Drowning World by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Science Fiction, Space Opera, Fiction
ISBN: 9781439548875
Publisher: Paw Prints
Published: 2008-09-17T23:00:00+00:00

11

I will try my best obtain a pahaura, a decree, from the Council—or at least from as many of High Hatas as I can—declaring this rising and the actions taken against the Deyzara an illicit thing.” Vertical pupils locked with Matthias’s round ones. “But I only one Hata. Can only do so much.”

The administrator rubbed at the scratches on her right forearm. “I have a feeling you can do a lot, Naneci-tok.” She grinned. “I just went tripping through the trees of the Viisiiviisii, something I never imagined myself ever doing, or imagined I ever could do.” The smile vanished. “Now is the time for each of us to do things we never imagined we could do.”

The Hata agreed somberly. Her tongue flicked out to wrap briefly around the administrator’s face, then withdrew into a cheek pouch. With that, Naneci-tok turned and departed.

Matthias watched the Sakuntala Hata fade into the rain-dimmed distance. Wincing as she pivoted on her sprained ankle, she pulled her rain cape a little tighter around her upper body and limped from the covered parking area toward the main entrance to Administration.

There were four guards there now. Posted at the portal ever since the scale of the troubles became apparent, they were now armed with rifles as well as side arms. None of them looked sleepy or bored. Her approach was noted immediately.

“Pause and identify yourse—” The guard finished with an expletive. All four of them crowded around the administrator. They were taller than she was, and for a bad moment she was mentally back at the port, surrounded on all sides by a surging mob homicidal in intent.

The feeling passed quickly. “I’m fine, thank you. Well, maybe not fine. But I’m okay.”

“The infirmary . . . ,” a tall blond woman began.

Matthias pushed past them, leaving a pool of slightly stunned expressions in her wake. “No time for that. I’ll get patched up here. Too much to do.”

She was more right than she supposed. When she had finally managed to reassure her staff, each of whom wanted to treat her assortment of bruises and scratches personally, she found a Deyzara delegation waiting for her in her own office. Oddly, their presence affected her less than had the knot of four guards outside. Perhaps, she decided as she removed her filthy and torn rain cape and dropped it to the floor before she slumped behind her desk, because for the first time in hours she was in a place that was wonderfully, delightfully, blissfully dry. But not quiet.

Nearly a dozen Deyzara had crowded in to see her. According to Sanuel, they had been waiting hours for her to return. It was a measure of their distress that not one remarked on her visible, if minor, injuries, a most un-Deyzaran oversight. Ordinarily, death would have to be approaching for a Deyzara to be reduced to rudeness. But then, these were not ordinary times, she reminded herself. Just that morning, a very large number of Deyzara had been somewhat more than rude to her.

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