Algis Budrys by Protective Mimicry

Author:Protective Mimicry [Mimicry, Protective]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-10T18:14:11+00:00

FILL your bathtub full of mud. Build a fire under it, turn on the hot shower, and crawl in. Wallow. Do that and you’ve got a fair idea of the Denebian jungle.

Never mind the trees. The inspector and I had been plowing along for half a day and I hadn’t seen a tree yet—the rain was too thick. I ran into them and I still couldn’t see them, maybe because there was mud all over me every time I picked myself up. I’d stumble on until the rain washed me off, and then I’d hit another tree, and ploppo!

The inspector led the way, stopping to consult a , compass and a map once in a while. He was all eagerness.

Finally, he put out a hand and stopped me. I looked up and realized there was no rain coming down on me at about the same time I saw the leaf-thatched roof.

“Rain shelter,” he explained. “The natives build them. This one’s not too far from Munger’s village. We’ll rest a while and—” The inspector’s mouth hung open.

I turned around and there, in the far corner of the shelter, stood Munger and a couple of natives armed with spears.

“Coincidence, what?” Munger asked, grinning nastily. He turned to the natives and said something that I swear sounded like “Itchy scratchy,” but it must have meant “Take care of ‘em for me, boys,” or something like that, because they moved in on us.

One of the lads had the point of his spear right in my middle or I would have tried to break for it, but the inspector was luckier.

“I’ll get help!” he yelled, and took off into the mud like a big-bottomed turtle.

The native that was supposed to handle him took off after him, but the inspector had the advantage of feet developed through years of pounding beats. The native realized almost immediately that he was up against superior talent, tried a perfunctory cast of his spear, and then came sloshing back to our little tableau.

“Well, Mr. Baumholtzer, your companion’s action has saved your life, for a while,” Munger said. “Now we’ll have to hold you as a hostage in case help should arrive.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I was looking at my native’s loincloth. It was composed of tastefully arranged thousand-credit notes.

“Itchy scratchy pretty damn quickie,” Munger said, and this time it obviously meant “Let’s get this jerk to the village, fellows,” because that’s what they did.

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