Hasa was curt but reassuring. “We’ve explained what happened to us. Unless whoever’s responsible for sending out the rescue crew is utterly barren of intelligence, they’ll triple check everything before taking off. I think it’ll be okay.” Leaning back in the suspension chair, he sucked on something brown, round, and full of sweet syrup. “I wouldn’t want to be rescued by anyone stupid enough to let what happened to us happen to them.”
The human’s confidence bolstered Masurathoo’s depleted spirits. The Deyzara had decided that Hasa was worth saving after all—just barely.
“Couple of days,” Hasa repeated. The rain had intensified. If it started to come down any harder, he mused, they would have to move inside. He didn’t want to do that. Like any traditional Sakuntala dwelling, that of their kindly host stank to high heaven. “That gives us time to sort a few things out.”
Nearby, Jemunu-jah lolled in comparative contentment in his own chair, idly watching the rain. Amazing how soothing it was; in its sound, its smell, its constancy. He never would understand why it made humans so irritable.
“What things? We have already agreed on a common report.”
Having drained the boku of the last of its sugary contents, Hasa let it slip from his fingers. It landed on the otherwise clean deck. Jemunu-jah eyed the human disapprovingly. The least the disagreeable one could have done was throw it over the side, into the water. It would not have taken much of an effort. But then, a lack of concern for others was one of their human companion’s most notable characteristics.