Free Phylogenesis by Alan Dean Foster Page B

gear?”
    “It missed the transport because I decided to come up early,” Des explained. “Don’t worry about me. It will work its way through the system in a couple of days.”
    “You can borrow some of mine if you need anything. I see you’ve already got cold-climate gear.” He indicated the special protective attire that covered most of Desvendapur’s body. “I need to see if there is any other cargo here for the kitchen. If not, we can leave in half a time-part.”
    “I will meet you right here,” Des assured him.
    Leaving the preparator, the poet rushed from one part of the terminal to the next in search of Melnibicon. When he found her, she was conversing amiably with a pair of older thranx. Fighting to conceal his excitement, he drew her aside.
    “What’s going on?” She eyed him warily. “Your spicules are dilated.”
    “I have…met someone,” he hastened to explain. “An old friend. He has invited me to stay with him for a while.”
    “What’s that? You can’t do that.” The senior flier looked around uncomfortably. “I took a chance just in bringing you over here for the afternoon. I can’t leave you here. Your absence will be questioned.”
    “I’ll take care of it. I will not involve you in any way, Melnibicon.”
    She took a step back from him, fending him off with both foothands. “Blood parasites, you won’t! I am already involved. You came
with
me, soother, and you are coming back with me.”
    “It is only for a day or two,” he pleaded with her. “I won’t be missed.”
    “What about your regular daily recitals, your rounds?”
    “Tell anyone who asks that I’m not feeling well, that I am suffering from an internal upset and am self-medicating myself. Have Heul activate the privacy lock on my quarters.”
    “So you would involve her in your subterfuge as well. I will not be a party to this, Desvendapur. If you want to spend time here, place an application through the proper channels.”
    “It will not be approved,” he argued. “You know it won’t. Geswixt is a restricted destination.”
    “Exactly why you’re coming back with me.” She started to turn away. “Now if you will excuse me,
soother,
I am not finished talking with my friends.”
    He stood motionless, thoughts churning and anger rising as she persisted in ignoring him. It was impolite of him to remain standing there, but she remained adamant. Since she did not acknowledge his presence, her friends did not feel compelled to, either. Hiding his mounting frustration and his fury, he turned and started back across the broad, flat surface of the terminal. He would meet his new friend Ulu at the designated pickup point and at the appointed time, but first he had to make a stop at the lifter that had brought him here from Honydrop.
    Walking gave him time to ponder what he was about to do. Though his mind was clear, his intentions firm, a part of him remained hesitant. What he contemplated was unlike him, unlike anything he had ever done before. But wasn’t that the source of true artistic inspiration: the naked plunge, the embarkation into regions never before visited, the effort to break free of convention and restraint? He argued with himself all the way back to the lifter, while he was on it, and after he left it behind. But having set his mind, he solidified his decision as he approached the meeting place. He took considerable pride in not looking back over his shoulder, not even when he boarded the small truck and drove off in the company of chattering Ulunegjeprok.
    Melnibicon would look for him, he knew. She would ask who had seen him. He doubted she would receive much in the way of response. Everyone in the terminal was busy, intent on his or her own business. No one would have noticed one more thranx striding purposefully through their field of vision. Eventually she would give up, cursing all the while, and reboard the lifter for the return flight to Honydrop. It was not her fault if he missed the