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Jon-Tom patiently opened his mouth and grimaced to show his teeth. The
spiderling drew back in alarm, then moved cautiously closer.
"so many. and they're white, not black or brown or gold.
they are so flat, save two. how can you suck fluids with them?"
"I don't use my fangs my teeth to suck fluids," Jon-
Tom explained. "What liquid I do ingest I swallow straight.
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Mostly I eat solid food and use my teeth to chew it into smaller pieces."
The youngster shuddered visibly, "how awful, how grue-
some! you actually eat solid, unliquified flesh? your fangs
don't look up to the task. i'd think they'd break off. ugh, ugh!"
"It can be tough sometimes," Jon-Tom confessed, recalling some less than
palatable meals he'd downed. "But my teeth are stronger than yours. They're
not hollow."
"i wonder," said the spiderling with the disarming honesty common to all
children, "if you'd taste good."
"I'd hope so. I'd hate to think I've lived all these years just to give some
friend an upset stomach. I'd probably be pizza-and-coke flavored."
"i don't know what is a pissaoke." The infant bared tiny
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fangs, "i don't suppose you'd let me have a taste? your elders aren't
watching." He sounded hopeful.
"I'd like to oblige," Jon-Tom said nervously, "but I
haven't had anything to eat yet today and might make you sick. Understand?"
"oh well." The youngster didn't sound too disappointed.
"i don't guess i'd like you sucking out one of my legs, either." He quivered
at the thought, "you're a nice person, warmlander. i like you." Jon-Tom
experienced the abdomen caress once again. Then the spiderling jumped down to
join his fellow scamperers.
"luck to you, warmlander!"
"And to you also, child," Jon-Tom called hastily back to him. Ananthos and
several responsible bystanders were final-
ly shooing the spiderlings away. The children waved and cheered in excited
whispers, like any others, their multiple, multicolored legs waving good-byes.
A greater weight pressured his left arm and he looked around uncertainly. It
was no disrespectful spiderling, howev-
er. Flor's expression was ashen, and she slumped weakly against him. He
quickly got an arm under her shoulders and gave her some support.
"What's wrong, Flor? You look ill."
"What's wrong?" Fresh shock replaced some of the paleness that had dominated
her visage. "I've just been poked, probed,
and swarmed over by a dozen of the most loathesome, disgusting creatures
anyone could..."
Jon-Tom made urgent quieting motions. "Jesus, Flor. Keep your voice down.
These are our hosts."
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"I know, but to have them touch me all over like that."
She was trembling uncontrollably. "Aranqs... uckkkk! I hate them. I could
never even stand the little ones the size of my thumb, for all that Mama used
to praise them for catching the cockroaches. So you can imagine how I feel
about these. I
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could hardly stand it on the boat." She moved unsteadily away from his arm. "I
don't know how much more of this I
can take, Jon-Tom," and she gestured at Ananthos, who was marching ahead of
them.
They turned up another, broader web-road. "What matters isn't what they look
like," Jon-Tom told her sternly, "but what's behind their looks. In this case,
intelligence. We need their help or Clothahump wouldn't have herded us all
this way." He eyed her firmly.
"Think you can manage by yourself now?"
She was breathing deeply. The color was returning to her face. "I hope so,
compadre. But if they climb over me like that again..." A brief reprise of the
trembling. "I feel so.. .so icky."
" 'Icky' is a state of mind, not a physiological condition."
"Easy for you to say, Jon-Tom."
"Look, they probably don't think much of the way we look, either. I know they
don't."
"I don't care what they think," she shot back. "Santa
Maria, I hope we finish with this place quickly."
"Oh, I don't know." He noted the way in which the rising sun, bright despite
the intensifying cloudiness, sparkled off the millions of cables and the
silken buildings and webwork walkway they were climbing. "I think it's kind of
pretty."
"The fly complimenting the spider," she muttered.
"Except that the flies are here hunting for allies."
"Let's hope they are allies."
"Ahhh, you worry too much." He gave her an affectionate pat on the back. She
forced a grin in response, thankful for his moral support.
Jon-Tom's attention returned forward, and to his surprise he found himself
staring straight into Talea's eyes. The instant their gazes locked she turned
away.
He decided she probably hadn't been looking at him.
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Probably trying to memorize their path in case they had to try and flee. Such
preparation and suspicion would be typical of the redhead. It did not occur to
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