Drowning World by Alan Dean Foster

Nilsson was finishing his midday ration, while Erla had just cracked a container of pink grape juice. Mist rose from the cylinder as the contents automatically chilled to her preset preferred temperature. Next to her, Nilsson reached up to bat a wandering tseth off his shoulder. It had its augur unsheathed and was making a strenuous effort to bore through his shoulder armor. It buzzed angrily as it fell, broken-winged, toward the water seven meters below. Something long, slim, spotted, and yellow-black that Nilsson did not recognize thrust a pair of stem-mounted jaws skyward. One snapped shut around the body of the tseth with an audible popping sound before sliding back beneath the surface.

Chewing idly, Nilsson studied the spot where both creatures had vanished before returning to the last of his meal. Sometimes he wished he were a xenobiologist. Most of the time he did not. What he did wish was that his term of service on this world was six months further along. Then he would be packing to leave.

He knew his partner felt exactly the same. Commonwealth insistence notwithstanding, Fluva was no place for sensible human beings. But a presence was required, and like it or not, they were part of it. Erla had just put the freshly chilled drink to her lips when a dozen Deyzara came running along the walkway toward them.

Adults all, they were moving as fast as they were able. Deyzara were not naturally gifted runners, and their sandaled twin-digited feet tended to slip even on the dimpled, perforated artificial surface. They accelerated noticeably as they neared the end of the walkway, which began to sway beneath their weight. The reason for the terror Erla felt she saw in their goggling eyes soon manifested itself. Coming up hard behind them were half a dozen Sakuntala, wild-eyed, sharp teeth flashing, ears pointed forward like knives. Most of them carried intricately carved spears or traditional war clubs fashioned from jokobo or segleth wood. But two—Nilsson put aside the last of his food and Erla set down her drink—two of them carried shock rifles. Held them correctly, too, at the appropriate end, with two thin fingers resting on each trigger.

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