Drowning World by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

square, it had no openings on the shielded and armored lower level. In ancient times, this was designed to keep out predatory branch walkers like the nironve and slitherers like the bai-mou. For its part, the Viisiiviisii made no distinction between materials and methods. Maintenance teams were kept perpetually busy cutting away opportunistic lianas and leapers, aerial roots that reached down to the water, and spirocyte fungi that tried to penetrate buildings from below.
    Hatas and their advisers and attendants entered through the single circular, easily defended opening in the roof, using ample built-in handholds to swing themselves over to the eskachi, or drying area. In the old days, a series of elaborate shaking gestures would be employed to politely shed the moisture one had accumulated on one's fur. Nowadays, a portable sensing evaporator imported from the thranx world of Evoria did the job faster and more efficiently.
But not,
she reflected as she walked toward her assigned place, occasionally entwining tongues with friends and acquaintances,
half as gracefully.
    The line of chairs suspended from the ceiling formed a circle around the central shaft. These days such seats hung from spun composite, not vines cut from the heart of the Viisiiviisii. The composite strands were stronger and lighter. What they lacked in warmth and weave they made up for by being impervious to decay. It was a trade-off that was hard to argue with.
    Rain pouring through the entrance in the roof fell through the open center of the High House to spill out through a slightly larger hole in the floor. When the occasional rare shaft of sunshine pierced the clouds, the raindrops were illuminated from above, giving this central core of falling water the appearance of dripping diamonds. Traditionally at such moments, those not speaking would murmur a soft “Hauea!,” an old entreaty to the gods to make sure the rain did not stop. Because if the rain stopped, as it did seasonally for one small part of the year, it meant that, among other things, predators could walk freely along dry ground from tree to tree, seeking prey. That was not so important anymore, in these days of imported advanced weaponry, alarms, and protective barriers, but old fears died slowly, and hard.
    She slipped regally into her seat and began the slow, steady rocking back and forth motion that indicated she was ready to participate in the forthcoming discussion. All around her, other Hatas were moving back and forth or side to side to their own personal, unheard rhythms. Skillfully synced, a mobile seat (swings, the humans called them straightforwardly, but without reverence) could convey almost as many meanings as words. Direction was as important as velocity. Her own uncomplicated motion indicated that she was ready to listen but not to speak. Not yet.
    Molavil-isi was the last to arrive. An old and wizened Hata, he had come all the way from distant Hiokavaru. Before the advent of the Commonwealth, distance and dangers would have rendered such a journey impossible. Now, with the aid of a skimmer, it could be accomplished in a matter of days. Wonderful things, skimmers, Naneci-tok felt. Her ancestors would have been astonished to see her traveling freely above the treetops, without the aid of branches or walkways. All thanks to the arrival of the humans and thranx and their grand interstellar civilization. Unfortunately, along with skimmers and energy weapons and communicators they had brought the Deyzara. How to deal with the latter without losing the former was the great question this meeting had been organized to try to settle.
    The Hata-tanasua served as shaman-advisers to multiple clans. Cherished by all who had enjoyed the good fortune to know him and to experience his wise ministrations, the sage Manarapi-vea formally convened the gathering by intoning the opening to the katola ritual. Holding the first carved bowl of katola at eye level, he kept his tongue twice wrapped