*******************************************************
Author: Alan Dean Foster
Title: Mid-Flinx
Original copyright: 1995
Genre: Science
Fiction
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*******************************************************
By
Alan Dean Foster : Published by
Ballantine Books:
The Icenggger Trilogy
ICERIGGER
MISSION TO MOULOKIN
THE DELUGE DRIVERS
The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth
FOR LOVE OF MOTHER‑NOT
THE TAR‑AIYM KRANG
ORPHAN STAR
THE END OF THE MATTER
FLINX IN FLUX
MID‑FLINX
BLOODHYPE
THE HOWLING STONES
The Damned
Book One: A CALL TO ARMS
Book Two: THE FALSE MIRROR
Book Three: THE SPOILS OF WAR
THE BLACK HOLE CACHALOT
DARK STAR THE
METROGNOME and Other Stories
MIDWORLD NOR
CRYSTALTEARS
SENTENCED TO PRISM SPLINTER
OF THE MIND'S EYE
STAR TREK@ LOGS ONE‑TEN VOYAGE TO THE CITY OF THE DEAD
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . . ... WHO NEEDS ENEMIES?
MAD AMOS PARALLELITIES*
* forthcoming
Books
published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity
discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund‑raising, and
special sales use. For details, please call 1‑500‑733‑3000.
*******************************************************
Sale of this book without a front cover may be
unauthorized. If this book is coverIess, it may have been reported to the
publisher as "unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the
publisher may have received payment for it.
A Del Rey® Book Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright © 1995 by Thranx. Inc.
All rights reserved under International and Pan‑American
Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a
division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
htpp://www.randomhouse.com
Cover
art by Bob Eggleton
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 96‑96371
ISBN 0‑345‑40644‑3
Printed in
Canada
First Hardcover Edition: November 1995
First Mass Market Edition: October 1996
10 9 8 76
*******************************************************
If everyone's going to chase me, Flinx thought, I
should've been born with eyes in the back of my head. Of course, in a sense, he
had been.
He couldn't see behind himself. Not in the commonly
accepted meaning of the term. Not visually. But he could "sense"
behind him. Most sentient creatures generated patterns on the emotional level
that Flinx could, from time to time, detect, descry, or perceive. Depending on
the wildly variable sensitivity of his special talent, he could feel anger,
fear, love, sorrow, pain, happiness, or simple contentment in others the way
ordinary folk could feel heat or cold, slipperiness or stickiness, that which
was sharp and that which was soft.
The emotional states of other beings prodded him
with little jabs, twitches, icy notions in his brain. Sometimes they arrived on
the doorstep of his mind as a gentle knock or comforting greeting, more often
as a violent hammering he was unable, despite his most ardent efforts, to
ignore.
For years he believed that any refining of his
talent would be an improvement. He was no longer so sure. Increased sensitivity
only exposed him to more and more personal distress and private upsets. He had
discovered that the emotional spectrum was a roiling, violent, crowded,
generally unpleasant place. When he was especially receptive, it washed over
him in remorseless waves, battering and pounding at his own psyche, leaving
scant room for feelings of his own. None of this was apparent to others. Years
of practice enabled him to keep the turmoil inside his head locked up, hidden
away, artfully concealed.
Much to his distress, as he matured it became harder
instead of easier to maintain the masquerade.
Used to be that he could distance himself from the
emotional projections of others by putting distance between himself and the
rest of humanxkind. Now that he'd grown more sensitive still, that kind of
peace came to him only in the depths of interstellar space itself.
His situation wasn't entirely hopeless. With
advancing maturity had come the ability to shut out the majority of background
low‑level emotional emanations. Spousal ire directed silently at mates,
the petty squabbles of children, silent internalized hatreds, secret loves:
he'd managed to reduce them all to a kind off perceptual static in the back of
his mind. He couldn't completely relax in the company of others, but neither
was his mind in constant turmoil. Where and when possible, he favored town
over city, hamlet over town, country over hamlet, and wilderness over all.
Still, as his erratic control of his fickle talent improved,
his worries only expanded, and he found himself plagued by new fears and
uncertainties.
As he watched Pip slither silently across the oval
glassine tabletop, hunting for fallen crumbs of salt and sugar, Flinx found
himself wondering not for the first time where it would all stop. As he grew
older and taller he continued to grow more sensitive. Would he someday be privy
to the emotional state of insects? Perhaps a couple of distraught bacteria
would eventually be all that was necessary to incite one of his recurring
headaches.
He knew that would never happen. Not because it
wasn't theoretically possible‑he was such a genetic anomaly that where
his nervous system was concerned, anything
was theoretically possible‑but because long before he could ever
attain that degree of sensitivity he would certainly go mad. If the pain of his
headaches didn't overwhelm him, an excess of knowledge would.
He sat alone in the southwest corner of the
restaurant, but for all it distanced him from the emotional outpourings of his
fellow patrons, he night as well have been sitting square in their midst. His
isolation arose not from personal choice but because the other diners preferred
it that way. They shunned him, and not the other way around.
It had nothing to do with his appearance. Tall, slim
but well‑proportioned, with his red hair and green eyes he was a pleasant‑looking,
even attractive young man. Much to his personal relief, he'd also lost nearly
all the freckling that had plagued him since his youth.
The most likely explanation for his isolation was
that the other diners had clustered at the opposite end off the dining room in
hopes of avoiding the attentions of the small, pleat‑winged, brightly
colored flying snake which was presently foraging across her master's table in
search of spice and sustenance. While the combined specific xenozoological
knowledge of the other patrons peaked not far above zero, several dutifully
recalled that contrasting bright colors in many primitive creatures constituted
a warning sign to potential predators. Rather than chance confirmation of this
theory, all preferred to order their midday meal as far from the minidrag as
possible.
Pip's pointed tongue flicked across the tabletop to
evaluate a fragment of turbinado sugar. Delighted by the discovery, she pounced
on the energy‑rich morsel with a languid thrust of her upper body.
Credit was due the restaurant's host. When Flinx had
appeared at the entrance with the living snake coiled decorously about his left
arm and shoulder, the older man had stiffened instinctively while listening to
Flinx's explanation that the minidrag was a longtime pet fully under control
who would threaten no one. Accepting the tall young guest at his word, the
unflinching host had led him to a small, isolated table which partook fully of
the establishment's excellent view.
Samstead was a peaceful world. Its three large continents
were veined by many rivers which drained into oceans congenial of coast and
clime. Its weather was consistent if not entirely benign, its settlers
hardworking and generally content. They raised up light industries and cut down
dense forests, planted thousands of fields and drew forth from the seas a
copious harvest of savory alien protein. In dehydrated, freeze‑dried, and
otherwise commercially profitable compacted forms, this bounty found its way
packed, labeled, and shipped to less fruitful systems.
It was a world of wide‑open spaces buttoned
together by innumerable small towns and modest, rurally attuned metropolises.
While air transport was widely available, citizens preferred where possible to
travel by means of the many rivers and connecting canals. Working together,
humans and thranx had over the years woven a relatively pleasant fabric of life
out of the natural threads supplied by their planet, which lay on the fringes
of the Commonwealth. It was a pleasant place to call home.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Samstead was
that there was nothing remarkable about it. It had been a long time since Flinx
had come across so docile an outpost of civilization. Since his arrival he'd
given serious thought to extending his visit beyond his original intent,
perhaps even settling down‑if such a thing were possible for him.
It was a world where a new colonist might be able to
lose himself in idyllic contentment. A world where even he might no longer need
to continually employ those figurative eyes in the back of his head. Flinx
wasn't paranoid, but bitter experience had taught him caution. This was the
inevitable consequence of an adolescence that had been, well, something other
than normal.
For the moment, he was content to travel, to
observe, to soak up the gentle, genial, country feel of this place. If its
appeal held, he would linger. If not he would, as always, move on.
Departure would be effected by means of his remarkable
ship, the Teacher, presently drifting
in parking orbit over Samstead's equator in the company of several hundred
other KK‑drive craft. As far as Samstead Authority was concerned, it was
bonded to a Mothian company, which was in fact a fiction for private ownership:
a not uncommon practice.
As he slipped a forkful of some wonderful grilled
fresh fish into his month, he drank in the view beyond the sweeping glass wall
that fronted the backside of the restaurant. The establishment clung to the
edge of a thirty‑meter‑high bank of the Tumberleon River, one of
Samstead's hundred principal watercourses. Translucent graphite ribs
reinforced the wall, becoming soaring arches overhead. These supported a
ceiling of photosensitive panels which darkened automatically whenever
Samstead's sun emerged from behind the clouds.
At this point, three‑quarters of its way to
the Kil Sea, the river was some three kilometers wide. All manner of
contemporary river craft plied the languorous yet muscular stream: sailboats
whose ultralight fabrics responded automatically to shifts in wind speed and
direction, hovercraft built up out of
ultralight composites, MAG
barges which utilized the minute differences in electric charge between air and
water to lumber along several centimeters above the surface of the water, big
powerboats, tiny super fast pleasure craft, and land‑based skimmers.
There was even a small group of children splashing about in some nearby shallows, looking for all the world tike an undisciplined pod of playful amphibians. They seemed to be having a good time without the aid or intervention of any advanced technology whatsoever. Though timeless, it was a tableau less frequently encountered on the more urbanized worlds like Terra or Centauri.
Flinx found himself envying that unrestrained innocence.
The pace of life on Samstead was much slower. It was a world on which one could
live and work and still take time.
Flinx had managed to live, but so far his work had
consisted of trying to stay alive and unnoticed. As for time, there never
seemed to be enough of that intangible yet most precious of commodities.
Raising the upper third of her body off the table,
Pip fully unfurled her pleated pink and blue wings and stretched. Across the
room a family of four, stolid farmers clad in dress‑gray coveralls and
green paisley shirts, did their best to ignore the display. All except the
youngest, a perfect little blond girl of seven who excitedly called attention
to the unparalleled flash of color.
Her mother leaned over and spoke sharply, quickly
quashing the girl's initial delight at the sight, while her father growled
something under his breath and remained hunched over his meal. They were trying
their best to ignore him, Flinx knew. He cast his perception their way.
Instantly Pip froze, the better to serve as an empathetic lens for her master's
talent.
He sensed fear lightly tinged with revulsion. There
was also curiosity, which emanated principally from the children. This was directed
more toward Pip than himself, which was to be expected. It would be remarkable
if there was another Alaspinian minidrag anywhere on Samstead. This system was
a long way from Alaspin, and Pip was usually an exotic no matter where they
were.
Flinx was thankful he was no taller, no handsomer,
no more distinctive in appearance than he was. The singular alignment of
neurons within his cerebrum was distinction enough. The last thing he wanted
was anything that would call additional attention to himself. He lived in
constant terror of sprouting a third eye, or horns, or a bulging forehead.
Knowing what had been done to him before birth, none of those developments
would surprise him.
Sometimes it was hard to wake up and look in a
mirror for fear of what he might see there. Others might wish for more height,
or great beauty, or exaggerated muscularity. Flinx prayed frequently for the
daily forgiveness of normalcy.
Pip attacked a pretzel while her master drank deep
from a tall curved glass fashioned of self‑chilling purple metal. An
import, most likely. Though nearly done with his meal, he was reluctant to
abandon the view. His fish had probably been netted in the river below that
very morning. While it could not project, food possessed an emotional resonance
all its own.
How wonderful were those times when he could simply
sit and be.
Pip rose to land gently on his shoulder. This time
it was the boy who gestured and exclaimed, only to be hastily slapped down by
his father. Flinx sensed the older man's
unease, but continued to ignore the family. That was what they wanted,
anyway.
Fear of a different kind abruptly rippled through
the dining room. Flinx tensed and Pip lifted her head from his shoulder,
responding to his heightened emotional state.
That was odd. Calmly he scrutinized hits
fellow diners, seeing nothing to inspire such a sudden upsurge of apprehension.
The ground was stable, the sky clear, the view outside unchanged. Raising his
glass, he searched for the source of the disturbance.
Three men had arrived. They paused just inside the
entrance. Two were much bigger than average. All three were exceptionally well
dressed and would have stood out in any crowd on Samstead, though they would
have been far less likely to attract attention on sophisticated Tetra or
Hivehom.
It was clear that the one in the middle was in
charge. He wasn't more than four or five years older than Flinx; shorter,
ordinary of build and sharp of countenance. Ills dark maroon whispershirt
concealed a sinewy muscularity.
Over the top of his glass Flinx studied the narrow,
pale face. The uncleft jaw protruded distinctively. It was matched above by an
aquiline nose and unusually deep-set black eyes. The forehead was high, the
black hair combed straight back in the most popular local fashion. Eyeing him,
Flinx decided that this was a man for whom any expression would be an effort.
His two overbearing associates were much more animated.
Flagrantly indifferent to the reaction his arrival
had engendered, the young man scanned and dismissed the room with a flick of
his eyes before moving off to his left. The self‑important heavies
continued to flank him.
To Flinx, the lessening of emotional tension in the
dining area as the new arrivals turned away was palpable. A measurable
quantity of joie de vivre having been sucked out of them, the patrons
gratefully returned to their conversation and meals as the recently arrived
trio disappeared through a service doorway.
Flinx returned to the last of his meal, but unlike
everyone else, continued to monitor the disturbance that centered around the
recently arrived trio. It had simply shifted from the dining room proper to the
kitchen in back.
After a while the three reemerged, followed by a
very attractive young woman dressed in chef's whites. Save for her red hair,
her features reflected an Oriental heritage. Her prosaic attire could not
completely conceal her figure.
Flinx couldn't hear a word they were saying. He
didn't have to; not while he could effortlessly monitor the ebb and flow of
their respective emotional states. The greatest intensity emanated from the
slim young man and the chef, the two heavies projecting nothing more vivid than
mild amusement leavened with boredom.
One leaned back against the wall and crossed his
lower left leg over his right, while his counterpart took in the view and
occasionally cast an intimidating glare at any diners bold and foolish enough
to glance in the direction of the altercation.
As the conversation reached audible levels, the
degree of emotional distress intensified correspondingly. The woman was
shouting now. She sounded defiant, but alone in the room only Flinx could sense
her underlying terror. A mother shook a child too young and innocent to remain
indifferent. Near the back, two couples rose and left quickly without finishing
their meals.
The chef turned back toward the kitchen, only to
have the heavy who'd been leaning against the wall step sideways to block her
retreat. Flinx saw him grin. His employer grabbed the woman by her left arm,
none too gently, and spun her around. The surge of fear that rushed through her
started a throbbing at the back of Flinx's head.
That was typical of his unpredictable, erratic
talent. A whole room full of uneasy people hadn't caused him so much as a
twinge, but one woman's distress sparked the inevitable headache.
It was evident that the young man wasn't going to
let her return to the kitchen until he'd achieved whatever sort off
satisfaction he'd come for. Even without the two heavies, it was an unequal
confrontation.
Flinx had passed by or otherwise ignored a thousand
such encounters. Calmly he worked on the last of his meal. For all he cared or
could do about it, the confrontation taking place behind him could escalate to
actual violence. Either way, it was none of his business. Nothing that
happened in this city, along this river, or on this rustic world off Samstead,
was any of his business. Circumstances beyond his control, indeed, beyond his
birth, had estranged him from the rest of humankind. It was a separation that
for his safety and peace of mind he was forced to acknowledge. All he wanted
was to finish his food, pay, and leave quietly.
That didn't mean he wasn't upset by the situation.
Having been looked down on for much of his life, he hated to see anyone bullied.
But interfering would draw attention to him, something he was at constant pains
to avoid.
An older man emerged from the kitchen, painfully intent
on resolving the confrontation. If anything, Flinx decided, the level of
tension and unease he was generating exceeded that of the young woman. The
heavy who'd been enjoying the view promptly put a palm on the senior's chest
and shoved him back toward the kitchen doorway. The woman tried to intercede
but the man holding her arm refused to relinquish his grip.
The heavy finished pushing the oldster back into the
kitchen and turned, blocking the doorway with his bulls. Flinx wondered at the
old man's interest. Was he merely an associate, or perhaps a relative? An
uncle, or even her father? Again, it was none of his business.
Noting her master's steadfast emotional keel, a
relaxed Pip fluttered back down to the table and resumed picking among the
crumbs there. Flinx watched her fondly. Digging through the remnants of his
lunch, he. slipped half a nut onto his spoon and flipped it into the air. With
a lightning thrust of neck and flash of wings, Pip darted up and snatched it
before it could hit the table, swallowing the morsel whole.
"Just a minute."
The voice came from behind him, completely under
control yet hinting it was always on the verge of violent exclamation. It
suggested tension without edginess. Unintentionally. Flinx had attracted the
attention of the principal protagonist in the unpleasant domestic drama being
played out near the entrance to the kitchen.
"Are you going to let me go now?" The
woman's voice was insistent and frightened all at once. Her emotional
temperature was fully reflective of her false bravado. Flinx had to admire her
for it.
"Yes, Geneen." It was the tight, soft
voice of the man who'd been holding, and hurting, her arm. "Go back to
your cooking. For now. We'll continue this later."
“But Jack‑Jax ...” the heavy blocking the
doorway protested.
"I said let her go, Peeler."
Paradoxically, the quieter he became, the more intimidating the speaker managed
to sound. "Don't try to leave, Geneen."
Flinx didn't have to turn to know that the three had
started toward his table. He sighed resignedly. At the first sign of trouble he
should have risen quietly from his chair, paid his bill, and departed. Now it
was too late.
Only the one called Jack‑Jax evinced any real
emotion. The two heavies were emotional blanks, waiting to be imprinted by the
whims of their master. As they drew near, Peeler projected a modicum of
disappointment, no doubt displeased at the interruption of what had been for
him an amusing diversion. Flinx disliked him immediately.
Reflexive as automatons, the two big men took up
positions on either side of the table. Peeler stopped behind Flinx while his
counterpart eyed the recumbent minidrag curiously. Neither showed any fear.
They were paid not to.
The one called Jack‑Jax, whose presence had so
thoroughly and effortlessly intimidated the entire dining establishment,
sauntered around the table until he was blocking the view. His piercing jet‑black
eyes bordered on the remarkable. The emotions Flinx sensed behind them were
uncontrolled, unformed, and immature. Outwardly he was the soul of calm, but
internally the man seethed and boiled like a sealed pot on a high flame. Only
Flinx knew how close to the proverbial edge his visitor was treading.
Unable to ignore that intense stare, he raised his
own gaze to meet it. "Yes?" he ventured politely.
The response was as cordial as it was superficial.
"That's a very, very interesting pet you have there."
"Thanks. So I've been told."
"I'm Jack‑Jax Landsdowne Coerlis." A
little emotional pop accompanied each name.
It was an innocuous enough salutation.
"Lynx," Flinx replied pleasantly. "Philip Lynx." He didn't
offer a hand. Neither did Coerlis.
Lips didn't so much smile as tighten. "You
don't know who I am, do you?"
"Sure I do. You're Jack‑Jax Landsdowne
Coerlis. You just told me so."
"That's not what I mean." Impatience
bubbled beneath the other's impassive visage. "It doesn't really matter."
Knowing he should leave it alone and, as was too
often the case, unable to do so, Flinx nodded tersely in the direction of the
kitchen. "Girlfriend?"
"After a fashion." The lips thinned like
flatworms. "I have a lot of girlfriends. It's a matter of timing."
"You didn't seem to be getting along too
well."
"A minor disagreement easily resolved. I'm good
at resolving things."
"Lucky you. I wish I could say the same."
This semi complimentary rejoinder caused Coerlis to
mellow slightly. His attention shifted back to the snake shape relaxing on the
table.
"Absolutely gorgeous. Really magnificent. It's
an Alaspinian miniature dragon, isn't it? Warm‑blooded, toxic
reptiloid?"
Flinx displayed surprise, deliberately flattering
the other. "You're very knowledgeable. It's not a well‑known species
and we're a long ways from Alaspin."
"Exotics are a hobby of mine, especially the
resplendent ones. I have a private zoo." Flinx looked appropriately
impressed and was rewarded with something akin to a genuine smile of
satisfaction. "I collect all kinds of beautiful things. Animals,
sculptures, kinetics." Coerlis jerked a thumb in the direction of the
kitchen. "Women."
"It must be nice to be able to indulge in such
a diversity of interests." Despite the cordial banter, Flinx was very
much aware that Jack‑Jax Coerlis was an emotional bomb waiting to go off.
For one thing, beneath the underlying tension and anger a vast sorrow
lingered, turgid and repressed, which bordered on despair.
Curious patrons kept sneaking looks in their
direction, frantic to ignore the confrontation but unable to wholly rein in
their curiosity.
"How much?" Coerlis said abruptly.
"How much what?"
"How much did she cost you?" He indicated
the flying snake.
"Nothing." Reaching out, Flinx gently rubbed
Pip on the back of her head. The minidrag couldn't purr. Beyond an occasional
expressive hiss, she made hardly any noise at all. Instead her eyes closed
contentedly and a small but powerful warmth emanated from within her pleasure
center.
"I found her. Or rather, she found me."
"Then that should make my offer all the more
inviting. What do you say to fifty credits?" When no response was
forthcoming, Coerlis added, as if the actual amount was a matter of supreme
indifference to him, "How about a hundred? Two hundred?" He was
smiling, but internally the first
stirrings of irritation were
beginning to surface.
Flinx withdrew his finger. "She's not for sale.
At any price."
Coerlis's emotions were as easy to read as if he'd
presented them to Manx in the form off a printed hardcopy. "Three
hundred."
A flicker of interest showed in Peeler's eyes.
Flinx offered up his most ingratiating yet
apologetic smile. "I told you: she's not for sale. See, she's been with me
since I was a child. I couldn't part with her. Besides, no one knows how long
Alaspinian minidrags live. She could up and die on you next year, or next
month. A poor investment"
"Let me be the judge of that." Coerlis was
unrelenting.
Flinx tried another tack. "You're aware that
Alaspinian minidrags spit a highly lethal poison?" This time both heavies
reacted. Flinx sensed a jolt of real unease in the one standing behind his
chair. To his credit, the man held his ground.
Coerlis didn't flinch. "So I've heard. She
doesn't look very threatening. If she's sufficiently domesticated to allow you
to pet her like that, I think I could handle her. She'll be in a safe cage,
anyway." He reached toward the table.
The flying snake instantly coiled and flared her
wings parting her jaws and hissing sharply. Coerlis froze, still smiling, while
his companions reached for their jacket pockets.
"I wouldn't do that" Flinx spoke softly
but firmly. "Alaspinian minidrags are telepathic on the empathic level.
She's sensitive to my feelings. If I'm happy, she's happy. If I'm angry, she's
angry. If I feel threatened‑ If I feel threatened, she reacts
accordingly."
Impressed, Coerlis slowly withdrew his hand. Pip
shuttered her wings but remained alert, watching the stranger. "Not only
beautiful, but useful. Whereas I have to rely for that degree of protection on
these two clumsy, ugly lumps of mindless protein." Neither of the heavies
reacted. "She can ride your arm beneath a jacket, or sleep inside a travel
bag. I'm sure she's capable of delivering a really nasty surprise."
Flinx said nothing, willing to let Coerlis draw his own conclusions. He was growing tired of the game, and the confrontation was attracting entirely too much attention. By now it was reasonable to assume that someone in the kitchen, the old man if not the pretty chef, had taken the step of notifying the authorities. Flinx didn't want to be around when they arrived. He glanced toward the service doorway.
Though he wasn't telepathic on any level, Jack‑Jax
Coerlis had a feral understanding of human nature. "If you're waiting for
someone to call the police to come and mediate, I wouldn't. You see, in Tuleon
Province I pretty much go where I want and do as I please." Keeping a
thoughtful eye on Pip, he leaned forward slightly.
"Any decisions reached between you and I will
be achieved without the intervention of any outside parties." With a finger, he nudged the purple glass. "Anything
else you'd like to know?"
"Yes. Who have you lost recently?"
The question took Coerlis completely by surprise. He
straightened, gaze narrowing. "What are you talking about?"
"You've lost someone close to you, someone very
important. You're still mourning them. The result is anxiety, fear, sorrow,
and a mindless desire to strike out at those less powerful than yourself. It's
a way of reasserting control: not over others, but over yourself."
Coerlis's uncharacteristically unsettled tone
reflected his sudden inner turmoil. "Who are you? What are
you?"
"A perceptive
visiter."
"You some kind of traveling therapist?"
"No." Flinx had very slowly edged his
chair away from the table.
Attempting to reassert himself, Coerlis's tight grin
twisted into an unpleasant smirk. "You've been poking around, asking
questions. I'll bet my cousins hired you. Not that it matters. They can dig all
they want. They're still getting nothing." He plunged on without waiting
for his assumptions to be confirmed or denied. "So you know about my
father. What of it? He's been dead two years last month."
"You still mourn him. His memory plagues you.
He dominated you all your life and you suffer from consequent feelings of
inferiority you're unable to shake."
Flinx's evaluation of his antagonist's emotional
state of mind was pall reading, part guesswork. Coerlis's hesitation suggested
that he had deduced correctly. Now the question was, how far could he push this
paranoid without nudging him over the edge of rationality'? It wouldn't do to
embarrass him in front of his flunkies, much less the other diners. A glance
showed the young chef and her elder protector watching from the safety of the
kitchen portal.
"I've run the House of Coerlis as well or
better than the old man did ever since the accident! I don't know what you've
heard or who you've been snooping around with, but I've done a damn good job.
The interim administrators all agree."
Paranoid, neurotic, and pathologically defensive, Flinx decided. Traits that did not necessarily conflict with ability or intelligence. Coerlis had been forced to assume control of a large trading House hastily and at a young age. No wonder he bristled at any hint of defiance, any suggestion of a challenge to his authority. He was secure within his position, but not within himself. The shade of a domineering sire loomed over everything he did. It went a long ways toward explaining his anger and frustration, without in any way lessening the danger he posed to those around him.
"I haven't been doing any snooping," Flinx
protested mildly.
"Of course you have!" Dark eyes glittered
as Coerlis convinced himself he'd regained the conversational high ground.
"Not that it has anything to do with the business at hand."
Flinx shrugged mentally. It had been worth a try.
Though he doubted its appeal to someone like Coerlis, there was one more thing
to be tried.
"At least you knew your father."
This admission appeared to please Coerlis rather
than spark any sympathy. "You didn't? That's tough."
It was also. Flinx concluded resignedly, probably
the last chance to end the confrontation peaceably.
"Didn't know my mother, either. I was raised an
orphan."
Coerlis's expression remained flat. "You don't
say. It's been my experience that the cosmos doesn't give a shit. Better get
used to it.
"All that matters now is our business together.
Dead parents don't enter into it. Four hundred. That's my last offer."
Flinx stiffened, knowing that Pip wouldn't have to
look to him for directions. She knew what he was feeling the instant lie did
himself.
"Try to understand. You're not making the
connection. I never knew my mother or father. An old lady raised me. She was my
whole family. Her‑and this flying snake. I had a sister once, too. She's
dead also."
Coerlis's smirk widened ever so slightly. "With
a run of bad luck like that you can probably use the money."
Flinx met the dark gaze evenly. "One more time:
she's not for sale."
Coerlis inhaled an
exaggerated breath as he ran the fingers of his left hand through his curly black hair.
"Well. I guess that's that. If she's not for sale, she's not for
sale." He smiled reassuringly.
Flinx was unconvinced. Alone among those in the dining
room, only he could sense the near‑homicidal fury that was mounting
within the other man. Compared to the emotions boiling inside Coerlis, the
mixture of anticipation and eagerness Flinx sensed in the two heavies was
negligible.
He felt rather than saw the sudden movement of the
big man standing behind his chair as a rush of adrenaline sparked an emotional
surge in the man's brain. At the same time, Peeler's hand slid deep inside his
open jacket and Coerlis reached for his own concealed weapon. Raising his
legs, Flinx put his feet on the edge of the table and shoved, sending himself
and his chair smashing backward into the figure behind him. Jarred off
balance, the big man stumbled backward.
Patrons screamed and parents shielded children. The
more alert among them dove for cover beneath their tables. One elderly couple,
eschewing temporary salvation, staggered as best they could toward the exit.
The big man behind the chair recovered quickly and threw both arms around his quarry as the younger man rose. Flinx offered no resistance. Removing the needler from his jacket, Peeler aimed it with practiced ease. At the same time, Coerlis threw his open jacket over the table, pinning Pip beneath. Grinning broadly, he carefully gathered the material together, bundling his prize tightly within.
"Got 'er!" Breathing hard, Coerlis gazed
triumphantly at Flinx. "Wouldn't want to leave you thinking I was some
kind of thief."
"We both know what you are." Flinx spoke
quietly, unresisting in the heavy's grasp.
For an instant Coerlis's expression flickered, like
a video image subject to momentary blackouts. Then the smile returned. "If
you'll give me an account number I'll see that payment is forwarded. Four
hundred. I"d be grateful, if I were you. At the moment it strikes me that
your bargaining power is severely reduced."
"I told you. She's not for sale."
Holding the bundled jacket securely, Coerlis made a
show of pondering this last remark. "Maybe you're right, boy. Maybe I
haven't been paying attention. I guess in spite of everything, I can't buy her
after all. What that says to me is that you'd prefer to make her a gift. Oh,
don't worry. She'll be well looked after. I take good care of my zoo. Even have
two vets on permanent staff."
"Mr. Coerlis, sir?" Peeler's eyes were
dilating.
"Not now, Peeler," growled Coerlis
impatiently. "Can't you see I'm in the midst of delicate
negotiations?"
"But sir‑"The big man started to
explain himself. He didn't have time.
Smoke was rising from the middle of Coerlis's heavy jacket.
He barely had time to gawk at the widening hole in the center before he
screamed and flung the bundle aside, shaking his right arm violently. A few
wisps off smoke curled upward from the back of his hand. Flesh curled away from
the source like the peel off a potato.
Stumbling backward, Coerlis banged into another
table, sending silverware and plates clattering to the floor. With his left
hand he grabbed the standing pitcher of ice water in the center and dumped the
contents over his smoking hand. Unbeknownst to him, this action saved his life
by flushing away the corrosive before it could get into his bloodstream.
Emerging from the steaming hole in the jacket, wings
fully unfurled and buzzing like the grandfather of all hummingbirds, a pink,
blue, and green blur erupted toward the ceiling. Flinx took advantage of the
diversion to break free of the stunned heavy's grasp. Meanwhile Peeler was
trying to divide his attention between the angry, buzzing reptilian shape
hovering overhead and the moaning, unsteady form of his master.
Coerlis shakily wrapped a linen napkin around his injured
hand, making a crude bandage. His pain almost overrode his rage. "Shoot
him, you idiot!" With his good hand he pointed at Flirts. "Shoot them
both!"
Peeler's reactions were excellent, but no match for
a predator of Pip's quickness. As the muzzle of the needler shifted in her
master's direction, she dove straight at its wielder. Knowing what was coming,
Flinx did his best to project an air of compassion. He was only partially
successful.
Waving wildly at the darting, weaving flier, the big
man tried to bring his pistol to bear. Pip's mouth opened, jaw muscles
contracted, and from a groove in her upper jaw a needle‑thin spurt of
poison shot forth. Because of Flinx's emotional intervention it struck Peeler
on the back of his gun hand instead of square in the eyes.
Letting out a surprisingly high‑pitched
shriek, the gunman dropped his weapon and clutched at the wrist of his injured
hand. The caustic toxin ate into his flesh.
"Need to wash it off quick," was Flinx's
calm advice. He glanced back at the heavy who'd been restraining him.
"Better help your buddy. If the poison gets into his bloodstream, it'll
kill him." He turned back to Peeler. "He's not paying
attention."
"Get him, you imbecile!" Tears were
streaming from Coerlis's eyes, and his injured arm was trembling
uncontrollably.
"I ..." The big man came to a decision.
Ignoring his master, he snatched up two pitchers of water from a pair of nearby
tables and hurried to assist his associate. As their quarry backpedaled, the
two men combined efforts to douse the steaming wound.
Flinx extended an arm. Pip immediately darted down
to curl her body around her master's bicep. Her head remained up and alert,
her wings still spread.
Ignoring his apoplectic employer, the big man looked
anxiously back at Flinx. "What now?"
"Keep flushing the site. As soon as possible,
apply an antibiotic sealant. And see that he gets five cc's of a general
neurotoxin antivenin once a day for a week. Just to be safe. Bluorthom and Tan‑Kolenesed
both work."
The big man nodded nervously. He was afraid now.
Angry, but afraid.
"Never mind that now!" An enraged Coerlis
flung an empty platter against the nearby wall. It bounced and clanged noisily
to the floor. "Get him." He whirled to face Flinx.
"But Mr. Coerlis, sir‑'
The disgusted merchant waved indifferently at the injured
Peeler. "He's not dying! The thing doesn't have any fangs. It can't bite,
it can only spit." The uninjured heavy hesitated, uncertain what to do
next.
"That's true." Flinx turned and headed
toward the exit.
He sensed the three of them moving to pursue. He
could simply have taken cover and unleashed Pip with a flick of his wrist.
Without any emotional restraint on his part she would surely kill all three of
them.
But Coerlis was a citizen of some substance, and his
sudden, violent death would draw attention of a kind Flinx had worked hard to
avoid. On the other hand so to speak, a little seared skin should pass
unnoticed.
Once clear of the restaurant, he glanced quickly in
all directions before choosing the right‑hand path. The paved service
road narrowed rapidly. Olenda was not only the capital, it was the oldest city
on Samstead. Roads tended to follow the casual meanderings of the Tumberleon
and its tributaries rather than some imposed, arbitrary grid pattern. Side
streets as often as not led to narrow closes, quaint cul‑de‑sacs,
or dead‑ended atop high stream banks. He ought to be able to lose himself
without too much of an effort.
Zoned and fully fueled, the Teacher's shuttle awaited his arrival at the city's eastern
shuttleport. But while he was anxious to escape Coerlis's unbalanced
attentions, he wasn't about to let the smug maniac run him off a planet he'd
grown rather fond of. Tuleon was a big place. There was room enough for both of
them. Besides, the young merchant and his bodyguard needed immediate medical
attention. Coerlis might be irrational, but he wasn't stupid.
Their emotional auras persisted behind him as he
jogged along. That fit Coerlis's mental pattern, but Ffinx was still confident
he could lose them. Pip slithered up his arm to assume her favorite perch on
his shoulder.
Where could he go? Not the local police depot.
Coerlis was likely to have influence there. Tuleon was urbanized but hardly
urbane, and Flinx had learned early on that large amounts of credit had a way
of fogging Truth's vision. You might not be able to break laws by hammering on
them with money, but subtle circumvention was another matter entirely.
It felt as if they were gaining on him. Flinx knew
that Coerlis's ireful persistence could result in the man's death, something he
would still prefer to avoid. He was familiar with the type. Coerlis wouldn't
rest now until the perceived insult had been avenged. It had passed beyond
being a simple question of whether or not he would obtain ownership of a flying
snake.
Obsession, Flinx knew, was often one of the first
steps on the road to madness. He knew because there was always more truth in
emotions than in words.
Still running easily, he turned up a gently sloping
side street. Maybe they'd continue straight, believing he was headed for the
waterfront and a faster means of escape. It would be a logical assumption. The
occasional passing pedestrian glanced in his direction, drawn to him more by
his height and haste than the almost invisible minidrag coiled securely about
his shoulder. Samstead was not a fast‑paced world. It was unusual to see
anyone running in the center of the capital.
He passed entrances to office towers and residential
complexes, knowing he'd have to present appropriate identification to gain
entry to the smallest of them. Tuleon might be a relatively easygoing
metropolis, but crime was not unknown within its boundaries.
The meretricious facade of a hotel beckoned. Too obvious,
he decided, and ran on. He needed someplace less conspicuous. In ancient times
a bank would have afforded some safety, but such things no longer existed.
Money and credit were largely abstract components off computer storage space.
to be manipulated electronically. That was a refuge he could not enter.
Then he saw the building, a stark triangle whose
bladed crest topped out at a modest six stories. The familiar emblem,
hourglass‑on‑globe on a field of green, was emblazoned over the
always unlocked entrance. Gratefully lengthening his stride, he ascended the
curving ramp and entered.
Once inside, he slowed to a respectful walk. The
sanctuary was empty save for a couple of elderly supplicants. One was on her
knees before the altar, praying before a brilliant depth depiction of swirling
nebulae and galaxies. The reality injection was two stories tall and rendered
in exquisite. awe‑inspiring detail. In conjunction with the subdued,
concealed illumination, it imparted to the vaulted sanctuary an air of eternal
peace and reassurance. Natural light fell from tinted windows high overhead.
He'd visited the sanctuaries of the United Church before,
though never to attend formal services. No doubt there were several dozen similar
sites scattered throughout the city. He was tempted to settle into one of the
comfortable seats. At this point even the several thranx body lounges looked
inviting. But he decided to move on. The sanctuary itself was too open.
Without warning, the persistent fury he identified
with Coerlis vanished. That was his damned talent, flickering in and out like a
short in his brain. He eyed the entrance uneasily, unable to tell now if
Coerlis and his minions were still pursuing or if they'd taken a different turning.
The warning wail of emotion in his mind had winked out, and strain as he might,
he knew there was no way he could simply turn it back on.
He glanced down at Pip. Have to keep an eye on her
now, he knew. Unlike his own erratic abilities, hers were the result of natural
evolution. She was on permanent alert. The trouble was, she was not intelligent
enough to sort out hostility directed specifically at him. Detection usually
went hand in hand with physical proximity, by which time it was often too late to
run. But unless his talent reasserted itself, she was all he had to warn him
of Coerlis's possible presence.
He looked to his left. If tradition held, there
would be a row of library reading rooms there. He could lock himself inside,
but while providing privacy and some security, that would also eliminate all
avenues of flight. This wouldn't do, he told himself. He was too exposed in the
open sanctuary.
Choosing a hallway off to the right and adopting the
attitude of one who knew what he was doing, he abandoned the worship center.
Small glowing letters hovered before successive doors, rising or descending as
he approached until they were exactly at eye level. Some identified
individuals. others specific departments.
Avoiding the lift, he took some fire stairs two at a
time until he reached the third floor. There he turned down another hall. It
was quiet and very few workers were about, as befitted the contemplative nature
of the structure's owner.
He'd passed several open doors without incident when
a voice from within one office slowed him.
"You look anxious, my son. And tired."
Flinx hesitated. "May I be of any assistance?"
Flinx glanced back the way he'd come. The corridor
was still deserted. Suspecting the outcome, he strained internally. Nothing.
The emotional nova that had been Coerlis might as well never have existed. For
the moment, his empathic palette remained precariously blank.
The man standing just inside the portal was much
shorter than Flinx, and older. Disdaining a depilatory, he revealed a skull
bare save for an elfish fringe of white curls. These continued around his face
to form a pair of thick mutton chop whiskers. His self‑pressing aquamarine
uniform was spotless.
A glance at Pip showed her eyes shut. Flinx considered.
He'd been running for quite a while and needed to stop and rest. This seemed as
likely a place as any. The jovial, stocky padre was regarding him with friendly
curiosity, and regardless of what he decided, some sort of response was
clearly in order.
"I'm running from a confrontation. I try to
avoid fights when I can."
The kindly visage beamed back at him. "Fighting
is a good thing to avoid. Won't you come and sit a moment? You look like you
could use a rest."
"Thank you. I think I will."
The padre's office was awash in the usual
ecclesiastical paraphernalia. There were the twin monitors on his desk,
assorted homey holos and flatscape representations on the walls, a box of
spherical drive files on the floor in one corner, and a back wall vid of boreal
forest dominated by an energetic, flowing stream that smelled of humus and
damp morning. It was designed to relax and reassure, and Flinx allowed himself
to fall under its cleverly constructed spell. Even more satisfying was the
comfortable, old‑fashioned chair to which the padre directed him.
He glanced back at the gaping doorway.
"Privacy?" inquired the padre. When Flinx
nodded gratefully, his host murmured into a vorec designed to resemble a
tulip. Immediately a real door, much more reassuring than the usual flimsy
privacy curtain, closed off the office from the hall.
In return for this largesse of surcease, Flinx knew
he was expected to talk, or at least to make casual conversation. No more than
that. A proper padre would put no pressure on him to pray or do anything else.
One of the attractions of the United Church was that it was a very low‑key
organization. It offered help and asked nothing in return except that
supplicants act rationally. Not necessarily sensibly, but rationally.
"I am Father Bateleur, my son." He nodded
in the direction of Flinx's occupied shoulder. "An interesting pet. Is it
dangerous'?"
"Watchful."
"Those who wander beyond the sanctuary usually
have a reason for doing so." The older man smiled expectantly.
"There were some men chasing me." He
caressed the back of Pip's triangular head, and one pleated wing unfurled
partway, quivering with pleasure. "One of them wanted to buy her."
"Her?" Bateleur smiled. "How do you
sex such a dangerous animal?"
"In my case, by dumb luck. She had babies.
Anyway, I told this man I wouldn't sell. I couldn't. She's been with me most of
my adult life."
"No offense, my son, but you don't look old
enough to me to have had much of an adult life yet."
"I've had to grow up fast. I've lived sooner
than most people."
"Not faster?" The padre pursed his lips.
"Interesting way of putting it." He folded his hands on his lap.
"These men who wanted to buy your pet: they were very insistent."
"The disagreement escalated beyond discussion
of price. A couple of them got hurt. Pip would have killed them if I hadn't
restrained her."
"I see:" The padre glanced involuntarily
at the coiled minidrag. Flinx sensed no fear in the man, which could have been
a consequence of a steely constitution, or the fact that his talent was still
inoperative. When Pip didn't return the stare‑always a good sign‑Flinx
allowed himself to relax.
"Restraint is a sign of confident intelligence.
How many of them were there?"
"Three."
"Three," murmured the older man, as though
the number held some unique significance for him. "It's good that you
came here."
"He's apparently well‑known in the
community," Flinx went on. "Wealthy, not a lot older than me. Jack Jax Coerlis?"
Bateleur nodded without hesitation. "The House
of Coerlis is one of the oldest mercantile enterprises on Samstead. The father
passed away not too long ago: a noteworthy death. I myself have had no personal
contact with the family. They live outside the city, beyond the boundaries of
my parish. There are stories about the heir which do nothing to flatter the
reputation of the clan. He's rumored to be something of a hothead."
"Try homicidal maniac." Flinx smiled
pleasantly.
"So you had a run‑in with young Coerlis,
you did well not to kill him. While he may be personally unpopular, the family
has powerful friends in Tuleon and elsewhere."
As if on cue, the door slid open. His arm still
wrapped in the bloodstained tablecloth, Jack‑Jax Coerlis stood in the
portal, panting heavily. A round red spot showed on his neck where he'd
received an antivenin injection. A small electronics pack dangled from his
other hand: the device he had doubtlessly utilized to pick the door seal.
Bateleur's tone and expression were appropriately
disapproving. "You are violating the sanctity of the office, my
son."
Swiveling in the chair, Flinx saw the two heavies
bulking large behind Coerlis. Peeler's arm was similarly bandaged. Both men
were straining to see into the room. Though he concentrated hard, for all his effort Flinx drew a trio of emotional
blanks. There was no predicting when his sensitivity
would return, but he didn't really need it at the moment. Anyone could tell
what all three men were feeling from their expressions.
Though confirmation was hardly necessary, Pip provided it. Suddenly she was awake and alert, both wings half spread, ready to rise from his shoulder. With a hand, Flinx held her back. There were no guns in evidence. Only a complete fool would try to enter a church with weapons drawn.
"Didn't expect us to follow you this far, did
you?" Coerlis was grinning unpleasantly. "We just waited to see
where you'd turn in. Called ahead for a courier to air deliver the antivenin
you so thoughtfully recommended. Peeler and I are feeling better already.
"We've been checking rooms. Fortunately, it's
still too early for services and the place isn't busy. City parish, you know.
Most people work."
Father Bateleur slid open a drawer on his right.
"I must ask you to leave or I will have to call for assistance."
Coerlis eyed him contemptuously. "Call anyone
you want, padre. We'll be gone before they can get here."
Bateleur spoke into a concealed pickup. "Father
Delaney, Father Goshen, could you come here, please? We are experiencing an
incident." He turned back to the intruders. "Really, my son, this
sort of thing is not good for one's hozho. Not to mention your blood
pressure."
"Your concern touches me, padre." Coerlis
turned back to Flinx, gesturing at the minidrag. "Remember: she's real
fast, but this room is pretty cramped." Stepping inside. he made space for
the two heavies. Both men drew compact needlers. "They're set to stun, and
I don't think she's faster than a needle beam."
"You'd be surprised," Flinx replied
calmly. "You won't touch her, and she'll end up killing all three of
you."
"You underestimate Peeler and Britches. Before,
they had no idea what to expect. Now they do, and they'll react accordingly.
Of course, there's always the possibility that I'll have to kill you to keep
you out of the way. Are you willing to take that chance?"
"Life is the taking of calculated
chances." declared a voice from the hall. "The universe throws dice
with predictable regularity."
"Please put your weapons on the floor,"
requested a second voice. "Carefully."
The two padres had come up silently behind the intruders.
One was even bigger than Peeler, and both gripped projectile weapons, one of
which was aimed directly at the back of Coerlis's head.
"Why, padre." Coerlis spoke to Bateleur
without turning. "This hardly seems in keeping with the tenor of a
sanctuary."
The older man's smile was wan. "This isn't a
sanctuary; it's an office. Do as Father Goshen says."
The two heavies complied. Bateleur looked satisfied.
"Now then, my sons, you may leave the building wiser and, I pray, somewhat
chastened in spirit." He steepled his fingers in front of him.
"Otherwise," rumbled Father Goshen softly,
"we will be most regretfully compelled to preside over the releasing of
your immortal souls."
"What?" Peeler sounded as unhappy as he
looked.
"I'll blow your head off."
The other man needed no further clarification.
For the barest instant Coerlis hesitated, and Flinx
feared he was going to try something truly stupid. Then he smiled and gave a
little shrug. "Sure, why not?" Eyes cold and flat as a shark's
glanced Flinx's way. "I'll be seeing you."
Bateleur nodded. "Father Goshen, Father
Delaney, would you show our visitors the way back to the street? Unless they
wish to remain in the sanctuary and pray. Properly supervised, of course."
Peeler grunted derisively.
"With pleasure." Using his gun, Father
Delaney prodded the nearest intruder in the back of his neck. "Move
it!"
As soon as the uninvited visitors and their escort had departed, Father Bateleur rose and shut the door, this time latching it manually from she inside. Back in his chair, he smiled once more at Flinx.
"It would seem you have made an enemy, young
man."
"He wouldn't be the first." Flinx
immediately regretted the comment, then
discovered he didn't really care. He was tired, so very tired. Tired of secrets
and of searching, of inexplicable mysteries that seemed to lie teasingly
forever beyond his ken. It would be wonderful to have someone to confide in
besides the aged Mother Mastiff. So much of what he wanted to say and share was
beyond the comprehension of her caring yet simple self.
There were Bran Tse‑Mallory and the Eint
Trnzenzuzex, but he hadn't seen the philosopher‑soldiers in years and
didn't even know if they were still alive. It was hard to envision either of
them dead. Both man and thranx were a force of a nature.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my
son?" Bateleur seemed earnest enough. "If not, there is a concealed
and secure rear exit to the church which you may make use of whenever you feel
the time is right. Will you be staying much longer in our city?”
"I don't think so," Flinx told him.
"Not under the circumstances."
Bateleur nodded approvingly. "A regrettable but
probably wise decision."
"In fact," his visitor added. "it
looks like I'm going to have to leave Samstead itself now."
"I see. Do you need help in booking
passage?"
"No, thank you. I've already made
arrangements." Flinx wasn't about to divulge to anyone, not even the
sympathetic Father Bateleur, that at the ripe old age of twenty he was the
master of his own KK‑drive vessel.
Rising to leave, he found himself hesitating.
"Padre, what can you tell me about the nature of evil''"
Bateleur's heavy white
eyebrows rose. "In what sense is the question posed, my son?"
Flinx sealed back into his
chair. "Well, for example, what does the Church say about it? I've never
been what you'd call a disciple:"
"As you may know,
that doesn't matter. People come and go within the Church as their spiritual
needs require. As to evil, that is what occurs when sapient creatures who
understand the difference between good and bad intentionally do the latter.
It's not nearly as complex a matter as philosophers once made it out to
be."
"Burt what about evil
in a physical sense, padre?"
"A physical sense
..." Bateleur pondered uncertainly. "Are you asking if there is a way
to quantify evil?"
"Yes, that's it
exactly!" Flinx responded eagerly.
Bateleur punctuated his
response with delicate gestures. "That's something theologians have
debated since sapients first huddled in caves and developed organized religions.
I'm still not entirely sure I understand your question."
Once released, the words
spilled from his visitor. "I mean, can evil be real in the physical sense?
Can it have physical properties, like light or energy? I'm no physicist, but I
know that everything is composed of particles and waves. There are strong forces and weak
forces, colors and flavors, directions and sensations." He leaned forward
so intently that Bateleur was momentarily taken aback.
"Could some combination of forces or particles
constitute that which we have always referred to as `evil'?"
"Interesting notion. I suspect I'm even less
the physicist than you, my young friend. But speaking Theologically, these
days we tend to regard evil as an embodiment of immorality, not an actual
presence."
"What if its not?" Flinx pressed his host.
"What if it s a combination of forces, or particles? What if there's such
a thing as an evil wave‑form'? Wouldn't it explain a lot, about how
people are influenced and why seemingly rational beings commit inexplicable
acts?"
"Be nice if that were the case." Bateleur
admitted. "Then someone could build an 'evil‑meter' or some such
similar device. It would he a great help in my line of work. But I'm afraid I
simply don't have the specialized knowledge necessary to respond intelligently
to your question. I suppose anything that hasn't been overtly disproved is
theoretically possible. Tell me, my son: what led you to this intriguing line
of speculation?"
"I've seen it " Flinx informed him tersely‑
"Or sensed it, anyway."
There. Whatever happened now, he'd
shared what he'd experienced with another person. Even if the padre decided he
was insane. it felt good to have it out.
No question that it led Bateleur to speculate on the
stability of his visitor. That was part of his job. "I see."
"It's out there” Flinx went on. "That
way." Raising his right hand, he pointed. As a melodramatic gesture, it
was decidedly understated.
"You don't say. People commonly tend to think
of evil as lying in this direction." Smiling. Bateleur tapped the floor
with a foot.
"What I'm referencing has nothing to do with
archaic traditional concepts of Hell. I'm talking about an actual physical
presence that's pure distilled evil. Do you have access to star charts?"
"This is the United Church. Of course we have
charts." Tuming, Bateleur made the request of the nearest monitor, then
pivoted the screen so Flinx could see it as well.
"How's this?" the padre asked when the
screen came to life.
"No." Flinx contained his impatience.
"That's just the immediate stellar vicinity around Samstead. You need to
pull back by several orders of magnification."
Bateleur nodded agreeably and directed the monitor
to `comply. After a moment he glanced expectantly at his visitor.
"No. no. Farther out. Much farther."
"That's the whole galaxy we're looking at now,
with the Magellanic Clouds off to the lower left" Bateleur informed him.
"You said that you saw, or sensed this presence yourself?"
"That's right." Having come this far,
Flinx saw no point in holding back any longer. Let the padre think him mad if
he wished. Regardless, they would play the scenario out to the end.
Bateleur surprised him by chuckling softly. “For
such a young man, you've been around quite a bit."
Flinx looked up out of bright green eyes.
"Padre, you don't know the half of it "
Bateleur directed the monitor to remove the view by
several orders of magnitude yet again.
"That's better." Flinx studied the image.
"Can you rotate the field about forty degrees to the east? I know you;
can't change the perspective."
"Not working with distances like this." He
complied, until Flinx felt he was looking at a section of sky he recognized.
"There! That's the place."
"The evil place?"
"No, no." Flinx shook his bead restlessly.
"The location isn't evil. It's what's occupying the location. What's' out
there."
Bateleur considered the monitor. "I'm sorry, my
son; but it doesn't look any more evil to me than any other` section of the
cosmos."
"I've seen it!" Flinx was insistent.
"I‑I've been there. Not physically, of course. Mentally. I'm still
not sure, how it was accomplished, but I know it wasn't a dream,' It was
completely real, even to the jolt I felt just before achieving full
perception."
"That's certainly very interesting. I hope you
won't; mind, my son, when I say that I think you have a very vivid
imagination."
"Yes." His guest sighed, having expected
that reaction! sooner or later. "I suppose I do. But will you at least
admit that my basic idea has some merit?"
"Let's just say that I'm open to anything I
can't disprove," Bateleur replied kindly. "You must understand', that
until now I never had occasion to consider evil as al function of unidentified
subatomic forces."
"I know. It was a shock to me as well."
Rising, Flinx extended a hand. Bateleur took it firmly. "You said'
something about a back door?"
"Yes." The padre came around from behind
the desk, and started to put a reassuring arm around his guest's shoulders. A
hiss from Pip caused him to reconsider. "You strike me as an unusually
independent and resourceful young man, but even though we'll see you safely
out of here, don't forget about or underestimate Jack‑Jax Coerlis."
Flinx nodded appreciatively. "I won't. I
promise." Out in the hall he loomed over the stocky churchman.
"Your accent immediately marked you as
offworld;" Bateleur commented. "You have no drawl at all. Where do
you call home?"
A fair question. "Moth. It's capital city of
Drallar."
"I've heard of it. A freewheeling sort of
place, I believe. Not as receptive to the Church as some others."
"I like the freedom it affords its
citizens." Flinx replied.
"I will pray that you maintain it, my
son." They turned down another corridor. "What ship will you be
departing on?"
"I don't recall, padre." Flinx lied
readily, with the skill of many years practice. "The information's in my
baggage."
"And your destination? No, forget that I
asked." The older man waved diffidently. "It's none of my
business."
"That's all right. I don't mind telling you
that I'm heading home." They passed more offices and, as they descended a
ramp, a noisy children's creche.
That much wasn't of a lie, he mused. He was going home. Not today perhaps, or
tomorrow, or even next month. Not, in all likelihood, for some time. But
eventually.
"I wish you a safe journey, young man. I hope
you will have no more trouble."
"I can deal with it. I'm used to dealing with
it. I've had to grow up very fast, padre."
There was something so ineffably sad in the young!
man's voice that Father Bateleur was moved to ask him to remain, to talk more,
to come to his home and sup with his family. Despite the young man's outward
confidence and evident brilliance, it was clear to Bateleur that his guest was
seriously do need of comforting and reassurance. Something within him was
crying out for help, and; try as he might, Bateleur had no idea what it might
be.
He didn't have the chance to offer further. They
were already at the back door and his visitor was bidding him good‑bye.
As expected, the rear service way was quite deserted.
"Follow this for several blocks. You'll come to
a door which opens into the lower level of a major financial;. complex
downtown. It's always crowded there and you should be able to lose yourself
easily. I'd keep your pet under cover to avoid attracting attention, but I suppose
you're used to doing that." Flinx nodded.
"If you change your mind and see your way to
staying'` awhile longer," Bateleur added, “my wife and I have room in our
home. It sits on an island upstream and‑“
"Thanks," Flinx replied warmly, "but
I need to be on my way. I'm more comfortable when I'm moving around."
Bateleur found himself watching the tall youth until
the shadows enveloped his lanky form. Then he shut the door and started back to
his office, barely acknowledging the greetings and comments of colleagues and
coworkers along the way. As he walked, an unaccustomed contentment flowed
through him, the mental equivalent of sunning oneself beneath a heat lamp.
Once, he looked around sharply, but there was no one there.
Taking a left turn, he found himself in the
sanctuary. There he knelt and began to pray. Not only for the continued safety
of his recent visitor, as he'd promised he would do, but for guidance.
When he was done he returned to his office and activated
the nearest monitor. It automatically saved to memory everything that
transpired within range of its pickup. There was the young man's arrival, the
ensuing confrontation with the hostile Coerlis and his minions, and his
visitor's subsequent eccentric dissertation. Bateleur had to smile as he saw
for a second time the young man insisting he had visited a place impossibly fur
away.
What was intriguing was that instead of speaking in
generalities, his visitor had chosen and chart‑sequence searched a
specific point in the sky. The honestly deluded were not usually so precise.
As an amusing curiosity, Bateleur referred it to
local Church headquarters, which in turn dutifully catalogued and filed it via
space‑minus tight beam to Church science headquarters in Denpasar, on
Terra. There it shuttled around in the company of a hundred thousand similar
low‑key reports, passing the notice of a number of researchers who
understandably ignored it.
Except for a certain Father Sandra. She picked it
out of a large study file, did some cross‑checking on the accompanying
visuals, and decided to share the result with Father Jamieson, with whom she'd
had an ongoing relationship for nearly a year.
"Shiky, I've got something here I'd like your
opinion on."
Shikar Banadundra turned to smile up at her as she handed
him the hardcopy. He took a moment to flip through the folder, frowned, scanned
it a second time more carefully.
"You sure about this, Misell?"
"Of course not, but a lot of it checks out. The
resolution on some of the old visuals is pretty bad. The computer says there's
a good chance it's a match. I had to do some scrambling around."
"Voiceprint?"
"Only the new interview with this Father
Bateleur on Samstead. Unfortunately. there isn't anything similar in the
earlier references."
"Pity. Can you get enough enhancement to do a
retinal match?"
She shook her head sorrowfully.
Banadundra eyed the hardcopy afresh. "That's
not very encouraging."
I think the interview itself is encouraging. He's
supposed to be dead."
"He may be. Computer opinion or not, this is
pretty inconclusive." He concentrated on the last page of the report. "I don't see anything remarkable
here. This individual had a run‑in with a small‑time local
merchant. So what?"
She pulled a page from the folder. "What do you
think about this business of physically measurable evil existing in a specific
cosmic location?"
Banadundra shrugged. "Mildly interesting from a
theological point of view. I don't see that it has anything
to do with our division."
"I ran a follow‑up. For hundreds of years
it was generally supposed there was nothing in that location. That it was a
big, fat, empty space, a vast section of sky
devoid of nebulae, stars, or interstellar hydrogen. Just a lot of dark
matter."
"So?"
"Most theories of universal creation call for a relatively even distribution of matter throughout the cosmos. This place is an anomaly. A big one. No quadrant of space that big is supposed to be that empty."
"Again: so?"
"According to the updated file of Papers.
Astronomy, being prepared for general distribution. a couple of months ago a
team based on Hivehom found a source of strong radiation deep within the
region. They can't see it, of course. It's hidden by all the dark matter. But
they're convinced it's there. From what I was able to make of it, there may be
some unique electromagnetic properties involved."
Banadundra smiled. "Like evil'?"
"I have no idea. What intrigues me is how this
young man," and she tapped the hardcopy, "knows about it."
"We don't know that he does."
"He claims to know about something out there. You read the printout. He says he's been
there. Just not physically:"
Right.' Banadundra's smiled widened. "His
'soul.' or whatever, went there. Or maybe he died and went there and came
back."
"Thranx researchers don't release experimental
data until they're sure of their results. No one is conversant yet with the
conclusions of this particular research group. They haven't appeared in the
general scientific literature, and this preliminary report has only just been
passed along to the Church's Science Department. How did this person Father
Bateleur talked with, whoever he is, find out about it?"
Banadundra was growing impatient. He had other work
to attend to. "I don't know, Misell, but if he actually does know
anything, I find it easier to believe that he had contact with this thranx
group than that he traveled a couple of million light‑years by some kind
of wacky astral projection or whatever. A search of the tabloid media would
probably yield a thousand similar stories."
"Such fictions rarely include discussions of
the nature of subatomic matter."
"All right, a couple of dozen stories, then.
The numbers mean nothing, just as the interview signifies nothing."
"Shikar, did you ever hear of the Meliorate
Society?"
He blinked. "The renegade eugenicists who were
wiped out a few years ago? Sure. Everybody in the department remembers that
one. What of it?"
Father Sandra tapped the hardcopy. "You
remember some trouble involving a radical antidevelopment group on a colony
world called Longtunnel?"
Banadundra nodded slowly. "I think so. It was
properly taken care of wasn't it? I don't follow colonial politics."
"If the computer correlations are correct, this
young man was present there as well. He became involved with the group. Also
with a gengineer working for a company called Coldstripe. Her name,"
Sandra checked the printout again, "was Clarity Held. At the conclusion
of the confrontation she filed a report of her own with the appropriate
regulatory authorities. It includes mention of a young man whose description
closely matches that of Father Bateleur's interviewee."
"You're losing me. Misell."
"When the last known adherents of the Meliorate
Society were destroyed, it was on a world called Moth."
"Never been there;" he told her.
"Heard it's an interesting, wide‑open sort of place."
"I sweated correlation. Not easy when you've
got the whole Commonwealth to cover. There are records of a young man named
Philip Lynx. Credit tallies through a trading concern called the House of
Malaika a few other ancillary notations. Not much."
"I take it you've drawn some conclusions?"
She leaned forward earnestly. "Look, Shiky.
We've got a young man who's on Moth and in the general vicinity when the last
of the Meliorares are put down. A niece of one of the last Meliorate
practitioners, a woman named Vandervort, is on Longtunnel working with Coldstripe
and has contact with what may be this same young man. She died in the
confrontation, by the way. Now this person shows up on Samstead. I haven't
checked travel records‑I'm not a detective‑but for such a young
man, he seems to have uncommon resources. Far more than his credit records on
Moth would suggest."
"Are you suggesting this is someone who's
trying to carry on the work of the Society?"
"No. He's much too young. But if there's any
kind of connection at all, I think it's worth following up. What I've got right
now is a fascinating young man with a blurry past, a tenuous but distinctive
link to the Society, and an inexplicable tie to an unreleased astronomical discovery."
Banadundra made a face. "If you can pull all
that together into something sensible I'll nominate you for the Obud Prize
myself."
She reached out and caressed his cheek. "I
don't want any nominations for any prizes. You're my prize, Shikar. What I want
is your help accessing the history of the Meliorares."
Concern crossed his dark face. "There's a Moral
Imperative seal on those records. There are still mindwiped participants
walking around. Access is above both our classifications."
"We can at least try. If nothing else, we can
pass what I've found out on up the ladder."
"What's our justification?" he wanted to
know. "That there still might be adherents to the Society's philosophy
running around loose? Or that we're researching the nature of evil? Or is it
strictly an astronomical problem? What you've formulated here would be a
conundrum for the Devil himself."
"That is a concept which may be involved as
well."
He looked for a smile, frowned when he didn't see
one. "Better back up a step or two there woman. You'll be sent down for
instability."
"I assure you, Shiky, I'm talking straight
physics. Philosophy's only tangential to what I've been looking into.
But," she added, "it may be an important tangent. I need you
to back me in this."
"Subatomic properties?" he asked
hesitantly.
She raised a hand, palm facing him, and replied
solemnly. "Subatomic properties. Give me no forces and I'll draw you no
lies."
He took a deep breath. "All right, Misell. Just
be careful what you say to people." After a moment's thought he added,
"Maybe this kid's trying to start a new religion. Happens all the
time."
`I wouldn't think so. Not after reviewing the copy
of Father Bateleur's interview with him. He doesn't strike me as the messianic
type at all. Much more inwardly focused. As far as religion goes, I don't
think he's trying to explicate any of the
traditional ones, either. I think he's convinced
he's on to something. Whether it actually is anything more than a coincidental
personal hallucination is one of the things I'd badly like to find out.
"I think there are enough interesting
coincidences here to intrigue the department. Both this Philip Lynx and what he
told Father Bateleur are worth taking a closer look at. At the very least
someone of higher rank than a metropolitan
padre ought to do an in‑depth interview with our well‑traveled
young man."
"This is obviously important to you,
Misell."
"Then you'll get to work on obtaining access to
those records?" she asked eagerly.
He sighed. "I suppose. I'm not sure I'll get
anywhere, love, but I'll try."
She bent, and he rose on tiptoes to kiss her.
The ride in the commercial taxi out to Tuleon's
northern shuttleport was uneventful. The sky was overcast. the air moist and
warn. the scenery pleasant. While not having completely returned, Flinx's
talent was flickering in and out, periods of emotional rush alternating with
calm and quiet.
A short‑circuit
in my bruin, he
rhymed, which f work on in vain. Together
with the condition that inspired it, the little ditty had stuck with him for
years. He couldn't shake either of them.
Following his instructions, the taxi circled the
port twice. He was grateful that it was fully automated and he didn't have to
answer questions from a querulous driver. There was no sign that he was being
followed, and while not conclusive, the additional circumnavigation added to
his confidence.
Instead of stopping at one of the passenger
debarkation lounges, the vehicle halted midway between those hectic terminals
and the cargo depot. With his Ident fully in order, no one questioned his
progress, though he did draw the usual curious glances. He was very young to be
traveling by private craft. It was assumed he was the scion of one of the
wealthy Houses. If challenged by some overzealous official, he could call on
his friendship with the House of Malaika, but such confrontations were infrequent.
Since the beginning of civilization, bureaucrats were reluctant to impugn the
wealthy, especially if the latter seemed to know what they were doing.
Climbing into an empty, four‑person port
bubble, he punched in the appropriate pad coordinates. The compact maglev
transport accelerated down a tunnel, speeding beneath the green belt that
separated the terminals from the pad itself. The actual launch area occupied an
open plain several kilometers from the port proper.
Moderating its horizontal velocity, the bubble
entered a vertical shaft and began to ascend. At the surface it deposited him
on open tarmac. There he was surrounded by shuttles of varying size, each
snuggled neatly within the artificial crater of a landing site.
Fat cargo craft were sucking modular transport containers
from multiple shafts flanking their sides. With safety tube deployed, a
passenger shuttle was unloading nearby, the dome of an arrival center having
sprouted from the nearest receiving shaft. When the last passenger had
disembarked, the center would automatically be deflated, rolled up, and
secured in a protective bunker.
No such elaborate facilities were provided for
Flinx, nor did he require any. He simply walked over to his waiting shuttle,
communicated the requisite security code, and waited while a simple lift
descended from the craft's underside.
"All systems functioning." the shuttle
informed him once he was aboard. "Minor discrepancy in the port lift
engine. Eighty percent efficiency."
Have to get that fixed someday, he told himself.
"Fueling status?"
"Complete," replied the shuttle via its
vorec interface.
Flinx settled into the pilot's chair, Pip resting
comfortably on his shoulder. Spread out before him were the manual controls,
whose proper function had and probably always would remain a mystery to him.
Flight navigation and ship operation were matters better left to computes. a
state of affairs with which he was quite content and had no desire to
challenge.
"Back to the Teacher." He adjusted his harness. The shuttle's AI had no
difficulty interpreting the routine non technical instruction.
"Please secure yourself, sir;" the
melodious artificial voice requested. "Is there any baggage to come
aboard?"
"No." Flinx checked his harness. Except
for occasional visits to more distant regions of Samstead, he'd been living
out of the shuttle. It knew that, but had been programmed to offer the
reminder.
Instruments set flush into the smooth contour before
him came alive. He was familiar with the colors if not the functions. A low
rumble began as first the starboard, then the port VTOL engines came to life.
"Port Authority has cleared for departure. Lift
in ten seconds;" announced the shuttle in its pleasant male baritone.
Next week Flinx might change it to high thranx, or seductive female. The tone
of his mechanical companions depended on his mood, and the Teacher's voice library was extensive.
At the appointed time the stubby craft rose noisily
into the air, its internal guidance system in constant contact with every other
active shuttle and aircraft in the vicinity. Collisions were all but
nonexistent.
At two thousand meters the rear engines took over
and the VTOLs shut down. Gentle pressure pushed Flinx back in his seat as the
scramjets shoved the ship high into Samstead's relatively unpolluted upper
atmosphere.
"Ascend and circle," he ordered the
shuttle.
"I am compelled to mention that climbing in
such a fashion involves an unnecessary expenditure of fuel."
“Do it,” he reiterated. The craft complied.
Now he could make out the great winding water snake
that was the Tumberleon, its major tributaries, and the sprawl of the capital.
The geometric patterns of farms and ranches quilted the surrounding terrain in
green and brown patches.
As the ship continued to spiral upward, the vast
blue reaches of the Chirapatri Sea came into view, darker in hue than the
endless ocean of space toward which he was climbing. A metallic flash to the
east marked the razor path of a shuttle descending toward Peridon, the
capital's harbor city.
Turquoise to azure to cerulean to purple and lastly
to black, the change in the sky shade delineated increasing altitude as sharply
as any instrument. The pressure of his harness lessened along with the maternal
pull of the planet, and he was soon resting in zero g. No shuttle was big
enough to support a posigravity generator, nor was any needed.
Lights falling like golden teardrops marked the path
of a pair of shuttles descending in tandem, probably cargo craft from the same
parent vessel. As his own ship rotated, the Teacher hove into view; an elongated ovoid of modest proportions
from which protruded a cylindrical shaft. The other end of the column terminated
in a bulge to which was attached a huge parabolic dish shape: the Caplis
generator and KK‑drive field projector.
Though not a large vessel and in no way outwardly imposing,
in one important respect it exceeded the capability of any other vessel in the
Commonwealth. Its secret remained hidden beneath an unremarkable exterior.
The scramjets having long since been silenced, attitude
jets took over and carefully maneuvered the shuttle into the docking bay that
gaped in the side of the interstellar craft. Confident that the shuttle's
instrumentation was communicating silently and efficiently with the much larger
AI on board the Teacher, Flinx paid
no attention to the maneuvers. He was luxuriating once more in the emotional
vacuum of space. Here there were no throngs to crowd him, no silent screams of
agonized individuals to spark another of his innumerable headaches. It was a
place of peace in which his talent was neither a blessing or a curse, a place
where he could look forward to an extended period of relaxation and mental
ease.
It was quiet.
Once the shuttle had been secured in its braces, the
exterior door slid shut and the bay was pressurized. As posigravity powered
up, Flinx felt weight returning. He released himself from the flight harness and
slid out of his seat. On his shoulder Pip stirred in her sleep.
It was good to be back in the familiar confines of
the Teacher. Within the designated
living areas, he'd added what homey touches he could: live plants to supplement
the artificial ones, bright colors, a ragged bedspread from Mother Mastiff's
pack‑rat jumble of a domicile on Moth. There were enterprises and
individuals specializing in vehicular decor who could have transformed the
interior into a space‑traversing palace, but Flinx was reluctant to allow
strangers on board his vessel, for all that its singular secret was well‑camouflaged
and concealed. The result was that the ship exhibited a cool functionality
which was wholly in keeping with his own personality.
The posigravity field was reassuring. Not quite one
g, but sufficient to keep him attached to the floor. Beyond emptying his duffel
and dumping dirty clothing into the sanitizer, there wasn't much else to do. He
ate an indifferent meal before moving up to the control room.
Two small ports revealed the view aft, while the
fore port displayed a halo of stars around the drive parabolic. Lazy blue light
rose from Samstead's atmosphere, the sensuous arc of the planet glowing like
porcelain on fire. It was time to bid that beauty farewell, as he'd been compelled
to do with so many beautiful things throughout his life.
"Activate drive. Prepare for system
departure."
"Very well, sir," replied the Teacher. A subtle vibration impregnated
the deck underfoot. That was expected.
What followed was not.
"We are being hailed, sir."
Flinx pursed his lips. A customs vessel, or perhaps a nearby ship noting the activation
of his drive and seeking clarification of intentions. Easy enough to find out.
He flopped into the pilot's seat. "Acknowledge."
The com screen off to his left cleared immediately.
He tensed. The face displayed was all too familiar.
"I'm sure you thought I'd given up by
now." The edgy yet disciplined voice was also familiar.
"No." Flinx's tone was resigned. "But
1'd hoped you had. You said that you own a whole zoo. Why this unreasonable
obsession with my pet?"
Coerlis shrugged imperceptibly. "I don't have
an Alaspinian minidrag. And your ship is a lot closer than Alaspin. Why don't
you just come on over in your shuttle? Or if you prefer. I'll send someone over
to you. It won't take but a few minutes. Your internal systems will confirm
that I'm very nearby." As Flinx moved to check, Coerlis added,
"Where'd you steal that ship? It looks new."
"I didn't steal it. It's mine."
"Yours?" Coerlis didn't laugh. "You
don't have to lie to me. I can find out the truth anytime I want."
"It was a gift." Flinx informed him
quietly.
Coerlis's eyebrows rose. "Someone must think
highly of you."
Flinx had to smile as he thought of the Ulru‑Ujurrians
and their fanciful permutations of physics, logic, reason, and matter. "To
tell you the truth, I'm not sure if they do, but a gift from friends it
was."
"Doesn't matter. It's not your ship I want. The
House of Coerlis isn't hurting for transport. Take the craft I'm aboard right
now, for example. Latest drive and navigation technology, or so I'm told. Very
responsive, very efficient. I really ought to get off Samstead more often, but
I've a lot of business to attend to. That's why it upsets me to have to spend
so much time on something as minor as our mutual enterprise. It's wasteful. I
hate waste.
"While you're checking on my location you might
as well have your instrumentation confirm something else about my vessel. It's
armed. She's no peaceforcer, but she's lethal enough to make me feel secure.
Also confident."
"How did you follow me?"
"It wasn't hard." Coerlis sounded matter‑of‑fact
rather than boastful. "If you're looking for an individual who's
reasonably distinctive in appearance, and you saturate your search area with
enough people, you can find anybody. As soon as you were spotted it was easy
to set professionals in your wake. I have resources.
"Once your intent was clear, I boosted before
you did. After that it was simply a matter of having ground control track your
shuttle. I was prepared to delay and board a commercial craft, but this is
better. Privacy facilitates commerce." He shrugged anew. "Such things
aren't difficult to manage. A11 it takes
is money."
Another screen showed Coerlis's vessel orbiting behind
and slightly below Flinx, gaining on the Teacher
with its drive silent. "How do I know you're really armed'?"
"I've no reason to lie to you. I've a belt‑mounted
energy weapon and a couple of older‑model but quite adequate projectile
launchers. Not enough to threaten a small peace‑forcer, but more than
enough to reduce you to scrap."
"Do that, and you don't get your new pet."
From her favorite perch on a tree sculpture
fashioned of metallic glass fibers Pip looked up curiously. Since her master
was projecting no fear, she relaxed.
Tired. Flinx thought. So fired. And not a little fed
up. How could he contemplate doing anything for humanxkind if hurnanxkind
wouldn't leave him alone?
"All right. If it's that important to you ... I
can't believe you'd really use spatial weaponry in close orbit around an
inhabited world."
"At this range? Why not? Ships have accidents'
all the time. A small electrical interrupt, someone fiddling with the wrong
control; easy enough to explain an incident away. Money mutes any complaint.
But why should any of that be necessary? Do us both a favor: save me credit and
yourself your life."
Flinx couldn't sense directly what the other man was
feeling, but he had a reasonably good idea: the small sensation of triumph,
the juvenile feeling of satisfaction, self‑elevation at the expense of
another. It was all so discouraging and predictable.
"1'11 get my shuttle ready," he told the
other man. "You're still going to pay, of course."
"Certainly." Coerlis smiled as widely as
he could. "Why make trouble? If you have friends with resources enough to
give you a ship like that, they might come looking for me if anything happened
to you. I don't want the aggravation; just the flying snake."
"I'm secured for changeover. It'll take a
couple of minutes to prepare for an exchange of shuttles."
"I'll wait." Coerlis was more than
agreeable. "Meanwhile don't think about trying to boost. We're much too
close for you to try a run. If you don't believe me, check with your
computer."
Flinx had no idea how accurate or efficient
Coerlis's weapons systems were. He doubted they were any more effective than
his own, but he had no intention of surprising the merchant by selectively
destroying a portion of his vessel, for example its drive components. Such
activity would be detected by orbital monitors and the Teacher would be permanently identified and marked for attention by
Commonwealth and Church authorities.
"I'll take any universal credit chit."
Flinx made conversation while the Teacher
made ready. "We can run it through a neutral ground‑based
system."
"Sure." Despite the obvious exertion,
Coerlis was unable to be truly cheerful.
"Shuttle will depart in five minutes."
"Three." Coerlis smiled relentlessly.
"All right: three." Flinx terminated
transmission and turned toward the omnidirectional voice recognition pickup. "Teacher, I want drive activation in three minutes."
"Difficult." Lights flickered on the layout before Flinx. Pip stirred slightly but remained on her perch, wings furled against her blue, pink, and green body.
"It may also be necessary to engage in evasive
action," Flinx added. "We have been threatened by the KK‑drive
vessel nearest to us."
"The situation is understood, sir."
Flinx's chair quivered beneath him.
Coerlis's voice grated over the wide‑open com,
restive and suspicious. "You're moving. What's going on?"
"Adjusting attitude. My shuttle's low on fuel
and you're a fair ways off. Check your own readouts. I'm moving toward you, not
away."
A pause, then, "So you are. Take it easy."
"Relax. I'm entirely on automatics. Do I look
old enough to you to handle manual piloting?"
"All right, but no tricks."
"What tricks?" Flinx replied. "The
closer I come, the simpler it is for your weapons systems to target me."
"Just don't forget that," Coerlis replied
testily. He subsided a little when Flinx reestablished visual contact.
"Not that I feel bad about this, but I see no reason for you to leave with
just money. Would you like a puppy?"
"That's all right. I've been to Alaspin. I can
get another minidrag."
Coerlis eyed him curiously. "Then why give me
such a hard time over this one? Just because it's been with you for a while?
It's only an alien analog."
"Sixty seconds," announced the Teacher, too softly for the pickup to
transfer the information to Coerlis's craft.
"Emotional attachments can be hard to
break."
"They can also be damaging if you let them get
to you," Coerlis replied. "Look, no hard feelings. You're a pretty
resourceful kid. Why don't you come work for me?"
"Because I haven't been a kid for quite some
time, and because I don't think I'd like working for you. In fact, I doubt
anyone does. But you'll never know that. Pumped credit buys a lot of fawning,
and humankind's never suffered from a shortage off sycophants."
"Drive activation imminent," murmured the
voice of the Teacher.
Someone offscreen shouted urgently and Coerlis
turned in their direction. A moment later he was glaring icily back at Flinx.
"I told you no tricks. I get what I want, and if I can't get what I want...
" He turned away to shout an order.
At that instant the Teacher twitched and the view outside all three ports spun wildly.
Communication with Coerlis was lost as Flinx's vessel accelerated sharply, to
pass directly above and dangerously near to the other vessel. Though very mild,
the initial gravity wave generated by the Teacher's
drive perturbed the orbit of Coerlis's craft enough to make precision
weapons targeting impossible.
Flinx allowed himself a slight smile as he
envisioned his frustrated nemesis screaming and yelling at his subordinates.
Meanwhile the Teacher continued to
accelerate exponentially.
"Any indication of hostile reaction?"
"One object‑seeking weapon
launched," replied the vorec promptly.
"Potential?"
"Far below SCCAM velocity, sir."
"I know that. If it was a SCCAM projectile we'd
already be dead." The computer did not object to its inclusion in
Flinx's evaluation.
"Improperly aimed, sir. It is not a
threat." A brief pause, then, "The vessel which undertook the
reaction has activated its own drive and is attempting to pursue."
"Are they closing on us?"
"No, sir. Maintaining projected interval and
velocity."
"Good enough." As long as Coerlis remained
out of weapons range there was no harm in both ships accelerating in tandem.
Projectiles were no longer a concern. Everything depended now on the
sophistication of Coerlis's single energy weapon. It could prove difficult to
evade. KK‑drive ships weren't designed for sharp, quick maneuvering.
A military craft would already be solidifying its
targeting procedures. Coerlis's people should take somewhat longer. Meanwhile
the Teacher headed outsystem, where
the full power of its drive could be safely engaged.
"Heavy particle burst detected, sir,"
announced the Teacher gravely.
"Capable of causing significant damage if we are hit. Shall I respond
actively?"
"No. Evade and avoid. See that we're not
impacted. How long before we reach changeover?"
"Crossing the orbit of the sixth and outermost
planet, sir. Two minutes thirty seconds." There was a pause, almost an
electronic hesitation, then, "Allow me to point out that it would be
useful to select a course prior to insertion, sir."
"I don't give a damn." Watching Pip, Flinx
was reminded of his childhood on Moth: free‑roaming, without responsibility,
dangerous but exciting, and largely devoid of headaches. He missed that
freedom, missed the easy laughter and camaraderie of fellow street children.
He'd grown up too fast and learned too damn much. It was somebody's fault, and
he knew who they were.
But there was no use blaming them anymore, because
they were all dead.
"We are being hailed, sir."
"Ignore all transmissions:" He was sick of
Jack‑Jax Coerlis's pinched, pasty, psychotic face and hoped never to have
to look upon it again.
How much longer would he have to put up with the
cavalier madness of individual antagonists? How much longer would he have to
restrain himself? He felt a headache coming on, a throbbing at the back of his
skull. Even here, in the sanctuary of emptiness, he wasn't always immune.
"Forty seconds. Course, sir. Please."
"I told you; it doesn't matter. Anyplace‑anywhere
on our current vector. The next habitable world. I don't care. Just go."
"Very well, sir. Changeover is imminent"
A different sort of shudder ran through the ship. He
fancied he could hear Coerlis's howl of outrage as the Teacher leaped off his screens. The starfield outside the ports
dopplered and his stomach did an amiable flip‑flop. In the time it would
take Coerlis's vessel to achieve equal velocity, the Teacher would be long gone in the unnatural immensity of space‑plus.
And that would be the end of that.
As for what lay ahead, it didn't matter. Flinx never
gave much thought to tomorrows. He was by nature reactive rather than
protagonistic. For the present he was content to let the cosmos bounce him
where it would.
Flinx didn't bother to count the days. He was
content simply to be going. It wasn't necessary to ponder where he'd been or
where he was heading. In space‑plus, cocooned in the responsive and
caring confines of the Teacher, he
was free from the emotional roar and babble of thousands of sapient beings.
Here there were no headaches, no need to wonder at the true motivation of
supposed friends or old acquaintances. The Teacher's
AI existed to serve, and serve emotionlessly. There was only one problem.
He was not, at heart, a hermit.
He loved the feel of solid ground underfoot, the
flash and static of new worlds, the company and conversation of intelligent
fife. The paradox had always existed within him: solitary of mind but
gregarious of nature.
If only he could blind himself to their emotions,
shut out their feelings, ignore their petty internalized tantrums and upsets,
he would be as comfortable in a crowd as in the familiar chambers of the Teacher. But he could not. They raged
and tore at him, demanding his notice, pricking his talent and worming their
distraught selves into his mind. He almost smiled. Maybe that was the cause of
his headaches.
Overcrowding.
He elevated himself with philosophy, diverted
himself with music, expanded his perceptiveness with art, and made yet another
stab at the physics of his private revelations, until one day the ship
announced brightly, "Preparing for changeover. sir. Reinsertion into
normal space imminent."
"Only entropy is imminent, Teacher. Didn't you know that?"
"You've been reading Sheckley again, sir.
Insightful, but lacking in depth."
"Truths are no less real for being
transitory."
"I cannot debate with you now, sir. There are
adjustments to be made. Unless you wish us to be turned inside out upon
changeover."
"Don't think I haven't thought about it."
"I remind you that I am programmed to recognize
facetiousness, sir."
Flinx closed down the library, made certain the
painting he'd been working on was properly stabilized, dismissed the
entertainment block, added a few bars to his ongoing symphonic mass, and
prepared to rejoin the real universe. Lazing on her perch, Pip followed him
with piercing, slitted eyes.
"Where are we, anyway?" Flinx settled
himself into the pilot's chair, from which he'd never done nor hoped ever to
have to do any piloting.
"The world is not named, sir."
The last vestiges of a capella polyphonics faded from his mind. "What do you mean,
it's not named?"
"You asked that we travel to the next habitable
world on our original vector, sir. No other specifications were provided and no
limitations set."
"We've been a long time in space‑plus."
He checked one of numerous readouts. "A very long time. What are you
telling me?"
"It's an odd entry in the files, sir. There's
virtually nothing in the way of description beyond the fact that it is
Earthlike and habitable. It's more of a statistic than a realized place."
"You're telling me that it's habitable but
uninhabited."
"Insofar as I am able to determine from the
very limited information available to me, sir. It's little more than a
listing. Unclassified."
Flinx frowned. "That's odd. Why not label it a
class ten and leave it at that? If enough is known about it to list it as
habitable, enough must be known for a formal classification to apply."
"I do not dispute your logic, sir. I am only
reporting what information is in my files."
"Is it a new entry?"
"No, sir. It appears to be quite old."
"Curiouser and curiouser. Something someone wants
kept secret?"
"Not so much secret as perhaps overlooked, sir.
You know that I have access to files which are unavailable generally."
"If you say so." Flinx considered the
refulgent orb they were decelerating toward. "I would've preferred
Tehuantepec." That well‑developed world, with its partially above‑
and partially belowground society, would have been a fine and active place in
which to submerge himself.
Maybe this was better. Something completely new.
Flinx had always liked surprises because his talent made genuine ones
difficult.
"Any sign of communications, at any level of
proficiency?"
"A moment, sir. I am scanning. No sir, nothing.
Only the expected local and background stellar output."
Flinx studied those readouts whose function he could
comprehend. The world expanding before him massed slightly less than Terra and
orbited a little nearer its star. It hugged close a dense but breathable
atmosphere. Additional details would become available subsequent to more
intimate observation.
"Let's take a closer look."
"Very well, sir. How close? We are alone
here."
The ship was being careful, as it was programmed to
be. It wouldn't do to have some lone Commonwealth survey drone note the fact
that a KK‑drive ship could descend to within touchdown distance of a
planetary surface without generating the usual cataclysmic side effects both
to ship and surface. Alone among known vessels, only the Teacher could manage that trick, and Flinx guarded its secret
zealously.
"I know we're alone, but lets hew to minimum
Commonwealth orbital standards anyway. At least until we're doubly sure
nobody's watching. Then we'll see."
"As you wish, sir."
They dropped to the specified altitude and commenced
a steady circumnavigation of the planet, moving from west to east and occasionally
shifting to a circumpolar orbit. It didn't much matter. Except for an
occasional outbreak of blue ocean, the surface was practically uniform.
There was also a vague feeling of having been here
before, stronger than déjá vu but far less than certitude. He had to grin. If
the Teacher was correct, no one had ever been here before, except
the robot drone that had long ago noted its coordinates.
"Visuals confirm preliminary
observations," he murmured aloud. "It looks as well as tests
habitable. Wonder why no one's come here?"
"I don't know, sir. There are many
discrepancies in the old files. Record‑keeping was much less efficient
hundreds of years ago."
Flinx heard a deep hum and felt a weight on his
shoulder. Pip had fluttered over to join him. It was unusual for her to be so
active so soon after changeover, but he didn't have time to wonder about her
behavior. He was too busy stating out the port as they slowly circled the cloud
swathed planet.
There was at least one sizable ocean. There might have
been others but it was difficult to tell, since even the surface of the water
was heavily masked in green. What pelagic growth there was, was thick and
cloying.
The few eroded mountain ranges were completely
smothered in greenery, as were the occasional isolated canyons and depressions.
Except for disparate shades of that dominant hue, there were only varying
densities of white cloud and the isolated patch of blue, struggling to be seen.
The Teacher soared high above greens
so pale as to be translucent, shading to green dark enough to verge on black.
Within the tightly constricted palette there was immense variation.
Instruments searched for an open space in which to
set down: the crumbling gray of a high mountain plateau, the baneful yellow of
open desert, even the pallid glare of a glacier or ice cap. In vain. Save for
the already noted patches of open ocean maintained by a few strong currents,
this world was an unrelenting, unremitting green from its equator to its poles.
"I don't think there's much question about the
presence of indigenous life," Flinx commented. "Not of the botanical
variety, anyway. That's certainly noteworthy enough to be included in any
records. But you say there's nothing."
"No sir. Only the coordinates and the simple
basics already alluded to." After a period of silence in which man and
machine silently contemplated the world below, the ship ventured, "Would
you like me to construct a vector to Tehauntepec, sir?"
Flinx considered. There was no one to talk to here,
no convivial strangers with whom to share conversation or debate. After so much
time spent in the isolation of space‑plus, he was in need of
conversation. It was a function of his age as much as his personality. Much
easier to observe in isolation when one has turned eighty or ninety and has a
store of old conversations to draw upon.
The voice of the Teacher
interrupted before he could make a decision. "Sir, instruments have
detected a metallic anomaly within the surface."
"Within?" Flinx's eyebrows rose.
"Yes sir. The surface we are viewing is neither
uniform nor solid."
"Where is this anomaly located?"
"Behind us now, given our velocity."
Could be an old meteorite lying within the
vegetation, Flinx mused, or an outcropping of a concentrated ore deposit. Or
... ?
"Find it again and position us overhead."
"Yes sir." The ship adjusted orbit ‑to
comply. Not much later, "We are directly above it now and holding,
sir."
Flinx examined the surface via the view offered up
by the Teacher's scopes, eyeing the
relevant monitors with interest. All that could he seen was the all‑pervasive
green, albeit at a higher magnification.
"I am unable to further resolve the
anomaly," the ship informed him. "It is relatively small."
Still a meteorite or ore outcropping, Flinx decided.
"There's nothing about it to suggest that anyone else is here?"
"No, sir. The communications spectrum for this
entire system is completely blank."
He considered. "Then take us down."
The ship complied, descending slowly to an altitude
that would have stunned any observer conversant with the physics of KK‑drive
technology. Only when they had fallen far enough for Flinx to make out
individual treetops did he direct the Teacher
to pause and hover.
"It's all like this'?" he asked
rhetorically.
The ship replied anyway. "All that I have been
able to survey so far, sir. Of course, we have only made a dozen or so
passes."
"What are our landing prospects in this
vicinity?"
"The local vegetation rises to heights in
excess of seven hundred meters, sir. There is some question as to the stability
of the actual surface, even if it could be reached."
"So there's nothing?"
"I have noted the presence of a very few
relatively growth‑free mountain peaks which rise above the surrounding
greenery. These exposed barrens may owe their existence to altitude, the
absence of suitable soils, or a combination of factors. There are none next to
the anomaly, but one is relatively close."
"Define `relatively' in this instance."
"I believe that would be misleading, sir, given
the energetic nature of the surface. Linear and chronological distance are not
likely to correspond in any meaningful fashion."
"Is there room enough to land'?"
"The space is inadequate and the topography
unsuitable." the ship replied discouragingly. "There are one or two
places where a properly piloted shuttle might safely achieve touchdown."
"Good enough. Take us back to a normal
orbit."
"Yes sir." A tremor ran through the ship
as it balanced on its unique drive and began to ascend. "Further observation
reveals that the exposed area is composed of especially tough granites, very
difficult for organics to break down. This could account for the absence of the
otherwise omnipresent vegetation."
"What an amazing place." Flinx continued
to gaze out the port as they returned to orbit. "I wonder what kind of
animals, if any, live here? Surely in all this world spanning forest there has
to be a variety of mobile life forms."
"In the absence of high‑resolution
observations, it would be premature of me to speculate, sir."
Time to reprogram the Teacher's voice, Flinx decided as he rose and headed for the
shuttle bay.
"We'll go down and have a look around," he
told his companion. Pip eyed him uncomprehendingly. "A world capable of
supporting this kind of life deserves to be reported. Settlements would do
well here."
"Your appraisal is similarly premature, sir. If
you would like my opinion‑"
"I always want your opinion, ship." Flinx
turned down a corridor.
"The biotic density far exceeds that of any
previously recorded rain forest. Even the thranx, who are partial to such
conditions, might have difficulty establishing themselves here. The growth may
not be manageable, and I remind you that we know nothing of the actual surface,
which must be shrouded in perpetual darkness."
"I didn't say potential colonizers wouldn't
have problems. They could stare by clearing a wide section of forest."
He halted sharply and had to place one hand against
a wall for support. An alarmed Pip raised both wings and immediately began
hunting for an unseen enemy.
"Sir?" The voice of the ship was
concerned.
"Whew!" Flinx put the hand to his head.
"Just had something shoot through me like you wouldn't believe. Not like
one of my usual headaches. I guess I'm going to have to adapt to a new round of
palm" He straightened. "It'd be worse on Samstead. Or Terra."
Cautiously he resumed walking.
On board the shuttle he addressed the vorec which
was permanently linked to the Teacher's neutral
nexus. "You're sure there's a place to set down'? I don't want to bum any
vegetation if I don't have to."
"There should be adequate room, sir, though
there is little margin for error."
"I'm not worried." He slipped into
harness. "You don't make errors."
"No, sir."
The shuttle detached cleanly from its bay, pivoted
in nothingness, and engaged a preprogrammed angle of descent, aiming for an
infinitesimal spot of gray/brown that just barely protruded above the sea of
green. As he dropped, Flinx marveled through the port at the virescent surface.
Colossal emergents with overarching crowns a hundred meters across dominated
the chlorotic topography, while smaller yet still gigantic growths fought for
a share of life‑giving sunlight. Utilization of every shaft of sunshine,
every stray photon, was contested. On this world photosynthesis had gone wild,
and chlorophyll was the addiction of choice.
As they descended, the roar of the shuttle's engines
was a steady, reassuring thrumming in his ears. He reached back to his
childhood, when, as a carefree ward of the tolerant Mother Mastiff, he'd spent
days climbing the gnarled evergreens of Drallar's public parks. Other children
might have mothers and fathers, but few had enjoyed his degree of freedom.
As he monitored the Teacher's ongoing observations, he knew he wouldn't be doing much
tree‑climbing here. How did one scramble up a seven‑hundred‑meter‑tall
trunk? At what height did the incredible growths begin to put out branches?
Something vast and superbly colored swept past the
fore port like a shower of stained glass and was gone. The shuttle rocked ever
so slightly. Startled and excited, Flinx leaned forward and peered to his left.
The flying creature, or whatever it had been, was gone, its chromatic brilliance
a fading memory on his retinas. He considered ordering the shuttle to alter
course to follow, then decided against it. Where one aerial apparition existed,
there were sure to be others.
So there were at least aerial life forms here, he
realized, and big ones at that. How had the details of such a world gone
missing from the Commonwealth archives? It wasn't Under Edict, like Ulru‑Ujurr.
Just forgotten.
And he had it all to himself.
Vibration increased as the engines worked harder,
braking against thick atmosphere. Through the port Flinx could make out a riot
of color within the treetops, bright patches of vermilion and chartreuse within
the greenery. Flowers, perhaps their shapes blurred by distance and movement.
He leaned back in harness, making certain it was secure.
Touchdown was liable to be rough. Below lay no smooth‑surfaced shuttleport,
no forgiving tarmac, no land‑based controller to offer last‑minute
advice. He had only the Teacher's assurance
that a landing was even possible.
Ahead he made out a few rugged splotches of gray rising
above the forest, lonely islands in a sea of green. The shuttle's thrumming
became a whine as it switched smoothly from scramjets to VTOLs. Forward motion
slowed and it fell precipitously on a cushion of heated air. Flinx closed his
eyes.
There was a jolt and his fingers tensed on the
armrests. Motion ceased, the whine faded. A deafening silence settled over the
shuttle. He was down.
A glance outside showed broken rock cresting against
straining greenery less than half a dozen meters from the fore landing strut.
There was more open space toward the stern. Coached by the Teacher, the shuttle had handled the landing perfectly.
Slipping out of harness, Flinx double‑checked
the Teacher's original observations.
The atmosphere was indeed breathable. Combined with the high oxygen content,
the slightly less than T‑normal gravity promised easy hiking.
Microbiological screening revealed the presence of
several million airborne organisms. This was to be expected on such a fecund
world. Detailed sampling suggested the absence of any likely to seriously
affect his otherworld constitution. He'd use the airlock anyway, as a safety
precaution. Better if possible to keep the shuttle's atmosphere inviolate. To
conserve power he would utilize the foldout ramp instead of the shuttle's
internal powerlift.
When Flinx cracked the outer door, the humidity hit
him like a hot, wet towel. The humidity, and the rush of alien odors. These
ranged from a sharp suggestion of fine perfume to something that stank worse
than an overloaded waste treatment plant.
It required an effort to realize that he was looking
out across the top of an immense forest and not at some poorly maintained
garden. The actual ground lay hundreds of meters below, and he was standing on
a mountaintop, not a rocky outcropping in the middle of a lawn. This knowledge
was as energizing as it was disorienting.
Vegetation struck and clawed at the exposed granite,
seeking to submerge even this last bastion of bare rock, as if driven into a
chlorphyllic frenzy by the absence of any plant life upon the peak. Pip riding
easy on his shoulder, Flinx started down the metal rampway. He left the lock
ajar. There was no one here to disturb anything inside, and he wasn't going to
wander very far.
At the bottom of the stairs Pip unfurled her wings
and soared toward the sun, relieved to be free of the ship's confines. She
needed the exercise, he knew. There was a limited amount of space for aerial
maneuvering on board the Teacher.
"What do you think, Pip?" She dipped
close, wings ablur. "Quite a place, isn't it? What say we go for a little
walk?"
Reentering the shuttle, he made his way to the
supply locker and packed a service belt with everything from survival rations
to compacted water. Lastly, he snapped on a holster holding a fully charged
needler. If the traditions of exploration held true, it was possible that not
every life form they encountered would prove amiable. Certainly none would have
any instinctive fear of a human.
Besides, he'd learned early on to always enter a
strange environment, no matter how outwardly civilized or pacific, expecting
trouble. The efficacy of this maxim was attested to by his continued existence.
The belt heavy against his waist, he sealed the
inner door, once again opened the outer, and descended the deployed ramp,
content in the knowledge that his only means of returning to the Teacher was secure. At such moments he
was ever mindful of the famous story of the Commonwealth liner Kurita. She had been paralyzed in orbit
above Terra, a thousand passengers and crew forced to wait impatiently while
dozens of engineers and specialists had swarmed her instrumentation and
equipment in search of the difficulty.
Only to find that a tiny spider had spun a web not
much larger than itself at a critical electronic junction. Flinx had no
intention of losing control of the shuttle to such an oversight.
Stopping at the base of the ramp, he once more
scrutinized the boundless sea of green. There was a distinct yellow‑green
tint to the atmosphere that was compounded by the reflective quality of
numerous low‑lying clouds. Prodigious transpiration from the forest maintained
the ambient humidity at near maximum levels. Already he had begun to perspire
heroically. The high humidity didn't bother Pip. Much of Alaspin was also thick
with rain forest, though on a much more modest scale.
Strolling toward the nearest patch of vegetation, he
felt a muscular thrust from Pip and instinctively dropped, reaching as he did
so for his handgun. The minidrag just did manage to interpose herself between
his crumpling form and the vast shape plunging toward him out of the clouds.
The reason for its unseen approach was immediately
apparent. Despite a wing span of some four meters, it was practically invisible
against the limpid sky. Not only its membranous wings, but its bones were
perfectly transparent. Only the muted colors of its internal organs and the
pale pink blood that coursed through transparent arteries and veins were
readily visible, along with the partially‑digested remains of an earlier
meal.
The swart skull boasted jaws set with backward
curving teeth that appeared fashioned of glass. Three eyes protruded from the
wedge‑shaped forehead. Evolved for optimum predation, one looked forward
while the other two were set off to the sides of tire head. This distinctive
ocular architecture allowed for more than three hundred degrees of
uninterrupted vision, while the fore eye functioning in tandem with either of
the others gave the creature excellent depth perception as well.
A third, shrunken wing ran the length of the meter long
body and served as a maneuvering keel in place of the expected tail. Three
short, clawed feet provided a solid landing platform.
A more difficult‑to‑spot aerial predator
would be hard to imagine, Flinx decided even as he struggled to unlimber his
weapon. Silhouetted against the sun, his attacker would be virtually invisible
to prey flying or crawling below.
All this flashed through his mind in an instant, as
Pip prepared to counterattack. Flinx instinctively threw up his free hand to
protect his face as he fumbled at the recalcitrant holster with the other.
Something shattered the air just above him with an explosive pop.
Then he was enveloped by a mass of transparent wings
and pulsing organs. The flesh he kicked at frantically as he sought to keep those
glass‑toothed jaws away from his neck felt like sheets of water‑filled
plastic.
It struck him then that the creature was hardly
moving. When he crawled out from beneath the quiescent mass he saw why.
Its head was gone. Pink blood pumped from severed arteries
in rapidly decreasing streams.
"Pip!" He climbed shakily to a crouch.
"Pip, where ...?"
She lay off to his right, on her back. For a
horrible moment she didn't move. Then she twisted onto her belly scales,
spread her wings, and fluttered briefly into the air before crashing back to
the ground, obviously dazed. He stumbled toward her. His ears rang as if
someone had been using his head for a clapper inside a gigantic bell.
Behind him the decapitated alien raptor flopped
against the rocks, wings and body twitching spasmodically. Flinx's first
thought was that an explosive projectile had obliterated the predator's skull.
If that was the case, he would have expected a cry of greeting from whoever had
fired the saving shot. Nothing of the sort was forthcoming.
Up close he saw that Pip was unhurt, only stunned.
Not unlike himself, he knew. Then he saw her tense as she rose to land on his
shoulder. He followed her reptilian gaze.
From the body of a huge emergent, just beneath its
capacious shadowy crown, a thick brown cable had emerged. It crept along the
rocks, prodding and probing, a second following close behind. At first Flinx
thought they were some kind of impossibly attenuated snakes. He soon learned
otherwise.
The tip of the nearest cable made contact with the
still quivering corpse of the raptor. With a speed that took Flinx's breath
away, the two cables lashed out and contracted. One encircled the dead
predator's body, the other a crumpled wing. Together they dragged the corpse
toward the forest.
From his perch atop the exposed rock, Flinx watched
as the cables drew their prize across the treetops. At first he thought they
originated within the tree itself. Closer inspection revealed that they were
retracting not into the trunk but into a large lump on its side that differed
only slightly in color from its stolid host. He envisioned a limpet the size of
a grizzly.
As he looked on, the tentacles lifted the body
toward the pale brown lump. A toothless maw gaped in the side. Flinx found
himself wondering if the tree drew any benefit from the lump's presence.
Perhaps in the course of its natural predation it and others like it kept the
emergent's crown free of winged grazers who might otherwise devastate its
vulnerable, sun‑loving leaves.
He wasn't about to investigate any closer. The tentacles
coiled tight against the lump's side as the body of the transparent flier
disappeared within the receptive cavity. As he looked on, a smaller flying
creature approached. It had pink and red feathers, a long neck, and a beak
like a roseate stiletto. Skimming gracefully over the top of the forest, it was
intent on the branches below.
The instant it entered the shadow of the emergent's
crown, one of the coiled tentacles snapped out. There was a concussive bang, an
echo of the sound that had temporarily stunned him and Pip. The feathered
flier's head vanished and the limber body crashed into the treetops below,
tumbling once before coming to rest. Another tentacle reached for the fresh
catch.
Fortunately for Flinx, the tentacled mass, which he
promptly dubbed the whipbump, only seemed to attack airborne life forms. Its
perception was directed permanently skyward.
"Remind me not to do any recreational gliding
around here," he murmured to Pip. The flying snake glanced up at him
querulously.
He'd been outside the shuttle for only a couple of
minutes, and in that time had encountered not one, but two indigenous
predators, neither of which resembled anything previously encountered or read
about. The initially peaceful appearance of the warm, moist forest took on a
sinister aspect. A breeze would have helped, but the air was as still and heavy
as an old pot of stew.
He shaded his eyes against the yellow‑green
glare, acutely aware now that he was dangerously exposed on the bare
mountaintop. It was obviously not a safe place to linger, and he'd do better to
get under cover. In the distance he could see fuzzy shapes rising and diving
above the green canopy. Surely not all of them were predators, but until he was
more familiar with the local fauna, he'd do well not to take any chances.
A series of mournful, echoing cries reached him, and
he tilted his head back. High overhead a flock of streamlined, cream‑colored
creatures soared past on prismatic wings. Each was perhaps half the size of his
shuttle. Farther to the west a cluster of mewling grazers drifted above the
treetops by means of three gas‑filled sacks growing from their spines.
Multiple legs dangled beneath some, tentacles twitched and coiled beneath
others. There were many varieties of these drifters. To his untrained eye they
looked like airborne jellyfish.
Not all were ample of dimension. As he stood observing,
several hundred gas‑bag floaters appeared from behind the stern of the
shuttle. Each about the size of his closed fist, they drifted lazily past,
their single supportive balloons flashing iridescent in the hazy sunlight.
Their tails resembled the aft wings and rudders of
ancient aircraft. Six thin, flexible blades, three to a side, propelled the
tiny bodies briskly through the damp atmosphere. Individuals were either azure
with yellow stripes or white on purple. Flinx fancied, without any proof, that
the color differences might indicate sex. He noted the presence of three tiny,
simple black eyes and long coiled snouts like those of butterflies or moths.
The six small legs each ended in a clasping hook.
Nectar feeders, he decided. Experimentally, he waved
at the school as it floated past, nudging several of the floaters with his fingers. They paddled harder with their
fragile wing blades as they struggled to avoid his attentions. Those thus
disturbed emitted tiny burbling squeaks. As the melodic discord spread
throughout the school, Flinx felt as if he was surrounded by a stately
procession of musical soap bubbles.
Beautiful, he mused. Initial encounter
to the contrary, not everything here was out to make a meal of
him.
A glance skyward revealed several larger fliers dipping
low, whether to examine him or the shuttle, he couldn't tell. Several looked
large enough to try and make a meal of the latter.
"We'd better get under cover," he told the
minidrag. As always, she offered companionship without comment. He headed for
the nearest patch of verdure.
Choosing the thickest branch he could find, Flinx
bent down and pushed his way into the brush. Several leaves gave off an
aromatic scent as he eased them aside. The living pathway expanded rapidly and
the undergrowth became less impenetrable. Before long he was able to walk
upright while descending the gentle slope of the branch.
Wonders large and small flew, swung, fell, flitted, and swelled before his eyes. Despite the incredible density off the hylaea, dropoffs of ten meters and more were common on either side of his chosen path. By this time the branch he was walking along was more than a meter wide, however, and unless he took a careless misstep there was little danger of falling. From time to time he would have to step over a thick vine or epiphyte, or work his way around a subsidiary branch growing upward, but with care he was able to continue on his way in relative safety.
Something so enormous it blocked out the diffuse sunlight
passed by close overhead. Rising slowly from his crouch as the shadow passed,
he looked around until he found a suitable creeper. As Pip effortlessly
paralleled his descent on her brilliant wings, he lowered himself twice, to a
still larger branch, until he felt reasonably confident no aerial predator
could reach him through the tangle of growth that now crisscrossed above his
head.
A quick check indicated that the tiny positioner attached
to his service belt was functioning properly, keeping him in constant touch
and in return line with the shuttle, and through it, with the Teacher orbiting high overhead. Thus
reassured, he moved on, following the gently curving route provided by the
branch.
Bursts of color
like small frozen explosions splotched the forest with a riot of hues as
radiant flowers burst forth from bromeliads, epiphytes, and other growths which
were in turn parasitic or symbiotic on the trees themselves. Many of these
subsidiary growths were as big as normal trees and provided sites for still
smaller plants. The largest trees must be immense, he knew, not only to reach
such heights but to support such a weighty biomass of subsidiary growth.
Sound as well as color surrounded him, an
irregularly modulated cacophony of screams and bellows, squeaks and pipings,
honks and hisses, whistles and whines. A few sounded almost familiar to his
alien ears, while others were like nothing previously encountered in all his
travels. He was traveling within a green sea, many of whose inhabitants he
could hear but not understand.
Coming to a slightly more open space, he clutched a
sturdy vine the color of aged rum and leaned over the side of the branch. It
was twenty meters down to the next solid wood, and in places more than that.
Incredible to think that the actual surface lay hundreds and not merely dozens
of meters below.
He found himself wondering; if he fell, would he
bounce from branch to branch all the way to the ground, or would he fetch up
before that in a tangle of branches or flowers? Something the size of his
little finger darted in front of him, paused to hover a hand's length in front
of his nose as it studied him. It sang like a shrunken calliope and its body
was painted with alternating crimson and green stripes. Three bright blue
compound eyes regarded him somberly. Finding in the tall, gangly alien nothing
of interest, it pivoted in midair and sped away.
The air was so rich and thickly flavored with alien
smells he felt he should be spooning it into his mouth like some frothy whipped
dessert instead of simply inhaling it. The effect was as if a perfume factory
and a fertilizer plant had been raised up and smashed together, resulting in
what Flinx chose to think of as aromatic critical mass.
An all‑pervasive warmth enveloped him, which
he attributed to the perpetual and for the most part pleasurable assault on
his senses. Not a single threatening mental throb disturbed his musing. No
headaches to be had here.
Pip sometimes trailed behind, sometimes raced out in
front to investigate a new flower or slow‑moving creature. She appeared
to be coping effortlessly with the deluge of new sensations.
He paused to examine a flower whose petals twisted
to form perfect spirals. The top of each petal was bright silver‑green,
the underside green‑gold. Each a meter or so in diameter, half a dozen
such flowers grew upon every parent plant. They looked like decorations for a
gigantic Christmas tree and smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. Overwhelmed by
their magnificence, he moved on.
Numerous small life forms skittered along the branch
and its wooden tributaries, adroitly avoiding his approach by means of legs or
wings. Most hewed to the three‑eyed, six‑legged standard which
seemed to be the norm, though there were plenty of variations in the number of
limbs and other organs.
A single bloom three meters across blocked his path.
The hundred slender petals of the incredible blossom were dark green laced with
tartrazine, while the center of the flower bulged with thick orange nodules
whose purpose was not immediately apparent. Purple stamens thrust skyward,
dusty with yellow pollen. Its elegant perfume was so heady it all but made him
dizzy.
Reaching down, he broke off a piece of damp deadwood,
intending to use it to nudge the petals aside so he could pass without having
to walk on so much beauty. As he took a step forward he thought he saw the
purple stamens twitch. There were more than a dozen of them, each as thick
around as his thumb. He hesitated, having already escaped one encounter with
vines that had turned out to be tentacles.
Tentatively, he extended his arm to the fullest and
managed to reach the nearest stamen. Surprisingly tough, it was as if he were
prodding a stick of rubber. The stamen bent and released a blast of still
stronger perfume. Woozy with pleasure, Flinx turned away and sucked fresh air
to clear both his lungs and his head.
Nothing made a grab for him. The amazing blossom was
the reproductive portion of a plant and nothing more. Reaching down, he used
the piece of wood to push the first petal aside.
It contracted viciously around the stick and snapped
it neatly in half. Flinx jumped back and Pip let out a startled hiss.
As he watched, half a dozen wiry tendrils that glistened
like corn silk crept out from beneath the base of the flower. Like pale worms,
they examined the wooden fragments from top to bottom before curling around
them and dragging them to the edge of the branch. The deadwood was dropped
over the side, and the tendrils withdrew out of sight. leaving the astonishing
flower once more quiescent and wondrous.
Flinx backed slowly away from the botanical phantasm.
Securing a grip on a suitable creeper, he leaned far out over the side of the
branch and looked down. Half a dozen meters below, whiteness gleamed amidst the
green. He wondered what the creatures who had encountered the flower before
him had looked like.
Certainly their broken and scattered skeletons were
interesting.
Finding the exquisite fragrance that issued from the
blossom no longer quite so appealing. he sought a safe way around the innocent‑looking
petals. Closer inspection revealed that the silvery glint that emanated from
their edges was decidedly metallic in nature. Somehow the plant extracted and
concentrated metal along the rims of its alluring petals. Flinx knew of plants
whose leaves could slice flesh, but none that incorporated actual razors into
their blossoms. Here was a plant whose perfume masked the presence of swords.
A brace of stout vines and a twisting aerial root allowed
him to descend to the next major branch. Despite the resultant gap, he took
care not to pass directly beneath the great flower.
As a lesson, the brief encounter was simple and
straightforward. On this world, equating beauty with harmlessness could prove
fatal. He considered returning to the shuttle. Even a cursory exploration of
the surrounding forest might better be left to an experienced and properly equipped
survey team.
If only it wasn't so beautiful.
Something was moving sluggishly through the branches
and lianas just ahead. It looked like a duncolored, black‑spotted stump
suspended from a hanging creeper. The three eyes were half closed, giving the creature
a decidedly somnolent appearance. The short tail was striped with gray, and a
pink patch flashed above each of the three eyes. It had no legs and hung from
the creeper by six long, triple‑jointed arms. In this fashion it moved
along hand over hand over hand.
As Flinx looked on, a dozen similar individuals of
varying size materialized from the green depths, following the leader along
the creeper like so many upside down elephants. The smallest ones gamboled
among the vines and branches, occasionally leaping by means of their sextupal
arms from adult to vine and back again. Meanwhile the adults advanced with an
unconscious solemnity so profound Flinx found himself grinning at the sight.
Suddenly the lead adult spotted him. All three eyes
dilated and a concealed round mouth pumped out a series of shrill hoots. The
troop immediately leaped in a series of floral crashes from their chosen
creeper to another farther away.
It was a relief to encounter something more afraid
of him than he was of it. Flinx watched as the troop of ambling armatures
vanished into the glaucous depths, the leader lingering behind to favor him
with a few last disparaging hoots. He found himself waving amiably.
A swarm of tiny creatures momentarily enveloped him
in a cloud of powder‑blue wings before moving on. Nearby, a cluster of
leathery cylinders the color of dried blood weaved back and forth to a silent
floral beat. Flinx saw a waterfall of silver‑sided vines plunging into
the abyss, flashing light from leaf to reflective leaf as they bounced precious
sunshine to light‑hungry growths down in the emerald depths.
"Look at that," he murmured to Pip.
"Isn't adaptation wonderful? Wish it were as easy for me." The
shuttle could wait, he decided. With a new wonder presenting itself at every
step, he had no choice but to continue on. Beauty aside, the sheer profusion
and diversity of life was overwhelming. He felt more alive than he'd ever been.
And there was something else. Something thus far undefinable.
An all‑pervasive feeling of peace and well being that persisted and
survived despite the aggressive attempts of various representatives of the
local flora and fauna to consume him. It washed over and through him in an
irresistible, soothing wave, almost as if the forest itself was projecting a
homogeneous emotional calm.
Which was absurd, of course. Only sapient beings
emitted emotions his aberrant talent could detect. Plants did nothing of the
sort. What he was experiencing was nothing more than a deception promulgated by
a subtle combination of fragrance, humidity, and increased oxygen levels. It
was a physical rush masquerading as mental.
The astonishing alien zoo kept his attention
occupied. A two‑meter‑long, rippling crawler the color of clotted
cream was advancing down the branch toward him, scuttling along on hundreds of
tiny legs. It looked innocuous enough. Half a dozen small black hairs or antennae
protruded from each end. Several bulged at the tips, suggestive of eyestalks.
Flinx retreated a step. Sensing movement, the creature
halted then turned to its right. Increasing its pace, it came to the edge of
the branch and without hesitating dropped off the side.
Leaning over, Flinx saw it land in a cluster of
flowers with leaves the texture of split blue leather. To his surprise the
crawler promptly split into half a dozen independent sections, each with its
own now visible face. These organic components engaged in some brief foraging
before reforming their original lineup, the protuberant face of each section
fitting seamlessly into the concave depression that formed the backside of its
colleague immediately in front of it. Once more resembling a two meter‑long‑and
presumably more formidable‑animal, the communal crawler continued on its
leisurely way.
Shaking his head, Flinx resumed his pace. Before
long he came to a section of branch devoid of animal or secondary plant life.
The barren place caused him to halt. After several close brushes with death,
he'd learned to suspect anything out of the ordinary. On this world, a place
where nothing grew certainly qualified.
While he waited he watched the local fauna. Everything
that came close was careful to bypass the seemingly innocuous section of
branch. Their unanimous avoidance only heightened Flinx's suspicion.
The slight depression that ran the length of the
open space was filled with fresh, rainwater, surely an attraction to any
passing animal. Then Pip, before he could call her back, zoomed over and
lowered her head to take a drink. He held his breath.
Nothing happened. None the worse for the experience,
she returned to resume her familiar perch upon his shoulder.
Either he continued forward or looked for a way
around. No easy alternate routes presented themselves. Advancing cautiously. he
examined the waterlogged section of wood without seeing anything that
resembled an eye, a limb, a claw.
Then it occurred to him that anything that tried to
grow in the depression would find itself subject to permanent if shallow
inundation. Any hopeful epiphyte that took root in the hollow would find its
roots rotting quickly. Striding forward into the liquid, he watched it slide
over the tip of his boot. A swarm of tiny red ovals with outsized black
eyespots scurried away from his foot. Apparently they lived in the water
without coning to any harm.
He was halfway across the depression when he was
forced to pause. His right foot was refusing to comply with the instructions
from his brain. Irritated that he might have momentarily stepped in a deeper
crack and caught himself, he looked back and down.
There was no crack. It was the water itself that had
undergone a startlingly rapid transformation. He leaned forward. His leg
refused to move. When he tried to turn to gain more leverage, he found that his
left foot was also stuck fast. He was locked in place, unable to advance or
retreat, his boots entrapped by a thick, transparent tar like substance.
Furthermore, it wasn't inactive.
Very much to the contrary, it was slowly but inexorably
crawling up the sides of his boots even as he watched.
Alarmed at the abrupt change in her master's emotional
state, Pip rose to hover anxiously. From time to time she dove combatively
toward the depression, perceiving it to be the source of Flinx's upset, but
there was nothing she could do. This time there were no inimical eyes to focus
upon, no head to strike at.
The branch beneath him quivered slightly and Flinx
flailed wildly to keep his balance. If he fell over and got his front or back
stuck in the thickening goo, he'd be unable to move at all. He tried not to
think of what might happen if he fell facedown. He would suffocate rapidly and
unpleasantly.
A section of branch directly in front of him
suddenly rose. It was pointed, rough‑edged, and designed to fit flush
with the top of the hollow that had been excavated in the living wood. Reaching
down, Flinx fought to release the rip‑fastener that secured his front
boot. If nothing else, he could try stepping out of his footwear and making a
leap for safety, an alternative denied to this extraordinary predator's
accustomed prey. If he could make it over the side of the branch he would be
safe.
Depending on how far he fell and what he landed on,
he reminded himself.
A semicircle of nine opalescent orbs bordered the
apex of the creature's head, if such it could be called. Devoid of irises or
pupils, the organs might be no more than primitive light‑and‑motion
sensors. More than adequate for the creature's needs, he told himself. The gunk
gripping his boots continued to flow energetically upward. When it reached his
pants he'd have to consider abandoning them as well.
As he reached for his boot fastener, a deep bubbling
noise emerged from the depths of his indefinable assailant. The surface heaved
beneath him and he found himself, arms swinging madly, catapulted over the side
of the branch. As he fell he realized that the predator must have some way of
separating what was edible from what was not. Leaves, branches, and other
debris must frequently fall from above, he realized. Like a spider cleaning its
web, it was natural to expect that the glue-sucker would have a way of
detecting and ridding itself of the inedible.
Plasticized travel boots, for example.
It was seven hundred meters or so to the actual
ground. Surely he would fetch up against something before he reached that
final, unyielding destination.
Even as he pondered the possibilities, he found himself
entangled in a cluster of thin, unyielding green vines. His momentum snapped
several before his fall was arrested. For several moments he hung twisting in
their knotted grasp, his feet kicking at the air, before he realized they were
pulling him up.
Tilting back his head, he found himself staring at
the source off the vines: something like a giant lavender orchid squatting on
a dense mound of reeds. Only the dark, ominous opening in the underside spoiled
the otherwise elegant effect. Within the gaping maw, sharp‑pointed cilia
palpitated expectantly.
Another plant evolved to act like an animal, he
thought. Another camouflaged carnivore. Wasn't there anything on this world
that didn't grasp or bite? He struggled to reach his needler, but the tendrils'
grip was unyielding. He continued to rise.
Darting upward, Pip released a stream of venom at
the source of her master's distress. The corrosive liquid burned a section of
the puffy, main mass but did nothing to halt Flinx's inexorable rise toward the
waiting mouth. The area affected by the minidrag was too small and neuronically
insensitive to trouble the expansive growth.
Another three, tour meters and those questing, eager
cilia would be able to reach his head. Propelled by tendril and cilia, he would
enter the creature's stomach head first, no doubt to be consumed slowly and as
necessary. First the head, next the shoulders, then the torso, much as he would
munch satay on a stick.
Still, it was with quite a start, despite his
situation, that he found himself gazing across open space at an obviously
intelligent green face directly opposite his own.
The owner was short and stocky. Though it was hanging
upside down, it was clearly not a permanent dangler like the six‑armed
hooters he'd encountered earlier. About the size of a St. Bernard or small
mastiff, it hung from a thick creeper by means of six short, powerful legs.
Each foot ended in half a dozen long, curving, and very impressive claws.
Three eyes ran across the front of the blunt‑snouted
head. A pair of pointed ears faced toward him. An upward‑curving tusk
protruded from either side of the powerful lower jaw. As he stared, a snort
came from the large nostrils. The creature was covered completely in short,
thick, green fur.
Moving foot over foot along the creeper, it
approached to within half a meter of his face, supremely indifferent to however
the carnivorous quasiorchid overhead might choose to react. The large, limpid
eyes examined him curiously. Then it spoke, in comprehensible if strangely accented
symbospeech.
"Stupid person."
"Not a person," insisted a second voice,
pitched slightly higher than the one challenging Flinx.
He managed to twist around just far enough to see
another of the green talkers squatting on quadruple haunches on a nearby
branch, surveying the scene with bucolic aplomb. The differences between the
two were minor: a notched ear on the first speaker, a slightly longer tail on
the second. As he gaped and Pip darted in tight nervous circles, the one on the
branch swatted lazily at a brightly colored insectoid.
"Is." The upside‑down scrutinizer
regarded Flinx with comical seriousness.
"Is not." The sitter ignored Pip, who
buzzed the blocky head several times. "Just look at it, Moomadeem." A
heavy paw waved in Flinx's direction as he continued his inexorable ascent
toward the waiting, cilia‑lined digestive cavity. "See how tall it
is. And it has reddish fur."
"Green eyes, though." Triple oculars
squinted at Flinx's face. "That's right."
"Not a person," the other continued to
insist.
"Has to be, Tuuvatem." Advancing, it came
to within licking range. A thick, musty, but not entirely unpleasant odor
assailed Flinx's nostrils. "Everything else right."
"Look at its feet," suggested Tuuvatem.
"Too stubby. Not a person."
"Maybe an old injury."
Flinx didn't have time to wonder what was wrong with
his hair and his feet. The top of his head was less than a meter from the dark,
slimy maw. Fringing cilia twitched expectantly.
"Save him and then decide." Moomadeem
swung effortlessly from his vine.
"Save not. Not a person." Tuuvatem was
inflexible.
All Flinx needed to hear was the word
"save" "Look, I don't know what you are, or how you learned my
language, but if you can understand me, all I can tell you is that by any
standard you'd care to apply I am a `person,' and if you can do anything to
help me out of this, afterward I'll personify myself to your satisfaction the
best I can."
"He talks." Moomadeem looked smug. The
lower lip curled up over the upper. "Has to be a person."
"Does not!"
"Can't we argue about it later?" Flinx
struggled violently in the creepers' grasp.
The one called Moomadeem shoved out its lower jaw,
thrusting the sharp tusks into even greater prominence. "Speaks sense,
too!"
Up on the branch, Tuuvatem groomed the front of her
furry muzzle and executed a startlingly humanoid shrug. "Well‑maybe half a person."
The one called Moomadeem emitted a snort of satisfaction.
Retreating slightly, it drew back a powerful, clawed foot. Flinx flinched, but
the blow wasn't intended for him. Instead, the sharp claws snicked through the
air just above his head, cleanly severing a couple of the numerous creepers
engaged in hoisting the plant's intended prey. Flinx felt himself drop a few
centimeters and bounce to a stop.
"That's it! Keep going, don't stop now. I ant a
person! A- visiting person. A person from elsewhere."
"See?" Moomadeem looked back. "He is
a person from a faraway tribe."
"Makes sense." Tuuvatem conceded the point
grudgingly. "But very stupid."
Flinx knew they were intelligent because, to his
great surprise, he found that both were generating emotions strong enough and
developed enough for him to detect. Primitive and childlike they might be, but
they were far in advance of anything else he'd encountered on this world.
But how had they come to learn the Commonwealth
lingua franca
Displaying an agility all the more astonishing for
the indifference with which it was employed, the solemn skeptic jumped off the
upper branch and latched effortlessly onto another vine on the side opposite
Moomadeem. With both of them methodically ripping and tearing at the creepers,
Flinx found himself jostled about like a preadolescent in a stim‑can.
When a pair of tendrils reached for Tuuvatem, Flinx
shouted a warning. Showing no reaction, the creature used the claws on its
front feet to shred the futile counterstrike. Trailing glutinous sap, shards
of shorn creeper spun in ever‑increasing lengths down into the green
depths.
Finally, the plant responded to the ongoing
devastation of its underside by releasing its intended prey. Thus freed, Flinx
would have offered his heartfelt thanks except for the fact that he was now
plunging downward, grabbing futilely at inadequate lianas and branches as he
fell. Pip followed, hissing helplessly.
From above, his lugubrious saviors followed his descent
with interest. "Maybe less than half," declared Tuuvatem.
"Can't climb worth a crap."
Flinx would have argued with them had he been close
enough to overhear. He let out a yelp as he struck something unyielding yet
comparatively soft. Dazed, he felt himself being turned upright and gently set
on a solid surface. Pip immediately landed on his shoulder and began caressing
his cheek with her tongue.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he
turned to confront the creature who had caught him. It was identical in most
respects to the two who had freed him from the grasp of the creepers while
simultaneously debating his personhood. The most notable difference was in
size. This one was many, many times larger than his original rescuers, massing
as much as the Kodiak bears that still roamed protected islands in Terra's
chill northern hemisphere.
He noted the same six legs and massive claws, the
three eyes and twin tusks, and a slightly higher, more intelligent brow. While
the two who had saved him from the carnivorous plant had done effective combat
with the inimical growth, this was an altogether more formidable creature.
The three eyes regarded him thoughtfully, the head
tilted slightly to its right. While the posture duplicated the quizzical aspect
of a curious dog, it was clear this was a far more intelligent animal. For one
thing, its perceived emotional state was much more complex.
It snorted, and the exhalation washed over Flinx;
warm, moist, and pungent. Pip reacted with spread wings, but Flinx put out a
hand to restrain her.
"Take it easy, girl. I think these are friends.
Unless I've been saved to snake a meal."
"You can cook?" rumbled the huge green
shape.
A choice slice of the surreal, Flinx decided.
"That's not what I meant. Are you a friend?"
"Have to be," grunted the creature.
"You a person, I a person. All persons are friends."
Flinx wasn't about to argue the point. A crashing
from above revealed the two much smaller animals descending toward him with
casual abandon. For such burly creatures, their agility was astonishing. He
found himself wondering if the smaller pair were the offspring of the adult
who'd caught him. They certainly acted like a family group. But a family of
what?
Answers were to be forthcoming from still another
and even more unexpected source. "Moomadeem, Tuuvatem‑ behave
yourselves! Be nice to the new person."
"See?" Flinx watched as Moomadeem,
clinging to a thick m Maroon vine, took a playful swipe at its companion.
"Told you was a person!"
“Three‑quarters," argued back the other,
conceding points only with the greatest reluctance.
A rustling behind him prompted Flinx to turn. When
the first of the creatures had spoken to him, he'd believed himself immune to
any greater shock. He was wrong.
The woman and two children didn't so much emerge
from the vegetation as silently manifest themselves. They'd been standing just
behind him for some time, blending in
perfectly with their surroundings as they took the measure of the strange
visitor. He'd been concentrating so hard on the emotions of his alien rescuers
that he hadn't sensed the human feelings immediately behind.
Now he adjusted his perception and felt the jar in
his mind of familiar yet very different emotions. There was curiosity, concern,
and wariness all nixed up together. The emotions of the children were less
intense, not as complicated by experience. All three likewise projected that
same feeling of internal warmth he had been experiencing since he'd first
stepped off the landing site and made his way down into the hylaea.
All three were clad in a minimum of clothing woven
from some dark green fiber. Each wore a cloak fashioned of similar material as
well as a backpack and belt made from something sturdier and darker. In
addition, a green pipe or tube of some kind was strapped to the woman's back.
She approached him without fear, perhaps due to the
presence of the massive animal next to Flinx. It was evident from her call to
the two small ones that all six were traveling together. Her next words
confirmed it.
"Thank you for catching him, Saalahan. He could
have been seriously hurt."
The creature grunted softly. "Very strange
person. Very strange and very clumsy."
The young woman looked up at Flinx. Though well
proportioned, she was quite short, and the children shorter still. "Why
didn't you catch a vine after Moomadeem and Tuuvatem freed you?"
Flinx knew there was no reason for him to be embarrassed,
but he felt himself flushing anyway. "It's not like I didn't try."
She considered this. "I am Teal." When she
extended her hand, he reached out to shake it. Instead, her palm rubbed against
his. He memorized the greeting and made no move to inflict the more traditional
one on her.
The children crowded closer. "This is
Dwell," she said, indicating the boy. Flinx guessed him to be about ten.
"And Kiss." The girl was perhaps a year younger.
Certainly they came from the same stock. All three
had long brown hair and green eyes, a deeper green than Flinx had ever seen.
His own were pale by comparison. Their skin was a uniform light coffee color.
Most remarkable of all were their feet. The toes were long and flexible,
longer even than their fingers.
Except for that and their short stature, they were
as human as anyone who walked the streets of Terra or Moth or any of the other
humanx‑colonized worlds. That they or their forbears had originated on
one of those worlds he didn't doubt for a moment. Either that or he was witness
to the most extraordinary instance of convergent evolution on record.
Besides, there was their use of familiar and easily
understandable symbospeech, even if their accent was sharp enough to qualify as
archaic.
"What are these?" He gestured back at the
enormous green shape that had saved him from an uncomfortable landing. It
blinked at him once before turning away.
The woman gawked at him. "You mean you don't
know"? Saalahan is a furcot, of course. My furcot."
"Let me guess. The others belong to your
children."
"Belong?" Her brow furrowed. "Furcots
don't belong to people any more than people belong to furcots. At least, not in
the way you are meaning. Moomadeem is Dwell's furcot, and Kiss is Tuuvatem's
person."
"Fur coat?" said Flinx.
"Furcot." She leaned to look past hire.
"Where is yours?"
"Mine? I don't have one."
Tuuvatem was sniffing his leg. "Who ever heard
of a person without a furcot?"
Flinx didn't feel deprived. "I have hip."
He caressed the flying snake as it slithered forward on his shoulder, straining
for a better look.
The two children tensed. Apparently his winged pet
and companion bore a resemblance to something local and dangerous. Considering
some of the life forms he'd encountered in the short time he'd been on this
world, he could only sympathize with their caution.
"She's not a furcot," he told them,
"but she is my friend. It's all right; she won't hurt you."
"She'?" Teal rose on tiptoes to see
better.
"Yes. Like you and Kiss and Saalahan."
"Like Kiss and I," she corrected him.
"Saalahan is not female."
"Oh. He's the father of the other two,
then."
"Saalahan is not male, either."
Flinx made no effort to hide, his confusion. "I
don't understand. Then what is‑it?"
“I told you. Saalahan is a furcot." And that
was all the explanation he could get out of her. The creature's sex organs,
assuming it had any, were not readily in evidence, and Flinx wasn't about to
venture any requests that might be construed as impolite. Not after he'd seen
what those claws could do. It was a quandary that could be resolved later.
"You should know that," the woman told
him. "Can't you emfol them?”
"Emfol? I don't know that word."
Teal's look was pitying. "You are a strange,
person indeed. Any person should be able to emfol their furcot along with
everything else."
“I don't know what you mean." He didn't see any
harm in revealing a little of himself to these abandoned, isolated people. “I
can sense what Pip is feeling and she can do the same to me. Is that kind of
what your relationship to your furcots is like?" He didn't say anything
about being able to sense her emotions or those of her children.
"Emfoling is different." She shook her
head slowly, registering bafflement. "How different you are."
Odd little lady Teal, he thought, you don't know the
half of it.
"And ignorant." Tuuvatem stalked
fearlessly up to Flinx. "Stepped right into a mistyr, he did. And that
after almost sticking his arm in a spiralizer."
Flinx thought back to the breathtakingly beautiful
flower with the razor‑edged petals. "You were watching me
then?"
"Been watching you long time," the furcot
informed him. "Trying to decide what you were."
“I’m human. A person," he corrected himself.
"Just like Teal and her children. They are your children?" Teal nodded
and smiled.
He extended his open palm. Dwell ignored it, while
his sister put a finger to her lips and gazed up at him in wonder.
"You're awful tall," the boy proclaimed.
“AmI?”
"Yes'" put in Teal. "Very."
Quite unexpectedly, her eyes grew wide and she retreated several steps, pulling
the children with her. Flinx tensed immediately, until it finally struck
him that he was the source of her
sudden distress.
"What is it, what's the matter?"
"Skyperson. You are a skyperson, from beyond
the Upper Hell!"
A low growl rose from the giant furcot behind him.
It was echoed by Tuuvatem and Moomadeem. Responding to the growing emotional
upheaval, Pip rose from Minx's shoulder to interpose herself between the big
carnivore and her master. Her wings buzzed furiously.
Instinctively he reached toward the needler
holstered at his waist and hesitated. The emotions he was sensing were fear and
uncertainty, not anger.
"It's true that I'm not from this world," he confessed, "that I'm from up there." He stabbed a
finger in the direction of the distant sky. "Why does that frighten you?
I mean you no harm, and I owe you my life."
She relaxed somewhat, still watching him guardedly
and keeping the children behind her. "There is a well known tale oft told
around the night fires of tall persons with different‑colored hair and
eyes and stunted feet who came among us long ago. But‑you have the right
eyes."
"Go on," he encouraged her.
"They came to hurt the forest, and none of them
could emfol. Like you."
"I may be wrong about that," he replied.
"I think I can do a little of this emfoling. We may just be using different
words to describe the same thing. What happened to these skypeople who looked
like me?" Evidently he had been preceded here, and if Teal's account was
to be believed, some time ago.
"They died," she replied simply. "It
was inevitable. They hurt the forest and the forest hurt back. They wanted the
persons to help them, and of course the persons helped the forest
instead."
"How did these skypeople get here? Do you know?"
"The story says they fell from the Upper Hell
in big pieces of metal. They brought more metal with them." She pointed
into the trees. "They fell in that part of the world."
Flinx checked a sensor on his service belt. He was
not surprised to find that both it and Teal were pointing in the direction of
the metallic anomaly the Teacher had
detected from orbit. So the anomaly that had drawn him to this location was an
old shuttlecraft‑or something more.
"How long ago did this happen?"
"The story does not say exactly. Several generations,
at least. It was when there was only one tribe of persons. Now there are six.
The Tallflower, the Sinvin, the Calacall, the Firsthome, the Seconds, and the
Redflitter. We are Tallflower."
Flinx searched for an analogy. "Since there are
six tribes here, it shouldn't be difficult for you to grasp the idea of there
being many tribes of skypeople. Actually, there are hundreds."
"Hundreds!" Kiss's eyes grew even wider.
"Yes." He smiled down at her. "And I
come from a completely different tribe than the one that came here so long ago
to cause trouble. In fact, I know less about them than you do." He didn't
know that for a fact, but felt it was a reasonable enough assumption.
To his surprise, it was the big furcot who
responded. He still wasn't used to having the animals participate in the
conversation.
"I think he may speak truth." Saalahan
snorted warningly at Pip, who darted past the massive skull. The furcot
followed the warning by taking an irritated swipe at the minidrag, missing her
completely.
"That's enough," Teal admonished the
creature.
"Pip, get over here!" Making a reluctant
landing on her master's shoulder, the minidrag fixed the furcot with a wary
eye.
Saalahan turned and, in a diffident demonstration of
effortless power, leaped easily across to the next large branch. Moomadeem and
Tuuvatem elected to remain with the humans.
"The cubs don't go with their mother?"
Flinx inquired.
"Moomadeem and Tuuvatem aren't Saalahan's
cubs," Teal corrected him.
He knew he was overlooking something vital.
"They're adopted, then?"
Dwell looked at his mother. "This man speaks
strangely. And he sounds funny, too."
Teal tried to explain. "Furcots don't have
children."
Flinx blinked. "Then where do they come
from?"
She continued as if lecturing an infant on the most
obvious thing in the world. "When a person is born, their furcot comes to
them. Person and furcot are always tied‑here." She put a hand over
her heart. "What about your snake? Where did she come from?"
"She came‑" He stopped, remembering.
To this day he wasn't sure if he'd found the minidrag or she'd found him. But
at least he knew she'd been born. He'd seen her give birth himself.
"Never mind," he told the woman. "You can explain it to me later."
Dwell eyed Pip curiously and she returned the boy's
stare. "Does everyone in your tribe have
one of those?"
"No. Among my tribe, Pip and I are
unique."
"It is good to be unique," noted Teal
approvingly. "You are fortunate‑ except that you have no
furcot." Again she shook her head. "It is a terrible thing for a person
to be without a furcot. I cannot imagine how one would live."
Flinx grinned as he nuzzled the back of Pip's head
with a fingertip. "We manage."
"You say you are not of the tribe of skypersons
that came before," Teal pressed him. "Yet if you can emfol, how is it
that you stepped into the mistyr?"
"I'm new to this place," he replied.
"I've only been here a little while."
"That's plain enough to see," observed
Dwell sardonically as he picked at a nearby branch. He had exposed a cavity in
which tiny bright red creatures dashed about on pint: legs. They hopped around
energetically, refusing to abandon their little celluloid caldera as the boy
teased them with a twig.
"You see, Mother? He can't help us." His
eyes darted about rapidly. "We've been too long out in the open."
"Dwell is right." Moomadeem glanced upward
with all three eyes. "Still very close to Hell."
"You speak of the Upper Hell." Flinx
followed the antics of the tiny red hoppers with interest. "Does that
mean there's a Lower Hell?"
Teal sighed. "You are truly ignorant."
"Thank you," he replied cheerfully.
"There are seven levels to the world. Persons
choose to live on the third. At the top is the Upper Hell, at the bottom the
Lower. Very few persons have gone there and returned. More have visited the
Upper, but it is nearly as dangerous. There are sky‑devils and
more."
"If it's so dangerous this near to open
sky," he asked, "then what are you doing here?
"Trying to find a bearing," she responded.
"We are in bad trouble ..."
"Flinx," he told her, "and Pip you
already know."
"We were out gathering. This is the season of
the sugararries. They need a lot of sunshine and so only grow close to the
Upper Hell. It takes a brave family to go gathering." She touched the two
small sacks fastened to her belt. One was half full.
"Those who bring back sugararries are accorded
much honor by their tribe. After some have been given to the Home‑tree,
the rest are divided."
"So you do it for honor?" Flinx inquired.
"Everyone shares." Teal looked at him
sideways. "Without sharing, a tribe could not survive. Everyone relies on
every other person and furcot. That is the way of survival."
"I understand," he assured her.
Cooperation would be vital in a place like this, where a harmless‑looking
blossom was as likely to assassinate as astonish you. It occurred to him that
while he had yet to see a large, mobile, tree‑bound predator‑ the
furcots excepted‑they must certainly exist. "How did you get
lost?"
"Jerah was much better at finding the way than
I," she explained quietly. "He chose our course."
"Your husband?" he asked. She nodded. He
lifted his gaze, expecting at any moment to see a larger version of the boy
Dwell emerging from the verdure. "Where is he now? Out trying to find the
way back?"
"He's dead," she told him.
The emotions he sensed within her were as confused
as they were powerful.
"Jerah was a good hunter," she went on.
"Usually it was he and Ark and Brean who brought back the best food, the
biggest game. It is the hunters who know the wide ways of the world, who can
out‑track and follow back and find their way home.
"But one hunter can only carry so much. In
certain things it is traditional for entire families to participate. Children
are especially good at gathering sugararries. Their small fingers can fit more
easily between the thorns.
"I always felt safe with Jerah. He believed he
could find a place where the sugararries grew thicker and sweeter than anywhere
else. We walked a long ways without finding any, but Jerah was sure, so we kept
going."
"What happened?" Flinx's tone was subdued.
Recognizing and responding to her master's feelings, Pip assumed a more
solemn aspect than was usual for her.
Teal chose her words carefully, remembering.
"We felt safe and had relaxed. The sugararry patch Jerah led us to was
virgin and dripping with sweetness. After eating their fill, the furcots
spread out to scout the area. While they were gone, Jerah decided to climb up a
little ways to see how high the patch grew. I remember him calling down to us
from a branch far above. The light was brilliant so high up. Sugararry vines
need lots of light." Her tone was flat, matter‑of‑fact.
"That's when the
diverdaunt struck. Jerah almost got away‑he was a very quick man.
Ordinarily, if a diverdaunt doesn't kill its prey on the first strike it gives
up and flies away. But this one was very persistent. It kept striking, and
Jerah fought back. We could hear it clearly. There was a lot of yelling and
screaming.
"Jerah had no chance to use his snuffler." She indicated the tubular weapon strapped to her back. "Before the furcots could climb up in time to help, both he and the diverdaunt came crashing down through the green, locked in each other's grasp. By the time a tangle of creels caught them up and halted their plunge, the diverdaunt was dead. But Jerah couldn't free himself from its talons. It landed on top of him and he struck a branch.
"The fall broke his back. There was nothing
that could be done."
"I'm sorry," Flinx whispered. "I
don't know what to say." Reaching out to her, he sensed only regret. There
was no surge of deeply felt emotion, no sense of overpowering loss. The
children were nearly as stoic.
Clearly, self‑control was an important
component of survival on this world. Regrets had to be expressed economically
and then put aside. Sorrowful moping was a sure prescription for joining the
already deceased. You needed your wits about you at all times. Bawling and
crying might attract curious predators.
"A second diverdaunt struck at Dwell and
Kiss," Teal was saying. "There must have been a flock of them patrolling
that part of the first level. Saalahan knocked it down and Moomadeem and
Tuuvatem tore it apart. After that there were no more attacks.
"But Jerah was the one who knew the way back to
the Home‑tree. Saalahan has tried, but furcots are not explorers. They
keep to their humans and follow their lead. We have been lost now for many
days."
Flinx surveyed the all‑encompassing sea of
viridity, wherein every direction looked the same as any other. The diffuse
sunlight offered no help in finding one's way. "I sympathize. There isn't
anything that stands out as a landmark. Or treemark." He nodded toward
Moomadeem. "What about scent? Couldn't your furcots find their way back by
smell?"
"The forest is showered with smells," she
replied. "And a scent‑trail is only good for one day, until the
night's rain."
"Lost," grunted the big furcot, peering
across at them from the branch on which it sprawled. As Flinx looked on,
Saalahan proceeded to clean all three paws on the left side, one after another.
"You spoke of `the night's rain.' " Flinx
turned his attention back to Teal. "If it rains a lot during the night
you wouldn't be able to use the stars to guide you, either."
"A lot?" She gave him a funny look.
"It rains every night."
"There must be exceptions. It can't rain every
night."
She just smiled at him. "The rain starts at
dusk and stops an hour or so before the dawn. Every night. In between the rain
and the sun we see the stars and the moons, but not for very long and then only
when someone is brave or foolish enough to ascend to the uppermost reaches of
the first level."
"I see how you could have trouble finding your
way around."
"We have tried," she told him. "We
crossed back and forth many times looking for signs, but the forest grows back
so quickly that scuffed bark and broken leaves are remade overnight. There are
plants that sprout so fast you can see them growing."
"So your village, your ‘Home‑tree,’ lies
on the forest's third level?" He considered thoughtfully. That meant not
only direction but altitude had to be taken into consideration. He could
overfly the community numerous times in the Teacher's
shuttle without spotting its location buried deep within the hylaea. Nor
would it reveal itself to instrumentation, fashioned as it doubtless was of
native, natural materials.
What if they had scavenged metal from the original,
downed ship? Of course, the forest might have completely reclaimed that by
now, but there was one other possibility.
"Could you find your way home from the place
the bad skypersons lived when they came among you?"
She started and her eyes widened slightly. "No
one goes there! It is the site of past horrors; an evil, unnatural place. The
forest there is still trying to heal itself."
"Yes, but at least you know where it is. If you
were there, could you find your way back home?"
She glanced briefly at Saalahan, who responded with
a sleepy‑eyed sniff. "It is a long way, but‑yes. That way is
well known to all the people."
Pip chose that moment to loft from Flinx's shoulder.
The minidrag darted across to Kiss and paused to hover before the little girl,
the flying snake's pointed tongue flicking in and out in the direction of the
child's face. Nearby, Tuuvatem stiffened but made no move to intervene. Wide‑eyed
with delight, Kiss stared back at the minidrag. Then she threw up her hands to
mock‑shield her eyes and turned away, giggling musically.
Flinx let the pleasure of her reaction wash over him
like a splash of cool water even as he sensed the flying snake's more primitive
but no less affable reaction.
"Gntcha!" Displaying uncommon quickness,
Dwell leaped at the minidrag from behind with hands outstretched.
They clutched only empty air. Pip simply rose a
meter vertically and paused there, brilliant wings humming loudly. Slitted eyes
considered her would‑be young captor. Letting out a growl, Dwell whirled
instantly and jumped as high as he could. Pip zipped to one side.
Kiss quickly joined in the game, and the three were
soon flashing through the air, Pip on wings of scarlet and azure, the children
by means of vine and branch. The furcots watched indifferently, mildly
disproving of the exorbitant waste of energy.
"Your little companion is very understanding of
children," Teal observed.
Flinx stood close to her, observing. "I think
Pip's enjoying it as much as they are. I don't play with her as much as I once
did."
As he watched he felt slightly guilty knowing that,
unlike his newfound friends, he could return home whenever he wished. His
positioner would guide hire infallibly back to the shuttle. All he had to do
was avoid the rabid attentions of the local flora and fauna. That would mean
abandoning this family to whatever fate night provide. Teal was putting on a brave
face, but unbeknownst to her, Flinx had been reading her emotions all along.
She was worried, and afraid.
It was clear that despite the best efforts of the
furcots, she and her children weren't likely to see their home again without
his help. Although he knew next to nothing about this world, he thought he had
found a way to do this.
"I think I can help you, Teal."
As she spoke she caressed the thin, wispy petals of
a black flower. It seemed to tremble in response. "How? You are more of a
stranger here than we."
He touched the positioner. "This tells me where
my shuttle‑my transportation‑‑is located. Up there," and
he gestured skyward, "is my sky ship. It knows the location of the bad
skyperson's place." Again he indicated the positioner. "With this I
can keep track of both places at once, as well as my own location. I can follow
its directions to the place built by the bad skypersons. If Saalahan is right,
from there you can find your home."
She wanted to believe but remained skeptical.
"You can tell all that from a little gray pod?" He nodded. "If
you are wrong we could become more lost than we are now,"
He grinned gently. "If you're already lost,
what difference does it make if you become more lost?"
"Try explaining that to a human," Saalahan
whispered to Moomadeem.
"We can always find this spot again,"
Flinx insisted. "Surely you don't think I'd go wandering off into this
forest without being confident of finding my way back?"
"I don't know ..." She was still unsure.
"You know how many days you've been away from
your Home‑tree." She nodded slowly. "Give me that many days to
find a way back. If by that time we haven't found the place where the bad
skypersons lived, we'll come back here." He kicked the solid wood
underfoot.
"Don't do that!" Instantly alert, she
reached out to put a hand on his chest. Her eyes were darting in all directions,
and Flinx saw that the furcots had risen sharply from their near‑sleep.
"What is it, what's the matter?" He tried
to look every which way at once.
"Stupid skyperson." Moomadeem stretched
and yawned. "Better learn fast."
Flinx jerked his head in the young furcot's
direction. "What was that all about?"
Teal hastened to explain. "When you strike a
branch like that, you send out vibrations. Those who live in the forest are
very sensitive to such things. For example, you could draw the attention of a
Chan‑nock."
"I don't know what that is, but I see your
point." Moomadeern was right. Once again he felt like a prize incompetent.
It made him that much more determined to see this family safely home.
Meanwhile he would learn. He'd have to. He couldn't
rely on Teal and her children and furcots to look after him every minute of the
day.
"That way?" she asked him, pointing.
"Give me a minute. I want to be sure before we
start out, and frankly, I need to sit down for a little while. I've been on my
feet all day."
"Not when the griple had you," Tuuvatem reminded
him.
He smiled embarrassedly as he found himself a
smooth, bare place on which he might sit. Only when he was certain it was
solid, toothless, and fangless, however, and unlikely to be concealing anything
capable of tearing the bottom out of his pants, did he actually sit down.
Crossing his legs, he began to work with the positioner. Pip landed gently on
his right thigh and peered curiously at the softly glowing readout.
Teal came over to watch him work, but the children
were more interested in play. They amused themselves while the three furcots
slipped into a contented semi-slumber.
He felt her curiosity. She was a study in contrasts:
outwardly assured and in complete control, inwardly rife with turmoil and
uncertainty. That was natural enough, given her situation. She was putting on a
brave face for the sake of her offspring.
To his relief, the Teacher responded promptly via the shuttle's relay. It would take
only a moment for it to plot the best route. Unfortunately, it could only
provide linear directions. In the course of following the prescribed path, they
might have to detour up or down to accommodate local conditions.
While he waited, he felt himself surrounded by that inscrutable dark green warmth. It fuzzed his perception while simultaneously invigorating his spirit. He likened it to a nurturing, all‑encompassing blanket that was not quite transparent. Something was at work here deserving of deeper study, something stronger than the exotic aromatics that permeated the cloying atmosphere and threatened to overwhelm his olfactory senses. Further study would have to wait, as would everything else, until he had helped these people find their way home.
The Teacher responded
to his request by providing precise directions in the form of a blinking arrow
on the positioner's screen. Set between a pair of notches, it pointed the way
toward the metallic anomaly he had first noticed from orbit. All they had to do
was walk, keeping the arrow positioned between the notches. Via the shuttle,
the Teacher would track them while
providing automatic updates.
The ship also calculated the distance to be
traveled. It was respectable without being overawing; about what he had
expected. After all, Teal and her late mate had managed to cover the same
distance with two children in tow.
He rose and pointed. "We go that way."
Teal moved to stand close to him, staring in wonder
at the positioner. "It could be, I suppose." She encompassed the
section of forest ahead with a wave of her hand. "Somewhere out
there."
"There's more." He looked down at her.
"If we pass close by your Home‑tree I will probably be able to tell.
I can‑ He searched for a way to explain his talent. " ‑ I can
sort of ‘emfol’ people."
That made her frown. "Only plants can be
emfoled."
"I said ‘sort of,’ " he reminded her.
"You are different. Is this a true thing you
are telling me?"
He nodded. "I can often tell how people are
feeling. Not what they're thinking, but how they're feeling."
Her gaze challenged him. "Then you know what I
am feeling, right now?"
He closed his eyes. Not because it was necessary,
but because he thought it might make his ability more comprehensible to her.
"Nervousness. Uncertainty. Hope." He blinked.
She nodded slowly. "Emfoling people. What a
peculiar notion. How many other skypeople can do this?"
"As far as I know, Teal, I'm the only
one."
She nodded solemnly. "So you are the only one
of your tribe."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
"I hope it is not so. Because if it is, then
you, Flinx, are more lost than we are." She tamed and called out to her
children, beckoning them to rejoin her.
Flinx pondered her response. To a greater or lesser
degree he'd always been lonely. But he'd never considered himself lost.
Perhaps on this world the two teens had come to mean one and the same thing.
"If you want to get going now, I'm game,"
he told her once the children had run and swung over to join them.
"Not now," Dwell told him, speaking as one
would to a simpleton. Moomadeem added a snort of confirmation.
In the absence of his father, the boy's
assertiveness was understandable. Flinx held his temper as he glanced skyward.
"Why not? There should be another hour or so of daylight."
"Time enough to seek or make shelter,"
Teal reminded him. "Do not forget about the night‑rain."
Kiss peered up at him. "Are you a rain
person?"
"All right, I get the point." He
considered leading them back to the shuttle, which would certainly be the
driest as well as the safest place, but he wasn't sure how they would react to
the idea. The children in particular were still wary of him. He needed to work
on gaining their trust. Also, he was pretty sure he was more than an hour's trek
from the landing site. Already he'd reached the conclusion that on this world
one could move either with speed or stealth. The former exposed one to far more
dangers than the latter.
The plethora of perils that roamed the hylaea made
the contentment he was feeling seem more than a little paradoxical.
"What's wrong with camping right here?"
"See any shelter?" the boy challenged him.
"Your mother said something about making
shelter."
"Easier to find it:" Grabbing a vine,
Dwell swung effortlessly across to a paralleling branch. Kiss went next, and
then her mother. The furcots simply jumped across. Grateful that he was both
tall and slim, Flinx followed clumsily. Pip circled above them all, penetrating
the dense brush more easily than anyone as she investigated each new flower,
each scurrying three‑eyed, six‑legged creature, each fluttering
multi winged arboreal.
Teal led the way, pausing occasionally to allow
Flinx to check their location on the positioner. Just because they were seeking
shelter didn't mean they couldn't make a little progress in the right
direction.
A looming gap in the branches forced them to descend
to another sublevel. Having learned his lesson, Flinx ignored the thick,
sturdy creeper that dangled promisingly before him and followed Teal's lead in
shinnying down a section of a secondary trunk, carefully placing his feet in
convenient scalloped gouges formed by the rust‑colored bark. While he dug
his fingers into the woody surface and descended with utmost care, the children
laughingly climbed circles around him, making a game of it as they mocked his
caution. Their strong fingers and prehensile toes made easy work of the
descent. He smiled back at them, knowing that if he lost his grip he'd look
considerably more foolish lying broken and twisted on a branch below.
Ire slipped only once, hurriedly digging his fingers
into the obliging wood to halt his fall. A protruding shard of bark scraped his
cheek, and Teal hastened to assure him that the secondary tree they were
utilizing was in no way toxic. He resumed his descent, envying the furcots
their powerful feet and claws as they leaped effortlessly from bough to trunk
and back again.
Walking along a branch wide enough to allow six
people to march abreast atop it, they came eventually to the emergent's trunk.
Even at this height, more than five hundred meters above the ground, its
diameter was impressive.
From his position out in front, Dwell called back to
them. He'd found a split in the side of the tree, a place where lightning had
struck and burned. In this perpetual humidity natural blazes of any kind must
be quite rare, Flinx mused. The resulting charred cavity had been further
enlarged by some now‑departed inhabitant.
Following a well‑rehearsed routine, the
children tucked themselves all the way in the back. Teal followed, leading
Flinx by the hand, and indicated that he should sit down beside her. Next came
the two young furcots. Saalahan entered last, the great green bulk forming a
living barrier between the hollow's opportunistic denizens and the hylaea
outside.
As they swapped answers to many questions, Flinx
shared his rations with them. Even Dwell was forced to concede that chocolate
was almost, if not quite, as tasty as sugararries.
The foods they offered him in return assaulted his
palate with a rich variety of alien flavors, outlandish and new. He tried them
all save for something that looked like the dehydrated remains of a cilia‑lined,
three centimeter‑long pink grub. Not even the raspberry flavored gel or
sap Teal spread on the preserved carcass could induce him to take a bite. The
children found his reluctance incomprehensible.
"We will have to hunt for food soon," Teal
told him when they'd finished. "As you know, we have been away longer than
we ever expected to be and our supplies are very low. Saalahan and the others
will help."
Flinx tapped the needler holstered at his belt.
"So can 1, if it's meat you're after."
She leaned forward to squint at the weapon.
"It's very small. Do you really think it will be useful?"
He smiled reassuringly. "Just give me a
chance."
As she was leaning forward he noted how her green
cloak covered much of her body. No doubt it served to camouflage the wearer as
well as protect her from the elements. The weave was tight and smooth.
Invisible in the dense, mist‑impregnated air,
the orb of the sun did not drop from sight so much as melt away like a lemon
candy left out in the heat too long.
As darkness encroached, so did the first rain. Its
arrival heralded by scattered peals of distant thunder, it descended in
sheets, forceful and unrelenting. Any travelers unfortunate enough to be caught
out in the downpour would find themselves drenched to the skin in a very few
minutes.
"This lasts all night?" he queried Teal
once more, mightily impressed by the force of the deluge.
"Nearly always." Her leg bumped his thigh
repeatedly. Physical contact here was accepted without apology.
By stretching, Flinx could just see past Saalahan's
bulk. It forced Pip to shift her position on his shoulder, and she hissed her
displeasure. In the rapidly failing light he watched the big, heavy drops drum
relentlessly on the branch, slide off leaves and flowers, slick down bark and
the irregular surface of creepers. Nearly all the leaves and petals had pointed
tips, the better to efficiently drain off the nightly precipitation.
Dwell had chosen well. Within the fire‑scarred hollow they stayed dry and comfortable. The slight drop in temperature induced by the rain and the onset of darkness was offset by the proximity of so many warm bodies.
F1inx scrunched as best he could up against the
wooden wall behind him, listening to the rain. Teal was very close. Because of
the children, he knew she was probably anywhere from five to ten years his
senior, but because of her diminutive
size the difference seemed much less.
She was gesturing at the positioner. "You're
sure that will keep us from getting lost?"
"Absolutely."
Kiss crowded close. "Can you emfol it?"
He shook his head. "No. It's just a tool, like
the clothes you wear or the sugararry sacks each of you is carrying. See? You
can even use it in the dark." He slid his thumb along one side.
Soft light illuminated the transparent readout. Instantly,
miniature growls issued froth Moomadeem and Tuuvatem, while
Saalahan rolled over to stare at him. They needn't have bothered. Teal quickly
put her hands over the positioner, smothering the light. Her bright green eyes
peered past the big furcot, out into the sodden night.
"No light!" she whispered urgently.
"There are creatures that hunt the night."
"Even in this?" He indicated the rain.
She nodded solemnly. "Even in this. They seek
out movement‑and light."
He flicked off the positioner's internal
illumination. "All right. Kiss, I'll show you more in the morning."
"A tool." The girl turned away, silent and
contemplative.
"Is a furcot a tool?" he asked her, not
wanting to leave her feeling deprived.
"No. A furcot is a person," she replied.
"Maybe you're a tool." That was Dwell's
sharp, clipped tone.
In the darkness Flinx smiled. "No, I'm a
person, too. Or maybe in a way, we're all tools at least some of the
time."
"Not me," Dwell snapped.
Finx patiently ignored the boy's hostility and suspicion.
Not for the first time he wondered about himself. Come to think of it, what am 1, exactly? How much person and how much
tool?
"We should all try to get some sleep."
Teal's announcement signaled the end of childish commentary.
The ensuing silence found him staring out into the
murky downpour, wondering what inimical life forms might be prowling the
branches and creepers in search of sleeping or unprotected prey. He marveled
that anything could maneuver effectively through both darkness and deluge. The
damp, musky odor of furcot marked a reassuring barrier against whatever might
be crouching just outside their protective hollow. With the familiar weight of
Pip snuggled tight against his shoulder and neck, he edged forward until he
could lie flat. One foot contacted furcot and it snuffled in its almost‑sleep.
Occasionally a cry or whistle would pierce the thrum
of falling rain. Once, there came a succession of deep, reverberant booms that
had to arise from a throat of generous dimensions. It escalated for a while.
then drifted away, swallowed by the rhythm of the rain. At that moment it
personified perfectly the world on which he found himself.
He nudged Teal, who responded sleepily to his question.
"It's a thumber."
"Dangerous?"
He detected slight movement. "No. A lot of meat
but not very good to eat. Too greasy. Easy to catch, though."
"As wary and cautious as everything here seems
to be, I'm surprised there's any creature that's `easy to catch.' "
"Bad taste combined with big size makes for a
good defense. Go to sleep, Flinx." He felt her turning away from him.
Small breathy noises sounded behind him. The children
were already fast asleep. He considered breaking into his rations for a last‑minute
snack, decided against it. The memory of the cilia‑fringed grub they'd
offered him, or whatever it was, remained vivid in his mind. Better to ration
his rations for as long as possible.
He envied their ability to easily fall asleep in
such cramped quarters. The wooden surface beneath him was as uncomfortable as
it was unyielding. Trying not to toss and turn, so as to disturb the others as
little as possible, he was startled when, an hour later, a bare warm arm
flopped loosely across his chest. In her sleep Teal nestled tight against him.
Pip stirred but did not wake.
Reaching down to gently move her arm, he realized
that her nearness was more agreeable than displeasing. Resting his own arm
across hers, he closed his eyes. Her body heat offset some of the discomfort of
his hard bed, and while he tried to analyze and dissect what he was feeling, he
fell into a deep and contented sleep.
There wasn't much room left on the exposed mountaintop,
but the pilot of the shuttle that descended carefully next to the one from the Teacher knew her trade. She monitored
every critical readout and screen continuously, tweaking the command program
structure whenever necessary.
Larger than Flinx's craft, the sturdy lander still
managed to set down on the bare granite without disturbing its predecessor.
Rock pulverized and then vaporized beneath its exhaust. Gravel was blown
aside, tearing into and battering the nearest plants. Moments later all went
quiet as the new arrival's engines shut down.
For a while nothing happened, as the occupants of
the second shuttle were intent on monitoring the status of the first. Then a
portal appeared in the newly arrived craft's flank and a service ramp
descended.
Three heavily armed humans appeared in the opening
and promptly slid down the sharply raked ramp. From the bottom they ran toward
the other shuttle, spreading out to cover its deployed walkway.
In their wake came a creature massive enough to
shake the ramp with its weight. Its strapping, muscular body advanced on four
legs. The front portion of the broad-chested torso flowed into a thick, long
neck that terminated in a tapering, heavy‑browed skull. The jaws were
long and flattened, the two nostrils set on the very end. Four arms protruded
not from the body but from the neck. A pair of small, round ears listened
intently, each pivoting independently of the other. Set beneath the protective,
bony ridge of the naked forehead, the two eyes were oval‑shaped and alert
with intelligence. Sweeping from side to side on the end of that powerful neck,
they had tremendous range of vision.
The upper pair of hands gripped two identical
weapons, while the lower set of fingers manipulated instrumentation. A truck‑sized
pack was strapped to the broad back, while the torso and legs were encased in a
brown canvas-like bodysuit. Each stumpy foot was enclosed in a matte black
boot. In hue the creature was a pale beige. Longitudinal white slashes striped
the exposed neck, vanishing beneath the leading edge of the bodysuit.
The Mu'Atahl joined one of the humans whose weapon
was zeroed in on the entrance to Flinx's shuttle. After a brief exchange of
opinion, the quadruped spoke into the pickup attached to its head. Its voice
was deep, its symbospeech thick but competent.
"No sihgn of lihfe, sihr. The approach is
secured."
A moment later the ramp extending downward from the
new arrival was withdrawn, its function replaced by a proper powerlift. It positioned
itself automatically, the sensors on the bottom of the cab slowing to meet the
rock.
A man and a woman exited, neither as heavily armed
as their predecessors. They paused to inspect their surroundings before the
woman turned to beckon back into the cab. Another man emerged to join them.
Murmuring to his predecessors in passing, he advanced to the Mu'Atahl's side.
"It is as we essayed status from orbiht, sihr,
and confihrmed durihng descent. This landing craft appears deserted."
"Thank you, Chaa." Jack‑Jax Coerlis
removed his hand from his belted sidearm and scoped the sea of vegetation that
lapped energetically at the edges of the exposed rock. "Hell of a place.
You saw the survey readouts?"
"Yes, sihr. An ihmmense forest covers this
contihnent and may ihn fact domihnate this entihre world."
Coerlis's fingers rapped absently on his belt
buckle, drumming his anxieties to a nonexistent audience. "An inhabitable
world that wasn't in the files. I wonder if he's been this way before or if he
ended up here by accident?"
"I would think the latter, sihr." The Mu'
Atahl never looked back at Coerlis, keeping his eyes focused at all times on
the surrounding vegetation. "The profuse flora suggests a varihety of
endemihc lihfe forms. It would be reasonable to assume that at least a small
percentage are inihmihcal."
"Nervous?" Coerlis challenged the Mu'Atahl
with a look.
"I am always concerned when your safety is ihnvolved,
sihr."
"Good boy. That's what I like to hear."
Flanked by the man and woman who'd exited the lift
cab ahead of him, and with the Mu' Atahl bringing up the rear, its arching head
and neck forming a protective canopy, Coerlis walked over to where the ramp
emerged from the other shuttle. One of the three who had first spread out to
cover the craft joined him.
Coerlis eyed him expectantly. "Well,
Damas?"
"I went up, sir. As you'd expect, the exterior
lock is sealed. There's no response from inside."
A shout made them turn. Another of the men had descended
the slight slope to the edge of the forest to inspect the fringing verdure.
"Over here!"
They gathered around him. One didn't have to be a
professional tracker to see the clear depressions booted feet had left in the
pocket of crumbled, decomposing rock. They inclined downward.
Coerlis nodded sagely to himself. "So he's gone
for a walk. If he's using any kind of electronic positioner, and he'd be a fool
not to, he'll be easy to locate." He glanced sideways. "Feng, get
into his ship. Try not to damage it too much. I can always use another
shuttle." The individual so identified turned and sprinted back toward
their own craft to get the necessary tools.
"Aimee, once Feng opens it up you think you can
disable his navigational matrix?"
"Shouldn't be any trouble, sir." She placed a hand on her equipment belt.
"I can go that one better. I'll replace his navpak with one of our own.
That way if he slips past us somehow and tries to make it back to orbit, his
shuttle will only respond to our codes."
Coerlis rewarded her with a slight upward curling of
his lips. "Excellent. After you've done that, extract his location from
the shuttle's relay and set your own positioner to track. If he's moving
around he'll want to stay in permanent contact with both the shuttle and his
ship.
"Shouldn't take us long to catch up with him.
He won't be expecting company." Coerlis's expression turned ugly.
"I'm sure he's not used to my style of persistence. After all, only a
madman would follow anyone all this way just to secure a small personal
acquisition."
She kept a straight face. "Whatever you say,
sir."
Coerlis put a paternal arm around her shoulders.
"That's one of the things I Like about you, Aimee. You have just enough of
a sense of humor to make your presence tolerable. Nothing to excess. For that
I hire others." "I'm glad you're pleased, sir."
Peeler was grinning. "You must realty hate this
guy."
Coerlis replied calmly. "Hate has nothing to do
with this. It's a matter of principle.°" He turned away to scrutinize the
undulating ocean of green. "What do you think, Chaa? A day to catch up
with him?"
"I don't know, sihr. It depends, of course, on
how far he has gone. Myself, I am not a clihmber. I am not lookihng forward to
trackihng hihm through this jungle."
"You worry too much. He won't be expecting us.
We'll just drop in on him and then maybe we'll just drop him." He giggled,
an unexpectedly terse, high sound.
"Peeler and Rundle have told me about your
fihrst confrontation with the young man. Alaspihnian minidrags are
lethal."
"There are seven of us, Ghaa. We know what to
expect. Shouldn't have any trouble surprising him, and as long as we can do
that, I don't foresee any problems."
"Surprihse would be best."
"I don't want him harmed. At least, not right
away. He didn't understand me before, and I want to make sure that this time he
does. That's what led to all this trouble; a lack of understanding. I want to
make sure he understands before I have him killed."
"You humans. You always have to know. Better
sihmply to react."
"That's what I'm paying you for, Chaa. To react.
Not to philosophize."
The flattened jaws stirred. "No sihr, Minster
Coerlis, sihr.”
Feng had no trouble decoding the standard latch sequence
and cycling the shuttle's lock. As soon as Aimee finished swapping out navpaks
with the console, she fixed the absent owner's position and scheduled her own
unit to copy. From now on it would both monitor and duplicate the information
their quarry was receiving.
"Your assumption was correct, sir." She
stood behind Coerlis as he continued his examination of the shuttle's interior.
"He hasn't gone very far."
The magnate popped a storage locker, revealing only
standard‑issue equipment. "His own vessel will be more enlightening.
He hasn't personalized this one at all. There's nothing on board suggestive of
him."
"A shuttle's a tool. sir. Not much reason to
personalize a tool."
"Spoken like an engineer."
She took no offense. "I'm curious to have a
look at his ship. The visuals we made on arrival hint at some interesting
modifications."
"You'll have plenty of time to poke. Aimee. I'm
counting on you to bring it back to Samstead for me." She beamed at the
confidence, anticipating the opportunity. "I'll have the codes changed,
do a little simple external modification. No one will know and I doubt he'll
be missed, no matter how well‑off his supposed friends are."
"Why go through all this, sir?" She waved
at the forest. "Why not just take his ship and leave him marooned
here?"
He smiled delightedly. "Why Aimee! That's net
thinking at all like an engineer. I like it!" He clapped her approvingly
on the back. She responded to his enthusiasm with an uncertain smile.
Fearing the worst, she'd rebuffed his initial
advances long ago. He'd simply shrugged and backed off, explaining that he
valued her professional expertise far more than he did her body. Competent,
slightly amoral professionals were hard to find, whereas mere physical
satisfaction was cheap and plentiful. Despite this, there was often something
in his expression, in his enigmatic smile, in his penetrating gaze, that left
her feeling awkward and vaguely unclean.
But he paid very, very well.
"It's because of the flying snake, isn't
it?"
"Only incidentally. It's also because of a
number of other things, engineer. Personal pride, reputation, goals. Nothing
for you to worry about. I pay others to worry. You concentrate on reading the
positioner, and think about the fun you're going to have with his ship, and
leave the rest to Chaa and feeler and their kind.
"The idea of marooning him has merit, however.
Of course, I would have to make certain he couldn't live out his life here in
some bucolic, comfortable, Crusoe-like existence. That denouement would hardly
balance out the trouble and expense he's caused me. Cutting his Achilles
tendons before we abandon him should equalize matters. What do you think?"
She swallowed uncomfortably and his smile
widened.
"See? I told you to leave it alone."
Damas, Peeler, and Rundle led the way, followed by
Coerlis, Aimee, and Feng, with the 1VIu'Atahl bringing up the rear. Coerlis
plunged eagerly into the verdure as he envisioned the look of shock and
surprise that would appear on his quarry's face when his pursuers burst from
the greenery to overpower him. They'd rehearsed the attack many times.
Preparations had been made for dealing with the dangerous minidrag. Coerlis
anticipated no trouble.
All of them wore chameleon suits that changed from
gray to a mottled green as they advanced by means of vines and branches. All
were armed, even his engineer. Attached to the front brim of the lightweight
helmets they wore was a transparent quick flip shield that he'd been assured
would prove impervious even to the minidrag's poison.
There was really no cause for concern. Peeler, Fen‑,
and the others were trained for this sort of work. He doubted the same was true
of their quarry. And in the event of any surprises, there was Chaa, whose
strength and skills were exceptional. In addition to his other abilities, the
Mu'Atahl effortlessly carried the majority of their supplies on his broad back.
He glanced over at the engineer's positioner.
"How far?"
"In a straight line, not overmuch," she
informed him. Obviously uneasy, she peered over the side of the branch along
which they were marching, trying to penetrate the mysterious green depths.
"But this won't tell us straight out if he's above or below because he's
using a simple linear positioner. That's going to take more work." She
chewed her lower lip. "I'm going to have to work out some way of measuring
the intensity of the signal."
Coerlis was unperturbed. "Just get us close and
we'll find him. What's the matter? Scared of heights?"
She smiled wanly. "Ever since T was a
kid."
"I wouldn't worry. Look how dense this stuff
is. Even if you fell, you wouldn't fall far." So saying, he gave her a
sharp nudge, knocking her off balance. Arms flailing, she fought to steady
herself. Her face was ashen. Coerlis chuckled contentedly and moved up to chat
with Peeler.
"Look at these." Damas had paused to
examine a cluster of tiny flying creatures. They hovered close together, their
sextupal wings humming an alien syncopation. Each had three eyes arranged above
a bright yellow, conical beak.
He waved at them and they backed away, maintaining their spherical formation.
Abruptly, they scattered. Damas took a step in their
direction. "Hey, c'mon back! Don't be afraid."
No one saw the shape that fell from the sky. It simply appeared, like a stone dropped from a great height. Plummeting through a gap in the canopy, it struck Damas in the middle of his back with a mauve, saberlike bill that was nearly two meters long. A sharpened ridge ran along its crest to terminate in a perfect point. This went right through his heart to emerge from his chest, killing him instantly. He jerked a few times and then was still. Powerful white wings beat at the air, striving to rise with the impaled prize. Tiny hooks fringing the bill kept the body from sliding off. A trio of wild red eyes focused single mindedly on the task of raising the dead body.
Drops of blood flew as Damas's body shook on the end
of the bill. Only his weight kept the arboreal killer from vanishing instantly
with its prey. Despite the impressive span of its wings, it was having trouble
with the heavy load.
Stunned by the suddenness and ferocity of the
attack. Coerlis could only fumble clumsily with his holstered pistol. Though
Feng and Peeler reacted more quickly, they were still a step behind Chaa.
Shells and energy beams ripped into the predator,
which responded with a horrible screeching that assaulted their unprepared ears.
A couple of bursts tore its two left wings to shreds. Beating furiously at the
air and surrounding vegetation with the other pair, it toppled over on its
side, the unfortunate Damas still impaled on the hooked bill.
Approaching wordlessly, the Mu' Atahl centered an
explosive shell on the powerful skull, which exploded in a shower of blood and
bone. The wings twitched a couple of times before folding like the sides of a
collapsing tent. Blood. pieces of flesh, and shredded feathers flew everywhere,
coating the survivors as well as the surrounding brush.
Damas lay crumpled, eyes open and staring. He'd
never seen the creature that had hit him. Blood trickled from his mouth as well
as his chest.
While his human companions gathered around him,
mumbling to themselves and staring, Chaa backed beneath a shielding branch and
kept his attention on the open patch of sky. After a moment he announced,
"There are others up there. Perhaps different, perhaps simihlar. Some are
larger. Much larger. I suggest we descend to a poihnt where we wihll be less
exposed."
"Poor bastard never had a chance."
Rundle's gaze turned nervously skyward.
"He's dead." Aimee stared at the body,
pinioned in its alien embrace.
"Damn right he's dead. Voicing the obvious
won't change it. Everybody do like Chaa says. Let's move down." Coerlis
turned away from the impaled corpse.
"This way." The Mu' Atahl lowered himself
to a branch that held even as it bent alarmingly under his weight. Once assured
of its stability, he reached up with two of his four hands to assist Coerlis.
The others made their way down on their own.
"Better," Coerlis declared as the patch of
sky receded overhead. "We'll be perfectly safe as soon as the forest
closes in around us."
Pip darting effortlessly along in front of him, Flinx picked his footing through the undergrowth of deranged epiphytes and syrupy bromeliads, clinging mosses, and psychotic fungi. One minute he was walking through a botanist's heaven, the next through an equivalent hell. It was all baffling, mind‑numbing, and beautiful.
He was preceded by the big furcot, Saalahan, while
the two cubs flanked the group as it advanced. They stayed out of sight on
either side, making sure no predator had the chance to prepare an ambush. Flinx
noted their distance from one another and worried.
"Will the young ones be all right out by
themselves?" He ducked to pass under a branch that Teal cleared without
having to stoop.
"The furcots? They'll be fine. If anything
threatens they'll give warning. or deal with it themselves."
"But they're so much smaller than
Saalahan." A sapphire leaf brushed his face and his nostrils were filled
with the contrasting scents of honey and turpentine.
"Heard that!" called the always
argumentative Moomadeem from off to the left. Flinx saw the dim green shape
take a swipe at something. Faint thrashing sounds followed, but the young
furcot had already moved on.
Pip dipped down to smell a purple and black flower
with four thick, diametrically opposed leaves. She was almost too slow. The
four leaves smacked together like a pair of clapping hands, just missing her
head. With a contemptuous hiss she buzzed the plant repeatedly, each time just
avoiding the grasping greenery. Its capture and destroy mode exhausted, it
finally relaxed and allowed her to inhale the deep‑seated fragrance.
There weren't many life forms on Alaspin faster than
a minidrag. Fortunately, the same seemed to apply on this world as well. So
far, Flinx reminded himself.
"I'm sorry about your mate," he murmured
sympathetically. Though Teal kept her pace deliberately slow, the lanky Flinx
had difficulty keeping up. Creepers and moss seemed to hang directly in his
path, thorns intentionally clutched at his clothes, and smaller branches and
aerial roots appeared magically beneath his feet and between his legs, trying
to trip him. Tiny creatures wondrous of shape and bright of hue darted,
crawled, slithered, or flew out of his path. Dwell charted the strange
skyperson's progress with a mixture of amusement and contempt.
"Yes, it's too bad." Teal glanced back at
him. Intermittent light tumbling through the irregular scrim of the forest
flashed from the bright green cabochons of her eyes. "Jerah was a good man."
Flinx wrestled his way past a stubborn creeper.
"Were you very much in love?"
"In love?" She blinked. "Not really.
There are couples who have love. I know; I've seen it."
"Don't you wish it for yourself?" Looking
down, he saw the barbed abdomen of a dull orange segmented crawler sticking out
of his left boot. He moved to crush it underfoot and watched with interest as
the segments promptly scattered for cover, leaving only the barbed stinger
behind. Gently he scraped it out of the tough fabric with the heel of his
other boot.
"Not especially." She considered.
"This love seems nice, but dangerous. I would rather have by my side a
strong, intelligent mate who knows how to survive than one who gawks stupidly
at me and forgets where he is. A companion who is soon food for a bildergrass
or a camopter is no good at all. What matters love when your mate is
meat?"
"I've never really looked at it that way."
He was a bit taken aback by her cool, analytic response.
They walked on, pausing occasionally to check
Flinx's positioner to ensure they were still on course. "What about
you?" she asked him. "Have you ever been in love?"
"Several times. Always with a woman older than
myself. The last time‑the last time it was hard to leave. I had to force
myself to do it."
She eyed him curiously. "Then why did
you?"
"Because I'm not ready to mate." He could
hardly tell her the truth. Not that she would understand anyway.
"You look ready enough to me."
He had the grace to blush. Life on this world was
very direct, social niceties having been sacrificed on the altar of continued
survival.
"The reason I'm not ready to mate isn't
visible." He tapped the side of his head.
She frowned but didn't inquire further, though he
could tell from her confused emotional state that she wasn't ready to let the
matter drop.
"Mate or not. I think you would make a good
survivor."
"Thanks. That's how I like to think of myself.
But love?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I'd like to understand
myself better, first."
"To understand oneself you must first better
understand the world."
He looked at her sharply but there was no guile in
her expression, no subtlety in her tone. Her emotional state was not that of
one trying to hide some own secret. He continued to puzzle over her words even
as she turned away from him to check the way ahead.
The branch they were currently traversing quivered
under Saalahan's great weight, but it led in the direction they were headed. To
allay his concerns, Teal assured him they would soon be able to switch to a
thicker, sturdier pathway. No straight line led to their destination.
Traveling a path through the hylaea was more akin to tacking a sailboat into
the wind, only in their case an extra dimension was involved.
"Stormtreader." For his benefit she
identified a massive tree off to their right. Leaves grew directly upon the
trunk. What few branches there were appeared stunted and vestigial. All that he
could see of the remarkable trunk was clad in an exceptional, silvery bark.
"Draws the thunderbolts." she explained.
"A bad place to seek shelter in a storm."
"I'll remember." Had he known of the
trees' role in utilizing lightning to fix nitrogen in the planet's soil, he
would have been even more impressed.
Dwell and Kiss strayed freely from the main branch,
cavorting among flowers and vines, instinctively avoiding those that were
potentially dangerous while prodding and poking playfully at those that were
not.
"You have a lot of confidence in your
children."
"They are old enough to know the ways."
Teal leaped to another branch and waited for Flinx to follow in his usual,
tentative fashion. "If they are unfamiliar with something, they will ask
about it. And a furcot is always at hand."
"Is that what furcots do? Watch over
humans?"
"And each other as well, just as we look out
for them. It is a partnership."
"Is there love between human and furcot?"
She reflected. "No. It's deeper than that,
almost as if your furcot is a part of you and you are a part of it." A
grunt sounded from up ahead and she turned sharply. "Saalahan wants us to
come quickly." Without waiting to see if Flinx was following, she broke
into a sprint.
Trying to pick his way yet still keep up, he
followed as best he was able. Teal and her children seemed to know just where
to put their feet, exactly when to shorten their stride or gather themselves
for a jump. He was getting better, but he knew that even if he practiced for
years he could do no better than match Kiss in agility.
Though he considered himself to be in good physical
condition, he was still breathing hard when he finally caught up with them.
Lying in the crook of two large, pale blue branches
was an adult furcot. It was clearly in an advanced state of degradation.
Instead of a bright, healthy green, its fur had taken on a distinctly yellowish
tinge. The chest bellowed in and out in long, painful contractions. Slumped on
its side, it looked like a beached hippo. Already starting to fester, gaping
wounds were visible between both sets of legs.
At their approach it tried to lift its eyes to greet
them. Failing, the head sank back, exhausted.
Not knowing how he should react, Flinx studied his
companions for clues. All were solemn and quiet, including the children. It
was the first time he'd seen Dwell so subdued.
Saalahan nuzzled the fallen creature while Teal bent
to stroke the blocky skull, rubbing gently between the ears. A muted grinding
noise emerged from deep within the massive chest: a labored, falling sound. The
three eyes remained half shut.
"Ciinravan," she informed Flinx,
responding to his unvoiced question. "Jerah's furcot."
"I thought you said that when a person died,
their furcot died with them."
"Soon enough," Saalahan growled softly.
The ugly wounds confirmed the big furcot's words.
"Ciinravan tried to help Jerah but was too
late." Teal continued to stroke the shivering brow. "This degeneration
began soon after his death."
"Can't we make some kind of a stretcher?"
Flinx studied the enormous mass. "With all three furcots pulling and the
rest of us helping, maybe we could carry Ciinravan back to your home." He
fumbled with his supply belt. "I have some medicines. I don't know how
well they'll work, or even if any of them will work at all, but I'm willing to
try."
"It doesn't matter. You can"t do anything.
Ciinravan will be dead by this afternoon."
"No matter what I do?"
She nodded slowly. "No matter what. Jerah is
dead, so Ciinravan will die."
Flinx could see the life ebbing from the once
powerful form. "Seems like an awful waste."
"It is the way of things." She was
thoroughly resigned. "The forest gives life to us all, and to the forest
each is destined to return. It is nothing to be sorrowful for. Ciinravan has
no regrets."
"Tell me something. If Ciinravan had died
instead of your husband, would Jerah have faded away like this?"
"Of course," she told him.
Something's going on here, he thought to himself. Something
much deeper than friendship between human and beast. These relationships had
more to do with true symbiosis than casual companionship.
But how had it all begun? Teal and her children were
of traditional human stock. Their ancestors had come here from some other
Commonwealth world. How had they become so tightly bound to this particular
native species? Just how intelligent were the furcots, anyway? And what had
prompted them to form such a close association with humans? The thousands of
years of interaction that had gone into creating the relationship between
human and dog, human and horse, didn't exist here. Everything had happened
quickly.
Much too quickly, he thought, but he couldn't be
sure. He was no behavioral biologist.
He studied the dying furcot. "I don't
understand. Why couldn't Ciinravan attach himself to another person?"
"All persons already have furcots," Teal
told him.
Flinx persisted. "I know that. Can't a person
have two furcots?"
She blinked. "What a strange notion. Why would
a person wait to be with two furcots? And why would two furcots want to share a
person?"
"I still don't get it. Where do the furcots
come from?" Moomadeem was sniffing his leg, and he did his best to ignore
the young animal. "Do you raise them? Is there a furcot herd living near
your home that you select new young animals from whenever a child is
born?"
She laughed at him. "When a person is born,
their furcot comes to them. When a person dies, their furcot dies. This is the
natural way of things."
The unnatural way of things, he thought.
Saalahan spoke before Flinx could ask another question.
"It will not be long."
"Do not weep," Teal told her new friend.
"Ciinravan is happy. Soon it will be with Jerah again."
The big furcot was in obvious pain. Flinx thought of
the needler holstered at his hip. "Can't we make it any easier for him?
Put an end to the misery?"
She frowned. "There is no misery in dying. It
is part of the natural order. Death begets life. This is nothing to sorrow
about."
"But if the animal is hurting‑'
"Ciinravan shows more than he feels," Teal
assured him. "It is not so bad as it appears."
"I was just thinking that‑" Suddenly
he paused and put a hand to the side of his head, turning sharply. His eyes
scanned the impenetrable green walls. Alarmed, Pip took to the air, leaving her
master's shoulder to search for the perceived danger.
"What is it?" Teal looked uncertain.
Rising on her hind legs, Tuuvatem sniffed the damp
air before concluding with a soft snort. "There's nothing. The skyperson
hears a hitter, and jumps." She dropped back to all sixes.
Teal glanced at him. "Flinx?"
"I thought‑I thought I felt the presence
of other persons." He looked down at her. "Would your people send
out search parties to look for you?"
She shook her head. "They have more practical
things to do with their time."
"Another family of sugararry gatherers?"
Again she shook her head.
Moomadeem nudged him roughly with a shoulder.
"Maybe you were sensing me?"
"No. These were human feelings."
"Not impossible," the furcot admitted,
much to Flinx's surprise. He was convinced that the young creature was eager to
dispute anything he said.
"I can't be sure of anything on this
world," he muttered, as much to himself as to Teal. "I suppose the
first g is to get you all safely home."
"No," she replied. "First we must
bury Ciinravan. "
"Bury?” He
eyed the rapidly failing animal. "It's a long ways to the ground."
"Why would anyone, person or furcot, want to be buried in the Lower Hell?" she asked him. "There are proper places. We can move the body. Saalahan will help. Even you can help."
"®f course," he told her, without
comprehending. He let his gaze rove the hylaea, wondering where and how they
intended to dig a hole large enough to accommodate the furcot's bulk.
Saaiahan jumped easily to the next branch and vanished
into the verdure. "Once a place has been found, we will move
Cnnravan," she told Flinx. "Meanwhile we will attend the last
moments. And we must also find shelter for the night."
Flinx glanced skyward. The torpid cloud cover was already
beginning to darken.
"They're heading down again." Feng checked
his own positioner. They each carried one, standard issue for travel on any
world. He checked the readout with Chaa and then Peeler. Their numbers matched
reassuringly. "You can tell by the variance in the signal. Nice job of
tuning, Aimee." As she acknowledged the compliment with a nod, he brushed
at a clinging vine covered with fuzz. Fine hairs came off in his hand,
imparting a mild burning sensation. He rubbed the skin angrily against one leg
of the chameleon suit.
"Why don't they keep to one height?"
"Maybe they don't like being exposed to the
sky," Peeler suggested. "You could ask Damas about that."
"Real funny. Big joke." Feng examined the
rash the hairs had inflicted on his hand. They carried gloves, but despite the
suits' best efforts at cooling and dehumidifying, it was still oppressively
hot. Wearing gloves was out of the question.
"Everybody hold up." Aimee had halted and
was waving for attention. They crowded close to her.
The branch they had been following emerged from a
trunk fifteen meters in diameter. There were no other branches within easy
reach, and the trunk itself was as smooth as glass, offering nothing in the way
of a toe‑ or handhold.
"Where did they go from here?" Rundle
peered cautiously over the side. It was a ten‑meter drop to the next
suitable branch. Plenty of vines and creepers trailed from overhead down into
the emerald depths, but no one was in a rush to test their strength.
"Over there." Feng was standing on the
opposite side of the branch.
On the north side of the tree a cluster of thorns as
long and thick as a man's arm protruded from the otherwise perfectly smooth
bark, forming dense clusters directly on the trunk.
"Make a serviceable ladder, don't you
think?" Feng beamed proudly at his discovery.
Aimee was less convinced. "I don't
know..."
"You see a better way down? Look at those
two." A pair of skinny six‑limbed creatures were scampering up the
far side of the trunk, utilizing the thorn clusters in much the same fashion as
Feng had suggested. Each was about a meter tall. Their tiny heads were
completely dominated by three oversized, pale brown eyes. Glancing anxiously in
the direction of the party of humans, they fled as expeditiously as possible.
Patches of electric‑blue mashed from the backs of their otherwise dun‑colored
bodies.
Once safely overhead, they lingered on several
thorns to peer down at the travelers, chattering and whistling emphatically.
For such comparatively small creatures, they had exceedingly loud voices.
"Look at them.," ordered Feng. "Do
they look like they're worried about anything?"
Watching the obstreperous pair as they scampered
restlessly from cluster to cluster, it was difficult to imagine that the
thorns represented any danger. The sharp protrusions looked strong enough to
support all of them, including the much heavier Chaa.
"You're right, it does look safe." Coerlis
smiled at Feng. "You go first."
The other man's expression fell, but he nodded and
reached tentatively for the nearest thorn. When it neither reacted nor broke
off in his grasp, his companions relaxed.
"I don't understand how he can move so
fast." Coerlis stood peering into the dense vegetation as he waited his
turn at the thorn ladder. "He doesn't know anyone's chasing him so there's
no reason for him to be traveling so rapidly. There are no set routes through
this, no obvious paths left by animals, so he has to pick his way just like
us. He hasn't been here before.'"
The engineer was stepping cautiously out onto one
thorn while tightly gripping another. "How do you know, sir?"
"Because no one's ever been here before. Not
according to general records, anyway."
"Records are not perfect." Chaa was
scanning the forest, weapons at the ready as always. He would make the descent
last, after everyone else was safely down on the next branch.
"Where the hell could he be going in all
this?" Coerlis's brow furrowed as he sought rationale for the
inexplicable.
"Maybe he's just out for a stroll. Maybe he
likes to explore." Rundle was halfway down and feeling much more confident
in their chosen route..
"Then he should be taking his time."
Coerlis kicked absently at the woody surface underfoot. "It doesn't make
any sense."
"We should be able to overtake him
tomorrow." The Mu'Atahl exuded quiet confidence.
"We'd better. I don't like it here."
Coerlis put a hand on the immense, glossy wall of the trunk. "Although
there're definite commercial possibilities here. Exotic hardwoods, new
biologicals, medicinal extracts: enough to justify sending out a full
evaluation team. Later." His gaze narrowed as he sought to penetrate the
all concealing green. "Right now all I want is to add a certain specimen
to my zoological collection."
Feng was almost down. The two big‑eyed
chatterers had scrambled down another part of the trunk and now waited just
above the next branch as they continued to monitor the intruders' progress.
"Look at them, whistling away. They're damn cute."
"They are." Carefully positioning her
hands and feet, the engineer peered up at her employer. "Why don't you
bring them back for your collection, sir?"
"Maybe on the way back," Coerlis replied
diffidently.
"That's funny. They're not running away from us
now." Rundle studied the pair as he followed in Feng's wake.
"That's because not everybody's face is as
frightening as your ugly puss," the other man replied. He extended a
friendly hand downward. "C’mere, guys. I won't hurt you."
The big‑eyes responded with a flourish of
incomprehensible chatter and promptly vanished into a hole in the trunk.
"So you don't scare 'em, huh?" Rundle
grinned broadly.
"Where'd they go?" Peeler paused to let
Rundle, who was just below, descend another step.
Feng leaned out. "They've got some kind of nest
in the tree. There are some big thorns, but I could reach in and grab 'em easy
if I had to. Their teeth are real small and flat.." He moved sideways,
positioning himself on one of the extra‑long thorns. "Hey, guys,
how're you doin' in there?" He reached in to stroke the thick brown fur of
the animal nearest.
The entire immense mass of the tree shivered
slightly.
Coerlis was jolted off his thorn, but Chaa,
demonstrating inhuman speed and strength, reached down and grabbed the man by
the collar of his chameleon suit, drawing him back to safe footing. Rundle and
Feeler fell to the branch, Peeler landing hard and rolling, while Aimee clung
desperately to one long thorn with both arms, her legs kicking at empty air.
A dull thump seemed to resonate through the entire
forest. Panicked creatures flew or ran in all directions, flashes of color
amidst the all‑pervasive green. Above the whistling and howling and
hooting, Peeler was shouting frantically.
"Feng! You all right?" From their location
on the branch he moved as far as he could to his right to see what had happened
to the other man. Rundle helped the shaken Aimee down the last couple of steps.
"I'm ‑ I'm okay," came the shaken
reply. "But I'm stuck."
"Stuck? What do you mean you're `stuck'?"
Coerlis reached the branch with Chaa close behind. With his long neck, the Mu'
Atahl could see better than any of them.
"Some kind of a trap," the alien
announced.
"Four big thorns," the engineer added.
"They've folded light over him. Like this." She interlocked the fingers
of both hands.
"They're not thorns. They are part of somethihng
else that lihves on the tree." The Mu'Atahl pointed. "Look closely
and you can see where it fihts perfectly ihnto a hollow in the trunk."
The thin, almost imperceptible line that delineated
the creature's outline was nearly four meters in length and two wide. As they
tried to make sense of what they were seeing, Feng was pushing and shoving at
his prison. He managed to wedge his right leg between two of the thorns but
could make the gap no wider.
"I'm sure it's real fascinating," he
growled at his companions. "Now how about getting me out of here? Hey ...
ow!"
"What is it?" asked Peeler anxiously.
"What's wrong?"
"One of those damn little monkey‑things
just bit the hell out of my right ankle. Little bastard, get away from
me!"
"You‑you all right?" Rundle
stammered.
"Yeah. I smacked him good and he went to the
back of his hole."
"We'll have to burn him out." Coerlis
fingered his pistol speculatively. "We don't have anything else to cut
with. Unless you think you can snap those thorns, Chaa."
The Mu'Atahl studied Feng's prison. "This wood
supports my weight, but those are of a different composition. They are
desihned to restrain ihntruders. I do not know if I wihll have success."
"Take it easy," Rundle shouted to his friend.
"We'll get you out of there." He looked confidently back at his
companions. "It's some kind of trap the big‑eyes use to get food,
but in this case the food's bigger than they are. Feng can fight them off until
we get him out."
"C'mon, you guys, hurry it up." It was the
prisoner, sounding anxious.
"What's the rush?" Peeler made a face at
Aimee. "Accommodations not to your liking?"
"It's not that," the other man replied.
"That place on my leg where the little shit bit me? I can't feel it. It's
gone numb."
"Who the hell would want to feel your leg,
Feng?" Aimee was doing her best to encourage him, but her expression was
pale.
Peeler and Rundle carefully worked their way over to
where Feng was imprisoned, each of them taking up a position on either side.
When Peeler leaned close he saw that the pseudothorns had contracted even
farther, shutting out the light and probably forcing Feng even farther inside.
"What's going on?" Coerlis demanded to know.
"Can't see him. The thorns are blocking the
hole completely now."
"What do you mean, you can't see him? He's got to be in there. Feng, what the hell's going on?"
This time the other man didn't answer.
Chaa had worked his way across the side of the
trunk. Now he settled himself just above the closed opening. "Both of
you get out of the way." He cradled a heavy rifle in his lower hands while
gripping supportive thorns with the other pair and all four legs. Peeler and
Rundle scrambled hastily back down to the branch.
As soon as they were clear, the Mu'Atahl released a concentrated burst from the high‑energy weapon. One of the thorns turned to brown powder laced with dark green. Sap bubbled from the neatly sheared stump. Two more bursts cleared the opening.
While Peeler went in, shining his service light
ahead of him, the others waited silently. Hardly a moment passed before
gagging, choking sounds came from inside the hole.
"Dammit," Aimee muttered tightly.
The buzz of a needler replaced the retching noises.
Then Peeler stuck his head out where the others could see him.
"Feng's dead."
Coerlis's lips thinned. "What happened?"
"Those little monkey‑things? I put a shot
through each of ‘em. Slimy little‑“
"Get ahold of yourself!" Coerlis barked.
"What- happened?"
"It wasn't the big‑eyes. They're just
some kind of mobile bait that bites back. There's a big pink sac in here, all
covered with mucus. It dissolves whatever it touches. It dissolved part of my
left boot before I pulled away from it. Feng was‑inside. And one of those
big‑eyes had its head shoved halfway into Feng's chest. Now we know why
they're so small in comparison to the rest of the body. The other one was
ripping into his gut. God, it's sickening!"
"External stomach." The Mu'Atahl was calm
as ever. "The creature extruded it to swallow Feng. It must utihlize
highly acihdic gastrihc juices. The harmless‑looking, bihg‑eyed
hexapods lure prey ihnto the hole, the thorn-lihke protuberances trap it, the
hexapods bihte and ihnject some kihnd of paralyzihng toxihn, and then the
external stomach takes over and begihns the process of dihgestion. There is
much teamwork ihnvolved, and all parties clearly share in the fruihts of the
capture."
Aimee put a hand over her mouth and turned away
while Rundle cursed under his breath. "Fast," Coerlis observed
coolly. "It works fast. I wonder if it's a plant or an animal?"
"I am not a xenologihst," the Mu'Atahl
replied. Behind him the engineer had turned as green as some of the
surrounding vegetation. "With its bait creatures dead and its
imprihsonihng thorns burnt away, I wonder if it wihll regenerate ihtself or
die?"
"I hope it dies! I hope it starves to death,
slowly." Aimee was breathing hard. "What a lousy way to go. I liked Feng."
"A valued employee." Coerlis's tone
suddenly changed as he peered curiously at her. "You two weren't ...
?"
She turned a startled gaze toward him. "No,
Jack‑Jax, we weren't. He was a decent guy, that's all."
"Oh." The merchant seemed disappointed.
"This will be a lesson to all of us. It should make everyone that much
more anxious to catch up with our evasive friend."
"Yeah. Oh yeah." Grim‑faced, she
caressed her needler. "I want to find him. I want to find him and get the
hell out of here."
"Then we need to move." Looking up from
studying his positioner, Chaa pointed westward. "That way."
The others followed, ignoring a flock of delicate
pastel flying creatures the size of overweight sparrows. The well‑organized
swarm swept past them and eagerly entered the still smoking cavity in the side
of the tree. Each of them was a visual delight, an iridescent winged wonder
that flashed ruby and lapis and topaz in the diffuse daylight.
They were almost too beautiful to be scavengers.
Aimee did her best to encourage Rundle, who shuffled
along listlessly. Not because she was particularly fond of him, but because
they all had to depend on one another, and it didn't help to have one of their
number moping about aimlessly, not paying attention to his surroundings.
"Look, I liked Feng, too. He made a mistake,
that's all." She eyed the surrounding verdure warily. "You don't go
looking to pet anything here. You don't even touch anything unless you
absolutely have to. It was his own fault."
"Got to get away from here." Rundle's
voice had fallen so low she had to strain to understand the big man. " Got
to get out." His eyes looked haunted. "Could've happened to any one
of us, right about that." He nodded down at the branch they were
traversing.
"This right here, somethin' in it could jump
out and swallow us right up. Never notice it until it was too late." He
looked around sharply. There was nothing there‑and everything there.
Aimee put an arm through his and hugged gently.
"Take it easy. Not everything here is carnivorous. It wouldn't make sense.
This world is dangerous, but it's not irrational." Lifting one leg, she stomped
hard on the underlying wood, twice. Four meters thick, it didn't even quiver.
"See? It's just a branch. Solid as any bridge,
maybe more so. Plain, ordinary wood. Not everything here bites or snaps or
stings. You just have to be careful." She lifted her gaze and smiled.
"Look at those."
A tangle of slender blue‑green vines tumbled
from somewhere overhead. Thin and fragile, they formed elegant spirals of
uncommon attractiveness. Dozens of tiny lavender flowers striped with gold
lined the delicate strands, exuding a subtle yet rich fragrance. Even Coerlis
was impressed.
"Striking appearance and aroma." Ire
inhaled deeply before moving on. "Hopefully, it can be distilled."
"See?" The engineer gave her wavering
companion a reassuring squeeze. "They're just flowers. Gorgeous flowers,
at that. If you let this place get to you, you'll end up hiding under a leaf
and just shivering. Paranoia's more dangerous than anything we're likely to encounter."
She smiled comfortingly. "Just remember rule number one for this place:
don't touch unless you're sure."
Pausing next to the glittering cascade of fragrance
and color, she bent forward slightly to smell the most accessible cluster of
blossoms. None were larger than a centimeter across. Each had the look of an
individual, faceted gem. Petals flashed with absorbed silicon. When she brushed
them with her hand, they sparkled like diamonds and the intense perfume went
everywhere.
Nothing lethal responded. No creepers or tentacles
reached for her, no hidden hands grasped at her throat. There was only the rush
of dazzling beauty. Her smile widened.
Rundle's nerves steadied and his breathing slowed. The gold and crystal lavender blossoms put the most beautiful flowers he'd ever seen before to shame. The engineer was right: there was beauty here as well as death.
Taking out her service knife, Aimee excised a
perfect natural bouquet and used a clip to fasten it in her hair. It caught the
sunlight like a Marquise's tiara, as splendid as a crown of colored diamonds.
She executed a small pirouette.
"What do you think, Charlie? Does it suit
me?"
A reluctant smile crept over the big man's face.
"Maybe you're right. Feng was stupid. It still stinks, but it was his own
fault."
"That's right." She resumed her place
alongside him. "Just don't touch anything."
He indicated the, gleaming headdress. "You just
did."
"I checked them out first. They're only
flowers. Don't you, Charlie? Everything here can't be dangerous." Her
expression turned playful. "You still haven't told me what you think."
"It's very becoming." Coerlis shoved aside
a handful of vines. They trembled slightly at his touch. "Keep up."
Rundle gripped the pistol
he was holding a little tighter. "Be careful and try not to touch. Right.
Got it." He managed a determined smile.
"That's better." She ducked beneath an
overhanging limb. "We've made some mistakes, suffered some losses, but
we'll be on this kid pretty quick and then we'll be out of here. Concentrate on
that."
He nodded vigorously, feeling a little better about
things. The image of Feng, his body engulfed by the pink membrane, the two
adorable little furballs gnawing voraciously at his insides, began to fade from his thoughts.
But despite strenuous efforts, he could not make it
disappear entirely.
This time it didn't stop raining until less than an
hour before sunrise. Though Flinx was eager to leave, he allowed Teal to
restrain him.
"It's not good to move with the first light.
Better to wait an hour or so."
"Why?" Curled up in a corner of the
shelter, a sleepy Pip unfurled her glorious wings and stretched.
"Sunrise is the coolest part of the day."
The perpetually saturated and perspiring Flinx accepted this as a relative
term. "Those who hunt at night are seeking to make a final kill, while
those who feed during the day are most active. Better to wait for the first
frenzy of feeding to fade before moving."
Sampling the sodden air of morning, Flinx found himself
agreeing. While he would have called it less saunalike rather than
"cool," he had to admit it was easier to take than the atmospheric
stew that was mid-afternoon. Something roared in the distance, its triumphant
cry reverberating through the branches, and he willingly resumed his seat.
Folding her wings, Pip slithered into his lap.
"It will not take long," Teal assured him.
"Soon the hunters of the first light will lie down to eat. Then we will
bury Ciinravan."
Flinx studied the surrounding forestscape, peering
out from beneath the liege green‑black leaf where they'd spent the night.
Though a dozen or so such leaves grew from a single immense epiphyte, one was
large enough to shelter them all. The plant could have sheltered an entire
tribe"
Behind him, Dwell and Kiss were stirring. Given the
opportunity, most children their age would sleep until awakened or till a much
later hour. On this world, indulging in such a luxury would invite visitation
by exploring, curious scavengers. They were soon wide awake.
After a leisurely breakfast, Teal stepped out from
beneath the leaf to study the verdure overhead. "We must go up.”
Flinx rose to stand alongside. "Up"? Isn't
this the third level?"
"No. We are still on the second, and we must go
up to the first."
"But you said that your people lived on the
third, that they preferred the third, and that you fear the sky."
She lowered her gaze. "We will not go all the
way to the openness of the Upper I‑Tell. But it is good for a spirit to
be near the sun. We will find one of They‑Who‑Keep and climb
it." At Flinx's look of confusion she added, "There we will bury
Ciinravan."
He frowned. "On the tree?"
"In the tree. In that way Ciinravan will be
returned to the world."
Her guest turned thoughtful. "I hope we don't
have to do much digging."
She laughed then. A nice laugh, he thought. Unpretentious
and compassionate.
"You will see, Flinx."
With the help of the young furcots and the children,
they managed to position the considerable dead weight of Ciinravan on
Saalahan's broad back, Teal cut lianas, and with these secured the limp mass in
place. Flinx's admiration for the furcots' abilities went up another notch as
he watched Saalahan maneuver the great load upward. Powerful curving claws dug
deep into the wood of branches and trunks as they began to ascend, searching
for the right tree while. doing their best not to stray any farther than
necessary from the, positioner's indicated course.
They were lucky, finding a They‑Who‑Keep
that lay in their path. Seeking out an efficacious combination of vines,
creepers, branches, and smaller trees, they started up. The hylaea began to
thin perceptibly, and the already partially acclimated Flinx found himself
watching the larger openings warily. Once, he had to follow the others in
ascending a suitable creeper hand over hand. At such times it was best not to
dwell on the fact that it was some six hundred meters to the actual ground,
intervening vegetation notwithstanding.
The, tree was the size of an office tower, a
gargantuan spire of wood and greenery. When he remarked on this to Dwell, the
boy responded with something less than awe.
"It's a good‑sized They‑Who‑Keep,
but I have seen larger. Besides, They‑Who‑Keep are not the biggest
trees. That would be a Pillar."
Flinx looked to right and left, unable to see around
the epiphyte‑infested bole. and wondered what a Pillar tree might be
like.
Teal called a halt and began to inspect each of
several branches. Even this far from the base, they exceeded in diameter all
but the largest trees on Moth or Terra. Their weight, Flinx decided, must be
enough to depress the very earth beneath them.
"See the vines‑of‑own?" Teal
pointed out a knot of flower‑stricken creepers that clustered in a notch
where the trunk split. Their scent was sharp but not unpleasant. "Don't
brush against them. Their seed sacs are under great pressure and will burst on
contact. The pollen expands inside the lungs and suffocates. It will kill anything
that breathes it."'
"These vines, they grow on your Home‑tree
as well?"
"Of course."
"You must have a hard time avoiding them."
She laughed again. "Not at all. Our Home‑tree
knows us."
"Knows you?"
"Yes. The vines respond to those who live with
the tree. Their flowers recognize our spit. These flowers would not know
us."
"Emfoling?" Flinx wondered aloud.
"No, chemistry," she corrected him.
Where the broad wooden avenue of a large branch
paved with grasses, fungi, and small flowers emerged from the trunk, the wood
had developed a massive crack. Often the cavity was the home of a creature Teal
called a volute, but this one was dry and deserted.
After she cut away the binding creepers, the body of
Ciinraven was carefully and reverently lowered into the crack. Humans and
furcots then spread out to gather leaves, dried fruits, moss, and whatever
other available and easily accessible vegetation they could find. This was
alternately dumped, packed, piled, and pressed into the cavity, until Ciinravan
was completely hidden from view and the upper edge of the opening was once
again flush with the surface of the branch. In addition to hiding the body from
view, the decomposing vegetation would speed Ciinravan along the proper path,
while the neutralizing aroma of special mosses would discourage prowling
scavengers.
Flinx did his best to help, until he was forced to
dump his third load. His hands felt like he'd shoved them into an open fire.
Shaking them wildly in an attempt to cool them off, he saw that tiny red
pustules were breaking out all over his fingers and palms. Sensing her master's
distress, Pip darted about anxiously. But this was no antagonist she could
deal with.
Teal put her own armful down and hurried over.
"What's the matter?"
He showed her his hands. "Stings," he told
her.
"I'm sure it does. What did you pick?" He
indicated the pine of soft, easily uprooted plants.
"Grivets." She was nodding to herself.
"Its leaves are covered with fine hairs that release a strong chemical.
Properly distilled, it makes a marvelous spice."
"I can understand that." He grimaced.
" My hands feel like they've been shot with pepper."
"I don't know what that is. Come with me."
Eyes beginning to water, he followed her as she
searched the surrounding vegetation. Eventually she paused next to a bromeliad
whose tall green leaves were spotted with pink. Floating in the plant's
internal pool were half a dozen thumbnail‑sized pure milk‑white
spheres. As she reached in and pulled one out, he saw that each floating bulb
was attached to its parent by a wire‑thin stem.
"Hold out your hands, palms up."
Lips compressed against the pain, he complied.
When she squeezed the sphere, it released a large
quantity of thin, clear fluid. "Don't drop any," she warned him as
she flung the crushed pulp aside. "Rub your hands together. Rub it all
over your fingers."
As he did so, the bulb's healing capabilities
manifested themselves. Cool and soothing, the analeptic juice quickly took away
the stinging. The pustules began to pale.
"O'opaa fruit." she informed him.
"It's very good for any kind of skin irritation." Picking up her
load, she carried it over to the crevice and began packing it in.
"I think from now on I'll just help you
carry." He blew alternately on his spread fingers.
"You cannot emfol." She put a reassuring
hand on his arm. "That is why you ignorantly picked the grivet."
"This emfoling's something I'm really going to
have to work on," he replied earnestly. "Can it be taught?"
Her expression was one of honest surprise. "I
don't know. I have no idea if it can be learned by one who was not born to it.
We will have to ask Overt the Shaman."
He nodded, then turned suddenly and sharply to his
right. Were those two bushes laughing at him? He put it down to an overactive
imagination suffering from a surplus of stimuli.
When all was done, the little group assembled around
the grave hundreds of meters in the sky. Led by Teal, the children recited
several touching and straightforward verses, not all of which Flinx understood.
When they finished, the three furcots put back their heads, tusks in the air,
and began to howl. It was a strangely melodious, mewling sound, not
unattractive but quite incomprehensible: what a trombone might sound like if
it could be an amplified clarinet for a day.
When the furcots finished, everyone turned and
started off through the forest as if nothing untoward had transpired.
Following Flinx's positioner, Teal led the way westward and down.
“The imbalance has been addressed," she told
him. "All will be well now." He chose not to comment, still woefully
ignorant of her people's personal philosophy. He noted that despite her
confidence and reassuring words, neither she nor the children had in any way reduced
their constant vigilance.
"What happens when one of you dies?" he
asked.
"Humans and furcots are treated alike."
She looked back at him. “Balance. One of our elders knew of an ancient word
handed down by his great ancestors. ‘Hozho.’”
"Don't know it." Flinx spared a last look
back at the rapidly receding burial site. At this distance it was quite
indistinguishable from the rest of the branch. Speculating silently on the
relationship between furcots and humans, humans and Home‑trees, he realized
that the nutrients in Ciinraven’s body would be absorbed by the tree and not
the ground, as would have been the case with a more traditional burial.
Something Teal had said earlier flashed again in his mind: Chemistry.
Not for the first time, Flinx wished he had enjoyed
the time and resources to indulge in advanced education. This was not a world
where the ability to pick locks or unlatch sealed doors was of much use.
Teal slid lithely down a bundle of creepers,
paralleled by Kiss and Dwell. The furcots jumped from branch to branch while
Flinx did his best not to hinder the pace. Though he was agile and strong
enough, and doing better, his size was still a disadvantage when it came to negotiating
the intricate tangles of the hylaea.
A flock of fluorescent flitters flashed past, blurs
of electric color amidst the green and brown. There was so much to see here, so
much to absorb, and he was missing most of it because he had to be careful of
where he put his feet. He resolved that once he had helped Teal and her family
return to their home, he would make time simply to study and enjoy.
They found the most magnificent spot imaginable to
spend his third night away from the shuttle. Expecting another hollow in a tree
trunk or cluster of shed‑sized leaves, he was completely unprepared for
the excited Dwell's discovery. The boy came racing back to join them, the
lumpish yet somehow lovable Moomadeem loping along at his side.
"Mother, Kiss‑some and look, come and
look!" Without waiting to see if they were following, he whirled and
retraced his path, his green cloak flapping against his slim back.
"Must be something special to get Dwell that
excited," Flinx commented.
"You mustn't be hard on him." Teal vaulted
effortlessly over an intervening aerial root that Flinx had to climb.
"You are his competitor."
Flinx frowned. "Competitor? For what?"
"Dominant human male in this family
grouping."
"But I'm not‑" he started to say,
then stopped. In this place it was Dwell's perception that mattered, not his
own.
The horizontal cavity had been caused by lightning.
Located on the western side of the branch, it was a couple of meters high and
three wide. The blackened gash penetrated deep into the wood, forming a cave in
the curving brown flank. Flinx watched as the three furcots dug their claws
into the wood and simply stepped over the edge, hanging out over emptiness as
they walked into the hollow.
"It's safe!" Saalahan called out moments
later. Leaning over cautiously, Flinx found he couldn't see the furcot.
Thus concealed, they would be able to spend a
comparatively relaxed night.
"It's all right." Digging the claws of its
four hind feet into the wood, the big furcot reached out and up for him.
"Come down, Flinx person. I won't let you fall."
Flinx hesitated while Teal, Dwell, and even the
diminutive Kiss scrambled over the side of the branch and swung with practiced
skill into the waiting cavity. The dropoff below the branch itself was
precipitous. It promised a safe night's sleep but did little for his nerves.
Bracing himself, he turned his face to the branch and slowly eased himself over
the edge. His fingers dug at the bark while his feet slipped and skidded on the
wooden arc.
Then he felt powerful paws grasping his lower body,
and he allowed Saalahan to pull him into the blackened opening. The adult
furcot considered him with its three eyes.
"You have learned much in short time. Next,
better learn how to climb." Flinx responded with a grateful if slightly
embarrassed smile.
"I'm actually a pretty good climber, Saalahan.
It's these surroundings I'm not used to." With a soft snort, the adult
shambled off to inspect the underside of the branch, looking for concealed
predators and leaving Flinx to take stock of his surroundings.
What made the site special was its location. The
cave in the branch looked out across a valley in the forest, a vine‑and‑liana‑swathed
depression that dug all the way down to the fifth level. Thick moutire and
coculioc vines dangled from‑ branches above, shielding the cavity from
attack by arboreal hunters. The panorama visible through the curtain of vines
to anyone sitting on the edge of the opening was nothing less than spectacular,
filled as the green valley was with a fecund riot of flowers and flying
creatures. Gliding shapes great and small picked and grazed on the exposed
vegetation as well as upon one another.
Dwell had stumbled upon something all but alien to
his people: a safe view.
All the cavity needed, Flinx decided, were a pair of
sliding glass doors and air‑conditioning to justify an exorbitant rent.
Given that, the branch would still be a hard sell as a vacation site. Too much
of the local flora and fauna had already demonstrated a robust liking for the
taste of unwary travelers.
For the first time he was able to get an idea of the true size of some of the trees. Though draped in clinging vines
and parasitic smaller growths, the boles fringing the valley had trunks six and
seven hundred meters tall. They were the largest living things he'd ever seen,
and possibly the largest ever discovered. This world, he knew, was the
proverbial heaven dreamed of by deserving botanists.
If the Home‑trees and Pillars were so massive
at this height, he wondered, what must they be like at their base?
After two days spent deep within the shadowed
forest, the hazy unfiltered sunlight made him squint. He should have turned
away, but the frenzy of uncontrolled growth held his mesmerized attention.
Gradually his eyes readapted and he could make out individual, smaller
features.
Nor was it a silent scene, alive as it was with
buzzing, droning, humming, screeching, singing, whistling, cackling entities
of every shape and size. Most adhered, as he had come to expect, to the pattern
of physiologic trifurcation he had noted on arrival, though there were distinctive
variants.
Occasionally an aerial predator would plunge into
the green depths, only to emerge a moment later, often struggling to regain
altitude, with some unfortunate canopy dweller clasped in its talons or beak
or teeth. Flinx particularly noted one flock of fliers that hovered on a dozen
rapidly beating wings. They flashed up and down in succession like so many
hooks on strings as each of the fascinating creatures sucked nectar from
flowers through a meter‑long tube of a tongue.
A bulbous, stubby‑winged hunter shot into
their midst, scattering the flock and its raucous chorus. Sharp spikes adorned
the predator's entire body. Dropping like a dead weight into the flock, it
emerged with two of the nectar sippers impaled on its spikes. It was not
necessary, Flinx saw, to boast of talons and teeth in order to be a successful
hunter. There were innumerable other ways of killing.
Something vast dipped down into the hole in the
canopy, shadowing the green wall where they lay. An immense, iridescent gas‑filled
sac trailing dozens of tentacles, it grazed the edge of the forest in search
of prey. When it had concluded its circumnavigation of the valley and returned
to the mist‑laden sky, half a dozen small creatures could be seen
struggling to free themselves from its lethal grasp.
"Buna floater." Teal leaned out slightly
to make sure the dirigible‑sized creature was truly departing. "It's
not strong enough to carry off a human, but it can kill one."
Though imposing, the floater was not the most impressive
flier they saw. That honor went to a gigantic blue-black glider with tiered
tooth‑lined jaws longer than Flinx was tall. Possessing the wingspan of a
modest sized aircraft, it resembled nothing so much as an enormous, airborne
shark.
It was quite clear why Teal and her people had come
to think of the sky above the canopy as the tipper Hell. Its revelations made
him all the more curious to view the Lower.
But not right away.
The remote blob of diffuse light that was this
world's sun melted into the indistinct yellow‑green horizon, to be
replaced by the steady drumming of warm rain. Nocturnal criers commenced
calling to mates, communicating with offspring and warning one another of the
possible presence of concealed killers who whispered their way through the
hylaea, silent shadows of death.
Chirps and barks, whistles and screeches, moans and
feral hiccoughings punctuated the onset of night. Following a procedure Flinx
was now familiar with, he joined Teal and her children in the back of the burnt‑out
cavity while the furcots formed a protective barrier along the edge of the
opening. Pale, tenebrous moonlight illuminated the valley in the forest and the
falling rain. It was bright enough to hint of a full moon or two, whose outline
Flinx knew was masked by clouds and mist.
Surrounded by warm bodies and the thick but not unpleasant
musk of the furcots, he allowed himself to drift toward sleep, Pip curled
snugly atop his chest. Once, something stout and many‑legged marched past
directly overhead, shaking the branch with its weight. With the rain
dissipating their scent, they remained safe and secure in the cavity while the
tread of the unseen giant soon vanished into the distance.
He glanced down at his hands. Not only had the irritation
disappeared completely, the skin was as smooth and soft as it had ever been.
The juice of the O'opaa fruit not only healed, it restored. What might it do
for wrinkles? Not all the wonders of this place were large and fearsome.
Bearing Teal's warning in mind as he checked his positioner,
he used his body to carefully shield its internal illuminator from outside
view, and as soon as he'd noted the readout, quickly shut it off. They were on
course.
Dwell was dreaming, a rush of indefinable sensation
Flinx had no difficulty detecting. Dreams he was able, with an effort, to shut
out. It was a skill he'd been forced to learn in order to get any sleep. Easier
to do here than on Moth, or Samstead, where the nocturnal cacophony of millions
of sleepers would have driven him mad had he not been able to master the shut‑out
technique.
It struck him forcefully that he had gone three days
without a headache of any kind. Not a record, but close. This world was at once
soothing and deadly. That was the last thought he had before passing over into
a contented sleep of his own as the rain pounded on the stems and leaves and
branches outside the refuge.
He dreamed of small biting things and the comforting
emollient of cool liquids. Of vast shapes filled with teeth and others that
only smiled. Of slipping, and of falling, to land unharmed in a hell he could
not envision.
Permeating it all was an indefinable presence, alien
yet somehow reassuring, full of questions he did not understand and answers to
questions he did not know how to ask. It was, not surprisingly, green as well
as formless. Bursting with life, it seemed too expansive to be contained only
within a dream. All velvet ties and luxurious bindings, it encompassed without
restricting, enveloped without imprisoning. It strove to draw him in even as it
left him free. Seeking definitions in his sleep, he found only greater
mysteries.
Amidst the assurance was an anxiety that correlated
well with his own. Shining through it all, like a beacon, was the need first to
survive and second to comprehend.
In particular there was a distant and voluminous
mass, inconceivable in size and incomprehensible in its evil, that defied
understanding. With a start, that part of Flinx's mind that was conscious in
sleep recognized the pit at the center of his own encounter. The darkness was stirring, and scattered matter shifted imperceptibly
on a cosmic scale. From seemingly stray neutrinos on up, the infinitesimal was
alert.
Anxiety. Incomprehension. Flinx swam in a pool of
shared glaucous concern, trying to keep his conscious unconsciousness from
drowning in confusion, unable to offer succor or solution.
But there was a possible solution. Incredibly
complex, difficult beyond imagining, the legacy of great thinkers long since
departed, it hovered tantalizingly on the edge of his understanding. That was
because he was not yet ready.
Not yet ready, but incontestably a part of it.
He twitched in his sleep. On his chest Pip, wide
awake, her triangular head centimeters from his own, stared at the face of her
master with glazed reptilian eyes. She understood nothing of what he was
feeling, nothing of the torrent of sensation and information that was flooding
through him, but she remained as close as possible, concerned and protective.
It was the best she could do. She was not an interpreter,
but a vector.
It was the middle of the night when he sat up
sharply, wide‑awake and staring. In the darkness he looked around, saw
only the sleeping forms of his companions. Moomadeem snuffled and kicked out
with a middle leg while Dwell swatted a nonexistent bug from his face. Teal was
silent and motionless. Attentive as always, Pip licked at his face.
A presence had been in the hollow, and in him. The
keen reality of certain dreams is often difficult to separate from wakeful
thinking. Slowly he lay back down, resting his head on his hands as he pondered
all that had washed through him, trying to fix it in his conscious memory. Much
of it was already beginning to fade, indistinct and senseless. Despite his
drowsy state, there was one characteristic of the experience he knew he would
have no difficulty recalling.
It had been very, very important.
"Peeler!"
Aimee screamed as she started to fall. The man next
to her reached out but missed. It was Chaa who reacted in time. While his body
remained securely atop the swaying liana they were traversing, he was able to
twist his neck sideways and down and reach for her with three of his powerful
arms. One caught her by her right forearm, another by the opposite shoulder of
her suit. Slowly she felt herself rising in the Mu'Atahl's grasp.
Peeler leaned over and managed to get ahold of her
other arm. Together they hauled her back up through the rain and onto the
liana. She promptly lay back on the rufous walkway, hands on her stomach, and
fought to catch her breath.
Lit by the reflected glow of its owner's flash, a
face was staring down at her; expressionless, devoid of emotion. There was,
however, some concern in the voice. Not necessarily for her personally, she
knew. Coerlis was worried about losing any more of his party.
"What happened?"
She took a deep breath. "Slipped. Was trying to
watch something in the trees and stopped paying attention." She sat up and
put her arms around her knees as she drew them in toward her chest. "It’
not easy moving at night. You're trying
to watch where you're going at the same time as you're trying to be careful
where you put your feet. And everything's soaked."
Coerlis looked away. "If we don't try something
different it's going to take forever to catch up to him."
"I know, I know," she snapped, reaching up
with a hand. Peeler took it and helped her to her feet. His simple face was
full of the kind of honest worry that was alien to Coerlis. She even felt
closer to Chaa.
"Thanks, guys." She wiped bits of sodden
plant matter and soil from her chameleon suit.
"You can pull me up when I slip." Chaa did
not smile, but he had a pretty good understanding of the range of human
expression. He showed his teeth.
She hesitated, then laughed. "Right, sure. With
one hand. Just don't fall too far." The Mu' Atahl weighed in the
neighborhood of half a ton.
Coerlis was peering through his night‑vision
monocular, searching the hylaea ahead. "I don't understand why we haven't
caught up with him. There's no reason for him to think he's being pursued,
therefore no reason for him to be moving so fast. You'd think he'd stop in one
place for a while." He lowered the opticon. "And there's only one of
him, and that minidrag. By rights he should be having a harder time of it in
this morass than we are."
Shielding the tracker from the rain, Chaa checked
the readout. "He continues to travel more or less in a straight line, as
if he has a specihfic destihnation in mihnd."
Peeler tugged on the hood of his suit and waved at
the sodden, smothering verdure. "How could anybody have a destination in
this? It all looks the same."
"Maybe he's just trying to cover as much ground
and see as much as possible." Aimee had risen to her feet again. She
reached up, straightened her hood and touched her hair. A smile lightened her
expression. "At least I didn't lose my flowers." In the crisscross of
artificial light the spectacular specimen continued to twinkle like a bouquet
of faceted gems.
"Let's get moving." Coerlis led the way
off the liana and onto a convenient, more stable branch that led in the right
direction.
"Lucky, that time," Peeler told her
conversationally. Noting the look on her face, he frowned. "You sure
you're okay?"
Her smile returned. "Just feel a little queasy
all of a sudden." She fumbled for the medkit on her belt. "I'll go
ahead and take something."
"Delayed reaction to your slip," Coerlis
suggested without looking back.
"Or these stinking rations we've been living
off for three days." Rundle was gnawing distastefully on a soaked protein
block.
Eyes flashing, Coerlis turned on the big man.
"Maybe you'd like to try some of the local fruit?"
"Uh‑uh, no thanks, Mr. Coerlis, sir! It
might bite back."
"I'm sure some of the local vegetation is not
only palatable but tasty." As always, Chaa brought up the rear. "The
problem is in decihding what is edihble and what is lethal."
"Yeah." Peeler chided his associate,
nudging him in the ribs. "Go on, man." He aimed his light at a
cluster of swollen, bright blue cylinders hanging temptingly from a nearby
epiphyte. "Take a bite out of one of those."
Rundle glared back. "How about I shove a whole
one down your throat and see if you blow up?"
"Quiet," Coerlis snapped. "Unless you
want to see what kind of nocturnal carnivores your babbling can attract."
The two men went silent, abashed not because their
boss had chewed them out but because they knew he was right.
"We wihll snare your quarry, sihr," Chaa
assured Coerlis. "If necessary, you and Aimee can rihde on my back. That
would enable us to increase our pace slihghdy."
"Not worth it." Coerlis wiped a mixture of
perspiration and rainwater from his face. "I want you at full strength
when we reach him. We're still going to have to deal with the flying
snake."
"As you wish, sihr."
A grumbling Coerlis angrily shoved a clinging
creeper out of his way. "At least he's stopping for the night."
Feeling thoroughly miserable, he sneezed twice despite the temperature.
As if they weren't uncomfortable enough, the lingering
moonlight faded and the downpour intensified, drenching them afresh.
Peeler mumbled something unrepeatable, and even the
normally imperturbable Chaa had a few choice words to say in his own language.
Their meaning and intent was obvious from his inflection even if a
straightforward translation was impossible.
Coerlis's fight found a shadow at the base of a
large parasite. Looking exactly like another, smaller tree, it grew from the
heart of the branch they were traversing, its roots penetrating deep into the
heartwood of the emergent and nearly straddling their chosen course.
"Hold up!" He raised his hand. Huddling
against the unrelenting deluge, the others halted gratefully.
Advancing on the secondary growth, Coerlis saw that
the shadow that had caught his eye was a cavity that ran all the way through, a
tunnel formed by fire or disease. Or maybe, he thought, the consequent growth
was the result of two parasitic trees that had grown together and merged to
form a single trunk. Whatever the cause, there was room enough within to
shelter all of them from the rain. Even Chaa would be able to stand up and keep
dry.
"Inside," he ordered curtly. They needed
no urging.
"See." Shining his light downward, the Mu'
Atahl scuffed the wood underfoot with one circular pad. "The interior is
slihghtly higher because of root growth. Water runs around but not
insihde." He tilted his head and neck back. "The ceihling rihses
higher stihll. This wihll be very comfortable for the balance of the
night."
Rundle leaned back against the interior wall and let
out a relieved sigh. "As long as it's dry."
Peeler was inspecting their serendipitous refuge
more closely. "Funny sort of place. Doesn't look damaged."
"Neither do you," quipped the big man.
Peeler started to reply, then frowned. "Hey, where's Aimee?"
"Right here." Entering, she rustled the
collar of her suit to remove the clinging drops. "Just got dizzy for a
moment."
Coerlis eyed her unblinkingly. "How much
medication did you take earlier?"
"Enough. Relax, Jack‑Jax. I'm fine."
"You still nauseous?"
"A little. It comes and goes. I'm glad you
decided to stop for the rest of the night."
The merchant looked resigned. "Doesn't do any
good to close the gap if half of us don't make it." Sitting down with his
back against the inner wall of the cavity, he fumbled for a food packet. Peeler
settled himself nearby, while the exhausted Rundle stretched out on the delightfully
dry floor. Chaa languorously twisted his neck around to rest his head on his
shoulder.
"Hey!" Trying to clear her head, the
engineer had tilted her neck back. "Something moved up there." She
raised a hand and pointed.
Coerlis swung his light to the vertical. Sure
enough, there were three, four‑ perhaps a dozen of the tiny creatures.
Each small enough to fit in his palm,
the fuzzy brown shapes clung
to the apex of the conical cavity. Their fiat, homey faces were covered with
bands of shiny black keratin. The single horn that protruded from each forehead
was flanked by a pair of bulbous eyes, with the third lying below and slightly
forward of the horn. Each eye was capable of swiveling independently of the others.
It was disorienting to see.
Protruding between two bands of hard keratin, the
coiled muzzle or mouth was thin, gray, and straw-like. The creatures had no
visible teeth, and clung to the ceiling of the shelter with six stubby legs.
Each foot ended in an unintimidating but obviously efficient hook.
"Impressive secondary sexual display,"
commented Chaa, referring to the individual horns. "Or perhaps they are
for defense."
"This must be their roost." An indifferent
Coerlis eased back against the wood, trying to find the least uncomfortable
spot. "I don't think they'll mind sharing."
When a nervous Peeler shined his light directly on
them, the cluster of brown shapes drew back into a defensive knot, blinking
painfully at the illumination. He cut the intensity of the beam by three‑quarters.
"Mr. Coerlis is right." A grinning Rundle
waved his own light at the mass, forcing them to huddle together even tighter.
"They're afraid of us."
"They just want the same thing we do."
Once the source of the shadowy movement had been revealed as harmless, Peeler
had relaxed. "A nice, dry night's rest."
"Kittens with alien faces." Aimee was
entranced. "Listen to them." Soft burbling sounds floated down from
the ceiling, sounding like bubbles popping to the surface of a quiet pond.
Whether it was an expression of mutual fear or some kind of group
communication, the visitors had no way of knowing. Certainly it was anything
but threatening.
Rundle was still standing and shining his reduced
light on the cluster. "They're cute. C'mere, little pretty." Standing
on tiptoes and reaching upward, he made scratching motions in the direction of
the nearest.
It immediately swelled like a balloon to three times
its previous size. On the taut skin pinkish flesh was visible through the
individual hairs.
The Mu'Atahl looked back. "I don't think that's
such a good idea, Rundle."
The big man looked over at him. "Aw, c'mon.
What're you afraid of? It's not any bigger than‑ ow, damn!" He drew back his hand sharply. "Ow, ouch, look
out!" Arms crossed over his head, he bent over and tried to present only
the back of his chameleon suit to the ceiling.
Coerlis had rolled to his right, colliding with the
engineer as she scrabbled backward on her hands and backside. Chaa had darted
out the other side of the tunnel, while Peeler lay huddled against the far side
of the cavity.
With an explosive whoosh half a dozen
of the swollen creatures had sharply contracted. The compressed, expelled air
had blasted each tiny horn free of its supporting face shield. Three protruded
from the back of the startled Rundle's reaching hand. Another had stuck in his
forearm, two more in his shoulder, piercing the thick weave of the chameleon
suit. He wrenched one from his forearm, leaving a spot of red behind.
Above him the furry shapes were starting to move.
Ignoring them, a disgusted Rundle plucked the remaining
pair from the back of his hand. "Last time I try to be nice to anything on
this planet," he muttered. "Hey, how about giving me a hand with
these?" His head tilted back, his expression malign. "I'm gonna fry
every one of the little bastards. All I wanted was to pet one."
Aimee helped him remove the rest of the horn darts,
carefully working them free of his flesh. "How do you feel? Besides angry,
I mean."
"Little woozy. Not too‑bad. Whoo!"
He staggered, and it was all she could do to help him sit down. Peeler was too
late to help.
Instead he rested a comforting hand on his
associate's shoulder. "How you feeling, man?"
"Pretty potent stuff." Rundle blinked.
"Spice it up a little and I think you could find a market for it."
When he looked up at them, a stupid smile dominated his expression.
"Tried a couple o' shots o' kentazene once. Just for kicks, of course.
Felt kind of like this."
"There." Aimee removed the last of the
horn darts. Favoring it with a look of distaste, she flung it out into the
rain.
Employing a very subdued beam, Chaa was cautiously
studying the inhabitants of the ceiling. "I wonder how long it takes them
to grow new ones? It seems to be an effective defense. It's not necessary to
kihll. Only to discourage. Any predator taking a couple of those in the face
would most lihkely stagger off, stunned and destabilized."
The engineer nodded ceilingward. "Look,"
she whispered.
It was clear now there were more than a dozen of the
creatures. They had been so densely packed together that their true numbers had
been effectively concealed. She counted twenty, thirty of them, making their
laborious way down the sloping flanks of the cavity. Several simply rolled
into balls, released their grip on the ceiling and dropped. They bounced a
couple of times, unfolded themselves, and started crawling, their protruding,
staring eyes fixed on Rundle's seated form.
Aimee rose, nervously using her light to scan the
floor near her feet. "Come on, we've got to get out of here. Get up,
Rundle."
“Why?" He smiled happily up at her. "It's
the first night since we landed I haven't been soaked through."
Chaa was beckoning from out in the rain.
"Outside, everyone. Now. We must get out of range." Coerlis was
standing next to him. Eyeing his friend reluctantly, Peeler hesitated. There
was an explosive pop and a dart horn struck his service belt. He nearly fell
over his own legs in his haste to get clear.
Covering her head with her hands, Aimee started to
retreat. Rundle grinned at her as he scuttled backward on his hands and feet,
and propped himself up against the wall.
"What're you all afraid of? I can handle
this."
One of the little creatures was approaching his
right boot. Contemptuously, he drew back his leg and kicked out, sending it
spinning all the way across the cavity. Fetching up against the far side, it
righted itself, fluffed out its fur, and started back in Rundle's direction as
if nothing had happened.
More of the fuzzballs were dropping from the ceiling
and crawling down the walls. A wary Chaa inclined his neck for a better look.
"There must be another hollow high up inside
the growth. There are many still emerging." Peeler's expression was grim.
Coerlis peered inside enigmatically.
Aimee was pulling at Rundle's shirt. "Come on,
you've got to get out of here!"
A powerful arm flung her aside. "No way! This
is our tree!" Fumbling at his waist, he drew his needler and began waving
it about.
Coerlis flinched. "Shit! Put that thing away,
Chet! Aimee, get out of there!" The engineer hesitated, then stumbled out
into the rain.
"Go ahead and soak if you want." Rundle
returned his attention to the interior of the tree. "I'm stayin'."
Taking careful aim, he fired once.
Following the familiar sizzle, something burbled
loudly. The stink of burnt flesh filled the interior of the growth. Rundle's
burst had caught one of the crawlers face‑on, reducing it to a smoking
shell.
Squinting, he fired again. Half its body gone, the
crawler spun over and over, its long tongue uncoiling to flick futilely at its
missing self.
Rundle grinned out at his wary, sodden onlookers.
"Hell, this is fun!" Raising his aim, he neatly picked a crawler off
the far wall. "You're all missin' out." Another fuzzball nearing his
right foot was sent flying, its torso carbonized.
"Chet's right." Peeler started back.
"A couple of minutes and we can have this place cleaned out."
"No!" Lunging forward, Chaa swept the man
aside.
Peeler rolled over on the branch and climbed
furiously to his feet. "Hey, what'd you do that for!"
"Look." The Mu' Atahl pointed to the
wooden surface just outside the entrance.
It was lined with horn hypos. At least twenty of the
creatures must have fired in Peeler's direction when he'd taken his step
forward.
"Son of a bitch," the bodyguard muttered
as he eyed the spines sticking out of the wood.
Chaa had retreated another couple of steps down the
branch. "They are swarmihng ihnside now, eager to protect their home.
Without armor, no one can get back ihn."
Aimee crouched down on the branch, struggling to see
into the cavity through the darkness and steady downpour. "Chet, how're
you doing in there?"
"You hurtin', man?" Peeler asked
anxiously.
"Are you kidding?" They could hear the
methodical sizzle of his needler above the downpour. "Maybe this juice
freezes the local life, but it feels pretty swell to me. Blammo, got two with one shot that time! You just relax
out there. I'll have this place sterilized in five minutes." Again the
electronic surge of the needler flared above the drumming precipitation.
Water dripping from his long snout, Chaa glanced over at Coerlis. "We have no choihce. Anyone attempting to reenter rihsks an unknown number of punctures."
"So what?" They turned to Peeler, a shadow
brooding in the rain. "They don't seem to be doing Chet any harm. He
sounds higher than the ship. Hell, he sounds better than any of us has since we
landed here." He stared into the dry, inviting cavity. "He's having
such a damn good time in there I'm tempted to join him."
"It's a little early to draw any conclusions,
Peeler. Hopeful or otherwise." Coerlis was eyeing the tunnel thoughtfully.
"Rundle seems convinced he has the situation under control. All well and
good, but I don't see any reason to expose any of the rest of us to potential
danger at this time. We'll stay out here and monitor the situation
within."
They stood or sat in the miserable rain, forced to
listen to Rundle's delighted whoops from within. One time he announced, hardly
able to control his laughter, that he'd nearly shot his own boot off while
picking a crawler off his toe. The smell of burnt flesh from within the hollow
was strong enough now to reach them even out on the sodden branch.
After a while the steady hiss of the needler faded.
Aimee rose and, disregarding Coerlis's expression, cautiously approached the
opening. The light from Rundle's beam showed clear and strong.
"Rundle? Chet, have you finished your party
yet?"
"Careful," Chaa warned her.
"I don't see anything moving." She was
very close to the entrance now. Bending, she scanned the interior, using her
own beam to supplement Rundle's. "I don't see anything on the ceiling, or
around the edge here."
"Maybe the fool's done it, made it safe. And
had a good time doing it to boot." Coerlis moved to join her.
That's when she screamed. She continued to scream as
the others crowded around her. Chaa uttered a private outrage in his guttural
tongue while Peeler started mumbling under his breath. Only Coerlis said
nothing. His curses and self‑admonitions were composed silently.
At least the alien narcotic that had been injected
into the big man's system seemed to have forestalled any discomfort. Rundle
wore a broad smile of contentment. Much broader than usual because his head,
like the rest of him, had collapsed into the remainder of his body. Only his
skeleton retained any semblance of the human shape.
"Lihquification." The Mu'Atahl stared
stonily into the tree. "The soft parts of his body, everythihng except the
hard endoskeleton, have been turned to lihquihd. Some powerful enzyme ihn the
narcotihc. Prey that ihsn't sufferihng struggles less."
"Like with a spider," Peeler whispered.
"Yes, like a spider." Coerlis was equally
mesmerized by the gruesome sight. "You might as well stop screaming,
Aimee. It won't do you or us any good, and Rundle can't hear you."
Her chest rising and falling violently, the engineer
fought to calm herself.
The spongy, gooey mass that had recently been Rundle
lay on the floor of the cavity like a blob of lumpy gelatin. Dozens, perhaps
hundreds, of the brown‑furred crawlers swarmed over it, thronging with
turgid deliberation. Many had already embedded their coiled snouts in the gluey
mound and lay quiescent, sucking contentedly. Their bodies expanded perceptibly
as they drank, siphoning up the nutrients that had recently combined
differently to form a human being. Rundle's alien constitution was no
inhibition. Protein, apparently, was protein.
"We may as well leave this place." Chaa
shook raindrops from his snout. "There's nothihng more we can do
here."
Coerlis agreed. "The stupid shit." A
stirring in the night made him whirl. There was a shadow, a damp whisper in the
leaves. He saw nothing more. His hands started to shake and he willed them
steady, hoping that in the dark his moment of weakness hadn't been noticed by
any of the others.
There were four of them now. Only four. Seeing his
engineer continuing to stare blankly into the hollow, he grabbed her arm and
spun her toward him, getting right up into her face.
"Forget it, understand?
You want to watch until there's nothing left?
Want to see if the bones dissolve, too? Think about it too much and it'll be
just as bad for you as it was for Rundle."
She nodded jerkily. As his eyes challenged hers, he gave a gentle but unrelenting tug on her arm, turning her away from the secondary growth and back into the downpour. With Coerlis serving as guide, she allowed herself to be led away into the night. Peeler moved out in front, warier than ever, while Chaa placed himself between the rest of them and the tree. The light from Rundle's flickering beam gradually vanished behind them, swallowed up by the deluge and the night.
Flinx awoke with a start. Prodigious concepts
slipped rapidly from the grasp of consciousness, sudden wakefulness serving to
nudge a procession of alien thoughts just beyond comprehension. Dream worlds
became subsumed in reality, swept away like shells on a wave scoured beach.
It was still dark out and the night rain continued
its fall unabated. Watching and listening, he felt as if he could cast himself
into the curtain of water and swim off into the sky. It was the day's
transpiration reversed, a kind of aerial communication between plant and
atmosphere. Not privy to its subtler meanings, he was reduced to contemplating
the poetry of it.
No thunder tonight, he realized, and not a breath of
wind. He was aware of a warm and pleasantly rounded shape pressing up against
him. Peering down in the dim light, he saw that Teal was awake and staring
openly up at him. Her eyes were the hidden green of the forest, and when she
smiled gently, her teeth flashed like the sun that had not yet risen. She had
removed her cloak and simple, hand‑woven garments and lay close, browned
and open, her body adorned only by echoes of moonlight.
"Teal," he began, "I don't‑"
She put a finger to his lips. She was older than
him, but not by much, and her diminutive yet perfectly proportioned form made
her appear younger. On this world he was the vulnerable one, not her.
Sensing the rising tide of conflicted emotions in
her master, Pip stirred uneasily on his chest. Beginning with the jaws, a yawn
passed through her, transformed into a muscular ripple that concluded with a
last quiver of the tip of her tail. Half asleep, she slithered off his sternum
and coiled peacefully against the very back of the cavity.
"I like your pet," Teal whispered.
"Sometimes perception is better than intelligence."
Flinx found that he was trapped between her naked
form and the slumberous green mountain that was Saalahan. Near their feet the
children slept on, oblivious to the rest of the world. Moomadeem and Tuuvatem
lay curled about one another like a pair of matching green salt and pepper
shakers.
As near as Flinx could tell, his emotions and Teal's
were the only ones active.
"You were dreaming," she whispered.
"I know; I was watching you. What do you dream of, Flinx?"
"I can't remember," he replied honestly.
"Different things. Big and small, bright and dark, green and black, cool
and hot."
Nearly as supple as Pip, her arms flowed across his
chest to meet behind his neck. "I like hot."
"Your mate‑he just died," Flinx
reminded her, keeping his voice down.
She sighed. "Jerah is gone. He has returned to
the world. If I were gone and he were here and you were a suitable woman, he
would not have waited this long."
"On my world it's customary to wait a little
while."
"Then you must have time to waste on your
world. Here life is threatened by too many things to lose it also to
hesitation." She lowered her head, resting it on his stomach. "I have
two children to care for, a much simpler task when two adults are present. My
own parents help, but they are old and cannot stray from the Home‑tree. I
am fortunate they are both still living." She challenged his gaze with her
own.
"Life here belongs to the quick, Flinx. Dwell
and Kiss need a male parent. You have said that you are not mated."
"That's true."
"You are very ignorant of many basic things."
This was uttered matter‑of‑factly, without any hint of insult.
"But you learn quickly. And you are big, though not as strong as you might
be. You are strong in other ways, and seem to me to be a good person."
"Teal ..." He struggled to find the right
words. "I'm not interested in mating with you. I'm not interested,"
he added swiftly, "in mating with anyone."
Lifting her head, she studied him curiously.
"Why? Where you come from is there a rule or law against it? Have you
rites of maturity still to complete?"
"No, it's nothing like that." He thought
of the women he'd known; Lauren Walder and Atha Moon, Raileen Ts-Dennis and
most recently and especially, the wonderful Clarity Held. There were even fond
memories of one called Sylzenzuzex, who had not been human. "It's just
that I'm not ready."
Propping her chin in one palm, she regarded him intently.
"How old are you, Flinx? How many years?"
"Twenty. I think."
"Then you have been old enough for several
years, and still have not mated."
He knew that her night vision was better than his,
and wondered if she could see him blushing. "Like I said, in my society we
tend to wait a little longer."
"We have no time to wait," she informed
him somberly. "Here it is important to mate and produce children as soon
as possible. If we were to wait, every tribe would soon pass from being. Even
on the third level people die frequently, and young.
"If anything were to happen to me, I know that
Dwell and Kiss would care honorably for my place in the Tree. They would
maintain the balance."
"More talk of balance. If the human tribes
increase, doesn't that upset the balance here?"
She blinked at him. "Of course not. For each
human there is a furcot."
"Right. I'd forgotten about that." No need
to tell her he still didn't understand that special relationship between human
and beast. She would just try to explain further, or think of him as more
ignorant than she already did.
Her voice was as gentle as the rain dripping off the
lip of the shelter. "One can mate without forswearing permanence,
Flinx."
He would have backed away, but there was nowhere to
go. "What, here?" he stammered skittishly. As he pushed up against
Saalahan, the big furcot grunted in its sleep. "Your children are right
there. So are the furcots."
Her smile enlightened the darkness. "What a
strange place it must be where you come from, where people hide natural things
from each other. To think of mating with me here makes you uncomfortable,
doesn't it?"
She didn't need any special talent to sense that, he
knew. "We have something called privacy."
"So do we, but mating is more important than
privacy."
"If we were at your Home‑tree‑"
he began.
"But we are not," she interrupted him.
"We are here, where there is still some safety in numbers. So everything
must be done in numbers."
"Sorry. I do things in private, on a one‑to‑one
basis. Not," he added quickly, "that I find you unattractive."
"Then you do find me worthy of mating
with?" Her tone was at once ingenuous and coquettish.
"Of course."
"Then that will have to be enough for
now." She contented herself with the small victory. "Tomorrow I will
show you something that may make you not worry about such things so much. I saw
them when we found this place but had no time to gather any. Tomorrow I will
give you a treat, and you will not worry so much about privacy,"
Flinx started to explain that he not only enjoyed
but needed his privacy, that he was in fact one of the most private people he
knew, but he didn't want to disappoint her any further. Since he didn't know
what she was talking about, he saw no point in prolonging the encounter.
But he didn't object when she laid her head on his
chest and closed her eyes.
The rain ceased early. It seemed that he'd just
dropped back off to sleep when their overnight refuge was once again awash in
yellow‑green light.
One at a time they climbed out, Saalahan
effortlessly giving Flinx a boost to the top of the branch. Their emergence
was greeted by a flock of opportunistic aerial predators. Soaring low on
silvered wings evolved to blind prospective prey, they beat in frustration with
meter‑wide wings at the curtain of protective vines.
Saalahan dismissed there with a derisive snort that
was mimicked in comical fashion by the two younger furcots. Meanwhile Teal had
leaped lithely from the broad branch on which they stood to a smaller one
nearby and slightly lower down, indifferent to the thirty‑meter drop
between.
As Flinx looked on, she shinnied up a thigh‑thick
vine that was striped with blue, carefully avoiding several nearby that to his
eye looked exactly the same. Reaching a knot formed by two woody creepers, she
vanished into an explosion of enormous purple and red blossoms whose oversized
stamens were a bright, metallic gold.
"What's she doing?"
Saalahan only grunted, leaving it to Kiss to
explain. "Mother is gathering something." She toyed with her chestnut
tresses.
"Food." It struck Flinx that his stomach
was not aching because Teal had spent some time resting her head against it,
but from a demanding emptiness.
"No." Morning muted Dwell's gruffness.
"No food in a Tolling bush. Maybe beyond."
"Is that what those flowers are called?"
"Of course." The boy's sharp‑edged
tone returned. "Don't you know anything?"
"Very little," Flinx confessed.
Teal wasn't gone long. She retraced her steps,
making the same death‑defying leap back to the main branch with the same
casual aplomb as before. With a prideful smile she opened one of her gathering
pouches, filled now with thumb‑sized yellow fruit, and then found a place
to sit. Saalahan chided her, urging that they move deeper into the forest
before pausing to eat.
"Oh, hush, Saalahan. Set your big green
backside down somewhere and relax. This is a special place. Maybe we'll spend
another night here."
"Lazy." The big furcot sniffed. It
lumbered off into the arboreal veldt, the two younger ones following like a
pair of six‑legged green bears trailing their mother. Thanks to their
coloring, they vanished from sight almost immediately.
Looking on, it was difficult for Flinx not to
envision some sort of familial relationship existing between them. Once again
Teal insisted it just wasn't so.
Idly stroking Pip, he stared out through the curtain
of vines across the valley in the forest. "Won't we be in danger up here
without the furcots?"
"People can look after themselves without
furcots." She gestured to her son. "Dwell, sit sentry."
The boy beamed as his mother handed him the long
tube she had been carrying strapped to her back. For the first time Flinx got a
good look at the snuffier. Hewn from a special hardwood that remained green
even after curing, the tapering weapon was a deft blend of half remembered
high‑tech and determined improvisation. Keeping his fingers clear of the
hand‑tooled trigger, Dwell also took charge of a sack of gas‑filled
membranes and a quiver of poisoned darts.
Settling himself in a crook where a smaller branch
met its parent, he steadied the snuffler on his legs, stuffed one of the
globular membranes into the opening in the rear, closed the cover, and let his
gaze rove the surrounding environment. Unless something in the way of an immediate
threat manifested itself, the lethal darts would remain safely in their
protective quiver.
Thus positioned, Flinx decided, the boy looked
considerably older than his ten years.
Kiss wandered freely, studying crawlers and plants
but never straying far from the two adults or her brother. No matter how
focused she became on any object of curiosity, she always looked up to check
and evaluate her surroundings every couple of minutes.
Sitting across from Teal, Flinx watched with
interest as she removed a hand‑carved wooden disk from her backpack. It
looked as if it had been sliced whole from a benign gourd. From her water jug
she poured a small amount of liquid onto the center of the disk. Instantly it
began to swell and thicken, the sides curving upward. Once it had absorbed all
the available moisture; the result was an impermeable bowl that, when
dehydrated, could be packed flat for easier transport.
Taking the small yellow fruits from her pouch, she
carefully squeezed them over the bowl one at a time, discarding the pulp. When
she was through, she removed a small sack from her backpack and dumped the
flourlike contents in with the juice. A small mixing stick stirred the
combination to a thick paste.
When Kiss returned with a double handful of blue-black
berries, her mother added them to the mash. The result was not only visually
pleasing but smelled of a promising alien tartness.
"Now what?" asked Flinx when it seemed
that no additional ingredients were to be forthcoming.
Teal smiled. "We wait."
"For what?"
"For the sun to work its magic."
It didn't look much like magic to Flinx. As the morning
wore on she added a second species of berry, this one orange and pear‑shaped,
and more water.
Eventually the furcots returned, the young ones exhibiting
an unexpected delicacy of touch as they dumped two unbruised mouthfuls of some
heavy cream‑colored tuber on the branch. Saalahan's contribution was a
stubby‑legged two‑meter long tree‑dweller that looked like a
giant nude mink, which Teal expertly gutted and filleted.
The furcots then filled a space atop the branch with
dried wood and tinder, and the mink fillet joined the tubers in an embracing
fire. There was no fear of it spreading. Not when every centimeter of exposed
vegetation existed in a condition of permanent damp.
Flinx found the meal nourishing if without
excitement. After the first swallow, Pip downed choice bits of meat without
hesitation, though she balked at the roasted tuber. A few unbruised berries
completed her breakfast, leaving her bulging contentedly in the middle. The
fact that the flying snake was an opportunistic omnivore surprised most who
encountered her, but Teal and her children accepted the minidrag's diet
without question.
The moisture in Teal's fermenting surprise kept the
bowl hydrated and prevented it from returning to its original shape. Only when
they had finished eating did she offer it to him, eyes shining.
"Disiwin,
" she
told him, as if that explained everything.
He eyed the syrupy red‑orange liquid
dubiously. "What's it supposed to do?"
"Make you feel good. Help you to see clearly.
Drink, and forget about silly privacies." She giggled like a schoolgirl.
He wondered how he could politely refuse the local
beer or whatever it was, and decided he couldn't. Not after she had gathered
the main ingredients and brewed it herself. Mindful as he accepted the bowl of
the precipitous drop on either side of the branch, he prayed it didn't contain
a powerful hallucinogen, or if it did, that he'd retain sense enough not to
see if he could fly.
Sensing his discomfort, she reassured him.
"Don't wont', Flinx. Saalahan knows how disiwin affects persons. The
furcots will watch over us." When still he hesitated, her expression fell.
"You won't try it with me?"
"I don't know. It's just that I haven't had a
headache since I've been here. Not even a twinge." He studied the colorful
concoction. "I'd hate to induce one voluntarily."
"Headache?" She frowned. "What's
that?"
He touched various places on his head. "Pain,
throbbing aches, here and here."
Her reaction was a mixture of concern and amazement.
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"Are you telling me that your people don't get
headaches? All humans get headaches."
She shook her head guilelessly. "I don't know
what you're talking about."
He steadied himself. "Maybe after I drink some
of this stuff you will." He brought the rim of the bowl to his lips, then
lowered it slightly. "How much should I take?"
"Half. There isn't a lot."
There really wasn't. When he'd taken his share he
handed the bowl back to her, wiping his lips with the back of one hand. He
watched as she slowly, almost ceremoniously, drained the remainder of the
bowl's contents.
He felt no different. Surely a few swallows of berries,
juice, and water couldn't upset his equilibrium that much. It wasn't as if he'd
chugged a liter or two of hard liquor.
She patted the wooden surface next to her.
"Here, Flinx. Come and lie down beside me."
Wary of the children's proximity, he moved to comply.
The hard, unyielding wood beneath his spine was reassuring. Overhead, the
brilliant mottled green of the hylaea soared another hundred fifty meters to
meet the sky.
Without question the most extraordinary world he'd
ever visited, he decided. Too extraordinary to have been overlooked and
forgotten. Feeling his eyelids growing heavy, he allowed them to close.
Something like a living rainbow flashed by on wings of translucent carmine.
A sleep potion, he thought. Nothing more. Or perhaps
it affected Teal's people differently. If so, she was about to be disappointed.
He determined that a midday siesta was a fine idea.
He felt Teal take his left hand in her right and
squeeze gently. That was the extent of physical contact, allowing him to relax
even more.
A bath, he avowed silently. He was floating in a
warm bath of carbonated milk, not a muscle tensed in his body. Yellow‑green
warmth enveloped him completely, permeating his entire being. It blossomed to
encompass Teal, the branch they were lying on, and the gigantic tree beneath
whose crown they were reposing.
Billions, trillions, of individual growths paraded
in grand and leisurely procession at the edge of his awareness. Their fronds
reached out to caress him; sometimes tickling, sometimes soothing, at other
times healing wounds he hadn't known he'd had.
How, he found himself wondering in the midst of his
bath, did the bases of the great boles keep from rotting? The soil at the
surface must be saturated all the time. How deep went the dirt that formed the
top of what Teal referred to as the Lower Hell? A few meters, a dozen, a
hundred? If the latter, what colossal equivalent of earthworms probed and
prodded and turned the unimaginably productive loam? He thought he could see
them, blind and pale and wide as whales, working their way over and around
roots the size of starships.
He saw the Home‑tree with its symbiotic vines‑of-own,
now modified to accommodate the presence of people. The people of the six
tribes were there also, living and loving and, most important of all,
surviving in a place where no human was designed to survive. All living things
great and small he encountered while floating in the warm bath of himself.
Teal lay next to him, drifting but not distant. The
children were nearby, alert and watchful, understanding if not quite
comprehending. They weren't old enough, not yet. A little farther off he sensed
the comforting, slightly fuzzy mental meanderings of the furcots, attentive and
independent, and something more.
Pervading the entire surging, bloated, deeply interlocked
ocean of life was a maternal greenness that made him feel as if he were an
infant nestled once again safely against its mother's bosom. That was
remarkable because try as he sometimes did, he'd never been able to remember
her.
Here was a different kind of mother; the boundless,
globe‑girdling forest, matriarch and life‑giver to all who dwelled
within, be they the monarch of all trees or the smallest peeper clinging to the
tip of a bare branch. The furcots were a part of that, perhaps a more important
and less enigmatic part than Teal's people or anyone else suspected.
Her ancestors had bent and twisted themselves to fit
into that forest. Those who hadn't, who had fought against accommodation and
assimilation and sought to remain apart, had perished.
A stabbing pain made him wince in his sleep. It had
no physical source and it went straight through him. Not a headache, though. It
was a touch of the darkness he had experienced not so very long ago, a splinter
of that vast, amorphous evil that existed far beyond the range of any human
perception.
Except his own. Even that was not entirely valid, he
knew, since he was not wholly human, having suffered callous prenatal
modifications over which he'd had no control.
As before, it frightened him, just as it frightened
the all‑pervading greenness that cradled him. Impossible as it seemed,
there was a chance it could be dealt with, manipulated, turned aside. Even as
the bright spark bloomed in his mind it began to dissipate before he could
fully grasp it. Away it fled, into the deepest recesses of his mind. But this
time it was not lost.
He was that spark, he realized. Only he could do
battle with that incomprehensibly immense evil. Not alone, but with assistance.
With the aid of a triangle of great forces.
One flashed instantly to mind, startling him because
it had been so long since he'd thought of it. A single machine, an ancient
device left behind by a civilization clever enough to build but not to survive.
It continued to function, dormant and waiting, on a far‑distant world.
Just as he knew it, it knew him, for he had once unconsciously utilized it to
save friends. It remained resting, and Flinx knew he had not been forgotten.
Second was the greenness, expansive and eager to
help, but innocent of much of its power. Anarchic by definition, it required
another source to supply focus. Not what he was, Flinx sensed, but what he
could become.
Completing the triangle was a mind he felt he knew
but did not recognize. Greatly expanding and hugely developed, it dwelled in
ignorance of its importance to the triad. If the effort was to have any chance
of success, all three components of the triangle had to be brought together,
for a two‑sided triangle cannot stand.
The triad was a weapon, the most impressive never envisioned.
Once brought together in a harmonious whole, all that would be lacking was a
single vital component.
It was not what those well‑meaning but
misguided thinkers who had tinkered with him while he was in the womb had
intended when they had vectored his genes, but it was what had resulted.
1 am a
trigger, he realized
with stunning clarity.
A unique destiny, he realized‑‑if indeed
he was thinking. It was probably fortunate he was not, at least not in the
commonly accepted sense. The evil he would one day be forced to confront could
not be comprehended by a mere human mind, however singularly adjusted.
Terrifying and soul‑destroying enough to know
that it was preparing to move.
He thought that was the end and saw that it was not.
Because there was another device; not a component of the triangle, but one that
had been left behind on another world eons ago by a race of daring and
resourceful builders. Having sourced the location and strength of the evil and
realized they were incapable of resisting it, they had constructed a much
larger device to transport themselves to a place where not even it could
follow. And not only themselves, but their immediate neighborhood.
Flinx was shown the device, and its still
functioning consequentialities, and was left breathless and awed.
Even as this was taking place, a part of him
wondered how the greenness had come to know about it, and how it was presently
being imprinted on his own mind and soul. His wonderings were swept aside by an
overwhelming, imploring urgency.
The triad must
perforce be joined, before it vas too late.
This was something he would have to do on his own,
he saw. For while the greenness was expansive of thought, it was constrained by
what it was.
A dream, he mused. A dream of a bath of carbonated
warm milk. Nothing more than a product of his imagination, fired by the disiwin
Teal had fed him. He smiled in his bath. Disiwin‑dizzy wine. Suitable.
With the realization that one is dreaming comes inevitably
a reassessment of one's condition, followed by an urgent desire to Wake Up.
He blinked and sat erect. A smiling, contented Teal
lay next to him.
"Did you have good thoughts, Flinx? Do you feel
all right?"
"Yes. Yes, I do." Fully awake, he took in
the enveloping hylaea, the glistening arboreals, the brilliant‑hued
flowers, the vines and lianas and epiphytes and symbiotes. Each flaunting
independence, it seemed impossible they could all be tightly interconnected.
Yet there was no denying that they were, the whole unimaginably greater than
the sum of its parts. It was an analogy that could be extended further, beyond
the boundaries of any single world, to encompass entire systems, star clusters,
galaxies.
And all of it under threat.
He shook his head. That had been some dream. Why
should he think of the Kiang, in a place like this? Years ago, it had been. The
Tar‑Aiym weapon was real enough, as was the evil the Ulru‑Ujurrians
had thrust him toward. What was their place in all this? Were they the third
component of the triad? Somehow they didn't seem to fit, though he could
hardly rule them out.
What triad? It was only a dream. He rubbed his palm
along the branch, scraping skin on the rough bark. The pain was reassuring, a
sharp not‑a‑dream.
Feeling a tickle on his cheek, he glanced down to
see Pip anxiously caressing him with the end of her tongue. Smiling, he ran two
fingers down her head and neck, along her spine.
Her triangular head.
Now he was drawing absurdities out of a dream, he admonished
himself angrily. He was twenty years old. Absurd to expect him to deal with
anything more dangerous than a taloned flier or sharp‑toothed climbing
carnivore. How could he bring together forces as vast as individual world‑minds
and the ultimate product of Tar‑Aiym civilization? He had trouble enough
trying to decide if he wanted to sleep with the woman next to him!
What was the critical third component of the triad?
Damnably persistent
dream!
How many millennia before the threat made itself dangerously
proximate? Or was Time nothing more than an indifferent observer here, to be
paid off with cheap visceral
reaction and hastily cast aside? When was too late? he wondered.
When he was no longer available to participate?
He'd spend some time with Teal, he told himself.
Help her the rest of the way to her home, spend some time with her people,
study and enjoy this world, and then depart. Back to Moth, perhaps. A place he
could understand, comprehend. Or maybe Terra,
or New Riviera, worlds where
mind as well as body could find rest. Worlds that wouldn't torment him with
incomprehensible dream scenarios on a cosmic scale, that wouldn't try to fix
him with unwanted, impossible responsibilities.
Gingerly he felt his head. There was no pain, no lingering
side effects, no dreaded pounding. As was to be expected if all had been
nothing more than an elaborate dream.
If only he could forget some of it, any of it, even
a little of it.
Teal's smile had faded and she was sitting up now,
inspecting his face with concern. "Are you sure you're all right, Flinx?
You look‑strange."
"Just a dream." He forced a smile of his
own.
She responded hesitantly but hopefully. "Many
dream deep while under the influence of disiwin. Was it a good dream?"
"I don't know." He brought his knees up to
his chest. "I don't know if it was a good dream or a bad dream. All I know
for sure is that it was a big dream. Food for thought."
" ‘Food for thought,’ " she repeated. Then
she nodded knowingly. "Ah! You have had a vision. They are also a
consequence of drinking disiwin."
"I've had something,"
he told her. "I'm just not sure what."
"A vision is a blessing."
He looked at her sharply. "Believe me, I'd be
more than happy to share this one. Have you had visions, Teal?"
"Oh, yes!" Her expression turned wistful.
"Of flying, of fighting a baranop, of other people's children. What was
your vision like?"
"It's not easy to describe. It concerned
something I may‑have to do."
"Have to do? But why?"
He looked away, out over the depression in the
forest, at the fliers and gliders and brilliant‑winged inhabitants of the
canopy. "Because there may not be anyone else able to do it. I don't
particularly want to do this thing, I might very well be able to avoid doing
it, but I'm afraid I may have no choice."
"Having an important vision confers
responsibility." Shifting on the branch, she sat next to him and put her
arm around his shoulders. There was nothing sexual about it, nothing even
especially friendly. She was just holding him, trying to help even though she
didn't, couldn't, understand. It made him feel worthy in a way the disiwin
dream had not.
He couldn't linger, he knew. Not because of the
dream, but because there was something inside him that was always pulling him
on, dragging him to the next world, the next experience, the next place.
Irresistible, inexorable, it frequently led him away from comfort and ease
into danger and difficulty. It was as much a part of him as any organ, and to
him just as real.
Nor could he conceive of taking her with him. Away
from her hylaea, her all‑encompassing forest, she would be as lonely and
helpless and sorrowful as a bird‑of paradise suddenly dropped in the
muddle of a desert. True tropicals could not make friends with buzzards. The
sounds and stinks of a city would be enough to impoverish her soul.
Under the circumstances he did all he felt he could;
he put his arm around her and held her in return.
Nearby, the big furcot watched the two humans while
munching on the last of the nude mink.
"What are they doing, Saalahan?" Tuuvatem
inquired respectfully.
The great, tusked head inclined in the youngster's
direction. "Comforting one another."
"But neither is wounded," Moomadeem
pointed out.
"I know. It is a strange way of human persons.
They comfort each other even in the absence of injury. They imagine pain for
themselves, invent agonies where there is no cause."
"Why would they do that?" Tuuvatem's three
eyes were wide with innocence.
"I don't know," Saalahan replied candidly.
"It is a characteristic peculiar to human persons. No other creature does
such a thing."
"It seems wasteful," commented Moomadeem.
"I agree. I don't pretend to understand it. I'm
not sure the human persons understand it themselves. It is just a thing that
is."
"This odd new human person," Moomadeem
asked, changing the subject, "do you think he will stay with Teal and her
cubs?"
"I don't know that, either."
"Impossible," declared Tuuvatem. "He
has no furcot."
"No, but he has the pretty flying thing. The
bond between them is not unlike that between human and furcot. Similar, yet
different. Maybe it is enough."
"Perhaps where this Flinx human comes from the
human persons all have little flying creatures instead of furcots,"
Moomadeem suggested.
"Perhaps," Saalahan admitted with just a
touch of condescension.
They watched the persons for a time before Moomadeem
spoke again. "Saalahan, I know that Dwell is my human, but humans come out
of other humans. Where do we come from?"
"Me same place that gives life to everything:
from the great forest."
"I know that everything comes from the forest
originally," Moomadeem replied. "Even humans, originally. But I have
seen them born into the world, and I have learned that it takes two adult
humans to make one new one. What does it take to make a furcot, and why is a
furcot made whenever a human is born?"
"Balance," the elder explained.
"Balance is everything. Without a person a furcot dies. Without a furcot
a person may live, but never for as long, and only with great difficulty.
Without furcots I think all the persons would die out."
"And what would be the danger of that?"
Saalahan considered thoughtfully before responding.
"Perhaps it is important for the balance of the world for there to be
persons in it. Certainly they make life much more interesting."
"Yes, that's true," Moomadeem admitted.
"Dwell has never failed to amuse me with his antics, nor Kiss,
either."
"Then perhaps that is our purpose." As
Saalahan shifted its great bulk, bark was rubbed away beneath it. "To be
amused by persons and to help them survive. There are far worse kinds of
existence. You could be a panic beetle, for instance, growing inside in a tree
for years only to come forth and flash the light for a few days, frantic to
mate before death overcomes you."
"That would be a poor existence,"
Moomadeem had to admit.
"Much better to be a furcot with a person of
your very own." Saalahan turned back to the humans and the gamboling
children. "No matter how deeply this flying creature satisfies the needs
of the new person, I feel badly that he has no furcot to look after him. At
times he seems content, and at others, very troubled. I sense that he is happy
with his small companion yet unhappy within himself." A huge claw dug idly
at one nostril.
"And that, Moomadeem cub, is worse than being a
panic beetle."
Following Teal's suggestion, they ended up spending
another night safe within the spectacular surrounds of the burnt‑out
cavity in the side of the branch. That night, the rain clouds did not gather
for several hours after sunset. For the first time since he'd entered orbit,
Flinx was allowed a glimpse of the world's two large moons. As viewed from the
planet's surface, their dominance of the night sky was total.
They cast a doubled glow across the valley in the
trees, occasionally illuminating the passage of some great nocturnal predator
as it passed by on silent wings. Their pure, unsullied light revealed for the
first time the remarkable night‑blooming plants that had heretofore been
concealed by darkness and rain. Tinted a thousand shades of gray, an entirely
new and compelling vista burst forth to satisfy his hungry eyes.
Like a fistful of knives
flung at the inner canopy, a flock of sharp-spined predators slashed into the
trees. Out of many, just a few emerged victorious, only to have their catch
contested by those of their companions who had failed. Their eerie, piercing
cries echoed across the moonlit valley, fading as they covered distance in
their battle for aerial supremacy.
Several broke away to pursue a cluster of thickly feathered fruit eaters. Instead of wings, their torpedo shaped bodies were entirely surrounded by a cylindrical tube that pushed them through the air in fits and starts. Capable of phenomenal but brief bursts of speed, they plunged with much agitated squawking into the canopy in search of cover and safety.
"Quinifers.
" Teal rose on one arm to point. "They
can turn very sharply, but they have poor vision. Once, an entire flock flew
into our shaman's house. We picked them off the ground, dazed, and caressed
them until they recovered. They are not good to eat. Too many tendons and
ligaments."
Flinx's talent had chosen to take some time off, and
try as he would, he couldn't sense what she was really feeling. So he simply
nodded understanding as something with three enormous yellow eyes went flapping
past, looking like a runaway pawnshop symbol with wings. Everywhere you turned,
another zoological or botanical wonder manifested itself, fairly begging to be
classified. Once again he realized that this planet was a xenotaxonomist's
dream‑ or nightmare. He would be very much surprised if it did not
contain the most extensive and diverse biota of any world yet discovered.
He leaned back against Teal and half closed his
eyes. It was a terrible thing to be cursed with curiosity. "A vision of
responsibility," Teal had more or less called it. Try as he might, he knew
he would be unable to cast it aside.
On balance, he would far rather have had a headache.
The morning dawned clear, beautiful, and sultry, as
the last of the night‑rain dripped and coursed from the tips of leaves
and down the flanks of trees and creepers, beginning its long journey toward
the distant regions of the Lower Hell. The majority of the moisture would never
reach the surface. It would be caught and trapped along the way by expansive
bromeliads, enterprising epiphytes, aerial roots, and thirsty fauna.
The sleepy occupants of the cavity stretched and
yawned. It was Dwell who announced that he would be first to see if he could
find something fresh and surprising for breakfast. Nimble as a cat, he
scrambled over the back of a drowsy Saalahan and up over the edge of the
opening.
Still suffering from the effects of his epiphanic
vision of the day before, Flinx did his best to loosen cramped muscles as the
youngster's feet disappeared from view. A fall from the branch could have been
fatal, but he no longer worried about the children's safety. They were infinitely
more agile and confident clambering about the forest tangles than he ever would
be. For a few moments they heard Dwell rustling about atop the branch. Then his
movements grew muffled and faint.
Flinx glanced back at Teal. She was truly lovely, he
decided. Difficult to believe she had two half‑grown offspring. Trying
to assay her emotions, he found that he could not. At the moment, his
frustratingly erratic abilities were not functioning. Tomorrow likely would be
different, or tonight.
No matter. The look on her face conveyed a good
sense of what she was feeling.
Mother Mastiff would have approved of her, but then
Mother Mastiff would have approved of anyone. All that irascible old woman had
ever wanted was for her adopted son to find someone to share his life with,
settle down in one place, and be happy. Unfortunately, the older he grew the
more unlikely it seemed that there would be room in his life for any such
charmingly domestic developments. He'd been born to something else, and was
still in the process of finding out what that might be.
The shouting from above came as a surprise. Howls
and screeches, bellows and roars he would have expected, but not shouts.
"Mere he goes! ... Grab him! ... Don't let him
get away! ... The net, use the net ... !"
Teal sprang to her feet, eyes staring upward as if
they could pierce the solid wood. "I don't understand. The accents are
strange and sound like more of your kind. Skypersons." Subsumed in the
frenzy of struggle, the shouts and urgent cries were diminishing.
"Skypersons, yes," he murmured, "but
they're not relations or friends of mine." Now intensely alert, Pip hovered
protectively near his shoulder. "They're enemies."
"Enemies," Moomadeem growled softly. Claws
securing a firm grip on the wood, the young furcot swung out onto the side of
the branch.
"No, wait!" Flinx grabbed at the clipped
green fur.
Moomadeem hesitated and looked expectantly back at
Saalahan. The big furcot reached out to put a massive paw on the cub's middle
shoulder as it explained.
"Flinx speaks smart. They already have your
person. Better not to charge blindly into something we do not understand."
Teal was teetering on the edge of the cavity, trying
to see upward. "Don't hurt him! He's just a child!"
"Hey, there's a woman!" To his regret and
embarrassment, it was a voice Flinx thought he recognized.
His suspicions were quickly confirmed. "Philip
Lynx, come on out of your hole! We know you're down there."
"How'd you learn my real name?" He had to
restrain Pip from rising to the attack.
"There's a lot of information on your
shuttle," replied the voice of Jack‑Jax Coerlis. "Not
everything I'd like to know, but enough. Are you coming up?"
"There's nowhere else to go. Just don't hurt
the boy."
"Why would I want to hurt him? He's a funny looking
little savage with a nasty temper, but I don't hold that against him. I'd be on
edge myself if I had to spend much time here. Now, where there's a boy this
age, there's usually a mother, so why don't all of you come on out? You know
what's between you and me, Lynx. Hurting ignorant bystanders isn't a part of it‑so
long as you cooperate."
"There's no one else here." Flinx did his
utmost to make the declaration sound convincing.
"Don't try me, Lynx. We've been listening to
you gab down there for the last ten minutes. I know there's a woman and a girl.
I heard you talking to the woman."
Heard me, Flinx thought anxiously.
Then it struck him that Coerlis knew nothing of furcots, nor had Saalahan or
Moomadeem uttered anything above a whisper.
"Surely these people will not harm Dwell."
Teal's eyes were wide with disbelief.
"I hate to tell you this, Teal, but where I
come from there's a surplus of persons. It's not necessary to cooperate in
order to survive. Sensible and rational, yes, but not necessary. We shouldn't
take any chances. It'll be all right, you'll see. It's me they want to talk
to."
"You first, Lynx," Coerlis shouted down to
him. "We have weapons out and ready, so I suggest you put a hand on the
minidrag if you want to keep it alive."
Flinx gripped Pip just below her head, gently but
firmly. "Easy," he murmured to her. She was taut as a wire, fully
conscious of his discomfort. He whispered tautly to Saalahan. "They don't
know you're down here. Let's try to keep it that way. Can you give me a
boost?"
The big furcot nodded. Grasping Flinx around the
waist with both forepaws, it raised him effortlessly off the floor of the
cavity and lifted him outside. Glancing down, Flinx saw that the curve of the
branch concealed the heavy paws. His expression grim, he scrambled up onto the
top of the branch, heedless of the sheer drop below.
Waiting to confront him was an alien of a size and
countenance he didn't recognize. It was as massive as a furcot but not as
stocky. Its emotional state remained closed to him, but at the moment he
couldn't even read Teal.
Two of its four arms firmly pinioned a defiant
Dwell, while the others clutched a large rifle. Most ten‑year‑olds
would have been thoroughly intimidated by the Mu' Atahl, but not Dwell.
Compared to the dangers he knew and lived with every day there in the arboreal
heights, he did not find the alien particularly impressive.
For the first time since Flinx had crossed paths
with Jack‑Jax Coerlis, he saw the man smile contentedly.
"Surprised?"
"Yes and no. At your resources, not your
obsessive behavior."
"One man's obsession is another man's
fortitude."
At that moment Pip tore free of Flinx's grasp and
shot forward, taking care to aim straight at Coerlis's eyes before anyone had
time to react. As the merchant yelped, a thin stream of pressurized venom
gleamed in the yellow green light.
Shifting the heavy weapon he held, Chaa fired. Dilating
as it emerged from the special gun, the weighted net englobed Pip and carried
the flying snake to the ground. Eyes burning, she lay there beneath the
composite netting, flopping and flapping furiously against the restraint,
unable to rise.
Flinx started toward the imprisoned minidrag.
"You could've killed her!"
"Hold it there, sonny. Remember me?" A
grinning Peeler had his pistol pointed directly at Flinx's chest.
Flinx spared the man a glance. "Yes. I remember
you. Where's your associate?"
Peeler's grin evaporated. "Dead. Some little
crawling things got him. No," he corrected himself, "this planet got
him. But it won't get me, and now we've got you." Keeping his pistol
trained on Flinx, he walked over and roughly removed the younger man's equipment
belt.
"Aimee." Holding his pistol in one hand,
Coerlis used a special industrial cloth to wipe the viscous venom from his
protective flip‑down face shield. "The minidrag."
An attractive blond woman carrying a gray mesh sack
advanced to the spraddled net and its incensed captive. In addition to
chameleon suit and helmet with face shield, she wore heavy gloves designed for
handling powerful solvents and chemicals.
"I wouldn't do that," Flinx warned her.
She glared back at him. "You don't look
threatening. Mr. Coerlis said as much." Crouching, she worked the open
mouth of the sack forward beneath the netting. With a hiss, Pip fired a burst
of venom in her direction. It struck the face guard and she flinched.
Coerlis frowned. "You okay, Aimee? Any of the poison
get under your shield?"
"N‑No," she muttered. "Jack‑Jax,
I‑I'm not doing so good. Maybe you should have someone else do
this."
"If the poison didn't penetrate the shield then
there's nothing wrong. Everyone else is busy. Get on with it."
"R‑R‑Right. Feeling a little better
now."
She continued to work the sack forward along the
wood until the flying snake was trapped against a fold of netting. A quick
shove, a twist, and Pip was caught up in the bag. The minidrag thrashed about
furiously, but the uncommon weave was immune to the effects of the normally
corrosive venom. The confident engineer straightened and secured the sack with
a flexible slip tie.
"Clot it!"
Coerlis removed his helmet and face shield. In the
heat and humidity the military headgear couldn't be tolerated for long, but it
had more than served its intended purpose. His companions did likewise,
stowing the collapsible helmets in appropriate belt pouches.
As Coerlis was packing his away he noticed Flinx
watching him. "Special lenses. After what happened on Samstead you didn't
think I'd come all this way without making suitable preparations, did
you?" When Flinx didn't respond he glanced over at his engineer.
"Aimee, are we all secure?"
"In a minute." She carefully slid the sack
containing the minidrag into another, heavier bag. "All set."
As if everything that had happened already wasn't
enough, a dull pounding had started at the back of Flinx's head.
"You can't take her. We've been together since
I was a child!"
Coerlis was singularly unimpressed. "'Then I'd
say it was time to grow up. Besides, in a little while it won't matter to you
anyway." Even though he feared only the flying snake, he kept the muzzle
of his weapon pointed at Flinx's chest.
"You can't kill me. There's something I have to
do. It's important to everyone. Me, you, the entire Commonwealth."
"There's nothing you can have to do that's
important to anyone," the cocksure CoerIis corrected him. "Not anymore.
All that matters now is what's important to me."
Flinx didn't try to argue. How could he explain the
substance of his dreaming to someone like Jack‑Jax Coerlis? For that
matter, how could he explain it to anyone?
"All right. Let's get it over with." He
started down the branch.
"What's your hurry?" A hint of a smile
cracked Coerlis's expression. "Did you think I'd forgotten that you're
not alone?"
Flinx's stare was so intense the disconcerted
Coerlis found himself looking away without knowing why. "You said you
wouldn't harm them. Why not just let the boy go and leave it at that?"
"When I'm ready." The merchant moved to
the edge of the branch and leaned out. Flinx tensed. "You down there! Come
on up, now."
Flinx could only look on helplessly as first Kiss
and then Teal climbed up to join him. Their captor studied them dispassionately.
"You're a pretty little thing, aren't
you?" Coerlis's eyes started with Teal's hair and worked their way downward.
"Except that you've got feet like a chimp." Flinx's lips tightened,
but Teal didn't react. Knowing nothing of chimps or their physiological
peculiarities, she wasn't insulted. Come to think of it, Flinx decided, if she
had known, she might have been flattered by the comparison.
"You've seen them. Now let them go.
Please." Flinx nodded toward Dwell.
Ignoring him as if he was already dead, Coerlis
walked a slow circle around Teal and Kiss. "Very pretty. There shouldn't
be natives here. Aimee?"
The engineer could only shrug. "According to
the charts, there shouldn't be a planet here. So why not natives as
well?" She blinked and shook her head sharply, as if something small,
super fast, and loud had abruptly buzzed her ears.
"Quite a world, this is." Standing on the
edge of the branch, the merchant gazed at the spectacular vista presented by
the sunken valley in the trees. "Rife with commercial prospects, if a
little on the nasty side. Unlimited quantity of exotic wood products,
boundless pharmaceutical potential, the pet trade, who knows what else? Take a
fully equipped expedition just to begin basic cataloging."
Teal leaned toward Flinx. "What is the
unpleasant skyperson talking about?"
"He's the type of individual who's not happy
just being in the world. He has to possess it."
She frowned. "No one can possess the world. It
belongs to everyone, just as everyone belongs to it."
"Some skypersons think otherwise."
"Try to possess the world and it will kill
you," she deposed knowingly.
Coerlis overheard. "It's sure killed some of
us." The way he said it made him sound as if he was referring to a couple
of pieces of especially valuable office equipment. "But I'm still here,
along with a few of my friends, and we've learned the hard lessons. From now on
it's we who'll do the possessing." He put a finger under Teal's chin.
"Knowing, however, that the overconfident tend to die young, I'm going to
rely on you to lead the way back. We'll choose the route and you can show us
what to avoid."
"Then when we reach the landing site you'll let
them go?" It took a tremendous effort of will on Flinx's part to keep from
jumping Coerlis as the merchant continued to finger Teal. She remained
motionless, ignoring the attention stoically.
Captor glanced back at his quarry. "Why not? I
don't kill for fun, you know. I have to have a good reason." He nodded at
Dwell. "I don't want him. Or her," he added, glancing down at where
Kiss stood clinging wide‑eyed to her mother's leg.
"Why should I bother with them? As the
discoverer, or rediscoverer, of this world, I'm entitled to first exploitation
rights as soon as it's been appropriately registered and classified."
"Who're you trying to fool?" Flinx
retorted evenly. "You know as well as I that if anyone has rights here,
it's these people. Their claim supersedes yours by an order magnitude."
Having already reached his daily limit, Coerlis
didn’t smile again. "There are always ways and means of dealing with such
awkwardness. A word in the right hearing organ, a financial contribution with
the decimal point in the right place, both can work wonders with the
bureaucracy. With a whole new planet to develop, I'm not concerned. I don't
have to control it all." His eyes glittered
"That gives me an idea. I might just take the
woman and kids back with one. It's their lost birthright, and t anthropologists
would be fascinated."
"You can't take them off this world. Their lives
are to tightly entwined with their surroundings."
"So now you're an anthropologist, too."
Coerlis was enjoying himself. "So many talents in such an unprepossessing
body!"
You have no idea, Flinx thought coldly, wishing on
particular talent would reassert itself.
"I'm sure the children would find the interior
of a starship fascinating. As for the mother," he leered objectionably at
Teal, "I'm sure we can find all manner of ways to keep her entertained.
Dazzle her with the products modern Commonwealth technology, for instance,
demonstrated by myself."
"Your charm's certain to overwhelm her,"
Flinx concurred sardonically.
"To be sure. I'm really a very nice person,
when I' getting my way."
Flinx felt the pressure continue to build at the
back his skull. If the situation didn't improve, something was likely to
happen. What that might be, he didn't know himself. His singular talents had
saved him before, firs on Moth and later on Longtunnel. Each salvation had come
at a cost. Part of that cost was lack of control. He'd much prefer to resolve
the present situation without losing that control, but he didn't have the
vaguest notion how to begin.
Patience, he told himself. Coerlis had said nothing
about killing him outright. If he persisted he might still convince the young
merchant to let Teal and the children go. Then if he lost control, he'd be
responsible only for whatever happened to himself. It was a long ways back to
the barren mountaintop and the shuttles.
Also, there was Pip's fate to consider. It was the
first time he'd ever seen the minidrag reduced to helplessness. Better to know
exactly where he stood before he tried anything.
"What about me?"
Coerlis replied pretty much as expected. "Oh,
you won't be going back. I'm not sure whether to kill you right here or just
leave you. I like the idea of abandoning you to the local life forms. Their
killing methods are much more inventive than anything I could come up with. But
if I do that, some other happy tribes folk might find you and keep you alive. I
don't like the idea of you being around, even in pelt and loincloth, to welcome
the first survey expedition. They would want to ask you questions." He
looked thoughtful.
"I've given some thought to cutting one or both
of your Achilles tendons. Unable to walk or climb, I don't think you'd last
very long here."
"We're not going with you."
Flinx threw Teal a warning look, but she was
defiant.
"You'll never make it back to your `shuttle.'
The forest will see to that."
“0h, I think we'll manage. Admittedly we've suffered
some casualties, but the rest of us have made it this far.
With what we've learned and with you to take the
lead, I think we'll be all right."
Teal shook her head slowly from side to side.
"It makes no difference. You don't know how to walk, where or how to place
each foot. You don't know how to look, or listen. You don't know when to not
breathe. You don't know how to emfol. You're ignorant, as ignorant as Flinx
when first I met him several days ago. Worse than that, you're arrogant.
Arrogance will kill a person here quicker even than ignorance."
"That's why I'm going to rely on you to tell us
when and how to do all the right things." Coerlis waved his pistol.
"I know that you'll do your best to keep us alive."
"It doesn't matter," she replied
passively. "I can only give so many warnings, can only do so much. There
are certain shortcomings I can try to compensate for. But I can do nothing
about your attitude. For example, one of you is already dead."
Nothing Flinx or Teal had said thus far had had any
visible affect on Coerlis, but that jolted him. Flinx knew it was so even
though their captor's expression had remained unchanged, because his talent
chose that moment to spring back to life. He'd sensed the wariness blossoming
like a storm cloud in the merchant's mind.
Quickly he shifted his perception, assessing the emotional
state of each of Coerlis's minions. Peeler standing bold, but nervous and
fearful inside; the female engineer holding her ground but troubled by some
unspecified physical distress; the powerful alien calm and analytical as Dwell
wriggled in his grasp.
"What are you nattering on about, midget?"
Coerlis saw uncertainty taking root in the expressions of Peeler and Aimee.
"We're not in any danger. The minidrag isn't a factor, and without it
neither is this skinny twit. Are you afraid of the woman and a couple of
kids?" He stalked over to Teal. Kiss clung tightly to her mother, her eyes
following the threatening skyperson's every move.
"There's only one of us here who's `already
dead,' and that's the geek over there." He gestured in Flinx's direction
as he directed his words to Teal. "I still think you're pretty, but I can
be fickle. Don't force me into any disagreeable reevaluations." He nudged
her cleavage with the muzzle of his pistol.
Teal met his gaze evenly. "The one who is
already dead is over there." A startled Flinx evaluated her emotional
state and knew this to be true.
Then she pointed at Aimee.
The color drained from the engineer's face.
"What's she talking about, Jack‑Jax? Make her shut up. Make her take
it back!"
Coerlis's lip curled in disgust. "Get ahold of
yourself, Aimee. There's nothing the matter with any of us."
"I'm still not feeling well."
"None of us are. Have you taken anything
yet?"
She looked past him. "N‑No. It comes and
goes. I thought it would go away."
"Then what do you expect?" He turned to
the Mu'Atahl. "You don't have to hold the kid anymore, Chaa. He's not
going anywhere. Break out the big medkit and pull her a max dose of general
antibio." His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked back at his engineer.
"Should've done it yesterday."
The Mu'Atahl acknowledged in his own fashion and
released Dwell, who ran immediately to stand protectively next to his mother.
Twisting his sauropodian neck, the big alien began to unfasten a portion of the
rain shedder that covered the large pack strapped to his back.
"It will do you no good." Teal was quietly
adamant. "It's the cristif."
Aimee blinked at her. "The what?" A
worried Flinx tracked the wavering arcs of the engineer's pistol. She could
panic at. any time and start shooting.
Teal was adamant. "The cristif. In your
hair."
The other woman reached up to feel the bouquet of
glittering, gemlike flowers. "Is that all you're talking about? The
flowers I'm wearing?" Her expression wavered between relief and
uncertainty.
"You do not wear the cristif." Teal's tone
was solemn. "The cristif wears you."
"I don't know what you're bab‑" The
engineer staggered suddenly, her extremities going limp. The needler she'd
been swinging carelessly about fell to the ground. Flinx winced when it struck
the branch but the weapon didn't go off.
Coerlis took a step toward her, stopped.
"Aimee! What the hell?"
A blank look on her face, she turned to reply. As
she did so, half a dozen wire‑thin white filaments emerged from her
mouth, wiggling like blind worms. Her gaze fell and the most complete look of
horror Flinx had ever seen on another human being's face froze into her
expression. Trying to say something, she gagged on the filaments.
Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she
crumpled.
While a shocked Coerlis and Peeler watched, unable
to react, not knowing how to respond, the filaments pushed farther from the
unconscious engineer's mouth, creeping along the surface of the wood. Bulging
in a dozen places, her chameleon suit burst forth with dozens, hundreds, of the
writhing, twisting tendrils. They exploded from her thighs and shoulders, her
neck and chest, belly and pelvis.
Flinx's first thought was that she had been infected
by some kind of communal parasitic nematode, but he soon saw that the
infestation had a much simpler and more direct source. The exquisitely
beautiful cristif bouquet was the blossoming portion of something that was part
fungus, part flower, and part something new to Commonwealth botanical
science. The woman had unknowingly entwined the seeds of her own destruction in
her blond curls, where they had found root. And nourishment. Having spread
undetected throughout her body, the developing mycelium of what was possibly
an endomorphic mycorrhiza had finally fruited.
The active motile spawn formed a pale white sheath
around the twitching body, the pointed tips digging into the surface of the
branch as they secured the fertilizing corpse firmly to the wood. Once the body
of the unlucky woman had been pinioned in place by hundreds of throbbing white
cords, several of the pale filaments began to swell.
Moments
later the darkening, taut skin of the tendrils burst, and the engineer's body
lay abloom with the breathtaking radiance of newly blossoming cristif. Deftly
turning toward the available light, the gold and crystal blooms enveloped the
dead woman in a delicate casket of rainbows. Petals of crimson and gold, azure
and purple, flared from her eye sockets. Eventually, Flinx suspected, the
remains of the engineer would be thoroughly consumed, leaving behind only the
dire wonder of the flowers.
"Beautiful
to look at, dangerous to hold," Teal quietly informed the shocked silence.
"That is the sort of thing that will happen to all of you if you stay
here."
"No!" blurted Coerlis. Behind his
defiance, Flinx could feel the fear in the other man's mind. Though the
Mu'Atahl remained calm and his emotional state was more difficult to read, even
he was obviously upset by the malevolent miracle of reproduction they'd just
witnessed.
Taking a step forward, the merchant grabbed Teal by
the neck. Dwell started to react, but his mother waved him off.
"Nothing like that is going to happen to the
rest of us because you're going to show us what to avoid as well as what path
to take. And if anything, anything at all, happens to one more of us, I'm going
to hold you personally responsible. Not that I'll do anything to you, oh no.
We need you." He scowled meaningfully at Dwell. "The children, on the
other hand, are expendable. Do we understand one another?" He released her
neck and stepped back.
Nodding slowly, she reached up to feel the imprints
his fingers had left on her skin. Her eyes burned into his.
The corners of Coerlis's mouth curled slightly
upward. "That's okay, I don't mind you hating me. I'm used to it. Just pay
attention to where we're going and help us get safely back to our ship, and you
can hate me all you like." He stepped aside and gestured with his needler.
"You go first. Peeler, stick close to her. And
pick up that bag." He indicated the double sack that contained the
confined Pip.
The bodyguard eyed it unhappily. "Why me, Mr.
Coerlis? I mean‑"
The merchant lowered his voice dangerously.
"Just do it." Reluctantly, Peeler slung the heavy mesh over his
shoulder and fell into place alongside the much smaller woman.
Coerlis smiled humorlessly down at Dwell and Kiss.
"You kids stay next to me. I know you want to keep close to your ma, and
that's exactly what I plan to do. Chaa, you bring up the rear, as always."
The Mu'Atahl responded with a curt gesture of acknowledgment.
"First sign of any tricks, first nub of an
excuse," Coerlis informed Teal as he lazily waved the muzzle of his
pistol in the children's direction, "and I'll kill the girl first. You
understand? I'll fry her pretty little head."
His eyes were wild and Flinx could sense the first
hints of a complete loss of control. Hopefully that wouldn't happen. He knew
from experience that it was impossible to reason with someone who had gone over
the edge.
"Where do you want me?"
Coerlis raised the needler and smiled. "Want
you? Our mutual business is finished."
Trying to stall, Flinx gestured toward the sack.
"You got what you wanted. Now you owe me."
"I owe you?" The merchant shook his
head slowly. "Oh, very well. How does ten thousand credits sound?"
When Flinx didn't reply, Coerlis used the fingers of his free hand to tick off
a long list of expenses.
"Cost of tracking your ship, loss of business
time on Samstead while I was forced to deal with this, loss of four valued
employees; I'd say that at this point you owe me, Lynx. One or two million
credits should do it."
"I can cover that," Flinx replied quietly, "but as you may have noticed, adequate banking facilities are somewhat sparsely situated hereabouts."
It was an uncertain Coerlis who returned Flinx's
stare. "I'm damned if I can tell whether you're lying or not. Not that it
matters. Since you can't pay up on the spot, which is how I usually require
payment, I'll have to obtain satisfaction in some other fashion." He
gestured stiffly with the needler. "Step over to the edge."
Flinx moved slowly. "You're going to shoot
me."
The merchant shrugged apathetically. "Why waste
a charge? The fall should be sufficient. Unless you can fly, like your ex‑pet.
Can you fly, Philip Lynx? Do you think you'll bounce when you hit the first
branch, or just lie there, smashed and moaning?" Keeping his needier aimed
at his nemesis, he edged over the rim and leaned out to study the drop..
"Yeah, this should do it. If you're lucky,
you'll break your neck. If you're not, you'll fetch up somewhere down there
broken and crippled. I don't think it'll take long for an opportunistic
representative of the local fauna to find you. Maybe it'll have the grace to
finish you off before it starts eating." He was quite pleased with himself.
"Much better than shooting you." He waved the pistol.
"Over you go, Lynx! You can step off, take a
running start, do a flip if you like. Why not jump into the spirit of things,
so to speak, and try to make your last moments entertaining?" When Flinx
hesitated, the other man's face darkened. "You've got thirty seconds. Then
I'll shoot you in both knees and have Chaa throw you over. Who knows? Maybe
you'll land in a soft place and can crawl all the way back to your shuttle. But
somehow I don't think so."
Out of ideas and options, Flinx steadied himself. He
was fast, but not as fast as a needler. Maybe he could catch a strong liana on
the way down, break or slow his fall. He took a deep breath. The worst part of
it all was that he could sense the pleasure Coerlis was experiencing.
Then he frowned. Suddenly he could sense the emotional
presence of others besides those already accounted for. It made no sense. He
wished for tithe to analyze what he was sensing, but mindful of Coerlis's
warning, he knew there was no time. It puzzled him as he started forward,
wondering what he would feel next.
It was safe to say that neither he nor anyone else
expected Coerlis's skull to explode like a ripe melon.
The headless body stood swaying for a moment, blood
fountaining from the raw stump of a neck. As quivering fingers contracted
reflexively on the needler's trigger, Flinx dove for the ground, screaming for
Teal and the children to do likewise. The single bolt seared open sky, and a
severed branch or two tumbled downward. Then the decapitated corpse crumpled
forward belly first. Coerlis hadn't even had time enough to look surprised.
The Mu'Athal whirled and simultaneously unlimbered
its heavy rifle, but it never had the opportunity to return fire. The attackers
were well hidden within the dense greenery. Multiple shots from both projectile
and energy weapons blew the rifle out of the big alien's four hands before
bringing him to his knees. A last shot inflicted a blackened streak on the long
snout before terminating in a neat, round hole in the exact center of the
sloping forehead. With nary a sigh, the powerful alien rolled over on its left
side and expired. Equipment spilled from its capacious backpack, tumbling out
onto the branch.
Firing wildly into the verdure, Peeler flung the
sack containing Pip aside and raced desperately down the branch. Shots tracked
his flight, missing the frantic, agile human. Flinx lifted his head slightly to
watch. If Peeler could escape the immediate ambush, and if he carried a
positioner of his own, it was conceivable he might make his way back to the
landing site.
At that point the bodyguard missed a step, flailed
madly, desperately, to regain his balance, and went plunging off the side of
the branch.
A long time passed before his screams were cut off
by the first crack of snapping branches. The sounds continued, rapidly
diminishing in volume, for nearly a minute, fading into the distance rather
than ceasing entirely. For all he knew, Flinx mused as he rose to his feet,
Peeler was still falling.
"That's what I call a timely
interruption." A glance showed that Teal and the children were unhurt.
Around them the wall of green remained unbroken. "Come on out so we can
thank you!"
"Thank us?" The accent was clipped, the
tone dry and rasping. "I suppose you would."
Why, Flinx wondered, should that surprise the unseen
speaker? Without the intervention, he would most probably now be lying
somewhere far below, badly injured and possibly dead. The unexpected arrival
had saved his life and probably that of Teal and her offspring as well.
Making his way forward, he passed first the headless
cadaver of Jack‑Jax Coerlis and then the wholly enflowered body of the
luckless engineer. Hastily abandoned by Peeler, the mesh sack stirred as Pip
sensed her master's approach.
"Easy, girl," he murmured as he started to
kneel. "I'll have you out of there in a second." He reached for the
tie that secured the opening.
A voice stopped him. "Please do riot do that. I
believe it would be best if your remarkable pet remained where she is."
Figures began to emerge from the greenery. Two descended
from above on swing climbers, reeling in the portable devices as soon as they
reached the branch. All wore camouflaged ecosuits.
None were human.
His insides went cold. The source of the peculiar
emotions he'd only recently detected was now evident. They were not wholly
alien to him, but he hadn't encountered their like in some time.
Teal and the children gathered around him.
"What are those?" Dwell's
curiosity overcame his fear. "They walk like persons, but they don't look
like persons."
"They're a different kind of person."
Flinx moved to position himself between the new arrivals and the family.
"Very different." Within the sack at his feet, Pip was stirring
anxiously. Even if she could be freed in time, he knew that if they tried to
run, he and Teal and the children would be shot down where they stood before
the minidrag could do anything to help them.
He counted seven, eight, eleven in the party as they
emerged from the greenery, and there was no guarantee a dozen more weren't
keeping under cover. Not even Pip could deal with so many trained, heavily
armed assailants. Furthermore, these weren't a young merchant and his hired
bodyguards. They were professionals, and comported themselves as such. For the
moment, his pet was safer in the sack, where her instinctive desire to protect
her master couldn't get her killed.
All of them wore dark goggles and bore sleek packs
and weapons. Even had they been alerted to the presence of such as these, Flinx
knew that Coerlis and his companions wouldn't have stood a chance against
them.
He thought rapidly. Their unexpected saviors hadn't
revealed themselves until Coerlis had moved to finish off his quarry. That
suggested they wanted him alive. He had no difficulty resigning himself to his
new status‑it certainly beat lying broken and shattered on a branch
fifty meters below.
But what did they want with him, and what were they
doing here? Certainly altruism had nothing to do with it. Altruism was a
concept alien to the AAnn.
It had been some time since he'd had to deal with
any of the noble servants of the AAnn Empire, an interstellar alliance second
in scope and power only to the Commonwealth, whose might the AAnn probed with
circumspect relentlessness. Bribing, cajoling, occasionally making war and then
retreating, the AAnn sought continuously for signs of weakness, taking
advantage whenever possible, relinquishing when overmatched.
His last encounter with them had been on Ulru‑Ujurr,
where the loyal but avaricious servants of the Emperor had busied themselves
stealing the planet surface riches without ever learning of the far greater
wealth inherent within the amusing, dangerous, comical, extraordinary dominant
native species. Only Flinx had penetrated the secrets of the Ulru‑Ujurrians
and become their friend. Or at the very least, a curious component in their
Great Game. In return, they had included him in their amusements and assisted
his mind in reaching further than it would ever have been able to reach on its
own.
He wished a few of them were here now.
As several of the soldiers slid their goggles up on
their high, scaly foreheads, Kiss pointed to the individual in front.
"See, Mother? Isn't it funny‑looking? Like a prindeletch without the
right number of eyes and legs!"
Teal put a reassuring arm around her daughter's
shoulders. "Hush now, Kiss, until we know what they want."
She was watching Flinx closely, trying to read his
body language.
The reptiloid halted. It was unusually tall for one
of its tailed, armored kind, able to scrutinize Flinx eye‑to‑eye.
Slitted yellow eye to round green one. Flinx stared back without flinching,
knowing that to look away would be taken as a sign of weakness.
What he saw was a tapering, scaly snout full of
short, sharp teeth. The officer was clad in a green camouflage suit complete
with skintight tail sock. Both clawed feet were shod in special webbed grip‑boots
that greatly enhanced the wearer's footing without reducing flexibility. A
long‑muzzled sidearm showed prominently on the well‑made equipment
belt. While the other soldiers wore contoured jungle bodypacks, the tall
officer was not similarly burdened. One neatly manicured hand lifted the thick
goggles from its face. Like a counterweight, the tail switched reflexively back
and forth.
Empire soldiers, all of them, Flinx saw. He counted
eleven, could sense none hiding back in the trees. Not that he intended to rely
on that estimate. Not given the way his abilities had been functioning lately.
Or not functioning.
Coerlis and his people had never had a chance. This
was not some wandering exploration team. Judging from the efficiency and
forethought with which they'd been equipped, Flinx didn't think they'd stumbled
across this world by accident. Certainly their locating and subsequent
ambushing of Coerlis and his party had been no coincidence, nor was the fact
that he himself had been spared. They had arrived in search of something
specific, and were prepared to fight for it. Now that the fight was over, he
wondered what they were after. Watching the officer, Flinx felt certain he was
about to find out.
Flinx indicated Coerlis's corpse. "If I didn't
know your kind better, I would thank you." The AAnn appreciated candor.
"Having no way of knowing what you have been
saved for, your ambivalence is understandable." The officer's symbospeech
was nearly perfect, with nary a hint of the usual hiss that normally harshed
their attempts to enunciate the lingua franca of the Commonwealth.
Flinx deliberately looked past him, managing by
means of his visual inclination and concurrent verbal comment to simultaneously
magnify and minimize the officer's importance.
"I would've expected there to be more of
you."
The AAnn responded with a gesture indicative of
third‑degree appreciation for Flinx's tactfulness, with overtones of
sadness and loss.
"There were twelve soldiers with me. One was
carried off by something that dropped down on him from above, swept him off the
branch we were traversing, and carried him away into the depths before we could
react and fire. His cries linger still in our minds. The other stepped on a
rotten, shallow place and fell through, to land in the center of a large
growth not far below. Though we rushed to his assistance, by the time we could
reach him, his nether regions had been consumed up to the hips.
"There are two medics with me, and he might
have lived, but we complied with his traditional desire to die with his spirit
intact. I administered the injection myself, as I am bound to do." A
vertical flick of the tail emotionally underscored the painful memory. The
AAnn tended to express emotion through gesture instead of speech.
"Given the immoderate hazards this world
presents, I consider it fortunate to have lost only two in catching up to you,
Philip Lynx."
So it was him they were after, Flinx decided. He
could suspect several reasons for their interest in him but refrained from
mentioning any. There was a to‑be‑hoped-for chance he might be
wrong.
The officer performed an elaborate, sweeping gesture
with both hands and tail that was meant to be all-encompassing. "A most
remarkable biosphere, do you not agree?"
"Considering what you've been through, I
wouldn't think you'd be in any hurry to admire it."
The officer responded with a series of incongruously
high‑pitched cheeping sounds, a form of laughter among his kind. The AAnn
had a deep appreciation of irony and sarcasm.
"Your observation is warranted, Philip Lynx. As
you may know, we prefer dry, less heavily vegetated Surroundings. Even with
the use of appropriate climatologic gear, the humidity taxes my troops. Unlike
your own, our purgatory is a damp place." He executed an intricate hand
salute, appropriately adjusted for the fact that those to whom he was speaking
were neither of noble lineage nor military bearing.
"I am Lord Caavax LYD, honored and enshrined
servant of his most Revered and Shining Illustriousness, the Emperor Mock
VI."
"You seem to know who I am." Flinx nodded
in the direction of Teal and the children. "These are my friends."
Lord Caavax's eyes passed over them as though they
didn't exist. "Yet another offshoot or subspecies of your regrettably
fertile kind." His tone was cool, correct, and devoid of overt animosity.
"We have been trying to catch up with you for some time." Turning
slightly, he gestured to where a trio of soldiers were rummaging through
Coerlis's effects. Several others were examining the unlucky engineer's mycelium‑encrusted
carcass, careful not to touch.
"It appears we were not the only ones. Do you
have a lot of enemies?"
"I seem to have lately," Flinx replied
readily.
The AAnn did not smile, but the noble did his best
to make his captive feel at ease. "I am not your enemy."
Flinx smiled back, knowing the AAnn would recognize
the expression. At the same time, he could sense the antipathy and revulsion
that dominated the alien's emotions. Of all the members of the human species,
the only one Lord Caavax could not hide his true feelings from was standing
before him.
Flinx kept his voice fiat. "Are you trying to
tell me that you're my friend?"
"Let me put it this way: it would distress me
greatly if I were to have to kill you. Surely you can appreciate the benefit of
that?"
"I'm overcome with affection," Flinx
replied dryly. He gestured at Coerlis. "What intrigues me is that you
didn't want him to kill me, either."
"Certainly not! By all the rules of rational
etiquette, you should be kneeling at my feet in gratefulness, but as you are
human I do not expect you to act in a civilized manner. Among your kind,
heartfelt gratitude is a cheap commodity to be bartered and traded like
salt."
"You'll have to excuse me." Flinx
maintained his inflexible smile. "I would kneel, but I have a bad back.
So you don't wish me dead?"
"On the contrary, we are strongly desirous of
perpetuating you in a state of healthy existence." White teeth flashed.
"And my friends?" He jerked his head in
Teal's direction.
Lord Caavax responded with a gesture of second‑level
indifference tempered by third‑degree curiosity. "Ssissist.
Their future is yet to be decided. If they are important to you, then they
become by inference of mild interest to us."
Flinx folded his arms. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing here? And why the interest in me?" He struggled to monitor the noble's emotions closely.
The AAnn considered at length before replying.
"I was not ordered to withhold the information from you, Philip Lynx.
Several visits to a proscribed world within the illegally declaimed borders of
the Commonwealth were made by another of the Noble House several years ago. A
distant relation of mine by marriage, actually. He was a participant in a since
terminated mining venture there. You are familiar, I believe, with the
properties of Janus jewels?"
A startled Flinx remembered. The aristocrat continued.
"More recently there were interesting
developments on a Commonwealth world by the name of Longtunnel. According to
the file we have developed for you, pssissin, you recently graced both
worlds with your presence."
"Your agents are very good," Flinx conceded.
"They have to be, the Commonwealth being so
much larger and more powerful than the Empire. For now." Yellow eyes
glittered.
Here it comes, Flinx thought as he
prepared possible explanations, excuses, and evasions. But how had they found
out about him? How had they come to learn of his unique talent? What did they
know about him from their observations of what had happened on Ulru‑Ujurr
years ago and on Longtunnel comparatively recently?
The noble performed a gesture indicative of first
degree interest and admiration. "You travel aboard a most remarkable
vessel, Lynx‑sir. Most remarkable."
So that was it! Fighting to conceal his relief,
Flinx forced himself to relax. This wasn't about his distorted genetic
background, about what the outlawed Meliorares had done to his nervous system
prior to his birth. It wasn't about his carefully concealed abilities at all.
It was the Teacher they were after.
Initially relieved, he had to remind himself that
this revelation did nothing to enhance prospects for imminent freedom. With Pip
still trapped in Coerlis's infernal catch sack, he and Teal and the children
weren't about to disarm and disable nearly a dozen highly trained AAnn
soldiers.
The situation had changed, but whether for better or
worse it was too early to tell. Lord Caavax was nonhuman, representative of a
species that was a traditional rival of humanxkind. On the other hand, unlike
Coerlis, he was rational and might be swayed or influenced by logical
argument. Better to contest with a rational alien than an obsessed human.
To do that, he needed to learn as much about Caavax
and his backup as possible. Casual conversation was always a useful way to begin.
"Did you arrive via shuttle? If so, it must be
getting awfully crowded on that mountaintop."
"There was only just enough room," the
noble replied. "Landing required much delicate maneuvering. You will
understand also a desire on our part not to upset or interfere with the
situation we found you in until we were able to ascertain the details. We have
managed."
"Why the intense interest in my ship?"
"Pssussk. You are making jovial. We have
reports that it is capable of achieving planetfall, a feat practically but not
theoretically impossible for any KK‑drive craft. If the reports are
accurate, it would seem that you or some others you have had contact with have
effectively resolved the theoretical contradictions. Even making allowance
for your youth, I do not thinly I need to explain the interest those of a
military bent would have in such a scientific breakthrough.
"Yet our information also suggests that this is
a discovery you have kept to yourself and not revealed to anyone who is of
the Commonwealth. This is something of a puzzle to us, but one that I assure
you we will do our utmost to preserve."
"The ship was a gift." Flinx tried to
impart the attitude of one for whom the matter was of little import. "A
present. For that and other reasons, I've decided not to reveal its
capabilities at this time."
Clearly Lord Caavax did not understand. "But it
would give your people a significant military advantage over the forces of the
Empire."
Flinx's response expressed confidence rather than
military expertise. "The Commonwealth can handle the Empire just fine the
way things are. Sure, having ships equipped with drives the equal of the Teacher's would give an advantage, but it would only be a temporary
one."
"Why temporary?" Slitted pupils dilated.
"Because I know how good your agents are, remember? Sooner or later they'd manage to bribe, steal, or cajole their way into possession of the necessary information. Soon Empire ships with similar capabilities would be plying nullspace. That would make the military on both sides happy, but only increase the misery of impacted noncombatants. The balance of power would be restored but the potential for destruction increased. So I prefer to keep the secret to myself.
"For one thing, unlike some humans and thranx,
I have nothing against your kind. As far as I'm concerned, the issues that
inspired historical conflict are as dead as those who disputed them."
The noble twisted in a manner suggestive of second degree
understanding seamlessly infused with first degree disagreement.
"A very self‑centered explication, and
therefore also very human. It remains, however, that I am bound by different
cultural paradigms. The Empire wants the secret of your drive because it
promises advantage. It is the essence of AAnness to seek advantage. Therefore I
am afraid that your youthful idealism will have to be set aside should you wish
to preserve your continued good health."
"I can't help you," Flinx replied tartly.
"I'm not an engineer or physicist. I have no idea how the Teacher's drive operates or how it
sidesteps the Kurita‑Kinoshita equations, or whatever the AAnn equivalent
is."
"Ssissi. You needn't worry about that.
On board my vessel are many who are competent to analyze the workings of your
drive. But as you know, your craft is programmed to defend itself against
unauthorized intrusion."
Flinx worked to suppress a genuine smile. "You tried to board her."
"Obviously. Otherwise there would be no need
for me to be standing here in these infernal, oppressive surroundings trying
to reason with you. We simply would have put a crew aboard your vessel and
departed quietly."
"Leaving me stranded here."
Once again the essence of a smile was visible only
as a portion of the noble's emotions. "You have friends. You would have
survived." He indicated Coerlis's body. "I offer you more than what
your fellow human was willing to allow.
"While the weaponry mounted on your vessel is
no match for that aboard my own, we were of course constrained from firing by
our desire to obtain your craft intact and undamaged, as well as a fear that
if disabled and subsequently boarded, it might self‑destruct, thereby obviating
our whole purpose in coming here. The solution was straightforward: you had to
be located and convinced to give us what we wish."
"How did you manage to penetrate this far into
the Commonwealth?"
"With great care and difficulty. We were helped
by the fact that though this world lies within the self‑proclaimed
illegal Commonwealth sphere of influence, it is well away from major routes of
trade and communication. We were cautious.
"You should also know that the mandate. I was
given, while all‑encompassing, is possessed of a certain flexibility. I
was told simply to obtain the secret of your ship's drive. The actual
methodology is left to my discretion. I am authorized and prepared to offer
you a considerable fortune in return for access. You may even retain ownership
of your vessel.
"Should you decline this very generous
proposal, I am equally prepared and ready to use other methods to secure our
objectives. These will be unprofitable to you except perhaps from the
standpoint of experience, and considerably less comfortable. The choice is
yours." He took a step forward.
"I do not expect gratitude for having preserved
your life from others of your own kind. I do expect, and insist, that you will
accompany me back to my vessel and thence to your own in the company of myself
and an advance team of designated specialists. Under their supervision you
and your ship will retire via nullspace to Blasusarr, where you will be well
treated for the duration of your stay."
"So I'm a prisoner?"
"Guest. As for your indigenous friends, they
are self evidently not in a position to alert Commonwealth authorities to
what has transpired here. It is also apparent that they have not the slightest
inkling of the substance of this conversation. Therefore they may remain and
depart in peace."
Flinx replied quietly. "I can't and won't be a
party to anything that increases the likelihood of conflict between the
Commonwealth and the Empire. Besides, you have no intention of letting me go
free, either with my ship or without. Even if I can't explain the functions of
the modified drive, I could still alert Commonwealth authorities to your
possession of it."
"Do you doubt my word, Ssisstin?"
Several of the soldiers tensed in tandem with their superior.
Flinx smiled thinly. "Of an AAnn noble? How
could I? You said I could retain ownership of the Teacher and that I'd be well‑treated for the duration of my
stay on Blasusarr. It won't do me much good to retain ownership if I'm never
allowed to leave."
Amusement as well as appreciation figured prominently
in the aristocrat's reply. "Better a life of good treatment in the capital
than a swift death by decomposition here."
Flinx drew himself up so that he could stare sharply
down at the noble. "That's my choice to make. I can't allow you to have
the secret of the Teacher. It would
be a betrayal of those who gave her to me."
"An interesting problem in and of itself,"
declared Caavax. "Who `gave' the, vessel to you? Where. was this
scientific breakthrough accomplished?"
Flinx thought of the childlike yet incredibly
advanced Ulru‑Ujurrians and had to grin. "You wouldn't believe me if
I told you."
"I am not overly credulous, but I am certainly
prepared to accept any reality that is supported by evidence."
"What reality?" Flinx argued. "If my
ship is capable of the feats you suggest, why didn't I just land her here?
There are no cities to damage, no developed areas to threaten."
Lord Caavax eyed him pensively. "I have been
wondering that myself. In time I am certain you will enlighten me. Now we
will go." He turned.
Flinx took a deep breath as he scanned the
surrounding greenery. Surely his conversation had bought enough time? He knew
it would be helpful if he could keep the AAnn noble's attention focused on him.
"Sorry. I'm staying here, with my
friends."
Lord Caavax LYD turned back to him. "I said
that your friends were free to depart in peace. For one who declares himself
dedicated to forestalling conflict, you are remarkably shortsighted. How if I
were to kill them one at a time, beginning with the youngest child?" A
clawed hand rested on the handle of his long‑muzzled sidearm.
"How if that doesn't persuade me?" Flinx replied
tightly.
"I believe it will. Your human‑type is
fairly straightforward in that regard. To save time and display my personal
magnanimity I will not kill outright. I will amputate the female child's limbs
a joint at a time until she expires. If you still refuse to comply, I will
resume with the male child and conclude with the female parent. If your obstinacy
persists, I shall then begin on you, but not here. More sophisticated
technology is available aboard my vessel." As always, he remained correct
and polite, an admirable representative of the AAnn aristocracy.
"Better for four of us to die than thousands or
millions."
"That is not logical, but you are not AAnn and
will eventually come to realize as much. Why not spare your friends as well as
yourself unnecessary unpleasantness? The end will be the same." Flinx
noted that emotionally, at least, the noble was utterly convinced of this.
What was delaying the others, he wondered nervously?
Caavax was watching him intently, and it was clear he couldn't stall the noble
any longer.
He tried to make himself look as resigned and disconsolate
as possible. "All right, you win. I'll go with you."
The AAnn gestured second‑level gratification.
"Of course you will. It was inevitable."
Flinx started forward, only to have the reptiloid
block his path.
"Where are you going, Lynx‑sir?"
Flinx blinked at him. "To the landing site, of
course. The place where the shuttles are."
The noble gestured contrariwise. "Do you think
me a complete fool that, having lost two of my party already to the inimical
and subtle biota of this world, I would so readily offer up others for similar
sacrifice?" With a perfectly trimmed and unpainted claw he pointed in the
opposite direction.
"The depression in the forest is more than
large enough to admit a shuttle. A skilled pilot interacting closely with a
sensitive descent program should have no trouble positioning his ship so that
we may board right here. It will be compelled to hover carefully, though I
suspect that many of the remarkable growths around us would be quite capable of
supporting its weight. Lifting off under such conditions, however, could prove
difficult."
Turning, he hissed in his own language to one of the
attentive troopers. Flinx knew some of the sibilant AAnn tongue, having studied
it on his own, and the noble's terse command was relatively easy to understand.
Responding, the trooper removed a non-reflective
cylinder from his duty belt. Telltales winked to life as he activated the
communicator and spoke into the pickup. After exchanging a few words with the
trooper, Lord Caavax turned back to Flinx.
"In a very few moments we will be gone from
this place."
"Programming notwithstanding, your pilot better
be good," Flinx replied. Hope continued to dominate his thoughts. Judging
from the look on Teal's face, he could see that hers were following a similar
course. Since the ongoing delay did not seem to be troubling her, he made an
effort to appear similarly indifferent.
Aware of his attention, she addressed him softly.
"I don't understand, Flinx. What is happening?"
Caavax watched closely as Flinx put a comforting arm
around her shoulder. "These nonhuman skypersons want something from me.
It's important that I don't give it to them, even at the risk of our lives. I'm
doing my best to convince him that since you're not directly involved, he
should let you and the children go."
"That is what I thought." Her gaze probed
his own. "If it is that important, you must do what you think best."
She really was beautiful, he mused. "They want
me to go with them." He gestured upward.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Into the Upper
Hell?"
"No. Beyond that. To‑" He really
wasn't very good at this, he realized. "‑a place beyond the sky.
Where your people came from originally. Where I've come from. In a
shuttle."
"A skyboat," she declared, sifting
ancestral memories for a suitable term.
He nodded. Together; they settled down to wait.
The AAnn soldiers talked continuously. Flinx could
sense their unease. They were anxious to leave what to them was not only an
unremittingly hostile environment, but one that they found physically
uncomfortable as well. The special fabric of their camouflage suits did its
best to wick away the moisture that formed on their skin. Meanwhile their jaws
hung slack as they panted, trying to cool themselves down. They were unable to
perspire in the manner of a human.
The only lapse in the admirable display of
discipline came when two of them fired shots into the hylaeal depths, certain
they had seen something large and threatening moving toward them. Flinx had
seen it as well, salmon‑colored and spiked like a medieval armory. Three
maniacal eyes had glared furiously in the group's direction, only to vanish
into the green depths in response to the first shot from the agitated
troopers. It missed, of course, as did the several follow‑up bursts.
After calming his jittery soldiers, Caavax stalked
back to confront the humans.
"What was that?" To all outward
appearances unaffected, the noble's unease was apparent only to Flinx, who
found himself inordinately pleased by the AAnn's distress. Lord Caavax was more
shaken than he showed.
"Probably a cheleac," Teal replied, as if
the apparition's appearance was of no consequence. "They're very fast.
And very dangerous."
"Its aspect was indicative of that."
Caavax was squinting warily into the verdure. "Do you think it will come
back?"
"No. If it intended to attack, some of you
would already be dead. The cheleac is a streaker, not a sneaker. Once it has
fixed on its quarry, it comes straight at it. With a cheleac it's kill or be
killed quickly."
"Is that so? Then how do you explain the fact
that my soldiers have frightened it away?"
She turned hard green eyes on the AAnn. "If the
cheleac did not attack it was because it had other prey in mind. You cannot
`frighten' one away." She smiled thinly. "Besides, what makes you
think it has gone `away'?"
The noble's head snapped around and slitted eyes
once more searched the greenery. "It is still here?"
Teal shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. Why
don't you send some of your soldiers to look for it?"
Lord Caavax postured appreciation for the jest combined
with unalterable determination. "You will forgive me if I say that that is
a request in which I choose not to indulge."
Flinx gazed longingly at the double mesh sack that
held Pip. It lay on the branch between two of Caavax's troops.
"Put that thought out of your mind, Lynx‑
sir." Caavax was alert as ever. "Your dangerous pet will remain as it
is, ensuring continued comfort for all."
A muted roar reached them from above, echoing
through the yellow‑green firmament. The feelings of relief this
engendered in the AAnn soldiers was strong.
Several of them glanced toward the valley in the forest, but none left
his post. There were no wild demonstrations. They were too well trained for
such overt displays of exultation. That was a human failing.
Lord Caavax stepped past Flinx. Squinting through
the curtain of creepers and lianas, the noble located and tracked the tiny
glistening dot in the sky until it grew large enough to identify with
certainty.
"It will be a blessing, sissink, to get off this homicidal world. I loathe the flora and
fauna, the light, the climate, everything about it. Unpleasant day gives way to
unbearable night. One might as well try swimming like a human as endure the
demonical rain. This is a climate fit only for a thranx, and I believe it too damp even for them."
"It's too wet for me, too," Flinx told
him. "I don't like getting drenched every night any more than you
do."
"Then you will find Blasusarr infinitely more appealing.”
Flinx was watching the AAnn shuttle as it descended.
"I tried a desert climate once. Didn't care much for it, either."
Conversation became difficult as the thunder from
the shuttle's engines drowned out forest sounds as well as speech. Dwell and
Kiss were gesturing excitedly, astonishment temporarily overcoming their fear.
Teal put her lips close to Flinx's ear. "Fire
comes from its belly! Why doesn't it bum itself up?"
He turned his head and raised his voice. "The
skyboat rides on fire!"
"Fire," she avowed, "is very
dangerous! Very threatening!" Her eyes were intent on the descending
craft.
To Flinx's regret, it appeared as if the AAnn pilot
knew what he was doing. The shuttle descended in a smooth arc that would bring
it alongside their branch in a few minutes. At that point his options would be
drastically reduced.
Despite the deafening rumble, Teal was still talking
to him. "You have lived the rain at night. So you know that with the rain
comes sometimes the fire that scars the sky."
He nodded absently, paying only cursory attention to
her words. "Lightning."
"Yes, lightning. Haven't you wondered, Flinx,
why there are so few lightning‑caused fires in the forest? Why there are
no large burned places?"
"What?" Mildly irritated by her
persistence, he turned to meet her gaze. "I suppose it's because
everything is so wet."
"Partly so, but lightning can make anything
burn."
"Then why doesn't it?" he asked, only half
'curious.
He felt her lips touch his ear so that he could hear
but no one else. "Because the forest has ways of protecting itself."
For a moment he was uncertain. Then he remembered.
"Stormtreader tree," he murmured.
"Stormtreader‑ and others." She
joined him in observing the shuttle's final approach.
It was larger than his own landing craft, but that
was to be expected. Stolid and utilitarian of design, it was descending on
four vaned lifting jets. Next it would position itself alongside and align
itself with the branch on which they were standing. The trooper Caavax had spoken
with earlier was holding his cylinder close to his mouth, speaking steadily and
evenly into the pickup.
Halting its descent level with their branch, the
sturdy landing craft began to hover sideways toward them. It was too loud to
talk now. As it adjusted its position, the shuttle's exhaust blasted into the
vegetation below, burning and crisping dozens, hundreds, of growing things,
scorching a black path eastward through the verdure.
A port opened in its side. Flinx could see armed
troops milling about within. An extensible ramp extended toward the branch
like a long gray tongue. A moment later the muzzle of a sidearm was prodding
him in the ribs. It was a gesture whose meaning was universal.
Shouting to make himself heard, the AAnn noble
leaned close. "As soon as the ramp is near enough, you will start
across!" Behind him, his troopers were collapsing their perimeter,
gathering in a tight, protective mass behind their superior. They continued to
watch the surrounding greenery.
Flinx nodded to indicate he understood. Turning to
Teal, he tried to think of something final to say. She wasn't looking at him.
Instead her gaze, as well as those of the children, was focused on something
off to their left.
The trunks of three fairly large trees had swollen
to several times normal size. So intent had he been on the descending shuttle
that he hadn't noticed the measured but steady expansion. Neither had the
soldiers, preoccupied with both the shuttle's arrival and watching the forest
behind them.
Amidst the muffled roar of the jets, the ramp
continued to lengthen. Flames began to leap from the inner forest canopy as the
intense heat from the shuttle's engines inflamed and blistered the exposed
vegetation. The spreading conflagration had no effect on the ship's systems
and her pilot ignored it, knowing that they would be sealed up and on their way
before the blaze could blossom into anything threatening.
As he took his first resigned step toward the
beckoning ramp, Flinx could feel the heat from the fire burning below. While he
was confident that Teal and the children were in little danger from the blaze
because it would quickly die out due to the greenness and dampness of the
surrounding vegetation, he still felt sorry for the plants and slow‑moving
animals below that were threatened by the shuttle's indifferent jets. They
would be at the mercy of the flames until the blaze burnt itself out.
That was when Teal screamed, "Get down!"
and flung herself flat onto the branch. Dwell and hiss followed by nanoseconds
while a comparatively laggard Flinx didn't begin to drop until the mother and
children were already pressing themselves against the wood. Noting that instead
of trying to protect their heads, as one would expect, they instead
concentrated on shutting their eyes tight and covering their noses and mouths,
he endeavored to do the same.
"What is all this?" Lord Caavax bellowed.
Keeping his sidearm aimed in Flinx's direction, he turned to roar at his
troops, several of whom had already fallen uncertainly to their knees.
"There's no danger here. Get up!" Jumpy, but regaining confidence
when nothing continued to happen, they straightened.
Flinx felt a heavy foot prod his left leg.
"Enough foolishness. I am hot and damp and it is time to board. Don't
force me to have you carried. My soldiers are in an ill mood and can be
ungentle."
Flinx was pondering a reply when something blew up
with enough force to momentarily drown out even the thunder of the shuttle's
hoverjets. The eruption had been preceded by a fleeting but intense surge of
emotion the likes of which he had never experienced before. As he fried to
isolate the source, he felt pressure on his forehead and exposed arms. Keeping
his face pressed firmly to the wood, he cupped his right hand over his nostrils
and his left over his tightly shut mouth.
The immense bladders incorporated inside the three
tumescent trees had reached their limit of containment and ruptured
spectacularly. The heavily aerated latex-like sap they had contained spewed
forth in truly prodigious quantities, smothering everything within a circle
some forty meters in diameter. It was a natural response to the threat of fire
that Teal had alluded to, very different from the reaction to lightning of the stormtreader
tree but no less effective.
On contact with air, the puffy, sticky white
substance began to expand farther, transforming from a fluffy sap into a
foaming aerogel. Ethereal but persistent, it clung to Flinx's hair, his ears,
his back.
He could feel the bubbles expanding as the original
volume of the sap ballooned to encompass ten, twenty times its original volume.
Within that space the movement of air was restricted or cut off entirely. No
wonder Teal and the children had been so careful to cover their mouths and
nostrils. Growing anxious for air, he wondered when or even if it would be
safe to part his lips just a little and try to breathe. He envisioned inhaling
a mouthful of the sticky foam and having it settle in his lungs.
A small but strong hand was tugging at his shoulder,
trying to lift him. Turning, he saw Teal peering anxiously down at him. With
her other hand she was tearing at the congealed foam that clung to her face. He
rose and copied her movements.
Then they were both thrown to the ground as the
branch beneath their feet heaved violently. Crackling, ripping sounds mixed
with the rumbling whine of the shuttle's engines. Madly he tore the clinging
translucent whiteness away from his face in a frantic effort to see what was
happening.
With both portside hydrajet intakes completely
clogged and one of those on the starboard side at least partly obstructed by
the organic aerogel, the AAnn vessel was skewing wildly to port. Neither its
computational navigation system nor its pilot was able to compensate for the
abrupt and drastic loss of lift.
With full power to only one jet, the shuttle had
swung around to slam into the tree on whose branch the prospective passengers
had been waiting. Encased in sticky white foam that was hardening rapidly as it
dried, Flinx stared as the shuttle lurched away from them. The deeper‑throated
roar of the craft's rockets, normally not utilized until a shuttle had left
atmosphere behind, coughed to life, intermittent and uncertain, as the pilot
tried to bypass the smothered hydrajets and gain altitude.
The rockets appeared to do the trick, as the bulbous
craft began to climb. But while it gained altitude, it was at the expense of a
continuing loss of maneuverability. Once it cleared the crest of the canopy,
that wouldn't matter. All the pilot had to do was break atmosphere and wait to
be picked up by the parent vessel.
Simultaneously climbing and sliding to port, it had
nearly surmounted the top of the sunken valley when it slammed into the big
trees on the far side. A muffled explosion echoed from within the shuttle's
underside. Falling backward out of control, it plunged into the vegetation
below, landing upside down amidst a great crackling and tearing of greenery. A
dull whoom obliterated the craft from sight, and Flinx spun away as a
gust of superheated air rushed over him.
The fires resulting from the crash stimulated half a dozen of the foam‑producing trees in the immediate vicinity to balloon and release their flame‑retardant sap. In seconds the wreckage was completely engulfed in an expanding white cloud. Taking into account the crash, the explosions, the resultant fire and consequent suffocating reaction of the foam trees, Flinx doubted anyone aboard could have survived.
Pulling and scraping foam from his face and upper
body, he assured Teal he was all right before he began hunting through the pale
white, rapidly solidifying dreamscape. Bubbles clung like overripe fruit from
every branch and vine, burst with soft popping sounds as he forced his way through
them. The all‑pervasive whiteness made walking tricky. He was wary of
pushing through a mass of congealed foam only to find that he'd stepped clean
off the branch.
Eventually he found the sack, knelt to feel Pip
moving energetically within. A rush of familiar warmth swept through his mind
as he made contact with the flying snake. There was nothing to suggest that
she'd suffered an injury, and in fact the mesh sack had probably protected her
from the choking effects of the foam.
As he reached down to release her, cool ceramic contacted
the back of his neck. The attendant emotions were not filled with warmth.
"Leave the sack and its contents be, Lynx‑sir."
Lord Caavax LYD took a step back and gestured with the sidearm. "They are
fine as they are."
Rising reluctantly, Flinx saw that the noble was covered
in congealing foam. His face was unobstructed. Coughing, hacking sounds came
from nearby as the soldiers struggled to clear their lungs.
Two of them hadn't reacted appropriately or in time.
During the initial blast, each had inhaled a fatal dose of the sticky sap.
Expanding within their lungs instead of outside their bodies, the foam had
ballooned relentlessly. Now both lay dead on the surface of the branch, the
foam oozing from their mouths showing how they had suffocated.
That left nine, including the AAnn noble, to watch
over them. Still too many. Flinx waited as Dwell and Kiss, with Teal
supervising, plucked congealed foam from their bodies. Angry, frightened
soldiers kept a wary eye on the humans while performing similar hygienics.
Brushing at the hardened bubbles coating his own
clothing, Flinx was startled when a handful powdered under his fingers. The
next mass collapsed of its own accord, releasing as it did so a faint aroma of
lilac along with a delicate, tinkling sound.
All around him the aerogel was breaking up as it
lost the moisture necessary to support its internal structure. The verdure was
filled with an overpowering scent of lilac counter pointed by a symphony
executed by a carillon of miniature bells. The final residue was a fine white
dust that sparkled like powdered diamonds. The nightly rain would wash it all
into the depths, allowing affected growths to resume unobstructed
photosynthesis the following morning.
Peering out across the green valley, he saw a thin
line of smoke rising from the place where the shuttle had gone down. It was not
the only sign of movement. Already the inhabitants of the forest had reemerged
to cautiously resume their daily routines. Among the majority, the wreckage in
their midst engendered no unusual curiosity. The surface against which the
shuttle had impacted and exploded was not solid. Many of the fragments had
spilled between trunks and branches, tumbling down to emerald depths unknown.
More of the fine white residue overlay the crash site, glistening in the yellow‑green
sunlight like iridescent snow as the last of the fire‑retardant aerogel
decomposed.
The AAnn picked at the remaining foam and brushed at
the resultant powder as if they were infested with leeches. Their disgust was
underlined by their emotional state. Comforted by their more reactive
companions, several were still coughing up white spittle.
Flinx struggled with his nascent AAnn as the group
subofficer reported. "Two dead, sir. Trooper Keinkavii partially
incapacitated, but I think he will be all right." He indicated a choking,
wet‑eyed soldier who was being supported by two companions.
Caavax responded with a curt gesture indicative of
first‑degree comprehension and turned to confront Teal. "Female, is
this foam toxic to humans if ingested?"
Green eyes flashed. "Only if you swallow a lot
of it. Then it clogs up your insides."
The noble indicated understanding, glanced back at
the subofficer. "You heard the female. See that all afflicted troops are
medicated appropriately. Where indicated, a strong purgative may be in
order."
"Sistik, honored one." The
subofficer looked unhappy. Such treatment would not improve the soldiers'
already battered morale, though it was certainly preferable to the alternative.
When Caavax offered no objection, Flinx wandered
over to rejoin Teal and the children. "What about me?" he asked her.
"I'm sure I swallowed plenty of that powder."
"Don't worry," she whispered. "In its
final form it will pass harmlessly through your bowels."
His brows drew together. "But you told the AAnn‑"
He caught himself. She was smiling at him, and he could do no less than return
the grin.
Caavax was gazing solemnly out at the crash site.
"More dead. Better this world had remained forgotten. Give me the clean,
dry sands of Blasusarr or Sysirkuus." With a hissing sigh he turned back
to his prisoners.
"Where were you going when we captured
you?"
"To the Home‑tree, of course," she
replied before Flinx could warn her.
" `Home‑tree.' How appropriate." As
he murmured to the subofficer the aristocrat's sarcasm asserted itself once
more. "Humans love trees. No wonder they can survive here."
"And they breed like flies," agreed the
subofficer.
"Well, I don't like it here," Flinx
countered. "Much too humid for my taste. And there are other
considerations."
"Sers, " acknowledged Caavax.
"Everything is eager to poison, dismember, or eviscerate. So we share a
common dislike. Perhaps from that a certain modicum of trust may grow."
Flinx said nothing. The noble's words were a flimsy veil through which his emotions could be read clearly.
"The Keralkee
carried two shuttles," Caavax declared. "Normally that is more
than sufficient for any perceived needs. But as has been learned with pain and
difficulty, this is not a normal world. The fate of one shuttle you all have
witnessed. The other remains sealed and waiting for us at the touchdown site.
"We are now on our own. With no way to reach
the surface, we can expect no help from those who anxiously await our return
aboard the Keralkee. I choose to
regard this as a delay and inconvenience, nothing more. With the native human
to guide us, we shall return safely to the landing site." He gestured at
the catching sack, covered in white crystals.
"One of you take charge of that."
The field officer hissed at a soldier. The unhappy
individual thus signaled out warily approached the sack. Satisfied that it
was still secure, he knelt and proceeded to strap it to his own backpack.
Though putting up a brave front, he was clearly unnerved at the prospect of
having to march through the alien forest with only a double layer of mesh
separating his neck from the toxic jaws of a lethal predator.
This accomplished, the field officer then turned
back to Caavax. "Our deceased companions; what shall we do with
them?"
"Leave them," proposed the aristocrat.
"We might find a hollow in a tree." The
field officer was careful to add a gesture of second‑degree deference
layered with respect.
"Do you want to linger here?"
"No, Lord, but‑"
"I don't want to waste the time." Caavax
masked his frustration with impatience. "Scavengers would find the bodies
anyway, as soon as we had departed. Or perhaps the tree itself would consume
them. Nothing on this world is to be trusted."
Again the slight bow, the honorific lowering of the
eyes. "How fortunate we were," the field officer declared when next
he spoke, "that we did not try to set our own shuttle down close to our
quarry."
"Sherss, " Caavax agreed.
"We must inform the Keralkee
of what has happened. Commander Beiraviq will be distraught. Assure him
that we are all right and that the prisoner remains safe within our custody.
Inform him of our intentions."
The field officer acknowledged and spent some time
conversing with the warship via communications cylinder. When he was finished,
he reported back to the noble.
"The honored Commander extends his condolences
for the discomfort you have suffered, Lord Caavax. His engineers propose
utilizing remote control to guide the remaining shuttle from the landing site
to our present or any other designated location."
"Commander Beiraviq's concern for my welfare is
gratifying, but we cannot risk a repeat of the recent disaster, which would
leave us permanently stranded in this diseased wood until another ship could
reach this system from the borders of the Empire. Nor can we ascend to the top
of the forest, there to await pickup. Commander Beiraviq has no experience of
the aerial carnivores that inhabit this world or he would know that we would
not last long enough in the treetops for the shuttle to reach us.
"We will simply return to the landing site via
our original route. We have already performed a successful landing on this
world, and we will shortly execute a successful lift‑off. Assure him of
our confidence, and that we will continue to remain in contact while we make
our way back." Without further ado he checked the positioner attached to
his belt and pointed.
"That way. Let us be moving."
Flinx translated as best he could for Teal and the
children. "It will be dark soon," she pointed out. "We should
find a place to spend the night. It takes time to find a suitable place."
"We'll camp where we stop, when the light has
grown too feeble for safe travel." Lord Caavax had no time to waste on
human concerns. "That is what we did while we tracked you, and that is
what we shall do on the way back. I will brook no delays." He waved the
sidearm. "Move, Lynx‑sir. Female, I will provide the direction and
you will lead the way. Your offspring will remain close to me. For their own
safety."
"It's okay." Flinx ruffled Dwell's hair
and this time the boy smiled up at him. The three of them fell into position in
front of the aristocrat while Teal assumed the point. The troops spread out as
best they were able on the broad branch, the field officer sticking close to
his superior, the soldier hauling the sack containing Pip shifting to the rear.
It had been made clear to the troops that the sack was to be kept under watch
at all times and under no circumstances was the adult human prisoner to be
allowed near it.
Moving off through the trees, they soon left the
valley in the forest behind, with its legacy of confrontation and capture and
the still smoldering wreckage of the doomed AAnn shuttlecraft. A riot of
uninhibited color and explosive growth filled in the gap behind them,
engulfing them all once more in a sea of inscrutable, impenetrable greenery.
By nightfall they still had not found a suitable
site to spend the night, nor had the relentless and determined Lord Caavax
called a halt. It was left to the trio of soldiers in the lead, who had been
reduced to using their portable beams to find their footing while Teal picked
her way along easily without the aid of artificial lighting, to protest. The
branch they were currently traversing was narrow, the upper surface of the bark
slick and treacherous. If the continued safety of those following was to be
assured, they would have to stop until morning.
Caavax was forced to give in. "Sysumeq. We will spend the night here."
Teal inveighed immediately. "We can't stop
here, out in the open like this. We must find shelter from the nightrain and
those who hunt in the dark."
The aristocrat was not moved. "Our suits
provide adequate insulation from the nightly downpour, and AAnn soldiers are
quite capable of dealing with malevolent primitive life forms. As for you, I am
afraid you will simply get wet." He peered over the side of the branch.
"I happen to like this location. The branch on
which we are stopping is quite narrow and there are no strong vines or creepers
within human reach. Beneath us lies an impressive drop‑off. I do not
think you will try to use the darkness as cover for an attempted escape. Behave
yourselves and we shall all greet the dawn together."
Teal pulled Dwell and Kiss close. "It's not
good for children to be out in the night‑rain."
The AAnn noble was unmoved. "They will not
melt. Find some leaves or something with which to shield yourselves." His
voice was thick with fourth‑degree irritation.
That night there was no rain delay. The instant the
last vestige of yellow‑green light seeped into the rising mist, it began
to pour. Thunder rattled the branch on which the travelers crouched; the
soldiers squatting inside their camouflage suits, Teal and her children
huddling as best they could beneath their water‑repellent green cloaks.
Only Flinx was in danger of a drenching.
Somewhere nearby, lightning struck a stormtreader
tree and the smell of ozone stung everyone's nostrils. Someone cursed in
guttural AAnn. While not literally translatable, the sentiment would have been
recognized by the soldiers of any combative species.
Teal singled out a large epiphyte that grew from a
smaller, overhead branch, identifying it for the AAnn aristocrat. "That is
a brorobod. Let me gather a few of its leaves for Flinx. Do you want your
valued captive to catch sick and die?"
Squinting against the rain, Caavax consulted with
the field officer before granting permission. "Go ahead, but be
quick." Scaly fingers curled firmly over Kiss's right shoulder, the claw
points digging into the skin. The little girl winced but said nothing. "I
know you will return with harmless leaves and nothing more."
Teal looked significantly at her daughter, who stood
silent and wide‑eyed in the grip of the AAnn. Had she told her not to
breathe, Flinx was convinced the girl would have held her breath until she
passed out. In the green wilds of this world, children were doubtless taught
early on that the ability to remain motionless often translated into continued
survival.
Flinx watched as Teal jumped to grab a looping, dangling
vine. Climbing several meters hand over hand, she swung one leg over the branch
above and was soon straddling the wood in front of the flowering brorobod.
While Caavax and several of the soldiers kept their eyes on her, she removed
several of the plant's large, glossy leaves, twisting them in both hands until
they snapped off cleanly at the base.
"Look at this." Idle, damp, and unable to
fall asleep so early in the evening, one of the lead soldiers was beckoning to
his companions.
The object of his attention was a cluster of powder-blue,
bell‑shaped blossoms that hung straight down from the underside of a an‑sized
mossy mass. They were attached to the parenting body by bright red stems no
thicker than common sewing thread. As the darkness deepened it became possible
to see that the flowers emitted a natural blue phosphorescence. Close to the
blossoms it was bright enough to read by.
"Attractive," commented the field officer
from his place on the branch, "and useful. Should strange sound or
movement strike in the middle of the night, we will not need to use our
portable beams to see that which may be moving about near us."
Indeed, by the time Teal returned, having dropped
the thick leaves down to Flinx, the natural blue glow had greatly intensified.
It provided enough light for the soldiers in front to see all the way to their
colleagues farther down the branch. The field officer was delighted.
Grounding the stalks of the leaves as best she
could, Teal constructed a crude and none‑too‑stable lean‑to
on the exposed branch. Together the four humans huddle beneath the imperfect
roof. With no green cloak to shed secondary moisture, Flinx continued to suffer
from the water that dripped inside the lean‑to, but it was much better
than simply crouching outside, exposed to the elements.
While the ambient temperature would remain high al
night, moisture still sucked body heat away. He huddled close to Teal. They
watched as several of the soldier continued to admire the now brilliantly
glowing blue flowers. A glance at Teal showed her staring intently. He started
to ask something, decided instead to keep silent. Events could and doubtless
would unfold without extraneous commentary. The children huddled close to her
watching with equal interest.
The soldier who had first pointed out the
extraordinary blooms reached out to cup a hand beneath the nearest blossom. The
blue light illuminated his entire hand, refleeting dimly off the small scales
of his wrist.
"Look at this, ssuusam! Is it not
wondrous beautiful?
"Probably serves to attract nocturnal pollinators." The soldier who'd spoken blinked at the night‑rain. "Large insects, perhaps."
"I have read that such things exist on the far
plateaus of Chisskin," added the third member of the trio, "but I
have never seen anything like it myself."
"I wonder if their scent is as attractive as
their appearance?" The first soldier twisted the bell‑shaped
blossom up and around, bringing it gently toward his nostrils.
A blinding flash of pure white light obliterated
Flinx's vision. Shouts and yells of dismay and distress came from the soldiers
in front. Furious blinking failed to restore his sight.
Fingers gripped his arm to restrain him. "It's
no good," she whispered. "Too many of them were looking the other
way."
"Teal, I can't see!"
"Hush! It will return."
He forced himself to sit motionless while confusion
reigned around them. A hissing scream came from the soldier who had discovered
the radiant blossoms as, stumbling about while rubbing frantically at his
outraged eyes, he missed a step and plunged over the side of the branch. His
scream was cut off as he struck something solid and unyielding not far below.
Lining up along the branch, those of his companions
who had not been affected by the blinding burst of light aimed their own beams
into the sodden depths.
"Chorsevasin, are you all right?" someone
shouted.
"Speak to us!" cried another.
There was no reply. Nor could they, search with
their lights as they might, locate the body of their unfortunate associate. The
green‑black depths had swallowed him up.
Flinx found his vision returning. "What
happened?" Large white spots continued to dance before his eyes.
"The one who fell agitated a dontlook.
The forest world is a closed place and even more so at night. To attract the
cocary to its nectar, the dontlook makes a strong light. But the light can also
draw plant eaters who would chew up the dontlook for its nectar. If it is not
touched correctly, the dontlook will make enough light to blind the unwary who
approach too near." She leaned forward to peer over the side of the narrow
branch, into the bottomless depths. "Usually those who are so stunned fly
away, bumping into trees as they go."
With great relief Flinx found he could once more
make out individual shapes. A couple of meters away he had been completely if
temporarily blinded by the burst of illumination. The face of the unfortunate
soldier had been only centimeters from the flower when it had gone off. The
flash must have caused considerable pain as well as blindness.
As a consequence, their escort had been reduced to
eight.
Lord Caavax LYD, High Servant of his Most Estimable
and Expectant Emperor Moek VI, confronted his abashed retinue. The steady
downpour was insufficient to cloak the gestures he performed.
"Listen to me, all of you! From now on I do not
care how alluring is the life form you espy. I do not care if you find an
apparently solid nodule lying loose that is the equal of the most exquisitely
polished cassesha wood. I do not care if you find a depression filled with pearlized ziszai seeds. I care
not if you pass a hollow overflowing with precious metals and gems. Do not
reach for it; remark on it not, pass it by. Note it for future study, if you
are so inclined. But touch nothing. Walk
around, avoid, evade, circumvent." He glared at each of them in turn,
ensuring that he made eye contact with each soldier individually.
"I do not care if what makes you gasp in wonder
appears as harmless as a Lieff scallop contoured in the flank of a dreamer's
dune. Ignore it you will!" The only response from the thoroughly cowed
soldiers was some disgruntled muttering.
They returned to their previous positions, those
whose close friend had died adopting a particularly aggressive stance, as if
they were angry enough to do battle with the rain. In the company of Teal and
the children, Flinx settled back down beneath the inadequate canopy of leaves.
"These will never reach their
destination." She was very assured. "You will see. The forest will
take care of them."
"Don't underestimate them," Flinx advised
her. "The one who just fell made a stupid move. The AAnn tend not to
repeat mistakes. I know this species. Once fixed on a goal, they never give up.
They're clever and determined. The higher in rank, the more determined."
"The more stupid." Dwell was at once alert
and at ease. This was his world.
Flinx continued. "The one I've been talking
with ranks high in the AAnn sociopolitical hierarchy. If he fails to bring me
back he'll lose a great deal of face."
"How can he lose face?" Kiss wiped a
trickle of water from her forehead. "Isn't it part of the rest of
him?"
Flinx smiled affectionately. "There's more
truth in what you say than you know, little one." He turned back to Teal.
"Remember that he's holding you responsible for all of us arriving safely
at the landing site. If he loses many more troops, he'll blame you."
"How can he blame me for something over which I
have no control?" There was satisfaction in her voice. "No harm has
come to him or his while I have been leading."
"I know, but from now on he'll expect you to
warn them of any dangers in the vicinity, even if you try to lead them safely
past. Don't let him get angry. I wouldn't put it past him to kill one of the
children just to set an example."
Teal pulled Kiss closer to her side. "That
won't happen, Flinx. The forest will get them first."
"What happens if it doesn't?" He brooded
on the possibility. "What happens if these very competent soldiers manage
to tough it out and most of us reach the landing site? You can't lead them
around in circles. Caavax and several others have positioners. We have to
travel in the direction they choose."
"I do not know about that. I know only that I
must protect the children. About myself I care little." She leaned
forward. "All is not yet lost, Flinx. You are forgetting something very
important."
"I haven't forgotten," he assured her.
"I wonder at the timing, but I haven't forgotten." Water dribbling
through his red hair was running down the back of his neck. He shifted his seat
on the branch, trying to find a drier spot.
The night was home to active possibilities he was
presently unable to sense. That didn't mean they no longer existed.
In actual fact, they were at present quite near.
His thick green coat efficiently shedding the rain,
Moomadeem looked up at Saalahan. "Look at them. Just look at them!
Spending the night right out in the open like that. They are stupider even than
the strange person called Flinx."
"They are not‑persons." Saalahan
solemnly nodded agreement. "Is one thing to know nothing. Is another to
refuse to learn."
Next to him Tuuvatem strained to penetrate the darkness.
The furcots had excellent night vision, but even they could not see very far in
a heavy rain.
"Where is Kiss? I can't see." The densely
vegetated golagola bush in which they were resting rustled with her movements.
"All fine, all well." Saalahan was a huge
black hump in the darkness. "They are under some brorobod leaves."
Moomadeem snorted pugnaciously. "Not so good.
Better to fix things:"
"Did you see the one who shoved his face right
into the dontlook?" Tuuvatem could hardly believe it. "What a
stupid!"
"A dead stupid now," Moomadeem asserted.
"If the others play stupid also, we won't have to do anything."
"They must not reach the other skyboat."
Sitting there on the arm of the tree in the midst of the comforting golagola
leaves, Saalahan resembled a soft, round boulder. "They will not reach
it."
"Too stupid," Moomadeem reiterated.
"All the time the bad skypersons were talking, they never knew we were
there, right under them in the cave in the branch. Then these strange not‑persons
came, and they didn't see us either, not even when the smother trees killed
their skyboat." He sniffed. "It died noisy. I thought we were going
to be shaken out of the sleeping place."
"You understand now why it is always best to wait and see what happens before trying to bad fix things yourself," Saalahan reminded them sternly. "Sometimes if you leave them alone, things fix themselves." Tilting back its great head, the scimitar-like tusks glistening in the silver scrimmed moonlight, it ignored the raindrops as it considered the rugged green ceiling.
"Soon all will be asleep."
"Surely not all?" commented Tuuvatem.
The big furcot stretched, muscles rippling beneath
twin sets of shoulders. "Perhaps they are not completely stupid and will
leave some awake to look out for night dangers. It will not matter."
Moomadeem's eyes flashed in the pale light. "How
do you want to do the thing?"
Saalahan's triocular gaze shifted from one cub to
the other. "You are both young. Have you no unsureness about this?"
"Why should we?" A confident, relaxed
Moomadeem shook himself, sending droplets flying. "They are notpersons."
"They have thoughts."
"It doesn't matter." Tuuvatem was licking
a front paw and using it to groom her face. "We will do what we must to
keep our persons safe."
"That is fine for Teal, and Dwell, and Kiss,
but what about the skyperson Minx?" Saalahan wondered. "He is not our
responsibility. He has no furcot."
"No furcot to help or comfort him."
Tuuvatem's paw paused in the huddle of her face. "It's very sad."
"We have to help him, too."
Saalahan looked surprised. "I thought you
didn't like him, Moomadeem."
The younger furcot blinked at the rain. "At
first I didn't, because I wasn't sure he was a person. Then I decided he was a
person, but just stupid. When I found out he was a skyperson I got mad, because
I know the stories of what happened the last time the skypersons came. Since
then he has learned much, and has helped our own persons. Whoever helps my
person is my friend."
Saalahan smiled knowingly. "Flinx is not the
only one who has learned much these past several days. Learning is a good
thing, for furcots as well as persons."
Moomadeem looked away, embarrassed. "I didn't
say I learned anything. I just said that we ought to help him as well."
"So we will." The big furcot's brow
furrowed above the three eyes. "It is the‑ethical thing to do."
"How sorrowful to travel through life without a
furcot of one's own." Tuuvatem was still mourning Flinx's status. "I
can't imagine how awful it would be if Kiss were to disappear."
"I feel the same way about Dwell, but I don't
think about it much." Moomadeem scratched under its chin with a claw
capable of shredding metal.
"I once heard the shaman Ponder speak about
this matter," Saalahan informed them. "He said that humans are
mostly active, while furcots tend to be primarily reactive."
Moomadeem snorted. "Then let's do some
reacting! I'm bored just sitting here in the rain."
"Patience." Making as little noise as
possible, the massive adult let its great bulk slump down into the cushioning
boughs and leaves. The rain washed over it, and the two smaller masses crouched
close by, the three motionless humps looking in the darkness like green galls
growing directly from the surface of the branch.
It was a semblance that went deeper than it looked.
The half of Tatrasaseep QQWRTL that was asleep was
enjoying life far more than the half of him that was awake. Consigned to the
watch for another hour or so, he had been awakened by his predecessor and
posted near the back of the encampment. Tepid rain streamed off the hood of his
camouflage suit, spilled off his arms, waterfalled from his knees and trickled
down his tail. No matter how he arranged his limbs, no matter how carefully he
sat or adjusted the suit's hood, a certain amount still succeeded in working
its way inside to dampen both his under-attire and his spirits.
Irritated and tired, he wiped rainwater from his
muzzle. Perhaps if he bent over more‑but then he wouldn't be able to
watch the accursed forest for signs of approaching danger. What danger? He
mumbled to himself. Virtually nothing was afoot in the saturated landscape. Or
a‑wing or afloat, he added silently. Any creature that could manage it
had sensibly gone to cover, unlike himself and his colleagues, who were reduced
to squatting forlornly on the narrow, exposed branch. Strategically he supposed
it made sense, but from a practical standpoint it was pure hell.
His thoughts drifted to his barracks bed on the Keralkee, lined with fine yellow sand and
heated to a nice soothing dryness. He'd had enough of humidity to last him a
lifetime. There would be tales aplenty to brag upon when they returned to the
ship with the peculiar human in tow. For the life of him, Tatrasaseep couldn't
see what was so important about the young mammal or his vessel, much less why a
Lord of the AAnn would take a personal interest in the matter. If it had been
up to him, the trooper would have shot all the humans on sight and been done
with it.
Less than an hour to go now. Then he would turn his
post over to Creskescanvi and flatten himself comfortably on the branch until
morning. Time enough for his associates to partake of this suffering.
At the far end of the branch he knew Masmarulial was
keeping watch. In between, the rest of the expedition slept. A few days march
and with luck all would arrive safely back at the dangerous landing site. No
more watches then. Only blissful dryness and the promise of promotion.
Resting his chest on his knees, he shifted the pulse
rifle to a more comfortable position. His tail twitched restlessly, flicking
water from side to side. With little light to see by and only the steady
drumming of the rain for company, time passed with agonizing slowness.
Fortunately there was little wind in the depths of
the forest and the rain fell straight down. Tiny luminous shapes slithered and
crawled and flitted through the sodden night. Occasionally one ate its
neighbor.
Leaning slightly forward enabled him to peer into the dark depths, where other naturally refulgent shapes swam like zooplankton in a celestial sea. Stealthy silhouettes plucked the unwary from the damp air or dropped down on them from above. A few specially adapted life forms were active even at the height of the nightly deluge.
Something scratched on the branch behind him. Every
sense suddenly alert, he jerked around and aimed his rifle in the same motion.
Something was moving back in the leaves; a lumpish
outline half his size. A soft mewling sound came from it, as if it were in
pain. As he stared, it rolled over and stopped moving.
It lay like that for some time, utterly motionless.
Doing his best to ignore it, Tatrasaseep found that after a while his
curiosity, not to mention prudence, dictated that he investigate a little
closer. After a glance in the direction of the slumbering encampment, he
ventured a soft hiss as he rose.
Keeping the rifle pointed toward the lump at all
times and two fingers on the triggers, he approached cautiously. Once he was
careful to step around, not over, a clump of what appeared to be harmless grass
growing from a bump in the wood. The lesson of the hapless Chorsevasin had not
been lost on his fellow soldiers. The grassy blades were spotted with tiny
black bumps that for all Tatrasaseep knew were as likely to contain a virulent
poison as easily as harmless pollen. One could not be certain of anything on
this hell‑world, except that if something looked harmless, it probably
wasn't.
He kept that thought in mind as he neared the immobile
lump. It lay amidst a cluster of epiphytes bright with tiny white flowers whose
petals had closed for the night. Black flowers blossoming from the same plants
stood open to the rain. It wasn't the first time they had encountered a plant
that boasted two distinctly different types of flower, one blooming diurnally
and its counterpart nocturnally. In this way the plant maximized its opportunities
for pollination. In the face of eternal and relentless competition, individual
growths on this world had evolved unique methods of survival.
The lump quivered slightly and the trooper froze. A
steady stream of dark liquid was trickling from an ugly lesion on its side.
Whatever else it was, it was apparent that the creature was either sick or
badly wounded. That would explain why its movements had been blatant and clumsy
when every other life form traveling about at night was at pains to move quietly
and with stealth.
Taking a wary step forward, the trooper was able to
locate the head. The three eyes were closed and more liquid flowed from the
half‑open mouth. The animal was of a type they had not encountered
before.
Should he awaken Field Officer Nesorey, kick this
diseased mass over the side, or just ignore it and return to his post? He
leaned toward nudging it into the depths as the most conclusive of the three
possibilities. A single shove should do it. A quick look around revealed no
movement nearby. Taking no chances, he kept the rifle aimed at the creature's
skull as he took another step forward. He was prepared and ready to deal with
whatever surprises even a near‑corpse might proffer.
What he was not prepared for was a surprise from another
source entirely.
Dangling unseen from the underside of a branch ten
meters directly overhead, Saalahan simultaneously released all six sets of
claws. The AAnn never saw the half‑ton mass that landed on his head,
snapping his spine in several places. The soldier made not a sound, unless one
counted the subsequent inconsequential snapping of numerous bones.
Sliding from lax fingers, the pulse rifle bounced
once and vanished over the side of the branch, its triggers unactivated, its
destructive power still leashed. As a third figure came ambling out of the
dense vegetation that lay in the direction of the trunk, the motionless form
abed in the black‑flowering epiphytes rolled to its feet.
Moomadeem shook sharply, shaking pools of water from
green fur. Then' a paw reached back to flick the blood‑sucking toet from
its temporary home atop a rib. Settled onto a host, the parasite looked very
much like an open wound. It was a sloppy drinker, spilling as much blood as it
ingested. Carefully Moomadeem spat a second one from where it had been
clinging to the inside of the furcot's upper jaw.
"Nasty," it muttered with distaste.
"Are you all right, Saalahan?"
The big furcot nodded as it climbed off the smashed
pulp that had moments earlier been a member of the Empire's elite
expeditionary forces. "Not a bad drop. You?"
"I was wondering what was keeping you."
Saalahan indicated the engorged toets that were
creeping slowly back down the branch in search of shelter. "Nothing to
worry about. They would have stopped sucking soon."
"It wasn't that. The one in my mouth tasted bad
and 1 wanted to get rid of it." Already the two wounds were healing over,
a familiar well‑known by‑product of the toets' anti‑agglutination
saliva. No successful parasite desires a useful host to perish from infection.
Corpses make poor fonts of future nutrients.
As Tuuvatem joined them, the three furcots studied
the irregular outlines of the encampment. Saalahan absently used its back pair
of legs to kick the remains of the dead soldier off the branch. The rain
muffled the noise as it bounced down through the hylaea below, breaking
branches and snapping vines.
"What next?" Tuuvatem whispered
interestedly.
"They're sleeping." Moomadeem dug its
front claws into the wood underfoot. "Let's charge and knock them all
off!"
"No." Saalahan did not move. It was
studying, observing, analyzing. Or perhaps it was just instinct. "Not all
of them may be asleep. Their mufflers shoot thunder, and we are not as quick as
thunder. Come."
They melted back into the trees as silently as they
had come.
Ceijihagrast BHRYT was furious as he blinked at his
chronometer. He was Tatrasaseep's follow‑up on watch, and it was the
other soldier's responsibility to wake his designated replacement. What was
keeping him? Already Ceijihagrast had overslept his posting by an unforgivable
margin.
Angrily he fumbled with his rifle. Let Tatrasaseep
try to claim compensation for unscheduled watch time! It wouldn't play. Worse
still for him if he'd fallen asleep on duty. Field Officer Nesorey would have
the scales off his nostrils.
Rifle armed and ready, he picked his way past his
sleeping comrades as he strode down the branch. He hadn't gone far before he
paused and turned a slow circle. Tatrasaseep should be standing or sitting on
this spot, just in front of the little grassy clump that protruded from a woody
knot. There was no sign of him.
Either the fool had sneaked back into camp and gone
to sleep in violation of every conceivable directive, or more likely, he had
simply mispositioned himself. Difficult even in the rain to overlook the
grassy knot, but not impossible.
Ceijihagrast walked on past the patch of quasi‑grass.
The encampment was well behind him now. Where was the lazy sisstinp? Had
the clumsy idiot gone for a walk to loosen his muscles, only to slip and tumble
soundlessly to a green grave? Unlikely. Tatrasaseep would never make
underofficer, but he was physically adept.
Leaning slightly to his left, the trooper tried to
see into the sodden reaches below the branch. If Tatrasaseep had fallen, he might be lying not far
below, concealed from view by overarching leaves and blossoms. Even now he
might be trying weakly to call for help, his portable beam broken or out of
reach, his tail thrashing feebly beneath him.
If a search was to be mounted, assistance was in
order. Too easy to become disoriented and lost in the dense vegetation, too
likely to meet up with something lethal in the dark.
He called out, not too emphatically lest he wake the
Lord Caavax. The thought that his comrade might have been attacked never
crossed his mind, knowing for certain as he did that in that event any
competent Ann soldier would have been able to squeeze off at least a burst or
two from his weapon which would have awakened the entire camp.
No, either he was sleeping safely back in the
encampment, in which case Ceijihagrast would be tempted to shoot him himself,
or else he had met with an accident. Satisfied that he had considered every
possibility, the trooper pivoted to return to camp.
And promptly encountered an accident, waiting to
happen.
Something immense and dark had risen behind him,
blocking not only his path but his view. Standing on hind legs, Saalahan
scowled unblinkingly down at the soldier. Remnant moonlight outlined razor‑sharp
tusks.
Ceijihagrast's slitted pupils dilated sharply as he
brought the pulse rifle up. He wasn't nearly quick enough. Four massive paws
came together, catching the soldier's skull between them and crushing it like
an egg. Messily decapitated, the body crumpled to the ground.
With a disdainful snort, the furcot dropped to all
sixes. "Clear?"
"All clear." Tuuvatem was scrutinizing the
rain soaked encampment while clinging to the side of the branch, indifferent
to the twenty‑meter drop beneath her. Thirty‑six claws ensured that
she did not fall.
"You see?" Saalahan gestured with a
bloodied paw. "Each night they do the same thing. Each night we will kill
one or two more of them. Soon they will all be dead. Then we can go back to the
Home‑tree."
Effortlessly grasping the headless body in powerful
jaws, it took a step to the edge of the branch and dropped it over the side.
Pulse rifle still clutched convulsively in clawed fingers, the dead trooper
went bouncing and spinning down in the wake of his predecessor. The forest swallowed
both with equal efficiency.
Saalahan considered the sky. "Soon the sun will
rise and it will be lightness. Enough for one night. Tomorrow we will kill more
of the nonpersons." Shepherding the two youngsters, the big adult led them
off into the depths of the verdure in search of a place to sleep. "There
is no hurry."
Field Officer Nesorey was livid as he confronted his
four remaining troops. "None of you saw anything? None of you heard
anything?" His burning gaze fixed on Hosressachu. "You! You were on
the last posting forward. Nothing disturbed your watch? No sounds, no sights
piqued your interest?"
To his credit, the frightened, unhappy soldier
replied readily. "No, honored one. I saw only the rain and small glowing
things. As did he who watched before me." At this the trooper on his
immediate right executed a decidedly sharp gesture indicative of first‑degree
concurrence.
"Someone should have checked on
Tatrasaseep," the field officer muttered.
"Probably Cheijihagrast did just that, honored
one." Proper sociomilitary etiquette notwithstanding, the soldier
initially berated wasn't about to concede control of the discussion. While he
felt first‑degree guilt over the loss of two comrades, he wasn't about to
take responsibility for their demise. Such unwarranted acquiescence would be
decidedly un‑AAnnlike.
What fate had befallen the two soldiers, the
survivors could only imagine. Nor were the human captives any help, responding
to angry inquiries with blank expressions on their flat, soft‑skinned
faces.
Morning sounds filled the air, a cacophony of
creatures rising in endless variety and profusion to take back the forest from
the citizens of the night. The music they made was pure dissonance to the
surviving AAnn. Yellow-green light grated on their pupils as the unseen sun
sucked at the lingering moisture. Several of them were certain they could feel
their flesh rotting inside their suits even as they stood patiently waiting for
the aristocrat and the field officer to make a decision.
"Something took them both." Lord Caavax's
gaze roamed the enveloping forest. "It is likely we will never know what.
Evidently our nightly routine must be altered."
Field Officer Nesorey responded with a gesture of
third‑degree affirmation coupled with an overlay of frustration.
"That which served adequately on our initial foray is obviously no longer
valid procedure. There are not enough of us left to set out perimeter guards.
We will have to keep close together, half of us sleeping while the other half
remain on watch." He was staring intently into the surrounding growths,
searching for an assailant whose identity remained unknown to him. That was the
worst part of it: not knowing what was stalking them.
He was suddenly thoughtful. "Something has
changed. There is something different about the forest."
A trooper disagreed. "Most likely it was an
isolated, random attack, honored one." Both soldiers looked to Lord Caavax
for resolution.
"There is validity to both perceptions,"
the aristocrat finally remarked. "In any event, we will take additional
precautions." His gaze shifted to the four humans.
Flinx kept his expression carefully neutral. A look
from Teal confirmed what he'd already suspected. He'd been waiting for the
furcots to make their move even before the AAnn had arrived on the scene. Their
patience was uncommon. Last night their emotional presence had been stronger
than usual. Early in the morning it had peaked, in concert with an emotional
jolt from first one and then a second AAnn. That they were alien mattered not.
The emotional spectrum he was erratically able to access did not discriminate
according to species.
Besides that, death had its own unmistakable
emotional signature.
The AAnn knew nothing of furcots, and Flinx wasn't
about to enlighten them. He wondered how confident the Lord Caavax would be if
he knew he was being stalked not by mindless nocturnal carnivores but by
intelligent symbiotes. Rescue wasn't assured, but Flinx felt more confident
than he had in days. The trick was not to show it. He would have to warn Teal
not to sleep too soundly at night. To Caavax's way of thinking, whatever was
out there should be as much a threat to the humans as to their captors. To
indicate otherwise would be to raise suspicions in the noble's mind that would
do them no good.
As long as he was convinced that they were in danger
only from mindless apparitions, Caavax would continue to act rationally. Was he
rational enough to be reasonable? No harm, Flinx decided, in finding out.
"Your escort is down to five, honored Lord. Why
not give this up as a bad business and let us go? I know the AAnn, and I know
it would be hard for you. But there are precedents."
"To which I will not add," Caavax replied
promptly. "So long as I live and can lift a weapon, we will continue
together toward the landing site."
Flinx had expected nothing less from a high noble,
but it had been worth a try. The attempt had been intended not only to secure
their freedom but to prevent further deaths. Now he washed his hands of it,
feeling that he'd done all he could. From this point onward, everything was up
to Caavax. And the furcots.
"Continue," the aristocrat declared. Field
Officer Nesorey indicated third‑degree assent and hissed at his soldiers.
With two troopers taking point and two bringing up the rear, the much reduced‑in‑strength
expedition moved out along the branch.
Flinx glanced frequently in the direction of the
field officer. To ensure that his subordinates were free to respond to any
threat from the forest as quickly as possible, Nesorey had taken charge of the
sack containing Pip. The flying snake could go several days without eating, but
by tomorrow night would have to receive nourishment of some kind or she would
begin to fail rapidly.
At present Flinx knew she was estivating to conserve
energy, something Alaspinian minidrags could do at will. Otherwise they
couldn't last a day without food because A
their phenomenal metabolic rate. At least, he knew, she hadn't been forced
to expend any energy on flying. But conservation measures would only sustain
her for so long. Somehow he had to get nourishment to her or free her from the
containment bag.
They were less than an hour's march from the site of
the previous night's encampment when the soldier walking point on the right
side let out a hissing screech and began firing madly into the forest. Before
his companion could restrain him, he took off wildly, hissing obscenities as he
blasted branches, lianas, fruit, flowers, and anything that moved.
Exhibiting a frenzied surge of strength and agility,
he leaped from branch to branch, entering into a maniacal search of hollows and
crevices with wide, despairing eyes, firing until his rifle was discharged.
Ignoring the pleas of his fellow soldiers and the outraged commands of the
field officer, he jammed a fresh energy pack into his weapon and re-embarked on
his aimless orgy of destruction.
Nesorey roared helplessly at the enraged soldier.
"Trooper Hosressachu, return to your position! In the name of the Emperor
...!"
Neither his words nor those of the other soldiers
had any effect on the wild‑eyed Hosressachu, who persisted in
annihilating anything that caught the attention of his unhinged mind.
The AAnn's preoccupation with their wayward comrade
allowed Flinx to whisper unnoticed to Teal. "That's another one gone. If this
doesn't convince Caavax, then ... hey, what's the matter?"
Next to him, Teal had gone cold. Flinx felt her fear, which was genuine and not faked. Casting out with his
talent, he discovered an absence of furcotal emotion. That suggested that the
furcots had either moved on ahead or were deliberately trailing far behind.
Or else something had scared them away.
He thought of Moomadeem, brave beyond his years, and
Saalahan, immovable as a rock, and wondered what there was out there in the
forest capable of frightening them. That's when it struck him.
Maybe the feverish trooper Hosressachu wasn't firing
at nothing.
Nesorey continued to bellow imprecations of
admirable elegance at his berserking soldier. Ignoring him, the determined trooper
fired into a cluster of thickly entwined small branches. Wood and sap went
flying. Bending low, he advanced on the opening his weapon had made.
At the same instant, what looked from a distance
like a coiled rope dropped over him and contracted. Hosressachu screamed
hideously as the coil sliced him into a dozen disk-like sections, blood
spurting violently from around each loop of the coil. Even more than the
violence of the attack, it was the speed that was shocking. The poor trooper
never had a chance. The muscular power inherent in those coils, Flinx thought,
must be on an unbelievable order of magnitude to slice a body like that.
Suspended from an overhead branch by four
multi-jointed legs, the perfectly camouflaged quilimot regarded its prey. Even
when Teal bestirred herself to point it out to him, Flinx still had trouble
separating the predator from the branch beneath which it hung. Clasped in the
coil of the killing tail, the smashed body of Hosressachu rose slowly toward
the waiting mouth. His rifle went up with him in the unrelenting grasp, the
military‑grade composites pulverized by the force of the quilimot's
murderous contraction.
Two longer, slimmer legs reached down. Each
terminated in a single, thin gleaming claw. One pierced the soldier's skull
directly between the eyes while the other entered his back. Three bright
crimson eyes were visible now, examining the prey.
Badly shaken, the deceased trooper's comrade on
point knelt and took careful aim. Balancing his rifle across his knees in the
accepted AAnn fashion, he began firing at the quilimot. When the field officer
hissed at him to desist, he was ignored. Cursing, Nesorey unlimbered his own
weapon and added his firepower to that of the soldier. Both were soon joined by
the last heavily armed member of the expeditionary force.
As several shots struck the quilimot it responded
with a cry halfway between a cough and a roar. Body jerking spasmodically, two
of its four legs lost their grip on the branch above. Snarling defiance, it
dropped to a large liana and attempted to find safety in the dense vegetation
nearby, still clutching the crushed corpse of the unfortunate Hosressachu in
its coiled tail.
A well‑directed shot from the field officer
struck near or on the head. Losing control entirely, the horrid being shuddered
once before plunging from the liana. It fell some ten meters, bounced off a
thick branch, and dropped another twenty before coming to rest in a cluster of
thick keskes leaves.
When they finally reached the immobile, stinking form
after carefully working their way downward, they found the trooper's body still
held convulsively in the grasp of the unyielding tail. Field Officer Nesorey
performed a closer inspection and reported back to the Lord Caavax.
"One would have to cut Hosressachu loose
section by section to free all of the remains, honored Lord." He looked
back at where predator and soldier lay entwined in death. "It is as if he
is wrapped in metal cable. His bones are crushed, but I think the shock to his
system killed him before blood loss or suffocation."
Lord Caavax considered the remnants of his escort,
the cream of an entire AAnn martial burrow. The human's words haunted him,
knowing as he did that they still had a considerable distance to travel to
reach the landing site and the safety of the imperial shuttle. If he continued
to lose soldiers at this rate, they wouldn't make it to the halfway point.
He turned solemnly to Nesorey, knowing that these
successive tragedies must be taking their toll on the field officer. "There
comes a time when aspiration must give way to expedience. You have more
experience in the field than 1. 1 await any recommendations."
Tired, angry, and frustrated, the field officer
replied without hesitation. "There are now five of us to watch four of them,
in addition to maintaining a watch for predators." He gestured at Teal.
"It is clear the human female cannot warn us of dangers if, like
Hosressachu, we choose to stumble into them on our own, or if she is sleeping
when night carnivores attack.
"I therefore respectfully submit, honored Lord,
that her usefulness to us has been exaggerated and that as such, her presence
and that of her offspring now constitute an ongoing burden rather than a
benefit. Killing them will allow the five of us who remain to concentrate our
attention on the one human whose return to the Keralkee is, after all, the purpose of this much suffering
expedition."
Flinx whirled on the AAnn noble. "We had an
agreement."
"Abrogated by circumstance," Caavax
replied remorselessly. "I am compelled to prioritize."
"Kill them and you'll never get possession of
the Teacher!"
"That may be," the aristocrat conceded.
"However, it cannot be argued that I will also not gain control of your
vessel if I happen to die on this sissfint pestilence of a world. Given
the choice, I prefer to live and take my chances with our advanced methods of
persuasion."
"Then just let them go," Flinx pleaded.
"What threat can a small female and two offspring pose to you?"
Caavax considered Teal and the children out of cold,
yellow eyes. "On this world? I am long past leaving anything to
chance." Turning to the field officer, he executed a gesture of fourth‑degree
consent marked with concurrence.
"I am tired of watching only AAnn die.
Proceed."
Field Officer Nesorey gestured to the soldier on his
right. Having just witnessed the violent death of yet another of his fellow
troopers, this individual was in no mood to question orders, much less feel any
sympathy for a clutch of dirty, smelly, damp humans. Advancing, he raised the
muzzle of his rifle in Teal's direction.
Responding to her master's agonized emotional state,
Pip writhed wildly within the restraining sack. Flinx took a desperate step
toward Lord Caavax. The AAnn noble raised his sidearm warningly.
"Do not try anything foolish."
"Kill me and you have nothing," Flinx shot
back.
"I have no intention of killing you. This is a
neuronic pistol." He gestured with his sidearm. "It is set to
paralyze, not kill. If I am compelled to shoot you, you will only wish you were
dead."
Incipient sniffles gave way to all‑out bawling
as Kiss fell to her knees in front of the AAnn soldier. Dwell shifted to stand
protectively in front of Teal.
"Please, don't hurt my mother! Kill me if you
have to, but leave her alone!"
"Almost like an AAnn." The field officer
gestured approvingly. "Don't worry," he told the boy, "you will
have your turn." He flexed clawed fingers in the direction of the waiting
trooper. "Reward the male child. Do him first. And be clean
with it."
The soldier responded by checking the charge on his
rifle, ignoring the female child who was now clutching desperately at his legs
and sobbing uncontrollably. Flinx contemplated making a jump for the weapon
even though he knew he'd never reach it. Caavax was watching him too closely.
The alarm was sounded by another of the alert
troopers. Movement in the branches overhead spurred him to shout
a
startled warning. For an instant Flinx flinched along with the AAnn, but the
unexpected sense of calm and assurance Teal projected caused him to relax.
Along with everyone else, he turned his gaze upward.
Drifting down through the leaves and branches was
what appeared to be a swarm of thin mushroom caps. Brown on top and streaked
with bright blue, pale white underneath, they averaged a third of a meter in
diameter with hollow centers. Each cap was ringed with tiny globules. If it was
some kind of attack, it was proceeding at a pace an active slug could avoid.
"Calm yourself, Masmarulial," the field
officer instructed the trooper who'd yelled. "All kinds of plant matter
drifts down from above. Seeds and leaves, twigs and empty husks. Just move out
of the way."
"Yes, honored one," mumbled the abashed
soldier. Stepping clear of the nearest gently tumbling brown disk, he watched
it spiral down toward the branch.
He had no way of knowing that his body heat would be
sufficient to activate it.
Faster than the eye could follow, the tiny globes
rimming the disk ballooned to four times their normal size and exploded. The
soldier responded by doing precisely the wrong thing, which was to inhale
sharply. Vertical pupils expanding to the maximum, his eyes bugged. Mucus began
to stream from his nostrils and he sneezed so violently that he dropped his
rifle. It clattered on the branch but did not go off.
Everyone gaped at the unfortunate trooper, who by
this time had collapsed on the branch and was sneezing uncontrollably. In
imitation of Teal, Flinx once again had clapped his hands over nose and mouth.
Distracted by their companion's distress, the AAnn
failed to notice that Kiss's sobbing had ceased with suspicious suddenness. Nor
did they see her remove from a pocket concealed in the lining of her cape a
child‑sized bone blade ten centimeters in length. Demonstrating lightning
reflexes and precocious skill, she jammed this with all her strength up between
the legs of the soldier she was clinging to.
The trooper screamed like a baby and dropped his
weapon to clutch at himself. At the same time, Dwell bounded forward and leaped
at the field officer. Wrapping one arm around the AAnn's neck and both legs
around its waist, the boy used his own knife to slash several times at the
straps that secured the catching sack to the officer's pack. He had to work
fast because more and more of the mushroom‑puffballs were exploding as
the disks drifted within range of those standing on the branch. Sneezing
helplessly, locked together, both he and the field officer crumpled onto the
branch.
Flinx closed his eyes to try and shut out the
irritating spores. At that moment he wanted nothing more out of life than to be
able to take a deep, invigorating mouthful of fresh air. He was sure his face
must be turning blue.
Having planted her hidden knife where it would do
the most good, Kiss scrambled like a little brown‑haired bug to the edge
of the branch ... and flung herself over the side, out into empty space.
Sneezing painfully, Dwell rolled free of the helpless Nesorey. A last,
tenacious tug ripped free the sack containing Pip. Flinging it ahead of him, he
followed it over the side.
Seeing this, a wide‑eyed Flinx stumbled toward
the edge. He couldn't hold it in any longer‑, he lead to breathe. As he
opened his mouth, someone hit him hard in the middle of the back. Flailing
wildly for balance, he looked over his shoulder and saw that it was Teal who
had struck him from behind. Her cool, contemplative stare was the last thing he
saw before he felt himself falling through space.
Seconds became an eternity before he struck
something soft and yielding. Bouncing several times, he eventually came to a
halt. Rolling over onto all fours and looking up, the first thing he saw was
Dwell. The grinning boy was standing and looking down at him, a now familiar
sack slung safely over his shoulder.
"You can breathe okay now." With one hand
he pointed upward. "The hac spores are all up there."
Nodding to show that he understood, Flinx sucked in
a great, deep mouthful of heavy, moist hylaeal air. It felt wonderful and his
starved lungs cried for more. As he climbed to his feet he saw that Teal was
laughing at him.
Smiling shyly, he inclined his head and tried to see
up into the canopy. They had fallen far enough so that there was no sign, or
sound, of their captors. A hand tapped him on the shoulder.
The boy held the seek out to him. "Here is your
animal. I knew you would not come without it."
Flinx accepted the sack and tried to think of some
way to show the depth of his appreciation. "That was very brave of you,
Dwell, to jump the field officer like that."
The ten‑year‑old shrugged. "I knew
what the hac spores would do. He didn't."
Flinx mailed and bent to release the secure seals.
When the last had been loosened, a brilliantly colored cylindrical shape
slithered out, flaunted multihued wings, and took to the air. It circled three
times around the cluster of approving humans before setting down on Flinx's
shoulder. He felt the pointed tongue flicking affectionately at the underside
of his jaw.
"We have to get her something to eat," he
explained to Teal. "It shouldn't be difficult. She's omnivorous‑ I
mean, she'll eat just about anything."
Approaching with a shyness Flinx could no longer
accept at face value subsequent to her actions above, Kiss presented him with a
handful of thumbnail‑sized nuts drawn from still another concealed pocket
in her green cape. They were bright pink with ribbed exteriors, but Pip downed
them one after another without hesitation.
"Thanks," Flinx told the girl. She smiled
back up at him and he could feel a blend of uncertainty and affection radiating
from her.
Looking up into the boundless greenery once more, he
thought he could just hear the echo of distant popping. "How much longer
will the sneeze effect last?"
Teal moved close. "We left before the spores
could disperse fully. If the not‑persons are still up there, in the same
place, they won't be able to do anything at all for a little while yet."
Kiss pressed a finger to her lower lip. "Not‑persons
aren't very smart."
"Certainly not as smart as you," Flinx
told her admiringly. "Who taught you to react the way you did up
there?"
Not‑so‑innocent green eyes peered up at
him. "Mommy and Daddy an' Uncle Thil and Shaman Ponder."
"Children's training starts very early,"
Teal explained. "It's easy to get them to pay attention to their lessons.
Those who don't never grow up."
"Lost my knife." A disappointed Kiss
pushed out her lower lip, looking for all the world like any little girl who'd
misplaced her dolly.
"I'll get you another one," Flinx assured
her. "A better knife than you've ever seen. Even if I have to make it
myself."
Her eyes grew wide. "Really? Promise?"
"Really. I promise." He smiled fondly.
They had landed atop something Teal identified as
gargalufla. The single flower had only two leaves, each of which was three
meters thick, five wide, and six long. It would have been incapable of
supporting its own weight if the majority
of its intercellular interstices hadn't been filled with air. This was what
had cushioned their fall.
"How did you know this was here?" Flinx
looked from the colossal flower to Teal. "Surely your decision to jump this
way was based on more than hope? For that matter, you didn't seem surprised at
the arrival of the hac spores. Are they common around here?"
She was smiling back at him. "No, they're not.
They usually don't fall in such dense clusters, either. They were carried to
the place and then dropped on us."
"Dropped ... ?" Half‑familiar
feelings caused him to turn in the right direction several moments before the
furcots actually arrived.
With a somber Saalahan in the lead, they ambled out
of the verdure to rejoin their humans. A delighted Kiss and Dwell flung
themselves at the equally responsive Moomadeem and Tuuvatem, the four of them
laughing and giggling as they rolled about, swatting and hugging one another
with reckless disregard for the precipitous drop that gaped beneath the
gargalufla. While no less pleased to see one another again, Saalahan and Teal
restricted themselves to a more formal embrace.
"You almost waited too long." She made a
fist and rubbed the big adult between the ears. Saalahan grunted contentedly.
"Easy to gather hac spore caps. Harder to make sure you had a place to
jump okay."
Flinx eyed Teal. "So that's how you knew it was
safe to throw yourself off the branch."
She nodded. "As soon as I saw so many hac caps
falling in one place I knew that Saalahan had to be responsible. Knowing that,
I knew my furcot wouldn't dump them right on top of us unless it was safe to
get away from them the quickest way possible. Which was to jump." She
nodded in the direction of the gigantic flower. "I didn't know what we'd
land on. The gargalufla was perfect, Saalahan."
"Thought it would be so." The big adult
sniffed.
"How did you know these spores would have the
same effect on the AAnn," Flinx inquired. "On the notpersons?"
Three eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "If a
thing has a nose, hac spores will make it sneeze."
"Furcots have noses. How come they didn't make
you sneeze when you gathered them?"
The social symbiote sniffed. "Use long grasper
vines to pick, and carry caps. If hac caps are not brought close to a person's
body, where they can be warmed, they stay closed."
The furcots helped them slide safely off the side of
the humungous leaf. Teal showed Flinx the stem of the flower, which was as big
around as the trunk of an oak. The flower in turn grew atop a branch greater in
diameter than the largest tree Flinx had ever seen on Moth. Everything on this
world, he reflected, was of a scale to dwarf all the combined jungles of the
known worlds. Compared to it, the Amazon basin of Terra was backyard landscaping
and the rain forests of Hivehom as thoroughly domesticated as the rough
bordering a golf course.
At the limit of his perception he felt he could see
an extraordinary jumble of fear, fury, uncertainty, and determination.
"Don't you think we should get moving?"
Teal peered up into the tangle of vegetation.
"Do you really think after what just happened to them they will still try
to come after us?"
"I don't know, but the AAnn honor persistence.
I'd rather not wait around and see."
Lord Caavax's expeditionary force was now down to a
field officer, two healthy troopers, and the hapless victim of Kiss's knife,
assuming he hadn't bled to death. Given such losses, human pursuers would have
opted to execute a strategic retreat. The AAnn thought differently.
"Then we will not linger. Give us a direction,
Flinx."
Checking his tiny positioner, he raised an arm and
pointed. "That way."
"Your device is a wonderment." She smiled
at him. "Perhaps this time we will reach the Home‑tree without
interference.".
"I sure as hell hope so." He scratched Pip
under her chin and she closed her eyes in pleasure. They could just as easily
head for his shuttle, he reflected, and with the furcots' help, probably beat
the leery and weakened Caavax to the landing site.
The drawback to that notion was that there could be
several dozen fresh troopers still aboard the AAnn craft, waiting with heavy
weapons and eager attitudes for the opportunity to see some action. Perhaps
only an imaginary confrontation, but one Flinx intended to avoid. Before attempting
anything on his own behalf he fully intended to see Teal and her children
safely home.
Dwell was chatting with his sister. "Remember when that dumb diverdaunt tried to eat a bunch of ripe hac caps? It nearly sneezed itself to pieces!" Brother and sister shared a giggle along with the memory.
Watching them, serene and safe once again, Flinx
mused on what it might be like to grow up in a world like this, never seeing
the ground or the sky, surrounded by millions of exotic species where in a
lifetime most people were fortunate to encounter a few, hundred. The forest
supplied everything they needed, in unimaginable plenty and variety. The
flavors of foods alone must exceed anything available to even the richest of
merchants.
Then a thorn nicked the back of his left hand and he
winced slightly. A tiny bubble of blood welled up where the skin had been
broken. It was a reminder, small but not insignificant.
This was a place of great beauty, but also a place
where daydreamers died. Resolutely, he returned his attention to the track
ahead.
When Field Officer Nesorey finally stopped sneezing
long enough to catch his breath, he staggered weakly to his feet. His face was
a mess, the usually immaculate scales crusty with drying mucus, normally bright
eyes dulled and dark from uncontrolled glandular seepage.
Chorazzkwep was doing his best trying to treat the
moaning, badly wounded Jusquetechii, applying disinfectants, antibiotics, and
sterile spray‑on. Serious medical treatment would have to wait until they
returned to the shuttle. Wiping at his eyes, the field officer saw that the
quick‑thinking Chorazzkwep had at least succeeded in stopping the
bleeding. Nesorey would put him in for an appropriate commendation‑
provided any of them lived that long.
Gazing intently into the green depths below the
branch, Lord Caavax was using a moistened disinfecting towel to clean his face
and muzzle. He stood too close to the edge for Nesorey's comfort, but it was
not the field officer's place to criticize the noble's decision. Suggesting
that he step back from the abyss would be equivalent to impugning the
aristocrat's courage. Whatever else his faults might be, Nesorey mused, Lord
Caavax was not lacking in bravery.
What was in order now, however, was not bravery but
common sense.
Cries, whistles, screeches, howls, rhythmic
bellowing, and musical calls resounded from below as well as all around the
devastated expedition. None provided any clues as to the fate of their former
prisoners. Had they all committed suicide rather than submit to the ennobling
attention of AAnn weaponry, or were one or more of them lying safe somewhere
unseen below, possibly injured? The field officer knew that in that equation
only the tall human male mattered.
He peered cautiously over the edge. Green of every
possible shade and permutation assailed his still tender eyes. There was ample
movement, none of which could be traced to a human source. With a soft hiss he
sidled sideways until he was standing next to his superior.
"Honored Lord, what shall we do now? Direct
me." He performed a second‑degree salute with suggestions of
understanding and a touch of sympathy‑for‑position.
Caavax was touched. Un‑AAnnlike as it would
have been, given their circumstances, he would have taken no umbrage had the
field officer chosen instead to announce himself with several choice curses.
"As soon as Jusquetechii's injury has been
stabilized we shall resume pursuit." After a glance down at the tracker
attached to his instrument belt, he pointed eastward. "They're moving that
way. So long as the human Flinx utilizes his own instrumentation to position
himself with respect to his shuttle, he cannot escape us. If he switches the
device off, he will become hopelessly lost. He is young, but not stupid.
"When we next catch up with him, there will be
no hesitation. We will kill the three native humans from ambush and I myself
will see to it that he cannot flee from us without great difficulty. The option
of a respected captivity will not be offered."
The field officer acknowledged his superior's
designated course of action. "Honored Lord?"
"Field officer?" Caavax was staring off
into the impenetrable wall of green.
""The human Flinx is aware of our presence
and intentions. As you have observed, he is not ignorant. Therefore he must
know that we can track him so long as he continues the use of his positioner.
The fact that he does so suggests that he does not fear pursuit. To carry this
line of reasoning further, it is not out of the realm of possibility to
consider that he may be deliberately tempting us to follow him."
"To what end, field officer?"
Nesorey's tone was one of first‑degree
assurance. "Our ultimate destruction, honored Lord."
Caavax considered. "The thought had occurred to
me. However, all of our losses save a single wounding have been caused by
inimical local life forms, not by the humans. We need to take more care. Also,
the human Flinx has been relieved of his only weapon."
"I need hardly point out, honored Lord,"
the field officer replied in a voice that flirted dangerously with
impertinence, "that we are running out of soldiers with which to take
care, and that this whole world may be regarded as a weapon.
"Even if we were to catch up to the quarry a
second time, keeping in mind that he is now fully aware of our presence and
intentions, 1 wonder if we could make it safely back to the landing site. We
embarked on this hunt with a full squad of alert, energized troops. Presently
we find ourselves reduced to three, one of whom is seriously injured." He
executed a profound gesture of disagreement tempered with respect.
"Let the human and his native friends go,
honored Lord. Unless he chooses to live out his life in this pestilential
morass, he will eventually have to return to his shuttle. Easy enough to disable
the craft so that it would do him no good to sneak back aboard. Then we, or any
AAnn who may follow us, can take him at leisure." Nesorey turned to
gesture in the direction of the wounded Jusquetechii.
"Is principle worth more than the life of an
AAnn soldier?"
"Of course it is," Caavax replied readily.
"You know that as well as I do, field officer. Yet I take your point. I
will lose face if we return without the quarry."
Field Officer Nesorey regarded their surroundings
with continued wariness. "Better to do so figuratively than literally,
honored Lord." He flinched as three stubby fliers with streaming yellow
tails and quadruple wings flitted past the branch. They looked clumsy,
harmless, and attractive, which made Nesorey all the more uneasy in their
presence. He was learning.
Caavax was silent for a long time. When he finally
replied, the resignation in his voice was profound.
"You are right, field officer. It will do us no
good to die out here and leave the human free to wander on or offworld as he wishes.
A blow to one's pride is a fearful thing, but death compounded by failure is
worse:
"We will return to the landing site. The
quarry's shuttle will be disabled and a suitable message placed aboard. When he
is ready to leave he can determine his own fate." He resumed his
contemplation of their surroundings. "Perhaps that would have been the
best course of action to pursue all along, but no one anticipated there would
be this degree of difficulty in apprehending a single human."
"No one could have, honored Lord."
Nesorey's terse reply was ripe with both feeling and sympathy. "Who could
imagine a world like this? It will haunt my memories till the day the Dark Dune
sweeps over me." His voice fell to a murmur. "I do not like this world,
and I do not think it likes me."
"Be careful, field officer," Caavax warned
him. "Suffering fear is debilitating. Projecting it is worse.
"Inform the others. We will return to the
landing site as rapidly as is feasible, in the course of which we will touch
nothing, brush nothing, examine nothing. If the journey could be accomplished
with closed eyes and sealed ears, I would order it done so. Our food will be
caution and care, which we will consume daily and in copious quantity." He
stepped past the field officer.
"Let us see how trooper Jusquetechii is doing.
Now that a course of action has been decided, I am anxious to be on our
way." He bumped a trio of innocuous pink blossoms and jerked back sharply.
They did not laugh at him, but had they in fact broken into audible hysterics,
he would not have been at all surprised.
"There is no sign of them."
Saalahan dropped from a liana and ambled up to the
campsite, which consisted of several large leaves suspended over a crook where
two large triangular cummumbra branches joined their parent trunk. Flinx and
Teal reclined beneath the shelter while the children and their furcots played
nearby.
"I went quite a distance." Settling down
with a grunt. Saalahan folded all six legs underneath.
Flinx's senses had been devoid of AAnn‑feel
for some time now and he could readily have confirmed Saalahan's observation.
There was no need. What mattered was what was: regardless of what the surviving
AAnn were up to, they weren't following. This posed other potential
difficulties, but he would deal with them later. For now it was enough to know
he and his friends were safe from the attentions of Lord Caavax and his
minions.
"They've given up. For now." Idly he
fingered the softly pulsing positioner.
"Maybe all dead." Saalahan seemed to find
this hugely amusing. A deep rumbling issued from within the burly chest.
"Hard to follow when dead."
"We were lucky," Flinx corrected the
furcot.
"Lucky like Kiss." Tuuvatem took a
playful, prideful swat at the child, who ducked easily.
Flinx lifted his eyes. Pip lay curled around the
back of his neck, sleeping on his shoulders. They were on the third level,
favored of local humans, and the sky was hundreds of meters distant.
"The AAnn aren't always predictable. They might
try to fight their way down to us with another shuttle. Next time there might
not be the right kind of trees around to clog up its intakes."
"Always such trees nearby." Saalahan
grunted knowingly. "Otherwise more fires."
Flinx chose not to elaborate on the options open to
the AAnn through the aid of modern technology. It was hard to argue with a
furcot. Saalahan always seemed to have an answer for everything.
He envisioned a heavily armed AAnn shuttle blasting
its way through the canopy and descending into the depths of the forest. It was
a disconcerting image, made tolerable by the certain knowledge that in one way
or another, the forest would respond. The consequences of such a conflict could
only be imagined.
Something told him it would be unwise when
considering the outcome of such a confrontation to bet against the all‑encompassing
vegetation.
Safe now from Lord Caavax's attentions, Flinx was
enjoying himself. Pip was all right, Teal was in good spirits, the children and
furcots were consistently amusing, and everywhere he looked something new and
extraordinary materialized to astonish the eye. He chose not to dwell on when
it all might start to bore, as had everything else new and exciting he'd
encountered in his brief but harried existence.
The time would come when he would have to consider
leaving. How persistent was Lord Caavax? How desperately did the AAnn desire
control of the Teacher?
Time yet to work out a plan of reaction. Careful not
to disturb Pip, he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back against the
trunk. The bogli tree reached nearly to the canopy and put forth a sensuous,
pungent fragrance. Not all the wonders of this world were potentially lethal.
He and his companions were relaxing in the shade of a six hundred meter high
cinnamon stick. It wasn't cinnamon, of course, but that was the scent that came
most readily to mind. Wallowing in the sensation, he inhaled deeply and often.
A vast feeling of well‑being and contentment washed over him, a massage
more mental than physical.
It was a situation he was able to savor not because
he knew he was safe, but because he enjoyed the company of three forest‑attuned
humans and three equally alert furcots.
That night he found himself sitting and watching the
rain as it pelted the branches and leaves, flowers and
bromeliads
outside their simple but adequate shelter. Seeing Pip curled like a blue and
pink tattoo atop the mountainous Saalahan's spine, he had to smile. Unable to
catch or dissuade the persistent minidrag, the furcots had chosen to ignore
her. Flinx knew the big adult's back had to be softer than his own unyielding
shoulders.
After checking on the children, Teal slid over to
sit close to him. "What are you looking at?"
"The rain. The way the bromeliads catch and
store it. The little glowing lives that flit and by among the leaves. The dark
shapes that boom hopefully at the night. The silent fliers who steer by the
light of concealed moons." Turning, he smiled affectionately at her.
"Lots of things. My senses are all filled up with the perfume of
newness."
Her face wrinkled. "I don't understand."
He returned his attention to the dark, dripping
hylaea. "I have this hunger to learn, Teal. You know how when you're
hungry you get a knot, a tight feeling, in the pit of your stomach?" She
nodded. "I have the equivalent in my mind. There are plenty of times when
I wish I could satisfy it, sate it, but no matter how much I learn, the hunger
always comes back." In the shadow of the cummumbra leaves he spread his
hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"I need to learn, Teal. I need to see and experience
new things. Otherwise, a part of me starts to starve."
She snugged up against his arm. "Is the forest
feeding you enough?"
"More than enough," he assured her.
"Tell me, then. Share with me. What have you
learned from the forest?"
He reflected. "That with beauty comes also
death, and out of death arises new life, and that nothing should be taken for
granted because in nature nothing is what it seems." He shrugged.
"It's equally true for people."
"Is it different where you come from?"
"No," he told her quietly, "not
really. It's just not as passionate. Everything here is intensified: sights,
sounds, smells. This world puts all your senses in overdrive." He grinned
in the darkness. "It's hard to relax and lose yourself in beauty knowing
that at any minute that which you're admiring might gleefully try to rip your
leg off."
"I wouldn't let that happen to you."
"Thanks, Teal. I know ..." He paused,
struck by the tone as much as the import of her reply.
She was concentrating hard. Not on the forest. On
him.
“I am mateless, Flint." That was all she said.
It hung in the air like a' seed, waiting for nurturance.
He looked away from her. "I've never been
married ... mated, Teal. I've told you that."
She shifted against him, her words as well as her
body ripe with warmth and promise. Nearby, children and furcots slept soundly.
"I have helped you, you have helped me. I think
there is more than help there. We are good for one another."
He had visited many worlds, escaped dangers few
could imagine, interacted with the good and the bad of numerous species, but
not even his unique abilities could prepare him for Teal's straightforwardness,
nor tell him how to reply.
"Teal, I‑ I hardly know what to say. I'm
not looking for a mate." He turned away from her, letting his gaze mark
the silhouettes of the great forest. "I'm not even sure it would be fair
of me to mate with anyone."
She didn't understand. "Why? Flinx, is there
something wrong with you?"
"Yes. No. Something is‑ different with
me. I don't know yet if it's wrong. Sometimes it's a good thing, other times I
can't stand being inside my own head."
"That is crazy talk. Where else would you
be?"
He started to reply, caught himself. How could he
explain that he'd actually been outside his head a few times? Once with the aid
of the Ulru‑Ujurrians, again on this very world not so long ago. Sleep
was not a state he always looked forward to with anticipation. There were times
when he was asleep during the day and awake in his sleep.
"You're a very fine person, Teal. A very fine
woman." As indeed she was, lying there next to him beneath the commumbra
leaves, her skin mottled with diffuse moonlight. Everything about her seemed to
enhance the feeble glow. Her face and form were full of promise and shadows.
"But this isn't my home, isn't my world. I like
a lot of things about it, but I'm not sure I'd want to settle here
permanently." His voice choked and he coughed to clear his throat.
"I'm not sure I'm destined to settle anywhere permanently."
Sensing his distress, she tried to comfort him.
"Tell me about your home. Is it very different from here?"
"Everywhere is very different from here, Teal.
This world is unique. Moth‑ where I come from‑ is much colder than
this."
Curiosity underlined her response. "I have
heard of cold. I don't think I'd like it."
"I know you wouldn't," he told her
feelingly. "It's wet, but not as wet as this, and the rain is cold, too.
There are trees‑"
She perked up. "Trees! Like these?"
He had to laugh, gently. "Teal, there are no
trees like these anywhere else in the known universe. Your home is special in
so many ways."
"Well, if it is special and you are special,
then what better place for you to be?" she argued ingenuously.
He started to reply, hesitated, and had to admit
that she was making her case very well. The truly sad part of it was that he
wanted to give in, wanted to make a home somewhere.
Presently that was impossible. As for the future,
his present concern was to learn if there would be one. And just because this
world might be a suitable place for him didn't mean that he was suitable for
it.
She wouldn't understand any of that, of course.
"There are also places on Moth called plains,
where there are no trees at all."
Her eyes widened. "No trees at all!"
"Some of them don't even have grass, and are
covered all year round in ice."
"Ice?" Her expression twisted. "Isn't
that something like cold'?"
"It's cold you can pick up," he, explained
patiently. "Solid cold."
She shook her head. "The old stories‑ it
was always hard to believe some of the things they said. Your home is such a
place?"
"It's where I grew up." He was not being
intentionally evasive, only truthful. "I need to find out about who and
what I am, Teal, before I can inflict myself for any length of time on someone
else."
This time there was nothing innocent about her
response. "Don't be in such a hurry to protect everyone from
yourself."
"I have things I have to do. There's something
unpleasant," he looked upward and nodded, "up there. I may be fooling
myself, but I think maybe I can do something about it. Or at least help."
He ran one hand lightly over the warm living wood on which they were sitting.
"This place may be involved, somehow."
She blinked. "This tree?"
Again he had to smile. "No. More than this
tree. Much more. I don't understand it all yet. There are so many things I
don't understand."
She squeezed his arm. "Then you are more normal
than you believe."
If only that were so, he thought. If only it were
so.
"Things are happening, Teal. On a very big
scale. Very big. I seem to be in the middle of it all, somehow. There's a sense
of many parts of a whole trying to come together. I don't know yet how I fit
into the final equation. Only‑ that I'm a part of it."
"And because of that you can't mate?"
His tone was tender but unyielding. "Because of
that it wouldn't be fair of me to mate."
She looked away from him, silent and contemplative
for some time. "Afterward?"
"Afterward all things might be possible."
There, he thought. No lie and no harm in speculating on a nonexistent future.
She sighed. Wee comical snores rose from the two
young furcots while Saalahan's great mass rose and fell silently. Dwell and
Kiss slumbered in silence and Pip remained curled comfortably atop the big
furcot's back.
"Then you will not mate with me?"
He considered carefully. If greatness or tragedy was
to be thrust upon him, it still lay sometime in the future. Vast forces in
motion had not yet come together, were still in the process of doing so.
Meanwhile, reality consisted of the forest, the rain, the warmth, and those
around him.
Turning to her more solemnly than he intended, he
replied, "I didn't say that. What I said was that I couldn't be your
mate."
After a moment's uncertainty her face crinkled into
a fresh smile; a provocative blend of shyness and anticipation. Then she
reached for him.
It took several days of hard climbing to reach the
Home‑tree. Flinx followed patiently behind Saalahan and Teal, watching
the children and their furcots swing fearlessly across green‑fringed
chasms that would have given a mature human athlete pause. Occasionally they
detoured carefully around dangers Flinx never saw, and once at Teal's
admonition he was compelled to all but tiptoe past a slim, smooth‑barked
growth that appeared no more threatening than its immediate neighbors.
Eventually Moomadeem called out from his position on
the right. Joining the young furcot, Teal and Saalahan discussed what appeared
to be familiar surroundings. They were sufficiently confident to diverge from
the course dictated by Flinx's positioner.
"If we're wrong we can always use your device
to return to our former path," she told him. "But I think Moomadeem
is right. I think we are very near the Home."
An hour's walk proved the furcot right. The branch
that marked the outlying reaches of the Home‑tree looked the same as
those that he'd initially encountered upon leaving his shuttle at the landing
site and descending into the hylaea. But it was not the same.
Without warning a large, powerful form dropped from
a cluster of lianas dangling overhead to land directly in front of Saalahan,
effectively blocking their path. Startled by her master's reaction, Pip
instantly rose into the air and began searching for the source of the alarm,
alert and ready to defend against any attack.
A man landed on the branch next to the fully grown
furcot. He was little taller than Teal and similarly clad. A finger waved in
Flinx's direction.
"Who and what is that?"
"Hullo, Enoch." Stepping forward, Teal put
a hand on each of the man's shoulders. Still wary, he kept trying to see past
her. Flinx wasn't sure whether the newcomer's attention was directed toward him
or Pip.
Saalahan led the younger furcots to greet the second
adult. Meanwhile Kiss and Dwell raced past both guards, shouting and calling
out gleefully. The man watched them go, then put his own hands on Teal's
shoulders. At that moment Flinx realized what the man was looking for.
"Where is Jerah?"
Lowering her eyes respectfully, Teal shook her head.
"It was not a good gathering."
The older man nodded knowingly. "We thought you
all dead."
"Only Jerah."
As Enoch retreated a step, Flinx noted the muffler
strapped to his back. "I didn't know you knew the returning way."
"We didn't." She turned to indicate Flinx.
"This person found us and helped us to return."
Enoch studied Flinx carefully. "It is a person,
then." Like Teal and the children, the scout had a gymnast's build,
further hardened by a lifetime of climbing trees and swinging from convenient
creepers.
"He is from Up There." Teal thrust a
finger heavenward.
The man's eyes widened slightly. "A
skyperson?"
"Yes, but of a different tribe. In fact, he was
being chased by evil skypersons. He came here seeking refuge."
Enoch's deep‑seated gaze flicked past the
arrivals. "Where are these evil skypersons? What happened to them?"
"Furcots and forest." Her smile was tight.
"The little flying creature is a furcot to him. Without him we would not
be here now."
Striding boldly and unafraid up to the much taller
Flinx, the older man held out his right hand, palm facing up. Echoing the
gesture Teal had demonstrated, Flinx placed his own hand atop the other man's,
covering it completely. The scout didn't pull back.
"Feels like a person," he avowed.
Sensing that her master was once more relaxed, Pip
settled back down onto his shoulder.
Enoch stepped back. "You are welcome, and
thanked for helping Teal and her children." He smiled affectionately at
her. "You will have a tale to tell. Everyone will be glad to see that you
and your cubs have survived. There will be mourning for Jerah."
Flinx followed, noting carefully which growths Enoch
and Teal avoided. In this fashion he had traveled in safety for the past
several days, and he had no intention of letting his guard down now.
It was another hour before they came upon a tree so
grand of girth that Flinx thought surely that it had to be one of They‑Who‑Keep.
"It is the Home‑tree," Teal informed
him. "The They-Who‑Keep are very rare."
Gazing at the gnarled wall of wood, Flinx found it
difficult to believe anything so big could actually be alive. Approaching the
main trunk at an altitude some four hundred meters above the surface, he saw
that it split into half a dozen subsidiary boles, each of which sought its own
path to the distant sky. From the multiple trunks, branches greater in diameter
than most trees grew in all directions.
The immense structure supported a forest of its own
in the form of the thousands of symbiotic and parasitic growths that found
purchase upon it. Tons of vines and lianas clung to soaring branches or hung
from subsidiary verdure. Flowers bloomed in profusion, attended by hundreds of
nectar‑, pollen‑, and leaf‑eaters.
Their guide halted before an impenetrable thicket of
vines which sprouted clusters of a peculiar, waxen petaled blossom. As Flinx
looked on, first Enoch and then Teal spat directly into the center of two of
the vitreous blooms. The petals closed momentarily over the spittle. A moment
later a tremor ran through the obstructing vines. In fits and jerks they pulled
themselves aside, contracting far enough in upon themselves to create a
passageway between.
Some kind of specialized, acquired biochemical
interaction, Flinx mused wonderingly as he followed Enoch and Teal. The
children and young furcots had preceded them by several minutes.
A woody chasm opened before him to reveal a spacious
hollow formed by the six subsidiary trunks. Within the vaulted enclosure he saw
his first signs of permanent habitation.
Using creepers and saplings, leaves and split
gourds, hand‑hewn planks and thatch, the inhabitants of the Home‑tree
had fashioned within its protective heart a real village. Storage chambers had
been hollowed from parasitic galls, and unusually hard knots served as places
of work, trimmed and shaped to serve as living tables and benches.
He was allowed only a fleeting glimpse before Enoch
hailed his fellow villagers and they recognized Teal.
Helpless Flinx was caught up in the subsequent
rejoicing as they swarmed around her. Because most of the men were out hunting
or gathering, the celebrants consisted primarily of women and children.
Separating himself from the crowd as best he could,
Flinx noted that more formal greetings were being exchanged elsewhere within
the clearing as Saalahan's return was acknowledged by fellow furcots. No doubt
Moomadeem and Tuuvatem had already announced themselves and retired to the
company of their children.
When the initial excitement over her safe return
finally subsided, she proudly introduced Flinx and Pip to her people. Wide‑eyed
but audacious children dared one another to touch him. All were fascinated by
his pale skin, red hair, and towering frame. Hugging his neck, Pip hissed
warningly at any small hands that fumbled too close. Each time she reacted, two
or three children would retreat while emitting squeals of mixed fear and
laughter.
Eventually the crowd parted, quieting reverently at
the approach of the old shaman, Ponder. Flinx stoically presented himself for
examination while Teal stood by approvingly. The old man studied the strange
arrival intently, occasionally feeling of his body and raiment. Flinx endured
it all in silence, looking past the old man only once to wink at Teal.
When he was satisfied, the shaman turned to the
expectant villagers. "That this person has come among us is an important
thing. That he is a skyperson and yet comes in peace seeking understanding is
more important still. All the tribes must be notified." He turned back to
the visitor. "What knowledge do you seek, young man?" The crowd
watched and listened intently.
Feeling many eyes on him, Flinx replied with care.
"That which I do not have."
"And what knowledge is it that you do not
have?"
"Everything."
The shaman Ponder chuckled. "You are not as
young as you look. Or at least a part of you isn't." A wrinkled but still
vigorous hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"In particular," Flinx added, now that
he'd made a good impression, "I'd like to see the place that belonged to
the evil skypersons."
For an instant the old man's expression darkened,
and Flinx worried that he might have overstepped his bounds. But the shaman's
emotional aura was warm, and a moment later he was grinning.
"It never `belonged' to them. No part of the
forest can belong to anyone. According to the old tales, they learned that the
hard way. Where they once were is a place to be shunned, but if knowledge of
thus is something you wish to acquire, then you shall have it. For what you did
to help Teal and her cubs, you’re owed."
Uncertainty gave way to embarrassment. "They
helped me more than I helped them."
"A modest skyperson!" exclaimed someone in
the crowd. It sparked murmurs of approval.
Old Ponder's smile widened. "There must be a
feast, to celebrate Teal's safe return. Later, I would like to talk with you,
young man. There are some questions I have about the sky I would very much like
to have answered."
Flinx smiled back. "The brethren of the
curious. I'll do what I can." Arm in arm, young skyperson and aged forest
dweller strolled off toward the center of the village.
The sheer variety of edibles brought forth at the
communal meal that evening was breathtaking in its scope. Flinx hardly knew
what to try first. There was meat both dried and fresh, the product of several
days' hunt, but it was the fruits and vegetables and a number of unclassifiable
growing things that truly teased his palate. A whole spectrum of new flavors
was opened. A suitcase full of synthesizable extracts from this world would be
worth a fortune to any food conglomerate in the Commonwealth, he reflected as
he ate.
Someone handed him an oblong lavender fruit speckled
with blue streaks that had been cooling in the depths of a hollowed‑out
gall. Taking a bite, he was rewarded with soft indigo pulp that tasted of
raspberries and cream. Settled on his lap, Pip lay quiescent, her middle
swollen, her appetite properly sated for the first time in many days.
He loosely estimated the tribe's population at
between fifty and a hundred. It was impossible to be any more accurate because
people were constantly coning and going on this or that errand while giggling,
laughing children streaked back and forth at random.
To all outward appearances the community was
thriving and healthy despite being surrounded by danger enough to give a fully
equipped exploration expeditionary force pause. Teal and her people had adapted
so completely to a life in the forest that if left alone, in another couple of
hundred years any memories of Commonwealth antecedents would probably be
completely forgotten.
Whether they would be left alone was doubtful. Where
one ship had accidentally come, others were likely to follow. Another problem
for him to contemplate as if his problem quotient wasn't bursting mental seams
already.
Several days passed before, with Ponder's blessing,
he was guided to the blasted place in the forest that had been the site of the
evil skypersons' brief sojourn on this world. Beneath a pulsing, fecund blanket
of greenery, the ruins of a commercial humanx outpost were clearly visible. How
it had come to be here he had no idea, but the stories related by Ponder
pointedly detailed the tragedy that had overtaken its hopeful but intrusive
builders.
With the aid of the shaman and others from the
tribe, a path was hacked through the suffocating vines and roots that had taken
possession of the buildings. Branches and creepers had pushed through every
port. Doors lay crumpled and twisted, ripped from their hinges by the slow but
inexorable action of growing things. Secondary and tertiary trees had burst
upward through the floor and continued growing until they'd punctured the roof.
Ample evidence showed where fire had swept through
the complex, though the profusion of plant life had healed or obliterated many
of the original wounds. He had to smile at the sight of pink and yellow flowers
trailing from vines that had enveloped a floor‑mounted pulse cannon. Once
a brooding weapon, time had reduced it to the status of a decorative planter.
Flinx would have probed deeper, but Ponder
restrained him. "Dangerous animals live in the darkest places." It
was clear that only his curiosity allowed the shaman to move freely about the
ruins. After helping to clear a way in, most of the tribespeople had chosen to
remain outside. For them the complex was the location of unpleasant collective
memories, and they saw no reason to tempt whatever ghosts might linger in its
depths.
"These animals you refer to; they scare
you?" Flinx asked the shaman. Ponder nodded solemnly. "Then they
scare me as well." He gestured down a half‑lit corridor. "Let's
see what's up that way. What happened here, anyway?"
"The stories tell that the skypersons came
seeking to steal from the forest." The shaman stepped carefully around a
twisted lump of stelamic. "They could not emfol, not a one of them. So
what happened here was as sad as it was inevitable."
A failed commercial venture, Flinx mused. Carried
out surreptitiously, without proper permits, preparations, or safeguards. He
edged around a bush whose flowers he'd been told were capable of firing tiny,
toxic darts if disturbed. Whoever these people were, they'd come intending to
subdue rather than cooperate with the world‑forest. He shook his head at
the thought. No wonder they'd never had a chance.
Somewhere there would be a record of the failed
venture. In company files, in the records of whichever concern had insured the ill‑fated
House. It constituted a piece of Commonwealth history destined to remain sealed
for some time. Any individuals who'd been directly involved and who could tell
the true story of what had happened here were probably dead by now.
Until and unless proper protection was extended to
Teal and her people, a repeat of that tragedy was certainly possible. How he
would manage to secure such protection, Flinx didn't know; only that he would
arrange it somehow. Wherever it could be found and whatever the circumstances,
happiness was a rare enough commodity that it deserved protection. If it could
be done without exposing the tribesfolk to a stampede of Commonwealth
attention, from starry‑eyed botanists to overeager anthropologists, so
much the better.
At the same time he knew that there were areas where
Teal's people would benefit from contact with the rest of humanxkind. Flinx was
too young and too much a realist to succumb, as certain romantics did, to a
fatuous belief in the inherent perfection and nobility of the forest roaming
primitive. The unfortunate Jerah, for example, would have been delighted by the
gift of a heat‑sensing, compact magazine, rapid‑firing pistol.
Somehow a happy medium of contact would have to be
found. Surely the quality of life here could be improved without being
destroyed. At the same time he was considering the problem, he was acutely
aware of his lack of experience in such matters.
Truzenzuzex and Bran Tse‑Mallory would know
how to proceed, he thought. If only that remarkable pair didn't choose to move
about as often as he did himself. With a shock he realized that he didn't know
if his early mentors were even still alive.
One day I will have to stop wandering, stop playing,
and attend to business, he told himself.
He wasn't going to do much of anything, he knew,
until he could figure out a way of getting off this world safely. Reaching his
shuttle and lifting off without incident was going to be difficult, and docking
successfully with the Teacher next to impossible so long as the AAnn kept
careful watch. He knew they wouldn't grow tired and give up. The Imperial
Authority could always rotate ships on station to relieve boredom among their
crews. Precivilization AAnn would watch a hole containing prey until either
they or their quarry starved. Their modern, technologically sophisticated
descendants were no less tenacious.
Could he strike some kind of bargain with them? In
order to do that he would first need something to bargain with. If he was
patient, perhaps time and chance would provide it.
He remained alert to any possibility while allowing
Teal and her friends to show him the wonders of the hylaea, of which there was
a plethora within a day's hike of the Home‑tree. He was also pleased to
see that the scout who had met them in the forest, the providentially unmated
Enoch, had taken an abiding and ongoing interest in Teal's welfare.
For her part, she paid little attention to him,
preferring to devote most of her free time to looking after Flinx. He accepted
this, knowing that it was only temporary. At present he was a novelty, one to
whom she felt she owed something. When it came time for him to leave, she would
turn gradually and gratefully to the attentive and worthy Enoch.
At his request they climbed one day to the upper
reaches of the second level. Each level was marked by distinctive changes in
the type and density of vegetation, much of which he'd come to recognize. A
willing Teal and Enoch filled in the gaps in his knowledge.
But none of them, not even Ponder, would go any
higher. Nor would they descend below the vegetative border that separated the
sixth level from the seventh, where light came more from eerily phosphorescent
fungi than from a distant and shadowed sun. Despite his interest in the actual
nature of the planet's surface, when he finally found himself poised on that
border contemplating the unwholesome, stygian depths, Flinx understood that it
was a journey no one would be criticized for postponing indefinitely.
"Terrible things live down there." Ponder
stood next to him, his nose wrinkling at the fetid odor rising from the abyss.
Teal, several hunters, and their furcots waited uneasily overhead. "We
should go."
Beneath the sickly branch on which they stood,
something monstrous went scuttling through the depths, a slightly brighter
shade of black than its noisome surroundings. Flinx imagined a foamless wave
cresting on a moonless night and shuddered. Turning without regret, he followed
Ponder upward, toward the light.
Two months and a week had passed without any sign
off the AAnn. Thanks to the information the Teacher relayed to him via the
shuttle, he knew they were still about, waiting for him to give up and return.
The fact that the shuttle's relay continued to
function suggested that they were content to retire to orbit and await
communication. Whether the shuttle would respond to flight commands or not
remained to be seen. Easy enough to leave it intact and at his disposal, save
for its ability to fly. Disabling it would leave him planet bound and at their
mercy.
If he was going to be marooned, there were several
items aboard he very much wished to have; supplies that would make an extended
stay on this world a deal more tolerable. Foremost among these were a
replacement sidearm and fresh power cells for his positioner and communicator.
And while the local foodstuffs were tasty as well as edible, he hungered for
more familiar shipboard fare.
A prisoner of my environment, he reflected, even if
I carry it around with me.
Enoch, Teal, and two other hunters agreed to
accompany him, together with their four furcots.
"I don't think any AAnn will be waiting in
ambush," he told them as they made their way through the hylaea. Pip
fluttered on ahead, examining each and every fruit and flower. "There's no
reason to station troops at the landing site. A shuttle doesn't have room for
and isn't designed to accommodate passengers for any length of time."
"Why wouldn't the nonpersons simply set up a
camp outside their skyboat?" Enoch asked.
Flinx had to smile. "Assuming they managed to
make it back to their own skyboat and lift off successfully, the not‑person
AAnn who captured Teal and I would share tales of their experience with their
fellows. I don't think they'd find many volunteers to spend any amount of time
on your world." He ducked under a limb.
"Besides, there's no need for them to go to the
trouble of establishing a permanent camp. They know I can't get offworld
without their permission. All they have to do is wait me out." He tapped
his instrument belt. "I'm sure that's why they've left my communications
alone. I can't surrender if I can't talk to them."
"Are you going to surrender, Flinx?"
Despite his longer stride, Teal kept pace with him effortlessly.
"No," he told her fondly. "Not a
chance."
"Then what will you do?"
"Survive. Live. Try to be patient." He put
an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze, noting with
amusement Enoch's stolid sideways glance as he did so. "It's not such a
bad thing to spend time in the company of good friends." He waved at the
surrounding forest. "There's so much to learn here. So much newness."
"Only new to those who are ignorant,"
Enoch groused.
"And I am ignorant, Enoch. That's why I'm relying on experienced, knowledgeable people like yourself to enlighten me."
The other man tried not to appear flattered, but
failed.
They made excellent time through the forest,
untroubled by wandering carnivores. This wasn't surprising: not with adult
furcots flanking the group on either side as well as above and below. Traveling
with a party consisting entirely of seasoned adults, Flinx was astonished at
the progress that could be made.
Dangerous growths were easily and rapidly avoided,
difficult places expertly negotiated as. they followed the course supplied by
the positioner. Initially dubious as to its efficacy despite Teal's assurances,
the hunters soon came to trust the compact device. Each of them wanted to
caress it, turning it over and over in their fingers as if mere contact could
impart some of its magic to the holder. For their part, the furcots dismissed
it with a collective snort, preferring to trust in their own instincts and
sense of direction.
In the company of eight capable guides, Flinx found
he was able to relax, though his companions still expected him to watch out on
his own for the smaller, more easily sidestepped threats.
There was even time for some play, as when they each
made a ten meter leap onto the comforting leaves of a close relative of the
gargalufla plant that had allowed Flinx, Teal, and her children to finally
escape the clutches of the AAnn.
Nearing the landing site, the party was attacked for
the first time. The reech consisted of a small, pallid round body from which
extended half a dozen three‑meter‑long arms. As it charged it gave
forth an unexpectedly farcical roar that Flinx could only describe as a squonk.
There was nothing amusing about the mouth, however, which was all hooked,
serrated teeth.
The combination of waving, flailing arms and small
body made for a difficult target. While the furcots diverted the charge and
kept it occupied, Enoch and OneEye slipped close with their snufflers. Two
poison darts struck the reech, one just under the lower jaw, the other square
in the center eye. Losing its grip, it fell spinning and tumbling into the
green depths, its attenuated arms thrashing convulsively like a starfish on
speed.
That night they camped in the shelter of a slyone
grove, surrounded by two‑meter‑tall flowers which were at once
incredibly graceful and strong. The tubular stems and blossoms glistened like
glass, not surprising since they contained more silicon than carbon. When the
nightrain commenced, Flinx felt as if he were sleeping in the woodwind section
of a symphony orchestra. Each droplet drew forth from the flower it expended
itself upon a different note, all tinkling and gemlike.
Around midnight he was awakened by the muted shush‑shush
of multiple wings. He watched while Teal explained how the blind hyels,
boasting ears big enough to put those of any Terran bat to shame, pollinated
the scentless sylone, locating the blossoms by sound alone and feeding on the
odorless nectar with tongues as long as her arm. In this way pollinator, plant,
and rain were intertwined, as without the rain to strike them the sylone would
produce no sound.
Awed yet anew by the synchronicity off nature, Flinx
allowed the flower‑music to lull him back to sleep.
The following morning the furcot Beelaseec, who had
been walking point, returned to announce that according to Flinx's description
of the landing site it must lie just ahead, for they had reached a place where
the forest was growing directly upon naked rock.
A glance at the positioner confirmed the furcot's
supposition. "We should start ascending now," Flinx informed his
companions. "Be easier to climb through the trees than on the rock."
"You mean to enter the Upper Hell,"
Saalahan declared. "That is not for us. We will remain close, but
concealed." It was a measure of the terror in which the open sky was held
that even furcots refused to present themselves to its openness. Having been
exposed to its dangers before, Flinx understood and sympathized.
"No one needs to leave the cover of the trees.
I can make it to my skyboat by myself."
Enoch stepped forward. "I will come with you,
Flinx, if you need me."
Flinx put both hands on the other man's shoulders,
in the accepted fashion. "Thank you, Enoch, but there's really nothing you
can do up on the rock or aboard my boat. Better you stay with the, others and
keep watch. Pip will look after me. Keep an eye on Teal."
A smile cracked the smaller man's face and he
responded in kind, grasping Flinx's shoulders firmly.
When they were a hundred meters from the top of the
canopy the first glimmerings of blue began to appear through the leaves.
Shortly thereafter, a comfortable resting place was located and Flinx bade
temporary farewell to his friends. The branches soon grew narrower, the
supporting vines thinner as he approached the rock face, making his way upward.
When he had vanished from sight, one of the hunters
turned to Teal. "What do you think truly of this tall skyperson?"
"In the ways of the world he is very
young." She was looking at the place in the branches where Flinx had
disappeared. "In others, he is old beyond his years. Older than is
fair."
The hunter nodded sagely. "It's better, then,
that he works this thing with his skyboat alone." Satisfied, he found a
comfortable place to sit and removed the food pouch from his backpack.
Teal tried to put Flinx out of her mind but found
she could not. Horrific creatures inhabited the Upper Hell, alert and ready to
snatch up anyone who ventured too close to the sky. Yet Flinx spoke of flying
through the sky and beyond it, as her own ancestors were said to have done.
Surely he would be all right.
Surely.
Though she had no appetite, she forced herself to
join the others in eating.
It was strange for Flinx to stand again beneath a
sky in which blue rather than green was dominant. The yellowish‑blue
atmosphere was alive with colorful, drifting shapes. Some soared on thin,
membranous wings, others flapped rainbow‑hued feathers, while a flock of
peeled spheres coiled through the air like animated corkscrews. A trio of slim
fliers boasting six stubby wings apiece shot past overhead, the wind whistling
with their passage.
Not every inhabitant of this world's atmosphere was
a predator, Flinx observed as he ducked under the tip of a branch and emerged
onto bare granite. Seed and fruit eaters dominated the clouds.
Still, he paused to crouch beneath the last
protective vegetation as he scanned the crowded yellow‑blue for signs of
taloned hunters. Weeks of experience had taught him that on this world safety
was an illusion, and confidence a sure path to disaster.
It was immensely reassuring to see his shuttle
squatting exactly as he'd left it. After so much green, the rudimentary dull
gray of it came as a shock to his retinas. Outwardly undisturbed, it hugged its
chunk of exposed mountaintop, the boarding ramp still temptingly affixed to
bare rock. A flick of the transmitter that was on his belt would open the lock,
readmitting him to a world temporarily set aside.
Next to it stood a second shuttle, larger khan his
own and equally devoid of animation. It was of a familiar design, relatively
common throughout the Commonwealth.
Coerlis's ship, he knew. Waiting patiently for a
crew that would never return.
Of the AAnn shuttle there was no sign, unless one
counted the scorched, blackened section of rock in front of his own craft.
Either Lord Caavax had made it back to his vessel with the remnants of his
party and had safely lifted off, or else another shuttle had descended and put
aboard a reclaim crew to recover the craft. Flinx suspected the former. Caavax
was stubborn, but resourceful.
Resting comfortably in orbit, waiting to hear from
me, he told himself. Well, that was a communication he intended to delay for as
long as possible. Rising, he stepped out of the concealing vegetation and
started toward his ship.
Only to halt abruptly as an unfamiliar emotion from
within his shuttle impacted on his thoughts.
While Pip hovered nearby, alert and wary, he
strained for identification. Tumbling the sentiment in his mind, examining it
from every angle, he felt the overriding sensation to be one of all‑pervasive
calm. It could come from a waiting AAnn, but there were distinctive differences
that suggested another source entirely. One, he decided, that was not human.
For one thing, the internalized conflict that was always present in his own
kind was absent.
Alien emotions were always difficult to recognize,
much less analyze.
Who, or what, had taken up residence inside his
shuttle? Certainly nothing local. Not even the cleverest furcot could solve the
security of the outer lock.
A furcot, however, would know enough not to stand so
long exposed to the open sky. Keeping low and moving fast, Flinx hurried in the
direction of the boarding ramp.
Hiding beneath the ramp, he twisted and leaned out
far enough to see that, as expected, the lock was still secured. Could some
peculiar animal, perhaps one that generated similar frequencies for attack or
defense, have accidentally broadcast the signal that would open the lock, only
to subsequently find itself trapped inside? It was a far‑fetched
scenario, but given what he'd seen on this world in the previous few weeks, he
believed the creatures that inhabited it capable of anything.
No, he decided. Nothing native was involved. There
was too much of the familiar about the emotional condition he was sensing. Nor
could it be an AAnn. Only a single mind was projecting. Had it been Lord
Caavax's intention to post a guard on board his craft, most surely he would
have assigned more than one.
None of it made any sense.
As time passed, nothing occurred to suggest that
whatever was within was aware of his presence beneath the ramp. If he could
crack the outer lock, slip quickly inside, and reach a certain storage locker,
he would be better able to confront whatever had taken possession of his
vessel. In any event, there was nothing to be gained by huddling beneath the ramp
in expectation of nightfall.
As he stepped out from under cover and started up
the ramp, something like a winged, ribbed barrel fell out of the sky. Its beak
or bill, which was as long as the stubby body and ended in a needle‑sharp
point, would have been more appropriate on a fish‑eater.
Possibly it reached the same conclusion, because as
Pip rose to intercept, it veered off and shot past its intended quarry, the
wind of its passing raffling Flinx's hair.
Another half‑dozen steps found him at the top
of the ramp. His hand reached for the transmitter ... and hesitated. Might as
well see if the shuttle's vorec system is still functioning, he decided. He
directed his voice to the grid set flush in the door.
Responding promptly to his verbal command, the barrier
slid aside on permanent low‑friction seals, admitting him to the. lock. A
second command opened the inner door, and he made a mad dash for the storage
locker.
"Come on, come on!" he muttered aloud as
he fumbled with the recalcitrant latch. Seconds later it was free, allowing him
to liberate the sidearm secured inside. A quick check showed a full charge, as
expected.
Pip was just settling on his shoulder when the owner
of the emotions he had detected from without appeared in the fore portal. His
symbospeech was fluent, the accent familiar.
"I really don't think you want to shoot me. At
least I hope that you don't."
A relieved Flinx let out a long sigh. The creature
standing before him had four legs, two arms, and a pair of limbs that could be
employed as either, according to the demands of the moment. It wore very
little; a double pack strapped across its thorax, and leggings that were more
decorative than functional. Its insignia was inlaid in the shoulder of one
truarm.
From half his height the iridescent‑gold
compound eyes gazed back at him thoughtfully. Feathery antennae inclined in his
direction.
"I am Counselor Second Druvenmaquez," the
thranx informed him, "and you are Philip Lynx."
"I'm honored. Also very surprised." He
slipped the sidearm replacement for the one Coerlis had taken into the empty
holster attached to his belt. "How did you get here, sir? I see only this
shuttle and the one belonging to‑"
"We know who it belonged to," the
Counselor interrupted him. "I arrived by means of personal flier, escorted
by appropriately armed military personnel who through dint of considerable
effort managed to keep me from being devoured by overly enthusiastic
representatives of the local aerial fauna. A more extraordinary assortment of
wings, teeth, and claws I have never seen before and hope never to encounter
again.
"An electronic bypass allowed me to enter your
shuttle, whereupon my escort returned to their waiting craft. With great
eagerness I should imagine.
"What an astonishing world this is. Do you know
that in the time I have been waiting for you I have witnessed over a hundred
life‑and‑death battles involving the local flora and fauna, and
that on two occasions extremely large predators actually attacked this landing
vessel? Fortunately its hull resisted their energetic but primitive assaults.
Needless to say, I have not spent much time outside." He shook his head to
express wonderment, a gesture the thranx had picked up and adopted at the
beginning of their long and intimate association with humans.
Using his tongue against his upper palate, Flinx
responded with a clicking sound to indicate understanding, responding to the
human gesture with one utilized by the thranx. He did it automatically and
without thinking, as would have any human in the presence of a thranx. The
relationship between the two species had progressed beyond clumsy, heavy‑handed
etiquette.
"Imagine a creature of the air big enough to
try and fly off with a shuttlecraft! I wonder what its young must look like!
Thank the Hive this vessel was too heavy for its intentions. You would think
such a formidable predator would realize instinctively that metal and ceramic
composites are not very nutritious." The Counselor made a gesture with
both truhands.
"I am glad you finally came. I am no explorer
and this is not a posting I looked forward to eagerly."
Flinx spoke as he led the Counselor forward and
activated the shuttle's food unit. It had minimal capacity, but he was hungry
enough for something familiar to eat, whatever the unit chose to dish out.
"If you think the struggle for survival is
competitive up here, sir, you should see what it's like down in the
jungle." The unit whined and gave birth to a seasoned soy patty, bread,
and some steamed, reconstituted carrots. Flinx attacked them as if he hadn't
eaten in weeks and had suddenly been presented with the specialty of the house
from the finest restaurant on New Riviera. Occasionally he would pause to pass
a choice bit to Pip.
"Yet you have survived in its depths." The
Counselor was studying the young human thoughtfully. "I have been able to
follow your progress with this craft's instrumentation because your positioner
has been on continually. You have been moving around quite a bit."
Flinx spared a glance for the tiny device attached
to his belt. "I didn't dare fool with it, sir. If I'd lost the signal I
never would have been able to find my way back here." He shoveled in a
mouthful of carrots. "I suppose it's unnecessary to point out that there's
an AAnn vessel in orbit. Probably a warship."
Counselor Druvenmaquez's antennae flicked
significantly. "Wrong tense, my young human friend. There was an AAnn
warship in orbit. Though this is an unpopulated and overlooked world, it still
lies within Commonwealth space."
"Wrong adjective," Flinx informed him.
"It's not unpopulated."
"There is native intelligence?"
"In a manner of speaking." He finished the
last of the soy patty and followed it with more bread. "Must have been one
of the first human colony ships to go out. If it was pre‑Amalgamation,
that means the people here have been surviving, on their own and completely out
of touch with the rest of humanxkind, for something like seven hundred years.
"The descendants haven't completely forgotten
their origins, but they've been living here long enough to revert to a
semi-primitive condition. When word of this world gets out, Commonwealth
anthropologists are going to have a field day." A small smile broadened
his expression. "If they can survive long enough in the field to complete
any work, that is. As for the taxonomists, there are billions of new life forms
here that will need to be classified. Whole new classes, maybe even new phyla.
"There's also evidence of a comparatively
recent, illegal attempt at settlement and exploitation. It didn't succeed. Nothing
survives here for very long unless it learns to cooperate with the world‑forest.
Try to dominate it and you're plant food."
"Remarkable." The Counselor's antennae
bobbed with excitement. "This world will have to be reentered into the
Commonwealth catalog. I would think 'for study only‑no development,'
would be the most appropriate classification. What is the population of
survivors?"
"I don't know. They're split into half a dozen
tribes. The one I made friends with seems to be doing fairly well."
"Friends. That explains how you have been able
to survive in this rain forest of all rain forests."
Flinx bit into the last of the bread. "Wouldn't
have lasted long without them. They've not only learned how to survive in the
forest, they've evolved the better to fit in to the particular niche they've
chosen."
"Humans are extraordinarily adaptable,"
the Counselor agreed.
Having no antennae to wave, Flinx gestured with the
remnants of his bread. "Wait till you meet your first furcot, sir."
"Furcot?" Truhands semaphored anxiously.
"Please, this is all too much to digest at once, and in any event I am not
the one to whom you should be elucidating. I am no xenologist." A truhand
and foothand gestured pointedly. "I came here searching for you, not alien
mysteries, human or otherwise.
"Arriving here we encountered first the AAnn
interloper and subsequently another vessel registered to a noted mercantile
House on Samstead, in addition to your own craft. When the second vessel did
not respond to normal hailings, it was boarded. The presence of the AAnn was
self‑explanatory, as is that of most trespassers." The triangular,
golden‑eyed skull cocked sideways. "Perhaps you can explain the
presence of the other?"
"I was involved in an altercation with the
owner. A personal dispute that he chose to pursue beyond the bounds of reason.
He and his people chased me all the way to this world and down into the
forest."
"What happened to him?"
"The forest."
The Counselor Second nodded knowingly, executing
another useful acquired human gesture. So fond of such gestures were the thranx
that Flinx knew they used them often among themselves, even when no human was
present. There was a certain cachet to it, just as there was among humans who
utilized the click‑speech of High thranx as a favorite party patois.
"Having spent much time under difficult
circumstances in this remarkable environment, I suspect you would like to
immerse yourself in warm water." The thranx understood the philosophy
behind water cleaning but had a positive horror of baths, understandable for a
species that could not swim and whose air intakes were located just below their
necks. A thranx could stand with its head well above water and quietly drown.
"Actually, I've had access to a warm shower
every night, sir, but without any kind of cleanser. I'd enjoy that very
much."
The shuttle's facilities were Spartan but
serviceable. More welcome still was the change of clothing he found in the
bottom of the storage locker.
"What happened to the AAnn?" he asked as
he changed. The elderly thranx had not even an academic interest in his naked
form, and Flinx suffered from no nudity phobia, anyway.
"Ah, the Keralkee. I'm afraid we had an
altercation of our own. They refused to comply with a request to allow boarding
or to cooperate in any way. You know the AAnn. There was a certain Lord Caavax
LYD‑"
"I made his acquaintance."
"Did you?" The Counselor's eyebrows would have risen if he'd had any. "A typical AAnn aristocrat. Noble of bearing, arrogant of mien. Stubborn and devious.
"They tried to run, covering their flight with
undeclared fire. Their vessel suffered a reactive implosion before they could
activate their drive. Presently their components are dispersing throughout this
system. It is to be regretted."
So Lord Caavax had survived his ordeal in the forest
and made it safely back to his ship, only to run afoul of a Commonwealth
peaceforcer. A fight had ensued that he and his crew had lost. No doubt it had
pleased him to go out in that fashion. His line would acquire honor from the manner
of his passing.
Remembering the icy, emotionless tone of the AAnn's
voice when he'd ordered one of his soldiers to kill Dwell and Kiss, Flinx was
unable to summon a twinge of regret at his demise.
"For an unknown world, it has been very crowded
here of late." The Counselor regarded the much taller human thoughtfully.
"How did you find it?"
"I didn't. When I was fleeing Samstead I asked
my nav system to take me to the next inhabitable world on whatever vector we
happened to be pointing." He spread his hands wide. "This is where I
ended up. It wasn't planned and there was no intent behind it."
"That's very interesting." The Counselor
considered his prosaic surroundings. "As this world has been uncharted and
utterly overlooked, its location shouldn't be in your vessel's navigation
files. Unless whoever programmed the system knew something Commonwealth Central
did not."
The Counselor was quite correct. The Teacher
shouldn't have known the location of this world, much less that it was capable
of supporting humanx life. However, the Teacher's assembly had not been
supervised by a recognized humanx concern. The ship had been cobbled together
by the Ulru‑Ujurrians, who did indeed have access to knowledge that was
denied even to Commonwealth Central.
Had his arrival here been as much an accident as
he'd come to believe? Or was it part and parcel of another of the Ulru‑Ujurrians
cryptic and incomprehensible "games"?
Raising his gaze, he stared past the attentive
Counselor Second, half expecting one of the massive, furry Ulru-Ujurrians to
pop into the cabin expecting to sample the food. It would be wholly in keeping
with, say, Maybeso's unpredictable nature. How that singular species negotiated
space‑time was something so far outside known science as to verge on
magic.
Maybe if he played his part in the Great Game to
their satisfaction, they would teach him that trick some day.
"What are you thinking?"
Flinx blinked at the Counselor, who was eyeing him
closely. "Nothing, sir. Actually, I was remembering a game."
The thranx emitted the clicking sound that passed
for laughter among his kind. "Did you win or lose?"
"I don't know. I don't know if there are
winners or losers in this game. All you can do is keep playing and hope someday
to find out."
"Someday you'll have to tell me more about
it." Reaching into his slim backpack, the Counselor withdrew a sealed
thranx drinking utensil and sipped from the traditional coiled spout.
"Speaking of telling things," Flinx
pressed him warily, "what brings a Counselor Second to this unrecorded
world? You know my name, too."
The Counselor made a gesture of polite
acknowledgment. "Why, I should think it obvious. You bring me here, Philip
Lynx."
Flinx kept his voice and expression perfectly
neutral. "It seems a long and difficult way to come just to make my
acquaintance. I'm nobody important."
"That remains to be seen. Do you recall a brief
but interesting conversation you had recently with a Padre Bateleur on
Samstead?"
Flinx remembered the kindly father. "So he
reported my situation? That was good of him, but I wouldn't have expected a
Counselor Second in charge of peace enforcement to take an interest in one
person's problem, much less command a peaceforcer to try and protect him from
the likes of Jack‑Jax Coerlis."
"I am not with peace enforcement,"
declared Druvenmaquez quietly. "I am Counselor Second for Science, with a
particular interest in astronomics."
Flinx blinked. "Astronomy?"
"You spoke to the padre of a recurring dream.
The average human or thranx would have thought it nothing more than that and
soon forgotten all about it, but Padre Bateleur providentially decided to pass
it along for analysis. It was deliberated by a couple working for Commonwealth
Science on Denpasar, on Terra, before being passed along to Bascek on Hivehom.
"By this time it had acquired a lengthy file of
opinion and relevant facts. When it finally came to my attention I was
instantly intrigued, and set a formal study circle to working on it. When I was
presented with their summation, I became even more intrigued by how someone
such as yourself, with no access to extensive scientific facilities, had
managed to come to similar conclusions."
Flinx frowned "And that's what you came all
this way for? That's what brought you all the way out here?"
Druvenmaquez nodded, the artificial light gleaming
off his blue‑green exoskeleton. "That is correct."
"How did you find this planet?"
The Counselor made the thranx equivalent of a shrug.
"I expect that once he had committed to an interest in you, the good padre
Bateleur had your position monitored in case he wanted to talk to you again.
This interest would extend to recording the departure vector taken by your
vessel as well as that of the contentious human pursuing you.
"This solar system was an obvious conclusion,
since no others lying anywhere along your chosen outsystem vector contain
worlds capable of supporting life. It was assumed that you had come here
because there was nowhere else for you to go."
It struck Flinx then that the Counselor knew nothing
of the Teacher's unique abilities. He wondered how many AAnn had known, in
addition to the now deceased Lord Caavax. Maybe none save his immediate
courtiers and family. Humanxkind's traditional enemies could be secretive even
among themselves. Perhaps he could yet keep the secret a while longer.
Within the Commonwealth, at least, it seemed he
would still be able to travel freely, without drawing undue attention to his
vessel.
Meanwhile he still had to deal with the problem of
drawing undue attention to himself. How much did they know about him?
About the Meliorare Society and his damnable personal history? If the Counselor
was in any way familiar with such matters, he was, for the moment at least,
keeping such knowledge to himself.
"What I told Father Bateleur was the subject of
a recurring dream. I don't know what else to tell you. I didn't realize it had
any basis in scientific reality." Ignorant of the Counselor's skill level
at interpreting human expressions, he adopted his most innocent.
"The Astronomy section of the Commonwealth
Science Department believes it does." Druvenmaquez carefully set his
drinking vessel aside. "You spoke to Padre Bateleur of a great evil, `out
there.' Not a particularly scientific observation. Researchers in Astronomy and
Ethics rarely have occasion to consult with one another.
"However. the section of sky you singled out is
the location of a cosmological phenomenon that has been known for some time as
the Grand Void. For the sake of convenience in the course of this discussion, I
will employ human terms of reference.
"The Grand Void is an area of the cosmos that
is barren of the usual astronomical phenomena. No stars, no planets, no
nebulae. No light. What may lie beyond is the subject of
occasional speculation. We have no way of knowing because the Void is obscured
by a stupendous concentration of dark matter consisting largely of stable,
massive, electrically charged particles left over from the beginning of the
Universe. `Champs,' in the common human terminology.
"The result is a gravitational lens of unparalleled extent which effectively distorts any light in the vicinity. Studies of the nonvisible spectrum have been similarly ineffective in detecting what lies behind this lens ... if anything does.
"You spoke to Father Bateleur of experiencing a
`jolt' immediately prior to perceiving this evil. This leads the imaginative,
or perhaps merely the lighthearted, to speculate on whether or not a
gravitational lens might distort thought or perception much as it does light. I
have heard humans speak of the `gravity of someone's thoughts' without ever
realizing I might someday be compelled to consider it literally.
"All this is so much extreme conjecture. At my
age, a charming hobby. In discussing it, I find it necessary to invent new
terms in order to be able to forge ahead with further speculation. In meeting
you, I was hoping for exposition if not outright explanation. From a scientific
standpoint, this Void should not endure. Even allowing for a universe in which
matter is not distributed evenly, a vacant region of this size should not be
possible.
"Yet it manifestly exists. And you insisted to
Father Bateleur that something evil lurks within, although our best instruments
insist it is utterly empty. Aside from that subjective determination, your
vectoring of the Grand Void was not only accurate, it fully accords with the
latest facts and hypotheses, many of which have yet to be released to the lay
population. If the mental ‘jolt’ you say you received accords in any fashion
with the location of the recognized gravitational lens, then perhaps the rest
of your tale is grounded in something sturdier than mere metaphysics. Truly
now, how did you come to know these things?"
Flinx responded instantly. "I have
sources." There, that ought to satisfy him! And without giving any
thing away.
"Ah. The reply that does not answer. Let us try
another approach. You have your own KK‑drive ship. The registration has
been checked and is in order. Personally, I have difficulty reconciling your
obvious youth with such an expensive possession. Perhaps you could enlighten
me?"
Again Flinx didn't hesitate. "I have
friends."
"Sources and friends." A small whistling
sigh escaped the Counselor Second. "You are not under arrest or restraint,
so I cannot compel you to elaborate. Is this to be my reward for coming all
this way, and saving you from the attentions of the AAnn in the bargain?"
"I'm telling you the truth, sir."
"I do not doubt that. What I doubt is that you
are telling me all of it."
"Ask me any question and I'll try to answer
it."
"I would rather you were obtuse than clever. It
is less slippery. You're a very interesting young human, Philip Lynx, and I
think you are worthy of deeper questioning. Anyone who can spark my staff to
debating whether or not evil has mass and propounding equations to prove such a
theorem is deserving of deeper questioning."
"Come with me to the Home‑tree, sir, and
I'll show you answers to questions you haven't even thought of. The Home‑tree
is where the locals live. It's quite a place, one that a person of science like
yourself can't but find fascinating."
"You want me to travel to where the local
humans live?" Druvenmaquez indicated the greenery visible through a port.
"Through that?"
A dark brown vine had crept over the left side of the port. Tonight, as it did every night, the shuttle's field cleansers would scrub and scrape clear the rock in the immediate vicinity of its landing struts. For now, though, the vegetation was feverishly trying to colonize this strange new structure. As it did every night.
"There's so much here to study, sir."
Flinx leaned forward earnestly, pleased to have succeeded in turning the
conversation away from himself, even if only temporarily. "For example,
these people do something called emfoling."
"Emfoling?"
"I've spoken with their shaman, who is their
priest and repository of what scientific knowledge they still remember. It
means `empathetic foliation.' They believe they have the ability to sense what
the plants around them are experiencing."
"The plants, you say? Impossible, of course,
but an entertaining contribution to human mythology." He hesitated.
"Can you promise to lead me to this Home‑tree alive and with all my
limbs intact?"
Flinx smiled. "It's not a good idea to promise
anything on this world, sir. But my escort is an excellent one, and I've made
it back this far without coning to any harm. As you must already know, the
climate here suits the thranx better than it does humans, so you should be even
more comfortable on the journey than I. There is some climbing involved‑"
The Counselor started. "Climbing! You know that
we are not very skilled climbers."
"Nothing you can't manage, sir," Flinx
hastened to add. "Especially with a little help. And along the way, you
and I can talk."
Druvenmaquez considered carefully. "A personage
of my position‑ this will have to be cleared with the ship- I admit you
tempt me, Philip Lynx. You have interested me ever since I first encountered
the report of your meeting with Father Bateleur."
Scratching the dozing Pip under her chin with one
hand, Flinx reached out with the other to clasp one of the Counselor's delicate
truhands. "Then come with me, sir and we will talk of green places where
life abides and black spaces where less than nothing can exist. And maybe
does."
Teal, Enoch, and the others were taken aback by the
sight of the Counselor. With his eight limbs and compound eyes, feathery
antennae and fused vestigial wingcases, he was unlike anything they'd ever seen
before. They were even more astonished when he addressed them in perfect
symbospeech. His pleasant body odor went a long way toward muting concerns.
Flinx assured them that the thranx were the best
friends that humankind had ever had, and that both species had been working
closely together for some eight hundred years. But it was only after the
furcots had completed a thorough examination of the new arrival and pronounced
themselves satisfied that Enoch and the other hunters agreed to take
Druvenmaquez along with them on the journey back to the Home‑tree.
The Counselor's fears soon faded. As Flinx knew he would, the elderly thranx quickly adapted to the hot, humid climate and proved surprisingly adept in the tangle of vegetation. Since he could not pull his body weight up a vine, there were places where he required some assistance, but with furcot muscle and human skill available to help, such temporary obstacles were easily and quickly overcome.
When they finally reached the Home‑tree, after
a journey in which the Counselor's initial apprehension was rapidly replaced by
wonder, he was greeted with the same astonishment originally displayed by Teal,
Enoch, and the hunters. The children in particular viewed him with a wide‑eyed
mix of disbelief and uncertainty, which he did his best to overcome.
For his part, Druvenmaquez marveled at the skill and
determination with which these lost humans had adapted to an unremittingly
hostile environment. His openness and appealing natural fragrance soon saw him
trailed by a mob of laughing, gesticulating children and their bumbling but
equally fascinated furcots. Granted the freedom of the Home‑tree, he was
soon a common sight as he moved easily between dwelling and work site, his
compact optical recorder always at the ready. From time to time he would pause
in his studies to contact the orbiting Commonwealth peaceforcer Sodivana,
using the relay on Flinx's shuttle to boost the signal frown his hand
transmitter.
"An astonishing place," he told Flinx, "settled by remarkable people. I believe they can be helped and studied simultaneously. Care will need to be taken. I will see to it myself."
Flinx smiled at the Counselor. "I know you
will, sir." He hesitated. "I was wondering if you might know the
whereabouts of an acquaintance of mine? The Eint Truzenzuzex?"
Antennae twitched. "That old fraud? Of course I
know of him. He's as much a legend as a fraud. Our society isn't as tolerant of
eccentrics as is that of humans. Some say his stature exceeds his legend. Never
having touched antennae with him, I myself cannot say. As to his whereabouts, I
have no idea and doubt few do. You say you know him?"
"From my larval days, yes. I was just
wondering."
Druvenmaquez sniffed of a bouquet that was growing
directly upon the Home‑tree's heartwood. "There has been much
wondering going on here lately, young human. We in Science want to know more
about your dream. The Sodwana did not come all this way to
providentially rescue you from the attentions of curious AAnn. We‑ I‑
would like some explanations."
"I'm not sure, sir, that I know the questions."
"Don't be circuitous with me, young
human!" The Counselor waggled a truhand at him, and Pip raised her head to
follow its metronoming movements curiously. "Humans are only just
beginning to explore the full potential of their minds‑with our help, of
course."
Flinx looked away, his voice flat. "You want to
take me back for study."
"We want to know how you know what you
know."
"I told you: it came to me in a dream."
`"That's fine. Dreams are a legitimate subject
for study."
'Am I under formal detention?"
The Counselor drew back in horror, which the thranx
could express eloquently through body language. "What a notion! You have
committed no crime. But having placed yourself in danger, it would not be out
of line to say that you may regard yourself as being in protective
custody."
Flinx turned back to the Counselor. "I fled
from the human Coerlis's unwanted attentions. I avoided the AAnn. If I choose
not to comply with your wishes and remain here, there's nothing you can do
about it. You'll never be able to remove me forcibly from this world." The
confidence with which he delivered these words surprised him.
The old thranx was eyeing him closely. "I will
not dispute that because I do not have the information at hand with which to do
so. It would be far better, far more agreeable, if you would consent to
cooperate. We seek only knowledge." He shrugged. "There may be none
to gain. As you say, there may be nothing more here to look at than a dream. A
dream of physics and ultimate ethics."
Flinx found himself torn. "Believe me, sir,
there's a lot going on I'd like to know more about myself. I just don't want to
end up like a smear on a slide."
"Would you feel more at ease if at all times
you remained aboard your ship and myself and my staff on board the Sodwana?"
Flinx's expression narrowed. "That would satisfy you?"
"I did not say that. But I want to work with
you, not against you, young human. It would be a beginning, and perhaps
it would suffice."
"I'm not sure I'm ready to leave here
yet."
"I can understand that. I am not certain I have
any desire to depart immediately myself." A truhand and foothand gestured
in tandem. "There is so much here to learn! The forest is home to a
billion secrets."
You can't imagine, Flinx mused silently.
The Counselor laid the four chitonous fingers of a
truhand on Flinx's forearm. "Consider what I have said. My concern in this is with astrononucs. Yours
seems to be with evil. If there is any kind of a co-joining here that extends
beyond the bounds of metaphysics, is it not worth pursuing? You certainly
thought so when you spoke with Father Bateleur." The fingers squeezed
gently. "When you are ready, I hope
you will speak as freely with me."
He turned and ambled away, heading for a group of
women who were cooperatively weaving a large green blanket. The thranx were
fascinated by any aspect of human society that seemed to mimic their own.
Leaving the Counselor to his studies, Flinx wandered
deep in thought until he found himself standing by his favorite place within
the protected bounds of the Home‑tree.
A knobby gall grew from the inside of one of the immense
growth's subsidiary trunks, forming a flat platform that overlooked a downward‑arcing
branch some two meters in diameter. The upper surface of the rogue branch was
concave, forming a deep groove that ran all the way to the end. The pale green
palm‑sized leaves that were common to the Home‑tree sprouted from
the bottom of the branch and both sides, but not from the surface groove.
Children had made the aberrant offshoot into a play
ground. Starting at the top, they settled themselves into the natural furrow
and embarked on a winding, spiraling, slip‑sliding descent of some twenty
meters. Where the branch finally grew too narrow to accommodate their speeding
forms, it had been sawn off. Dark, congealed sap showed where the cut had
healed over.
Shooting out the bottom of this natural chute like a
dart from a snuffler, they slammed into a thick pile of transplanted khoumf
plants, both the rose‑hued and yellowish varieties. With each impact a
puff of delicious perfume filled the air, whereupon the laughing, giggling
children would scramble back to their feet and clamber fearlessly back up into
the heights of the tree for another run.
As in everything else, they were accompanied by their
individual furcots, who partook of the activity with a roly‑poly dignity
that always made Flinx smile. Several adult furcots were always on hand to keep
watch, presiding over the frenetic proceedings with silent dignity.
I feel comfortable here, he thought to himself. As
comfortable as Pip, sleeping soundly on his shoulder. Could he cooperate with
Druvemnaquez enough to satisfy the senior thranx without revealing the secret
of himself? That would be the ideal resolution to his present situation. Druvenmaquez was a Counselor Second,
and Flinx didn't delude himself into believing he was cleverer than the thranx
academician. Only more aware.
There was so much he wanted to know! Exploration of
what he knew and what he thought he knew would be so much easier and advance so
much faster with seasoned help. But he would have to be very careful.
The all‑pervasive warmth he had sensed ever
since touching down washed over him; relaxing, calming, reassuring. Emfoling?
Or something less, or something more? Since his arrival he'd suffered not one
headache, not even a warning throbbing. It was the longest such stretch of
cerebral calm he could remember since childhood. This place was good for him.
For his head, for his thoughts, for his body, and‑if it existed‑for
his soul.
Thousands of light‑years distant something
abominable shifted and roiled in the absence of stars. It was the antithesis of
logic and light. If it would only remain where it was, where it had always
been, it would be a simple matter to erase it from his thoughts.
Cold and clear, the unflinching memory lived within
him. There was movement out there. In the vicinity of that immeasurable distant
horror, matter was stirring. Matter‑and other things.
Leaning forward, he rested his head in his hands,
rubbing tiredly at his eyes. All six feet in the air, a young furcot was
swooping down the slide on its back, its rear end forming a blunt and not
particularly aerodynamic projectile. Laughing deliciously, a little girl was
riding it, clinging to its plump green belly. Flanking the chute, her friends
cheered her on, while their furcots maintained a certain juvenile decorum that
was absent in their human counterparts. The children's cheers were as loud for
the furcot as for the girl.
What he really wanted, he realized as he observed
the carefree play, had not changed. To find out all he could about his origins,
and to be left alone. Easy enough to do save for one complication.
His damnable sense of responsibility.
If he was right in any measure about what lay out there,
at the limits of perception, then long after he was dead and dust, this world
and all its wonders would be in dire jeopardy along with every other he'd
visited, as well as all those he had not.
Was that his concern? Did he owe anything to a
civilization that had failed to protect him even before he'd been born? What he
was now was the result as much of calculation as copulation. An experiment gone
awry, an experiment that had outlived the experimenters.
It was a great deal to expect someone who had not
yet turned twenty‑one to cope with.
How long could he keep his secret from the likes of
the Counselor Druvenmaquez, from Commonwealth Authority, and from the United
Church? There were always aliases, always surgery. More lies to live. There
wasn't a day when his headaches, which was the nervous system lying to itself,
didn't remind him of his singular status. That is, until he'd arrived here.
Turning to his left and looking down, he considered
the triangular, slightly iridescent skull reposing on his shoulder. "How
about you, Pip? What do you think?"
The reptilian head rose a centimeter or so. The
flying snake couldn't reply verbally, but a deeper pulse of warmth washed
through Flinx. So different, he reflected, and yet so mentally attuned.
"That's what I thought."
Rising, he abandoned the gall‑seat and strode
to the top of the slide‑branch. The adult furcot resting there glanced at
him out of all three eyes. No words passed between them. Only understanding.
Decisions of great import were not to be taken lightly.
That much he had learned from Truzenzuzex and Bran Tse‑Mallory.
Plopping himself down in the chute, urged on by the
children, watched by dozens of deep green eyes, he let out a whoop as he
launched himself forward on the slick wood, letting his weight and momentum
carry him forward. Abandoning her master, Pip rose into the air and followed
effortlessly, a bewinged pink and blue halo that shadowed his accelerating
progress downward.
Down, into the beckoning green depths.
*******************************************************
Note: Map of the Commonwealth and its Chronology Published in 05: Flinx in Flux
*******************************************************
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ALAN DEAN FOSTER was born
in New York City in 1946 and raised in Los Angeles, California. After receiving
a bachelor's degree in political science and a master of fine arts degree in
motion pictures from UCLA in 1968‑69, he worked for two years as a public
relations copywriter in Studio City, California.
He sold his first short story to
August Derleth at Arkham Collector Magazine in 1968, and other sales of short
fiction to other magazines followed. His first try at a novel, The Tar‑Aiym
Krang, was published by Ballantine Books in 1972. Since then, Foster has
published many short stories, novels, and film novelizations.
Foster has toured extensively around the world. Besides traveling, he enjoys classical and rock music, old films, basketball, body surfing, and weightlifting. He has taught screenwriting, literature, and film history at UCLA and Los Angeles City College.
Currently he resides in Arizona.