He settled himself down to searching, disdaining the use of the auxiliary equipment in the skimmer’s storage. Monitoring instruments was Masurathoo’s job. A Deyzara’s job. He would rely on the incredibly sharp vision with which Nature had equipped the Sakuntala.
They made steady progress southward along the course that had been plotted for them by the Commonwealth navigation section without seeing a thing. By the afternoon of the fifth day, Jemunu-jah had acquired a grudging admiration for the skills of his companion. Not only did Masurathoo prove to be a superb pilot, but he also showed himself to be equally adept at manipulating the skimmer’s food sourcer. While not sufficient to endear the Deyzara to Jemunu-jah, it went some ways toward tempering his view of his companion. Even the usual flatulent Deyzara pronouncements on everything from proper social intercourse to life in general were muted and carefully timed. There were surprisingly few moments when Jemunu-jah experienced the familiar Sakuntala desire to wring the Deyzara’s short neck.
For his part Masurathoo had become, if not actually comfortable around the tall, brooding Sakuntala, at least reasonably confident his companion was not going to slit his throat and drink his blood while he slept. This Jemunu-jah was an unusual example of his kind. While his terranglo grammar and pronunciation were still awkward, he showed a much greater command of vocabulary than was usual for his people, together with an inherent intelligence and curiosity that was almost—almost but not quite—Deyzaran in its perspicacity. So much so that Masurathoo finally felt comfortable asking about it.