The Dig by Alan Dean Foster

This wouldn’t do, he thought impatiently. It wasn’t going fast enough.

Looking around, he located several lengths of loose metal. One had a sharp edge, the other a curved tip that would make a serviceable hook. With these he was able to pry and dig much more effectively at the incomplete cocoon, particularly at the fibers that had already dried. They were strong, but one by one they eventually parted under his single-minded assault.

With Robbins pushing from within and Low ripping and tearing from the other side, one strand after another gave way, until he was finally able to fling the stiff length of metal aside and lift her clear. Dried residue covered her from head to foot, but everything worked.

His face was very close to hers, but neither of them thought anything of it. Circumstances hardly allowed for a romantic interval.

“You okay? Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He forced himself to smile. “If you’d listened to me from the start, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“No?” She managed to smile back. “Didn’t you say we should stick together?”

“Not literally.” As he stepped clear, he remembered something momentarily forgotten. “Ludger.”

There followed a welcome, even energetic, response to their simultaneous cries.

“I’m all right! It’s closer, but still unsure whether to strike first at me or the light. I’m hoping it will choose the latter. Incidentally, I must point out that I am running out of space. Any assistance would be most welcome. Don’t linger.”

Low took Maggie’s hand and together they followed the sound of Brink’s voice. He was still shouting and cursing to draw the glue-spitter’s attention.

It didn’t take long to find him. He’d been backed into an alcove by the spitter, which hovered on the edge of indecision. Low doubted it would remain that way forever.

“Use your light,” Maggie urged him. “Lure it away.”

“We can’t keep doing that. Our batteries will quit. We have to try something else.”

She looked up at him expectantly. “Like what?”

“Like I don’t know.” He scanned their surroundings. “What do you suppose that is?”

“What, what is?” Turning, she saw that his beam had settled on a large, puffy pink mound attached to one wall. Thick cables supplied additional bracing, and it was covered with a thin layer of glistening mucus.

“Egg sac?” She wracked her brain for memories of anything similar. “Food storage? Sleeping nest?”

“Could be any one of those, or something else. Or all three.” Picking up another metal shaft, he directed Maggie to do likewise. “Whatever it is, it’s important. Look at the care with which it’s been constructed, at the thickness of the support strands.”

“If your assessment is correct and we attack it outright, that thing will be on us like a crow on roadkill.”

“You’re right.” Once again Low anxiously searched their surroundings. “This way.”

He led her to a nearby conduit through which a powerful stream of water could be heard rushing. Water seeped profusely from a broken seam.

“Work on that.”

Under his direction they used the lengths of metal to dig and pry at the crack, until water began to flow in a steady stream from the enlarged breach. The entire conduit quivered as if ready to give way at any moment.

“Over here!” he directed her.

Bracing their feet against another pipe, they both pushed as hard as they could at the point Low had selected. Nothing happened.

“Harder! Use your weight!”

“Watch your language.” More seriously she added, “What if this just snaps? It could blow up in our faces.”

His expression was contorted as he strained against the heavy pipe. “You have any better ideas?”

She resumed pushing. “No. In fact, I don’t even have your idea. What are we trying to do, anyway?”

“You’ll see … I hope.”

A weak cracking noise sounded above the deep rush of running water, and then the conduit snapped. The pent-up force of the liberated stream knocked them both down. With the power of a high-pressure fire hose, water shot across the gap to smash into the blob of sticky strands. Gluey filaments went flying.

Within arm’s reach of Brink, who had retreated as far as possible, the creature whirled. Emitting a high-pitched keening and exhibiting far more speed and agility than Low suspected it possessed, it scrambled madly in the direction of its inundated nest.

“Ludger, this way!” Rising, Low and Robbins waved wildly in the scientist’s direction.

With the monster distracted by the roaring water, Brink was able to rejoin them safely. Together they started out of the abyss and back toward the clear, compelling light of the museum spire.

Robbins quickly fell behind. “Come on, Maggie,” Low urged her.

“Can’t.” He saw that she was limping. “Too long in one position. My leg muscles are knotting up.”

The two men flanked her. Putting her arms across their shoulders, she allowed them to carry her out, using her legs whenever recalcitrant quadriceps allowed. The keening whine of the monster and the thunder of escaping water gradually faded behind them.

Eventually they reemerged into the pale luminescence and half-familiar surroundings of the spire. Robbins gingerly sat down on one of a thousand identical enigmatic containers, each of whose contents would be priceless on Earth. Wincing, she began massaging her thighs.

Low hovered close. “You doing any better?”

She smiled weakly. “I’m out of that hellhole, so I’m not too concerned about anything else right now.” Experimentally, she kicked out her right leg. “It’s loosening up. I’ll be all right.” Moving down from the lower thigh, she began working on her right calf. Low considered contributing his help, decided against it. Such an offer might easily be misconstrued. It would have surprised him to know that it would have been gratefully accepted.

“What did it want with you?” he asked gently.

“Fortunately, I never found out.” She glanced at the silent scientist. “I’ll bet Ludger can think of a few gruesome possibilities.”

Brink considered. “Is that really what you want me to do?”

“No. Let’s just assume it wasn’t looking for friendly company and leave it at that.” She switched her hands to her other leg.

“Its intentions might have been other than deadly. Perhaps it was merely a kind of arthropodal pack rat and wished to add you to its collection. Just because it carried you back to its nesting area and tied you up doesn’t mean it intended to consume you. Possibly it was simply taken with your looks, not unlike myself.”

She made a face. “You make it sound like New York.” The scientist’s sense of humor was as dry as the Namib. Given her spent, sweaty, gunk-encrusted appearance, he was either being mightily complimentary or highly sarcastic.

In any event, he offered no further interpretations of her unfortunate ordeal as they made their way back to the transport station. The shimmering globe awaited, a spherical genie that could only grant the same wish again and again.

On the verge of collapse, Robbins considered clicking her heels together three times, but decided against it. The quantity of goo clinging to them would probably make her boots stick together. They weren’t red, anyway.

But given what she’d just been through, she was mightily tempted.

CHAPTER 17

Several million powerless but hopeful Cocytans had observed and analyzed every aspect of the incident. Their individual reactions were nearly as diverse.

“They continue to elucidate unexpected depths.” The first was greatly pleased.

“And utilize hidden resources.” Its supporters were quietly elated.

“They have proven repeatedly that they are capable of acting and reacting with intelligence and common sense, even when under duress.”

“We would not have thought of using the water ourselves.” A few thousand heretofore unpersuaded slid mentally onto the side of the convinced.

“Ah, water!” Ten-and-twenty lamented the half-forgotten memory of fluid tactility. “The voluptuous feel of it, the ecstasy of liquid cool! To be able to drink again.” In the absence of hearts, a heartfelt sigh nonetheless rippled through the grieving commentators. “The simple joys of physicality—all fled. The delights of experiencing without thinking—forever lost.”

“Who among us would not trade eternity for the neural receptivity of a worm?” Twenty-and-ten others rode invisibly atop the rolling sphere, vicariously experiencing the sense of speed. Others followed effortlessly. Air or mud, water or stone—it made no difference to them. Nothing could inhibit or slow their progress.

Which was simply another way of reflecting on the malaise that continued to plague them. They took no pleasure in their ease of passage because nothing ever awaited them at its conclusion.

“I’m sorry.” Robbins was still limping slightly as they reentered the main chamber of the central island.

“For what?” Low eyed her appraisingly.

“I told you already. Stomping off like that. Going off on my own. Stupid. I’m famous for it. It’s just that I’ve always been lucky. I was lucky in the Yucatan, I was lucky in Burkina Faso, I was lucky in Turkmenistan.”

Brink dissented. “You underestimate yourself, Maggie. You are simply very good at what you do.”

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