“It has me!” the Deyzara was screaming. “Something has got hold of me!” He was thrashing around on the moss bed, flailing behind and beneath him with his flexible arms.
Weapons drawn, Hasa and Jemunu-jah were at his side in an instant, flanking their panic-stricken companion. “Where?” Jemunu-jah queried the spasming, contorting Deyzara. “Where do they have you?”
“Everywhere! They are all over me!” Rain-cape-clad arms continued to flail away beneath the convulsing form.
Holstering his gun but not securing it, Hasa bent carefully toward the Deyzara, whose naturally protuberant eyes now threatened to pop out of his head. “Whatever it is, it’s got him from below. Let’s try to turn him over.”
Jemunu-jah managed to get hold of the Deyzara’s ropy, wildly kicking legs. Together, he and the human simultaneously lifted and twisted. Masurathoo was not heavy. In an instant, he was lying on his ventral side, still lashing out and hollering.
That was when Hasa finally identified the preponderance of hooting that was emerging from the Deyzara’s speaking trunk. They were not yells of pain. Stepping back, he frowned down at the bouncing pilot.
“Son of a bitch. He’s not squealing in agony. He’s laughing.”
“Laughter?” Jemunu-jah stared uncertainly at their pink-faced colleague. “Amusement? I don’t understand.”
“Look at him. At the way he’s moving. See any wounds? Any blood?”
Careful to avoid being struck by the Deyzara’s flailing whiplike limbs, Jemunu-jah bent over the shuddering body. “No. But I do see kaema.” Extending his right hand, he gestured with his three middle fingers.