Well, Jemunu-jah mused, in that he had company.
“Who are you,” the human asked sharply, “and what do you want with me?” For good measure, he repeated the query in both S’aku and Deyzar.
With Masurathoo still overtaken by the rush of events, it was his companion who replied. “I am Jemunu-jah. This my associate in current mission, Masurathoo.”
The human’s eyes narrowed and his weapon remained leveled. “What would prompt a damn dumb native and a bug-eyed Dez to be traveling together in this godforsaken corner of the Viisiiviisii?”
“We came rescue you.” Jemunu-jah bristled at the name-calling. Off to his right, he saw that Masurathoo was similarly offended.
The human made a nonverbal grunting noise, deep and primordial. “Did you, now? Fine job you’ve made of it.” The muzzle of the gun gestured meaningfully toward the place where the newcomers’ skimmer had sunk.
Wiping rain from his eyes, Masurathoo was emboldened to speak up. “I am compelled to point out that the instant we detected your location our craft’s controls locked up. Despite my most energetic efforts, I was unable to free them. The dire consequences of this you have obviously observed for yourself.” The Deyzara hesitated a moment, his speaking trunk bobbing nervously. “May I say, sir, that while our efforts thus far may admittedly be somewhat lacking in efficiency, I find your attitude more than a little insupportable.”
Jemunu-jah tensed in anticipation of a reaction from the human. But humans, he knew, did not always react as expected. They were far more individualistic and less predictable than, say, a Sakuntala.