Luana by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

or mysteriously. They all go with their inspired legacy in their pocket.”
    “It’s no joke, Mr. Barrett!” She huffed and angrily downed the last of her half-Zombie.
    Well, he mused, the “George” didn’t last long, anyway.
    “My father had all his important papers and equipment with him.”
    “Of course, of course, I didn’t mean to be skeptical.” Which, of course, was exactly what he meant. He gulped down the rest of his own Zombie.
    “There won’t be anything left of him now, if that’s what you’re thinking. The jungle is its own undertaker. It works slow and sloppy sometimes, but it’s efficient.”
    She sat up straight—as straight as the Zombie would permit—and looked at him evenly.
    “Mr. Barrett, I must find my father’s plane and try to salvage any of his work that might have survived. This is in addition,” and she looked down and away, “to any personal interest I may have in such a search.”
    “Listen,” began Barrett sympathetically, “didn’t people hunt for your father when he crashed? Surely someone must have conducted a decent air search. The man was important.”
    “Some tried,” she answered. “Several times. Nothing was ever found.”
    Barrett looked down at his empty glass. “Well, that’s not surprising, I suppose.” He grunted. “Jungle would swallow up anything fast enough. Broken trees and bushes could cover it up. Or he might have gone down in a dirty lake, in the reeds.”
    She all but threw herself across the table. “Then you’ll help me search for the plane?”
    “No, I won’t help you search for the plane!” he shouted back. Now calm yourself, Georgie-Porgie, and be patient with this curvaceous cargo of ignorance.
    “First of all, this hunk of jungle is the abode of a big primitive tribe called the Wanderi. But you know that from the book. The Wanderi have a charming little witch cult. This cult believes in many unusual things, one of which is that its members should have absolutely nothing to do with visitors and outsiders of any kind. The British found that out thirty years ago, the hard way.
    “This belief is expressed in the form of the most antisocial behavior, Izzy. To back it up, they have ritual, prayer, and a really super dart poison that works on the nerves. It’s a fine persuader and it never fails.” He hesitated. “Well, almost never.
    “Next, even assuming you could somehow make your way through their territory without encountering any of the delightful local folks, there are no superhighways, no roads, not even a goat path through that mess.” His hand swept across the map. “Not only is it jungle, much of it is mountain and swamp, swamp and mountain, alternating across the lines of longitude.
    “There are big cats running around in there, Izzy, that haven’t been taught zoo politeness. They’ve been known to come to the edge of the forest and gnaw on an occasional farmer now and then. In the low lands—here—you’ll find pythons big enough to swallow you whole. The land’s full of these big fellows’ toxic little cousins . . . cobras, vipers and mambas in every color and potency imaginable.
    “Frankly, I’m not sure I don’t prefer the snakes and big cats to the mosquitoes, tse-tse, and bloodsucking flies. Oh, and we mustn’t forget African warrior bees and Black Death spiders and all the other tiny treats that thrive in there.
    “In short, Miss Hardi, it’s no place for you.”
    “Oh, come now, Mr. Barrett, surely in this day and age you’re not—”
    “I didn’t say it was ‘no place for a woman,’ ” he interrupted painstakingly. “Christ, sometimes I think the twentieth century—” He sighed.
    “It’s no place for you, you the human being. Poisoners and bloodsuckers and constrictors and disease make no distinctions as to sex. You might die a few seconds sooner, because you’re smaller, not because you’re female. It might surprise you to know that I’d much rather have you for company than