Drowning World Read Online Free PDF Page A

attempted to coerce the skimmer's computation unit to effect minimal internal resuscitation. No chance. He tried cursing and beating and threatening the variegated deities of half a dozen different religions, not all of them human. The multispecies heavens ignored him.
    He was stuck.
    As he morosely contemplated his indisputable stuckness, a line of brilliantly iridescent blue-and-crimson kindling came marching in single file through a gap in the broken dome. Wending their way toward where he was seated, their multiple short, jointed legs striding along in unison, they looked for all the world like a monkish procession of deeply religious stick insects. They had bulging black four-lensed eyes, slender quadruple slowly weaving antennae, and disagreeably sharp proboscises. Looking down, he gazed sternly at the first of the twenty-centimeter-long intruders. It halted in front of his leg. Delicate, sensitive antennae tapped gently, tentatively, at the hydrophobic tropical weave of his pants. The hypodermoid proboscis probed, searching for an opening between the raindrops that ran down his leg.
    His off-world blood would probably give it indigestion, he knew. Without giving it the opportunity to sample the possible stomachache-inducing effects of imported alien body fluids, he raised his foot and brought it down firmly. There was a muted
crunch
. Green-and-yellow goo splotched across the floor.
    Instantly the dance line of intruding ambulatory twigs did a united about-face and, without breaking stride, proceeded to take their leave of the skimmer. There was no violent counterattack, no attempt to gain retribution for the death of their point twig, no multiple keening high-pitched wail of despair. But as they exited the craft back along the branch they had used to enter it, each one deliberately and pointedly defecated on the still gleaming composite rim.
    Go ahead, he thought irately. Take your turn. Fate has already done to me what you are only doing now.
    He needed to take stock, he knew. Best to do so before nightfall. If those responsible for such things were doing their job, he would be located and lifted out of here before the onset of twilight, let alone darkness. But one never knew. As those in his position were well aware from long and bitter experience, the number of complete and utter morons inhabiting government posts was inversely proportional to the distance from recognized centers of civilization. It might happen that he would be compelled to spend a night, or even two, out in the Viisiiviisii before a rescue-and-recovery team arrived from Taulau or another Commonwealth outpost. Should that come to pass, it would be nice to have a few small items readily available. Water would never be a problem on Fluva. But it would be nice not to have to search for food. A dry place to sleep would also be welcome, and a weapon or two was imperative. The Viisiiviisii was not a benign place for the solo visitor to go camping.
    Thoughts of a dry place to sleep caused him to rise and scramble to the far side of the skimmer. Having briefly blacked out at the moment of impact, he had no idea of the terrain on which he had landed. Reaching the outer wall, he stuck his head out into the full force of the rain, leaned through a wide gap in the shattered dome, and looked down. A single monosyllable emerged from between tightened lips. It was foul.
    His incapacitated skimmer was resting amid a tangle of broken branches and trailing vines some twenty meters above the placid water, held aloft by trees whose bases and buttresses were submerged in at least another twenty meters of tannin-infused muck. A plethora of unpleasant possibilities rushed helter-skelter through his brain.
    Then there was a loud
crack
, and the necessity to think was obviated by the need to grab onto something solid and unmoving. It was a futile gesture, because the entire skimmer was already moving—downward.
    The supportive branches beneath it having finally given way