Quofum by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

primitive kind, but tool-using nevertheless. The actual degree of decision-making brainpower being employed by the alien would have to remain a question for future study since at that moment neither man was in an analytical mood. Speedily shunting aside any hesitation about employing advanced technology against indigenous primitives, N’kosi fired. As a marksman, he was an excellent scientist. His wild shot blew a neat round hole in the corridor’s outer wall.
    Firing from behind him, Valnadireb put an explosive shell in the center of the onrushing entity’s virtually nonexistent neck. Able to grip his weapon with four hands, the thranx had the advantage of a steadier natural firing platform than did his human companions. Emitting a loud noise halfway between a belch and a bleat, the spiny quadrupedal horror collapsed less than a meter from Tellenberg’s feet. Deprived of its head by Valnadireb’s timely shot, the corpse proceeded to spew greenish-red blood all over the tall xenologist’s lower legs and feet.
    By now Haviti had come up alongside the thranx. She was half dressed and armed. If anyone had bet Tellenberg that under such circumstances he would not have stared, he would have accepted the wager. He also would have lost money. Having a ferociously hostile and violently decapitated alien primitive gushing bodily fluids all over his lower body instantly reduced any incipient libido to less than zero. Shaken, Tellenberg rose from where he had been crouching. He began brushing weakly at his legs in a futile attempt to wipe himself off.
    Crashing, splintering sounds punctuated by echoing gunfire continued to reach them from the vicinity of the camp’s entrance dome. A grim-faced Haviti pushed past the three males.
    “We’d better get up there.”
    N’kosi and Valnadireb followed her lead. Tellenberg started to join them, remembered something, rushed back into his room to get his own weapon. He had to run hard to catch back up to them. Focused on recovering his gun, he had not bothered to take the time to get dressed, correctly assuming that his relative nakedness made not the slightest difference either to his colleagues or to the native intruders.
    The domed entry chamber was a mess. Equipment and fixtures were scattered everywhere, much still intact, some shattered and broken. As the scientists arrived Boylan and Araza were just stepping out from behind a worktable they had overturned to form a makeshift bulwark. Enough alien body parts to make up four or five of the spike-and-claw-equipped invaders lay scattered around the room or splattered against the walls. A dull, sweetish stink like milk left out too long in the sun permeated the air. Boylan was unhurt while Araza paid no attention to the bloody parallel gashes that creased his right side from beneath his arm all the way down to his hip.
    Boylan did not say hello. Gesturing with the pulse rifle he held, he started deliberately toward the gaping entrance. “Quickly! The others have pulled back, but for all we know they re-forming for another try. If so, we have to disrupt them before they can organize themselves!”
    This is ridiculous,
Tellenberg thought as he and the others followed the captain.
I should be breaking down and recording the microscopic structure of water-dwelling proteins, not running around in my underwear waving a gun at belligerent natives.
What had begun as a normal, pleasant evening had degenerated into a seriocomic tridee episode.
    As it turned out he was not forced to engage in the unwelcome activity for very long. Contrary to Boylan’s fears, a quick survey indicated that the camp’s surviving attackers had fled. That they had taken their wounded with them only confirmed their sentience. Rock-throwing animals would have left any seriously injured behind. Compassion for the wounded was a surer indication of intelligence than any amount of rock-throwing.
    The scientists waited while an irate Boylan and the ever-phlegmatic Araza