Hasa silently digested this explanation. “Then why is this fool laughing hard enough to tie his trunks in knots?” He eyed the pale exposed flesh with undisguised distaste. He’d seen newborn babies with darker skin. Newborn human babies, he corrected himself. The transient image of a newborn Deyzara broodling was sufficient to raise the bile in his gut.
“I think I know.” Jemunu-jah regarded the occupied Masurathoo with some sympathy. “Outside of kaema cup is lined with tiny legs. What you call, I believe, cilia. To make travel host move, and keep moving, kaema move these legs against its skin, causing irritation.”
Hasa let go of the Deyzara’s arms and stepped back. Left alone on the moss bed between his companions, Masurathoo continued his violent twisting and hooting, his half-naked body now exposed to the falling rain. The prospector shook his head slowly.
“Obviously the damn things don’t rub off. What do we do?” Intending to try to pluck it free, he started to reach for one of the toothless but persistent vermin.
Jemunu-jah forestalled him. “Suction is too powerful. Any grip strong enough to pull away kaema will also pull away skin and flesh.”
Hasa’s fingers continued to hover over one of the green-black protuberances. “It ain’t my skin and flesh.” A bit reluctantly, he drew his hand back. “Okay then. They can’t be pulled off. What then?”
Jemunu-jah was reaching into one of the pouches attached to his waist strappings. “Fire. Is fire in Viisiiviisii only in time of fleeting dryness. No creatures have resistance to it.”