Come to think of it, wasn’t that life everywhere?
Standing there in the rain, he waxed momentarily philosophical. Here something waves gold-tipped tails or tentacles. On less wild worlds we wave credit balances and guns. The means are different but the ends the same. Eat, mate, live, die. Personally, he was more comfortable in a place like the Fluvan Viisiiviisii than in an urbane metropolis on Earth or New Riviera. Here, at least, the maneuverings of the local predators were straightforward. He would far rather confront a nironve or a bai-mou than a lawyer.
Water ran in rivulets away from the repulsion field that kept the outer layer of his rain cape dry. Reaching down, he removed one of the two collectors that were built into the waist and gulped down the filtered, cooled contents. The water was clean and refreshing. You could also sip it straight from any branch or leaf, but in doing so you ran the risk of imbibing possibly harmful organic detritus along with the life-giving liquid. Not to mention bacteria or internal parasites. And water so sipped would be tepid. Cooled and filtered was better. After his pistol, his versatile rain cape was the most important item he had salvaged from his downed skimmer.
Such thoughts served to churn memories of the debacle. They were wasting time here. He had things to do, places to go, people to beat the crap out of. Turning away from contemplation of the saturated yet beautiful forest, he moved to wake Jemunu-jah. As he turned, his boots sank into the soft, spongy moss.