus.
"No,
thanks. I don't need any delusions of grandeur tonight. I hope to do a good
volume of business before the storm hits its peak." He worked carefully,
covered Yum with a uniform dull gray, added a peaked crest of garish yellow.
"All
right, Retief." Yum handed him a light, short-barreled rifle from the
muzzle of which a razor-edged spearhead protruded. "Let's go down."
Gipp
led the way to a back room and opened a wide wicker cover set in the floor.
Retief looked down to the sloping surface of a three-foot tube of close-woven
strips.
"Follow
me," Yum said, and dived, head first, out of sight. Retief gripped his
spear-gun, waved Gipp a cheery farewell and dived after him.
The
water was ink-black, alive with darting lights in red and yellow,
ponderous-moving patterns of green and blue and, far below, dull gleams of
violet. Retief kicked his feet, watched lights scatter before him in a boil of
phosphorescence.
A
dark shape darted from the gloom and hovered before him. He recognized Yum's
yellow crest, waving gently in the moving water.
"Only
peaceful place in town, when the wind's working," Yum's voice crackled in
Retief's ears. "Let's work our way east to get clear of the activity
around here; then we'll see if we can't bait an Angel up."
"How
deep are we?"
"The
Mat's twenty meters thick here. We're going to work Underside first; if that's
no go, we'll move down."
Yum
darted off with a flick of webbed feet. Retief followed. Above, the mass of the
floating continent of weed was a fairyland tangle of waving fronds, fantastically
shaped corals, coiling weed, and moving lights.
"Use
the knob on your left hip as a jet control," Yum said. "Steer with
your feet—and keep your rifle ready. If you see anything that looks like you,
let him have it."
Retief
tried the knob, felt water churn past his knees; he leaped ahead, driving
through the water with a speed that blurred the weedscape above. A slight twist
of the ankles sent him angling sharply toward the depths; a minute adjustment
brought him back to Yum's side. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, picked out
the shapes behind the lights now. Massive, sluggish swimmers cruised, wide jaws
open. Slim torpedo shapes darted and wheeled. A nebulous form, glowing with a
nacreous pink, rose up and reached out with feathery arms; Yum swerved away,
Retief following fifteen feet to one side of his bubble-trail.
After
a ten-minute run, Yum slowed, rose until he brushed the tops of the coral
trees, then reached up with his feet, planted them in a swirl of smoky mud and
stood, inverted. Retief came alongside, twisted, felt the soft ooze under his
feet.
"It's
a little confusing at first," Yum's voice came clear in Retief's ears.
"But you'll get used to it."
Retief
looked around. The undulating surface of the weed mass stretched away into deep
gloom, studded with waving fronds, stiff-branched trees of red-violet, orange
and chartreuse coral, feathery banks of leafy undergrowth set with
multi-colored flowers as big as dinner plates, among which moving lights
sparkled and played.
"I'll
pace you, off to the left," Yum said. "Move along with big, leaping
strides. Anything your size except another Strider will give you a wide berth.
If you see one, hit him fast. Aim for the mid-section. Now, if we pick up an
Angel, you'll notice the shadow first. Just keep moving; I'll get under him and
hit him where it hurts. When he turns, give it to him near the big red spot on
his back. Got it?"