Free Quozl by Alan Dean Foster Page A

pod.”
    â€œOr botanical defense mechanism,” said Stands-while-Sitting dryly.
    The scout half dropped it but at the last instant decided to hang on, unsure whether their experienced colleague was joking or quite serious. In any event the object did not explode in his hand or bleed toxic sap. He inspected it closely, then tied it to one of the scarves attached to his left leg. It bounced decoratively with each long stride.
    Not to be outdone, Looks-at-Charts found some delicate bright flowers and secured them to the shoulder strap of his suit. He could smell them without having to turn his nose in their direction. Everything on Shiraz seemed more intense than on the ship: the colors, the aromas, the clarity of the air, everything. This new world glowed and stank with beauty. It would take olfactory specialists years just to catalog the local range of smells. What other wonders lay ahead, just around the next tree or slight hillock?
    A while later they paused for a brief meal. Everything was proceeding according to plan, both that designed for them and Looks’s own private one. They’d encountered no hostile fauna or natives, only beauty in abundance. An easy place in which to be seduced, he reflected. That would not happen. It was one reason why he and Burden had been chosen for this singular honor. They could not and would not be distracted from their duty.
    They encountered plenty of active diurnal fauna as they made their way through the forest. In particular they saw many small furry creatures who made their homes high up in the trees and bombarded them with irritated chittering sounds. They bore a comical but only passing resemblance to tiny Quozl. There was also a slightly larger ground-dwelling creature whose ears superficially resembled those of the Quozl, though they were incapable of twisting and moving in the intricate signing patterns that were second nature to the visitors.
    A larger quadruped provided considerably more excitement when they chanced across it in a small clearing. Both scouts instinctively reached for their weapons only to be stopped by Stands-while-Sitting.
    â€œUse your eyes and your studies,” she whispered to them as she recorded the encounter with her imager. “It’s clearly no carnivore. No cutting teeth or claws.”
    The delicate brown creature stared at them for a long while before turning to trot off into the brush. “See! There’s another,” said Burden, gesturing with both ears. A smaller, spotted version of the first animal followed close behind, provoking debate among the trio of travelers as to whether it was the young or a completely different species.
    The argument had not been resolved by the time they reached the edge of the forest, right where Looks-at-Charts had guessed it would be. A broad open plain stretched out before them. The ground had been sliced with parallel grooves. Clearly machinery and not natural erosion had been at work here.
    Stands-while-Sitting hesitated. “We should return to the forest.”
    â€œNonsense!” Looks-at-Charts advanced confidently toward a fence fashioned of wooden stakes linked together by metal wire. “There’s no danger here.” He fingered one of the pointed barbs attached to the wire. “Look how primitive. Much simpler and more effective to pass a field between posts. They must not have that technological capability.”
    â€œOr perhaps each barb is tipped with a toxic substance,” said Stands-while-Sitting thoughtfully.
    Looks lost a good portion of his confidence, quickly inspected his finger. The barb had not penetrated through his fur to the skin. He inhaled deeply, then turned and made a gesture of abasement to his Senior.
    â€œYou’re right. It was a foolish thing to do. I am unworthy of my training.”
    â€œNone of us is perfect.” Stands had come up beside him to study the fence. “So much newness is overwhelming. We do not always