Drowning World by Alan Dean Foster Page A

themselves. Couldn't one have both self-respect
and
credit? The contradiction led many Sakuntala to simultaneously despise and envy the Deyzara. That was not a healthy condition.
    “Why do the Deyzara work so hard to please the humans?” he blurted. “Why you abase yourselves before them so blindly?”
    Masurathoo looked over at him in surprise, his trunk weaving in mild agitation. “It's not blindness that is at work, dear me, no. We know exactly what we are doing, my friend. It is much easier to do business with a friend than with an enemy. Most intelligent beings are susceptible to flattery. Humans and thranx and many others of the Commonwealth are no different, no. It is simply good business practice.”
    “Then why,” Jemunu-jah asked pointedly, “don't you do the same to us?”
    He expected the Deyzara to hesitate and was surprised when Masurathoo did not. “No reason to. We do not do enough important business with the Sakuntala. In such instances, flattery would not only be a waste of time, it would be seen for what it was: a calculated falsehood.”
    “But it would improve relations.”
    “I can see that.” Masurathoo adjusted a control, and the softly humming skimmer turned a half degree to port. “It works both ways, my friend. Perhaps if the Sakuntala would treat us with more respect and less contempt, we would be inclined to respond more warmly, with an expression other than fear.”
    As he returned to scanning the Viisiiviisii below, Jemunu-jah reflected on the Deyzara's words. Clearly, if real progress was going to be made in defusing the tension that had been growing between the species, there were going to have to be changes made on both sides. His great and honest fear was that the Deyzara might be more amenable to such modifications than his own kind. Patience was a virtue not even the Sakuntala associated with themselves.
    It was while he was contemplating ways of breaking through such an impasse that the glint of something not organic sparked behind his retinas and set off an alarm in his brain.

5

    W iping warm, clinging raindrops from his face, the only part of him that was not directly protected by the rain suit, Hasa labored over the open compartment that held the inert emergency beacon. It was incumbent on him, as a freelance bioprospector, to learn how to repair in the field a good deal more than just the gear he used to study plants and other growing things. If he'd had a partner, it would have been easier. Responsibilities could have been divided, specialties shared. He'd tried a partnership some seven years earlier. Following its dissolution Hasa hoped the man's arm would regenerate fully under treatment and that he would enjoy his enforced retirement.
    That was the one and only time Hasa had worked with a partner.
    Others had offered, only to be rebuffed. Hasa was smart enough to know his personal limitations. They did not include having to deal with the individual peccadilloes of others less competent than himself. Since he believed firmly that nearly everyone else in his field fell into the latter category, it seemed that he was destined to always work alone.
    Others would have listened to music or maybe watched a headsup while they were working in the heat and the rain. In contrast, Hasa's efforts in the field were accompanied by a steady muttering the likes of which were unlikely to ever make the numerous lists that charted the rise and fall of popular culture. He couldn't even keep himself good company, the realization of which fact did nothing to improve his demeanor.
    Reaching back for the small laser welder, he touched something sticky. Turning, he saw that a branch or root had fallen through a crack in the canopy and onto the skimmer's slanting deck. The broken wood was oozing sap, into which he had inadvertently pushed a few fingers. The same yellow-tinged goo covered half the welder. His muttering rose in intensity for a moment as his face twisted into an even tighter