FOR LOVE OF MOTHER-NOT
 Alan Dean Foster
   
   
   
   Chapter One
    
   “Now there’s a scrawny, worthless-looking little runt.” Mother Mastiff thought. She cuddled the bag of woodcarvings a little closer to her waist, mating certain it was protected from the rain by a flap of her slickertic. The steady drizzle that characterized Drallar’s autumn weather fled from the water-resistant material.
   Offworlders were hard pressed to distinguish any difference in the city’s seasons. In the summer, the rain was warm; in autumn and winter, it was cooler. Springtime saw it give way to a steady, cloying fog. So rare was the appearance of the sun through the near-perpetual cloud cover that when it did peep through, the authorities were wont to call a public holiday.
   It was not really a slave market Mother Mastiff was trudging past. That was an archaic term, employed only by cynics. It was merely the place where labor-income adjustments were formalized.
   Drallar was the largest city on the world of Moth, its only true metropolis, and it was not a particularly wealthy one. By keeping taxes low, it had attracted a good number of offworld businesses and trading concerns to a well-situated b at mostly inhospitable planet. It compensated by largely doing away with such annoying commercial aggravations as tariffs and regulations. While this resulted in considerable prosperity for some, it left the city government at a loss for general revenue.
   Among the numerous areas that were rarely self-appointing was that involving care of the impoverished. In cases In which indigence was total and an individual was isolated by circumstance, it was deemed reasonable to allow a wealthier citizen to take over responsibility from the government. This thinned the welfare rolls and kept the bureaucracy content, while providing better care for the individual involved-or so the officials insisted-than he or she could receive from under funded and impersonal government agencies.
   The United Church, spiritual arm of the Commonwealth frowned on such one-sided economic policies. But The Commonwealth did not like to interfere with domestic policies, and Drallarian officials hastened to assure the occasional visiting padre or counselor that legal safeguards prevented abuse, of “adopted” individuals. So it was that Mother Mastiff found herself leaning on tier cane, clutching the bag of artwork, and staring at the covered dispersement platform while she tried to catch her breath. One curious attendee moved too close, crowding her. He glowered when she jabbed him in the toot with her cane but moved aside, not daring to confront her.
   Standing motionless on the platform within the Circle of Compensation was a thin, solemn boy of eight or nine years. His red hair was kicked down from the rain and contrasted sharply with his dark skin. Wide, innocent eyes, so big they seemed to wrap around the sides of his face, stared out across the rain-dampened assembly. He kept his hands clasped behind his back. Only those eyes moved, their gaze flicking like an insect over the upturned faces of the crowd. The majority of the milling, would-be purchasers were indifferent to his presence.
   To the boy’s right stood a tall, slim representative of the government who ran the official sale-an assignment of responsibility, they called it-for the welfare bureau. Across from her a large readout listed the boy’s vital statistics, which Mother Mastiff eyed casually.
   Height and weight matched what she could see. Color of hair, eyes, and skin she had already noted. Living relative, assigned or otherwise-a blank there. Personal history-another blank. A child of accident and calamity, she thought, thrown like so many others on the untender mercies of government care. Yes, he certainly would be better off under the wing of a private individual, by the looks of him. He might at least receive some decent food.
   And yet there was something more to him, something that set him apart from the listless precision of orphans who paraded across that rain-swept platform, season after season. Mother Mastiff sensed something lurking behind those wide, mournful eyes-a maturity well beyond his years, a greater intensity to his stare than was to be expected from a child in his position. That stare continued to rove over the crowd, probing, searching. There was more of the hunter about the boy than the bunted.
   The rain continued to fall. What activity there was among the watchers was concentrated on the back right comer of the platform, where a modestly attractive girl of about sixteen was next in line for consignment. Mother Mastiff let out a derisive snort. Government assurances or not, yea couldn’t tell her that those pushing, shoving snots in the front row didn’t have something on their minds be-yond an innocently altruistic concern for the girl’s future. 0h,no!
   The ever-shifting cluster of potential benefactors formed an island around which eddied the greater population of the marketplace. The marketplace itself was concentrated into a ring of stalls and shops and restaurants and dives that encircled the city center. The result was just modem enough to function and sufficiently unsophisticated to at’ tract those intrigued by the mysterious.
   It held no mysteries for Mother Mastiff. The marketplace of Drallar was her home. Ninety years she had spent battling that endless river of humanity and aliens, some-times being sucked down, sometimes rising above the flow, but never in danger of drowning. Now she had a shop-small, but her own. She bargained for objects d’art, traded knicknacks, electronics, and handicrafts, and managed to make just enough to keep herself clear of such places as the platform on which the boy was standing. She put herself in his place and shuddered. A ninety-year-old woman would not bring much of a price.
   There was an awkwardly patched rip at the neck of her slickertic, and rain was beginning to find its way through the widening gap. The pouch of salables she clutched to her thin waist wasn’t growing any lighter. Mother Mastiff had other business to transact, and she wanted to be back home before dark. As the sun of Moth set, the murky daylight of Drallar would fade to a slimy darkness, and things less than courteous would emerge from the slums that impinged on the marketplace. Only the careless and the cocky wandered abroad at such times, and Mother Mastiff was neither.
   As the boy’s eyes roved over the audience, they eventually reached her own-and stopped.  Suddenly, Mother Mastiff felt queasy, unsteady. Her hand went to her stomach. Too much grease in the morning’s breakfast, she thought. The eyes had already moved on. Since she had turned eighty-five, she had had to watch her diet. But, as she had told a friend, “I’d rather die of indigestion and on a full stomach than waste away eating pills and concentrates.”
   “One side there,” she abruptly found herself saying, not sure what she was doing or why. “One side.” She broke a path through the crowd, poking one observer in the ribs with her cane, disturbing an ornithorpe’s ornate arrangement of tail feathers, and generating a chirp of indignation from an overweight matron. She worked her way down to the open area directly in front of the platform. The boy took no notice of her; his eyes continued to scan the uncaring crowd.
   “Please, ladies and gentle beings,” the official on the platform pleaded, “won’t one of you give this healthy, honest boy a home? Your government requests it of you; civilization demands it of you. You have a chance today to do two good turns at once; one for your king and the other for this unfortunate youth.”
    “Id like to give the king a good turn, all right,” said a voice from the milling crowd, “right where it would do him the most good.”
   The official shot the heckler an angry glare but said nothing.
   “What’s the minimum asking?” Be that my voice? Mother Mastiff thought in wonderment.
   “A mere fifty credits, madam, to satisfy department obligations and the boy is yours. To watch over and care for.” She hesitated, then added, “If you think you can handle as active a youngster as this one.”
   “I’ve handled plenty of youngsters in my time,” Mother Mastiff returned curtly. Knowing hoots sounded from the amused assembly. She studied the boy, who was looking down at her again. The queasiness that had roiled in her stomach the first time their eyes had met did not reoccur. Grease, she mused, have to cut down on the cooking grease.
   “Fifty credits, then,” she said.
   “Sixty.” The deep voice that boomed from somewhere to the rear of the crowd came as an unexpected interruption to her thoughts.
   “Seventy,” Mother Mastiff automatically responded. The official on the platform quickly gazed back into the crowd.
   “Eighty,” the unseen competitor sounded. She hadn’t counted on competition. It was one thing to do a child a good turn at reasonable cost to herself, quite another to saddle herself with an unconscionable expense.
   “Ninety-curse you,” she said. She turned and tried to locate her opponent but could not see over the heads of the crowd. The voice bidding against her was male, powerful, piercing. What the devil would the owner of such a voice want with a child like this? she thought.
   “Ninety-five,” it countered.
   “Thank you, thank you. To you both, the government says.” The official’s tone and expression had brightened perceptibly. The lively and utterly unexpected bidding for the redheaded brat had alleviated her boredom as well as her concern. She would be able to show her boss a better than usual daily account sheet. “The bid is against you, madam.”
   “Damn the bid,” Mother Mastiff muttered. She started to turn away, but something held her back. She was as good a judge of people as she was of the stock she sold to them, and there was something particular about this boy-though she couldn’t say precisely what, which struck her as unusual. There was always profit in the unusual. Besides, that mournful stare was preying unashamedly on a part of her she usually kept buried.
   “Oh, hell, one hundred, then, and be damned with it!” She barely managed to squeeze the figure out. Her mind was in a whirl. What was she doing there, neglecting her regular business, getting thoroughly soaked and bidding for an orphaned child? Surely at ninety her maternal instinct wasn’t being aroused. She had never felt the least maternal instinct in her life, thank goodness.
   She waited for the expected nimble of “one hundred and five,” but instead heard a commotion toward the back of the crowd. She craned her neck, trying to see, cursing the genes that had left her so short. There were shouts, then yells of outrage and loud cursing from a dozen different throats. To the left, past the shielding bulk of the ornithorpe behind her, she could just make out the bright purple flash of uniformed gendarmes, their slickertics glaring in the dim light. This group seemed to be moving with more than usual energy.
   She turned and fought her way forward and to the right, where a series of steps led to the platform. Halfway up the stairs, she squinted back into the crowd. The purple ‘tics were just merging into the first wall of office and shop complexes. Ahead of them a massive human shape bobbed and dipped as it retreated from the pursuing police.
   Mother Mastiff permitted herself a knowing nod. There were those who might want a young boy for other than humanitarian purposes. Some of them had criminal dossiers on file that stretched as far back as her lifeline. Obviously someone in the crowd, a salaried informer, perhaps, had recognized the individual bidding against her and had notified the authorities, who had responded with commendable speed.
   “One hundred credits, then,” the disappointed official announced from the platform. “Do I hear any more?” Naturally, she would not, but she played out the game for appearance’s sake. A moment passed in silence.  She shrugged, glanced over to where Mother Mastiff still stood on the stairway. “He’s yours, old woman.” Not “madam” any longer, Mother Mastiff thought sardonically. “Pay up, and mind the regulations, now.”
   “I’ve been dealing with the regulations of this government since long before ye were born, woman.” She mounted the last few steps and, ignoring the official and the boy, strode back toward the Processing Office. Inside, a bored clerk glanced up at her, noted the transaction-complete record as it was passed to his desktop computer terminal, and asked matter-of-factly, “Name?”
   “Mastiff,” the visitor replied, leaning on her cane.
   “That the last name?”
   “First and last.”
   “Mastiff Mastiff?” The clerk gave her a sour look.
   “Just Mastiff,” the old woman said.
   “The government prefers multiple names.”
   “Ye know what the government can do with its preferences.”
   The clerk sighed. He tapped the terminal’s keys. “Age?”
   “None of your business.” She gave it a moment’s thought and added, “Put down old.”
   The clerk did so, shaking his head dolefully. “Income?”
   “Sufficient.”
   “Now look here, you,” the clerk began exasperated, “in such matters as the acquisition of responsibility for welfared individuals, the city government requires certain specifics.”
   “The city government can shove its specifics in after its preferences.” Mother Mastiff gestured toward the platform with her cane, a wide, sweeping gesture that the clerk had the presence of mind to duck. “The bidding is over. The other bidder has taken his leave. Hastily. Now I can take my money and go home, or I can contribute to the government’s balance of payments and to your salary. Which is it to be?”
   “Oh, all right,” the clerk agreed petulantly. He completed his entries and punched a key. A seemingly endless form spat from the printout slot. Folded, it was about half a centimeter thick. “Read these.”
   Mother Mastiff hefted the sheaf of forms. “What are they?”
   “Regulations regarding your new charge. The boy is yours to raise, not to mistreat. Should you ever be detected in violation of the instructions and laws therein stated”-he gestured at the wad-“he can be recovered from you with forfeiture of the acquisition fee. In addition, you must familiarize yourself with-“ He broke off the lecture as the boy in question was escorted into the room by another official.
   The youngster glanced at the clerk, then up at Mother Mastiff. Then, as if he’d performed similar rituals on previous occasions, he walked quietly up to her, took her left hand, and put his right hand in it. The wide, seemingly guileless eyes of a child gazed up at her face. They were bright green, she noted absently.
   “The clerk was about to continue, then found something unexpected lodged in his throat and turned his attention instead back to his desk top. “That’s all. The two of you can go.”
   Mother Mastiff harrumphed as if she had won a victory and led the boy out onto the streets of Drallar. They had supplied him with that one vital piece of clothing, a small blue slickertic of his own. He pulled the cheap plastic tighter over his head as they reached the first intersection.
   “Well, boy, ‘tis done. Devil come take me and tell me if I know why I did it, but I expect that I’m stuck with ye now. And ye, with me, of course. Do you have anything at the dorm we should go to recover?”
   He shook his head slowly. Quiet sort, she thought. That was all to the good. Maybe he wouldn’t be a quick squaller. She still wondered what had prompted her sudden and uncharacteristic outburst of generosity. The boy’s hand was warm in her gnarled old palm. That palm usually enfolded a credcard for processing other people’s money or artwork to be studied with an eye toward purchase and even, on occasion, a knife employed for something more radical than the preparation of food, but never before the hand of a small child. It was a peculiar sensation.
   They worked their way through crowds hurrying to beat the onset of night, avoiding the drainage channels that ran down the center of each street. Thick aromas drifted from the dozens of food stalls and restaurants that fringed the avenue they were walking. Still the boy said not a word. Finally, tired of the way his face would turn toward any place from which steam and smells rose, Mother Mastiff halted before one establishment with which she was familiar. They were nearly home, anyway.
   “You hungry, boy?”
   He nodded slowly, just once.
   “Stupid of me. I can go all day without food and not give it a second thought. I forget sometimes that others have not that tolerance in their bellies.” She nodded toward the doorway. “Well, what are ye waiting for?”
   She followed him into the restaurant, then led the way to a quiet booth set against the wall. A circular console rose from the center of the table. She studied the menu imprinted on its flank, compared it with the stature of the child seated expectantly next to her, then punched several buttons set alongside the menu.
   Before too long, the console sank into the table, then reappeared a moment later stacked with food; a thick, pungent stew dimpled with vegetables, long stalks of some beige tuber, and a mass of multistriped bread.
   “Go ahead,” she said when the boy hesitated, admiring his reserve and table manners. “I’m not too hungry, and I never eat very much.”
   She watched him while he devoured the food, sometimes picking at the colorful bread to assuage what little hunger she felt herself, barely acknowledging the occasional greeting from a passing acquaintance or friend. When the bottom of the stew bowl had been licked to a fine polish and the last scrap of bread had vanished, she asked, “Still hungry?”
   He hesitated, measuring her, then gave her a half nod. “I’m not surprised,” she replied, “but I don’t want ye to have any more tonight. You’ve just downed enough to fill a grown man. Any more on top of what you’ve already had and you’d end up wasting it all. Tomorrow morning, okay?” He nodded slowly, understanding.
   “And one more thing, boy. Can ye talk?”
   “Yes.” His voice was lower than anticipated, unafraid and, she thought, tinged with thankfulness.
   “I can talk pretty good,” he added without further prompting, surprising her. “I’ve been told that for my age I’m a very good talker.”
    “That’s nice. I was starting to worry.” She slid from her seat, using her cane to help her stand, and took his hand once again. “It’s not too far now.”
   “Not too far to where?”
   “To where I live. To where ye will live from now on.” They exited the restaurant and were enveloped by the wet night.
   “What’s your name?” He spoke without looking up at her, preferring instead to study the dim storefronts and isolated, illuminated shops. The intensity of his inspection seemed unnatural.
   “Mastiff,” she told him, then grinned. “ Tis not my real name, boy, but one that someone laid upon me many years ago. For better or worse, it’s stuck longer with me than any man. ‘Tis the name of a dog of exceptional ferocity and ugliness.”
   “I don’t think you’re ugly,” the boy replied. “I think you’re beautiful.”
   She studied his open, little-boy expression. Dim-witted, dim-sighted, or maybe just very smart, she thought.
   “Can I call you Mother?” he asked hopefully, further confusing her. “You are my mother now, aren’t you?”
   “Sort of, I expect. Don’t ask me why.”
   “I won’t cause you any trouble.” His voice was suddenly concerned, almost frightened. “I’ve never caused anyone any trouble, honest. I just want to be left alone.”
   Now what would prompt a desperate confession like that? she wondered. She decided not to pursue the matter. “I’ve no demands to make on ye,” she assured him. “I’m a simple old woman, and I live a simple life. It pleases me. It had best please ye as well.”
    “It sounds nice,” he admitted agreeably. “I’ll do my best to help you any way I can.”
   “Devil knows there’s plenty to do in the shop. I’m not quite as flexible as I used to be.” She chuckled aloud. “Get tired before midnight now. You know, I actually need a full four hours’ sleep? Yes, I think ye can be of service. You’d best be. Ye cost enough.”
   “I’m sorry,” he said, abruptly downcast.
   “Stop that. I’ll have none of that in my home.”
   “I mean, I’m sorry that I upset you.”
   She let out a wheeze of frustration, knelt and supported herself with both hands locked to the shaft of the cane. It brought her down to his eye level. He stood there and gazed solemnly back at her.
   “Now ye listen to me, boy. I’m no government agent. I don’t have the vaguest notion what possessed me to take charge of ye, but ‘tis done. I will not beat you unless you deserve it. I’ll see to it that you’re well fed and reasonably warm. In return, I demand that ye don’t go about braying stupid things like I’m sorry.’ Be that a deal?”
   He didn’t have to think it over very long. “It’s a deal-Mother.”
   “That’s settled, then.” She shook his hand. The gesture brought forth a new phenomenon: his first smile. It made his tiny, lightly freckled face seem to glow, and suddenly the night seemed less chilly.
   “Let’s hurry,” she said, struggling erect again. “I don’t like being out this late, and you’re not much the body-guard. Never will be, by the looks of ye, though that’s no fault of yours.”
   “Why is it so important to be home when it’s dark?” he asked, and then added uncertainly, “Is that a stupid question?”
   “No, boy.” She smiled down at him as she hobbled up the street. “That’s a smart question. It’s important to be safe at home after dark because the dead tend to multiply in direct ratio to the absence of light. Though if you’re cautious and never grow overconfident and learn the ways of it, you’ll find that the darkness can be your friend as well as your enemy.”
    “I thought so,” he said firmly. “I’ve thought so for”-his face screwed up as he concentrated hard on something-“for as long as I can remember.”
   “Oh?” She was still smiling at him. “And what makes you think that it’s so besides the fact I just told it to ye?”
   “Because,” he replied, “most of the times I can ever remember being happy were in the dark.”
   She pondered that as they turned the comer. The rain had lessened considerably, giving way to the mist that passed for normal air in the city. It didn’t trouble her lungs, but she worried about the boy. The one thing she didn’t need was a sick child. He had cost her enough already.
   Her stall-home was one of many scattered through the seemingly endless marketplace. Stout shutters protected the nondescript facade, which occupied ten meters at the far end of a side street. She pressed her palm to the door lock. The sensitized plastic glowed brightly for an instant, beeped twice, and then the door opened for them.
   Once inside, she shoved the door shut behind them, then automatically turned to inspect her stock to make certain nothing had disappeared in her absence. “There were racks of copper and silver wares, rare carved hardwoods for which Moth was justly renowned, well-crafted eating and drinking utensils, including many clearly designed for non-humans, cheap models of Moth itself with interrupted rings of flashy floatglitter, and various items of uncertain purpose.
   Through this farrago of color and shape, the boy wandered. His eyes drank in everything, but he asked no questions, which she thought unusual.
   It was in the nature of children to inquire about everything. But then, this was no ordinary child.
   Toward the rear of the shop front a silver box stood on a dais.  Its touch-sensitive controls connected the shop directly to the central bank of Drallar and enabled Mother Mastiff to process financial transactions for all customers, whether they came from up the street or halfway across the Commonwealth. A universal credcard allowed access to its owner’s total wealth. Banks stored information; all hard currency was in general circulation.
   Past the dais and the door it fronted were four rooms: a small storage chamber, a bathroom, a kitchen-dining area, and a bedroom. Mother Mastiff studied the arrangement for several minutes, then set about clearing the storage room. Ancient and long-unsold items were shoveled out onto the floor, together with cleaning equipment, clothing, canned goods, and other items. Somehow she would find room for them elsewhere.
   Propped up against the far wall was a sturdy old cot.  She touched a button on its side, and the device sprang to life, skittering about as it arranged itself on springy legs.  Further excavation revealed a bag of support oil, which she plugged into the mattress. It was full and warm in minutes. Finally, she covered the cot with a thin thermosensitive blanket.
   “This’ll be your room,” she told him. “ Tis no palace, but ‘tis yours. I know the importance of having something ye can call your own. Ye can fix up this bower however ye like.”
   The boy eyed her as if she had just bestowed all the treasures of Terra on him. “Thank you. Mother,” he said softly. “It’s wonderful.”
   “I sell things,” she said, turning away from that radiant face. She gestured toward the storeroom out front.  “The things ye saw on our way in.”
   “I guessed that. Do you make much money?”
   “Now ye sound like the government agent back there at the platform.” She smiled to show him she was teasing. “I get by. I’d much like to have a larger place than this, but at this point in my life”—she leaned her cane up against her bed as she strolled into the larger room-“it seems not likely I ever will. It does not bother me. I’ve had a good, full life and am content. You’ll soon discover that my growls and barks are mostly show. Though not always.” She patted him on the head and pointed toward the com-pact kitchen.
   “Would ye like something hot to drink before we re-tire?”
   “Yes, very much.” Carefully, he took off his slickertic, which was dry by then. He hung it on a wall hook in his bedroom.
   “We’ll have to get ye some new clothes,” she comment-ed, watching him from the kitchen.
   “These are okay.”
   “Maybe they are for ye, hut they’re not for me.” She pinched her nose by way of explanation.
   “Oh. I understand.”
   “Now what would ye like to drink?”
   His face brightened once again. “Tea. What kinds of tea do you have?”
   “What kinds of tea do ye like?”
   “All kinds.”
   “Then I’ll choose ye one.” She found the cylinder and depressed the main switch ‘on its side as she filled it with water from the tap. Then she searched her store of food-stuffs.
   “This is Anar Black,” she told him, “all the way from Rhyinpine. Quite a journey for dead leaves to make. I think ‘tis milder than Anar White, which comes from the same world but grows further down the mountain sides. I have some local honey if ye like your drink sweet. Expensive, it is. Moth’s flowers are scarce save where they’re grown in hothouses. This world belongs to the fungi and the trees; the bees, poor things, have a hard time of it, even those who’ve grown woolly coats thick enough to keep the damp and cold out. If honey’s too thick for ye, I’ve other sweeteners.”
   Hearing no reply, she turned to find him lying still on the floor, a tawny, curled-up smudge of red hair and dirty old clothes. His hands were bunched beneath his cheek, cushioning his head.
   She shook her head and pushed the cylinder’s off but-ton. The pot sighed and ceased boiling. Bending, she got her wiry ‘arms beneath him and lifted. Somehow she wrestled him onto the cot without waking him. Her hands pulled the thermal blanket up to his chin. It was programmed and would warm him quickly.
   She stood there awhile, amazed at how much pleasure could be gained from so simple an activity as watching a child sleep. Then, still wondering what had come over her, she left him and made her way across to her own room, slowly removing her clothes as she walked. Before long, the last light in the rear of the little shop winked out, joining its neighbors in nightfall. Then there was only the light wind and the hiss of moisture evaporating from warm walls to break the silence of the mist-shrouded dark.
   Chapter Two
    
   The boy ate as if the previous night’s dinner had been no more substantial than a distant dream. She cooked him two full breakfasts and watched as he finished every bite.  When the last pachnack was gone, and the final piece of bread wolfed down, she took him into the shop.
   He watched intently as she entered the combination to the metal shutters. As they rose, they admitted a world entirely different from the empty night. One moment he was staring at the dully reflective line of metal strips. “The next brought home to him all the noise, the confusion, and bustle and sights and smells of the great Drallarian marketplace; they flooded the stall, overwhelming him with their diversity and brilliance. Mother Mastiff was not a late sleeper-which was good, for the crowd would rise in tandem with the hidden sun. Not that the marketplace was ever completely deserted. There were always a few merchants whose wares benefited from the mask of night.
   The boy could tell it was daytime because it had grown less dark. But the sun did not shine; it illuminated the raindrops. The morning had dawned warm, a good sign, and the moisture was still more mist than rain. A good day for business.
   Mother Mastiff showed the boy around the shop, describing various items and reciting their prices and the reasons behind such pricing. She hoped to someday entrust the operation of the business to him. That would be better than having to close up every time she needed to rest or travel elsewhere. The sooner he learned, the better, especially considering the way he ate.
   “I’ll do everything I can, Mother,” he assured her when she had concluded the brief tour.
   “I know ye will, boy.” She plopped down into her favorite chair, an over upholstered monstrosity covered with gemmae fur. The skins were worn down next to nothing, and the chair retained little value, but it was too comfort-able for her to part with. She watched as the boy turned to stare  at the  passing crowd.  How quiet he is, she thought. Quiet and intense. She let him study the passers-by for a while before beckoning him closer.
   “We’ve overlooked several things in the rush of the night, boy. One in particular.”
   “What’s that?” he asked.
   “I can’t keep calling ye ‘boy’. Have ye a name?”
   “They call me Flinx.”
   “Be that your last name or your first?”
   He shook his head slowly, his expression unhappy. “Mother, I don’t know. It’s what they called me.”
   “What ‘they’ called ye. Who be ‘they’? Your”-she hesitated-“mother? Your father?’”
   Again, the slow sad shake of the head, red curls dancing. “I don’t have a mother or a father. It’s what the people called me.”
   “What people?”
   “The people who watched over me and the other children.”
   Now that was strange. She frowned. “Other children? Ye have brothers and sisters, then?”
   “I don’t”-he strained to remember-“I don’t think so.  Maybe they were. I don’t know. They were just the other children. I remember them from the early time. It was a strange time.”
    “What was so strange about it?”
   “I was happy.”
   She nodded once, as though she understood. “So. Ye remember an early time when you were happy and there were lots of other children living with you.”
   He nodded vigorously. “Boys and girls both. And we had everything we could want, everything we asked for.  All kinds of good food and toys to play with and . . .”
   A wealthy family brought to ruin, perhaps. She let him ramble on about the early time, the happy time, a while longer. What catastrophe had overtaken the boy in infancy?
   “How big was this family?” she asked. “We’ll call it your family for now. How many other boys and girls were there?”
   “I don’t remember exactly. Lots.”
   “Can you count?”
   “Oh, sure,” he said proudly. “Two, three, four, five, and lots more than that.”
   Sounded like more than just a family, though an extend-ed family could not be ruled out, she knew. “Do ye remember what happened to them, and to you? Ye were all happy, and ye had lots of friends, and then something happened.”
   “The bad people came,” he whispered, his expression turning down. “Very bad people. They broke into where we lived. The people who watched us and fed us and gave us toys fought the bad people. There was lots of noise and guns going off and-and people fell down all around me.  Good people and bad people both. I stood and cried until somebody picked me up and carried me away. They carried me down lots of halls and dark places, and I remember getting into some kind of a-car?”
   She nodded approvingly. “Probably. Go on, boy.”
   “I was moved around a lot. That was the end of the happy time.”
   “What happened after that?” she prompted him.
   “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “It’s so hard to remember.”
   “I know ‘tis painful for ye, Flinx. I need to know all about ye that I can, so I can help ye as best as I’m able.”
   “If I tell you,” he asked uncertainly, “you won’t let the bad people come and take me away?”
   “No,” she said, her voice suddenly soft. “No, I won’t let them come and take ye away, Flinx. I won’t let anyone come and take ye away. Ever. I promise ye that.”
   He moved a little nearer and sat down on the extended leg support of the big chair. He had his eyes closed as he concentrated.
   “I remember never staying in one place for very long at a time. The people, the good people who took care of me and fed me, they kept the bad people away. They were al-ways upset about something, and they yelled at me a lot more than before.”
   “Were they mad at ye?”
   “I don’t think so. Not really.” He licked his lips. “I think they were scared. Mother. I know I was, but I think they were, also. And then”-a look of confusion stole over his face-“I went to sleep. For a long time. Only, it wasn’t really a sleep. It was like I was asleep and yet like I wasn’t.” He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “Do you understand that. Mother? I don’t.”
   “No, I’m not sure I do, boy.” Her mind worked. Now who, she wondered, would take the time and trouble to sedate a child for a long period of time? And why bother?
   “Then some more bad people suddenly showed up, I think,” he went on. “I didn’t see them this time. But some of the people who watched me died or went away. Then there was just me and one man and one lady, and then they were gone, too.”
   “Your mother and father?”
   “No, I don’t think so,” he told her. “Anyway, they never called themselves that. They were just two of the good people. Then some other people came and found me.  People I’d never seen before. They took me away with them.”
   “Were they good people or bad people?”
   “I don’t think they were either,” the boy replied care-fully. “I think they were kind of in-between people. I think maybe they were sorry for me. They tried to be nice, but”-he shrugged-“they were just in-between people.  They moved me around a lot again, and there were different places and lots of new children I didn’t know, and then there was yesterday, and you bought me. Right?”
   She put a hand to her mouth and coughed. “I didn’t buy ye, actually. I agreed to take responsibility for ye.”
   “But you paid the government money for me, didn’t you? I was told that was what was going to happen to me.”
   “It was only to pay off the debt the government incurred for taking care of ye,” she explained to him. “I don’t actually own ye. I would never do that.”
   “Oh,” he said quietly. “That’s nice. I’m glad.” He waited a moment, watching her, then added, “That’s everything I can remember.”
   “Ye did fine.” She leaned forward and pointed to her right, up the street. The chair groaned. “If ye walk six stalls that way, yell find a very small shop run by a human. His name be Cheneth. Go up to him and tell him who ye be and where ye came from. And ye can buy from him”-she thought a moment, not wishing to overdo things-“a half credit’s worth of whatever ye see in his shop.”
   “What kind of shop is it?” he asked excitedly.
   “Candy,” she said, enjoying the light that came into his face. “Ye remember what candy is, don’t ye? I can see by the expression on your face that ye do.” She could also tell by the speed with which he took off up the street. He was back before long, those deep emerald eyes shining from his dark face. “Thank you. Mother.”
   “Go on, go on, move to one side! You’re blocking my-our-view of the customers. Wander about, learn the ins and outs of where ye live now.”
   He vanished like a ray of sunshine, his red hair disappearing into the crowd.
   Expensive, she thought to herself. That boy’s going to be expensive to raise. How by the ringaps did I ever let myself fall into this? She grumbled silently for another several minutes until a potential customer appeared.
    
   Flinx learned rapidly. He was undemonstrative, highly adaptable, and so quiet she hardly knew when he was around. Soon he was amazing her with his knowledge of the layout and workings of the marketplace and even the greater city beyond. He worked constantly on expanding his store of information, badgering shopkeepers with persistent questions, refusing to take “I don’t know” for an answer.
   Mother Mastiff put no restrictions on him. No one had ever told her it was improper to give an eight-year-old the run of a city as wild as Drallar. Never having raised a child before, she could always plead ignorance, and since he returned dutifully every night, unscathed and unharmed, she saw no reason to alter the practice despite the clucking disapproval of some of her neighbors.
   “That’s no way to handle a boy of an age that tender,” they admonished her. “If you’re not careful, youll lose him. One night, he won’t come home from these solo forays.”
   “A boy he is, tender he’s not,” she would reply. “Sharp he be, and not just for his age. I don’t worry about him. I haven’t the time, for one thing. No matter what happens to him, he’s better off than he was under government care.”
   “He won’t be better off if he ends up lying dead in a gutter somewhere,” they warned her.
   “He won’t,” she would reply confidently.
   “You’ll be sorry,” they said. “You wait and see.”
   “I’ve been waiting and seeing going on ninety years” was her standard reply, “and I haven’t been surprised yet.  I don’t expect this boy to break that record.”
   But she was wrong.
   It was midafternoon. The morning mist had developed into a heavy rain. She was debating whether or not to send the boy out for some food or to wait. Half a dozen people were wandering through the shop, waiting for the down-pour to let up-an unusually large number for any day.
   After a while, Flinx wandered over and tugged shyly at her billowing skirt. “Mother Mastiff?”
   “What is it, boy? Don’t bother me now.” She turned back to the customer who was inspecting antique jewelry that graced a locked display case near the rear of the stall.  It was rare that she sold a piece of the expensive stuff. When she did, the profit was considerable.
   The boy persisted, and she snapped at him. “I told ye, Flinx, not now!”
   “It’s very important. Mother.”
   She let out a sigh of exasperation and looked apologetically at the outworlder. “Excuse me a moment, good sir. Children, ye know.”
   The man smiled absently, thoroughly engrossed in a necklace that shone with odd pieces of metal and worn wood.
   “What is it, Flinx?” she demanded, upset with him. “This better be important. You know how I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m in the middle of-“ He interrupted her by pointing to the far end of the shop. “See that man over there?”
   She looked up, past him. The man in question was bald and sported a well-trimmed beard and earrings. Instead of the light slickertic favored by the inhabitants of Moth, he wore a heavy offworld overcoat of black material. His features were slighter than his height warranted, and his mouth was almost delicate. Other than the earrings he showed no jewelry. His boots further marked him as an offworld visitor-they were relatively clean.
   “I see him. What about him?”
   “He’s been stealing jewelry from the end case.”
   Mother Mastiff frowned. “Are you sure, boy?” Her tone was anxious. “He’s an offworlder, and by the looks of him, a reasonably substantial one at that. If we accuse him falsely-“
   “I’m positive, mother.”
   “You saw him steal?”
   “No, I didn’t exactly see him.”
   “Then what the devil”-she wondered in a low, accusatory voice-“are ye talking about?”
   “Go look at the case,” he urged her.
   She hesitated, then shrugged mentally. “No harm in that, I expect.” Now whatever had gotten into the boy?  She strolled toward the case, affecting an air of unconcern.  As she drew near, the outworlder turned and walked away, apparently unperturbed by her approach. He hardly acted like a nervous thief about to be caught in the act.
   Then she was bending over the case. Sure enough, the lock had been professionally picked. At least four rings, among the most valuable items in her modest stock, were missing. She hesitated only briefly before glancing down at Flinx.
   “You’re positive it was him, ye say?”
   He nodded energetically.
   Mother Mastiff put two fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. Almost instantly, a half-dozen neighboring shopkeepers appeared. Still the bald man showed no hint of panic, simply stared curiously, along with the others in the store at the abrupt arrivals. The rain continued to pelt the street. Mother Mastiff raised a hand, pointed directly at the bald man, and said, “Restrain that thief!”
   The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he made no move toward retreat. Immediately, several angry shopkeepers had him firmly by the arms. At least two of them were armed.
   “The bald man stood it for a moment or two, then angrily shook off his captors. His accent, when he spoke, marked him as a visitor from one of the softer worlds, like New Riviera or Centaurus B. “Now just a moment! What is going on here? I warn you, the next person who puts hands on me will suffer for it!”
   “Don’t threaten us, citizen,” said Aljean, the accomplished clothier whose big shop dominated the far corner.  “We’ll settle this matter quick, and without the attention of police. We don’t much like police on this street.”
   “I sympathize with you there,” the man said, straightening his overcoat where he had been roughly handled. “I’m not especially fond of them myself.” After a pause, he added in shock, “Surely that woman does not mean to imply that I –“
   “That’s what she’s implyin’, for sure,” said one of the men flanking him. “If you’ve nothin’ to fear, then you’ve no reason not to gift us a moment of your time.”
   “Certainly not. I don’t see why-“ The outworlder studied their expressions a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, well, if it will settle this foolishness.”
   “It’ll settle it,” another man said from behind a pistol.
   “Very well. And I’ll thank you to keep that weapon pointed away from me, please. Surely you don’t need the succor of technology in addition to superior numbers?”
   The shopkeeper hesitated and then turned the muzzle of his gun downward. But he did not put it away.
   Mother Mastiff stared at the man for a moment, then looked expectantly down at Flinx. “Well? Did ye see where he put the rings?”
   Flinx was gazing steadily at the bald man, those green eyes unwinking. “No, I didn’t, Mother. But he took them.  I’m sure of it.”
   “Right, then.”  Her attention went back to the offworlder. “Sir, I must ask ye to consent to a brief body search.”
   “This is most undignified,” he complained. “I shall lodge a complaint with my tourist office.”
   “I’m sorry,” she told him, “but if you’ve nothing to hide, it’s best that we’re assured of it.”
   “Oh, very well. Please hurry and get it over with. I have other places to go today. I’m on holiday, you know.”
   Acting uncertainly now, two of the men who had responded to Mother Mastiff’s whistle searched the visitor. They did a thorough job of it, working him over with the experience of those who had dealt with thieves before. They searched everything from the lining of his overcoat to the heels of his boots. When they had finished, they gazed helplessly over at Mother Mastiff and shook their heads.
   “Empty he is,” they assured her. “Nothing on him.”
   “What’s missing. Mother?” Aljean asked gently.
   “Kill rings,” she explained. “The only four kill rings in my stock. Took me years to accumulate them, and I wouldn’t know how to go about replacing them. Search him again.” She nodded at the bald man. “They’re not very big and would be easy enough to hide.”
   They complied, paying particular attention this time to the thick metal belt buckle the man wore. It revealed a bidden compartment containing the man’s credcard and little else. No rings.
   When the second search proved equally fruitless, Mother Mastiff gazed sternly down at her charge. “Well, Flinx, what have ye to say for yourself?”
   “He did take them, he did,” the boy insisted, almost crying. “I know he did.” He was still staring at the bald man. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “He swallowed them.”
   “Swallowed-now just a minute,” the visitor began.  “This is getting ugly. Am I to wait here, accused by a mischievous child?” He shook an angry finger at Flinx, who did not flinch or break his cold, green stare.
   “He took them,” the boy repeated, “and swallowed them.”
   “Did you see me take these rings?” the bald man demanded.
   “No,” Flinx admitted, “I didn’t. But you took them. You know you did. They’re inside you.”
   “Charming, the experiences one has on the slumworlds,” the man said sarcastically. “Really, though, this exercise has ceased to be entertaining. I must go. My tour allots me only two days in this -wonderful city, and I wouldn’t want to waste any more time observing quaint local customs.  Out of the kindness of my nature, I will not call upon the gendarmes to arrest you all. One side, please.” He shoved past the uncertain shopkeepers and walked easily out into the rain.
   Mother Mastiff eyed the man’s retreating back. Her friends and fellow merchants watched her expectantly, helplessly. She looked down at the boy. Flinx had stopped crying. His voice was calm and unemotional as he gazed back up at her.
   “He took them, mother, and he’s walking away with them right now.”
   She could not explain what motivated her as she calmly told Aljean, “Call a gendarme, then.”
   The bald man heard that, stopped, and turned back to face them through the now gentle rain. “Really, old woman, if you think I’m going to wait-“
   “Aljean,” Mother Mastiff said, “Cheneth?” The two shopkeepers exchanged a glance, then jogged out to bring the bald man back-if false restraint charges were filed, they would be against Mother Mastiff and not them.
   “I’m sorry, sir,” Cheneth, the candy man, said as he gestured with his pistol, “but we’re going to have to ask you to wait until the authorities arrive.”
    “And then what? Are they going to haul a free citizen to the magistrate because a child demands it?”
   “A simple body scan should be sufficient,” Mother Mastiff said as the three re-entered the shop. “Surely you’ve no reason to object to that?”
   “Of course I’d object to it!” the visitor responded. “They have no reason or right to-“
   “My, but you’re suddenly arguing a lot for someone with nothing to worry about,” Aljean, the clothier, ob-served. She was forty-two years old and had run her way through four husbands. She was very adept at spotting lies, and she was suddenly less convinced of this visitor’s innocence. “Of course, if perhaps you realize now that you’ve somehow made a bit of mistake and that we quaint locals aren’t quite the simpletons you believe us to be, and if you’d rather avoid the inconvenience of a scan, not to mention official attention, you’ll learn that we’re agreeably forgiving here if you’ll just return to Mother Mastiff what you’ve taken.”
   “I haven’t taken a damn-“ the bald man started to say.
   “The jails of Drallar are very, very uncomfortable,” Aljean continued briskly. “Our government resents spending money on public needs. They especially scrimp when it comes to the comfort of wrongdoers. You being an offworlder now, I don’t think you’d take well to half a year of unfiltered underground dampness. Mold will sprout in your lungs, and your eyelids will mildew.”
   All of a sudden, the man seemed to slump in on him-self. He glared down at Flinx, who stared quietly back at him.
   “I don’t know how the hell you saw me, boy. I swear, no one saw me! No one!”
   “I’ll be blessed over,” Cheneth murmured, his jaw drop-ping as he looked from the thief to the boy who had caught him. “Then you did take the rings!”
   “Ay. Call off the authorities,” he said to Aljean “You’ve said it would be enough if I gave back the rings. I agree.”
   Mother Mastiff nodded slowly. “I agree, also, provided that ye promise never to show your reflective crown in this part of this marketplace ever again.”
   “My word on it, as a professional,” the man promised quickly. “I did not lie when I said that I was on holiday.” He gave them a twisted smile. “I like to make my holidays self-supporting.”
   Mother Mastiff did not smile back. She held out a hand. My kill rings, if ye please.”
   The man’s smile twisted even further. “Soon enough.  But first I will need certain edibles. There are several fruits which will suffice, or certain standard medications. I will also need clean cloths and disinfectant. The boy is right, you see. I did swallow them. Provide what I need and in an hour or so you will have your cursed rings back.”
   And forty minutes later she did.
   After the thief and the little group of admiring shopkeepers had gone their respective ways. Mother Mastiff took her charge aside and confronted him with the question no one else had thought to ask.
   “Now, boy, ye say ye didn’t see him swallow the rings?”
   “No, I didn’t, Mother.” Now that the crowd had dis-persed and he had been vindicated, his shyness returned.
   “Then how the ringap did ye know?”
   Flinx hesitated.
   “Come now, boy, out with it. Ye can tell me,” she said in a coaxing tone. “I’m your mother now, remember. The only one you’ve got. I’ve been fair and straightforward with ye. Now ‘tis your turn to do the same with me.”
   “You’re sure?” He was fighting with himself, she saw. “You’re sure you’re not just being nice to me to fool me? You’re not one of the bad people?”
   That was a funny thing for him to bring up, she thought. “Of course I’m not one of them. Do I look like a bad people?”
   “N-n-no,” he admitted. “But it’s hard to tell, some-times.”
   “You’ve lived with me for some time now, boy. Ye know me better than that.” Her voice became, gentle again. “Come now. Fair is fair. So stop lying to me by insisting you didn’t see him swallow those rings.”
   “I didn’t,” he said belligerently, “and I’m not lying. The man was-he was starting to walk away from the case, and he was uncomfortable. He was, he felt-what’s the word? He felt guilty.”
   “Now how do ye know that?”
   “Because,” he murmured, not looking at her but staring out at the street where strange people scurried back and forth in the returning mist, “because I felt it.” He put his small hand to his forehead and rubbed gently. “Here.”
   Great Ganwrath of the Flood, Mother Mastiff thought sharply. The boy’s a Talent. “You mean,” she asked again, “you read his mind?”
   “No,” he corrected her. “It’s not like that. It’s just-it’s a feeling I get sometimes.”
   “Do ye get this feeling whenever ye look at someone who’s been guilty?”
   “It’s not only guilty,” he explained, “it’s all kinds of feelings. People-it’s like a fire. You can feel heat from a fire.” She nodded slowly. “Well, I can feel certain things from people’s heads. Happiness or fear or hate and lots of other things I’m not sure about. Like when a man and a woman are together.”
   “Can ye do this whenever ye wish?” she asked.
   “No. Hardly ever. Lots of times I can’t feel a thing. It’s clean then and doesn’t jump in on me, and I can relax.  Then there’s other times when the feeling will just be there-in here,” he added, tapping his forehead again. “I was looking toward that man, and the guilt and worry poured out of him like a fire, especially whenever he looked at the jewel case. He was worried, too, about being discovered somehow and being caught, and a lot of other things, too. He was thinking, was throwing out thoughts of lots of quick money. Money he was going to get unfairly.”
   “Emotions,” she mused aloud, “all emotions.” She began to chuckle softly. She had heard of such things before.  The boy was an empathic telepath, though a crude one.  He could read other people’s emotions, though not their actual thoughts.
   “It’s all right, Flinx,” she assured him. She put out a hand and gave his hair a playful tousle. “Ye did right well. Ye saved me, saved us both, a lot of money.” She looked over at the small leatherine purse that now held the four recovered and cleansed rings. They still smelled of disinfectant.
   “No wonder that thief couldn’t figure out how you’d spotted him. Ye really didn’t see him take the rings.”
   “No, mother. I wasn’t even sure what he’d taken.”
   “Ye just felt the reaction in. his mind?”
   “I guess,” he said. “I-1 don’t know how it happens, but I know that most people can’t do it, can they?”
   “No,” she said gently, “most other people can’t. And sometimes they become very upset if they think there’s someone around like ye who can.”
   Flinx nodded solemnly. “Like the bad people?”
   “Maybe,” she said, considering that possibility. “Maybe like the bad people, yes. Ye can’t control the power, you’re sure?”
   “I’m sure. I’ve tried. Sometimes it’s just there, a burning inside my head. But most of the time it’s not.”
   She nodded. “That’s too bad, too bad. Ye have what’s called a Talent, Flinx.”
   “A Talent.” He considered that a moment, then asked uncertainly, “Is it a good thing?”
   “It can be. It can also be a dangerous thing, Flinx. We must make a secret of it, your secret and mine. Don’t ever tell anyone else about it.”
   “I won’t,” he murmured, then added energetically, “I promise. Then you’re not mad at me?”
   “Mad?” She let out a long, rolling cackle. “Now how could I be mad with ye, boy? I’ve regained my jewelry, and you’ve gained quite a bit of respect among our neighbors. In the marketplace, that can be a tradable commodity, as ye may discover someday.  They think you’ve a sharp eye and a sharper tongue. The reality be something more, though I wouldn’t argue ye can cut words with the best of them. Keep your Talent to yourself. Remember, our secret.”
   “Our secret,” he repeated solemnly.
   “Can ye do anything else?” she asked him, trying not to sound eager. “Anything besides feeling what others be feeling?”
   “I don’t think so. Though sometimes it feels like-I don’t know. It burns, and it makes me afraid. I don’t know how it happens to me, or why.”
   “Don’t trouble yourself about it, boy.” She didn’t press the matter when she saw how it upset him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She drew him close, held him next to her thin, warm frame.
   “Ye utilize your mind and everything else ye own.  That’s what it all’s been given to ye for. A Talent be no different from any other ability. If there be anything else ye want to try with yourself, ye go ahead and try it. Tis your body and brain and none other’s.”
   Chapter Three
    
   The couple came from Burley. Mother Mastiff could tell that by their rough accents and by the inordinate amount of gleaming metal jewelry they wore. They were handicraft hunting. The intricately worked burl of black caulderwood in Mother Mastiff’s shop caught their attention immediately. It had been finely carved to show a panoramic view of a thoruped colony, one of many that infested Moth’s northern-hemisphere continents. The carving ran the entire width of ‘the burl, nearly two meters from end to end. It was a half meter thick and had been polished to a fine ebony glow.
   It was a spectacular piece of work. Ordinarily, Mother Mastiff would not have considered parting with it, for it was the kind of showpiece that brought passers-by into the stall. But this couple wanted it desperately, and only the impossibly high price seemed to be holding them back.
   Flinx wandered in off the street, picked at a pile of small bracelets, and watched while the man and woman argued. Quite suddenly, they reached a decision: they had to have the piece. It would complete their recreation room, and they would be the envy of all their friends. Hang the shipping cost, the insurance, and the price’ They’d take it.  And they did, though the amount on their credcard barely covered it. Two men came later that afternoon to pick up the object and deliver it to the hotel where the visitors were staying.
   Later that night, after the shop had closed, after supper, Mother Mastiff said casually, “You know, boy, that couple who bought the caulderwood carving today?”
   “Yes, Mother?”
   “They must have been in and out of the shop half a dozen times before they made up their minds.”
   “That’s interesting,” Flinx said absently. He was seated in a corner studying a chip on his portable viewer. He was very diligent about that. She never thought of sending him to a formal school-rental chips had been good enough for her as a child, and they’d damn well be good enough for him.
   “Yes,” she continued. “They barely had the money for it. I pressed them,  I backed off,  I did everything I could think of to convince them of its worth once I saw that they were really serious about buying the thing. Every time, no matter what I said, they left the shop and went off arguing between themselves.
   “Then ye put in an appearance and stood there and watched them, and lo-de-do-de, sudden-like, their sales resistance just crumpled up and went aflight. Be that not interesting?”
   “Not really,” he replied. “Doesn’t that happen lots of times?”
   “Not with an item as expensive as the caulderwood, it doesn’t. It hardly ever happens that way. Now I don’t sup-pose ye had anything to do with the sudden change of heart on the part of those two? ‘Tis not likely ye sensed their hesitation and maybe did something to help them along?”
   “Of course not. Mother.” He looked away from his viewer in surprise. “I can’t do anything like that.”
   “Oh,” she murmured, disappointed. “Ye wouldn’t be lying to me now, would ye, boy?”
   He shook his head violently. “Why would I do a thing like that? I’m just happy you made so much money on the sale. I’m always glad when you make money.”
   “Well, that be one thing we have in common, anyway,” she said gruffly. “That’s enough viewing for one night.  You’ll strain your young eyes. Be to bed, Flinx.”
   “All right, Mother.” He walked over and bestowed the obligatory peck on her cheek before scurrying off to his own room. “G’night.”
   “Good night, boy.”
   She stayed awake in her own bedroom for a while, watching one of the rented entertainment chips on her own viewer. The show had been recorded on Evoria and benefited from the exotic location and the presence of thranx performers. It was late when she finally shut it off and readied herself for ‘sleep. A quick shower, half an hour brushing out her hair, and she was able to slide with a sigh beneath the thermal blanket.
   As she lay in the dark, waiting for sleep, a sudden disquieting thought stole into her mind. Why would the boy lie to her about such a possible ability?
   He might do it, she thought, because if he could convince one couple to make an unwanted purchase, he probably could do it to others. And if he could do it to others, what about this past autumn when she had been hurrying past the government auction platform on her way across town, and something had brought her to a puzzling halt.  Wasn’t it possible that the purchase she had made then—the unwanted, inexplicable-to-this-day purchase that she had never looked at too closely-had been helped along its way by the mental nudging of the purchased? Why had she bought him? None of her friends could quite under-stand it either.
   Disturbed, she slipped out of the bed and walked across the resting and eating space to the boy’s room. A glance inside revealed him sleeping soundly beneath his cover, as innocent-looking a child as one could hope to set eyes upon. But now something else was there, too, something unseen and unpredictable that she could never be certain about. Never again would she be able to relax completely in the boy’s presence.
   Already she had forgotten her initial regrets and had begun to extend to him the love she had never before been able to give to his like. He was an endearing little twit and had been more than helpful around the shop. It was good to have such company in her old age. But for a while now, just for a while, she would pat and reassure him with one hand and keep the other close by a weapon. At least until she could be sure in her own mind that it still was her own mind she could be sure of.
   Silly old fool, she thought as she turned back toward her own room. You’ve praised him for having a Talent, and now you’re worried about it. You can’t have it both ways. Besides, what need to fear a Talent its owner could not control? That confession of the boy’s seemed truthful enough, to judge by his distress and bewilderment.
   She was feeling easier by the time she slipped into her bed the second time. No, there was no reason to worry. It was interesting, his Talent, but if he couldn’t control it, well, no need to be concerned.
   Clearly, anyone unable to master such an ability would never amount to much, anyway.
    
   “Haithness, Cruachan, come here!”
   The woman seated before the computer screen had spent still another morning poring through reams of abstract data. She was trying to put together a chemical puzzle of considerable complexity. But that morning, as happens on rare occasions, an especially vital piece of the puzzle had unexpectedly fallen into place. Instead of a morass of figures and undisciplined graphics, the screen now beamed out an image of perfect symmetry.
   The man who hurried over from the center of the room to glance over her shoulder was tall, the lines striping his face impressive. The dark-haired woman who joined him in staring at the screen was equally imposing.
   The chamber in which the three of them worked was situated in a small, nondescript office building located in an unimportant city on a backwater world. For all that the equipment they hovered over had a cobbled-together appearance, most of it was still of a type requiring enormous expertise to operate and great expense to fund.
   Both the knowledge and the money came from scattered, seemingly unrelated locations throughout the Commonwealth. To the men and women who practically lived in the room, isolation was their honored burden, obscurity their most potent weapon. For they were members of a uniquely despised and persecuted minority, at war with the tenets of civilized society. Truly were their hearts pure and their purposes of noble mien- it was just their methodology that the rest of civilization questioned.
   The three staring intently at the computer screen certainly did not look like candidates for such special attention. The tall man, Cruachan, had the look of a kindly grandfather; the oriental lady seated before the console would have seemed more at home in an ancient era, clad in flowing silks and wooden shoes. Only the tall black woman standing opposite Cruachan showed some of her inner hardness in her face.
   That hardness and cold. resolve lived in each of them, however, fostered and intensified by two decades of persecution. They saw themselves as men and women apart from the common herd. Their aim was nothing less than the improvement of mankind in spite of itself. That their methods might result in damage to the innocent was some-thing they had known from the beginning. They had put that and other conventionally moral beliefs aside, believing that such sacrifices were necessary that the majority might benefit. They called their group the Meliorare Society, an innocent-sounding name drawn to mask the intention of improving humanity via the artificial manipulation of genetic material.
   Their troubles began when several of their less successful experiments came to light, whereupon the outcry over the revelations had been enormous. Now they were compelled to work in scattered outposts instead of in a single research installation, always barely a jump ahead of pursuing government authorities. They were looked down upon and viewed with horror by the general populace.
   Many of their associates had already vanished, having been discovered and taken into custody by the relentless minions of an ignorant officialdom: martyrs to science, the survivors knew-inhuman monsters, according to the media reports.
    Of course, the aims of the Meliorare Society were dangerous!  Improvement-change-was always viewed as dangerous by the shortsighted. The members had steeled themselves to that way of thinking, and it no longer affected them. What mattered were results, not the opinions of the ignorant masses.
   So they did not fear dying, did not fear the even more horrible punishment of selective mindwipe, because they believed in the rightness of their cause. If only one of their experiments turned out successfully, it would vindicate the work propounded on Terra some forty years earlier by the Society’s founder. Then they would be able to re-emerge into the scientific community that had disowned them. They would be able to point with pride to a mature, noticeably improved human being.
   The air of excitement that pervaded the room was re-strained but clearly felt as they gathered around the computer screen.
   “This had better live up to its readout, Nyassa-lee,” Cruachan warned. “I have half a volume of information to process from the Cannachanna system, and as you know, we’re likely going to have to abandon this place and move on within the month. That means reset, breakdown of equipment, and all the difficulties moving entails.”
   “You know me better than that, Cruachan,” said the woman seated in the chair. “There was no feeling of triumph in what she had just done; they had progressed beyond such trivialities. “I’ve been feeding and cross-correlating records on dispersal and individual subject characteristics for months now. It’s finally paid off. I’ve located Number Twelve.”
   The tall black woman leaned closer to the screen.  “Number Twelve-that sticks in the mind. Male, wasn’t it?”
   Nyassa-lee nodded and indicated the screen. “Here, I’II run the relevants back for you.”
   They refamiliarized themselves with the details of the case in question. It had been eight years since case interdiction. In the eight years since, they had encountered a number of other subjects. Most of them had grown into normal childhood. A few had even displayed tiny flashes of promise, but nothing worth a full-scale follow-up.
   Then there had been those whose minds and bodies had been horribly distorted and twisted by the original surgical manipulations, for which they each shared the blame. Un-fortunate failures such as those had been made public by the government and had raised such an emotional outcry among the scientifically unsophisticated public that the government had been able to legalize its witch hunt against the Society.
   Most of the subject children had been recovered by the government, raised in special homes, and restored to normality. Where possible, the genetic alterations performed by the Society’s surgeons had been corrected to enable all the children to live a normal life.
   If we cannot improve upon the normal, thought Haithness, then we do not deserve to explore and master the universe. Nature helps those who help themselves. Why should we not employ our learning and knowledge to give evolution a boost?
   From the far corner of the darkened room, a man called out. “Brora reports that a government shuttle has landed at Calaroom shuttleport.”
   “Could be the usual load of agricultural specialists,” Cruachan said thoughtfully.
   “Possible,” agreed the individual manning the communications console, “but can we afford that risk?”
   “I hate to order evacuation on such slim evidence. Any word on how many passengers?”
   “Hard to say,” the man ventured, listening intently to his receiver. “Brora says at least a dozen he doesn’t recognize.”
   “That’s a lot of agricultural specialists, Cruachan,” Haithness pointed out.
   “It is.” He called across to the communications specialist. “Tell Brora to pull back and prepare for departure.  We can’t take chances. Push evac time from a month to tonight.”
   ‘Tonight?” The voice of the communicator had a dubious ring. “I won’t have half the equipment broken down by then.”
   “New communications equipment we can buy,” Cruachan reminded him. “Replacements for ourselves are not available.”
   The man at the corn console nodded and turned back to his station, speaking softly and hurriedly into the pickup.  Cruachan returned his attention to the computer screen.
   Information emerged. NUMBER TWELVE. MALE. PHYSICALLY UNDISTINGUISED AS A CHILD. Next were descriptions of cerebral index and figures for cortical energy displacement.
   Oh, yes; Cruachan remembered now. Unpredictable, that Number Twelve. Patterns in brain activity suggesting paranormal activity but nothing concrete. Particularly fascinating had been the amount of activity emerging from the left side of the cerebrum, usually detected only in females. That by itself was not reason enough for excitement, but there was also continuous signs of functioning in at least two sections of brain that were not normally active, the “dead” areas of the mind. That activity, like the child himself, had also been unpredictable.
   And yet, despite such encouraging evidence, the case history of Number Twelve was devoid of the usual promising developments. No hint of telepathy, psycho-kinesis, pyrokinesis, dual displacement, or any of the other multitude of abilities the Society had hoped to bring to full flower in its experimental children.
   Still, Number Twelve at least exhibited a possible some-thing.
   “Well, this one certainly shows more promise than the last dozen or so,” Haithness had to admit. “It’s been so long since we had contact with him. I’d nearly forgotten those activity readings. We need to get to this one as quickly as possible. Where’s he situated?”
   Nyassa-lee tapped keys below the readout, bringing forth answers. “Where in the Commonwealth is that?” Haithness grumbled.
   “Trading world,” Cruachan put in, thinking hard. “Centrally located but unimportant in and of itself. A stopover world, low in native population.”
   “You won’t mind going there once you’ve seen this,” Nyassa-lee assured them both. Her fingers moved delicately over the keyboard a second time, and fresh in-formation glowed on screen. “This is recent, from the local operative who relocated the subject. It appears that the child has definitely displayed one Talent, possibly two.  Furthermore, he has done so in public and apparently without any specialized training.”
   “Without training,” Cruachan whispered. “Remarkable, if true.”
   Nyassa-lee tapped the screen. “This operative has been reliable in the past and particularly noteworthy for the ac-curacy of his observations. The Talent in question is a telepathic variant of some sort. The operative is not a scientifically trained observer, of course, and he is even less certain of the second one, though its potential value may be even greater.”
   “What is it?” Haithness asked.
   “I’ve been hard put to find a name for it. Basically, it seems that the child may be an emolterator.”
   The other woman looked confused. “I don’t remember that on the list of possible Talents.”
   “It wasn’t there. It’s an original. Original with this child, it seems,” Cruachan said. Nyassa-lee nodded. “It means that he may be able to influence the actions of others. Not mind control, nothing as strong as that. It would be more subtle. One possessing such an ability would have to utilize it Very carefully. If this report is true . . .” His voice and thoughts drifted for a moment as he studied the readout.
   “It seems the child’s Talents have gone unnoticed by the authorities and that he has developed naturally. All without even the most rudimentary training. The signs certainly point to powerful potentials waiting to be unlocked.”
   “Either the child has grown up unaware of these Talents,” Nyassa-lee said, studying new information as it appeared on the screen, “or else he is precociously clever.”
   “It may be just natural caution,” Haithness put in. “It will be interesting to find out which is the case.”
   “Which we will do,” Cruachan said firmly. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a subject as promising as this one come back to us. He could be the one we’ve searched for all these years.”
   “It had better not be a repeat of the last time we located a subject with these figures,” Haithness cautioned, then indicated the new figures materializing on the screen.  “Look at those neurological potentials. Remember the only other child who showed numbers like that?”
   “Of course, I remember,” Cruachan said irritably. “We won’t lose this one the way we lost that girl-what the devil was the little monster’s name?”
   “Mahnahmi,” Nyassa-lee reminded him. “Yes, if this boy’s anything like that one, we’re going to have to be extremely careful. I couldn’t take a repeat of that experience.”
   “Neither could I, frankly,” Cruachan admitted. “Our mistake was in trying to regain control over her directly.  End result: the girl vanishes again, and two more of the society go to a premature end. And we’re still not sure how she accomplished it.”
   “We’ll run across her again someday, when our methods are improved,” Haithness said coolly. “Then we’ll deal with her properly.”
   “I’m not sure I’d want to chance it.” Nyassa-lee looked back at the screen. “Meanwhile, it would be good to keep in mind the fact that the potential of this Number Twelve theoretically exceeds even that of the girl.”
   “True,” Cruachan admitted, studying the figures, “but it’s clear that his development has been much slower. We should have plenty of time to cope with any maturing Talent and make certain it is safely contained, for the child’s benefit as well as our own, of course.”
   “Of course,” Haithness agreed calmly. “I am curious to know how you propose to accomplish that. You know how volatile a Talent can become if stressed.”
   “Yes, the girl gave us an impressive demonstration of that, didn’t she?” Nyassa-lee’s fingers brought forth fresh information from the console.
   Another call sounded from across the room. “Brora says he’s now convinced that the new arrivals at the port have nothing to do with the agricultural station. They have not stopped by the Agri section of government house; they are gathering instead in the subterranean quarter.”
   “Tell Brora to speed things up,” Cmachan replied. “I definitely want the installation broken down by midnight.”
   “Yes, sir,” the communicator responded briskly.
   “You didn’t answer my question,” Haithness reminded the tail man. “How are we going to handle this one? If we try direct control as we did with the girl, we risk the same consequences. There is no way of predicting how a subject may react.”
   “Remember that the girl was still in infancy when we encountered her. We wrongly mistook her age for harmlessness. There was no reason to appeal to in her case-she was too young. I never expected that to work against us.”
   “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that he is still unskilled in the use of his Talent. That is also what makes him dangerous.” Haithness indicated the figures on the screen. “Look at those. Undisciplined or not, we must handle this Number Twelve with extreme caution. We need a check of some kind, something strong enough to mute any juvenile emotional reactions.”
   Nyassa-lee glanced back and up at her colleague. “But we cannot wait.”
   “I agree with you there. This may be our last chance to gain control and direction over a subject with such potential. We don’t want to waste our chance.”
   “I am aware of the considerations and risks,” Cruachan assured them both. “I do not intend that we should try, as we did with the girl, to gain control directly. Instead, we will try to obtain control over someone who exercises control over the subject. Is there anyone who fits the requisite pattern?”
   Nyassa-lee turned back to her keyboard. There was a pause before she replied, “One. It appears that the subject was purchased from government control by an elderly woman. She has raised the boy as her own.”
   “Surrogate mother,” Haithness murmured. “That’s good.  It is virtually made to order. We could not hope for a stronger emotional bond.”
   There was no warmth in the voice of Haithness. Only one thing mattered to her: the success of the experiment.
   Time was running out for the Society, she knew; they had no way of knowing when the authorities might close in on them forever. They needed a success now, and this boy might be their last chance.
   “I see one possible drawback,” Cruachan said while pondering the information glowing on the screen. “The woman in question, the surrogate mother, is of an advanced age, though apparently healthy.” He nudged Nyassa-lee, who obediently made room for him on the edge of the chair.
   Cruachan fingered controls and frowned when the in-formation he sought did not appear on the screen. “No detailed medical information on her. It could be difficult.”
   Haithness shrugged indifferently. “It does not matter what her condition is. We have to proceed regardless.”
   “I know, I know,” Cruachan replied impatiently. “Our course is set, then. We will not go from here to Loser’s World in hopes of relocating subject Number Fifty-six. Instead, we will establish standard mobile operations aboard the ship. Once we are certain we have escaped pursuit, we will plot course for this Moth. Then we should have enough time to proceed as planned.”
   “It will be necessary to isolate the subject from the mother.” Haithness was thinking out loud. “Given the nature of the subject’s observed Talents, if our information is accurate, it may be that within a limited geographical area he might be able to trace our activities. We will naturally need an uninterrupted period with the surrogate,” she hesitated only briefly, “to persuade her to co-operate with us.” A thin smile did little to alter her expression.
   Cruachan nodded. “That should not be difficult to arrange. Fortunately for us, Moth is lightly populated. Technology is not unknown, but the level varies widely according to location. We should be able to establish our-selves and the necessary equipment at a sufficient distance from the metropolis where the subject and his parent are living to ensure our privacy and standard security.”
   The communicator turned from his instrumentation and interrupted them without hesitation. “Brora reports that at least half of the newly arrived agricultural experts are armed.”
   “That’s that, then,” Cruachan murmured with a resigned sigh. Another hurried move, another dash to still another strange world.
   “Nyassa-lee, make certain that this information is transferred to ship storage. Haithness, you-“
   “I know what needs to be done, Cruachan.” She turned from him and calmly began transferring data from main storage to a portacube.
   The communicator leaned back in his chair and frowned at his instruments. “I won’t have time to break down much and move it out to the shuttle.”
   “It doesn’t matter, Osteen,” Cruachan assured him. “We have some duplicate equipment already aboard. I don’t like abandoning more than we have to any more than you do.” He indicated the expensive electronics with which the room had been paneled. “But we don’t have a choice now.  Regardless, something promising, truly promising, has come to our notice. After all these years, it appears that we have relocated one of the most promising of all the subject children.”
   “That’s good news indeed, sir.” Osteen was one of the few young men in the Meliorare Society. Cruachan would have prefered a man with more vision as prime communicator, but such individuals were scarce. Osteen at least was loyal and efficient. It was not his fault that he was intellectually inferior to the Society’s original membership. But then, such a collection of visionary minds was not likely to join together again in Cruachan’s lifetime, he knew.
   Unless ... unless the Society could put forth a shining testament to their noble ideals in the person of a single successful subject. This boy, perhaps, might be their vindication. They had to get to him quickly. During the past several years, they had had less and less time in which to work as the Commonwealth closed in on the remnants of the Society. Their survival rate did not bode well for the future: natural attrition was beginning to damage the cause as much as government interference.
   The three of them, along with the sharp-eyed Brora, who had sounded the latest warning, represented the largest surviving group from the original membership. The trust of all who had perished devolved upon them, Cruachan thought. They must not fail with this boy.
   And he must not fail them.
Chapter Four
    
   Loneliness had never bothered Flinx before. He knew what it was, of course-the condition had been with him all his short life. In the past, he’d always been able to distance himself from its pain, but this feeling-this empty aloneness-was different from any loneliness he’d ever experienced before. It was a physical reality, stabbing at him, creating an ache in a mysterious, new part of his brain. It was different not only from his own loneliness but from the aloneness he’d occasionally sensed in others via his unpredictable Talent.
   In fact, the experience was so radically new that he had nothing to compare it with. Yet it was loneliness; of that he was certain. Loneliness and something else equally intense and recognizable: hunger. A gnawing, persistent desire for food.
   The feelings were so bright and uncomplicated that Flinx couldn’t help but wonder at their source. They beat insistently on his mind, refusing to fade away. Never before had such emotions been so open to him, so clear and strong. Normally, they would begin to fade, but these grew not weaker but stronger-and he did not have to strain to hold them at bay. They kept hammering at him until his mind finally gave in and woke him up.
   Flinx rubbed at his eyes. It was pouring outside the shop, and the narrow window over the bed admitted the dim light of Moth’s multiple moons, which somehow seeped through the nearly unbroken cloud cover. Flinx had rarely seen the bright rust-red moon called Flame or its smaller companions, but he’d spent his years of study well, and he knew where the light came from. 
   Slipping silently from the bed, he stood up and pulled on pants and shirt. A glow light bathed the kitchen and dining area in soft yellow. Across the way, ragged snores came from the vicinity of Mother Mastiff’s bedroom. The loneliness he sensed was not hers.
   The feeling persisted into wakefulness. Not a dream, then, which had been his first thought. The back of his head hurt with the strength of it, but though the actual pain was beginning to fade, the emotion was still as strong as it had been in sleep.
   He did not wake Mother Mastiff as he inspected the rest of the kitchen area, the bathroom, and the single narrow closet. Quietly, he opened the front door and slipped out into the stall. The shutters were locked tight, keeping out weather and intruders alike. The familiar snoring provided a comforting background to his prowling.
   Flinx had grown into a lithe young man of slightly less than average height and mildly attractive appearance.  His hair was red as ever, but his dark skill now hid any suggestion of freckles. He moved with a gracefulness and silence that many of the older, more experienced marketplace thieves might have envied. Indeed, he could walk across a room paved with broken glass and metal without making a sound. It was a technique he had picked up from some of Drallar’s less reputable citizens, much to Mother Mastiff’s chagrin. All a part of his education, he had assured her. The thieves had a word for it: “skeoding,” meaning to walk like a shadow. Only Flinx’s brighter than normal hair made the professional purloiners cluck their tongues in disapproval. They would have welcomed him into their company, had he been of a mind to make thievery his profession. But Flinx would steal only if absolutely necessary, and then only from those who could afford it.
   “I only want to use my ability to supplement my in-come,” he had told the old master who had inquired about his future intentions, “and Mother Mastiff’s, of course.”
   The master had laughed, showing broken teeth. “I understand, boy. I’ve been supplementin’ my income in that manner goin’ on fifty years now.” He and his colleagues could not believe that one who showed such skill at relieving others of their possessions would not desire to make a career of it, especially since the youth’s other prospects appeared dim.
   “Yer goin’ into the Church, I suppose?” one of the other thieves had taunted him, “t’become a Counselor First?”
   “I don’t think the spiritual life is for me,” Flinx had replied. They all had a good laugh at that. 
   As he quietly opened the lock on the outside door, he thought back to what he had learned those past few years.  A wise man did not move around Drallar late at night, particularly on so wet and dark a one. But he couldn’t go back to sleep without locating the source of the feelings that battered at him. Loneliness and hunger, hunger and loneliness, filled his mind with restlessness. Who could possibly be broadcasting twin deprivations of such power? 
   The open doorway revealed a wall of rain. The angled street carried the water away to Drallar’s efficient under-ground drainage system. Flinx stood in the gap for a long moment, watching. Suddenly an intense burst of emptiness made him wince. That decided him. He could no more ignore that hot pleading than he could leave an unstamped credcard lying orphaned in the street.
   “That curiosity of yours will get ye into real trouble Someday, boy,” Mother Mastiff had told him on more than one occasion. “Mark me word.”
   Well, he had marked her word. Marked it and filed it. He turned away from the door and skeoded back to his little room. It was early summer, and the rain outside was relatively warm. Disdaining an underjacket, he took a slickertic from its wall hook and donned it; thus suitably shielded from the rain, he made his way back to the stall, out into the street, and closed the main door softly behind him.
   A few lights like hibernating will-o’-the-wisps glowed faintly from behind unshuttered shop fronts on the main avenue where the idling wealthy night-cavorted in relative safety. On the side street where Mother Mastiff plied her trade, only a rare flicker of illumination emerged from be-hind locked shutters and windows.
   As water cascaded off his shoulders, Flinx stood there and searched his mind. Something sent him off to his right.  There was a narrow gap between Mother Mastiff’s shop and that of old lady Marquin, who was on vacation in the south, and by turning sideways, he could just squeeze through.
   Then he was standing in the service alleyway that ran behind the shops and a large office building. His eyes roved over a lunar landscape of uncollected garbage and refuse: old plastic packing crates, metal storage barrels, honeycomb containers for breakables, and other indifferently disposed of detritus. A couple of fleurms scurried away from his boots. Flinx watched them warily. He was not squeamish where the omnipresent fleurms were concerned, but he had a healthy respect for them. The critters were covered in a thick, silvery fur, and their little mouths were full of fine teeth. Each animal was as big around as Flinx’s thumb and as long as his forearm. They were not really worms but legless mammals that did very well in the refuse piles and composting garbage that filled the alleys of Drallar to overflowing. He had heard horror stories of old men and women who had fallen into a drunken stupor in such places-only their exposed bones remained for the finding.
   Flinx, however, was not drunk. The fleurms could inflict nasty bites, but they were shy creatures, nearly blind, and greatly preferred to relinquish the right of way when given the choice.
   If it was dark on the street in front of the shop, it was positively stygian in the alley. To the east, far up the straightaway, he could make out a light and hear intermittent laughter. An odd night for a party. But the glow gave him a reference point, even if it was too far off to shed any light on his search.
   The continuing surge of loneliness that he felt did not come from that distant celebration, nor did it rise from the heavily shuttered and barred doorways that opened onto the alley. The emotions Flinx was absorbing came from somewhere very near.
   He moved forward, picking his way between the piles of debris, talking his time so as to give the fleurms and the red-blue carrion bugs time to scurry from his path. 
   All at once something struck with unexpected force at his receptive mind. The mental blow sent him to his knees.  Somewhere a man was beating his wife. No unique circumstance, that, but Flinx felt it from the other side of the city. The woman was frightened and angry.  She was reaching for the tiny dart gun she kept hidden in her bedroom dresser and was pointing its minuscule barrel at the man. Then it was the husband’s turn to be frightened. He was pleading with her, not in words that Flinx could hear but via an emotional avalanche that ended in an abrupt, nonverbal scream of shock. Then came the emptiness that Flinx had grown to recognize as death.
   He heard laughter, not from the party up the alley but from one of the lofty crystal towers that reared above the wealthy inurbs where the traders and transspatial merhants made their homes. And there was plotting afoot; someone was going to be cheated.
   Far beyond the city boundaries in the forest to the west: happiness and rejoicing, accompanied by a new liquid sensation of emergence. A baby was born. 
   Very near, perhaps in one of the shops on Mother Mastiff’s own street, an argument was raging. It involved accounts and falsification, waves of acrimonious resentment passing between short-term partners. Then the private grumblings of someone unknown and far away across the city center, someone plotting to kill, and kill more than one time, but plotting only-the kind of fantasizing that fills spare moments of every human brain, be it healthy or sick.
   Then all the sensations were gone, all of them, the joyful and the doomed, the debaters and lovers and ineffectual dreamers. There was only the rain.
   Blinkmg, he staggered to his feet and stood swaying un-steadily on the slope of the alley. Rain spattered off his slickertic, wove its way down the walls of the shops and the office building, to gurgle down the central drains. Flinx found himself staring blankly up the alley toward the distant point of light that marked the location of the party.  Abruptly, the emotions of everyone at the party were sharp in his mind; only now he felt no pain. There was only a calm clarity and assurance.
   He could see this woman anxiously yet uncertainly trying to tempt that man, see another criticizing the furniture, still another wondering how he could possibly live through the next day, feel laughter, fear, pleasure, lust, admiration, envy: the whole gamut of human emotions.  They began to surge toward him like the storm he had just weathered, threatening the pain again, threatening to over-whelm him-STOP IT, he ordered himself.
   Stop it-easy. 
   By careful manipulation of a piece of his mind he hadn’t even been aware existed before, he discovered he was able to control the intensity of the emotions that threatened to drown him-not all of which had been hu-man, either. He had felt at least two that were bizarre, yet recognizable enough for him to identify. They were the feelings of a mated pair of ornithorpes. It was the first time he had sensed anything from a nonhuman. 
   Slowly, he found he was able to regulate the assault, to damp it down to where he could manage it, sort out the individual feelings, choose, analyze-and then they were gone as suddenly as they had struck, along with all the rest of the blaze of emotion he had sucked in from around the city.
   Hesitantly, he tried to focus his mind and bring back the sensations. It was as before. Try as he might, his mind stayed empty of any feelings save his own. His own- and one other. The loneliness was still there, nagging at him.  The feeling was less demanding now, almost hesitant. The hunger was there, too.
   Flinx took a step forward, another, a third-and something alive quickly scuttled out of his path, shoving aside empty containers and cans, plastic and metal clinking in the damp alley. He strained to see through the dimness, wishing now that he had had the presence of mind to bring a portable light from the shop. He took a cautious step toward the pile, ready to jump up and clear should the fleurms or whatever prove unexpectedly aggressive.
   It was not a fleurm. For one thing, it was too long: nearly a meter. It was thicker, too, though not by much.  He thought of the snakelike creatures that roamed the temperate forests to the south of Drallar. Some of them were poisonous. Occasionally, they and other forest predators made their way into the city under cover of rain and darkness to hunt out the small creatures that infested the urban trash heaps. It was rare, but not unheard of, that a citizen encountered such an intruder.
   Flinx leaned close to the pile, and as he did so the hunger faded. Simultaneously, the feeling of loneliness intensi-fied; the strength of it almost sent him reeling back against the shop wall. He was certain it came from the snakelike unknown.
   The bump of curiosity-which Mother Mastiff was at such pains to warn him about-quickly overcame his natural caution. All be felt was amazement that such powerful mental projections could arise from so lowly a creature. Furthermore, there was no anger in the animal, no rudimentary danger signals. Only that persistent loneliness and the fleeting sense of hunger.
   The creature moved again. He could see the bright, flashing red eyes even in the alley’s faint light. Not a true reptile, he was sure. A cold-blooded creature would have been reduced to lethargy by the cool night air. This thing moved too rapidly.
   Flinx took a step back, away from the pile. The creature was emerging. It slithered onto the wet pavement and then did something he did not expect. Snakes were not supposed to fly.
   The pleated wings were blue and pink, bright enough for him to identify even in the darkness. No, the snake-thing certainly was not lethargic, for its wings moved in a blur, giving the creature the sound and appearance of a gigantic bee. It found a place on his shoulder in a single, darting movement. Flinx felt thin, muscular coils settle al-most familiarly around his shoulder. The whole thing had happened too fast for him to dodge.
   But the creature’s intent was not to harm. It simply sat, resting against his warmth, and made no move to attack.  The speed of the approach had paralyzed Flinx, but only for a moment. For as soon as it bad settled against him, all that vast loneliness, every iota of that burning need had fled from the snake. At the same time, Flinx experienced a clarity within his own mind that he had never felt before.  Whatever the creature was, wherever it had come from, it not only had the ability to make itself at home, it seemed to make its new host feel comfortable as well. 
   A new sensation entered Flinx’s mind, rising from the snake. It was the first time he had ever experienced a mental purr. He sensed no intelligence in the creature, but there was something else. In its own way, the empathic communication was as clear as speech, the emotional equivalent of an ancient Chinese ideograph-a whole series of complex thoughts expressed as a single projection.  Simple, yet efficient.
   The small arrowhead-shaped head lifted from Flinx’s shoulder, its bright little eyes regarding him intently. The pleated wings were folded flat against the side of the body, giving the creature a normal snakelike appearance. Flinx stared back, letting his own feelings pour from him. 
   Slowly, the creature relaxed. “The single long coiled muscle of itself, which had been squeezing Flinx’s shoulder with instinctive strength, relaxed, too, until it was only maintaining a gentle grip, just enough to hold its position.  Pins and needles started to run down Flinx’s arm. He ignored them. The animal’s head lowered until it moved up against Flinx’s neck.
   The snake was sound asleep.
   Flinx stood there for what felt like an eternity, though surely it was not even half that long. The strange apparition that the night had brought slept on his shoulder, its small head nestled in the hollow of shoulder bone and neck tendon. The animal shivered once. Flinx knew it could not be drawing full warmth from his body because the slictertic formed a layer between them. Better to get the poor thing inside, he thought, suddenly aware of how long he had been standing there in the rain. His new companion needed rest as well as warmth. How he knew that, he could not have explained; but he knew it as clearly as he recognized his own exhaustion.
   Flinx did not for a moment debate the snake’s future.  Its presence on his shoulder as well as in his mind was too natural for him to consider parting with it-unless, of course, some owner appeared to claim it. Clearly, this was no wild animal. Also, Flinx was well-read, and if this creature was native to the Drallarian vicinity, it was news to him. He had never seen or heard of such an animal be-fore. If it was some kind of valuable pet, its owner would surely come looking for it, and soon. For now, though, the snake was clearly as much an orphan as Flinx himself had once been. Flinx had experienced too much suffering in his own life to ignore it in anything else, even in a lowly snake. For a while, it was his charge, much as he was Mother Mastiff’s.
   She had wanted to know his name on that first day long ago. “What do I call you?” he wondered aloud. The sleeping snake did not respond.
   There were thousands of books available to Flinx via the library chips he rented from Central Education. He had only read a comparative few, but among them was one with which he had particularly identified. It was pre-Commonwealth- precivilization, really-but that hadn’t mitigated its impact on him. Those characters with the funny names; one of them was called-what? Pip, he ,remembered. He glanced back down at the sleeping snake.  That’ll be your name unless we learn otherwise one day.
   As he started back for the shop, he tried to tell himself that he would worry about that proverbial “one day” if and when it presented itself, but he could not. He was already worried about it, because although he had only had contact with the creature for less than an hour, it seemed a part of him. “The thought of returning the snake to some indifferent, offworld owner was suddenly more than he could bear. Since he had been an infant, he couldn’t recall becoming so deeply attached to another living creature. Not even Mother Mastiff had such a lock on his feelings. 
   Feelings. This creature, this snake-thing, it understood what he was feeling, understood what it meant to have the emotions of strangers flood unbidden into one’s mind, interrupting one’s life and making every waking moment a potential abnormality. That was what made it special. He knew it, and the snake knew it, too. No longer were they individuals; they had become two components of a larger whole.
   I will not give you up, he decided then and there in the cold morning rain. Not even if some wealthy, fatuous offworlder appears to lay claim to you. You belong with me. The snake dozed on, seemingly oblivious to any decisions the human might make.
   The street fronting the shop was still deserted. The lock yielded to his palm, and he slipped inside, glad to be out of the weather. Carefully, he relocked the door. Then he was back in the dining area where the glow light still shone softly. Using both hands, he unraveled the snake. It did not resist as he slid the coils from his shoulder. From the bedroom to his right came Mother Mastiff’s steady snores, a drone that matched the patter of rain on the roof.
   Gently, he set the snake down on the single table. In the glow lamp’s brighter light h& could see its true colors for the first time. A bright pink and blue diamondback pattern ran the length of the snake’s body, matching the pleated wings. The belly was a dull golden, hue and the head emerald green.
   “Exquisite,” he murmured to the snake. “You’re exquisite.”
   The creature’s eyes-no, he corrected himself, Pip’s eyes-opened in lazy half sleep. It seemed to smile at him.  Mental projection, Flinx thought as he slipped out of the slickertic and hung it on its hook.
   “Now where can I keep you?” he whispered to himself as he glanced around the small living area. The stall out front was out of the question. Mother Mastiff surely had customers suffering from snake phobias, and they might not take kindly to Pip’s presence-besides, the stall was unheated. By the same token, he didn’t think Mother Mastiff would react with understanding if the snake playfully sprang out at her from one of the kitchen storage cabinets while .she was trying to prepare a meal.
   His own room was Spartan: There was only the small computer terminal and chip readout, the single clothes closet he had rigged himself, and the bed. The closet would have to do. Carrying the snake into his room, Flinx set it down on the foot of the bed. Then he made a pile of some dirty clothes on the closet floor. Pip looked clean enough; most scaled creatures were dirt-shedders, not collectors. He lifted the snake and set it down gently in the clothes, careful not to bruise the delicate wings. It recoiled itself there, seemingly content. Flinx smiled at it. He didn’t smile often.
   “Now you stay there. Pip,” he whispered, “and in the morning we’ll see about scrounging something for you to eat.” He watched the snake for several minutes before fatigue returned with a rush. Yawning, he pushed his own clothes off the bed, set his boots on the drypad, and climbed back into bed. A few droplets of water had crawled under the edge of the slickertic. He brushed them from his hair, sighed deeply, and lapsed into a rich, undisturbed sleep.
   Once the flow of mental energy from the human in the bed had smoothed out and the snake was certain its new symbiote was not about to enter a disturbing REM period, it quietly uncoiled  itself and  slithered  out of the  closet.  Silently, it worked its way up one of the bed legs, emerging next to the single battered pillow.
   The animal rested there for a long moment, gazing through double lidded eyes at the unconscious biped. In-side itself, the snake was warm and comfortable. The hunger was still there, but it had received an indication of sorts that it would soon be fed.
   “The bed was very warm, both the thermal blanket and the symbiote’s mass exuding comfortable, dry heat. The snake slithered across the pillow until it was resting against the back of the human’s head. It stretched itself once, the wings flexing and retracting. Then it coiled itself tightly into the convenient pocket formed by the symbiote’s neck and shoulder. Soon its own brain waves matched those of the human as it drifted into its own variety of sleep.
    
   Chapter Five
    
   Mother Mastiff was careful not to wake the boy as she slowly began backing out of his room. Her eyes, alert and fearful, remained fixed on the alien thing curled up against his head. There was no telling what it might do if startled into wakefulness.
   How the invader had penetrated her tight little home, she had no idea. No time to worry about that now. Her thoughts went to the little gun, the delicate, ladylike needier she kept under her pillow. No, too chancy—the snake was much too close to the boy’s head, and she was not as good a shot as she had been twenty years ago. 
   There was also the possibility the invader might not even be dangerous. She certainly did not recognize it. In the ninety plus years she had spent on Moth, she had seen nothing like it. For one thing, there was no hint of fur any-where on its body. Only scales. That immediately identified it as a non-native. Well, maybe. Moth was home to a few creatures—deep-digging burrowers—that did not sport fur. This didn’t look like a burrower to her, but she was no zoologist, nor had she ever traveled far outside the city limits.
   Yet she felt certain it came from offworld. Something she couldn’t put a mental finger on marked the beast as alien, but that didn’t matter. What did was that it had somehow penetrated to the boy’s room, and she had better do something about it before it woke up and decided the matter for her.
   Get it away from him, she told herself. Away from his head, at least. Get it away, keep it occupied, then wake the boy and have him make a run for the gun under her pillow.
   The broom she hefted had a light metal handle and wire bristles. Taking it out of storage, she re-entered Flinx’s room and reached past his head with the broom’s business end. The metal bristles prodded the invader. 
   The snake stirred at the touch, opened its eyes, and stared at her. She jabbed at it again, harder this time, trying to work the bristles between the snake’s head and the boy’s exposed neck. It opened its mouth, and she instinctively Jerked back, but it was only a yawn. Still sleepy, then, she thought. Good, its reactions would be slowed. Leaning forward again, she reached down and shoved hard on the broom. Several of the snake’s coils went rolling over to the side of the bed, and for the first time she had a glimpse of its brilliant coloring. 
   Again, she shoved with the broom, but the snake was no longer on the bed. It hovered in midair, its wings moving so rapidly they were no more than a blue-pink blur. They generated a rich, vibrant humming sound in the small room. Aghast and uncertain how to attack this new threat, Mother Mastiff backed away, holding the broom defensively in front of her. Awakened by the last shove of the broom, the boy blinked sleepily at her. “Mother? What is it?”
    “Hush, be quiet!” she warned him. “I don’t know how this thing got into your room, but—“
   Flinx sat up quickly. He glanced up at the hovering snake, admiring it for the first time in daylight, and bestowed a reassuring grin on Mother Mastiff.
   “Oh, that. That’s just Pip.”
   The broom dipped slightly, and she stared narrowly at her charge. “Ye mean, ye know what it be?”
    “Sure,” he said cheerfully. “I, uh, heard something; last night, so I went outside to investigate.” He gestured with a thumb at the snake. “It was back in the garbage, cold and hungry. Hey, I bet he’s still hungry, and—
   “I’ll bet it is, too,” she snapped, “and III not have some scaly, gluttonous carrion eater crawling about my house.  Get out!” she yelled at it. “Shoo!” She swung the broom at the snake once, twice, a third time, forcing Flinx to duck the flying bristles. Each time, the snake dodged nimbly in the air, displaying unexpected aerial agility. Once it darted straight to its left, then backward, then toward the ceiling. 
   “Don’t!” Flinx shouted, suddenly alarmed. “It might think you’re trying to hurt me.”
   “A guardian angel with beady eyes and scales? Mockmush, boy, it knows well what I’m swinging at!”
   In fact, the snake was well aware the new human had no intention of banning its symbiote, for it could feel the honest affection and warmth flowing between them. It did not worry on that score. Conversely, no love flowed toward it from the new person, and the shiny thing that was being thrust at it was hard to avoid in the small, enclosed space.
   “Please, Mother,” Flinx pleaded anxiously, scrambling out of bed and dragging the blanket with him, “stop it. I don’t know how it’ll react.”
   “We’re going to find out, boy,” she told him grimly. The broom struck, missed, bounced off the far wall. She cocked her arms for another swing.
   The snake bad been patient, very patient. It understood the bond between the two humans. But the broom had backed it into a comer, and the hard bristles promised danger if they connected solidly with the snake’s wings. It opened its mouth. There was a barely perceptible squirting sound. A thin, tight stream of clear liquid shot forward. It sparkled in the light and impacted on the broom as it was swinging forward. As Mother Mastiff recovered and brought the broom back for yet another strike, she heard a faint but definite hissing that did not come from the snake.She hesitated, frowning, then realized the noise was coming from the broom. A glance showed that approximately half of the metal bristles had melted away. Something was foaming and sizzling as it methodically ate its way down the broom.
   She dropped the weapon as if the metal handle had abruptly become red hot, her expression fearful. The liquid continued to sputter and hiss as it ate away the metal.  Soon it had worked its way through the last stubble and was beginning to eat holes in the metal handle itself. 
   “Boy, get out of the room while ye have the chance,” she called huskily, staring wide-eyed at the snake while continuing to back toward her own bedroom. “If it can do that to metal, there’s no telling what—“
   Flinx laughed, then hurriedly put a hand to his mouth and forced himself to be understanding. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said apologetically. “It’s just that Pip would never hurt me. And he’s just proved that he wouldn’t hurt anyone close to me, either.”
   “How do ye know that?” she sputtered. 
   “You know,” he replied, sounding puzzled, “I don’t know how I know it. But it’s true. Here, see?” He extended his left arm.
   Still keeping a wary eye on the woman, who continued to block the exit, the snake zipped down to land on the proffered perch.  In an instant, it had multiple coils wrapped around the human’s shoulder. Then the snake relaxed, the pleated wings folding up to lie flat against the gleaming body.
   “See?” Flinx lowered his arm and gently rubbed the back of the snake’s head. “He’s just naturally friendly.”
   “Naturally ugly, ye mean,” Mother Mastiff snorted.  Bending, she picked up the remnant of the broom and inspected it. All the bristles were gone, along with several centimeters of handle. A weak crackling still came from the raw edges of the tube where the metal had dissolved, though the extraordinarily corrosive liquid seemed to have largely spent itself.
   She showed the remains of the broom to Flinx, still nervous about getting too near the thing wrapped around his shoulder. “See that? Imagine what it. would do to your skin.”
    “Oh, Mother, can’t you see?” Flinx spoke with all the exasperation of the young for the aged. “He was protecting himself, but because he senses that you’re important to me, he was careful not to spit any of it on you.”
   “Lucky thing for it,” she said, some of her normal bravado returning. “Well, it can’t stay here.”
   “Yes, it can,” Flinx argued.
   “No, it can’t. I can’t have some lethal varmint like that fluttering and crawling all over the place, frightening off the customers.”
   “He’ll stay with me all the time,” Flinx assured her soothingly. His hand continued to caress the snake’s head.  Its eyes closed contentedly. “See? He’s Just like any other house pet. He responds to warmth and affection.” Flinx brought forth his most mournful, pleading expression. It had the intended affect.
   “Well, it won’t get any warmth or affection from me,” Mother Mastiff grumbled, “but if you’re determined to keep it . . .”
   “I think,” Flinx added, throwing fuel on the fire, “he would become very upset if someone tried to separate us.”
   Mother Mastiff threw up her hands, simultaneously signifying acquiescence and acceptance. “Oh, Deity, why couldn’t ye stumble over a normal pet, like a cat or a saniff? What does the little monster eat, anyways?”
   “I don’t know,” Flinx admitted, remembering the hunger he had sensed the night before and resolving to do something about it soon. He had been hungry himself and knew more of the meaning of that word than most people.  “Aren’t most snakes carnivorous?”
   “This one certainly looks like it,” she said. 
   Reaching down, Flinx gently ran a forefinger along the edge of the snake’s mouth until he could pry it open. The snake opened one eye and looked at him curiously but did not raise any objection to the intrusion. Mother Mastiff held her breath.
   Flinx leaned close, inspecting. “The teeth are so small I can’t tell for sure.”
   “Probably swallows its food whole,” Mother Mastiff told him. “I hear that’s the wav of it with snakes, through this be no normal snake and I wouldn’t care to make no predictions about it, much less about its diet.”
   “I’ll find out,” Flinx assured her. “If you don’t need me to help in the shop today—“
   “Help, hahl No, go where ye will. Just make sure that creature goes with ye.”
   “I’m going to take him around the marketplace,” Flinx said excitedly, “and see if anyone recognizes him. There’s sure to be someone who will.”
   “Don’t bet your blood on it, boy,” she warned him. “It’s likely an offworld visitor.”
   “I thought so, too,” he told her. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? I wonder how it got here?”
   “Someone with a grudge against me brought it, probably,” she muttered softly. Then, louder, she said, “There be no telling. If ‘tis an escaped pet and a rare one, ye can be sure its owner will be stumbling about here soonest in search of it.”
   “We’ll see.” Flinx knew the snake belonged right where it was, riding his shoulder. It felt right. He could all but feel the wave of contentment it was generating. 
   “And while I’m finding out what he is,” he added briskly, “I’ll find out what he eats, too.”
   “Ye do that,” she told him. “Fact be, why not spend the night at it? I’ve some important buyers coming around suppertime.  They were referred to me through the Shopkeeper’s Association and seem especial interested in some of the larger items we have, like the muriwood table.  So ye take that awful whatever-it-be,” and she threw a shaky finger in the direction of the snake, “and stay ye out ‘til well after tenth hour. Then I’ll think about letting the both of ye back into my house.”
   “Yes, Mother, thank you,” He ran up to give her a kiss. She backed off.
   “Don’t come near me, boy. Not with that monster sleeping on your arm.”
   “He wouldn’t hurt you. Mother. Really.”
   “I’d feel more confident if I had the snake’s word on it as well as yours, boy. Now go on, get out, be off with the both of ye. If we’re fortunate, perhaps it will have some homing instinct and fly off when you’re not looking.”
   But Pip did not fly off. It gave no sign of wishing to be anywhere in the Commonwealth save on the shoulder of a certain redheaded young man.
   As Flinx strolled through the marketplace, he was startled to discover that his ability to receive the emotions and feelings of others had intensified, though none of the isolated bursts of reception matched in fury that first over-powering deluge of the night before. His receptivity bad increased in frequency and lucidity, though it still seemed as unpredictable as ever. Flinx suspected that his new pet might have something to do with his intensified abilities, but he had no idea how that worked, anymore than he knew how his Talent operated at the best of times. 
   If only he could find someone to identify the snake! He could always work through his terminal back home, but requests for information were automatically monitored at Central, and he was afraid that a query for information on so rare a creature might trigger alarm on the part of curious authorities. Flinx preferred not to go through official channels. He had acquired Mother Mastiff’s opinion of governmental bueaucracy, which placed it somewhere between slime mold .and the fleurms that infested the alleys.
   By now, he knew a great many inhabitants of the marketplace. Wherever he stopped, he inquired about the identity and origin of his pet. Some regarded the snake with curiosity, some with fear, a few with indifference. But none recognized it.
   “Why don’t you ask Makepeace?” one of the vendors eventually suggested. “He’s traveled offworld. Maybe he’d know.”
   Flinx found the old soldier sitting on a street corner with several equally ancient cronies. All of them were pensioneers. Most were immigrants who had chosen Moth for their final resting place out of love for its moist climate and because it was a comparatively cheap world to live on, not to mention the laxity of its police force. On Moth, no one was likely to question the source of one’s pension money. For several of Makepeace’s comrades, this was the prime consideration.
   The other aged men and women studied the snake with nothing more than casual interest, but Makepeace reacted far more enthusiastically. “Bless my remaining soul,” he muttered as he leaned close—but not too close, Flinx noted—for a better look. Pip raised his head curiously, as if sensing something beyond the  norm in this withered biped.
   “You know what he is?” Flinx asked hopefully.
   “Aye, boy. Those are wings bulging its flanks, are they not?” Flinx nodded. “Then it’s surely an Alaspinian miniature dragon.”
   Flinx grinned at the old man, then down at Pip. “So that’s what you are.” The snake looked up at him as if to say. I’m well aware of what I am, and do you always find the obvious so remarkable?
   “I thought dragons were mythical creatures,” he said to Makepeace.
   “So they are. It’s only a name given from resemblance, Flinx.”
   “I suppose you know,” Flinx went on, “that he spits out a corrosive fluid.”
   “Corrosive!” The old man leaned back and roared with laughter, slapping his legs and glancing knowingly at his attentive cronies. “Corrosive, he says!” He looked back at Flinx.
   “The minidrag’s toxin is, my boy, a venomous acid known by a long string of chemical syllables which this old head can’t remember. I was a soldier-engineer. Biochemistry was never one of my favorite subjects. I’m more comfortable with mathematical terms than biological ones.  But I can tell you this much, though I never visited Alas-pin myself.” He pointed at the snake, which drew its head back uncertainly. “If that there thing was to spit in your eye, you’d be a kicking, quivering mess on the ground inside a minute—and dead in not much more than that. 
   I also remember that there’s no known antidote for several of the Alaspinian toxins, of which that minidrag of yours wields the most potent. A corrosive, neurological poison—aye, who wouldn’t remember hearing about that?  You say you know it’s corrosive?”
   Flinx had an image of the dissolved end of the broomstick, the metal melted away ike cheese before a hot blade. He nodded.
   “Just make sure you never get to know of it personally, lad. I’ve heard tell of such creatures being kept as pets, but it’s a rare thing. See, the associational decision’s all made by the snake. The would-be owner has no choice in the matter. You can’t tame ‘em. They pick and choose for themselves.” He gestured toward Flinx’s shoulder. “Looks like that one’s sure settled on you.”
   “He’s more than welcome,” Flinx said affectionately. “He feels natural there.”
   “Each to his own,” an elderly woman observed with a slight shudder. Affirmative nods came from others in the group.
   “And there’s something else, too.” The old soldier was frowning, struggling to remember long-dormant knowledge.“What you just said about it feeling ‘natural’ there reminded me. They say those flying snakes have funny mental quirks all their own. Now me, I wouldn’t be able to say for certain if that’s so—I’m only relating hearsay, didn’t read it off no chip. But the stories persist.”
   “What kind of stories?” Flinx asked, trying not to appear overanxious.
   “Oh, that the snakes are empathic. You know, telepathic on the emotional level.” He scratched his head. “There’s more to it than that, but I’m damned if I can remember the rest of it.”
   “That’s certainly interesting,” Flinx said evenly, “but pretty unlikely.”
   “Yeah, I always thought so myself,” Makepeace agreed.“You wouldn’t have noticed anything like that since being around this one, of course.”
   “Not a thing.” Flinx was an expert at projecting an aura of innocence; in this case, it glowed from his face, not his mind. “Thanks a lot for your time, Mr. Makepeace, sir.”
   “You’re more than welcome to it, boy. Old knowledge dies unless somebody makes use of it. You watch yourself around that thing. It’s no saniff, and it might could turn on you.”
   “I’ll be careful,” Flinx assured him brightly. He turned and hurried away from the gaggle of attentive oldsters.Makepeace was rubbing his chin and staring after the youngster as he vanished into the swirling crowd. “Funny.  Wonder where the little flying devil came from? This is one hell of a long way from Alaspin. That reminds me of the time ...”
   Flinx glanced down at his shoulder. “So you’re poisonous, hub? Well, anyone could have guessed that from the little demonstration you gave with Mother’s broom this morning. If you spit in my eye, I’ll spit in yours.”
   The snake did not take him up on the offer. It stared at him a moment, then turned its head away and studied the street ahead, evidently more interested in its surroundings than in its master’s indecipherable words.
   Maybe miniature dragons don’t have much of a sense of humor, Flinx mused. Probably he would have ample opportunity to find out. But at least he knew what his pet was. Glancing up beyond the fringe of the slickertic hood, he wondered where the snake’s home world lay. Alaspin, old Makepeace had called it, and said it was far away. 
   The morning mist moistened his upturned face. The cloud cover seemed lighter than usual. If he was lucky, the gloom would part sometime that night and he would have a view of Moth’s fragmented ice rings, of the moon Flame, and beyond that, of the stars. 
   Someday, he thought, someday I’ll travel to far places as Makepeace and the others have. Someday I’ll get off this minor wet world and go vagabonding. I’ll be a free adult, with nothing to tie me down and no responsibilities. I’ll lead a relaxed, uncomplicated life of simple pleasures. He glanced down at his new-found companion. Maybe someday they would even travel to the snake’s home world of Alaspin, wherever it might be.
   Sure you will, he thought bitterly. Better be realistic, like Mother  Mastiff  says.  You’re stuck here forever.  Moth’s your home, and Moth’s where you’ll spend the rest of your days. Count yourself fortunate. You’ve a concerned mother, a warm home, food .... 
   Food. Surely the flying snake was hungrier than ever.  “We’d better get you something to eat,” he told Pip, who gazed up at him with fresh interest.
   He checked his credcard. Not much money there. Not that there ever was. Well, he could manage. Trouble was, he had no idea what Alaspinian minidrags liked to eat. “I wonder what you’d settle for,” he murmured. The snake did not respond. “If it’s live food only, then I don’t think there’s much I can do to help you. Not on a regular basis, anyway. Let’s try here, first.”
   They entered a stall well known to Flinx. Most of the booths and tables were unoccupied, since it was between mealtimes. As it developed, finding suitable food for the minidrag turned out to be less of a problem than he had feared. Much to Flinx’s surprise, the flying snake was omnivorous. It would eat almost anything he set in front of it, but raw meat seemed to be a special favorite. Flinx cut the meat into small chunks, which the snake gulped down whole. Flinx helped himself to an occasional bite. When times were bad, he and Mother Mastiff had existed on far less savory items.
   Pip was fond of any kind of fruit or berry, though it shied away from vegetables. Something else they had in, common. Flinx thought. Oddly enough, the snake would even lap up milk. Flinx was sure he could supply enough variety to keep his pet both happy and alive. Maybe it would even eat table scraps. Perhaps that would weaken Mother Mastiff’s antagonism. As be experimented further, he discovered that the snake was particularly fond of anything with a high iron content, such as raisins or flakes of guarfish. Had he been a biochemist equipped with a field laboratory, he might have learned that the minidrag’s blood contained an extraordinary amount of hemoglobin, vital to transport the  oxygen necessary to sustain the snake’s hummingbirdlike flight.
   When Pip had swollen to twice his normal diameter, Flinx stopped trying new foods on his pet. He relaxed in the booth, sipping mulled wine and watching the lights of the city wink to life. It wouldn’t be too bad to live out his life on Moth, he admitted to himself. Drallar was never dull, and now he had a special companion with whom to share its excitement.
   Yes, the flying snake had filled a definite void in his life as well as in some mysterious, deeper part of himself. But he still longed for the stars and the magical, unvisited worlds that circled them.
   Be realistic, he ordered himself.
   He waved to some acquaintances as they strolled past the restaurant. Older men and women. Sometimes Mother Mastiff worried that he preferred the company of adults to youngsters his own age. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that he was antisocial, merely that he chose his friends carefully. It was the immaturity of those his own age that drove him into the company of adults.
   A fleeting emotion from one of those to whom he had waved reached back to him as the group rounded a corner, laughing and joking in easy camaraderie.  Flinx snatched at it, but it was gone. He sat back in his booth, the wine making him moody. Better to have no Talent at all,  he  thought,  than  an  unmanageable  one  that  only teases.
   He paid the modest bill, slipping his card into the table’s central pylon. Outside, the evening rain had begun. Pip rode comfortably on his shoulder beneath the slickertic, only its head exposed. It was sated, content. Ought to be after all you ate, Flinx thought as he gazed fondly down at his pet.
   Rain transformed the brilliant scales of the snake’s head into tiny jewels. The moisture did not seem to bother the snake. I wonder, Flinx thought. Is Alaspin a wet world, also? I should have asked old Makepeace. He’d probably have known. People lucky enough to travel learn every-thing sooner or later.
   Suddenly a stinging, serrated burst of emotion—hammer blow, unexpected, raw—doubled him over with its force. It was like a soundless screaming inside his head. Flinx was feeling the naked emotion behind a scream instead of hearing the scream itself. He had never experienced anything like it before, and despite that, it felt sickeningly familiar.
   A bundled-up passer-by halted and bent solicitously over the crumpled youngster. “Are you all right, son?  You—“ He noticed something and quickly backed off.
   “I—I’m okay, I think,” Flinx managed to gasp. He saw what had made the man flinch. Pip had been all but asleep on his master’s shoulder only a moment before. Now the snake was wide awake, head and neck protruding like a scaly periscope as it seemed to search the night air for something unseen.
   Then the last vestiges of that desperate, wailing cry vanished, leaving Flinx’s head xxxaching and infuriatingly empty.Yet it had lingered long enough for him to sort it out, to identify it.
   “Listen, son, if you need help, I can—“ the stranger started to say, but Flinx did not wait to listen to the kind offer. He was already halfway down the street, running at full speed over the pavement. His slickertic fanned out like a cape behind him, and his boots sent water flying over shop fronts and pedestrians alike. He did not pause to apologize, the curses sliding off him as unnoticed as the rain.
   Then he was skidding into a familiar side street. His heart pounded, and his lungs heaved. The street appeared untouched, unaltered, yet something here had been violated, and the moment of it had touched Flinx’s mind.Most of the shops were already shuttered against the night.There was no sign of human beings in that damp stone canyon.
   “Mother!” he shouted. “Mother Mastiff!” He pounded on the lock plate with his palm. The door hummed but did not open—it was locked from inside.
   “Mother Mastiff, open up. It’s me, Flinx!” No reply from the other side.
   Pip danced on his shoulder, half airborne and half coiled tight to its master. Flinx moved a dozen steps away from the door, then charged it, throwing himself into the air sideways and kicking with one leg as Makepeace had once shown him. The door gave, flying inward. It had only been bolted, not locksealed.
   He crouched there, his eyes darting quickly around the stall. Pip settled back onto his shoulder, but its head moved agitatedly from side to side, as if it shared its master’s nervousness and concern.
   The stall looked undisturbed. Flinx moved forward and tried the inner door. It opened at a touch. The interior of the living area was a shambles. Pots and pans and food had been overturned in the kitchen. Clothing and other personal articles lay strewn across floor and furniture. He moved from the kitchen-dining area to his own room, last-ly to Mother Mastiff’s, knowing but dreading what he would find.
   The destruction was worse in her room. The bed looked as if it had been the scene of attempted murder or an uncontrolled orgy. Across the bed, hidden from casual view, a small curved door blended neatly into the wall paneling. Few visitors would be sharp-eyed enough to notice it.  It was just wide enough for a man to crawl through.
   It stood ajar. A cold breeze drifted in from outside.
   Flinx dropped to his knees and started through, not car ing what he might encounter on the other side. He emerged from the slip-me-out into the alley and climbed to his feet. The rain had turned to mist. There was no hint that anything unusual had occurred here. All the chaos was behind him, inside.
   Turning, he ran two or three steps to the north, then stopped himself. He stood there, panting. He had run long and hard from the street where the scream had struck him, but he was too late. There was no sign that anyone had even been in the alley.
   Slowly, dejectedly, he returned to the shop. Why? he cried to himself. Why has this happened to me? Who would want to kidnap a harmless old woman like Mother Mastiff? The longer he thought about it, the less sense it made.
   He forced himself to take an inventory out front. There was no sign of anything missing. The shop’s stock seemed to be intact. Not thieves, then, surprised in the act of burglary. Then what? If not for the ample evidence that there had been a struggle, he would not even have suspected that anything was amiss.
   No, he reminded himself, not quite true. The lockseal on the front door was dead. It would have taken half the thieves in Drallar to drag Mother Mastiff from her shop while it stood unsealed. He thought of thieves a second time, knowing he would not be staying here long. His mind full of dark and conflicting thoughts, he set about repairing the lock.
    
Chapter Six
    
   "Pssst! Boy! Flinx-boy!”
   Flinx moved the door aside slightly and gazed out into the darkness. The man speaking from the shadows operated a little shop two stalls up the side street from Mother Mastiff’s, where he made household items from the hard-woods that Moth grew in abundance. Flinx knew him well, and stepped out to confront him. 
   “Hello, Arrapkha.” He tried to search the man’s face, but it was mostly hidden by the overhanging rim of his slickertic. He could feel nothing from the other man’s mind. A fine and wondrous Talent, he thought sarcastically to himself.
   “What happened here? Did you see anything?”
   “I shouldn’t be out like this.” Arrapkha turned to glance worriedly up the street to where it intersected the busy main avenue. “You know what people say in Drallar, Flinx-boy. The best business is minding one’s own.”
   “No homilies now, friend,” Flinx said impatiently.  “You’ve been neighbor to my mother for many years, and you’ve watched me grow up. Where is she?”
   “I don’t know.” Arrapkha paused to gather his thoughts.Flinx held back his anxiety and tried to be patient with the man—Arrapkha was a little slow upstairs but a good soul.
   “I was working at my lathe, feeling good with myself.  I’d only just sold a pair of stools to a programmer from the Welter Inurb and was counting my good fortune when I thought I heard noises from your house.” He smiled faintly. “At first, I thought nothing of it. You know your mother. She can fly into a rage at anytime over nothing in particular and make enough noise to bring complaints from the avenue stores.
   “Anyhow, I finished turning a broya post—it will be a fine one, Flinx-boy, fashioned of number-six harpberry wood—“
   “Yes, I’m sure,” Flinx said impatiently. “I’m sure it will be a fine display stand, as all your work is, but what about Mother Mastiff?”
   “I’m getting to that, Flinx-boy,” Arrapkha said petulantly. “As I said, I finished the post, and since the noise continued, I grew curious. It seamed to be going on a long time even for your mother. So I put down my work for a moment and thought to come see what was going on. I mediate for your mother sometimes.
   “When I was about halfway from my shop to yours, the noise stopped almost entirely. I was about to return home when I saw something. At least, I think I did.” He gestured toward the narrow gap that separated Mother Mastiff’s shop from the vacant shop adjoining hers.
   “Through there I thought I saw figures moving quickly up the alley behind your home. I couldn’t be certain. The opening is small, it was raining at the time, and it’s dark back there. But I’m pretty sure I saw several figures.”
   “How many?” Flinx demanded. “Two, three?”
   “For sure, I couldn’t say,” Arrapkha confessed sadly. “I couldn’t even for certain tell if they were human or not.More than two, surely. Yet not a great number, though I could have missed seeing them all.
   “Well, I came up to the door quickly then and buzzed. There was no answer, and it was quiet inside, and the door was locked, so I thought little more of it. There was no reason to connect shapes in the alleyway with your mother’s arguing. Remember, I only heard noise from the shop.
   “As it grew dark I started to worry, and still the shop stayed closed. It’s not like Mother Mastiff to stay closed up all day. Still, her digestion is not what it used to be, and sometimes her liver gives her trouble. Too much bile.She could have been cursing her own insides.”
   “I know,” Flinx said. “I’ve had to listen to her complaints lots of times.”
   “So I thought best not to interfere. But I have known both of you for a long time, Flinx-boy, just as you say, so I thought, when I saw you moving about, that I ought to come and tell you what I’d seen. It’s clear to me now that I should have probed deeper.” He struck his own head.“I’m sorry. You know that Frn not the cleverest man in the marketplace.”
   “It’s all right, Arrapkha. There’s no blame for you in this matter.” Flinx stood there in the mist for a long moment, silent and thinking hard.
   Arrapkha hesitantly broke in on his contemplation. “So sorry I am, Flinx-boy. If there’s anything I can do to help, if you need a place to sleep tonight, ay, even with the devil thing on your shoulder, you are welcome to share my home.”
   “I’ve spent many a night out on my own, sir,” Flinx told him, “but the offer’s appreciated. Thank you for your help. At least now I have a better idea of what happened, though not for the life of me why. Could you see if Mother Mastiff was among those running down the alley?She’s not here.”
   “So I guessed from your look and words. No, I cannot say she was one of them. I saw only shapes that seemed to be human, or at least upright. But they seemed to run with difficulty.”
   “Maybe they were carrying her.”
   “It may be, Flinx-boy, it may be. Surely she would not go off on her own with strangers without leaving you so much as a message.”
   “No, she wouldn’t,” Flinx agreed, “and if she went with the people you saw, it wasn’t because they were her friends. The inside of the house is all torn up. She didn’t go with them quietly.”
   “Then surely for some reason she’s been kidnaped,”Arrapkha concurred. “Fifty years ago, I might could give a reason for such a thing. She was a beauty then. Mother Mastiff, though she has not aged gracefully. Grace was not a part of her, not even then. A hard woman always, but attractive. But for this to happen now—“ He shook his head. “A true puzzle. Did she have access to much money?”
   Flinx shook his head rapidly.
   “Urn. I thought not. Well, then, did she owe anyone any dangerous amounts?”
   “She owed a lot of people, but no great sums,” Flinx replied. “At least, nothing that she ever spoke to me about and nothing I ever overheard talk of.”
   “I do not understand it, then,” Arrapkha said solemnly.
   “Nor do I, friend.”
   “Perhaps,” Arrapkha suggested, “someone wished a private conversation with her and will bring her back in the morning?”
   Flinx shook his head a second time. “I think that since she didn’t go with them voluntarily, she won’t be allowed to come back voluntarily. Regardless, one thing she always told me was not to sit around and stare blankly at the inexplicable but always to try and find answers. If she does come walking freely home tomorrow, then I can at least try to meet her coming.”
   “Then you’re determined to go out after her?” Arrapkha lifted bushy black eyebrows.
   “What else can I do?”
   “You could wait. You’re a nice young fellow, Flinx-boy.” He waved toward the distant avenue. “Most every-one in the marketplace who knows you thinks so, also. You won’t lack for a place to stay or food to eat if you decide to wait for her. Your problem is that you’re too young, and the young are always overanxious.”
   “Sorry, Arrapkha. I know you mean well for me, but I just can’t sit around here and wait. I think I’d be wasting my time and, worse, maybe hers as well. Mother Mastiff doesn’t have much time left to her.”
   “And what if her time, excuse me, has already fled?” Arrapkha asked forcefully. Subtlety was not a strong trait of the marketplace’s inhabitants. “Will you involve your-self then in something dangerous which has chosen to spare you?”
   “I have to know. I have to go after her and see if I can help.”
   “I don’t understand,” Arrapkha said sadly. “You’re a smart young man, much smarter than 1. Why risk your-self? She wouldn’t want you to, you know. She’s not really your mother.”
   “Mother or mother-not,” Flinx replied, “she’s the only mother I’ve ever known. There’s more to it than simple biology, Arrapkha. The years have taught me that much.”
   The older man nodded. “I thought you might say something like that, Flinx-boy. Well, I can at least wish you luck. It’s all I have to give you. Do you have credit?”
   “A little, on my card.”
   “If you need more, I can transfer.” Arrapkha started to pull out his own card.
   “No, not now, anyway. I may need such help later.” He broke into a broad smile. “You’re a good friend, Arrapkha. Your friendship is as solid as your woodwork.” He turned. “Did you see which direction these figures took?”
   “That’s little to start on.” He pointed to the north. “That way, up the alley. They could have turned off any time. And in the weather”—he indicated the clouds hanging limply overhead—“they’ll have left no trail for you to follow.”
   “Perhaps not,” Flinx admitted. “We’ll see.”
   “I expect you will, Flinx-boy, since you feel so strongly about this. All I can do, then, is wish luck to you.” He turned and strode back up the street toward his shop, keeping the slickertic tight around his head and neck.
   Flinx waited until the rain had swallowed up the older man before going back inside and closing the door behind him. He wandered morosely around the living area, salvaging this or that from the mess and returning things to their proper places. Before long, he found himself in Mother Mastiff’s room. He sat down on the bed and stared at the ajar slip-me-out that led to the alley.
   “What do you think, Pip? Where did she go, and who took her, and why? And how am I going to find her? I don’t even know how to start.”
   He shut his eyes, strained, tried to sense the kinds of emotions he knew she must be generating, wherever she had been taken. There was nothing. Nothing from Mother
   Mastiff, nothing from anyone else. His Talent mocked him. He started fixing up the bedroom, hoping that contact with familiar objects might trigger some kind of reaction in his mind. Something, anything, that would give him a start on tracking her down. Pip slipped off his shoulder and slithered across the bed, playing with covers and pillows.
   There were gaps—missing clothing—in the single closet, Flinx noted. Whoever had abducted her evidently intended to keep her for a while. The sight cheered him because they would not have troubled to take along clothing for someone they intended to kill immediately.
   Pip had worked its way across the bed to the night table and was winding its sinuous way among the bottles and containers there. “Back off that, Pip, before you break something. There’s been enough damage done here today.” The irritation in his voice arose more out of personal upset than any real concern. The minidrag had yet to knock over anything.
   Pip reacted, though not to his master’s admonition. The snake spread luminous wings and fluttered from the tabletop to the slip-me-out. It hovered there, watching him. While Flinx gaped at his pet, it flew back to the night table, hummed over a bottle, then darted back to the opening.
   Flinx’s momentary paralysis left him, and he rushed to the end table. The thin plasticine bottle that had attracted Pip was uncapped. It normally held a tenth liter of a particularly powerful cheap perfume of which Mother Mastiff was inordinately fond. Now he saw that the bottle was empty.
   If Mother Mastiff had retained enough presence of mind to remember that the Drallarian gendarmery occasionally employed the services of tracking animals—for the first time hope crowded despair from Flinx’s thoughts. Those animals could track odors even through Moth’s perpetual dampness.
   If an Alaspinian minidrag possessed the same ability ... Was he completely misinterpreting the flying snake’s actions? “Pip?”
   The flying snake seemed to accept the mention of its name as significant, for it promptly spun in midair and darted through the slip-me-out. Flinx dropped to his hands and knees and crawled after. In seconds, he was in the alley again. As he climbed to his feet, he searched for his pet. It was moving eastward, almost out of sight.
   “Pip, wait!” The snake obediently halted, hovering in place until its master had caught up. Then it took off up the alley again.
   Flinx settled into a steady run. He was an excellent runner and in superb condition, on which he had always prided himself. He resolved to follow the flying snake until one or the other of them dropped.
   Any moment he expected the snake to pause outside one of the innumerable faceless structures that peppered the commercial sections of Drallar. But while the minidrag twisted and whirled down alleys and up streets, not once did it hesitate in its steady flight. Soon Flinx found his wind beginning to fail him. Each time he stopped, the snake would wait impatiently until its master caught up again.
   Drallar was the largest city on Moth, but it was a village compared to the great cities of Terra or the under-ground complexes of Hivehom and Evoria, so Flinx was not surprised that when Pip finally began to slow, they had reached the northwestern outskirts of the metropolis. Here the buildings no longer had to be built close to one another. Small storage structures were scattered about, and individual homes of blocked wood and plastic began to blend into the first phalanx of evergreen forest. Pip hesitated before the trees, zooming in anxious circles, soaring to scan the treetops. It ignored Flinx’s entreaties and calls until finally satisfied, whereupon the snake turned and dropped down to settle once again on the familiar perch of his master’s shoulder.
   Turning a slow circle, Flinx fought to pick up even a fragment of lingering emotion. Once again, his efforts met with failure. It seemed clear that whoever had carried off Mother Mastiff had taken her into the forest and that the olfactory trail that had led Pip so far had finally dissipated in the steady onslaught of mist and rain. On a drier world or in one of Moth’s few deserts, things might have been different, but here Pip had come to a dead end.
   After a moment’s thought, Flinx started away from the trees. In addition to the storage buildings and homes, several small industrial complexes were visible nearby, including two of the ubiquitous sawmills that ringed the city and processed Moth’s most prolific crop. Plinx wandered among them until he located a public corn station on a service street. He stepped inside and slid the spanda-wood door shut behind him. Even after curing, spanda retained ‘a significant coefficient of expansion. When he closed the door, it sealed itself against the elements, and only the ventilation membranes would keep him from suffocating. He took out his battered credcard and slid it into the receptacle on the unit, then punched the keyboard. A pleasant-looking middle-aged woman appeared on the small viewscreen. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
   “Is there a Missing Persons Bureau in the Drallar Municipal Strata?”
   “Just a moment, please.” There was a pause while she glanced at something out of range of the pickup.
   “Human or alien?”
   “Human, please.”
   “Native or visitor?”
   “Native.”
   “You wish connection?”
   “Thank you, yes.” The woman continued to stare at him for a moment, and Flinx decided she was fascinated by the coiled shape riding his shoulder. The screen finally flashed once and then cleared.
   This time, the individual staring back at him was male, bald, and bored. His age was indeterminate, his attitude barely civil. Flinx had never liked bureaucrats. “Yes, what is it?
   “Last night,” he declared, “or early this morning”—in his rush through the city streets he’d completely lost track of the time—“I—my mother disappeared. A neighbor saw some people running away down an alley, and our house was all torn apart. I don’t know how to start looking for her. I think she’s been taken out of the city via the north-west quadrant, but I can’t be sure.”
   The man perked up slightly, though his voice sounded doubtful. “I see. This sounds more like a matter for the police than for Missing Persons.”
   “Not necessarily,” Flinx said, “if you follow my meaning.”
   “Oh.” The man smiled understandingly. “Just a moment. I’ll check for you.” He worked a keyboard out of
   Flinx’s view. “Yes, there was a number of arrests made last night, several of them including women. How old is your mother?”
   “Close to a hundred,” Flinx said, “but quite lively.”
   “Not lively enough to be in with the group I was thinking of,” the clerk responded. “Name?”
   Flinx hesitated. “I always just called her Mother Mastiff.”
   The man frowned, then studied his unseen readout. “Is Mastiff a first name or last name? I’m assuming the ‘Mother’ is an honorific.”
   Flinx found himself staring dumbly at the clerk. Suddenly, he was aware of the enormous gaps that made up much of his life. “I—I don’t know, for sure.”
   The bureaucrat’s attitude turned stony. “Is this some kind of joke, young man?”
   “No, sir,” Flinx hastened to assure him, “it’s no joke. I’m telling you the truth when I say that I don’t know.See, she’s not my natural mother.”
   “Ah,” the clerk murmured discreetly. “Well, then, what’s your last name?”
   “I—“ To his great amazement, Flinx discovered that he was starting to cry. It was a unique phenomenon that he had avoided for some time; now, when he least needed it, it afflicted him.
   The tears did have an effect on the clerk, though. “Look, young man, I didn’t mean to upset you. All I can tell you is that no woman of that advanced an age is OQ last night’s arrest recording. For that matter, no one that old has been reported in custody by any other official source. Does that help you at all?”
   Flinx nodded slowly. It helped, but not in the way he’d hoped. “Th-thank you very much, sir.”
   “Wait, young man! If you’ll give me your name, maybe I can have a gendarme sent out with—“ The image died as Flinx flicked the disconnect button. His credcard popped from its slot. Slowly, wiping at his eyes, he put it back inside his shirt. Would the clerk bother to trace the call? Flinx decided not. For an instant, the bureaucrat had thought the call was from some kid pulling a joke on him.  After a moment’s reflection, he would probably think so again.
   No one of Mother Mastiff’s age arrested or reported in. Not at Missing Persons, which was bad, but also not at the morgue, which was good because that reinforced his first thoughts: Mother Mastiff had been carried off by unknown persons whose motives remained as mysterious as did their identity. He gazed out the little booth’s window at the looming, alien forest into which it seemed she and her captors had vanished, and exhaustion washed over him. It was toasty warm in the corn booth.
   The booth’s chair was purposely uncomfortable, but the floor was heated and no harder. For a change, he relished his modest size as he worked himself into a halfway comfortable position on the floor. There was little room for Pip in the cramped space, so the flying snake reluctantly found itself a perch on the corn unit. Anyone entering the booth to make a call would be in for a nasty shock.
   It was well into morning when Flinx finally awoke, stiff and cramped but mentally rested. Rising and stretching, he pushed aside the door and left the corn booth. To the north lay the first ranks of the seemingly endless forest, which ran from Moth’s lower temperate zone to its arctic.To the south lay the city, friendly, familiar. It would be hard to turn his back on it.
   Pip fluttered above him, did a slow circle in the air, then rose and started northwestward. In minutes, the minidrag was back. In its wordless way, it was reaffirming its feelings of the night before: Mother Mastiff had passed that way. Flinx thought a moment. Perhaps her captors, in order to confuse even the most unlikely pursuit, had carried her out into the forest, only to circle back into the city again.
   How was he to know for certain? The government couldn’t help him further. All right, then. He had always been good at prying information from strangers. They seemed to trust him instinctively, seeing in him a physically unimposing, seemingly not-too-bright youngster. He could probe as facilely here as in the markeplace.
   Leaving the booth and the sawmill block, he began his investigation by questioning the occupants of the smaller businesses and homes. He found most houses deserted, their inhabitants having long since gone off to work, but the industrial sites and businesses were coming alive as the city’s commercial bloodstream began to circulate. Flinx confronted the workers as they entered through doors and gates, as they parked their occasional individual transports, and as they stepped off public vehicles.
   Outside the entrance to a small firm that manufactured wooden fittings for kitchen units, he encountered someone not going to work but leaving. “Excuse me, sir,” he said for what seemed like the hundred thousandth time, “did you by any chance see a group of people pass through this part of town last night? “They would have had an upset old lady with them, perhaps restrained somehow.”
   “Now that’s funny of you to mention,” the man said unexpectedly. “See, I’m the night guard at Koyunlu over there.” He gestured at the small building that was filling up with workers. “I didn’t see no old woman, but there was something of a commotion late last night over that way.” He pointed at the road which came to a dead end against the nearby trees.
   “There was a lot of shouting and yelling and cursing. I took a look with my nightsight—that’s my job, you know—and I saw a bunch of people getting out of a rented city transport. They were switching over to a mudder.”
   The watchman appeared sympathetic. “They weren’t potential thieves or young vandals, so I didn’t watch them for long. I don’t know if they were the people you’re looking for.”
   Flinx thought a moment, then asked, “You say that you heard cursing. Could you tell if any of it was from a woman?”
   The man grinned. “I see what you thinking, son. No, they were too far away. But I tell you this: someone in that bunch could swear like any dozen sewer riders.”
   Flinx could barely contain his excitement. “That’s them; that’s her! That’s got to be her!”
   “In fact,” the watchman continued, “that’s really what made it stick in me mind. Not that you don’t see people switching transports at night—you do, even way out here. It’s Just a bad time to go mudding into the woods, and when it is done, it’s usually done quietly. No need that I can see for all that yelling and shouting.”
   “It was them, all right,” Flinx murmured decisively. “It was her swearing—or her kidnappers swearing at her.”
   “Kidnap—“ The man seemed to notice Flinx’s youth for the first time. “Say, soa, maybe you’d better come along with me.”
   “No, I can’t.” Flinx. started to hack up, smiling apologetically. “I have to go after them. I have to find her.”
   “Just hold on a second there, son,” the watchman said. “Ill give a call to the police. We can use the company corns. You want to do this right and proper so’s—“
   “They won’t do anything,” Flinx said angrily. “I know them.” On an intimate basis, he could have added, since he’d been arrested for petty theft on more than one occasion. He was probably on their question-list right now. They would hold him and keep him from going after Mother Mastiff.
   “You wait, son,” the watchman insisted. “I’m not going to be part of something—“ As he spoke, he reached out a big hand. Something bright blue-green-pink hissed threateningly. A triangular head darted menacingly at the clutching hand. The man hastily drew it back.
   “Damn,” he said, “that’s alive!”
   “Very alive,” Flinx said, continuing to back away. “Thanks for your help, sir.” He turned and dashed toward the city.
   “Boy, just a minute!” The watchman stared after the retreating figure. Then he shrugged. He was tired. It had been a long, dull night save for that one noisy bunch he’d seen, and he was anxious to be home and asleep. He sure as hell didn’t need trouble himself with the antics of some kid. Pushing the entire incident from his thoughts, he headed toward the company transport stop.
   Once he was sure he was out of sight of the watchman, Flinx paused to catch his breath. At least he knew with some certainty that Mother Mastiff had been kidnapped and taken out of the city. Why she had been carried off into the great northern forest he could not imagine.
   In addition to the hurt at the back of his mind, a new ache had begun to make itself felt. He had had nothing to eat since the previous night. He could hardly go charging off into Moth’s vast evergreen wilderness on an empty stomach.
   Prepare yourself properly, then proceed. That’s what Mother Mastiff had always taught him. Ill go home, he told himself. Back to the shop, back to the marketplace. The kidnapers had switched to a mudder. Such a vehicle was out of Flinx’s financial reach, but he knew where he could rent a stupava running bird. That would give him flexibility as well as speed.
   His legs still throbbed from the seemingly endless run across the city the previous day,  so he used public transport to return home. Time was more important than credits. The transport chose a main spoke avenue and in minutes deposited him in the marketplace.
   From the drop-off, it was but a short sprint to the shop. He found himself half expecting to see Mother Mastiff standing in the entrance, mopping the stoop and waiting to bawl him out for being gone for so long. But the shop was quiet, the living space still disarranged and forlorn. None-the less, Flinx checked it carefully.  There were several items whose positions he had memorized before leaving; they were undisturbed.
   He began to collect a small pile of things to take with him. Some hasty trading in the market produced a small backpack and as much concentrated food as he could cram into it. Despite the speed of his bargaining, he received full value for those items he traded off from Mother Mastiff’s stock. With Pip riding his shoulder, few thought to cheat him. When anyone tried, the minidrag’s reactions instantly alerted its master and Flinx simply took his trade elsewhere.
   Flinx switched his city boots for less gaudy but more durable forest models. His slickertic would serve just as well among the trees as among the city’s towers. The outright sale of several items gave his credcard balance a healthy boost. Then it was back to the shop for a last look around. Empty. So empty without her. He made certain the shutters were locked, then did the same to the front door. Before leaving, he stopped at a stall up the street.
   “You’re out of your mind, Flinx-boy.” Arrapkha said from the entrance to his stall, shaking his head dolefully. The shop smelled of wood dust and varnish. “Do you know what the forest is like? It runs from here to the North Pole. Three thousand, four thousand kilometers as the tarpac flies and not a decent-sized city to be found.
   “There’s mud up there so deep it could swallow all of Drallar, not to mention things that eat and things that poison. Nobody goes into the north forest except explorers and herders, hunters and sportsmen—crazy folk from offworld who like that sort of nowhere land. Biologists and botanists—not normal folk like you and me.”
   “Normal folk didn’t carry off my mother,” Flinx replied.
   Since he couldn’t discourage the youngster, Arrapkha tried to make light of the situation. “Worse for them that they did. I don’t think they know what they’ve gotten themselves into.”
   Flinx smiled politely. “Thanks, Arrapkha. If it wasn’t for your help, I wouldn’t have known where to begin.”
   “Almost I wish I’d said nothing last night,” he muttered sadly. “Well, luck to you, Flinx-boy. I’ll remember you.”
   “You’ll see me again,” Flinx assured him with more confidence than he truly felt. “Both of us.”
   “I hope so. Without your Mother Mastiff, the marketplace will be a duller place.”
   “Duller and emptier,” Flinx agreed. “I have to go after her, friend Arrapkha. I really have no choice.”
   “If you insist. Go, then.”
   Flinx favored the woodworker with a last smile, then spun and marched rapidly toward the main avenue. Arrapkha watched until the youngster was swallowed up by the crowd, then retreated to his own stall. He had business to attend to, and that, after all, was the first rule of life in the marketplace.
   Flinx hadn’t gone far before the smells of the market were replaced by the odors, heavy and musky, of locally popular native transport animals. They were usually slower and less efficient then mechanized transport, but they had other advantages: they could not be traced via their emissions, and they were cheap to rent and to use.
   In a licensed barn, Flinx picked out a healthy-looking stupava. The tall running bird was a good forager and could live off the land. It stood two and a half meters at its bright orange crest and closely resembled its far more intelligent cousins, the omithorpes, who did not object to the use of ignorant relatives as beasts of burden. Flinx haggled with the barn manager for a while, finally settling on a fair price. The woman brought the bird out of its stall and saddled it for the youngster. “You’re not going to do anything funny with this bird, now?”
   “Just going for a little vacation,” Flinx answered her blithely. “I’ve finished my studies for the year and owe myself the time off.”
   “Well, Garuyie here will take you anywhere you might want to go. He’s a fine, strong bird.” She stroked the tall bird’s feathers.
   “I know.” Flinx put his right foot in the first stirrup, his left in the second, and threw his body into the saddle. “I can see that from his legs.”
   The woman nodded, feeling a little more relaxed. Evidently, her youthful customer knew what he was doing.
   She handed him the reins.
   “All right, then. Have a -pleasant journey.”
   Flinx had indeed ridden such birds before, but only within the city limits and not for any length of time. He snapped the reins, then gave the bird a serious whistle. It booted back and started off, its long legs moving easily. Guiding it with gentle tugs of the reins and sharp whistles, Flinx soon had the stupava moving at a respectable rate up the first spoke avenue, jostling aside irritated pedestrians and avoiding faster public vehicles. The stupava seemed undisturbed by Pip’s presence, a good sign. It would not do to bead into the great forest on an easily spooked mount.
   In a gratifyingly short time, Flinx found they had retraced his frenzied marathon of the night before. A sawmill passed by on his left, the corn booth that had sheltered him somewhere behind it. Then only the forest loomed ahead. Trees, a hundred meters tall and higher soared above scattered smaller trees and bushes. Where the pavement vanished there was only a muddy trail. The stupava wouldn’t mind that—its splayed, partially webbed feet would carry them over the bogs and sumps with ease.
   “Heigh there!” he shouted softly at the bird, following the command with a crisp whistle. The stupava cawed once, jerked its head sharply against the bridle, and dashed off into the woods. The regular flap-flap from beneath its feet gave away to an irregular whacking sound broken by occasional splashes as it spanned a deeper puddle. Sometimes they touched thick moss or fungi and there was no sound at all. In no time, the immense trees formed a solid wall of bark and green behind Flinx, and the city that was his home was for the first time completely out of his sight.
Chapter Seven
    
   Joppe the Thief thought sure he had found himself a couple of fleurms. The man and woman he was stalking so intently looked to be in their midthirties. Their dress was casual, so casual that one not interested in it might not have identified them as offworlders. Their presence in that part of Drallar’s marketplace late at night proved one of two things to Joppe: either they had a great deal of confidence in their ability to pass unnoticed, or they were simply ignorant. Joppe guessed they were searching for a little excitement.
   That was fine with Toppe. He would happily provide them with some excitement, something really memorable to relate to the neighbors back home on some softer world like Terra or New Riviera. They did not look like the kind who would be awkward about it. If they were, then they might have more than merely an interesting encounter to talk about.
   Joppe was hungry. He had not made a strike in over a week. He regarded the strolling, chatting couple with the eye of a covetous farmer examining a pair of his prize meat animals.
   As it was still comparatively early, not: all the lights had been extinguished in that part of the marketplace, but enough of the shops had closed to give Joppe hope. The nature of his work required privacy. He did not rush himself. Joppe had an instinctive feel for his work. He had to balance waiting for more shopkeepers to retire against the possibility of the couple’s realizing their error and turning back toward the more brightly lit sections of the market.
   The couple did not seem inclined to do that. Joppe’s hopes continued to rise. He could hear them clearly, talking about some sight seen earlier in the day. Joppe’s hand closed around the handle of the little needier in his pocket, and he started forward, closing the distance between himself and his prey. By now the couple had reached the end of the cul-de-sac and had stopped in front of the last shop, which was shuttered and dark. They seemed to be debating something. Then the man bent to the shop’s door and took several objects from his pockets. He started manipulating something out of Joppe’s view.
   The thief slowed, the needier only halfway out of his holster pocket, and stared in confusion. What were they up to? He moved a little nearer, still clinging to the shadows. He was close enough to see that the door was sealed with a palm lock, which required the imprint of all five of the shop owner’s fingers, in proper sequence, to release. The little black disk that the tourist had attached to the palm lock was a very expensive, sophisticated device for decoding and solving such locks. The man’s fingers roved over the keys, and he examined the readout with the attitude of someone who not only knew exactly what he was doing but who had done it frequently.
   While the man worked at the door, his companion stood watching him, hands on hips, obviously intent on what he was doing. Abruptly, she glanced away from her husband, and Joppe found himself staring straight at her.
   The matronly giggle she had affected all evening was abruptly gone from her voice. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed soft. The unexpected transformation, accomplished solely by a change in posture and tone, was shocking. “I’m sorry we had to waste your evening, friend, but we needed a good screen to keep away the rest of the rabble. Thanks for that. Now turn around, call it a bad day, and look elsewhere. We don’t have time for you right now. Oh, and leave that gun where it won’t do you or anyone else any harm, okay?” Then she smiled pleasantly.
   Too startled to react, Joppe just stood there, his hand still  clutching  the  needier.  He could take this one, he thought momentarily. However, something in her stance held him back. The proximity of a weapon was clearly implied, as was the intent to use it. Her companion had paused in his work and crouched before the doorway in a waiting position.
   This was all very wrong, Joppe thought. He was not an especially imaginative individual, but he was an intent observer, and he was good at putting things together.
   Here stood an offworld couple dressed for an evening out, calmly working a lock decoder on an unprepossessing stall doorway at the end of a side street on a dark and damp night. That, plus the way the woman had spoken to him, did not add up
   Joppe let go the needier and took his hand from his pocket. Slowly, his fingers spread so that they could see he held nothing in them. He nodded once, smiled a twisted,
   fleeting smile at the woman, and backed away. She returned his smile. He backed away until the shadows engulfed him once again and he stood behind a protective stone wall. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. His pulse was racing. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he turned and just peeked around the edge of the wall. The woman had not budged, and was still staring after him. The man had returned to his work.
   Joppe was well out of his depth, and he knew it. Without another backward glance, he turned and jogged off toward the main avenue, disappointed with his luck and still hungry for a strike. As to the purpose of the peculiar couple, he gave it not another thought. Such folk operated on a level far above that of Joppe and his ilk and were better forgotten.
   “Sensible, that one,” the woman said thoughtfully. She turned her attention from the distant street to her companion’s work. “I thought he might give us trouble.”
   “Better that he didn’t,” her companion agreed. “We don’t need to fool with such silliness. Not now.” His fingertips danced lightly over the keys set into the black disk. 
   “How you coming?” the woman asked, peering over his shoulder.
   “How does it look like I’m coming?”
   “No need to be sarcastic,” she said easily.
   “It’s an updated twenty-six,” he informed her. “I didn’t expect anyone in this slum would take the trouble and expense to keep updating something like this. Someone sure likes his privacy.”
   “Don’t you?”
   “Very funny.” Suddenly, the disk emitted a soft beep, and the numbers on the readout froze. “That’s got it.” The man’s tone was relaxed, methodical. There was no pleasure in his announcement, only a cool, professional satisfaction. He touched buttons set at five points spaced evenly around the black disk. It beeped again, twice. The illuminated numbers vanished from the readout. Unsealing the disk, he slid it back inside his coat. There were a number of pockets inside that coat, all filled with the kinds of things that would raise the hackles of any police chief. The man put a hand on the door and pushed. It moved aside easily. After a last, cursory glance up the narrow street, the two of them stepped inside.
   The center section of the man’s ornate belt buckle promptly came to life, throwing a narrow but powerful beam of light. It was matched a moment later by a similar beam projected from his companion’s brooch. They wandered around the stall, noting the goods on display and occasionally sniffing disdainfully at various overpriced items. Inspection led them to an inner door and its simpler locking mechanism.
   Both stood just inside the second doorway and gazed around the living area. “Someone put up a hell of fight,” the man commented softly.
   “The boy—or his adoptive mother, do you think?” “The woman moved in, stooping to examine an overturned end table and the little silver vase that had tumbled from it. The vase was empty. She carefully replaced it where it had fallen.
   “Maybe both of them.” Her companion was already inspecting the larger of the two bedrooms. They went through the area methodically: kitchen, bedrooms, even the hygiene facilities.
   When they had finished—and it did not take them very long—and when fingerprinted samples of air and dust and tiny bits of hopefully significant detritus had been relegated to the safety of tiny storage vials, the man asked his companion, “What do you think? Wait for them here?”
   The woman shook her head as she glanced around the kitchen-dining area. “They obviously left under duress—and you know what that suggests.”
   “Sure, that’s occurred to me. No way it couldn’t. But there’s no guarantee.”
   She laughed, once. “Yeah, there’s no guarantee, but what do you think?’
   “The same as you. I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
   “I know, I know. Isn’t it odd, though, that both of them are missing? That surely suggests something other than a common break-in.”
   “I said I concurred.” The man’s tone was a mite testy. “What now?”
   “The shopkeeper up the street who watched us break in,” she said. He nodded agreement.
   They retraced their steps, leaving nothing disturbed save the air and the dust. The palm lock snapped tight behind them as they stepped back out into the street, giving no hint that it had been foiled. The couple strolled back up the little side street until they stood before Arrapkha’s doorway. They thumbed the buzzer several times.
   After the third try, the man leaned close to the little speaker set above the buzzer. “It’s been a long, hard day for us, sir, and we’re both very tired. We mean you no harm, but we are empowered to take whatever steps we think advisable to carry out our assignment. Those steps will include making our own entrance if you don’t let us in.
   “We saw you watching us as we let ourselves into the old woman’s shop. I promise you we can let ourselves into your place just as easily. You might also like to know that we have an automon trained on the alley behind your shop. If you have a slip-me-out in your back wall, it won’t do you a bit of good. So why not be pleasant about this”—he smiled in case the shopkeeper had a video pickup hidden somewhere—“and come on out? If you prefer, we can chat here on the street, in full view of your other neighbors.”
   They waited a suitable time. The woman looked at her companion, shrugged, and withdrew a small, thimble-shaped object from an inside breast pocket. The door opened immediately. The man nodded, then smiled. The woman put the thimble-thing away and moved back.
   Arrapkha stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and looked hesitantly from one visitor to the other. “What can I do for you, lady and sir, this night? Your insistence moved me to concern despite the fact that I am closed now for more than—“
   “Skip the banter,” the man said crisply. “We know you were watching us. You know that we’re not here to buy”—he glanced at the sign above the doorway—“wood-work. Or do you deny having watched us?”
   “Well, no,” Arrapkha began, “but I—“
   “And you didn’t call the police,” the man continued easily, “because the police often ask questions you’d rather not answer, right?”
   “Sir, I assure you that I—“
   “We’re looking for the old woman and the boy who live in that shop.” The man glanced briefly back toward Mother Mastiffs stall. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you?”
   Arrapkha shook his head, his expression blank. “No, sir, I would not.”
   “There are signs of a struggle inside. This is a small street. You didn’t hear anything, see anything?”
   “A struggle? Dear me,” Arrapbka muttered, showing signs of distress. “Well, you know, even though this is a small street, it can still be very noisy here, even at night. We don’t always pay close attention.”
   “I’ll bet,” the woman muttered. “Just like you didn’t pay attention to all the noise we weren’t making while we were letting ourselves into your neighbor’s shop?”
   Arrapkha favored her with a wan smile.
   “We haven’t time for these games,” the man said impatiently, reaching into his pants pocket.
   “Please, sir and lady.” A look of genuine concern came over Arrapkha’s face. “You said that you wouldn’t do anything—“
   “We won’t.” The man’s hand paused a moment as he saw the shopkeeper’s nervous stare. “Even if we have to, we probably won’t.” He slowly withdrew his hand to bring out a small folder. Arrapkha let out a relieved sigh, and studied the contents of the folder. His eyes widened.
   The visitor slipped the little case back into his pocket. “Now, then,” he said pleasantly, “I tell you again that we mean you no harm, nor have we any intention of banning the old woman and her boy. Quite the contrary. If they’ve been the victims of violence, as seems probable, we need to know everything you know, so that if they’re still alive, we can help them. Regardless of what you may think of us personally and what we stand for, you must realize that if they’ve met with ill fortune, they’re bound to be better off in our care than in the hands of whoever carried them away. You can see that, surely.”
   “Besides,” his companion added matter-of-factly, “if you don’t tell us what you know, we’ll escort you to a place in city center where you’ll be strapped into a machine, and you’ll end up telling us, anyway. It won’t hurt you, but it will waste our time. I don’t like wasted time.” She stared into his eyes. “Understand?”
   Arrapkha nodded slowly.
   “The old woman you seek—Mother Mastiff?” The man nodded encouragingly. “I think I saw her carried off by several figures. I couldn’t even tell you if they were human or alien. It was dark and misty.”
   “Isn’t it always here?” the man muttered. “Go on.”
   “That’s all I know, all I saw.” Arrapkha shrugged. “Truly.” He pointed down the street toward the gap that separated Mother Mastiff’s shop from the one next to hers. “Through there I saw struggling shapes in the alley. It still confuses me. She is a very old woman, quite harmless.”
   “How long ago was this?” the man asked him. Arrapkha told him. “And the boy? What of the boy?”
   “He returned home that same night. He often goes off by himself until quite late. At least he’s been doing so for as long as I’ve known him, which is most of his life.”
   “Long solo walks through this city? At his age?” the woman asked. Arrapkha tried not to show his surprise at the woman’s seemingly casual remark. These people knew a great deal in spite of how far they had come from.
   “He’s not your average youth,” Arrapkha informed them, seeing no harm in doing so. “He’s grown up largely on his own here.” He waved toward the brighter lights and the noise that drifted in from the main avenue. “If you let it, Drallar will mature you quickly.”
   “I’m sure.” The man nodded. “You were saying about the boy?”
   “He came back that night, saw what had happened, and was very upset. He’s an emotional type, though he fights not to show it, I think. Mother Mastiff is all he has.”
   Still the couple did not respond, remaining maddeningly uninformative. Arrapkha went on. “He vowed to find her.
   I don’t think he has much chance.”
   “He went after her, then?” the woman asked eagerly. “How long ago?”
   Arrapkha told her. She muttered in some language that Arrapkha did not recognize, then added in the more familiar Commonwealth lingua franca to her companion, “Only a couple of days. We missed them by a lousy couple of days.”
   “It’s happened before,” the man reminded her, seeming unperturbed. His attention returned to Arrapkha. “Which way did the boy intend to go?”
   “I have no idea,” the shopkeeper said.
   “You know,” the man said pleasantly, “maybe we just ought to all take that little jaunt downtown and visit the machine.”
   “Please, sir, I tell you truly everything. You have believed my words until now. Why should it be different because the facts no longer please you? That is not my fault. What reason would I have for suddenly lying to you?”
   “I don’t know,” the man said in a more conversational tone. “What reason would you?”
   “No reason.” Arrapkha felt his few wits deserting him, “Please, I don’t understand what’s happening here. It’s all very confusing to me. What is all this interest suddenly in poor old Mother Mastiff and this Flinx-boy?”
   “We’d only confuse you further by telling you, wouldn’t we?” the man said. “So you have no idea how the boy intended to begin his search?”
   “None at all because that is all that he told me,” Arrapkha confessed. “He said only that he was determined to find her. Then he left.”
   “Well, that’s wonderful. That’s just wonderful,” the man declared sardonically. “All that work, all that research, and we get them narrowed down to one modest-size city. Now we get to start all over again with a whole damn world to cover.”
   “It’s not that bad,” the woman soothed. “The native population is thin outside the city.”
   “It’s not that which worries me.” The man sounded tired. “It’s our happy competitors.”
   “I think we’ll run into them simultaneously.” The woman gestured at Arrapkha as if he weren’t there. “We’ve learned all we can from this one.”
   “Yes. One more thing, though.” He turned to Arrapkha and handed him a small blue metal box. A single button marred its otherwise smooth, vitreous surface. “This is a sealed-beam, high-intensity, low-power transmitter,” he explained to the shopkeeper. “If either the woman or the boy should return here, all you have to do is push that button once. That will summon help, both for them and for you. Do you understand?”
   “Yes,” Arrapkha said slowly. He accepted the metal box, then turned it over in his hand and inspected it.
   “There is a reward—a considerable reward,” the woman added, “for anyone who assists us in bringing this matter to a speedy and successful resolution.” She looked past him, into the little woodworking shop. “I don’t know what kind of a life you make for yourself here, but it can’t be much. This isn’t exactly the high-rent district. The reward would amount to more, much more, than you’re likely to clear in an entire year.”
   “It sounds nice,” Arrapkha admitted slowly. “It would be very nice to make a lot of money.”
   “All right, then,” the man said. “Remember, the people who’ll show up here in response to a signal from the cube won’t necessarily include us, but they’ll be people familiar with our mission. We’ll follow as quickly as we’re able. You’re certain you understand all this, now?”
   “I understand.”
   “Fine.” The man did not offer to shake Arrapkha’s hand. “Your help is appreciated, and I’m sorry if we upset you.”
   Arrapkha shrugged. “Life is full of tiny upsets.”
   “So it is,” the man agreed. He turned to his companion. “Let’s go.” They ran back toward the main avenue, leaving Arrapkha standing in front of his shop.
   After several hours, Arrapkha put away his woodworking tools, cleaned himself, and prepared to retire. The blue metal cube sat on the stand next to his bed. Arrapkha studied it for a moment. Then he picked it up and walked into the bathroom. Without ceremony or hesitation, he dropped it into the waste-disposal unit and thumbed the “flush” control. He wondered how it would affect the cube, if it would send any kind of signal, and if those on the receiving end of such a signal would interpret it properly.
   Feeling much better, he slipped into bed and went to sleep.
    
Chapter Eight
    
   The forest was full of revelations for the thoroughly urbanized Flinx. The first few nights were hard. The silence hit him with unexpected force, and he found sleeping difficult. Pip spent those nights in uneasy rest, sensing its master’s discomfort. Only the stupava, its head bobbing methodically with its soft snores, was content.
   By the fourth night, Flinx slept soundly, and by the fifth, he was actually enjoying the silence. I’ve been deceived by circumstances and fate, he thought. This is much better than city life. True, he missed the color, the excitement, the ever-shifting landscape of beings from dozens of worlds parading through the marketplace and the wealthy inurbs, the smells of different foods and the sounds of sinister bargains being consummated. Nor did the forest offer him any opportunity to practice his skills: there wasn’t anything to steal. The woods gave freely of their bounty. It was all too easy, somehow.
   He had almost relaxed when the squook surprised him. It shot out of its hole in the ground, startling the stupava and nearly causing it to buck Flinx off. The squook was, like its near-relative the canish, a hyperactive ground dwelling carnivore. It was somewhat larger, boasting claws the length of Flinx's own fingers. The slim, brown-and-black-striped body was built low to the ground. It spent the majority of its life burrowing, searching out other, herbivorous burrowers, but it occasionally would erupt from its hole in an attempt to snag and drag down some larger prey.
   The critter had evidently mistaken the comparatively light footsteps of the stupava for those of a much smaller animal. The bird squawked and wrenched at its reins while Flinx fought to bring it under control. At its master's surge of alarm. Pip had instantly leaped clear and now hovered menacingly over the occupied burrow.
   The squook favored the minidrag with an impressive snarl but could only glare at its airborne nemesis. Though the riding bird was clearly afraid of it, the squook still had a healthy respect for the bird's long, powerfully muscled legs. Still, if it could just get its teeth around one of those legs, it could bring the large meal to the ground.
   But it wasn't so sure about the human perched on the bird's back. Though uncommon thereabouts, humans were not unknown to the inhabitants of that part of the great forest. A squook could kill a human, but the reverse was also true. And then there was that peculiar and utterly unfamiliar humming thing that darted through the air overhead.  That made three opponents, one alien and unpredictable, the other two potentially dangerous. Letting out a last, disgruntled snarl, the squook backed into its burrow and expanded to fill the opening. With only its muzzle showing, it sat there and set up a steady warning bark.
   Flinx finally got the stupava back under control and urged it forward. The angry calls of the squook receded slowly behind him.
   There had been no real danger, he thought. On the other hand, if he had lost his saddle and fallen off—he recalled clearly the long, toothy snout of the carnivore and watched the forest with more respect.
   Nothing else emerged to menace them. They encountered nothing larger than the many soaring rodents which Inhabited that part of the forest. Pip amused itself by flying circles around them, for they were natural gliders rather than true fliers. They could do nothing but squeak angrily at the intruder as it executed intricate aerial maneuvers in their midst. Those that chattered and complained the loudest, the flying snake selected for lunch.
   "That's enough. Pip," Flinx called out to the gallivanting minidrag one day. "Leave them alone and get down here." Responding to the urgency of its master's mind, the flying snake stopped tormenting the flying rodents and zipped down to wrap itself gently around Flinx's neck.
   The inn they were approaching was one of hundreds that formed an informal backwoods network in the uninhabited parts of the vast forests. Such establishments provided temporary home to hardwood merchants and cutters, sightseers, fishermen and hunters, prospectors, and other nomadic types. There were more inns than a casual observer might expect to find because there were more nomads. They liked the endless forest. The trees concealed many people and a comparable quantity of sin.
   Flinx tethered the stupava in the animal compound, next to a pair of muccax. The inn door sensed his presence and slid aside, admitting him. Smoke rose from a central chimney, but the stone fireplace was more for atmosphere than for heating. The latter was handled by thermal coils running beneath the inn floors. Many of the structures dotting the forest were rustic only in appearance, their innards as modem in design and construction as the shuttleport outside Drallar. The offworlder tourists who came to Moth to sample the delights of its wilderness generally liked their rough accommodations the same as their liquor: neat.
   "Hello." The innkeeper was only a few years older than Flinx. "You're out by yourself?" He glanc'ed at Pip. "That's an interesting pet you have."
   "Thanks," Flinx said absently, ignoring the first comment. "What time do you serve midday meal?" He looked longingly toward the nearby dining room, calculating what remained on his credcard. At the present rate, he would starve before he could catch up to his quarry.
   "You don't want a room, then?"
   "No, thanks." He would sleep in a tube tent in the forest, as usual. Exhaustion made him sleep as soundly these days as any soft bed.
   "What about your animal?" The innkeeper gestured toward the animal compound outside.
   "He'll be all right."
   The young innkeeper looked indifferent. A pleasant enough sort, Flinx thought, but sheltered-like so many of
   his potential friends back in Drallar.
   "You can get a meal here anytime. We're all autoserve here. This isn't a fancy place. We can't afford a live kitchen."
   "The machines will be fine for me," Flinx told him. He walked through the entry area and on into the dining room. Other people were already seated about, enjoying their food. There was a young touring couple and one solitary
   man far back in a corner. After the usual curious glance at Pip, they ignored the newcomer.
   Flinx walked over to the autochef, his mouth watering. Living off the land was fine for the stupava, but occasionally he needed something neither stale nor dehydrated. He made his selections from the extensive list, inserted his card, and waited while it processed the request. Two minutes later he picked up his meal, chose a table, and dug into the roast, fried tuber, and crisp green vegetable. Two tall cups of domestic coffee-substitute washed it down.
   The innkeeper strolled in. He chatted a moment with the couple, then sauntered over to Flinx's table. Despite his desire for solitude, Flinx didn't feel much like arguing, so he said nothing when the 'keeper pulled over a chair and sat down nearby.
   "Excuse me," the young man said cheerfully. "I don't see many people my own age here, let alone anyone younger traveling on his own-certainly never with so interesting a companion." He pointed to Pip.
   The flying snake had slithered down from Flinx's neck and was sprawled across the table, gulping down green seeds. They complemented a steady diet of arboreal rodents. The seeds really weren't necessary, but the minidrag was not one to pass up a meal that couldn't fight back.
   "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"
   A real diplomat, this one, Flinx thought to himself. "I'm looking for a friend," he explained, chewing another chunk of roast.
   "No one's left any messages for you here if that's what you're wondering," the innkeeper said.
   "The friends I'm looking for don't like to leave messages," Flinx said between mouthfuls. "Maybe you've seen them," he asked without much hope. "A very old woman is traveling with them."
   "We don't get many very old people out this way," the innkeeper confessed. "They stay closer to the city. That's what's so funny." Flinx stopped in midchew. "There was a group in here just recently that might be the friends you're looking for."
   Flinx swallowed carefully. "This old woman is short, a good deal shorter than me. She's close to a hundred."
   "Except for her mouth, which, is a lot younger?"
   "You've seen her!" The meal was suddenly forgotten.
   "Five days ago," the innkeeper said. Flinx's heart sank. The distance between them was increasing, not growing shorter.
   "Did you happen to see which way they went?"
   "Their mudder took off almost due north. I thought that was odd, too, because the line of inns most tourists follow runs pretty much northwest from here, not north. There are a few lodges due north, of course, up in the Lakes District, but not many. They were a funny bunch, and not just because the old woman was with them. They didn't look like sightseers or fishermen."
   Trying not to show too much anxiety, Flinx forced himself to finish the rest of his meal. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the help, but the talkative youth seemed just the type to blab to anyone who might be curious about a visiting stranger, including the forest patrol. Flinx did not want anyone slowing his pursuit with awkward questions-especially since he intended to increase his speed as soon as feasible and like as not by methods the police would frown upon. Nor had he forgotten the watchman in Drallar whose helpfulness had nearly turned to interference.
   "You've been a big help," he told the other.
   "What's all this about?" the innkeeper persisted as Flinx finished the last of his food and let Pip slide up his proffered arm and onto his shoulder. "What's going on?"
   Flinx thought frantically. What could he say to keep this loudmouthed innocent from calling up the patrol?
   "They're on vacation-my great-grandmother and some other relatives. They argue a lot." The innkeeper nodded knowingly. "I wasn't supposed to be able to go along," Flinx continued with a wink. "But I slipped away from my studies, and I've sort of been playing at trailing them. You know. When they get to the lodge where they'll be spending the rest of the month, I'm going to pop in and surprise them. Once I land in their laps, they can hardly send me home, can they?"
   "I get it." The innkeeper smiled. "I won't tell anyone."
   "Thanks." Flinx rose. "Food's good." He gathered up Pip and headed for the door.
   "Hey," the innkeeper called out at a sudden thought, "what lodge are your relatives headed for?" But Flinx was already gone.
   Outside, he hurriedly mounted his stupava and turned it into the woods. Five days, he thought worriedly. Two more at this pace and they would be ten ahead of him. The stupava was doing its best, but that was not going to be good enough. Somehow he had to increase his speed. He reined in and let the bird catch its breath as he extracted a ten-centimeter-square sheet of plastic from his backpack. It was half a centimeter thick and had cost him plenty back in the marketplace, but he could hardly have risked this journey without it. A series of contact switches ran down the left side of the plastic. He touched the uppermost one, and the sheet promptly lit up. Additional manipulation of the controls produced a map of the forest, and further adjustments zoomed in on a blowup of his immediate surroundings.
   He entered the name of the inn where he had had his hasty meal. Instantly, the map shifted position. It was as if he were flying above an abstract landscape. When the image settled, he widened the field of view, expanding the map until it included several other inns and a small town that he had unknowingly skirted the previous day. He touched controls, and the map zoomed in on the town. On its fringe was a small wood-processing plant, several minor commercial structures, a forest service station, and a communications supply-and-repair terminal. He thought about trying the forest service station first, then decided that of all the structures it was the one most likely to be manned around the clock. That left the communications depot. He turned off the map, replaced it carefully in his pack, and chucked the reins. The bird whistled and started forward.
   Night was falling, and soon the sun would have settled completely behind the shielding clouds. One thing he could count on was the absence of moon-even Flame's maroon glow could not penetrate the cloud cover that night.
   Though he had completely missed the town, it was not far off. The buildings were scattered across a little knoll the driest land around-and remained hidden by trees until he was right on top of them. Most of the homes and apartments were located across the knoll. To his left was a low, rambling structure in which a few lights shone behind double-glazed windows: the forest station. The communications depot was 'directly ahead of him. He slid easily off the back of the stupava, tied it to a nearby log, and waited for midnight.
   A single, three-meter-high fence ran around the depot, enclosing the servicing yard. Flinx could make out the silhouettes of several large vehicles designed for traveling through the dense forest with a full complement of crew and equipment. Flinx wasn't interested in them. They were too big, too awkward for his needs. Surely there had to be something better suited to his purpose parked inside the machine-shod beyond. There had better be. He doubted that the sawmill or smaller commercial buildings would have anything better to offer.
   He made certain the stupava's bonds were loose. If he failed, he would need the riding bird in a hurry, and if he succeeded, the stupava would grow restless before too long and would break free to find its way back to Drallar and its barn. That was another reason Flinx had chosen the riding bird over the toadlike muccax: a muccax had no homing instinct
   With Pip coiled firmly around his left shoulder, he made his way down through the night mist. The yard was not paved, but the ground there had been packed to a comparative dryness and he was able to move silently along the fence. He carefully made a complete circuit of both yard and buildings. No lights were visible, nor did he see any suggestion of alarm beams. Though he had circumvented antitheft equipment before, this would be the first time he had tried to break into a government-owned facility.
   The fence arched outward at the top, a design that would make climbing over it difficult, and he could clearly see transmitter points positioned atop each post, ready to set off the alarm if anything interrupted their circuit. Flinx lowered his gaze to the back gate. The catch there appeared to be purely mechanical, almost too simple. He could open it without any special tools. The catch to the catch was a duplicate of the units that ran along the crest of the fence. He could not open the latch without interrupting the beam and setting off the alarm.
   Cutting through the mesh of the fence itself was out of the question. The meal was sensitized:  any nonprogrammed disruption of its structure would sound the alarm as surely as if he had tried to knock a section over with a dozer.
   Nudging Pip aside, Flinx slipped off his backpack and hunted through it. In addition to the concentrated foods and basic medical supplies, he carried equipment that would have shocked the innkeeper who had chatted with him earlier that day. He didn't need long to find what he was looking for. From the pack he extracted one of several odd lengths of wire. A single contact switch was spliced to its center. Making certain the switch was open, he looped one end of the wire carefully around the tiny transmitter point on the left side of the gate latch. Gently, he formed the wire into an arch and brought it across the long latch to loop it over the transmitter on the opposite side. A minuscule LED on the wire's switch glowed a satisfying green.
   Then out of the backpack Flinx took a small, oddly formed piece of dull metal, inserted it into the gate lock, and turned it a couple of times. In the heat from his hand, the metal softened and flowed obediently. The latch clicked..  Holding the metal tool with only two fingers, Flinx lowered the heat it was absorbing until it resolidified, and then turned it. He heard asecond, softer click from the latch. He pulled it free, put a hand on the gate, and pushed. It moved two meters inward, swaying slightly on its supports. He hesitated. No audible alarm ran through the night. He hoped that a rural cummunity would have no need of silent alarms. Still, he gathered up his tools and backpack and retreated hastily to the forest.
   He waited until half an hour had passed without anyone's appearing to check the gate or the yard, then he crept back to the fence. The gate still sat ajar. The glass fiber, looped from terminal to terminal, permitted the alarm beam to flow uninterrupted, but there would be a problem when he had to open the gate farther than the length of the wire allowed.
   He slipped easily into the maintenance yard. Pip flew over the fence and hovered just above its master's tousled hair.
   Flinx searched the yard. There was still no hint that his intrusion had been detected. The machine shed lay directly in front of him, doorless and open to the night. He used the huge repair vehicles for cover as he made his way into the shed. Among the equipment and supplies were a pair of two-passenger mudders. His heart beat a little faster. The compact vehicles bad flared undersides and enclosed cabs to protect pilot and passenger in side-by-side comfort.
   He tried them both. Jumping the simple electric engines was easy enough. He grew anxious when the fuel gauge on the first machine didn't react, indicating an empty storage cell, but the second mudder showed a ninety-five-percent charge. That was better than good; it was critical, because he doubted he would have access to recharge stations where he was going.
   Since the depot remained peaceful, Flinx gambled his success thus far to resolve one additional difficulty: the mudder's government marldngs. In a storage cabinet, he found dozens of cans of catalytic bonding paint. He chose a couple of cans of brown. After a moment's thought, he went back to the cabinet and selected an additional canister of red. He had never had a personal transport of his own-as long as he was going to add a little art, he might as well put some flash into it. Besides, that would be more in keeping with the character of a sixteen-year old boy. The trees would still conceal it well.
   When he had finished spraying the mudder, he climbed into the pilot's seat. Pip settled into the empty one along-side. The controls were simple and straightforward, as he'd expected. His right hand went to the little steering wheel, his left to the jump he had installed beneath the dash. The engine came to life, its steady hum little louder than Pip's. A nudge on the accelerator sent the mudder forward. The single, wide-beam searchlight mounted on its nose remained dark. It would stay that way until he was sure he was safe.
   He drove into the yard, and still there was no sign of concern from the nearby buildings. At the gate, he left the craft on hover and jumped out. Patching his remaining passfibers onto the first, he was able to open the gate wide enough for the mudder to pass through. He was so fearful of being spotted that he nearly forgot to duck as he drove through the gap-the fibers that served to fool the alarm system almost decapitated him.
   Then he was out through the gate, on the smooth surface bordering the depot. In moments, he was concealed by the forest. A touch on a dash control locked the transparent plastic dome over his head, shutting out the mist. Another control set the craft's heater to thrumming. For the first time since he had left Drallar, he was warm.
   He held the mudder's speed down until he was well away from the town. Then he felt safe in turning on the searchlight. The high-power beam pierced the darkness and revealed paths between the trees. Now he was able to accelerate, and soon the mudder was skipping along over the moist earth. Too fast, perhaps, for night-driving, but Flinx wanted to make up time on his quarry. And he was a little drunk with success.
   It wouldn't have been that easy in Drallar, he told himself. Out here, where there wasn't much to steal, he had succeeded because thieves were scarce.
   The underside of the mudder was coated with a special hydrophobic polyresin that allowed it to slide across a moist but solid surface with almost no friction, propelled by the single electric jet located in the vehicle's stem. It also made very little noise; not that he could detect any sign of pursuit. The mudder's compass control kept him beaded north.
   It was midmoming before Flinx finally felt the need to stop. He used daylight and the canister of red paint to decorate the brown vehicle, adding decorative stripes to side and front. It took his mind off his problems for a little while. Then he was traveling again, in a craft no casual observer would ever have mistaken for a sober government vehicle.
   The night before there had been a touch of a mental tingle of almost painful familiarity. As usual, it vanished the instant he sought to concentrate on it, but he felt sure that that touch had reached out to him from somewhere to the north.
   Confident and comfortable, he soared along with the dome retracted. Suddenly, the air turned gray with thousands of furry bodies no bigger than his little finger. They swarmed about him on tiny membranous wings, and he swatted at them with his free hand as he slowed the car to a crawl. They were so dense he couldn't see clearly.
   Pip was delighted, both with the opportunities for play and for dining. Soon the storm of miniature fliers became so thick that Plinx had to bring the mudder to a complete halt for fear of running into something ahead. At least now he could use both hands to beat at them.
   He hesitated to close the protective dome for fear of panicking the dozens that would inevitably be trapped inside. Besides, except for blocking his view, they weren't bothering him. Their square little teeth were designed for cracking the hulls of nuts and seeds, and they showed no interest in live flesh. They had large bright-yellow eyes, and two thin legs suitable for grasping branches. Flinx wondered at them, as well as how long it would be before they moved on and he could resume his journey.
   Suddenly, the air was full of whooshing sounds. The earth erupted head-sized round shapes. Flinx saw long thin snouts full of needlelike teeth and multiple arms projecting from narrow bodies. The whooshing noise was composed of a long series of explosive popping sounds.
   He squinted through the mass of fliers and saw one creature after another emerge from vertical burrows. The poppers were black-bodied with yellow and orange variolitic colorings. They became airborne by inflating a pair of sausage-shaped air sacs attached to their spines-by regulating the amount of air in the sacs, the animals could control not only their altitude but their direction. They lit into the swarm of fliers, utilizing long, thin snouts to snatch one after another from the air. Once a popper had made several catches, it would deflate its air sacs and settle parachutelike to the ground. They always seemed to land directly above their respective burrows, down which they would promptly vanish.
   When neither the cloud of fliers nor attacking poppers showed any signs of thinning, Flinx made the decision to move forward. He traveled slowly, picking his way through the trees. He had traveled nearly a kilometer before the swarms started to disperse, and eventually he passed into open forest once again. A backward glance showed a solid wall of gray, black, and yellow-orange shifting like smoke among the trees. It took a moment before he realized something was missing from the mudder.
   "Pip?" The minidrag was not coiled on the passenger seat, nor was it drifting on the air currents above the mudder.
   It took Flinx several worried minutes before he located his pet lying on its belly in the storage compartment behind the seats, swollen to three times its usual diameter. It had thoroughly gorged itself on the tasty little gray fliers. Flinx was convinced that his currently immobile companion did not look at all well.
   "That'll teach you to make a durq of yourself," he told his pet. The minidrag moved once, slowly, before giving up totally on the effort. It would be a while before it flew again, even to its master's shoulder.
   Flinx continued northward, hardly pausing to sleep. Two days had passed since he had appropriated the mudder. Given the likely laxity of rural bureaucratic types, it might be some time before its absence was remarked upon. By the time someone figured out that a real theft had been pulled off, Flinx would be two hundred kilometers away, and the local authorities would have no way of knowing which direction he had taken. Skimming along just above the surface, a mudder left no trail. Its simple electric jet emitted practically no waste heat to be detected from the air. But Flinx did not expect any kind of elaborate pursuit, not for a single, small, comparatively inexpensive vehicle.
   He continued to wonder about all the effort and expense someone was going through to abduct a harmless old woman. The implausibility of the whole situation served only to heighten his anxiety and did nothing to dampen his anger or determination.
   Several days went by before he detected the change in the air. It was an alien feeling, something he couldn't place. The omnipresent dampness remained, but it had become sharper, more direct in his nostrils. "Now what do you suppose that is, Pip?" he murmured aloud. The flying snake would not have answered had it been able. All its efforts and energies were still directed to the task of digesting fur, meat, and bone.
   The mudder moved up a slight hill. At its crest a gap in the trees revealed a scene that took Flinx's breath away. At first, he thought he had somehow stumbled onto the ocean. No, he knew that couldn't be. No ocean lay –north from Drallar, not until one reached the frozen pole or unless one traveled east or west for thousands of kilometers.
   Though the body of water looked like an ocean, he recognized it for what it was: a lake, one of the hundreds that occupied the territory from his present position northward to the arctic. No sunlight shone directly on it, for the clouds were as thick here as they were in distant Drallar, but enough light filtered through to create a glare-a glare that exploded off that vast sheet of water to reflect from the cloud cover overhead and bounced again from the water.
   The-Blue-That-Blinded, Flinx thought. He knew enough of Moth's geography to recognize the first of the lakes which bore that collective description. The lake itself he could not put a name to, not without his map. It was only one of hundreds of similarly impressive bodies of fresh water whose names he had had no need to memorize during his readings, for he had never expected to visit that part of the world.
   The glare imprisoned between surface and clouds brought tears to his eyes as he headed the mudder toward the water's edge. The lake blocked his path northward. He needed to know whether to skirt it to the east or the west or to attempt a crossing. He had no way of figuring out what his quarry had done.
   The weather was calm. Only a modest chop broke the otherwise smooth expanse before him. A mudder could travel over water as well as land, provided its charge held out; if not, the vehicle would sink quickly.
   Flinx decided that the first thing he needed was some advice. So he turned to his map, which showed a single, isolated lodge just to the east. He headed for it.
   The building came into view ten minutes later, a large rambling structure of native stone and wood. Boats were tied up to the single pier out back. Several land vehicles were parked near the front. Flinx tensed momentarily, then relaxed. None of the craft displayed government markings. Surely his theft had been discovered by now, but it was likely that the search would tend more in the direction of populated areas to the south -toward Drallar- rather than into the trackless north.  .
   Nevertheless, he took a moment to inspect the assembled vehicles carefully. All four were deserted. Two of them were tracked-strictly land transportation. The others were mudders, larger and fancier than his own, boasting thickly upholstered lounges and self-darkening protective domes. Private transport, he knew. More comfortable than his own craft but certainly no more durable. There was no sign of riding animals. Probably anyone who could afford to travel this far north could afford mechanized transportation.
   Flinx brought the mudder to a stop alongside the other vehicles and took the precaution of disconnecting the ignition jumper. It wouldn't do to have a curious passer-by spy the obviously illegal modification. The mudder settled to the ground, and he stepped out over the mudguard onto the surface.
   The parking area had not been pounded hard and smooth, and his boots picked up plenty of muck as he walked up to the wooden steps leading inside. Suction hoses cleaned off most of the mud. The steps led onto a covered porch populated by the kind of rustic wooden furniture so popular with tourists who liked to feel they were roughing it. Beyond was a narrow hall paneled with peeled, glistening tree trunks, stained dark.
   Flinx thought the inn a likely place to obtain information about lake conditions, but before that, something equally important demanded his attention. Food. He could smell it somewhere close by, and he owed himself a break from the concentrates that had been fueling him for many days. His credcard still showed a positive balance, and there was no telling when he would be fortunate enough to encounter honest cooking again. Nor would he have to worry about curious stares from other patrons-Pip, still unable to eat, would not be dining with him this time. He inhaled deeply. It almost smelled as if the food were being prepared by a live chef instead of a machine.
   Flinx found his way to the broad, exposed-beam dining room. The far wall had a fire blazing in a rock fireplace. To the left lay the source of the wonderful aroma: a real kitchen. A couple of furry shapes snored peacefully nearby. An older couple sat near the entrance. They were absorbed in their meal and didn’t even turn to look up at him. Two younger couples ate and chatted close by the fireplace. In the back comer was a group of oldsters, all clad in heavy north-country attire.
   He started down the few steps into the dining room, intending to question someone in the kitchen about the possibility of a meal. Suddenly, something hit his mind so hard he had to lean against the nearby wall for support.
   Two younger men had entered the dining room from a far, outside door. They were talking to the group of diners in the far corner. No one had looked toward Flinx; no one had said a word to him.
   He tottered away from the wall, caught and balanced himself at the old couple's table. The man looked up from his plate at the uninvited visitor and frowned.
   "You feeling poorly, son?"
   Flinx didn't answer, but continued to stare across the room. Faces-he couldn't make out faces beneath all that heavy clothing. They remained hidden from his sight-but not from something else.
   He spoke sharply, unthinkingly.
   "Mother?"
Chapter Nine
    
   One of the bundled figures spun in its chair to gape at him. Her eyes were wide with surprise as well as with a warning Flinx ignored. She started to rise from her seat.
   The rest of the group gazed at the young man standing across the room. One of the younger men put a hand on Mother Mastiff's shoulder and forced her back into her chair. She promptly bit him. The man's companion pulled something out of a coat pocket and started toward Flinx. The group's stunned expressions, brought on by Flinx's unexpected appearance, had turned grim.
   Flinx searched the floor and walls nearby, found the switch he was hunting for, and stabbed at it. The lights in the dining room went out, leaving only the dim daylight from the far windows to illuminate the room.
   What a fantastic Talent he possessed, he thought as he dove for cover. It had reacted sharply to Mother Mastiff's presence-after he had all but tripped over her.
   The room filled with screams from the regular guests, mixed with the curses of those Flinx had surprised. He did not try to make his way toward the table where Mother Mastiff was being held; he had been through too many street fights for that. Keeping the layout of the dining room in his mind, he retreated and dropped to a crawl, taking the long way around the room toward the table in an attempt to sneak behind her captors. Three had been seated at the table with her, plus the two who had arrived later. Five opponents.
   "Where is he-somebody get some lights!" Very helpful of them, Flinx mused, to let him know their location. He would have to make use of the information quickly, he knew. Soon one of the guests, or a lodge employee, would have the lights back on, robbing him of his only advantage.
   A sharp crackling richocheted around the room, accompanied by a brief flash of light. One of the other guests screamed a warning. Flinx smiled to himself. With every-one bugging the floor, that ought to keep the lights off a little longer.
   A second bolt split the air at table level, passing close enough to set his skin twitching. Paralysis beam. Though Flinx took some comfort from this demonstration of his opponent's intent not to shoot to kill, he did not stop to think why they might take such care. The kidnappers continued to fire blindly through the darkness. With those nerve-petrifying beams filling the room, no employee was likely to take a stab at a light switch.
   Grateful once more for his small size, Flinx kept moving on his belly until he reached the far wall. At the same time, the random firing ceased. Imagining one of his opponents feeling along the walls in search of a light switch, Flinx readied himself for a hurried crawl past the glow of the fireplace. Then someone let out a violent curse, and he heard the sound of chair and table going over very close by. Flinx's hand went to his boot. He rose to a crouching position, waiting.
   Again, he heard the sound of stumbling, louder and just ahead. He put his hand on a nearby chair and shoved it into the darkness. A man appeared in the glow from the fireplace, and a flash enveloped the chair. Flinx darted in behind the man and used the stiletto as old Makepeace had instructed him. The man was twice Flinx's size, but his flesh was no tougher than anyone else's. He exhaled once, a sharp wheeze, before collapsing in a heap. Flinx darted forward, out of the illuminating glare of the fire.
   "Erin," a voice called uncertainly, "you okay?" Several new flashes filled the air, striking the stone around the fireplace where Flinx had stood moments earlier. If the intent of those shots was to catch Flinx unaware, they failed; on the other hand, they did force him to hug the floor again.
   Moments later, the lights winked back on, shockingly bright. Flinx tensed beneath the table that sheltered him, but he needn't have worried. The party of travelers had fled, along with the remaining paralysis-beam wielder and Mother Mastiff.
   Flinx climbed to his feet. The other guests remained cowering on the floor. There was no hint of what had brought the lights back to life, and he had no time to think about it.
   The door at the far end of the room was ajar. It led out onto a curving porch. He hurried to it but paused just inside to throw a chair out ahead of him. When no one fired on it, he took a deep breath and jumped out, rolling across the porch and springing out of the roll into a fighting crouch.
   There was no enemy waiting to confront him-the porch was deserted. The beach off to the left was not. Two mudders were parked on the shore. As Flinx watched helplessly, the travelers he had sought for so long piled into the two crafts. Heedless now of his own safety, he charged down the steps onto the slight slope leading toward the lake shore. The first mudder was already cruising across the wave tops. By the time he reached the water's edge and sank exhausted to his knees, the useless knife held limply in his right hand, both craft were already well out on the lake surface itself.
   Fighting for breath, Flinx forced himself erect and started back up the slope. He would have to go after them quickly. If he lost sight of them on the vast lake, he would have no way of knowing on which far shore they would emerge. He staggered around the front of the lodge and grabbed at the entrance to his mudder. A supine and unsettled shape stared back at him. Pip looked distinctly unhappy. It flittered once, then collapsed back onto the seat.
   "Fine help you were," Flinx snapped at his pet. The minidrag, if possible, managed to look even more miserable. Clearly, it had sensed danger to Flinx and had tried to go to his aid, but simply couldn't manage to get airborne.
   Flinx started to climb into the cab when a voice and a hand on his shoulder restrained him. "Just a minute." Flinx tensed, but a glance at Pip showed that the flying snake was not reacting defensively.
   "I can't," he started to say as he turned. When he saw who was confronting him, he found himself able only to stare.
   She seemed to tower over him, though in reality she was no more than a couple of centimeters taller. Black hair fell in tight ringlets to her shoulders. Her bush jacket was tucked into pants that were tucked into low boots. She was slim but not skinny. The mouth and nose were child-sized, the cheekbones high beneath huge, owl-like brown eyes. Her skin was nearly as dark as Flinx's, but it was a product of the glare from the nearby lake and not heredity. She was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen.
   He tracked down his voice and mumbled, "I have to go after them." The hand remained on his shoulder. He might have thrown it off, and might not.
   "My name's Lauren Walder," she said. "I'm the general manager at Granite Shallows." Her voice was full of barely controlled fury as she used her head to gesture toward the lake. Ringlets flew. "What have you to do with those idiots?"
   "They've kidnapped my mother, the woman who adopted me," he explained. "I don't know why, and I don't much care right now. I just want to get her back."
   "You're a little out-numbered, aren't you?"
   "I'm used to that." He pointed toward the dining-room windows and the still-open porch doorway. "It's not me lying dead on your floor in there."
   She frowned at him, drawing her brows together. "How do you know the man's dead?"
   "Because I killed him."
   "I see," she said, studying him in a new light. "With what?"
   "My stiletto," he said.
   "I don't see any stiletto." She looked him up and down.
   "You're not supposed to. Look, I've got to go. If I get too far behind them-"
   "Take it easy," she said, trying to soothe him. "I've got something I have to show you."
   "You don't seem to understand," he said insistently. "I've no way to track them. I won't know where they touch land and-"
   "Don't worry about it. You won't lose them."
   "How do you know?"
   "Because we'll run them down in a little while. Let them relax and think they've escaped."  Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "I promise you we'll catch them."
   "Well ..." He spared another glance for Pip. Maybe in a little while the flying snake would be ready to take to the air. That could make a significant difference in any fight to come. "If you're sure ..."
   She nodded once, appearing as competent as she was beautiful. Lodge manager, he thought. She ought to know what she was talking about. He could trust her for a few minutes, anyway.
   "What's so important to show me?" he asked.
   "Come with me." Her tone was still soaked with anger. She led him back into the lodge, across the porch and back into the dining room. Several members of her staff were treating one of the women who had been dining when the lights had gone out and the guns had gone off. Her husband and companions were hovering anxiously over her; and she was panting heavily, holding one hand to her chest.
   "Heart condition," Lauren explained tersely.
   Flinx looked around. Tables and chairs were still overturned, but there was no other indication that a desperate fight had been fought in the room. Paralysis beams did not damage inanimate objects. The man he had slain had been moved by lodge personnel. He was glad of that.
   Lauren led him toward the kitchen. Lying next to the doorway were the pair of furry shapes he had noticed when he had first entered the room. Up close, he could see their round faces, twisted in agony. The short stubby legs were curled tightly beneath the fuzzy bodies. Their fur was a rust red except for yellow circles around the eyes, which were shut tight. Permanently.
   "Sennar and Soba." Lauren spoke while gazing at the dead animals with a mixture of fury and hurt. "They're wervils-or were," she added bitterly. "I raised them from kittens. Found them abandoned in the woods. They liked to sleep here by the kitchen. Everybody liked to feed them. They must have moved at the wrong time. In the dark, one of those"-she used a word Flinx didn't recognize, which was unusual in itself-"must have mistaken them for you. They were firing at anything that moved, I've been told." She paused a moment, then added, "You must have the luck of a pregnant Yax'm. They hit just about everything in the room except you."
   "I was down on the floor," Flinx explained. "I only stand up when I have to."
   "Yes, as that one found out." She jerked a thumb in the direction of the main hall. Flinx could see attendants wrapping a body in lodge sheets. He was a little startled to see how big his opponent had actually been. In the dark, though, it's only the size of your knife that matters.
   "They didn't have to do this," the manager was murmuring, staring at the dead animals. "They didn't have to be so damned indiscriminate. Four years I've coddled those two. Four years. "They never showed anything but love to anyone who ever went near them." Flinx waited quietly.
   After a while, she gestured for him to follow her. They walked out into the main hall, down a side corridor, and entered a storeroom. Lauren unlocked a transparent wall case and removed a large, complex-looking rifle and a couple of small, wheel-shaped plastic containers. She snapped one of them into the large slot set in the underside of the rifle. The weapon seemed too bulky for her, but she swung it easily across her back and set her right arm through the support strap. She added a pistol to her service belt, then led him back out into the corridor.
   "I've never seen a gun like that before." Flinx indicated the rifle. "What do you hunt with it?"
   "It's not for hunting," she told him. "Fishing gear. Each of those clips"-and she gestured at the wheel-shapes she had handed over to Flinx-"holds about a thousand darts. Each dart carries a few milliliters of an extremely potent neurotoxm. Prick your finger on one end ..." She shrugged meaningfully.
   "The darts are loaded into the clips at the factory in Drallar, and then the clips are sealed. You can't get a dart out unless you fire it through this." She patted the butt of the rifle, then turned a corner. They were back in the main hallway.
   "You use a gun to kill fish?"
   She smiled across at him. Not much of a smile but a first, he thought. "You've never been up to  The-Blue-That-Blinded before, have you?"
   "I've lived my whole life in Drallar," he said, which for all practical purposes was the truth.
   "We don't use these to kill the fish," she explained. "Only to slow them up if they get too close to the boat."
   Flinx nodded, trying to picture the weapon in use. He knew that the lakes of The-Blue-That-Blinded were home to some big fish, but apparently he had never realized just how big. Of course, if the fish were proportional to the size of the lakes ... "How big is this lake?"
   "Patra? Barely a couple of hundred kilometers across. A pond. The really big lakes are further off to the northwest, like Turquoise and Hanamar. Geographers are always arguing over whether they should be called lakes or inland seas. Geographers are damn fools."
   They exited from the lodge. At least it wasn't raining, Flinx thought. That should make tracking the fleeing mudders a little easier.
   Flinx jumped, slightly when something landed heavily on his shoulder. He stared down at it with a disapproving look. "About time." The flying snake steadied himself on his master but did not meet his eyes.
   "Now that's an interesting pet," Lauren Walder commented not flinching from the minidrag as most strangers did. Another point in her favor, Flinx thought. "Where on Moth do you find a creature like that?"
   "In a garbage heap," Flinx said, "which is what he's turned himself into. He overate a few days ago and still hasn't digested it all."
   "I was going to say that he looks more agile than that landing implied." She led him around the side of the main lodge building. There was a small inlet and a second pier stretching into the lake. Flinx had not been able to see it from where he had parked his mudder.
   "I said that we'd catch up to them." She pointed toward the pier.
   The boat was a single concave arch, each end of the arch spreading out to form a supportive hull. The cabin was located atop the arch and was excavated into it. Vents lined the flanks of the peculiar catamaran. Flinx wondered at their purpose. Some heavy equipment resembling construction cranes hung from the rear corners of the aft decking. A similar, smaller boat bobbed in the water nearby.
   They mounted a curving ladder and Flinx found himself watching as Lauren shrugged off the rifle and settled herself into the pilot's chair.  She spoke as she checked readouts and threw switches. "We'll catch them inside an hour," she assured Flinx. "A mudder's fast, but not nearly as fast over water as this." A deep rumble from the boat's stern; air whistled into the multiple intakes lining the side of the craft, and the rumbling intensified.
   Lauren touched several additional controls whereupon the magnetic couplers disengaged from the pier. She then moved the switch set into the side of the steering wheel. Thunder filled the air, making Pip twitch slightly. The water astern began to bubble like a geyser as a powerful stream of water spurted from the subsurface nozzles hidden in the twin hulls. The boat leaped forward, cleaving the waves.
   Flinx stood next to the pilot's chair and shouted over the roar of the wind assailing the open cabin. "How will we know which way they've gone?"
   Lauren leaned to her right and flicked a couple of switches below a circular screen, which promptly came to life. Several bright yellow dots appeared on the transparency. "This shows the whole lake." She touched other controls. All but two dots on the screen turned from yellow to green. "Fishing boats from the other lodges that ring Patra. They have compatible instrumentation.” She tapped the screen, with a fingernail. "That pair that's stayed   yellow?   Moving, nonorganic, incompatible transponder. Who do you suppose that might be?"
   Flinx said nothing, just stared at the tracking screen. Before long, he found himself staring over the bow that wasn't actually a bow. The twin hulls of the ]et catamaran knifed through the surface of the lake as Lauren steadily increased their speed.
   She glanced occasionally over at the tracker. "They're moving pretty well-must be pushing their mudders to maximum. Headed due north, probably looking to deplane at Point Horakov. We have to catch them before they cross, of course. This is no mudder. Useless off the water."
   "Will we?" Flinx asked anxiously. "Catch them, I mean." His eyes searched the cloud-swept horizon, looking for the telltale glare of diffused sunlight on metal.
   "No problem," she assured him. "Not unless they have some special engines in those mudders. I'd think if they did, they'd be using 'cm right now."
   "What happens when we catch them?"
   "I'll try cutting in front of them," she said thoughtfully. "If that doesn't make them stop, well-" she indicated the rifle resting nearby. "We can pick them off one at a time. That rifle's accurate to a kilometer. The darts are gas-propelled, you see, and the gun has a telescopic sight that'll let me put a dart in somebody's ear if I have to."
   "What if they shoot back?"
   "Not a paralysis pistol made that can outrange that rifle, let alone cover any distance with accuracy. The effect is dispersed. It's only at close range that paralysis is effective on people. Or lethal to small animals," she added bitterly. "If they'll surrender, we’ll take them in and turn them over to the game authorities. You can add your own charges at the same time. Wervils are an endangered species on Moth. Of course, I'd much prefer that the scum resist so that we can defend ourselves."
   Such bloodthirstiness in so attractive a woman was no surprise to Flinx. He’d encountered it before in the marketplace. It was her motivation that was new to him. He wondered how old she was. Probably twice his own age, he thought, though it was difficult to tell for sure. Time spent in the wilderness had put rough edges on her that even harsh city life would be hard put to equal. It was a different kind of roughness; Flinx thought it very becoming.
   “What .if they choose to give themselves up?” He knew that was hardly likely, but he was curious to know what her contingency for such a possibility might be.
   “Like I said, we take them back with us and turn them over to the game warden in Kalish.”
   He made a short, stabbing motion with one hand. “That could be awkward for me.”
   “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’ll see to it that you’re not involved. It’s not only the game laws they’ve violated. Remember that injured guest? Ms. Marteenson’s a sick woman. The effect of a paralysis beam on her could be permanent. So it’s not just the game authorities who’ll be interested in these people.
   “As to you and your mother, the two of you can disappear. Why has she been kidnapped? For ransom?”
   “She hasn’t any money,” Flinx replied. “Not enough to bother with, anyway.”
   “Well, then, why?” Lauren’s eyes stayed on the tracker, occasionally drifting to scan the sky for signs of rain. The jet boat had a portable cover that she hoped they wouldn’t have to use. It would make aiming more difficult.
   “That’s what I’d like to know,” Flinx told her. “Maybe we’ll find out when we catch up with them.”
   “We should,” she agreed, “though that won’t do Sennar and Soba any good. You’ve probably guessed by now that my opinion of human beings is pretty low. Present company excepted. I’m very fond of animals. Much rather associate with them. I never had a wervil betray me, or any other creature of the woods, for that matter. You know where you stand with an animal. That’s a major reason why I’ve chosen the kind of life I have.”
   “I know a few other people who feel the way you do,” Flinx said. “You don’t have to apologize for it.”
   “I wasn’t apologizing,” she replied matter-of-factly.
   “Yet you manage a hunting lodge.”
   “Not a hunting lodge,” she corrected him. “Fishing lodge. Strictly fishing. We don’t accommodate hunters here, but I can’t stop other lodges from doing so.”
   “You have no sympathy for the fish, then? It’s a question of scales versus fur? The AAnn wouldn’t like that.”
   She smiled. “Who cares what the AAnn think? As for the rest of your argument, it’s hard to get cozy with a fish. I’ve seen the fish of this lake gobble up helpless young wervils and other innocents that make the mistake of straying too far out into the water. Though if it came down to it”—she adjusted a control on the instrument dash, and the jet boat leaped to starboard—“I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer the company of fish to that of people either.”
   “It’s simple, then,” Flinx said. “You’re a chronic antisocial.”
   She shrugged indifferently. “I’m me. Lauren Walder. I’m happy with what I am. Are you happy with what you are?”
   His smile faded. “I don’t know what I am yet.” He dropped his gaze and brooded at the tracker, his attention focused on the nearing yellow dot that indicated their quarry.
   Odd thing for a young man like that to say, she thought. Most people would’ve said they didn’t know who they were yet. Slip of the tongue. She let the remark pass.
   The gap between pursued and pursuer shrank rapidly on the tracker. It wasn’t long before Flinx was able to gesture excitedly over the bow and shout, “There they are!”
   Lauren squinted and saw only water and cloud, then glanced down at the tracker. “You’ve got mighty sharp eyes, Flinx.”
   “Prerequisite for survival in Drallar,” he explained.
   A moment later she saw the mudders also, skittering along just above the waves and still headed for the northern shore. Simultaneously, those in the mudders reacted to the appearance of the boat behind them. They accelerated and for a moment moved out of sight again. Lauren increased the power. This time they didn’t pull away from the jet boat.
   She nodded slightly. “I thought so. Standard mudder engines, no surprises. I don’t think they’re hiding anything from us.” She glanced at her companion. “Think you can drive this thing for a little while?”
   Flinx had spent the past half hour studying the controls as well as the image on the tracker. The instrumentation was no more complex than that of his mudder. On the other hand, he was used to driving over land. “I think so,” he said. This was not the time for excessive caution.
   “Good.” She slid out of the pilot’s chair and waited until he slipped in and took control over the wheel. “It’s very responsive,” she warned him, “and at the speed we’re traveling, even a slight turn of the wheel will send us shooting off in another direction. So watch it.”
   “I’ll be okay,” he assured her. He could feel the vibration of the engine through the wheel. The sensation was exhilarating.
   A flash of light suddenly marked the fleeing mudders, but it dissipated well shy of the jet boat’s bow. Flinx maintained the gap between the three craft. The flash was repeated; it did no more damage to the boat or its crew than would a flashlight beam.
   “No long-range weapons,” Lauren murmured. “If they had ‘em, now’d be the time to use ‘em.” Flinx saw she was hefting the dart rifle. It was nearly as tall as she was. She settled it onto a vacant bracket and bent over to peer through the complex telescopic sight. In that position, it resembled a small cannon more than a rifle.
   Two more flares of light shot from the mudders, futile stabs at the pursuing jet boat. “I can see them,” Lauren announced as she squinted through the sight. “They look confused. That’s sensible. I don’t see anything but hand weapons. Two of them seem to be arguing. I don’t think they expected this kind of pursuit.”
   “They didn’t expect to see me in the dining room, either,” Flinx said confidentially. “Ill bet they’re confused.”
   She looked over from the sight. “You’re sure they weren’t looking for you to follow?”
   “I doubt it, or I’d never have come this close to them.”
   She grunted once and returned her eyes to the sight. “At this range, I can pick their teeth.” She moved the rifle slightly. “Hold her steady, please.” She pushed the button which took the place of a regular trigger. The gun went phut! and something tiny and explosive burst from the muzzle.
   “Warning shot,” she explained. “There- someone’s pulling the dart out. I put it in the back of the pilot’s chair. Now they’re gathering around and studying it, except the driver, of course. Now they’re looking back at us. One of them’s keeping two hands on a little old lady. Your mother?”
   “I’m sure,” Flinx said tightly.
   “She’s giving the one restraining her fits, trying to bite him, kicking at him even though it looks like her feet are bound at the ankles.”
   “That’s her, all right.” Flinx couldn’t repress a grin. “What are they doing now?”
   Lauren frowned. “Uh oh. Putting up some kind of transparent shield. Now the regular vehicle dome over that. The dome we can penetrate. I don’t know about the shield-thing. Well, that’s no problem. Go to port.”
   “Port?” Flinx repeated.
   “To your left,” she said. “We’ll cut around in front of them and block their course. Maybe when they see that we can not only catch them but run circles around them, they’ll be willing to listen to reason.”
   Flinx obediently turned the wheel to his left and felt the catamaran respond instantly.
   “Okay, now back to star-to your right, not too sharply.” “The boat split the water as he turned the wheel.
   Suddenly, everything changed. A new sound, a deep humming, became audible.
   “Damn,” Lauren said in frustration, pointing upward.
   Flinx’s gaze went toward the clouds. The skimmer that had appeared from out of the northern horizon was of pretty good size. It was certainly more than big enough to hold its own crew in addition to the mudders’ occupants. If there was any doubt as to the skimmer’s intent, it was quickly eliminated as the versatile craft dipped low, circled once, and then settled toward the first mudder as it strove to match the smaller vehicle’s speed.
   “If they get aboard, we’ll lose them permanently,” said a worried Flinx. “Can you pick them off as they try to transfer?” Already the skimmer’s crew had matched velocity with the mudder and was dropping a chute ladder toward the water.
   Lauren bent over the rifle again. Her finger hesitated over the button; then she unexpectedly, pulled back and whacked the butt of the gun angrily. “Lovely people. They’re holding your mother next to the base of the chute. I can’t get a clear shot.”
   “What are we going to do? We can’t just keep circling them like this!”
   “How the hell should I know?” She abandoned the rifle and rushed to a storage locker amidships. “Mudders, paralysis pistols, kidnapping, and now a skimmer sent out from the north. Who are these people, anyway?”
   “I don’t know,” Flinx snapped. “I told you before that I don’t understand any of this.” He hesitated, trying to watch her and keep the jet boat circling the still-racing mudders and the skimmer hovering above them. “What are you going to do now?”
   The device she had extracted from the storage locker was as long as the dart rifle but much narrower. “When I give the word,” she said tightly, “I want you to charge them and pull aside at the last moment. I don’t think they’ll be expecting a rush on our part. They’re much too busy transferring to the skimmer.”
   “What are you going to try and do?” he asked curiously. “Disable the skimmer?”
   “With a dart gun? Are you kidding?” she snorted. “Just do as I say.”
   “So long as what you say continues making sense,” he agreed, a bit put off by her tone.
   “You’re wasting time. Do it!”
   He threw the wheel hard over. The catamaran spun on the surface so sharply that the portside hull lifted clear of the water. A high rooster tail obscured them from sight for a moment.
   In seconds, they were on top of the mudder and the skimmer drifting steadily above it. Activity on both craft intensified as the jet boat bore down on the mudder. As Lauren suspected, the last thing their opponents were expecting was a broadside charge. A couple of shots passed behind the onrushing boat, hastily dispatched and imperfectly aimed.
   “Hard to port!” Lauren shouted above the roar of the engine. Those still on board the mudder had hunched down in anticipation of a collision. Flinx leaned on the wheel. Engine screaming, the catamaran spun to its left, nearly drowning those starting up the chute ladder toward the skimmer.
   Lauren must have fired at least once, Flinx thought as the jet boat sped away. He turned the wheel, and they started back toward their quarry in a wide arc. To his surprise, the woman put the peculiar-looking weapon back in the storage locker and returned to the bracket-held dart rifle. “Now let’s go back and take our best shots.”
   “A one-shot gun?” he murmured. “I didn’t even hear it go off. What was the purpose of that crazy charge?” He wrestled with the wheel.
   “That charge was our insurance, Flinx.” She gestured back toward the storage locker where she had repositioned the narrow gun. “That gun was a Marker. We use it to help track injured fish that break their lines.” She nodded toward the skimmer. “I think I hit it twice. The gun fires a capsule which holds a specially sensitized gel. Epoxied bonder, sticks to anything on contact, and it’s not water soluble. As long as they don’t think to check the underside of their skimmer for damage, and there’s no reason for them to do so since it’s operating perfectly, they’ll never see the gel. It’s transparent, anyway. Now we can track them.”
   “Not with this boat, surely.”
   “No. But there’s a skimmer back at the lodge. Would’ve taken too long to ready it or we’d be on it now instead of on this boat. Wish we were. No reason to expect a skimmer to show up suddenly to help them, though.” She gestured toward the mudder.
   “As long as they don’t get too far ahead of us, we’ll beable to follow them-just like we did with this boat. But if we can hurt them now ...” She looked back through the telescopic sight. “Ah, they’ve taken your mother up on a hoist. Strapped in. I’m sure she didn’t make it easy for them.”
   “She wouldn’t,” Flinx murmured affectionately.
   “Clear shooting now,” Lauren said delightedly. A loud beeping sounded from the tracking unit.
   “What’s that?” Flinx gave the device a puzzled glance.
   Lauren uttered a curse and pulled away from the rifle. A quick glance at the screen and Flinx found himself shoved none too gently out of the pilot’s chair. He landed on the deck hard.
   “Hey, what’s-!”
   Lauren wasn’t listening to him as she wrenched the wheel hard to starboard. Flinx frantically grabbed for some support as the boat heeled over. He could just see the port hull rising clear of the water as something immense and silvery-sided erupted from the lake’s surface.
Chapter Ten
    
   Screams and shouts came from the vicinity of the mudders and the skimmer. A violent reactive wave nearly cap-sized the jet boat; only Lauren’s skillful and experienced maneuvering kept them afloat.
   Flinx saw a vast argent spine shot through with flecks of gold that shone in the diffused sunlight. It looked like a huge pipe emerging from beneath the waves, and it turned the sunlight to rainbows. Then it was gone, not endless as he first believed. Another wave shook the catamaran as the monster submerged once again. Flinx pulled himself up to where he could peer over the edge of the cabin compartment.
   The mudders had vanished completely, sucked down in a single gulp by whatever had materialized from the depths of the lake. The skimmer itself just missed being dragged down by that great gulf of a mouth. It hovered above the disturbed section of lake where its companion craft had been only a moment ago. Then someone on the skimmer apparently made a decision, for it rose another twenty meters toward the clouds and accelerated rapidly northward.
    “They’re leaving,” Flinx shouted. “We have to get back to the lodge, get the skimmer you mentioned, and hurry after them before—“
   “We have to get out of here alive first.” Lauren followed her announcement with another curse as her hands tore at the wheel. The silver mountain lifted from the lake just starboard of the jet boat. Flinx was gifted with a long, uncomfortable view down a throat wide enough to swallow several mudders intact. Or a jet boat. The jaws slammed shut, sending a heavy spray crashing over the gunwales. The monster was so close Flinx could smell its horrid breath. Then it was sinking back into the waters boiling behind the catamaran.
   Something moved on his shoulder, and he reached up to grasp at the muscular form that was uncoiling. “No, Pipl Easy... this one’s too big even for you.” The snake struggled for a moment before relaxing. It bobbed and ducked nervously, however, sensing a threat not only to its master but to itself. Yet it responded to the pressure of Flinx’s restraining fingers and held its position.
   For a third time, the penestral struck, snapping in frustration at the spot where the jet boat had been only seconds earlier. Thanks to the tracker, which had first warned Lauren of the nightmare’s approach, they were able to avoid its upward rush.
   “This won’t do,” she murmured. “It’ll keep working us until I make a mistake. Then it’ll take us the way it took the poor souls still stuck on those mudders.” She studied the tracker intently. “It’s circling now. Trying to cut us off from shallow water and the shore. We’ll let it think we’re headed that way. Then we’ll reverse back into deep water.”
   “Why?”
   She ignored the question. “You didn’t care for it when I had to shove you away from the wheel a few minutes ago, did you? Here, it’s all yours again.” She reached down and half pulled, half guided him back into the pilot’s chair. “That’s enough.” She threw the wheel over, and the boat seemed to spin on its axis. Flinx grabbed for the wheel.
   “It’ll follow us straight now instead of trying to ambush us from below and will try to hit us from astern. Keep us headed out into the lake and let me know when it’s tangent to our square.” She indicated the red dot on the tracking screen that was closing on them from behind.
   “But shouldn’t we—?”
   She wasn’t listening to him as she made her way back to the pair of gantry-like structures protruding from the rear of the boat. She took a seat behind one, stretched it out so the arm hung free over the water, then checked controls.
   “When I tell you,” she shouted back at him over the roar of the engine and the spray, “go hard a-port. That’s left.”
   “I remember,” he snapped back at her. His attention was locked to the tracker. “It’s getting awfully close.”
   “Good.” She positioned herself carefully in the seat, touched a switch. Flexible braces snapped shut across her waist, hips, shoulders and legs, pinning her to the seat in a striped cocoon.
   “Awfully close,” Flinx reiterated.
   “Not ready yet,” she murmured. “A fisherman has to be patient.” The water astern began to bubble, a disturbance more widespread than a mere boat engine could produce. “Now!” she shouted.
   Flinx wrenched the wheel to his left. Simultaneously, the surface of the lake exploded behind them. With both hands on the wheel, there was nothing Flinx could do except cry out as Pip left its perch and launched itself into the air. A muffled explosion sounded from the stern, and a moment later its echo reached him as the harpoon struck the penestral just beneath one of the winglike fins that shielded its gills.
   The soaring monster displaced the lake where the jet boat had been before Flinx had sent it screaming into a tight turn. A distant crump reached the surface as the harpoon’s delayed charge went off inside the guts of the penestral. Polyline spewed from a drum inside the ship’s hull, a gel coating eliminating dangerous heat buildup where line rubbed the deck.
   “Cut the engine,” came the command from astern.
   “But then we won’t have any—“ he started to protest
   “Do it,” she ordered.Flinx sighed. He was not a good swimmer. He flicked he accelerator until their speed dropped to nothing. The jet engine sank to an idle. Instantly, the catamaran began moving in reverse. The twin hulls were pointed aft as well as forward, and the boat moved neatly through the water as it was towed backward. The retreating polyline slowed from a blur to where Flinx could count space markings as it slid off the boat. Meanwhile, Lauren had reloaded the harpoon gun and was watching the surface carefully.
   She called back to him. "Where's the penestral?"
   "Still moving ahead of us, but I think it's slowing.":
   "That's to be expected. Keep your hands on the accelerator and the wheel."
   "It's still slowing," he told her. "Slowing, slowing—I can't see it anymore. I think it's under the boat!"
   "Go!" she yelled, but at that point he didn't need to be told what to do; he had already jammed the accelerator control forward. The jet boat roared, shot out across the lake. An instant later a geyser erupted bebind them as the penestral tried to swallow the sky. Flinx heard the harpoon gun discharge a second time.
   This time, the penestral was struck just behind one crystal-like eye the size of a telescope mirror. It collapsed back into the water like a tridee scene running in reverse, sending up huge waves over which the retreating catamaran rode with ease. The waves were matched in frequency if not intensity by the palpitations of Flinx's stomach.
   This time, the fish didn't sink back into the depths. It stayed on the surface, thrashing convulsively.
   "Bring us back around," Lauren directed Flinx. She was sweating profusely as she reloaded the harpoon cannon for the third time. Only the autoloading equipment made it possible for one person to manipulate the heavy metal shaft and its explosive charge.
   This harpoon was slightly smaller and thinner than the two that had preceded it. As the boat swung back toward the penestral, Flinx heard the gun go off again. Several minutes passed. The penestral stopped fighting and began to sink.
   Lauren touched another button. There was a hum as a compressor located inside the catamaran started up, pumping air through the plastic line that ran to the hollow shaft of the last harpoon. She unstrapped herself from the chair and began to oversee the reeling in of the colossal catch. "Air'11 keep it afloat for days," she said idly, exchanging seats with Flinx once again. "Too big for darts, this one."
   "Why bother with it?" Flinx stared as the silver-sided mountain expanded and drew alongside the catamaran.
   "You might be right—it's not much of a fish. Bet it doesn't run more than fifteen meters." Flinx gaped at her. "But there are hungry people in Kaslin and the other towns south of the lake, and the penestral's a good food fish—lean and not fatty. They'll make good use of it. What they don't eat they'll process for resale further south. The credit will go to the lodge.
   "Besides, we have guests staying with us who come up to Patra regularly, twice a year for many years, and who in all that time have never seen anything bigger than a five-meter minnow. Your first time and you've participated in a catch. You should feel proud."
   "I didn't catch it," he corrected her quickly. "You did."
   "Sorry, modesty's not permitted on this lake. Catching even a penestral's a cooperative effort. Dodging is just as important as firing the gun. Otherwise, we end up on his trophy wall." She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the inflated bulk now secured to the side of the catamaran.
   A weight settled gently onto Flinx's left shoulder. 'I hoped you hadn't gone off to try and attack it," he said to the minidrag as it slipped multiple coils around his arm. "It's good to know you have some instinct for self-preservation." The flying snake stared quizzically back at him, then closed its eyes and relaxed.
   Flinx inspected what he could see of the penestral while the jet boat headed back toward the southern shore. "Those people in the mudders, they didn't stand a chance." "Never knew what hit them," Lauren agreed. "I'm sure they weren't carrying any kind of tracking equipment. No reason for it. If our tracker had been out of order, we'd have joined the mudders in the penestral's belly."
   A quick death at least, Flinx thought. Death was a frequent visitor to the unwary in the Drallarian marketplace, so he was no stranger to it. Thoughts of death reminded him of Mother Mastiff. Would his persistence result in her captors' deciding she wasn't worth the trouble anymore? What might they have in mind for her, now that her presence had caused the death of a number of them? Surely, he decided, they wouldn't kill her out of hand.
   They had gone to so much trouble already.
   But the thought made him worry even more.
   Exhilarated by the fight, Lauren's voice was slightly elevated and hurried. She had reason to be short of wind, Flinx thought. "One of these days, Flinx, after we've finished with this business, you'll have to come back up here. I'll take you over to Lake Hozingar or Utuhuku. Now those are respectable-sized lakes and home to some decent-sized fish. Not like poor little Patra, here. At Hozingar, you can see the real meaning of the name The-Blue-That-Blinded."
   Flinx regarded the immense carcass slung alongside the jet boat in light of her words. "I know there are bigger lakes than this one, but I didn't know they held bigger penestrals."
   "Oh, the penestral's a midrange predator," she told him conversationally. "On Hozingar you don't go fishing for penestral. You fish for oboweir."
   "What," Flinx asked, "is an oboweir?"
   "A fish that feeds regularly on penestrala."
   "Oh," he said quietly, trying to stretch his Imagination to handle the picture her words had conjured up.
   Quite a crowd was waiting to greet them as they tied up at the lodge pier. Lauren had moored the inflated penestral to a buoy nearby. The carcass drew too much water to be brought right inshore.
   Flinx slipped through the oohing and ahhing guests, leaving Lauren to handle the questions. Several of her employees fought their way to her and added questions of their own. Eventually, the crowd began to break up, some to return to their rooms, others to remain to gawk at the fish bobbing slowly on the surface.
   Flinx had collapsed gratefully into a chair on the porch that encircled the main building. "How much do you want for the use of the skimmer and a tracker?" he asked Lauren when she was able to join him. "Ill-need you to show me how to use it, of course."
   She frowned at him. "I'm not sure I follow you, Flinx."
   "I told you, I'm going after them. You've made it possible for me to do that, and I'm very grateful to you."
   She looked thoughtful. "Management will scream when they find out I've taken out the skimmer for personal use. They're a lot more expensive than a jet boat or mudder. We'll have to be careful with it."
   He still wasn't listening to her, his mind full of plans for pursuing the Mdnappers. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this, Lauren." "Don't worry about it. The lodge's share of profit from the disposal of the penestral ought to defray all the operating expenses. Come on, get yourself and your snake out of that chair. We have to gather supplies. The skimmer's usually used for making quick runs between here and Attock. That's where we pick up our guests. We'll need to stock some food, of course, and I want to make sure the engine is fully charged. And if I don't take ten minutes to comb my hair out, I'm going to die." She tugged at the tangles of black ringlets that the action on the lake had produced.
   "Just a minute." This time it was Flinx who put out the restraining hand as he bounded out of the chair. "I think I've misunderstood. You don't mean you're coming with me?"
   "You don't know how to use the tracking equipment," she pointed out.
   "I can figure it out," he assured her confidently. "It didn't take me long to figure out how to handle the boat, did it?"
   "You don't know the country."
   "I'm not interested in the country," he responded. "I'm not going on a sightseeing trip. That's what the tracker's for, isn't it? Just loan the stuff to me. I'll pay you back somehow. Let me just have the tracker and a charge for my mudder, if you're worried about the skimmer." "You're forgetting about my wervils. Besides, you can't track a skimmer with a mudder. What if you hit a can-you?"
   "Surely you're not giving up your work here," he said, trying another tack, "just so you can seek revenge for the deaths of a couple of pets?"
   "I told you, wervils are an endangered species on Moth. And I also told you how I feel about animals."
   "I know," he protested, "but that still doesn't—"
   He broke off his protest as she reached out to ruffle his hair. "You know, you remind me of another wervil I cared for once, though his fur wasn't quite as bright as yours. Near enough, though." Then she went on more seriously. "Flinx, I don't like these people, whoever they are. I don't like them because of what they've done to you, and I don't like them because of what they've done to me. Because of that, I'm going to help you as well as myself. Because I'd be going out after them whether you were hereor not, for the sake of Sennar and Soba.
   "Don't try to deny that you couldn't use a little help and don't give me any of that archaic nonsense about your not wanting me along because I'm a woman."
   "Oh, don't worry," he told her crisply. "The last thing I'd try to do would be to inflict any archaic nonsense on you."
   That caused her to hesitate momentarily, uncertain whether he was joking or not. "Anyway," she added, "if I can't go, not that you can stop me, then you couldn't go, either. Because I'm the only one who has access to the skimmer."
   It was not hard for Flinx to give in. "I haven't got time to argue with you."
   "And also the sense not to, I suspect. But you're right about the time. The tracker should pick up the gel underneath their skimmer right away, but let's not play our luck to the limit. I don't know what kind of skimmer they were using. I've never seen the like before, so I've no idea if it's faster than usual. We go together, then?"
   "Together. On two conditions, Lauren."
   Again, she found herself frowning at him. Just when she thought she could predict his actions, he would do something to surprise her again. "Say them, anyway."
   "First, that Pip continues to tolerate you." He rubbed the back of the flying snake's head affectionately. It rose delightedly against the pressure. "You see, I have certain feelings toward animals myself."
   "And the other condition?" she inquired.
   "If you ever touch my hair like that again, you'd better be prepared for me to kick your lovely backside all the way to the Pole. Old ladies have been doing that to me ever since I can remember, and I've had my fill of it!"
   She grinned at him. "It's a deal, then. I'm glad your snake isn't as touchy as you are. Let's go. I have to leave a message for my superiors in case they call in and want to know not only where their skimmer is but their lodge manager as well."
   When she informed the assistant manager of the lodge, he was very upset. "But what do I tell Kilkenny if he calls from Attoka? What if he has guests to send up?"
   "We're not expecting anyone for another week. You know that, Sal. Tell him anything you want." She was arranging items in a small sack as she spoke. "No, tell him I've gone to the aid of a traveler in distress across the Sake. That's an acceptable excuse in any circumstance."
   The assistant looked past her to where Flinx stood waiting impatiently, chucking Pip under its jaw and staring in the direction of the lake.
   "He doesn't look like he's very distressed to me."
   "His distress is well hidden," Lauren informed him, "which is more than I can say for you, Sal. I'm surprised at you. We'll be back real soon."
   "Uh-huh. It's just that I'm not a very good liar, Lauren. You know that."
   "Do the best you can." She patted his cheek affectionately. "And I'm not lying. He really is in trouble."
   "But the skimmer, Lauren."
   "You still have the lodge mudders and the boats. Short of a major catastrophe of some kind, I can see no reason why you'd need the skimmer. It's really only here to be used in case of emergency. To my mind"—she gestured toward Flinx—"this is an emergency."
   The assistant kicked at the dirt. "It's your neck." "Yes, it's my neck."
   "Suppose they ask which way you went?"
   "Tell them I've headed—" A cough interrupted her. She looked back at Flinx and nodded once. "Just say that I've had to go across Patra."
   "But which way across?"
   "Across the lake. Sal."
   "Oh. Okay, I understand. You've got your reasons for doing this, I guess."
   "I guess I do. And if I'm wrong, well, you always wanted to be manager here, anyway, Sal."
   "Now hold on a minute, Lauren. I never said—"
   "Do the best you can for me," she gently admonished him. "This means something to me."
   "You really expect to be back soon?"
   "Depends on how things go. See you, Sal."
   "Take care of yourself, Lauren." He watched as she turned to rejoin the strange youth, then shrugged and started back up the steps into the lodge.
   As Lauren had said, it was her neck.
   It didn't take long for the skimmer to be checked out. Flinx climbed aboard and admired the utilitarian vehicle. For almost the first time since he left Drallar, he would be traveling totally clear of such persistent obstacles as mist-shrouded boulders and towering trees. The machine's body was made of black resin. It was large enough to accommodate a dozen passengers and crew. In addition to the standard emergency stores, Lauren provisioned it with additional food and medical supplies. They also took along the dart rifle and several clips and a portable sounding tracker.
   Flinx studied the tracking screen and the single moving dot that drifted northwestward across the transparency. A series of concentric gauging rings filled the circular screen. The dot that represented their quarry had already reached the outermost ring.
   "They'll move off the screen in a little while," he murmured to Lauren.
   "Don't worry. I'm sure they're convinced by now that they've lost us."
   "They're zigzagging all over the screen," he noted.
   "Taking no chances. Doesn't do any good if you're showing up on a tracker. But you're right. We'd better get moving."
   She slid into the pilot's chair and thumbed controls. The whine of the skimmer's engine drowned out the tracker's gentle hum as the craft rose several meters. Lauren held it there as she ran a final instrument check, then pivoted the vehicle on an invisible axis and drove it from the hangar. A nudge of the altitude switch sent them ten, twenty, thirty meters into the air above the lodge. A touch on the accelerator and they were rushing toward the beach.
   Despite the warmth of the cabin heater, Flinx still felt cold as he gazed single-mindedly at the screen.
   "I told you not to worry," Lauren said with a glance at his expression as they crossed the shoreline. "We'll catch them."
   "It's not that." Flinx peered out through the transparent cabin cover. "I was thinking about what might catch us."
   "I've yet to see the penestral that can pick out and catch an airborne target moving at our speed thirty meters up. An oboweir might do it, but there aren't any oboweirs in Lake Patra. Leastwise, none that I've ever heard tell of."
   Nevertheless, Flinx's attention and thoughts remained evenly divided between the horizon ahead and the potentially lethal waters below.
   "I understand you've had some trouble here."
   Sal relaxed in the chair in the dining room and sipped at a hot cup of toma as he regarded his visitors. They had arrived in their own mudder, which immediately stamped them as independent as well as wealthy. If he played this right, he might convince them to spend a few days at the lodge. They had several expensive suites vacant, and if he could place this pair in one, it certainly wouldn't do his record any harm. Usually, he could place an offworlder by accent, but not these two. Their words were clear but their phonemes amorphous. It puzzled him.
   Routine had returned as soon as Lauren and her charity case had departed. No one had called from down south, not the district manager, not anyone. He was feeling very content. Unless, of course, the company had decided to send its own investigators instead of simply calling in a checkup. That thought made him frown at the woman.
   "Say, are you two Company?"
   "No," the woman's companion replied, smiling pleasantly. "Goodness no, nothing like that. We just like a little excitement, that's all. If something unusual's going on in the area, it kind of tickles our curiosity, if you know what I mean."
   "You had a man killed here, didn't you?" the woman asked.
   "Well, yes, it did get pretty lively here for a day." No accounting for taste, Sal mused. "Someone was killed during a fight. A nonguest," he hastened to add. "Right in here. Quite a melee."
   "Can you describe any of those involved?" she asked him.
   "Not really. I'm not even positive which guests were involved and which day visitors. I didn't witness the argument myself, you see, and by the time I arrived, most of the participants had left."
   The woman accepted this admission with a disappointed nod. "Was there a young man involved? Say, of about sixteen?"
   "Yes, him I did see. Bright-red hair?"
   "That's the one," she admitted.
   "Say, is he dangerous or anything?" The assistant manager leaned forward in his chair, suddenly concerned.
   "Why do you want to know?" the man asked.
   "Well, my superior here, the regular manager—Lauren Walder. She went off with him."
   "Went off with him?" The pleasant expression that had dominated the woman's face quickly vanished, to be replaced by something much harder.
   "Yes. Three, maybe four days ago now. I'm still not completely sure why. She only told me that the young man had a problem and she was going to try to help him out."
   "Which way did their mudder go?" the man asked.
   "North, across Lake Patra," Sal informed them.
   "They're not in a mudder, though. She took the lodge skimmer."
   "A skimmer!" The woman threw up her hands in frustration and sat down heavily in a chair opposite the assistant. "We're losing ground," she told her companion, "instead of gaining on him. If he catches up with them before we do, we could lose him and the . . ." Her companion cut the air with the edge of his hand, and her words trailed away to an indecipherable mumble. The gesture had been quick and partly concealed, but Sal had noticed it nonetheless.
   "Now you've really got me worried," he told the pair. "If Lauren's in some kind of trouble—"
   "She could be," the man admitted, pleased that the assistant had changed the subject.
   Sal thought a moment. "Would she be in danger from these people who had the fight here, or from the redhead?"
   "Conceivably from both." The man was only half lying. "You'd better tell us everything you know."
   "I already have," Sal replied.
   "You said they went north, across the lake. Can't you be any more specific than that?"
   Sal looked helpless. "Lauren wouldn't be any more specific than that."
   "They might not continue heading north."
   "No, they might not. Do you have a tracker for following other craft?" Sal asked.
   The man shook his head. "We didn't think we'd need one. The last we knew, the young man we'd like to talk With was traveling on stupava-back."
   "I think he arrived here in a mudder."
   The woman looked surprised and grinned ruefully at her companion. "No wonder we fell behind. Resourceful, isn't he?"
   "Too resourceful for my liking," the man murmured, "and maybe for his own good if he backs those you know-whos into a corner."
   The women sighed, then rose from her chair. "Well, we've wasted enough time here. We'll just have to return to Pranbeth for a skimmer and tracking unit. Unless you think we should try to catch up to them in the mudder." The man let out a short, humorless laugh, then turned back to the assistant manager. "Thanks, son. You've been helpful."
   "I wish I could be more so," Sal told him anxiously. "If anything were to happen to Lauren—you'll see that nothing happens to her, won't you?"
   "I promise you we'll do our best," the woman assured him. "We don't want to see innocent bystanders hurt. We don't even want to see noninnocents hurt." She favored him with a maternal smile, which for some reason did nothing to make the nervous assistant feel any better about the situation.
Chapter Eleven
    
   The tracker hummed quietly, the single glowing dot showing clearly on its screen as the skimmer rushed north-ward. It was clipping the tops of the tallest trees, more than eighty meters above the bogs and muck that passed for the ground. They had crossed Lake Patra, then an intervening neck of dry land, then the much larger lake known as Tigranocerta and were once more cruising over the forest. A cold rain was falling, spattering off the skimmer's acrylic canopy to form a constantly changing wet topography that obscured much of the view outside. The skimmer's instruments kept its speed responsive, maintaining a predetermined distance between it and its quarry to the north.
   Awfully quiet, Lauren Walder thought. He's awfully quiet, and maybe something else.
   "No, I'm not too young," he said into the silence that filled the cabin, his tone softly defensive.
   Lauren's eyebrows lifted. "You can read minds?"
   He responded with a shy smile. "No, not that." Fingers stroked the head of the minidrag sleeping on his shoulder. "I just feel things at times. Not thoughts, nothing that
   elaborate. Just the way people are feeling.” He glanced up at her. “From the way I thought you were feeling just now, I thought you were going to say something along that line.”
   “Well, you were right,” she confessed, wondering what to make of the rest of his declaration.
   “I’m not, you know.”
   “How old are you?” she asked.
   “Sixteen. As best I know. I can’t be certain.”
   Sixteen going on sixty, she thought sadly. During her rare visits to Drallar, she had seen his type before. Child of circumstance, raised in the streets and instructed by wrong example and accident, though he seemed to have tamed out better than his brethren. His face held the knowledge withheld from his more fortunate contemporaries, but it didn’t seem to have made him vicious or bitter.
   Still she felt there was something else at work here.
   “How old do you think I am?” she asked idly.
   Flinx pursed his lips as he stared at her. “Twenty- three,” he told her without hesitating.
   She laughed softly and clapped both hands together in delight. “So that’s what I’m helping, a sixteen-year-old vengeful diplomat!” Her laughter faded. The smile remained. “Tell me about yourself, Flinx.”
   It was a question that no stranger in Drallar would ever be so brazen as to ask. But this was not Drallar, he re- minded himself. Besides, he owed this woman.
   So he told her as much as he knew. When he finished his narrative, she continued to stare solemnly at him, nod- ding her head as if his words had done no more than con- firm suspicions already held. She spared a glance to make sure the tracker was still functioning efficiently, then looked back at him. “You haven’t exactly had a comfort- able childhood, have you?”
   “I wouldn’t know,” he replied, “because I only have hearsay to compare it with.”
   “Take my word for it, you haven’t. You’ve also man- aged to get along with the majority of humanity even though they don’t seem to want to have anything to do 149 with you. Whereas I’ve had to avoid the majority of people who seem to want to have a lot to do with me.” Impulsively, she leaned over out of the pilot’s chair and kissed him. At the last instant, he flinched, nervous at such. unaccustomed proximity to another human being-especially an attractive member of the opposite sex-and the kiss, which was meant for his cheek, landed instead on his lips.
   That made her pull back fast. The smile stayed on her face, and she only blinked once in surprise. It had been an accident, after all. “Take my word for something else, Flinx. If you live long enough, life gets better.”
   “Is that one of the Church’s homilies?” He wondered if she wore some caustic substance to protect her lips from burning, because his own were on fire.
   “No,” she said. “That’s a Lauren Walder homily.”
   “Glad to hear it. I’ve never had much use for the Church.”
   “Nor have 1. Nor have most people. That’s why it’s been so successful, I expect.” She turned her gaze to the tracker. “They’re starting to slow down. We’ll do the same.”
   “Do you think they’ve seen us?” Suddenly, he didn’t really care what the people in the skimmer ahead of them decided to do. The fire spread from his lips to his mouth, ran down his throat, and dispersed across his whole body. It was a sweet, thick fire.
   “I doubt it,” she replied. “I’ll bet they’re close to their destination.” Her hands manipulated controls.
   “How far ahead of us are they?” He walked forward to peer over her shoulder at the screen. He could have stood to her left, but he was suddenly conscious of the warmth of her, the perfume of her hair. He was very careful not to touch her.
   She performed some quick calculations, using the tracker’s predictor. “Day or so. We don’t want to run up their tail. There’s nothing up in this part of the country. Odd place to stop, but then this whole business is odd, from what you’ve told me. Why bring your mother up here?”
   He had no answer for her.
   They dropped until the skimmer was rising and falling inconcert with the treetops. So intent were they on the actions of the dot performing on the tracking Screen that neither of them noticed that not only had the rain stopped but the cloud cover had cracked. Overhead, one of the wings of Moth, the interrupted ring which encircled the planet, shimmered golden against the ceiling of night.
   “What makes you so sure they’re stopping here instead of just slowing down for a while?” he asked Lauren.
   “Because a skimmer operates on a stored charge, just like a mudder. Remember, they had to come from here down to Patra. Our own charge is running low, and we’re not on the return leg of a round trip. I don’t know what model they’re flying, but I saw how big it was. It can’t possibly retain enough energy to take them much farther than we’ve gone the past several days. They at least have to be stopping somewhere to recharge, which is good.”
   “Why is that?” Flinx asked.
   “Because we’re going to have to recharge, also.” She pointed to a readout. “We’ve used more than half our own power. If we can’t recharge somewhere around here, we’re going to have some hiking to do on our way out.”
   Flinx regarded her with new respect, if that was possible; his opinion of her had already reached dizzying heights. “Why didn’t you tell me when we reached the turnaround point?”
   She shrugged slightly. “Why? We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to come as far as we have. You might have argued with me about turning back.”
   “No,” Flinx said quietly, “I wouldn’t have done that”
   “I didn’t think so. You’re almost as determined to see this through as I am, and at least as crazy.”
   She stared up at him, and he stared back. Nothing more needed to be said.
   “I vote no.”
   Nyassa-lee was firm in her disagreement. She sat on one side of the table and gazed expectantly at her colleagues. Brora was thoughtfully inspecting the fingernails of his left hand, while Haithnesstoyed with her eyelashes.
   “Really,” the tall black woman murmured to her compatriot, “to show such reluctance at this stage is most discouraging, Nyassa-lee.” Her fingers left her eyes. “We may never have the chance to manipulate another subject as promising as this Twelve. Time and events conspire against us. You know that as well as I.”
   “I know.” The shorter woman leaned forward in the chair and gazed between her legs at the floor. Cracks showed between the panels; the building had been assembled in haste. “I’m just not convinced it’s worth the risk.”
   “What risk?” Haithness demanded to know. “We’ve still seen nothing like a demonstration of threatening power. Quite the contrary. I’d say. Certainly the subject had the opportunity to display any such abilities. It’s evident he does not possess them, or he would doubtless have employed them against us. Instead, what did we see? Knife.” -She made it sound disgusting as well as primitive. - “She’s right, you know.” Brora rarely spoke, preferring to let the two senior scientists do most of the arguing. He stepped in only when he was completely confident of his opinion.
   “We don’t want another repeat of the girl,” Nyassa-lee said. “The society couldn’t stand another failure like that.”
   “Which is precisely why we must pursue this last opportunity to its conclusion,” Haithness persisted.
   “We don’t know that it represents our last opportunity.”
   “Oh, come on, Nyassa-lee.” Haithness pushed back her chair and stood; she began pacing nervously back and forth. Bebind her, lights shone cold green and blue from the consoles hastily assembled. “Even if there are other subjects of equal potential out there, we’ve no guarantee that any of us will be around much longer to follow up on them.”
   “I can’t argue with that,” Nyassa-lee admitted. “Nor can I argue this Number Twelve’s statistical promise. It’s just those statistics which frighten me.”
   “Frighten you?” Haithness stopped pacing and looked over at her companion of many hard years. The tall woman was surprised. She had seen Nyassa-lee wield a gun with the cold-blooded efficiency of a qwarm. Fear seemed foreign to her. “But why? He’s done nothing to justify such fear.”
   “Oh, no?” Nyassa-lee ticked off her points on the fingers of one hand. “One, his statistical potential is alarming. Two, he’s sixteen, on the verge of full maturity. Three, he could cross into that at any time.”
   “The girl,” Brora pointed out, “was considerably younger.”
   “Agreed,” said Nyassa-lee, “but her abilities were precocious. Her advantage was surprise. This Number Twelve is developing slowly but with greater potential. He may be the kind who responds to pressure by reaching deeper into himself.”
   “Maybe,” Brora said thoughtfully, “but we have no proof of it, nor does his profile predict anything of the sort.”
   “Then how do you square that,” she responded, “with the fact that he has by himself-“
   “He’s not by himself,” Brora interrupted her. “That woman from the lodge was helping him out on the lake.” “Was helping him. She didn’t help him get to that point.
   He followed us all the way to that lake on his own, with- out any kind of external assistance. To me that indicates the accelerated development of a Talent we’d better be- ware of.”
   “All the more reason,” Haithness said angrily, slapping the table with one palm, “why we must push ahead with our plan!”
   “I don’t know,” Nyassa-lee murmured, unconvinced.
   “Do you not agree,” Haithness countered, forcing her- self to restrain her temper, “that if the operation is a success we stand a good chance of accomplishing our goal as regards outside manipulation of the subject?”
   “Possibly,” Nyassa-lee conceded.
   “Why just ‘possibly’? Do you doubt the emotional bond?”
   “That’s not what concerns me. Suppose, just suppose, that because his potential is still undeveloped, he has no conscious control of it?”
   “What are you saying?” Brora asked.
   She leaned intently over the table. “With the girl Mahnahmi we knew where we stood, once she’d revealed herself. Unfortunately, that knowledge came as a surprise
   to us, and too late to counteract. We’ve no idea where we stand vis-a-vis this subject’s Talents. Suppose that, despite the emotional bond, pressure and fear conspire to release his potential regardless of his surface feelings? Statistically, the subject is a walking bomb that may not be capable or mature enough to control itself. That’s what worries me, Haithness. The emotional bond may be sufficient to control his conscious self. The unpredictable part of him may react violently in spite of it.”
   “We cannot abandon our hopes and work on so slim a supposition, one that we have no solid facts to support,” Haithness insisted. “Besides, the subject is sixteen. If any- thing, he should have much more control over himself than the girl did.”
   “I know, I know,” Nyassa-lee muttered unhappily. “Everything you say is true, Haithness, yet I can’t help worrying. In any case. I’m outvoted.”
   “That you are,” the tall woman said after a questioning glance at Brora. “And if Cruachan were here with us, you know he’d vote to proceed too.”
   “I suppose.” Nyassa-lee smiled thinly. “I worry too much. Brora, are you sure you can handle the implant?”
   He nodded. “I haven’t done one in some time, but the old skills remain. It requires patience more than anything else. You remember. As to possible unpredictable results, failure, well”-he smiled-“we’re all condemned already. One more little outrage perpetrated against society’s archaic laws can’t harm us one way or the other if we fail here.”
   Off in a nearby corner. Mother Mastiff sat in a chair, hands clasped in her lap, and listened. She was not bound. There was no reason to tie her, and she knew why as well as her captors. There was nowhere to run. She was in excellent condition for a woman her age, but she had had a good view of the modest complex of deceptive stone and wood structures as the skimmer had landed. Thousands of square kilometers of damp, hostile forest lay between the place she had been brought to and the familiar confines of Drallar. She was no more likely to steal a vehicle than she was to turn twenty again.
   She wondered what poor Flinx was going through. That had been him, out on the boat on the lake far to the south. How he had managed to trace her so far she had no idea. At first, her concern had been for herself. Now that she had had ample opportunity to listen to the demonic trio arguing in front of her-for demonic she was certain they were-she found herself as concerned for the fate of her adopted son as for her own. If she was lost, well, she had had a long and eventful life. Better perhaps that her brave Flinx lose track of her than stumble into these monsters again.
   One of the trio, the short, toad-faced man, had spoken of “adjusting” her and of “implants.” That was enough to convince her to prepare for something worse than death. Many of their words made no sense to her. She still had no idea who the people were, much less where they had come from or the reasons for their actions. They never spoke to her, ignoring her questions as well as her curses.
   Actually, they did not treat her as a human being at all, but rather as a delicate piece of furniture. Their current conversation was the most peculiar yet, for one of them was expressing fear of her boy. She could not imagine why. True, Flinx had tamed a dangerous animal, that horrid little flying creature, but that was hardly a feat to in- spire fear in such people. They knew he occasionally had the ability to sense what others were feeling. Yet far from fearing such erratic and minor talents, these people discussed them as if they were matters of great importance.
   None of which explained why they’d kidnapped her. If their real interest lay with her boy, then why hadn’t they kidnapped him? The whole affair was too complicated a puzzle for her to figure out. Mother Mastiff was not a stupid woman, and her deficiency in formal education did not blunt her sharp, inquiring mind; still she could not fathom what was happening to her, or why.
   She let her attention drift from the argument raging across the table nearby to study the room to which she had been brought. Most of the illumination came from the impressive array of electronics lining the walls. Everything she could see hinted of portability and hurried installation. She had no idea as to the purpose of the instrumentation, but she had been around enough to know that such devices were expensive. That, and the actions of the people who had abducted her, hinted at an organization well stocked with money as well as malign intentions.
   “I’m not even sure,” Nyassa-lee was saying, “that the subject realizes how he’s managed to follow us this far.”
   “There is likely nothing mysterious about it,” Haithness argued. “Remember that he is a product of an intensely competitive, if primitive, environment. Urban youths grow up fast when left to their own resources. He may not have enjoyed much in the way of a formal education, but he’s been schooled in the real world-something we’ve had to master ourselves these past years. And he may have had some ordinary, quite natural luck.”
   “These past years,” Brora was mumbling sadly. “Years that should have been spent prying into the great mysteries of the universe instead of learning how to make contacts with and use of the criminal underworld.”
   “I feel as wasted as you do, Brora,” the tall woman said soothingly, “but vindication lies at hand.”
   “If you’re both determined to proceed, then I vote that we begin immediately.” Nyassa-lee sighed.
   “Immediately with what?” a crotchety voice demanded. For some reason, the question caused the trio to respond, whereas previous attempts to draw their attention had failed miserably.
   Nyassa-lee left the table and approached Mother Mastiff. She tried to adopt a kindly, understanding expression, but was only partly successful. “We’re scientists embarked on a project of great importance to all mankind. I’m sorry we’ve been forced to inconvenience you, but this is all necessary. I wish you were of a more educated turn of mind and could understand our point of view. It would make things easier for you.”
   “Inconvenienced!” Mother Mastiff snorted. “Ye pluck me out of my house and haul me halfway across the planet. That’s inconvenience? I call it something else.” Her bluster faded as she asked, “What is it you want with my boy Flinx?”
   “Your adopted boy,” Nyassa-lee said. While the small Oriental spoke. Mother Mastiff noted that the other two were studying her the way a collector might watch a bug on a park bench. That made her even madder, and the anger helped to put a damper on her fear. “I wouldn’t make things any easier for you people if ye promised me half the wealth of Terra.”
   “I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s only what we have come to expect,” Nyassa-lee said, turning icy once again. “Have you heard of the Meliorare Society?”
   Mother Mastiff shook her head, too angry to cry, which is what she really wanted to do. Names, words they threw at her, all meaningless.
   “We’re part of an experiment,” the Oriental explained, “an experiment which began on Terra many years ago. We are not only scientists, we are activists. We believe that the true task of science is not only to study that which exists but to forge onward and bring into existence that which does not exist but eventually will. We deter- mined not to stand still, nor to let nature do so, either.”
   Mother Mastiff shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
   “Think,” Nyassa-lee urged her, warming to her subject, “what is there in Commonwealth society today that could most stand improvement? The government?” A bitter, derogatory laugh sounded behind her, from Haithness. “Not the government, then. What about the ships that carry us from star to star? No? Language, then, an improvement on Terrangio or symbospeech? What about music or architecture?”
   Mother Mastiff simply stared at the woman ranting be- fore her. She was quite certain now, quite certain. These three were all as insane as a brain-damaged Yax’m.
   “No, none of those things!” Nyassa-lee snapped. It was terrible to see such complete assurance in one so diminutive. “It’s us. We.” She tapped her sternum. “Humankind. And the means for our improvement lie within.” Her hand went to her head. “In here, in abilities and areas of our mind still not properly developed.
   “We and the other members of the Society decided many years ago that something could and should be done about that. We formed a cover organization to fool superstitious regulators. In secret, we were able to select certain human ova, certain sperm, and work carefully with them. Our planning was minute, our preparations extensive.
   Through microsurgical techniques, we were able to alter the genetic code of our humans-to-be prior to womb implantation. The result was to be, will be, a better version of mankind.”
   Mother Mastiff gaped at her. Nyassa-lee sighed and turned to her companions. “As I feared, all this is beyond her meager comprehension.”
   “Perfectly understandable,” Brora said. “What I don’t understand is why you trouble to try?”
   “It would be easier,” Nyassa-lee said.
   “Easier for her, or for you?” Haithness wondered. The smaller woman did not reply. “It won’t matter after the operation, anyway.” At these words, the fine hair on the back of Mother Mastiff’s neck began to rise.
   “It might,” Nyassa-lee insisted. She looked back down at Mother Mastiff, staring hard into those old eyes. “Don’t you understand yet, old woman? Your boy, your adopted son: he was one of our subjects.”
   “No,” Mother Mastiff whispered, though even as she mouthed the word, she knew the woman’s words must be true. “What-what happened to your experiment?”
   “All the children were provided with attention, affection, education, and certain special training. The majority of the subjects displayed nothing unusual in the way of ability or talent. They were quite normal in every way. We proceeded with great care and caution, you see.
   “A few of the subjects developed abnormally. That is in the nature of science, unfortunately. We must accept the good together with the bad. However, in light of our imminent success, those failures were quite justified.” She sounded as if she were trying to reassure herself as much as Mother Mastiff.
   “A few of the children, a very small number, gave indications of developing those abilities which we believe to lie dormant in every human brain. We don’t pretend to understand everything about such Talents. We are in the position of mechanics who have a good idea how to repair an imperfect machine without really knowing what the re- paired machine is capable of. This naturally resulted in some surprises.
   “An ignorant Commonwealth society did not feel as we did about the importance of our activities. As a result, we have undergone many years of persecution. Yet we have persisted. As you can see, all of us who are original members of the Society are nearly as advanced in years as yourself.
   “The government has been relentless in its efforts to wipe us out. Over the years, it has whittled away at our number until we have been reduced to a dedicated few. Yet we need but a single success, one incontrovertible proof of the worthiness of our work, to free ourselves from the lies and innuendo with which we have been saddled.
   “It was a cruel and uncaring government which caused the dispersal of the children many years ago and which brought us to our current state of scientific exile. Slowly, patiently, we have worked to try and relocate those children, in particular any whose profiles showed real promise. Your Flinx is one of those singled out by statistics as a potential Talent.”
   “But there’s nothing- abnormal about him,” Mother Mastiff protested. “He’s a perfectly average, healthy young man. Quieter than most, perhaps, but that’s all. Is that worth all this trouble? Oh, I’ll admit be can do some parlor tricks from time to time. But I know a hundred street magicians who can do the same. Why don’t you go pick on them?”
   Nyassa-lee smiled that humorless, cold smile. “You’re lying to us, old woman. We know that he is capable of more than mere tricks and that something far more important than sleight of hand is involved.”
   “Well, then,” she continued, trying a different tack, “why kidnap me? Why pull me away from my home like this? I’m an old woman, just as ye say. I can’t stand in your way or do ye any harm. If ‘tis Flinx you’re so concerned with, why did ye not abduct him? I surely could not have prevented ye from doing so.”
   “Because he may be dangerous.”
   Yes, they are quite mad, this lot. Mother Mastiff mused. Her boy, Flinx, dangerous? Nonsense! He was a sensitive boy, true; he could sometimes know what others were feeling, but only rarely, and hardly at all when he most
   159 wished to do so. And maybe he could push the emotions of others a tiny bit. But dangerous? The danger was to him, from these offworld fools and madmen.
   “Also,” the little Oriental continued, “we have to proceed very carefully because we cannot risk further harm to the Society. Our numbers have already been drastically reduced, partly by our too-hasty attempt to regain control of one subject child a number of years ago. We cannot risk making the same mistake with this Number Twelve. Most of our colleagues have been killed, imprisoned, or selectively mindwiped.”
   Mother Mastiff’s sense of concern doubled at that al- most indifferent admission. She didn’t understand all the woman’s chatter about genetic alterations and improving mankind, but she understood mindwiping, all right. A criminal had to be found guilty of some especially heinous crime to be condemned to that treatment, which took away forever a section of his memories, of his life, of his very self, and left him to wander for the rest of his days tormented by a dark, empty gap in his mind.
   “You leave him alone!” she shouted, surprised at the violence of her reaction. Had she become so attached to the boy? Most of the time she regarded him as a nuisance inflicted on her by an unkind fate-didn’t she?
   “Don’t you hurt him!” She was on her feet and pounding with both fists on the shoulders of the woman called Nyassa-lee.
   Though white-haired and no youngster, Nyassa-lee was a good deal younger and stronger than Mother Mastiff. She took the older woman’s wrists and gently pushed her back down into the chair.
   “Now, we’re not going to hurt him. Didn’t I just explain his importance to us? Would we want to damage someone like that? Of course not. It’s clear how fond you’ve be- come of your charge. In our own way, we’re equally fond of him.”
   What soulless people these are. Mother Mastiff thought as she slumped helplessly in her chair. What dead, distant shadows of human beings.
   “I promise you that we will not try to force the boy to 160
   do anything against his will, nor will we harm him in any way.”
   “What do ye mean to do with him, then?”
   “We need to guide his future maturation,” the woman explained, “to ensure that whatever abilities he possesses are developed to their utmost. It’s highly unlikely he can do this without proper instruction and training, which is why his abilities have not manifested themselves fully so far. Experience, however, has shown us that when the children reach puberty, they are no longer willing to accept such training and manipulation. We therefore have to guide him without his being aware of it.”
   “How can ye do this without his knowing what is being done to him?”
   “By manipulating him through a third party whose suggestions and directions he will accept freely,” the woman said. “That is where you become important.”
   “So ye wish for me to make him do certain things, to alter his life so that your experiment can be proven a success?”
   “That’s correct,” Nyassa-lee said. “All this must be carried out in such a way that he cannot suspect he is being guided by an outside force.” She gestured toward the far end of the room, past transparent doors sealing off a self- contained operating theater. In the dim blue and green light of the instrument readouts, the sterile theater gleamed softly.
   “We cannot allow the possibility of interference or misdirection to hamper our efforts, nor can we risk exposure to the Commonwealth agencies which continue to hound us. It is vital that our instructions be carried out quickly and efficiently. Therefore, it will be necessary for us to place certain small devices in your brain, to ensure your complete compliance with our directives.”
   “Like hell,” Mother Mastiff snapped. “I’ve spent a hundred years filling up this head of mine. I know where everything is stored. I don’t want somebody else messing around up there.” She did not add, as she glanced surreptitiously toward the operating room, that she had never been under the knife or the laser and that she had a deathly fear of being cut.
    “Look,” she went on desperately, “I’ll be glad to help ye. I’ll tell the boy anything ye wish, have him study any- thing ye want and avoid whatever matters ye wish him to avoid. But leave my poor old head alone. Wouldn’t I be much more the help to ye if I did what ye require voluntarily instead of like some altered pet?”
   Brora folded his hands on the table and regarded her emotionlessly. “That would certainly be true. However, there are factors which unfortunately mitigate against this.
   “First, there are mental activities you will be required to carry out which involve complex processes you are not conversant with but which can be stimulated via direct implants. Second, there is no guarantee that at some future time you would not become discouraged or rebellious and tell the subject what you know. That could be a catastrophe for the experiment. Third, though you may direct the boy with surface willingness, his abilities may enable him to see your inner distress and know that something is amiss, whereas I do not think he can detect the implants themselves, as they are wholly mechanical. Lastly, I think you are lying when you say you would be willing to help us.”
   “But I don’t want an operation!” she cried, pounding at the arms of the chair with her fists. “I tell you ‘tis not necessary! I’ll do anything ye ask of me if you’ll but leave the boy alone and instruct me. Why should I lie to ye? You’ve said yourself that he’s not my true child, only an adopted one. I’ll be glad to help ye, particularly,” she added with a sly smile, “if there be any money involved.”
   But the man Brora was shaking his head. “You lie forcefully, but not forcefully enough, old woman. We’ve spent most of our lives having to cope with traitors in our midst. We can’t afford another one. I’m sorry.” His attention was drawn to the main entrance and to the two men who’d just entered. He nodded toward Mother Mastiff.
   “Restrain her. She knows enough now to do something foolish to herself.”
   One of the new arrivals held Mother Mastiff’s right arm and glanced back toward Brora. “Anesthetic, sir?” “No, not yet.” Mother Mastiff stared at the horrid little man and shuddered as he spoke quietly to the black woman. “What do you think, Haithness?”
   She examined Mother Mastiff. “Tomorrow is soon enough. I’m tired. Better to begin fresh. We’ll all need to be alert.”
   Brora nodded in agreement, leaving the two younger men to bind the raving Mother Mastiff.
   Later that evening, over dinner, Nyassa-lee said to Haithness, “The woman’s advanced age still gives me concern.”
   “She’s not that old,” the taller woman said, spooning down something artificial but nourishing. “With care, she has another twenty years of good health to look forward to.”
   “I know, but she hasn’t the reserves of a woman of fifty anymore, either. It’s just as well we haven’t told her how complex tomorrow’s operation is or explained that her mind will be permanently altered.”
   Haithness nodded agreement. “There’s hardly any need to upset her any more than she already is. Your excessive concern for her welfare surprises me.”
   Nyassa-lee picked at her food and did not comment, but Haithness refused to let the matter drop.
   “How many of our friends have perished at the hands of the government? How many have been mindwiped? It’s true that if this old woman dies, we lose an important element in the experiment, but not necessarily a final one. We’ve all agreed that implanting her is the best way to proceed.”
   “I’m not arguing that,” Nyassa-lee said, “only reminding you that we should be prepared for failure.”
   Brora leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was not hungry; he was too excited by the prospects raised by the operation.
   “We will not fail, Nyassa-lee. This is the best chance we’ve had in years to gain control over a really promising Subject. We won’t fail.” He looked over at Haithness. “I checked the implants before dinner.”
   “Again?”
   “Nothing else to do. I couldn’t stand just Waiting around. The circuitry is complete, cryogenic enervation constant. I anticipate no trouble in making the synaptic connections.”  He glanced toward Nyassa-lee.  “The woman’s age notwithstanding.
   “As to the part of the old woman that will unavoidably be lost due to the operation”-he shrugged-“I’ve studied the matter in depth and see no way around it. Not that there seems a great deal worth preserving. She’s an ignorant primitive. If anything, the implants and resulting excisions will result in an improved being.”
   “Her strongest virtues appear to be cantankerousness and obstinacy,” Haithness agreed, “coupled to an appalling ignorance of life outside her immediate community.”
   ‘Typical speciman,” Brora said. “Ironic that such a low example should be the key not only to our greatest success but our eventual vindication.”
   Nyassa-lee pushed away her food. Her colleague’s conversation was upsetting to her. “What time tomorrow?”
   “Reasonably early, I should think,” Haithness murmured. “It will be the best time for the old woman, and better for us not to linger over philosophy and speculation.”
   Brora was startled at the latter implication. “Surely you don’t expect the boy to show up?”
   “You’d best stop thinking of him as a boy.”
   “He barely qualifies as a young adult.”
   “Barely is sufficient. Though he’s demonstrated nothing in the way of unexpected talent so far, his persistent pursuit of his adopted mother is indication enough to me that he possesses a sharp mind in addition to Talent.” She smiled thinly at Nyassa-lee. “You see, my dear, though I do not share your proclivity to panic in this case, I do respect and value your opinion.”
   “So you are expecting him?”
   “No, I’m not,” Haithness insisted, “but it would be awkward if by some miracle he were to show up here prior to the operation’s successful completion. Once that is accomplished, we’ll naturally want to make contact with him through his mother. When he finds her unharmed and seemingly untouched, he will relax into our control.”
   “But what if he does show up prior to our returning the old woman to Drallar?”
    “Don’t worry,” Haithness said. “I have the standard story prepared, and our personnel here have been well coached in the pertinent details.”
   “You think he’d accept that tale?” Nyassa-lee asked. “That hoary old business of us being an altruistic society of physicians dedicated to helping the old and enfeebled against the indifference of government medical facilities?”
   “It’s true that we’ve utilized the story in various guises before, but it will be new to the subject,” Haithness reminded her colleague. “Besides, as Brora says, he barely qualifies as an adult, and his background does not suggest sophistication. I think he’ll believe us, especially when we restore his mother to him. That should be enough to satisfy him. The operation will, of course, be rendered cosmetically undetectable.”
   “I do better work on a full night’s sleep.” Brora abruptly pushed back from the table. “Especially prior to a hard day’s work.”
   They all rose and started toward their quarters, Brora contemplating the operation near at hand, Haithness the chances for success, and only Nyassa-lee the last look in Mother Mastiff’s eyes.
Chapter Twelve
    
   They had to be close to their destination because their quarry had been motionless for more than an hour. That’s when the pain hit Flinx; sharp, hot, and unexpected as al- ways. He winced and shut his eyes tight while Pip stirred nervously on its master’s shoulder.
   Alarmed, Lauren turned hurriedly to her young companion. “What is it? What’s wrong, Flinx?”
   “Close. We’re very close.”
   “I can tell that by looking at the tracker,” she said.
   “It’s her, it’s Mother Mastiff.”
   “She’s hurt?” Already Lauren was dropping the skimmer into the woods. The minidrag writhed on Flinx’s shoulder, hunting for an unseen enemy.
   “She’s-she’s not hurting,” Flinx mumbled. “She’s- there’s worry in her, and fear. Someone’s planning to do something terrible to her. She fears for me, too, I think. But I can’t understand-1 don’t know what or wh-“
   He blinked. Pip ceased his convulsions. “It’s gone. Damn it, it’s gone.” He kicked at  the  console  in  frustration. “Gone and I can’t make it come back.”
   “I thought-“
    He interrupted her; his expression was one of resignation. “I have no control over the Talent. No control at all. These feelings hit me when I least expect them, and never, it seems, when I want them to. Sometimes I can’t even locate the source. But this time it was Mother Mastiff. I’m sure of it.”
   “How can you tell that?” Lauren banked the skimmer to port, dodging a massive emergent.
   “Because I know how her mind feels.”
   Lauren threw him an uncertain look, then decided there was no point in trying to comprehend something beyond her ken.
   The skimmer slowed to a crawl and quickly settled down among the concealing trees on a comparatively dry knoll. After cutting the power, Lauren moved to the rear of the cabin and began assembling packs and equipment. The night was deep around them, and the sounds of nocturnal forest dwellers began to seep into the skimmer.
   “We have to hurry,” Flinx said anxiously. He was al- ready unsnapping the door latches. “They’re going to hurt her soon!”
   “Hold it!” Lauren said sharply. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to her. More important, you don’t know when.”
   “Soon!” he insisted. The door popped open and slid back into the transparent outer wall. He stared out into the forest in the direction he knew they must take even though he hadn’t checked their location on the tracking screen.
   “I promise that well get to her as fast as is feasible,” Lauren assured him as she slipped the sling of the dart rifle over her shoulder, “but we won’t do her or ourselves any good at all if we go charging blindly in on those people, whoever they are. Remember, they carried paralysis weapons on their vehicles. They may have more lethal weapons here. They’re not going to sit idly by while you march in and demand the return of the woman they’ve gone to a helluva lot of trouble to haul across a continent. We’ll get her back, Flinx, just as quickly as we can, but recklessness won’t help us. Surely you know that. You’re a city boy.”
   He winced at the “boy,” but otherwise had to agree with her. With considerable effort he kept himself from dashing blindly into the black forest. Instead, he forced himself to the back of the skimmer and checked out the contents of the backpack she had assembled for him. “Don’t I get a gun, too?”
   “A fishing lodge isn’t an armory, you know.” She patted the rifle butt. “This is about all we keep around in the way of a portable weapon. Besides, I seem to recall you putting away an opponent bigger than yourself using only your own equipment.”
   Flinx glanced self-consciously down at his right boot. His prowess with a knife was not something he was particularly proud of, and he didn’t like talking about it. “A stiletto’s not much good over distance, and we may not have darkness for an ally.”
   “Have you ever handled a real hand weapon?” she asked him. “A needier? Beam thrower, projectile gun?”
   “No, but I’ve seen them used, and I know how they work. It’s not too hard to figure out that you point the business end at the person you’re mad at and pull the trigger or depress the firing stud.”
   “Sometimes it’s not quite that simple, Flinx.” She tightened the belly strap of her backpack. “In any case, you’ll have to make do with just your blade because there isn’t anything else. And I’m not going to give you the dart rifle. I’m much more comfortable with it than you’d be. If you’re worried about my determination to use it, you should know me better than that by now. I don’t feel like being nice to these people. Kidnappers and wervil killers.”
   She checked their course on the tracker, entered it into her little compass, and led him from the cabin. The ground was comparatively dry, soft and springy underfoot.
   As they marched behind twin search beams, Flinx once more found himself considering his companion. They had a number of important things in common besides independence. Love of animals, for example. Lauren’s hair masked the side of her face from him but he felt he could see it, anyway.
   Pip stirred on its master’s shoulder as it sensed strange emotions welling up inside Flinx, emotions that were new to the minidrag and left it feeling not truly upset but decidedly ill at ease. It tried to slip farther beneath the protective jacket.
   By the time they reached their destination, it was very near midnight. They hunkered down in a thick copse and stared between the trees. Flinx itched to continue, knowing that Mother Mastiff lay in uneasy sleep somewhere in the complex of buildings not far below. The common sense that had served him so well since infancy did more to hold him back than logic or reason.
   To all appearances, the cluster of dimly lit structures resembled nothing so much as another hunting or fishing lodge, though much larger than the one that Lauren man- aged. In the center were the main lodge buildings, to the left the sleeping quarters for less wealthy guests, to the right the maintenance and storage sheds. Lauren studied the layout through the thumb-sized daynight binoculars. Her experienced eye detected something far more significant than the complex’s deceptive layout.
   “Those aren’t logs,” she told Flinx. “They’re resinated plastics. Very nicely camouflaged, but there’s no more wood in them than in my head. Same thing goes for the masonry and rockwork in the foundations.”
   “How can you tell?” he asked curiously.
   She handed him the tiny viewing device. Flinx put it to his eyes, and it immediately adjusted itself to his different vision, changing light and sharpening focus.
   “Look at the corner joints and the lines along the ground and ceilings,” she told him. “They’re much too regular, too precise. That’s usually the result when some- one tries to copy nature. The hand of the computer, or just man himself, always shows itself. The protrusions on the logs, the smooth concavities on the ‘rocks’-there are too many obvious replications from one to the next.
   “Oh, they’d fool anyone not attuned to such stuff, and certainly anyone flying over in an aircraft or skimmer. But the materials in those buildings are fake, which tells us that they were put here recently. Anyone building a lodge for long-term use in the lake country always uses native materials.”
   Closest to their position on the little hillside was a pair of long, narrow structures. One was dark; the other had several lights showing. Phosphorescent walkways drew narrow glowing lines between buildings.
   To the right of the longhouses stood a hexagonal building, some three stories tall, made of plastic rock surmount- ed with more plastic paneling. Beyond it sprawled a large two-story structure whose purpose Flinx could easily divine from the tall doors fronting it and the single mudder parked outside: a hangar for servicing and protecting vehicles.
   Nearby squatted a low edifice crowned with a coiffure of thin silvery cables. The power station wasn’t large enough to conceal a fusion system. Probably a fuel cell complex, Flinx decided.
   More puzzling was the absence of any kind of fence or other barrier. That was carrying verisimilitude a little too far, he thought. In the absence of any such wall, Flinx’s attention, like Lauren’s, was drawn to the peculiar central tower, the one structure that clearly had no place in a resort complex.
   She examined it closely through the binoculars. “Lights on in there, too,” she murmured. “Could be meant to pass as some kind of observation tower, or even a restaurant.” “Seems awfully small at the top for an eating room,” he commented.
   Searchlights probed the darkness between the buildings as the rest of the internal lights winked out. Another hour’s wait in the damp, chilly bushes confirmed Lauren’s suspicions about the mysterious tower. “There are six conical objects spaced around the roof,” she told Flinx, pointing with a gloved hand. “At first, I thought they were searchlights, but not one of them has shown a light. What the devil could they be?”
   Flinx had spotted them, too. “I think I recognize them now. Those are sparksound projectors.”
   She looked at him in surprise. “What’s that? And how can you be sure that’s what they are?”
   He favored her with a wan smile. “I’ve had to avoid them before this. Each cone projects a wide, flat beam of high-intensity sound. Immobile objects don’t register on the sensors, so it can be used to blanket a large area that includes buildings.” He studied the tower intently.
   “Just guessing from the angles at which the projectors are set. I’d say that their effective range stops about fifty meters out from the longhouses.”
   “Thats not good,” she muttered, trying to make out the invisible barrier though she knew that was impossible.
   “It’s worse than you think,” he told her, “because the computer which monitors the beams is usually programed automatically to disregard anything that doesn’t conform to human proportions. The interruption of the sonic field by anything even faintly human will generate a graphic display on a viewscreen. Any guard watching the screen will be able to tell what’s entered the protected area and decide on that basis whether or not to sound further alarm.” He added apologetically, “Rich people are very fond of this system.”
   “When we didn’t see a regular fence, I was afraid of something like this. Isn’t there any way to circumvent it, Flinx? You said you’ve avoided such things in the past.”
   He nodded. “I’ve avoided them because there’s no way to break the system. Not from the outside, anyway. I sup- pose we might be able to tunnel beneath it.”
   “How deep into the ground would the sound penetrate?”
   “That’s a problem,” he replied. “Depends entirely on the power being fed to the projectors and the frequencies being generated. Maybe only a meter, or maybe a dozen. We could tunnel inside the camp and strike it without knowing we’d done so until we came up into a circle of guns. Even if we made it, we’d have another problem, be- cause the beams probably cover the entire camp. We’d al- most have to come up inside one of the buildings.”
   “It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, “because we don’t have any tunneling equipment handy. I’m going to hazard a guess that if they have the surface monitored so intently, the sky in the immediate vicinity will be even more carefully covered.”
   “I’d bet on that, too.” Flinx gestured toward the tower. “Of course, we could just run the skimmer in on them. There aren’t that many buildings. Maybe we could find Mother Mastiff and get her out before they could react.”
   Lauren continued to study the complex. “There’s nothing more expensive than a temporary facility fixed up to look permanent. I’d guess this setup supports between thirty and a hundred people. They’re not going to make this kind of effort to detect intruders without being damn ready to repel them as well. Remember, there are only two of us.”
   “Three,” Flinx corrected her. A pleased hiss sounded from the vicinity of his shoulder.
   “Surprise is worth a lot,” Lauren went on. “Maybe ten, but no more that. We won’t do your mother any good as corpses. Keep in mind that no one else knows we’re here. If we go down, so do her chances.”
   “I know the odds aren’t good,” he said irritably, “but we’ve got to do something.”
   “And do something we will. You remember that partially deforested section we flew over earlier today?”
   Flinx thought a moment, then nodded.
   “That was a trail line.”
   “Trail line for what?”
   “For equalization,” she told him. “For evening out the odds. For a better weapon than this.” She patted the sling of the dart rifle. “Better even than that snake riding your shoulder. I don’t share your confidence in it.”
   “You haven’t seen Pip in action,” he reminded her. “What kind of weapon are you talking about?”
   She stood and brushed bark and dirt from her coveralls. “You’ll see,” she assured him, .”but we have to be damn careful.” She gazed toward the camp below. “I wish I could think of a better way, but I can’t. They’re sure to have guards posted in addition to monitoring the detection system you described. We don’t even know which building your mother is in. If we’re going to risk everything on one blind charge, it ought to be one hell of a charge.
   “The weapon I have in mind is a volatile one. It can cut both ways, but I’d rather chance a danger I’m familiar with. Lets get back to the skimmer.”
   She pivoted and headed back through the forest. Flinx rose to join her, forcing himself away from the lights of the camp, which gleamed like so many reptilian eyes in the night, until the trees swallowed them up.
   They were halfway back to the little grove where they had parked the skimmer when the sensation swept through him. As usual, it came as a complete surprise, but this time it was very different from his recent receptions. For one thing, no feeling of pain was attached to it, and for another, it did not come from the direction of the camp. It arose from an entirely new source. Oddly, it carried overtones of distress with it, though distress of a con- fusing kind.
   It came from Lauren and was directed at him.
   There was no love in it, no grand, heated follow-up to the casual kiss she had given him in the skimmer. Affection, yes, which was not what he had hoped for. Admiration, too, and something more.  Something he had not expected from her: a great wave of concern for him, and to a lesser extent, of pity.
   Flinx had become more adept at sorting out and identifying the emotions he received, and there was no mistaking those he was feeling now. That kiss, then, had not only carried no true love with it-it held even less than that. She felt sorry for him.
   He tried to reject the feelings, not only from disappointment but out of embarrassment. This was worse than looking into someone’s mind. He was reading her heart, not her thoughts. Though he tried hard, he could not shut off the flow. He could no more stop the river of emotion than he could willingly turn it on.
   He made certain he stayed a step or two behind her so she would not be able to see his face in the darkness, still soaking up the waves of concern and sympathy that poured from her, wishing they might be something else, something more.
   They hesitated before approaching the skimmer, circling the landing area once. The quick search revealed that their hiding place had remained inviolate. Once aboard, Lauren took the craft up. She did not head toward the camp; in- stead, she turned south and began to retrace their course over the treetops. Very soon they encountered the long, open gash in the woods. Lauren hovered above it for several minutes as she studied the ground, then decisively headed west. Flinx kept to himself, trying to shut the memory of that emotional deluge out of his mind. Then, quite unexpectedly, the open space in the trees came to a dead end.
   “Damn,” Lauren muttered. “Must have picked the wrong direction. I thought sure I read the surface right. Maybe it’s the other way.”
   Flinx did not comment as she wheeled the skimmer around and headed southeast. When the pathway again ended in an unbroken wall of trees, she angrily wrenched the craft around a second time. This time when they en- countered the forest wall, she slowed but continued west- ward, her gaze darting repeatedly from the darkened woods below to the skimmer’s instrumentation.
   “Maybe if you were a little more specific, I could help you look,” he finally said, a touch of frustration in his voice.
   “I told you. Weapons. Allies, actually. It comes to the same thing. No sign of them, though. They must have finished eating and entered semidormancy. That’s how they live; do nothing but eat for several days in a row, then lie down to sleep it off for a week. The trouble is that once they’ve finished an eating period, they’re apt to wander off in any direction until they find a sleep spot that pleases them. We haven’t got the time to search the whole forest for the herd.”
   “Herd of what?” Flinx asked.
   “Didn’t I tell you? Devilopes.”
   Enlightenment came to Flinx. He had heard of Devilopes, even seen a small head or two mounted in large commercial buildings. But he had had no personal experience of them. Few citizens of Drallar did. There was not even one in the city zoo. As Flinx understood it, Devilopes were not zooable.
   The Demichin Devilope was the dominant native life form on Moth. It was unusual for a herbivore to be the dominant life form, but excepting man, a fairly recent arrival, they had no natural enemies. They were comparatively scarce, as were the mounted heads Flinx had seen; the excessive cost of the taxidermy involved prevented all but the extremely wealthy from collecting Devilope.
   The skimmer prowled the treetops, rising to clear occasional emergents topping ninety meters, dropping lower when the woods scaled more modest heights. Occasionally, Lauren would take them down to ground level, only to lift skyward again in disappointment when the omens proved unhelpful. There was no sign of a Devilope herd.
   Meanwhile, another series of sensations swept through Flinx’s active mind, and Pip stirred on his shoulder. He had continually tried to find Mother Mastiff’s emotions, without success. Instead, his attempts seemed to be attracting the feelings of everyone but his mother-not. He wondered anew at his heightened perception since he had acquired his pet; though it was likely, he reminded himself that here in the vastness of the northern forests where minds were few and scattered, it might be only natural that his receptivity improved.
   These latest sensations carried a female signature. They were also new, not of Mother Mastiff or Lauren. Cool and calm, they were vague and hard to define: whoever they belonged to was a particularly unemotional individual. He felt fear, slight but unmistakable, coupled with a formidable resolution that was cold, implacable-so hard and unyielding that it frightened Flinx almost as much as Mother Mastiff’s own terror. Save for the slight overtones of fear, they might have been the emotions of a machine.
   The feelings came from the camp where Mother Mastiff was being held. Flinx had little doubt that they belonged to one of those mysterious individuals who had abducted her. From the one brief, faint sensation he felt be could understand her fear. Then it was gone, having lasted less than a minute. Yet, in that time, Flinx had received a complete emotional picture of the person whose feelings he had latched onto. Never before had he encountered a mind so intent on a single purpose and so devoid of those usual emotional colorations that comprised common humanity. Pip hissed at the empty air as if ready to strike and defend “ts master.
   “This isn’t working,” Lauren muttered, trying to see through the trees. “We’ll have to-“ She paused, frowning at him. “Are you all right? You’ve got the most peculiar expression on your face.”
   “I’m okay.” The coldness was at last fading from his mind; evidently he hadn’t been conscious of how completely it bad possessed him. Her query snapped him back to immediacy, and he could feel anew the warmth of the skimmer’s cabin, of his own body. Not for the first time did he find himself wondering if his unmanageable talent might someday do him harm as well as good. “I was just thinking.”
   “You do a lot of that,” she murmured. “Flinx, you’re the funniest man I’ve ever met.”
   “You’re not laughing.”
   “I didn’t mean funny ha ha.” She turned back to the controls. “I’m going to set us down. This skimmer really isn’t equipped for the kind of-night-tracking we’re doing. Besides, I don’t know about you, but it’s late, and I’m worn out.”
   Flinx was exhausted too, mentally as much as physically. So he did not object as Lauren selected a stand of trees and set the skimmer down in their midst.
   “I don’t think we need to stand a watch,” she said. “We’re far enough from the camp so that no one’s going to stumble in on us. I haven’t seen any sign of aerial patrol.” She was at the rear of the skimmer now, fluffing out the sleeping bags they had brought from the lodge.
   Plinx sat quietly watching her. He had known a few girls-young women-back in Drallar. Inhabitants of the marketplace, like himself, students in the harsh school of the moment. He could never get interested in any of them, though a few showed more than casual interest in him. They were not, well, not serious. About life, and other matters.
   Mother Mastiff repeatedly chided him about his attitude. “There’s no reason for ye to be so standoffish, boy. You’re no older than them.” That was not true, of course, but he could not convince her of that. Lauren was a citizen of another dimension entirely. She was an attractive, mature woman. A self-confident, thinking adult-which was how Flinx viewed himself, despite his age. She was already out of pants and shirt and slip- ping into the thin thermal cocoon of the sleeping bag.
   “Well?” She blinked at him, pushed her hair away from her face. “Aren’t you going to bed? Don’t tell me you’re not tired.”
   “I can hardly stand up,” he admitted. Discarding his own clothing, he slipped into the sleeping bag next to hers. Lying there listening to the rhythmic patter of rain against the canopy, he strained toward her with his mind, seeking a hint, a suggestion of the emotions he so desperately wanted her to feel. Maddeningly, he could sense nothing at all.
   The warmth of the sleeping bag and the cabin enveloped him, and he was acutely aware of the faint musky smell of the woman barely an arm’s length away. He wanted to reach out to her; to touch that smooth, sun- darkened flesh; to caress the glistening ringlets of night that tumbled down the side of her head to cover cheek and neck and finally form a dark bulge against the bulwark of the sleeping bag. His hand trembled.
   What do I do, he thought furiously. How do I begin this? Is there something special I should say first, or should I reach out now and speak later? How can I tell her what I’m feeling? I can receive. If only I could broadcast!
   Pip lay curled into a hard, scaly knot near his feet in the bottom of the sleeping bag. Flinx slumped in on him- self, tired and frustrated and helpless. What was there to do now? What could he possibly do except the expected? A soft whisper reached him from the other sleeping bag. Black hair shuffled against itself. “Good night, Flinx.” She turned to smile briefly at him, lighting up the cabin, then turned over and became still.
   “Good night,” he mumbled. The uncertain hand that was halfway out of his covering withdrew and clenched convulsively on the rim of the material.
   Maybe this was best, he tried to tell himself. Adult though he believed himself to be, there were mysteries and passwords he was still unfamiliar with. Besides, there was that surge of pity and compassion he had detected in her. Admiring, reassuring, but not what he was hoping to feel from her. He wanted-had to have-something more than that.
   The one thing he didn’t need was another mother.
Chapter Thirteen.
    
   He said nothing when they rose the next morning, downed a quick breakfast of concentrates, and lifted once again into the murky sky. The sun was not quite up, though its cloud-diffused light brightened the treetops. They had to find Lauren’s herd soon, he knew, because the skimmer’s charge was running low and so were their options. He did not know how much time Mother Mastiff had left before the source of fear he had detected in her came to meet her.
   Perhaps they had been hindered by the absence of day- light, or perhaps they had simply passed by the place, but this time they found the herd in minutes.  Below the hovering skimmer they saw a multitude of small hills the color of obsidian. Black hair rippled in the morning breeze, thick and meter-long. Where one of the hills shifted in deep sleep, there was a flash of red like a ruby lost in a coal heap as an eye momentarily opened and closed.
   Flinx counted more than fifty adults. Scattered among them were an equal number of adolescents and infants. All lay sprawled on their sides on the damp ground, shielded somewhat from the rain by the grove they had chosen as a resting place.
   So these were the fabled Demichin Devilopes! -awe- some and threatening even in their satiated sleep. Flinx’s gaze settled on one immense male snoring away between two towering hardwoods. He guessed its length at ten meters, its height when erect at close to six. Had it been standing, a tall man could have walked beneath its belly and barely brushed the lower tips of the shaggy hair.
   The downsloping, heavily muscled neck drooped from between a pair of immense bumped shoulders to end in a nightmarish skull from which several horns protruded. Some Devilopes had as few as two horns, others as many as nine. The horns twisted and curled, though most ended by pointing forward; no two animals’ horns grew in exactly the same way. Bony plates flared slightly outward from the horns to protect the eyes.
   The forelegs were longer than the hind-unusual for so massive a mammal. This extreme fore musculature al- lowed a Devilope to push over a fully grown tree. That explained the devastated trail that marked their eating period. A herd would strip a section of forest bare, pushing down the evergreens to get at the tender branches and needles, even pulling off and consuming the bark of the main boles.
   The Devilopes shifted in their sleep, kicking tree-sized legs.
   “They’ll sleep like this for days,” Lauren explained as they circled slowly above the herd. “Until they get hungry again or unless something disturbs them. They don’t even bother to post sentries. No predator in its right mind would attack a herd of sleeping Devilopes. There’s always the danger they’d wake up.”
   Flinx stared at the ocean of Devilope. “What do we do with them?” Not to mention how, he thought.
   “They can’t be tamed, and they can’t be driven,” Lauren told him, “but sometimes you can draw them. We have to find a young mare in heat. The season’s right.” Her fingers moved over the controls, and the skimmer started to drop.
   “We’re going into that?” Flinx pointed toward the herd.
   “Have to,” she said. “There’s no other way. It ought to be okay. They’re asleep and unafraid.”
   “That’s more than I can say,” he muttered as the skimmer dipped into the trees. Lauren maneuvered it carefully, trying to break as few branches and make as little noise as possible. “What do we need with a mare in heat?”
   “Musk oil and blood,” Lauren explained as the skimmer gently touched down.
   Up close, the herd was twice as impressive: a seething, rippling mass of shaggy black hair broken by isolated clumps of twisted, massive horns, it looked more like a landscape of hell than an assembly of temporarily inanimate herbivores. When Lauren killed the engine and popped open the cabin door, Flinx was assailed by a powerful odor and the steady sonority of the herd’s breathing. Earth humming, he thought.
   Lauren had the dart rifle out and ready as they approached the herd on foot. Flinx followed her and tried to pretend that the black cliffs that lowered over them were basalt and not flesh.
   “There.” She pointed between a pair of slowly heaving bulks at a medium-sized animal. Picking her spot, she sighted the long barrel carefully before putting three darts behind the massive skull. The mare stirred, coughing once. Then the head, which had begun to rise, relaxed, slowly sinking back to the surface. Flinx and Lauren held then- breath, but the slight activity had failed to rouse any of their target’s neighbors.
   Lauren fearlessly strode between the two hulks that formed a living canyon and unslung her backpack next to the tranquilized mare. Before leaving the skimmer, she had extracted several objects from its stores. These she now methodically laid out in a row on the ground and set to work. Flinx watched with interest as knife and tools he didn’t recognize did their work.
   One container filled rapidly with blood. A second filled more rapidly with a green crystalline liquid. Lauren’s face was screwed up like a knot, and as soon as the aroma of the green fluid reached Flinx, he knew why. The scent was as overpowering as anything his nostrils had ever encountered. Fortunately, the smell was not bad, merely over- whelming.
   A loud, sharp grunt sounded from behind him. He turned, to find himself gazing in horrified fascination at a great crimson eye. An absurdly tiny black pupil floated in the center of that blood-red disk. Then the eyelid rolled like a curtain over the apparition. Flinx did not relax. “Hurry up!” he called softly over his shoulder. “I think this one’s waking up.”
   “We’re not finished here yet,” Louren replied, stoppering the second bottle and setting to work with a low-power laser. “I have to close both wounds first.”
   “Let nature close them,” he urged her, keeping an eye en the orb that had fixed blankly on him. The eyelid rippled, and he feared that the next time it opened, it would likely be to full awareness.
   “You know me better than that,” she said firmly. Flinx waited, screaming silently for her to hurry. Finally, she said, “That’s done. We can go.”
   “They hurried back through the bulwark of black hair. Flinx did not allow himself to relax until they sat once more inside the skimmer. He spent much of the time trying to soothe Pip; in response to its master’s worry, it had developed a nervous twitch.
    
   Despite the tight seal, the miasma rising from the green bottle nearly choked him. There was no odor from the container of blood.
   “The green is the oil,” she explained unnecessarily. “It’s the rutting season.”
   “I can see what you have in mind to do with that,” Flinx told her, “but why the blood?”
   “Released in the open air, the concentrated oil would be enough to interest the males of the herd. We need to do more than just interest them. We need to drive them a little crazy. The only way to do that is to convince them that a ready female is in danger. The herd’s females will respond to that, too.” She set to work with the skimmer’s simple store of chemicals.
   “You ought to be around sometime when the males are awake and fighting,” she said to him as she mixed oil, blood, and various catalysts in a sealed container. Flinx was watching the herd anxiously. “The whole forest shakes. Even the tallest trees tremble. When two of the big males connect with those skulls and horns, you can hear the sound of the collision echo for kilometers.”
   Five minutes later, she held a large flask up to the dim early-morning light. “There, that should do it. Pheromones and blood and a few other nose-ticklers. If this doesn’t draw them, nothing will.”
   “They’ll set off the alarm when they cross the sonic fence,” he reminded her.
   “Yes, but by that time they’ll be so berserk, nothing will turn them. Then it won’t matter what they set off.” She smiled nastily, then hesitated at the thought. “My only concern is that we find your mother before they start in on the buildings.”
   “We’d better,” Flinx said.
   “There should be enough confusion,” she went on, “to distract everyone’s attention. Unless they’re downright in- human, the inhabitants of the camp aren’t going to be thinking of much of anything beyond saving their own skins.
   “As to getting your mother out fast, I think we can assume that she’s not in the hangar area or the power station or that central tower. That leaves the two long structures off to the west. If we can get inside and get her out before whoever’s in charge comes to his senses, we should be able to get away before anyone realizes what’s happening.
   “Remember, we’ll be the only ones ready for what’s going to happen. A lot will depend on how these people react. They’re obviously not stupid, but I don’t see how anyone could be adaptable enough to react calmly to what we’re going to do to them. Besides, I don’t have any better ideas.”
   Flinx shook his head. “Neither do 1. I can see one difficulty, though. If we’re going to convince this herd that they’re chasing after an injured Devilope in heat, we’re going to have to stay on the ground. I don’t see them following the scent up in the air.”
   “Quite right, and we have to make our actions as believable as possible. That means bugging the surface. Not only would tree-level flight confuse the herd, air currents would carry the scent upward too quickly and dissipate it too fast.”
   “Then what happens,” Fllinx pressed on, “if this idea works and the herd does follow us back toward the camp and we hit a tree or stall or something?”
   Lauren shrugged. “Can you climb?”
   “There aren’t many trees in Drallar free for the climbing,” he told her, “but I’ve done a lot of climbing on the outsides of buildings.”
   “You’ll find little difference,” she assured him, “with the kind of motivation you’ll have if the skimmer stalls. If something happens, head for the biggest tree you can find. I think they’ll avoid the emergents. The smaller stuff they’ll just ignore.” She hesitated, stared sideways at him. “You want to wait a little while to think it over?”
   “We’re wasting time talking,” he replied, knowing that every minute brought Mother Mastiff closer and closer to whatever fate her abductors had planned for her. “I’m ready if you are.”
   “I’m not ready,” she said, “but I never will be, for this. So we might as well go.” She settled into the pilot’s chair and thumbed a control. The rear of the cabin’s canopy swung upward.
   “Climb into the back. When I give the word, you uncap the flask and pour out, oh, maybe a tenth of the contents. Then hold it out back, keep it open, and pour a tenth every time I say so. Got it?”
   “Got it,” he assured her with more confidence than he felt. “You just drive this thing and make sure we don’t get into an argument with a tree.”
   “Don’t worry about that.” She gave him a last smile before turning to the control console.
   The skimmer rose and turned, heading slowly back toward the somnolent herd. When they were just ten meters from the nearest animal, Lauren pivoted the craft and hovered, studying the scanner’s display of the forest ahead.
   Violent grunts and an occasional bleating sound began to issue from the herd as Flinx held the still tightly sealed flask over the stem of the skimmer. He looked around until he found a piece of thin cloth and tied it across his nose and mouth.
   “I should have thought of that,” she murmured, watching him. “Sorry.”
   “Don’t you want one?” he asked.
   She shook her head. “I’m up here, and the wind will carry the scent back away from me. I’ll be all right. You ready?” Her hands tightened on the wheel.
   “Ready,” he said. “You ready, Pip?”
   “The flying snake said nothing; it did not even hiss in response. But Flinx could feel the coils tighten expectantly around his left arm and shoulder.
   “Open and pour,” she instructed him.
   Flinx popped the seal on the flask as Lauren slowly edged the skimmer forward. Even with the improvised mask and a breeze to carry the aroma away from him, the odor was all but overpowering. His eyes watered as his nostrils rebelled. Somehow he kept his attention on the task at hand and slowly measured out a tenth of the liquid.
   A violent, querulous bellow rose from several massive throats. As the skimmer slipped past a cathedral-like cluster of hardwoods, Flinx could see one huge male pushing itself erect. It seemed to dominate the forest even though the great trees rose high above. The metallic red eyes were fully open now, the tiny black pupils looking like holes in the crimson.
   The Devilope shook its head from side to side, back and forth, and thundered. It took a step forward, then another. Behind it, the rest of the herd was rising, the initial uncertain bellowing turning to roars of desire and rage. A second male started forward in the wake of the first; then a third took up the long, ponderous stride. At this rate, Flinx thought, it would take them days to reach the camp.
   But even as he watched and worried, the pace of the awakening herd began to increase. It took time for such massive animals to get going. Once they did, they ate up distance. Not Song after, Flinx found himself wishing for the skimmer to accelerate, and accelerate again.
   The herd was bearing down on the weaving, dodging craft. Lauren had to avoid even the smaller trees, which the herd ignored in its fury to locate the source of that pungent, electrifying odor. She tamed to yell something to him, but he couldn’t hear her anymore.
   Trees whizzed by as Lauren somehow managed to m- crease their speed without running into anything. Behind them sounded a rising thunder as the noise of hundreds of hooves pulverizing the earth mixed with the crackle of snapping tree trunks and the moan of larger boles being torn from their roots.
   Red eyes and horns were all Flinx could see as he poured another tenth of the herd-maddening liquid from the flask, drawing the thunder down on the fragile skimmer and its even more fragile cargo...
   “There was nothing in the small operating theater that had not been thoroughly sanitized. Mother Mastiff had no strength left to fight with as they gently but firmly strapped her to the lukewarm table. Her curses and imprecations had been reduced to whimpered pleas, more reflex than anything else, for she had seen by now that nothing would dissuade these crazy people from their intentions. Eventually, she lost even the will to beg and contented herself with glaring tight-lipped at her tormentors.
   Bright lights winked to life, blinding her. The tall black woman stood to the right of the table, checking a palm- sized circle of plastic. Mother Mastiff recognized the pressure syringe, and looked away from it.
   Like her companions, Haithness wore a pale surgical gown and a mask that left only her eyes showing. Nyassa- lee plugged in the shears that would be used to depilate the subject’s skull. Brora, who would execute the actual implantation, stood off to one side examining a readout on the display screen that hung just above and behind Mother Mastiff’s head. Occasionally, he would glance down at a small table holding surgical instruments and several square transparent boxes frosted with cold. Inside the boxes were the microelectronic implants that he would place m the subject’s skull.
   A globular metal mass hung from the ceiling above the operating table, gloaming like a steel jellyflsh. Wiry arms and tendrils radiated from its underside. They would sup- ply power to attachments, suction through hosing, and supplementary service to any organs that exhibited signs of failure during the operation. There were microthin filament arms that could substitute for cerebral capillaries, tendrils that could fuse or excavate bone, and devices that could by-pass the lungs and provide oxygen directly to the blood.
   “I’m ready to begin.” Brora smiled thinly across at Nyassa-lee, who nodded. He looked to his other colleague. “Haithness?” She answered him with her eyes as she readied the syringe.
   “A last instrument check, then,” he murmured, turning his attention to the raised platform containing the micro- surgical instruments. Overhead, the jellyfish hummed expectantly.
   “Now that’s funny.” He paused, frowning. “Look here.” Both women leaned toward him. The instruments, the tiny boxes with their frozen contents, even the platform itself, seemed to be vibrating.
   “Trouble over at power?” ventured Nyassa-lee. She glanced upward and saw that the central support globe was swaying slightly.
   “I don’t know. Surely if it was anything serious, we would have been told by now,” Brora muttered. The vibration intensified. One of the probes tumbled from the holding table and clattered across the plastic floor. “It’s getting worse, I think.” A faint rumble reached them from some- where outside. Brora thought it arose somewhere off to the west.
   “Storm coming?” Nyassa-lee asked, frowning.
   Brora shook his head. “Thunder wouldn’t make the table shake, and Weather didn’t say anything about an early storm watch. No quake, either. This region is seismically stable.”
   The thunder that continued to grow in their ears did not come down out of a distant sky but up out of the disturbed earth itself. Abruptly, the alarm system came to life all around the camp. The three surgeons stared in confusion at one another as the rumbling shook not only tables and instruments but the whole building.
   The warning sirens bowled mournfully. There came a ripping, tearing noise as something poured through the far end of the conference room, missing the surgery by an appreciable margin.. It was visible only for seconds, though in that time it filled the entire chamber. Then it moved on, trailing sections of false log and plastic stone in its wake, letting in sky and mist and leaving behind a wide depression in the stelacrete foundation beneath the floor. Haithness had the best view as debris fell slowly from the roof to cover the mark: it was a footprint.
   Nyassa-lee tore off her surgical mask and raced for the nearest doorway. Brora and Haithness were not far be- hind. At their departure. Mother Mastiff, who had quietly consigned that portion of herself that was independent to oblivion, suddenly found her voice again and began screaming for help.
   Dust and insulation began to sift from the ceiling as the violent shaking and rumbling continued to echo around her. The multiarmed surgical sphere above the operating table was now swinging dangerously back and forth and threatening, with each successive vibration, to tear free of its mounting.
   Mother Mastiff did not waste her energy in a futile at- tempt to break the straps that bound her. She knew her limits. Instead, she devoted her remaining strength to yell- ing at the top of her lungs.
   As soon as they had entered the monitored border surrounding the camp, Lauren had accelerated and charged at dangerously high speed right past the central tower. Someone had had the presence of mind to respond to the frantic alarm siren by reaching for a weapon, but the hastily aimed and fired energy rifle missed well aft of the already fleeing skimmer.
   At the same time, the wielder of the rifle had seen something flung from the rear of the intruder. He had flinched, and when no explosion had followed, leaned out of the third-story window to stare curiously at the broken glass and green-red liquid trickling down the side of the structure. He did not puzzle over it for very long because his attention-and that of his companions in the tower- was soon occupied by the black tidal wave that thundered out of the forest.
   The frustrated, enraged herd concentrated all its attention on the strongest source of the infuriating odor. The central tower, which contained the main communications and defensive instrumentation for the encampment, was soon reduced to a mound of plastic and metal rubble.
   Meanwhile, Lauren brought the skimmer around in a wide circle and set it down between the two long buildings on the west side of the camp. The camp personnel were too busy trying to escape into the forest and dodging massive horns and hoofs to wonder at the presence of the un- familiar vehicle in their midst.
   They had a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right building on the first try. As luck would have it, they choose correctly ... no thanks, Flinx thought, to his resolutely unhelpful Talent.
   The roof was already beginning to cave in on the operating theater when they finally reached that end of the building.
   “Flinx, how’d ye-?” Mother Mastiff started to exclaim.
   “How did he know how to find you?” Lauren finished for her as she started working on the restraining straps binding the older woman’s right arm.
   “No,” Mother Mastiff corrected her, “I started to ask how he managed to get here without any money, I didn’t think ye could go anywhere on Moth without money.” “I had a little, Mother.” Flinx smiled down at her. She appeared unhurt, simply worn out from her ordeal of the past hectic, confusing days. “And I have other abilities, you know.”
   “Ah.” She nodded somberly.
   “No, not that,” he corrected her. “You’ve forgotten that there are other ways to make use of things besides paying for them.”
   She laughed at that. The resounding cackle gladdened his heart. For an instant, it dominated the screams and the echoes of destruction that filled the air outside the building. The earth quivered beneath his feet.
   “Yes, yes, ye were always good at helping yourself to whatever ye needed. Haven’t I warned ye time enough against it? But I don’t think now be the time to reprimand ye.” She looked up at Lauren, who was having a tough time with the restraining straps.
   “Now who,” she inquired, her eyebrows rising, “be this one?”
   “A friend,” Flinx assured her. “Lauren, meet Mother Mastiff.”
   “Charmed, grandma.” Lauren’s teeth clenched as she fought with the recalcitrant restraints. “Damn magnetic catches built into the polyethelene.” She glanced across to Flinx. “We may have to cut her loose.”
   “I know you’ll handle it.” Flinx turned and jogged toward the broken doorway, ducking just in time to avoid a section of roof brace as it crashed to the floor.
   “Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lauren shouted at him.
   “I want some answers,” he yelled back. “I still don’t know what this is all about, and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving here without trying to find out!”
   “ Tis you, boy!” Mother Mastiff yelled after him. “They wanted to use me to influence you!” But he was already out of earshot.
   Mother Mastiff laid her head back down and stared worriedly at the groaning ceiling.  “That boy,” she mumbled, “I don’t know that he hasn’t been more trouble than he’s worth.”
   The upper restraint suddenly came loose with a click, and Lauren breathed a sigh of relief. She was as conscious as Mother Mastiff of the creaking, unsteady ceiling and the heavy mass of the surgical globe swaying like a pendulum over the operating table.
   “I doubt you really mean that, woman,” she said evenly, “and you ought to stop thinking of him as a boy.” The two women exchanged a glance, old eyes shooting questions, young ones providing an eloquent reply.
   Confident that Lauren would soon free Mother Mastiff, Flinx was able to let the rage that had been bottled up in- side him for days finally surge to the fore. So powerful was the suddenly freed emotion that an alarmed Pip slid off its master’s shoulder and followed anxiously above. The tiny triangular head darted in all directions in an at- tempt to locate the as-yet-unperceived source of Flinx’s hate.
   The fury boiling within him was barely under control. “They’re not going to get away with what they’ve done,” he told himself repeatedly. “They’re not going to get away with it.” He did not know what be was going to do if he confronted these still-unknown assailants, only that he had to do something. A month ago, he would never have considered going after so dangerous an enemy, but the past weeks had done much for his confidence.
   The herd was beginning to lose some of its fury even as its members still hunted for the puzzling source of their discomfort. Females with young were the first to break away, retreating back into the forest. Then there were only the solitary males roaming the encampment, venting their frustration and anger on anything larger than a rock. Occasionally, Flinx passed the remains of those who had not succeeded in fleeing into the trees in time to avoid the rampaging Devilopes. There was rarely more than a red smear staining the ground.
   He was heading for the hangar he and Lauren had identified from their hilltop. It was the logical final refuge. It didn’t take long for him to reach the building. As he strode single-mindedly across the open grounds, it never occurred to him to wonder why none of the snorting, pawing Devilopes paused to turn and stomp him into the earth.
   The large doorway fronting the hangar had been pushed aside. Flinx could see movement and hear faint commands. Without hesitation, he walked inside and saw a large transport skimmer being loaded with crates. The loading crew worked desperately under the direction of a small, elderly Oriental woman. Flinx just stood in the portal, staring. Now that he had located someone in a position of authority, he really didn’t know what to do next. Anger and chaos had brought him to the place; there had been no room in his thoughts for reasoned preparation. A tall black lady standing in the fore section of the skimmer stopped barking orders long enough to glance toward the doorway. Her eyes locked on his. Instead of hatred, Flinx found himself thinking that in her youth this must have been a strikingly beautiful woman. Cold, though. Both women, so cold. Her hair was nearly all gray, and so were her eyes.
   “Haithness.” A man rushed up behind her. “We haven’t got time for daydreaming. We-“
   She pointed with a shaky finger. Brora followed her finger and found himself gaping at a slim, youthful figure ill the doorway. “That boy,” Brora whispered. “Is it him?” “Yes, but look higher, Brora. Up in the light.”
   The stocky man’s gaze rose, and his air of interested detachment suddenly deserted him. His mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God,” he exclaimed, “an Alaspinian minidrag.”
   “You see,” Haithness murmured as she looked down at Flinx, regarding him as she would any other laboratory subject, “it explains so much.” Around them, the sounds of the encampment being destroyed continued to dominate everyone else’s attention.
   Brora regamed his composure. “It may, it may, but the boy may not even be aware that-“
   Flinx strained to understand their mumblings, but there was too much noise behind him. “Where did you come from?” he shouted toward the skimmer. His new-found maturity quickly deserted him; suddenly, he was only a furious, frustrated adolescent. “Why did you kidnap my mother? I don’t like you, you know. I don’t like any of you. I want to know why you’ve done what you’ve done!”
   “Be careful,” Nyassa-lee called up to them. “Remember the subject’s profile!” She hoped they were getting this up- stairs.
   “He’s not dangerous, I tell you,” Haithness insisted. “This demonstrates his harmlessness. If he was in command of himself, he’d be throwing more than childish queries at us by now.”
   “But the catalyst creature.” Brora waved a hand toward the flying snake drifting above Flinx.
   “We don’t know that it’s catalyzing anything,” Haithness reminded him, “because we don’t know what the boy’s abilities are as yet. They are only potentials. The minidrag may be doing nothing for him because it has nothing to work with as yet, other than a damnable persistence and a preternatural talent for following a thin trail.” She continued to examine the subject almost within their grasp. “I would give a great deal to learn how he came to be in possession of a minidrag.”
   Brora found himself licking his lips. “We failed with the mother. Maybe we should try taking the subject directly in spite of our experience with the girl.”
   “No,” she argued. “We don’t have the authority to take that kind of risk. Cruachan must be consulted first. It’s his decision to make. The important thing is for us to get out of here now with our records and ourselves intact.”
   “I disagree.” Brora continued to study the boy, fascinated by his calm. The subject appeared indifferent to the hoofed death that was devastating the encampment. “Our initial plan has failed. Now is the time for us to improvise. We should seize the opportunity.”
   “Even if it’s our last opportunity?”
   Flinx shouted at them. “What are you talking about? Why don’t you answer me?”
   Haithness turned and seemed about to reply when a vast groaning shook the hangar. Suddenly, its east wall bulged inward. There were screams of despair as the loading crew flung cargo in all directions and scattered, ignoring Nyassa-lee’s entreaties.
   “They didn’t scatter fast enough.
   Walls and roof came crashing down, burying personnel, containers, and the big cargo skimmer. Three bull Devilopes pushed through the ruined wall as Flinx threw himself backward through the doorway. Metal, plastic, and flesh blended into a chaotic pulp beneath massive hoofs. Fragments of plastic flew through the air around Fllinx. One nicked his shoulder.
   Red eyes flashing, one of the bulls wheeled toward the single figure sprawled on the ground. The great head lowered.
   Coincidence, luck, something more: whatever had protected Flinx from the attention of the herd until now abruptly vanished. The bull looming overhead was half insane with fury. Its intent was evident in its gaze: it planned to make Flinx into still another red stain on the earth.
   Something so tiny it was not noticed swooped in front of that lowering skull and spat into one plate-sized red eye. The Devilope bull blinked once, twice against the painful intrusion. That was enough to drive the venom into its bloodstream. The monster opened its mouth and let out a frightening bellow as it pulled away from Flinx. It started to shake its head violently, ignoring the other two bulls, which continued to crush the remains of the hangar underfoot.
   Flinx scrambled to his feet and raced from the scene of destruction, heading back toward the building where he had left Lauren and Mother Mastiff. Pip rejoined him, choosing to glide just above its master’s head, temporarily disdaining its familiar perch.
    
   Behind them, the Devilope’s bellowing turned thick and soft. Then there was a crash as it sat down on its rump. It sat for several moments more before the huge front legs slipped out from under it Very slowly, like an iceberg calving from a glacier, it fell over on its side. “The eye that had taken Pip’s venom was gone, leaving behind only an empty socket.
   Breathing hard, Flinx rushed back into the building housing the surgery and nearly ran over the fleeing Lauren and Mother Mastiff. He embraced his mother briefly, in- tensely, then swung her left arm over his shoulder to give her support.
   Lauren supported the old woman at her other shoulder and looked curiously at Flinx. “Did you find who you were looking for?”
   “I think so,” he told her. “Sennar and Soba are properly revenged. The Devilopes did it for them.”
   Lauren nodded as they emerged from the remains of the building. Outside, the earth-shaking had lessened.
   “The herd’s dispersing. They’ll reform in the forest, wonder what came over them, and likely go back to sleep. As soon as they start doing that, this camp will begin filling up with those who managed to escape. We need to improve our transportation, and fast. Remember, there’s nowhere near a full charge in the skimmer. You and I could walk it, but-“
   “I can walk anywhere ye can,” Mother Mastiff insisted. Her condition belied her bravado-if not for the support of Flinx and Lauren, she would not have been able to stand.
   “It’s all right, Mother,” Flinx told her. “We’ll find something.”
   They boarded their skimmer. Lauren rekeyed the ignition, removed to prevent potential escapees from absconding with their craft, and they cruised around the ruined building back into the heart of the camp.
   Their fear of danger from survivors was unfounded. The few men and women who wandered out of their way were too stunned by the catastrophe to offer even a challenging question. The majority of them had been administrative or maintenance personnel, quite unaware of the importance of Flinx or Mother Mastiff.
   The Devilopes were gone. “The power station was hardly damaged, perhaps because it lay apart from the rest of the encampment, perhaps because it operated on automatic and did not offer the herd any living targets. None of the camp personnel materialized to challenge their use of the station’s recharge facility, though Lauren kept a ready finger on the trigger of the dart rifle until a readout showed that the skimmer once again rode on full power.
   “I don’t think we have to worry about pursuit,” she declared. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone left to pursue. If the leaders of this bunch got caught in that trampled hangar as you say, Flinx, then we’ve nothing to worry about.”
   “I didn’t get my answers,” he muttered disappointedly. Then, louder, he said, “Let’s get out of this place.”
   “Yes,” Mother Mastiff agreed quickly. She looked imploringly at Lauren. “I be a city lady. The country life doesn’t agree with me.” She grinned her irrepressible grin, and Flinx knew she was going to be all right.
   Lauren smiled and nudged the accelerator. The skimmer moved, lifting above the surrounding trees. They crusied over several disoriented, spent Devilopes and sped south as fast as the skimmer’s engine could push them.
   “I didn’t learn what this was all about,” Flinx continued to mutter from his seat near the rear of the cabin. “Do you know why they abducted you, Mother? What did they want with you?”
   It was on her lips to tell him the tale the Meliorares had told her the previous night-was it only last night? Some- thing made her hesitate. Natural caution, concern for him. A lifetime of experience that taught one not to blunder ahead and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how true it might be. There were things she needed to learn, things he needed to learn. There would always be time.
   “You’ve said ‘tis a long story as to how ye managed to trace me, boy. My tale’s a long one, too. As to what they wanted with me, tis enough for ye to know now that it involves an old, old crime I once participated in and a thirst for revenge that never dies. Ye can understand that.”
   “Yes, yes I can.” He knew that Mother Mastiff had enjoyed a diverse and checkered youth. “You can tell me all about it after we’re back home.”
   “Yes,” she said, pleased that he had apparently accepted her explanation. “After we’re safely back home.” She looked toward the pilot’s chair and saw Lauren gazing quizzically back at her.
   Mother Mastiff put a finger to her lips. The other woman nodded, not fully understanding but sensitive enough to go along with the older woman’s wishes.
Chapter Fourteen
    
   Several hours passed. The air was smooth, the mist thin, the ride comfortable as the skimmer slipped southward. Mother Mastiff looked back toward the rear of the craft to see Flinx sound asleep. His useful if loathsome pet was, as usual, curled up close to the boy’s head.
   She studied the pilot. Pretty, hard, and self-contained, she decided. Night was beginning to settle over the forest speeding by below. Within the sealed canopy of the skimmer, it was warm and dry. “What be your interest in my boy?” she asked evenly.
   “As a friend. I also had a personal debt to pay,” Lauren explained. “Those people who abducted you slaughtered a couple of rare animals who were long-time companions of mine. ‘Revenge never dies.’ “ She smiled. “You said that a while ago, remember?”
   “How did ye encounter him?”
   “He appeared at the lodge I manage on a lake near here.”
   “Ah! The fight, yes, I remember. So that place was yours.”
   “I just manage it. That’s where I’m heading. I can help you arrange return passage to Drallar from there.”
   “How do ye know we’re from the city?”
   Lauren gestured with a thumb back toward the sleeping figure behind them. “He told me. He told me a lot.”
   “That’s odd,” Mother Mastiff commented. “He’s not the talkative kind, that boy.” She went quiet for a while, watching the forest slide past below. Flinx slept on, enjoying his first relaxed sleep in some time.
   ‘Tis an awful lot of trouble you’ve gone through on his behalf,” she finally declared, “especially for a total stranger. Especially for one so young.”
   “Youth is relative,” Lauren said. “Maybe be brought out the maternal instinct in me.”
   “Don’t get profound with me, child,” Mother Mastiff warned her, “nor sassy, either.” Ironic, that last comment, though. Hadn’t she once felt the same way about the boy many years ago? “I’ve watched ye, seen the way ye look at him. Do ye love him?”
   “Love him?” Lauren’s surprise was quite genuine. Then, seeing that Mother Mastiff was serious, she forced herself to respond solemnly. “Certainly not! At least, not in that way. I’m fond of him, sure. I respect him immensely for what he’s managed to do on his own, and I also feel sorry for him. There is affection, certainly. But the kind of love you’re talking about? Not a chance.”
   “’Youth is relative,”’ Mother Mastiff taunted her gently. “One must be certain. I’ve seen much in my life, child. There’s little that can surprise me, or at least so I thought until a few weeks ago.” She cackled softly. “I’m glad to hear ye say this. Anything else could do harm to the boy.”
   “I would never do that,” Lauren assured her. She glanced back at Flinx’s sleeping form. “I’m going to drop you at the lodge. My assistant’s name is Sal. I’ll make some pretense of going in to arrange your transportation and talk to him. Then I’ll take off across the lake. I think it will be better for him that way.  I don’t want to hurt him.” She hesitated. “You don’t think he’ll do anything silly, like coming after me?”
   Mother Mastiff considered thoughtfully, then shook her head. “He’s just a little too sensible. He’ll understand. I’m sure. As for me, I don’t know what to say, child. You’ve been so helpful to him and to me.”
   “ ‘Revenge,’ remember?” She grinned, the lights from the console glinting off her high cheekbones. “He’s a funny one, your Fllinx. I don’t think I’ll forget him.”
   “Ye know, child, ‘tis peculiar,” Mother Mastiff muttered as she gazed out into the clouds and mist, “but you’re not the first person to say that.”
   “And I expect,” Lauren added as she turned her attention back to her driving, “that I won’t be the last, either.” The mudder circled the devastated encampment several times before leaving the cover of the forest and cruising among the ruined buildings. Eventually, it settled to ground near the stump of what had been a central tower.
   The woman who stepped out was clad in a dark-green and brown camouflage suit, as was the man at the vehicle’s controls. He kept the engine running as his companion marched a half-dozen meters toward the tower, stopped, and turned a slow circle, hands on hips. Then they both relaxed, recognizing that whatever had obliterated the installation no longer posed any threat. No discussion was necessary-they had worked together for a long time, and words had become superfluous.
   The man killed the mudder’s engine and exited to join his associate in surveying the wreckage. A light rain was falling. It did not soak them, for the camouflage suits repelled moisture. The field was temporary, but from what they could see of the encampment, they wouldn’t be in the place long enough to have to recharge.
   “I’m sick of opening packages, only to find smaller packages inside,” the man said ruefully. “I’m sick of having every new avenue we take turn into a dead end.” He gestured toward the destruction surrounding them; crumpled buildings, isolated wisps of smoke rising from piles of debris, slag where power had melted metal.
   “Dead may be the right description, too, judging by the looks of things.”
   “Not necessarily.” His companion only half heard him. She was staring at a wide depression near her feet. It was pointed at one end. A second, identical mark dented the ground several meters away, another an equal distance be- yond. As she traced their progress, she saw that they formed a curving trail. She had not noticed them at first because they were filled with water.
   She kicked in the side of the one nearest her boots. “Footprints,” she said curtly.
   “Hoof prints,” the man corrected her. His gaze went to the mist-shrouded woods that surrounded the camp. “I wish I knew more about this backwater world.”
   “Don’t criticize yourself. We didn’t plan to spend so much time here. Besides, the urban center is pretty cosmopolitan.”
   “Yeah, and civilization stops at its outskirts. The rest of the planet’s too primitive to rate a class. That’s what’s slowed us up from the beginning. Too many places to hide.”
   Her gaze swept the ruins. “Doesn’t seem to have done them much good.”
   “No,” he agreed. “I saw the bones on the way in, same as you did. I wonder if the poor monster died here, too?”
   “Don’t talk like that,” she said uneasily. “You know how we’re supposed to refer to him. You don’t watch yourself, you’ll put that in an official communique sometime and find yourself up for a formal reprimand.”
   “Ah, yes, I forgot,” he murmured. “The disadvantaged child. Pardon me. Rose, but this whole business has been a lousy job from the beginning. You’re right, though. I shouldn’t single him out. It’s not his fault. The contrary. He isn’t responsible for what the Meliorares did to him.”
   “Right,” the woman said. “Well, he’ll soon be repaired.”
   “If he got away,” her companion reminded her.
   “Surely some of them did,” the woman said.
   The man pointed toward several long walls of rubble that might once have been buildings. “Speak of the devil.”
   A figure was headed toward them. It took longer than was necessary because it did not travel in a straight line. It attempted to, but every so often would stagger off to its right like a wheel with its bearings out. The man’s clothes were filthy, his boots caked with mud. They had not been changed in several days. He waved weakly at the newcomers. Save for the limp with which he walked, he seemed intact. His stringy hair was soaked and plastered like wire to his face and head. He made no effort to brush it from his eyes.
   He seemed indifferent to the identity of the new arrivals. His concerns were more prosaic. “Have you any food?”
   “What happened here?” the woman asked him as soon as he had limped to within earshot.
   “Have you any food? God knows there’s plenty of water. That’s all this miserable place has to offer is plenty of water. All you want even when you don’t want it. I’ve been living on nuts and berries and what I’ve been able to salvage from the camp kitchen. Had to fight the scavengers for everything. Miserable, stinking hole.”
   “What happened here?” the woman repeated calmly. The man appeared to be in his late twenties. Too young, she knew, for him to be a member of the Meliorare’s inner circle. Just an unlucky employee.
   “Caster,” he mumbled. “Name’s Caster. Excuse me a minute.” He slid down his crude, handmade crutch until he was sprawled on the damp earth. “Broke my ankle, I think. It hasn’t healed too well. I need to have it set right.” He winced, then looked up at them.
   “Damned if I know. What happened here, I mean. One minute I was replacing communications modules, and the next all hell opened up. You should’ve seen ‘em. Goddamn big as the tower, every one of ‘em. Seemed like it. anyhow. Worst thing was those dish-size bloody eyes with tiny little black specks lookin’ down at you like a machine. Not decent, them eyes. I don’t know what brought ‘em down on us like they came, but it sure as hell wasn’t a kind providence.”
   “Are you the only survivor?” the man asked.
   “I haven’t seen anyone else, if that’s what you mean.” His voice turned pleading. “Hey, have you got any food?”
   “We can feed you,” the woman said with a smile. “Listen, who were you working for here?”
   .  “Bunch of scientists. Uppity bunch. Never talked to us ordinary folk.” He forced a weak laugh. “Paid well, though. Keep your mouth shut and do your job and see the countryside. Just never expected the countryside to come visiting me. I’ve had it with this outfit. Ready to go home. They can keep their damn severance fee.” A new thought occurred to him, and he squinted up at the couple standing over him.
   “Hey, you mean you don’t know who they were? Who are you people, anyway?”
   They exchanged a glance; then the woman shrugged. “No harm in it. Maybe it’ll help his memory.”
   She pulled a small plastic card from an inside pocket and showed it to the injured man. It was bright red. On it was printed a name, then her world of origin: Terra. The eyes of the man on the ground widened slightly at that. The series of letters which followed added confusion to his astonishment.
   FLT-I-PC-MO. The first section he understood. It told him that this visitor was an autonomous agent, rank Inspector, of the Commonwealth law enforcement arm, the Peaceforcers.
   “What does ‘MO’ stand for?” he asked.
   “Moral Operations section,” she told him, repocketing the ident. “These scientists you worked for-even though you had little or no personal contact with them, you must have seen them from time to time?”
   “Sure. They kept pretty well to themselves, but I some- times saw ‘em strolling around.”
   “They were all quite elderly, weren’t they?”
   He frowned. “You know, I didn’t think much about it, but yeah, I guess they were. Does that mean something?”
   “It needn’t trouble you,” the man said soothingly. “You’ve said you haven’t seen anyone else around since this horde of beasts overwhelmed you. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re the only survivor. I assume some form of transportation was maintained for local use here. You didn’t see anyone get away in a mudder or skimmer?”
   The man on the ground thought a moment, and his face brightened. “Yeah, yeah I did. There was this old lady and a younger one-good-looking, the younger one. There was a kid with ‘em. I didn’t recognize ‘em, but there were al- ways people coming and going here.”
   “How old was the kid?” the woman asked him.
   “Damned if I know. I was running like blazes in one direction, and their skimmer was beaded in the other, so I didn’t stop to ask questions. Kid had red hair, though. I remember that. Redheads seem scarce on this ball of dirt.”
   “A charmed life,” the older man murmured to his companion. There was admiration as well as frustration in his voice. “The boy leads a charmed life.”
   “As you well know, there may he a lot more than charm involved,” the woman said tersely. “The old woman he refers to is obviously the adopting parent, but who was the other?” She frowned, now worried.
   “It doesn’t matter,” her companion said. He spoke to the injured man. “Look, how well do you remember the attitudes of this trio? I know you didn’t have much time. This younger woman, the attractive one. Did she give the appearance of being in control of the other two? Did it seem as if she was holding the boy and old lady under guard?”
   “I told you, I didn’t get much of a look,” Caster replied. “I didn’t see any weapons showing, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
   “Interesting,” the woman murmured. “They may have enlisted an ally. Another complication to contend with.” She sighed. “Damn this case, anyway. If it didn’t carry such a high priority with HQ I’d ask to be taken off.”
   “You know how far we’d get with a request like that,” her companion snorted. “We’ll get ‘cm. We’ve come so damn close so many times already. The odds have to catch up with us.”
   “Maybe. Remember your packages inside packages,” she taunted him gently. “Still, it might be easy now.” She waved at the ruined camp. “It doesn’t look like many, if any, of the Meliorares got away.”
   “Melio-Meliorares?” The injured man gaped at them. “Hey, I know that name. Weren’t they the-?” His eyes widened with realization. “Now wait a second, people, I didn’t-“
   “Take it easy,” the man 5n the camouflage suit urged him. “Your surprise confirms your innocence. Besides, you’re too young. They’ve taken in smarter folk than you down over the years.”
   “We shouldn’t have that much trouble relocating the boy.” She was feeling confident now. “We should be able to pick them up at our leisure.”
   “I wish I were as sanguine,” her associate murmured, chewing on his lower lip. “There’s been nothing leisurely about this business from the start.”
   “I didn’t know,” the injured man was babbling. “I didn’t know they were Meliorares. None of us did, none of us. I just answered an ad for a technician. No one ever said a word to any of us about-!”
   “Take it easy, I told you,” the older man snapped, disgusted at the other’s reaction. People panic so easily, he though: you’ll have to undergo a truth scan. There’s no that leg set right. There’s food in the mudder. One thing, though: you’ll have to undergo a truth scan. There’s no harm in that, you know. Afterwards, you’ll likely be re- leased.”
   The man struggled to his feet, using his crutch as a prop. He had calmed down somewhat at the other’s reassuring words. “They never said a word about anything like that.”
   “They never do,” the woman commented. “That’s how they’ve been able to escape custody for so many years. The gullible never ask questions.”
   “Meliorares. Hell,” the man mumbled. “If I’d known-“
   “If you’d known, then you’d never have taken their money and gone to work for them, right?”
   “Of course not. I’ve got my principles.”
   “Sure you do.” He waved a hand, forestalling the other man’s imminent protest. “Excuse me, friend. I’ve developed a rather jaundiced view of humanity during the eight years I’ve spent in MO. Not your fault. Come on,” he said to the woman named Rose, “there’s nothing more for us here.”
   “Me, too? You’re sure?” The younger man limped after them.
   “Yeah, you, too,” the Peaceforcer said. “You’re sure you don’t mind giving a deposition under scan? It’s purely a voluntary procedure.”
   “Be glad to,” the other said, eager to please. “Damn lousy Meliorares, taking in innocent workers like that Hope you mindwipe every last one of ‘em.”
   “There’s food in back,” the woman said evenly as they climbed into the mudder.
   “It’s strange,” her companion remarked a§ they seated themselves, “how the local wildlife overran this place just in time to allow our quarry to flee. The histories of these children are full of such timely coincidences.”
   “I know,” Rose said as the mudder’s engine rose to a steady hum and the little vehicle slid forward into the forest. “Take this flying snake we’ve been told about. It’s from where?”
   “Alaspin, if the reports are accurate.”
   “That’s right, Alaspin. If I remember my galographics correctly, that world’s a fair number of parsecs from here. One hell of a coincidence.”
   “But not impossible.”
   “It seems like nothing’s impossible where these children are concerned. The sooner we take this one into custody and turn him over to the psychosurgeons, the better I’ll like it. Give me a good clean deviant murder any time. This mutant-hunting gives me the shivers.”
   “He’s not a mutant. Rose,” her companion reminded her. “That’s as inaccurate as me calling him a monster.” He glanced toward the rear of the mudder. Their passenger was gobbling food from their stores and ignoring their conversation. “We don’t even know that he possesses any special abilities. The last two we tracked down were insipidly normal.”
   “The Meliorares must have thought differently,” Rose challenged. “They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to try and catch this one and look what’s happened to them.”
   They were well into the forest now, heading south. The ruined camp was out of sight, swallowed up by trees and rolling terrain behind them.
   “Some big native animals did them in,” her companion said. “A maddened herd that bad nothing whatsoever to do with the boy or any imagined abilities of his. So far, his trail shows only that he’s the usual Meliorare disturbed youth. You worry too much. Rose.”
   “Yeah. I know. It’s the nature of the business, Feodor.”
   But their concerns haunted them as night began to over- take the racing mudder.
    
   The woman manning the communications console was very old, almost as old and shaky as the small starship it- self, but her hands played the instrumentation with a confidence born of long experience, and her hearing was sharp enough for her to be certain she had not missed any portion of the broadcast. She looked up from her station into the face of the tall, solemn man standing next to her and shook her head slowly.
   “I’m sorry. Dr. Cruachan, sir. They’re not responding to any of our call signals. I can’t even raise their tight-beam frequency anymore.”
   The tall man nodded slowly, reluctantly. “You know what this means?”
   “Yes,” she admitted, sadness tinging her voice. “Nyassa-lee, Haithness, Brora-all gone now. All those years.” Her voice sank to a whisper.
   “We can’t be sure,” Cruachan murmured. “Not one hundred percent. It’s only that,” he hesitated, “they ought to have responded by now, at least via the emergency unit.”
   “That stampede was terrible luck, sir.”
   “If it was bad luck,” he said softly. “History shows that where the subject children are concerned, the unknown sometimes gives luck a push-or a violent shove.”
   “I know that, sir,” the communicator said. She was tired, Cruachan knew; but then they were all tired. Time was running out for them and for the Meliorare Society as well as for its noble, much-misunderstood goals. There had been thoughts, years ago, of training new acolytes in the techniques and aims of genetic manipulation pioneered by the Society, but the onus under which they were forced to operate made the cooperation of foolish younger researchers impossible to obtain, thanks to the unrelenting barrage of slanderous propaganda propagated by the Church and the Commonwealth government.
   Curse them all for the ignorant primitives they were! The Society was not dead yet!
   Haithness, Nyassa-lee, Brora-the names were a dirge in his mind. If they were truly gone now, and it seemed that must be so, that left very few to carry on the Work. The conflict within him was strong. Should he press on or flee to set up operations elsewhere? So many old friends, colleagues, great scientific minds, lost; was this one subject worth it? They still had no proof that he was. Only graphs and figures to which the computers held. But the computers didn’t care. Nobody cared.
   There was nothing to indicate that the subject had been in any way responsible for the unfortunate stampede that had destroyed the camp together with their hopes. Of course, it was quite possible that the subject had perished along with the others, Cruachan mused. If not, if he decided to pursue this one to a conclusion, then there could be no more external manipulation attempted. They would have to confront the subject directly, as they had years ago tried to do with the girl.
   It was a long, roundabout course to their next “safe” station.  Cruachan was not at all confident of working through another several years of hiding and seeking out another promising subject. If the long arm of the Peace- forcers had not caught up with him by then, time and old age were liable to do the job for the government. They had come a long way together, he and his associates. A great effort; many lives had been expended to keep the project alive. He and his few remaining colleagues had to follow this case to its conclusion.
   “Thank you, Amareth,” he told the woman waiting patiently at the console. “Keep the receiver open just in case.”
   “Of course, Dr. Cruachan, sir.”
   Turning, he headed slowly toward Conference. Halfway there, his step picked up, his stride became more brisk. This won’t do, he told himself. As president of the Society, it was incumbent upon him to set an example for the others, now more than ever. By the time he reached the meeting room and strode inside, his initial despair at the reports from below had been replaced by icy determination.
   Half a dozen elderly men and women sat waiting for him. So few, he thought, so few left. The last of the Society, the last supporters of a great idea. Their upturned faces all silently asked the same question.
   “Still no word,” he said firmly. “We must therefore assume that doctors Brora, Haithness, and Nyassa-lee have been lost.” There were no outward expressions of grief, no wails or cries. They waited expectantly for him to continue, and their quiet vote of confidence redoubled his resolve.
   “I recommend that we proceed with the attempt to re- gain control of Number Twelve.”
   “We have reason to believe that MO operatives are now working in this region,” an old woman said from the far side of the comfortable room.
   “What of it?” another woman asked sharply. “They’ve always been two steps behind us, and they always will be.”
   “I wish I was as positive of that as you, Hanson,” the first woman said.  “The longevity of the Society is the result of foresight and caution, not contempt for those who hold us in contempt.” She looked up at their leader. “You’re sure about continuing to operate here, Cruachan?”
   “More so than ever,” he told her. “We have too much invested in this Number Twelve not to continue.” He proceeded to recite the long list of factors responsible for his decision.
   When he finished, a thin little man seated in the far corner of the room spoke out sharply in an incongruously deep voice. He had an artificial leg and heart, but the look in his eyes was as blindly intense as it had been fifty years earlier.
   “I concur! The promise still lies here. If the subject is still accessible-“
   “We have no reason to believe he is not,” Cruachan half lied.
   “-then we have a chance to get to him before the MO insects do. As Cruachan says, we must balance the potential here against our own intensifying infirmities.”  He kicked the floor with his false leg.
   “Very well,” said the old lady who had raised the specter of Commonwealth interference. “I see that most of you are of a mind to continue with our work here. I must confess that I cannot muster an argument against Dr. Cruachan’s many good points. But we now have a new problem to overcome which will not be solved by a vote.
   “Is it true that the last report from the camp places the subject in proximity to an Alaspinian miniature dragon?”
   Cruachan nodded slowly. “The presence of the catalyst creature close to the subject was alluded to, yes.”
   “Then how are we to proceed? Besides acting as a magnifying lens for any latent Talent the subject may possess, this particular animal is deadly in and of itself. If it has formed an emotional bond with the subject, it will be a much more dangerous opponent than any dozen MO officers.”
   Cruachan waved her worries aside. “I’ve given the matter proper consideration. The snake will be taken care of, I promise you. If we cannot neutralize a mere reptile, then we have no business pretending to the ideals of our Society.”
   “It is not a reptile,” a man near the back put in. He was glassy-eyed because of the thick contact lenses he was forced to wear. “It is reptilian in appearance, but warm blood flows in its veins, and it should more properly be classified as-“
   “I don’t give a damn what Order it fits into,” Cruachan broke in impatiently. “The beast will be handled.” His brows drew together at a sudden thought. “In fact, if such a mental bond now exists, it is likely stronger than that which ties the subject to his adoptive parent.”
   “Another chance for external control!” a woman exclaimed.
   “Yes. Instead of presenting us with a new threat, it’s possible this creature may be our key to subject control. So you all see how seeming difficulties may be turned to our advantage.”
   “Too bad about Haithness and the others,” one of the old men murmured. “I’d known Haithness for forty-five years.”
   “So did I,” Cruachan reminded him. “We must not let her and Nyassa-lee and Brora down. If, as now seems likely, they have sacrificed themselves for the cause, they provide us with still another reason to press onward. As we shrink in numbers, so must we grow in determination.”
   Murmurs of assent rose from around the conference room.
   “We will not abandon this subject,” Cruachan continued forcefully. “He will be brought under our wing by what- ever means is required. I call for a formal vote for proceeding.”
   Cruachan was gratified to see the decision to continue confirmed unanimously. Such decisions usually were; dissent had no place in an organization bent to such a singular purpose.
   “Thank you all,” he said when the hands dropped. “Remember, this Number Twelve may hold the key to our vindication. We should proceed with that hope in mind. From this moment on, our entire energy will be devoted to gaining control over him.” He turned toward the doorway.
   “We have to hurry. If the MOs find him first, they will ruin him for our purposes.”
   The group dissolved in a rush of activity and fresh resolve that was matched in intensity only by the desperation that gave it life.
Chapter Fifteen
    
   The city stank of human and other beings, of animals and exotic cooking, of resins and building materials old and new, all affected by the eternal dampness that permeated organic and inorganic materials alike. But it was all flowers and spice to Flinx. The transport car hissed to a halt outside the paneled exterior of the little bar and with the little credit remaining to him, he paid the machine. It responded with a mechanical “Thank you, sir” before drifting off up the street in search of its next fare.
   Mother Mastiff leaned heavily against him as they made their way inside. Her ordeal had left her feeling her age, and she was very tired. So tired that she did not pull away from the snake riding high on Flinx’s shoulder. Once inside, Pip uncoiled from its perch beneath the slickertic Lauren Walder had provided and made a snake- line for the bar itself. This place he knew. On the counter ahead sat bowls of pretzels, tarmac nuts, and other interesting salty delicacies that were almost as much fun to play with as to eat
   Flinx had deliberately brought them back to the market- place via a zigzag, roundabout course, changing transports frequently, trying until the last moment to travel with other citizens. Try as he might, he had been unable to see any indication that they had been followed, nor had the minidrag reacted negatively to any of the travelers who had looked askance at the exhausted youth and the old woman with him. Still, it was this caution that prompted them to visit this bar before returning to the shop. It would be wise not to go home alone, and Small Symm, the bar owner, would be good company to have around when they again set palm print to the front-door lock. To some degree his physical talents matched those of Flinx’s mind.
   As giants go. Small Symm was about average. He had been a friend of Flinx since the day of the boy’s adoption. He often bought interesting utensils from Mother Mastiff for use in his establishment.
   An enormous hand appeared and all but swept the two travelers into a booth. At the long metal bar, patrons nervously moved aside to allow the acrobatic flying snake plenty of access to the pretzels.
   “I’ve heard,” the young giant said by way of greeting, his voice an echo from deep within a cavernous chest, “that you were back. Word travels fast in the market.”
   “We’re okay, Symm.” Flinx favored his friend with a’ tired smile. “I feel like I could sleep for a year, but other than that, we’re all right.”
   The giant pulled a table close to the booth and used it for a chair. “What can I get for the two of you? Some- thing nice and hot to drink?”
   “Not now, boy,” Mother Mastiff said with a desultory wave of one wrinkled hand. “We’re anxious to be home. ‘Tis your good company we’d make use of, not your beverages.” She turned quiet and let Flinx do the majority of the explaining.
   Small Symm frowned, his brows coming together like clouds in the sky. “You think these people might still be after you?”
   She almost started to say, “Tis not me they’re after,” and just did manage to hold her tongue. She still believed it was too soon to reveal to Flinx everything she had learned. Much too soon. “Unlikely but possible, and I’m not the type to tempt fate, the unkind bastard.”
   “I understand.” Symrn stood, his head just clearing the ceiling. “You would like some friendly companionship on your way home.”
   “If you could spare the time,” Flinx said gratefully. “I really believe that we’re finished with these people.” He did not explain that he thought they were all dead. No need to complicate matters. “But we’d sure be a lot more comfortable if you’d come with us while we checked out the shop.”
   “I’ll be just a moment,” Symm assured him. “Wait here.” He vanished into a back room. When he returned, it was in the company of a tall young woman. He spoke softly to her for a minute, she nodding in response, then rejoined his visitors. He was wearing a slickertic not quite large enough to protect a medium-sized building.
   “I’m ready,” he told them. “Nakina will watch business until I return. Unless you’d rather rest a while longer.” “No, no.” Mother Mastiff struggled to her feet. “I’ll rest when I’m back home in my shop.”
   It was not far from Small Symm’s place to the side street where Mother Mastiff’s stall was located. With Symm carrying her, they made good time.
   “Seems empty,” the giant commented as he gently set the old woman on her feet. It was evening. Most of the shops were already shuttered, perhaps because the rain was falling harder than usual. In the marketplace, weather was often the most profound of economic arbiters.
   “I guess it’s all right.” Mother Mastiff stepped toward the front door.
   “Wait a minute.” Flinx put out an arm to hold her back. “Over there, to the left of the shop.”
   Symm and Mother Mastiff stared in the indicated direction. “I don’t see anything,” the giant said.
   “I thought I saw movement.” Flinx glanced down at Pip. The flying snake dozed peacefully beneath the cover of the slickertic. Of course, the snake’s moods were often unpredictable, but his continued calm was a good sign. Flinx gestured to his right. The giant nodded and moved off like a huge shadow to conceal himself in the darkness next to the vacant shop off to the left. Flinx went to his right-to starboard, as Lauren might have said. It had taken him awhile to forgive her for leaving-and Mother Mastiff for letting her leave-while he was still sound asleep. He wondered what she was doing, yet the memory of her was already beginning to fade. It would take some- what longer to escape his emotions.
   Mother Mastiff waited and watched as friend and son moved off in opposite directions. She did not mind standing in the rain. It was Drallarian rain, which was different somehow from the rain that fell anywhere else in the universe.
   Flinx crept warily along the damp plastic walls of the shop fronts, making his way toward the alley that meandered behind their home. If the movement he thought he had spied signified the presence of some scout awaiting their return, he did not want that individual reporting back to his superiors until Flinx had drained him of in- formation.
   There-movement again, and no mistaking it this time! It was moving away from him. He increased his pace, keeping to the darkest shadows. The stiletto that slept in his boot was in his right hand now, cold and familiar.
   Then a cry in the darkness ahead and a looming, massive shape. Flinx rushed forward, ready to help even though it was unlikely the giant would need any assistance. Then something new, something unexpected.
   Nervous laughter?
   “Hello, Flinx-boy.” In the dim light, Flinx made out the friendly face of their neighbor Arrapkha.
   “Hello, yourself.” Flinx put the stiletto back where it belonged. “You gave me reason to worry. I thought we were finished with shapes in the night.”
   “I gave you reason to worry?” The craftsman indicated the bulk of Small Symm standing behind him.
   “I’m sorry,” Symm said apologetically. “We couldn’t see who you were.”
   “You know now.” He looked back toward Flinx. “I’ve been watching your shop for you.” Symm went to reassure Mother Mastiff. “You know, making sure no one broke in and tried to steal anything.”
   “That was good of you,” Flinx said as they started back toward the street.
   “Ifs good to see you back, Flinx-boy. I’d given you up not long after you left.”
   “Then why have you kept watching the shop?”
   The older man grinned. “Couldn’t stop hoping, I guess. What was it all about, anyway?”
   “Something illegal that Mother Mastiff was involved in many years back,” Flinx explained. “She didn’t go into the details. Just told me that revenge was involved.”
   “Some people have long memories,” Arrapkha said, nodding knowingly. “Since you have returned well and safe, I presume that you made a peace with the people who kidnaped your mother?”
   “We concluded the business,” Flinx said tersely.
   They returned to the street, where Small Symm and Mother Mastiff waited to greet them.
   “So it was you, Arrapkha. Ye ignorant fleurm, worrying us like that.” She smiled. “Never thought I’d be glad to see ye, though.”
   “Nor I you,” the woodworker confessed. He gestured toward Flinx. “That boy of yours is as persistent as he is foolhardy. I did my best to try and convince him not to go rushing off after you.”
   “I would have told him the same,” she said, “and he would have ignored me, too. Headstrong, he be.” She al- lowed herself a look of pardonable pride. Flinx was simply embarrassed. “And fortunate it is for me.”
   “Old acquaintances and bad business.” Arrapkha waggled an admonishing finger at her. “Beware of old acquaintances and bad business and deeds left unresolved.”
   “Ah, yes.” She changed the subject. “Been watching the old place for me, eh? Then I’d best check the stock care- fully as soon as we’re inside.” They both laughed.
   “If you think it’s all right for me to leave,” Small Symm murmured. “Nakina has a bad temper, and that’s not good for business.”
   Mother Mastiff looked thoughtful. “If our friend here insists he’s kept a close eye on the shop . . .”
   “I’ve watched and watched,” Arrapkha insisted. “Unless they’ve tunneled in, no one’s gone inside since your boy left to look for you.”
   “No tunneling under these streets,” she observed with a grin “They’d hit the sewers.” She looked back up at their escort. “Thank ye, Symm. Ye can rim back to your lovely den of iniquity.”
   “It’s hardly that,” he replied modestly. “Someday if I work hard, perhaps.”
   Flinx extended a hand, which vanished in the giant’s grasp. “My thanks, also, Symm.”
   “No trouble. Glad to help.” The giant tamed and lumbered away into the night.
   The three friends moved to the front door. Mother Mastiff placed her right palm against the lock plate. It clicked immediately, and the door slid aside, admitting them. Flinx activated the lights, enabling them to see clearly that the stall area was apparently untouched. Stock remained where they had left it, gleaming and reassuringly familiar in the light.
   “Looks to be the same as when I left,” Mother Mastiff observed gratefully.
   “Looks to be the same as it did ten years ago.” Arrapkha shook his head slowly. “You don’t change much, Mother Mastiff, and neither does some of your stock. I think you’re too fond of certain pieces to sell them.”
   “There be nothing I’m too fond of not to sell,” she shot back, “and my stock changes twice as fast as that pile of beetle-eaten garbage ye try to pass off on unsuspecting customers as handicrafts.”
   “Please, no fighting,” Flinx implored them. “I’m tired of fighting.”
   “Fighting?” Arrapkfaa said, looking surprised.
   “We’re not fighting, boy,” Mother Mastiff told him. “Don’t ye know by now how old friends greet one an- other? By seeing who can top the other’s insults.” To show him that she meant what she said, she smiled fondly at Arrapkha. The woodworker wasn’t a bad sort at all. Only a little slow.
   The living quarters they found likewise untouched: in total chaos, exactly as Flinx had last seen it.
   “Housekeeping,” Mother Mastiff grumbled. “I’ve always hated housekeeping. Still, someone has to get this place cleaned up, and better me than ye, boy. Ye have no touch for domesticity, I fear.”
   “Not tonight, Mother.” Flinx yawned. His initial sight of his own bed had expanded until it filled the whole room.
   “No, not tonight, boy. I must confess to being just the slightest bit tired.” Flinx smiled to himself. She was on the verge of physical collapse, quite ready to go to sleep wherever her body might fall, but she was damned if she would show weakness in front of Arrapkha lest it damage her image of invincibility.
   “Tomorrow well put things to rights. I work better in the daytime, anyway.” She tried not to look toward her own bedroom, waiting on Arrapkha.
   “Well, then, I will leave you,” the craftsman said.
   “Again, it’s good to see you back and healthy. The street wasn’t the same without you.”
   “We monuments are hard to get rid of,” Mother Mastiff said. “Perhaps we’ll see ye tomorrow.”
   “Perhaps,” Arrapkha agreed. He turned and left them, making certain that the front door locked behind him.
   Once outside, Arrapkha drew his slickertic tight around his head and shoulders as he hurried back to his own shop. He had no more intention of turning his friends over to the authorities, as he had been instructed, than he did of cutting the price of his stock fifty percent for some rich merchant. He would not hinder the police, but he would do nothing to assist them, either. He could always plead ignorance, for which he was famed in this part of the marketplace.
   So tired; they looked so tired, he thought. It was the first time he could remember Mother Mastiff looking her age. Even the boy, who, though slight of build, had never before seemed exhausted by any labor, appeared completely worn out. Even that lethal pet that always rode his shoulder had looked tired.
   Well, he would give them a few days to get their house in order and regain their strength. Then he would surprise them by taking them to Magrim’s for some tea and tall sandwiches and would tell them of the mysterious visit of the two Peaceforcers to their little street. It would be interesting to see what Mother Mastiff would make of that. She might welcome the interest of the authorities in her case-and then again, she might not. Not knowing the details of her history, Arrapkha could not be sure, which was why he had elected not to help those offworld visitors.
   Yes, he decided firmly. Wait a few days and let them rest up before springing that new information on them. No harm in that, surely. He opened the door to his own shop and shut it against the night and the rain.
   One day passed, then another, and gradually the shop again assumed the appearance of home as the mess the kidnapers had made was cleaned up. Comfortable in such familiar surroundings, Mother Mastiff regained her strength rapidly. She was such a resilient old woman, Flinx thought with admiration. For his part, by the second day he was once again venturing out into his familiar haunts, greeting old friends, some of whom had heard of the incident and some of whom had not, but never straying far from the shop lest even at this late date and in spite of his beliefs some surviving members of the organization that had abducted Mother Mastiff return, still seeking their revenge.
   Nothing materialized, however, to give any credence to such anxieties. By the third day, he had begun to relax mentally as well as physcially. It was amazing, he thought, as he settled in that night, the things that one misses the most during a long absence. Odd how familiar and friendly one’s own bed becomes when one has had to sleep elsewhere....
   It was the hate that woke Pip. Cold and harsh as the most brutal day winter could muster on the ice world of Tran-ky-ky, it shook the flying snake from a sound sleep. It was directed not at the minidrag but at its master.
   Pink and blue coils slid soundlessly clear of the thermal blanket. Flinx slept on, unaware of his pet’s activity. Several hours remained until sunrise.
   Pip rested and analyzed. Examining the minidrag lying at the foot of the bed, an observer might have believed it to be a reasoning being. It was not, of course, but neither was its mental capacity inconsequential. Actually, no one was quite sure how the mind of the Alaspinian miniature dragon worked or what profound cogitations it might be capable of, since no xenobiologist dared get close enough to study it.
   Blue and pink wings opened, pleats expanding, and with a gentle whirr the snake took to the air. It hovered high over its master’s head, worried, searching, trying to pin- point the source of the unrelenting malignancy that was poisoning its thoughts. The hate was very near. Worse, it was familiar.
   There was a curved roof vent that Pip had appropriated for its own private comings and goings. The snake darted toward it, the wings folding up at the last second to allow the slim body to slip through the curving tube. Nothing much bigger than a mouse could have slipped through that vent. With wings folded flat against its muscular sides, the minidrag made the passage easily.
   Pip emerged atop the roof into the light, early-morning rain. Up that way the bate lay, to the north, up the alley. Wings unfolded and fanned the air. The minidrag circled once above the shop, paused to orient itself, then buzzed determinedly into the opening nearby where the alley emerged into cloudlight.
   It braked to a halt and hovered, hissing at the mental snarl that had drawn it.
   “Over here pretty, pretty,” coaxed a voice. “You know who hates your master, don’t you? And you know what we’ll do to him if we get the chance.”
   The flying snake shot through the partly open doorway into the hate-filled room beyond. Two humans awaited it with deadly calm. Never would they have the chance to harm the minidrag’s master. Never!
   A thin stream of venom spewed from the roof of the flying snake’s upper jaw and struck toward the nearest of the vicious bipeds. It never reached the man. Something was between him and Pip, something hard and transparent. The venom contacted it, hissed in the still air as it started to eat at the transparent shield. Startled, the two monsters seated behind the shield flinched and began to rise.
   But the door opening on the alley had already slammed shut behind the minidrag. Suddenly, a strange, sweet smell filled the room. Wingbeats slackened and grew weak. Twin eyelids fluttered and closed. The flying snake flopped about on the floor like a fish out of water, wings beating futilely against the plastic as it gasped for breath.
   “Be careful,” a distant voice warned. “We don’t want to overdose it. It’s no good to us dead.”
   “I’d sooner see it dead and take our chances with the subject,” another said.
   “We need every hold we can manage, including the possibility raised by this little devil.”
   The voices faded. Soon the flying snake had stopped moving. Long minutes passed before a man dared to enter the sealed room. He was dressed head to toe in a protective suit. His eyes were anxious behind the transparent visor. With the long metal prod he carried he poked once, twice at the comatose minidrag. It jerked convulsively in response to the touches, but otherwise displayed no sign of life.
   The man took a deep breath and set the long prod aside as he bent to pick up the thin body. It hung limply in his gloved hands as he inspected it.
   “Still breathing,” he declared to the people pressed close to the transparent wall.
   “Good. Get it in the cage quick,” said the shorter of the two observers. Her companion was studying the hole where the venom had finally eaten through the protective shield.
   “I’d like to see a molecular breakdown on this stuff,” he murmured, careful to keep his fingers clear of the still-sizzling edges of the ragged gap. “Anything that can eat through pancrylic this fast . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t see how the venom sacs can contain the stuff without dissolving right through the creature’s jaw.”
   “You’d need a toxicologist and biochemist to explain it, if they could,” said the woman standing next to him, like- wise taking a moment to examine the hole. “Perhaps there’s more to it than just a straightforward poison. The snake’s mouth may hold several separate sacs whose con- tents mix only when it’s spraying someone.”
   “Makes sense.” The man turned away from the shield that had nearly failed them. “We better get moving. The subject may awaken any minute now. Be sure you keep the monster thoroughly narcotized.”
   “Is that necessary?” She frowned. “Surely the cage will hold it.”
   “That’s what we thought about the wall. The cage is tougher, but we don’t want to take any chances. I don’t want our guest spitting his way free while we’re asleep in our beds.”
   “No, we sure as hell don’t.” The woman shuddered slightly. “I’ll take charge of it myself.”
   “I was hoping you’d say that.” Cruachan smiled to him- self. He was intimately familiar with the theories that at- tempted to explain the special bonds that could spring into being between a catalyst creature such as the minidrag and one of the Talented. Certainly the link that existed between this creature and the boy known as Number Twelve was as powerful as any of the imperfectly recorded cases he had studied. It was not unreasonable to suppose that it could be stronger than the affection bond between the boy and his adoptive mother.
   They came at him without warning during his final period of REM sleep, when he was defenseless. They sprang into existence out of emptiness, laughing at him, tormenting him with feelings and sensations he could not define or understand.
   Nightmares.
   Someone was twisting a wire around his brain, com- pressing it tighter and tighter until it seemed certain that his eyes would explode out of his head and fly across the room. He lay in his bed, twitching slightly, his eyelids quivering, as they did their work on him and took ad- vantage of his helpless, unconscious mind.
   “This batch was worse than most; twisting, abstract forms, dark swirling colors, and himself somehow in the middle of them all, racing down a long, ominous corridor. At the end of that corridor lay his salvation, he knew, and almost as important, answers. Understanding and safety.
   But the faster he ran, the slower he advanced. The floor that was not a floor dissolved beneath his feet, dropping him like some relativistic Alice down a rabbit hole of space-time distortions, while the far end of the corridor and its promises of light and comprehension receded into the wastes overhead.
   He woke up with a silent start and glanced rapidly around the room. Only after he convinced himself of its reality did he begin to relax.
   It was the right room, his room, the one he had lived in most of his life: tiny, spartan, comfortable. The patter of morning rain was music on the roof, and faint daylight filtered through the window above his bed. He swung his legs out clear of the blanket and rubbed both throbbing eyes with his fingers.
   The fingers abruptly ceased their ministrations, and he looked back to the bed. Something was wrong.
   “Pip?” The flying snake was not coiled in its familiar position at the top of the pillow, nor was it underneath. Flinx pulled back the blanket, then bent to peer under the bed. “C’mon boy, don’t hide from me this morning. I’m worn out, and my head is killing me.”
   “There was no familiar hissing response to his confession. He prowled the room’s meager confines, at first puzzled, then concerned. At last, he stood on the bed and shouted toward the air vent overhead.
   “Pip, breakfast!”
   No comforting hum of brightly hued wings reached him from beyond. He found a piece of wire and used it to probe the vent. It was clear to the outside.
   He left his room and frantically started an inspection of the rest of the living quarters. Mother Mastiff stood by the convection stove, cooking something redolent of pepper and less exotic spices. “Something the matter, boy?”
   “It’s Pip.” Flinx peered beneath recently righted furniture, moved bowls, and dropcloths.
   “I gathered as much from the hollering ye were doing in your bedroom,” she said sardonically. “Disappeared again, has he?”
   “He never stays out through morning when he takes a solo night flight. Never.”
   “Always a first time, even for monsters,” Mother Mastiff said,  shrugging  and  concentrating  on  her  cooking. “Wouldn’t upset me if the little nastiness never did come back.”
   “Shame on you. Mother!” Flinx said, his tone agonized. “He saved my life, and probably yours, too.”
   “So I’m an ungrateful old Yax’m,” she snorted. “Ye know my feelings toward your beast.”
   Flinx finished inspecting her room, then resolutely stormed back to his own and began dressing. “I’m going out to look for him.”
   Mother Mastiff frowned. “Breakfast ready soon. Why bother yourself, boy? Likely it’ll be back soon enough, more’s the pity. Besides, if it has got its slimy little self stuck someplace, you’re not likely to find him.”
   “He could just be in the alley behind the shop,” Flinx argued, “and I can hear him even when I can’t see him.” “Suit yourself, boy.”
   “And don’t wait breakfast on me.”
   “Think I’ll starve meself on your account? Much less on account of some devil-wing.” She had long ago given up arguing with him. When he made up his mind about some- thing-well, one might as well wish for the planet’s rings to be completed. He was a dutiful-enough son in most ways, but he simply refused to be restricted.
   “It’ll be here when ye get back,” she said softly, checking the containers and lowering their ambient temperatures fifty degrees. “Ye can warm it up for your shiftless self.”
   “Thanks, Mother.” Despite her contorting attempt to avoid him, he managed to plant a hurried kiss on one leathery cheek. She wiped at it, but not hard, as she watched him dash from the shop.
   For an instant, she thought of telling him about what she had learned days ago up in the forest. About those strange Meliorare people and their intentions toward him. Then she shrugged the idea off. No, they were well clear of the horrid folk, and from the glimpse she had of their camp, they would not be bothering her boy ever again.
   As to what she had learned of his history, it would be better to keep that secret for a few years yet. Knowing his stubborn impulsiveness, such information might send him running off in all sorts of dangerous directions. Much better not to say anything for a while. When he reached a reasonable age, twentythree or so, she could let on what she had learned about his background. By then, he would have taken over management of the shop, perhaps married. Settled down some to a nice, sensible, quiet life.
   She tasted the large pot, winced. Too little saxifrage. She reached for a small shaker.
   “Pip! To me, boy!” Still no blue and pink flash enlivening the sky, still no rising hum. Now where would he get to? Flinx mused. He knew the minidrag was fond of the alley behind the shop. That was where he had first encountered the flying snake, after all, and to a snake’s way of thinking, the alley was usually full of interesting things to .eat. For all the minidrag’s aerial agility, a box tumbling from the crest of a garbage heap or a rolling container could easily pin it to the ground. Flinx knew that no stranger was likely to get within ten meters of a trapped snake.
   Might as well try the first, he decided. Slipping down the narrow space separating Mother Mastiff’s shop from the vacant structure next to it, he soon found himself in the alley-way. It was damp and dark, its overall aspect dismal as usual.
   He cupped his hands to his mouth, called out, “Pip?”
   “Over here, boy,” said a soft voice.
   Flinx tensed, but his hand did not grab for the knife concealed in his boot. Too early. A glance showed that his retreat streetward was still unblocked, as was the section of alley behind him. Nor did the individual standing motionless beneath the archway in front of him look particularly threatening.
   Flinx stood his ground and debated with himself, then finally asked, “If you know where my pet is, you can tell me just as easily from where you’re standing, and I can hear you plainly from where I’m standing.”
   “I know where your pet is,” the man admitted. His hair was entirely gray, Flinx noted. “I’ll take you to it right now, if you wish.”
   Flinx stalled. “Is he all right? He hasn’t gotten himself into some kind of trouble?”
   The little man shook his head and smiled pleasantly. “No, he isn’t in trouble, and he’s just fine. He’s sleeping, in fact.”
   “Then why can’t you bring him out?” Flinx inquired. He continued to hold his position, ready to charge the man or race for the street as the situation dictated.
   “Because I can’t,” the man said. “Really, I can’t. I’m just following orders, you know.”
   “Whose orders?” Flinx asked suspiciously. Suddenly, events were becoming complicated again. The speaker’s age and attitude abruptly impacted on him. “Are you with the people who abducted my mother? Because if you’re trying to get revenge on her for whatever she was involved in years ago by harming me, it’s not going to work.”
   “Take it easy, now,” the man said. A voice Flinx could not hear whispered to the speaker from behind the door.
   “For heaven’s sake, Anders, don’t get him excited!”
   “I’m trying not to,” the elderly speaker replied through clenched teeth. To Flinx he said more loudly, “No one wants to harm you or your pet, boy. You can have my word on that even if you don’t think it’s worth anything. My friends and I mean you and your pet only well.” He did not respond to Flinx’s brief allusion to his adoptive mother’s past.
   “Then if you mean us only well,” Flinx said, “you won’t object if I take a minute to go and reassure-“
   The speaker took a step forward. “There’s no need to disturb your parent, boy. In a moment she’ll have her shop open and the crowd will ensure her safety, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Why alarm her needlessly? We just want to talk to you. Besides,” he added darkly, taking a calculated risk, “you don’t have any choice but to listen to me. Not if you want to see your pet alive again.”
   “It’s only a pet snake.” Flinx affected an air of indifference he didn’t feel. “What if I refuse to go with you? There are plenty of other pets to be had.”
   The speaker shook his head slowly, his tone maddeningly knowledgeable.  “Not like this one.  That flying snake’s a part of you, isn’t it?”
   “How do you know that?” Flinx asked. “How do you know how I feel about him?”
   “Because despite what you may think of me right now,” the speaker said, feeling a little more confident, “I am wise in the ways of certain things. If you’ll let me, I’ll share that knowledge with you.”
   Flinx hesitated, torn between concern for Pip and a sense of foreboding that had nothing to do with his peculiar Talents. But the man was right: there was no choice. He wouldn’t chance Pip’s coming to harm even though he couldn’t have said why.
   “All right.” He started toward the speaker. “I’ll go with you. You’d better be telling the truth.”
   “About not wishing to harm you or your pet?” The smile grew wider. “I promise you that I am.”
   Try as he might, Flinx couldn’t sense any inimical feelings emanating from the little man. Given the erratic nature of his abilities, that proved nothing-for all Flinx could tell, the man might be planning murder even as he stood there smiling. Up close, the speaker looked even less formidable. He was barely Flinx’s height, and though not as ancient as Mother Mastiff, it was doubtful he would be much opposition in a hand-to-hand fight.
   “This is my friend and associate Stanzel,” the man said. An equally elderly woman stepped out of the shadows. She seemed tired but forced herself to stand straight and look determined.
   “I don’t want to hurt you, either, boy.” She studied him with unabashed curiosity. “None of us do.”
   “So there are still more of you,” Flinx murmured in confusion. “I don’t understand all this. Why do you have to keep persecuting Mother Mastiff and me? And now Pip, too? Why?”
   “Everthing will be explained to you,” the woman assured him, “if you’ll just come with us.” She gestured up the alley.
   Flinx strode along between them, noting as he did so that neither of them appeared to be armed. That was a good sign but a puzzling one. His stiletto felt cold against his calf. He looked longingly back toward the shop. If only he could have told Mother Mastiff! But, he reminded himself, as long as he returned by bedtime, she wouldn’t worry herself. She was used to his taking off on unannounced explorations.
   “Mark me words,” she would declaim repeatedly, “that curiosity of yours will be the death of ye!”
   If it didn’t involve striking against Mother Mastiff, though, then what did these people want with him? It was important to them, very important. If not, they wouldn’t have risked an encounter with his deadly pet. Despite their age, he still feared them, if only for the fact that they had apparently managed to capture Pip, a feat beyond the capabilities of most.
   But something, an attitude perhaps, marked these people as different from the usual run-of-the-mill marketplace cutthroats. They were different from any people he had ever encountered. Their coolness and indifference combined with their calm professionalism to frighten him.
   “They alley opened onto a side street, where an aircar waited. The old man unlocked it and gestured for him to enter. As Flinx started to step into the little cab, he experienced one of those mysterious, unannounced bursts of emotional insight. It was brief, so brief he was unsure he had actually felt it. It wiped out his own fear, leaving him more confused and uncertain than ever.
   He might be afraid for Pip and perhaps even a little for himself, but for some unknown reason, these two outwardly relaxed, supremely confident individuals were utterly terrified of him!
Chapter Sixteen
    
   Cruachan studied the readouts carefully. The section of the old warehouse in which they had established them-selves was a poor substitute for the expensively outfitted installation they had laboriously constructed far to the north. He did not dwell on the loss. Years of disappointment had inured him to such setbacks. The machines surrounding him had been hastily assembled and linked together. Wiring was exposed everywhere, further evidence of haste and lack of time to install equipment properly. It would have to do, however.
   He was not disappointed. In spite of all their problems, they appeared on the verge of accomplishing what they had intended to do on this world, albeit not in the manner originally planned. It seemed that the presence of the Alaspinian immigrant was going to turn to their ad- vantage. For the first time since they had placed them- selves in orbit around the world, he felt more than merely hopeful. His confidence came from Anders’ and Stanzel’s last report.  The subject, accompanying them quietly, seemed reluctantly willing to cooperate, but had thus far displayed no sign of unexpected threatening abilities.
   While a potentially lethal act, the taking of the subject’s pet had turned out far more successful than the attempted adjustment of the subject’s adoptive parent. Cruachan now conceded that that had been a mistake. If only their information had included mention of the catalyst creature in the first place! He did not blame the informant, though. It was likely that the minidrag came into the subject’s possession subsequent to the filing of the informant’s report.
   He felt like an old tooth, cracked and worn down by overuse and age. But with the semisymbiotic pet now under their control, the subject would have to accede to their wishes. There could no longer be any consideration of at- tempting to influence the boy externally. They would have to implant the electronic synapses intended ‘for his parent in the lad’s own brain. Direct control posed some risks, but as far as Cruachan and his associates could see, they had no other choice. Cruachan was glad the case was nearing conclusion. He was very tired.
   It was raining harder than usual for the season when the little aircar pulled up outside the warehouse.  Flinx regarded the place with distaste. The section of Drallar out toward the shuttleport was bloated with stark, blocky monuments to bad business and overconsumption, peopled mostly with machines-dark, uninviting, and alien.
   He had no thought of changing his mind, of making a break for the nearest side street or half-open doorway. Whoever these people were, they were not ignorant. They had correctly surmised the intensity of his feelings for Pip, which was why they had not bound him and carried no arms.
   He still couldn’t figure out what they wanted with him. If they were not lying to him and truly meant him no harm, then of what use could he be to them? If there was .one thing he couldn’t stand, it was unanswered questions. He wanted explanations almost as badly as he wanted to see Pip.
   They seemed very sure of themselves. Of course, that no weapons were in evidence did not mean no weapons were around. He could not square their fear of him with the absence of armament. Perhaps, he mused, they were afraid of him because they feared he might reveal what he knew of the kidnaping to the local authorities. Maybe that was what they wanted from. him: a promise to remain silent.
   But somehow that didn’t make much sense, either.
   “I wish you’d tell me what you want with me,” he said aloud, “and what’s going on.”
   “It’s not our place to explain.” The man glanced at his companion and then said, as if unable to suppress his own curiosity, “Have you ever heard of the Meliorate Society?”
   Flinx shook his head. “No. I know what the word means, though. What’s it got to do with me?”
   “Everything.” He seemed on the verge of saying more, but the old woman shushed him.
   The building they entered was surrounded by similarly nondescript edifices. They were off the main shuttleport accessway. Flinx had seen only a few people about from the time they had entered the area. No one was in the dingy hallway.
   They rode an elevator to the third floor. His escorts led him through broad, empty corridors, past high-ceilinged storage rooms filled with plasticine crates and drums. Finally, they halted before a small speaker set into the plastic of an unmarked door. Words were exchanged between Flinx’s escort and someone on the other side, and the door opened to admit them.
   He found himself in still another room crammed full of bundles and boxes. What set it apart from a dozen similar rooms was the right-hand wall. Stacked against it was an impressive array of electronics.  Empty crates nearby hinted at recent and hasty unpacking and setup. The con- soles were powered-up and manned. Their operators spared curious glances for the new arrivals before returning their attention to their equipment. Save for their uniformly grim expressions, they looked like retirees on a holiday outing.
   Two people emerged from a door at the rear of the room. They were soon joined by a third-a tall, silver- haired, ruggedly handsome man.’ He carried himself like a born leader, and Flinx concentrated on him immediately. The man smiled down at Flinx. Even though he was close to Mother Mastiff’s age, the man held himself straight. If he was subject to the infirmities of old age, he did a masterful job of concealing them. Vanity or will? Flinx wondered. He sought the man’s emotions and drew the usual blank. Nor could he feel anything of Pip’s presence in the room or nearby.
   Even as the tall senior was shaking his hand and mouthing platitudes, Flinx was searching for the most likely escape route. There seemed to be only one exit: the door through which he had entered. He had no idea where the door at the far end of the room led, but suspected that freedom was not one of the possibilities.
   “What a great pleasure to finally meet you, my boy,” the old man was saying. His grip was firm. “We’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to arrive at this meeting. I would rather not have had to proceed in this fashion, but circum- stances conspired to force my hand.”
   “It was you, then”-Flinx gestured at the others-“who were responsible for abducting my mother?”
   Cruachan relaxed. There was no danger in this skinny, innocent boy. Whatever abilities he might possess remained dormant, awaiting proper instruction and develop- ment. Certainly his attitude was anything but threatening.
   “I asked him,” the man who had brought Flinx from the marketplace reported, “if he’d heard of the Society. He said no.”
   “No reason for him to,” Cruachan observed. “His life has been restricted, his horizons limited.”
   Flinx ignored that appraisal of his limitations. “Where’s Pip?”
   “Your pet, I assume? Yes.” The tall man turned and called out toward the rear doorway. The section of wall containing the door creaked as hidden winches pulled it aside. Beyond lay still another of the endless series of storage chambers, packed with the usual containers and drums and crates. On a table in the forefront stood a transparent cube, perhaps a meter square, topped with several small metal tanks. Hoses ran from the tanks into the cube.
   To the left of the table stood a nervous-looking old man holding a small, flat control box. His thumb was pressed hard against one of the buttons set in the box. His eyes shifted regularly from the cube to Flinx and back to the cube.
   Pip lay in the bottom of the cube, coiled into itself apparently deep in sleep. Flmx took a step forward. Cruachan put out a hand to hold him back.
   “Your pet is resting comfortably. The air in the cage has been mixed with a mild soporific. Westhoff is regulating the mixture and flow of gases even as we speak. H you were to try anything foolish, he would increase the flow from the tanks before you could possibly free your pet. You see, the cage has been weld-sealed. There is no latch.
   “The adjusted normal atmosphere inside the cube will be completely replaced by the narcoleptic gas, and your pet will be asphyxiated. It would not take long. All West- hoff has to do is press violently on the button his thumb is caressing. If necessary, he will throw his body across it. So you see, there is nothing you could do to prevent him from carrying out his assignment.”
   Flinx listened quietly even as he was gauging the distance between himself and the cage. The elderly man holding the control box gazed grimly back at him. Even if be could somehow avoid the hands that would surely reach out to restrain him, he did not see how he could open the cage and free Pip. His stiletto would be useless against the thick pancrylic.
   “You’ve made your point,” he said finally. “What do you want from me?”
   “Redemption,” Cruachan told him softly.
   “I don’t understand.”
   “You will eventually, I hope. For now, suffice for you to know that we are interested in your erratic but unarguable abilities: your Talent.”
   All Flinx’s preconceived ideas collapsed like sand castles in a typhoon. “You mean you’ve gone through all this, kidnaping Mother Mastiff and now Pip, just because you’re curious about my abilities?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I would have done my best to satisfy you with- out your having to go through all this trouble.”
   “It’s not quite that simple. You might say one thing, even believe it, and then your mind might react other- wise.” Crazier and crazier, Flinx thought dazedly. “I don’t
   “Just as well,” Cruachan murmured. “You are an emotional telepath, is that not correct?”
   “I’m sensitive sometimes to what other people are feeling, if that’s what you mean,” Flinx replied belligerently.
   “Nothing else? No precognitive abilities? Telekinesis? True telepathy? Pyrokinesis? Dimensional perceptivity?”
   Plinx laughed at him, the sound sharpened by the tension that filled the room. “I don’t even know what those words mean except for telepathy. If by that you mean can I read other people’s minds, no. Only sometimes their feelings. That other stuff, that’s all fantasy, isn’t it?”
   “Not entirely,” Cruachan replied softly, “not entirely. “The potentials lie within every human mind, or so we of the Society believe. When awakened, further stimuli, pro- vided through training and other means, can bring such abilities to full life. That was the-“ He paused, his smile returning.
   “As I said, someday you will understand everything, I hope. For now, it will be sufficient if you will permit us to run some tests on you. We wish to measure the probable limits of your Talent and test for other possible hidden abilities as yet undeveloped.”
   “What kinds of tests?” Flinx regarded the tail man warily.
   “Nothing elaborate. Measurements, electroencephalotopography.”
   “That sounds elaborate to me.”
   “I assure you, there will be no discomfort. If you’ll just come with me ...” He put a fatherly hand on Flinx’s shoulder. Flinx flinched. There should have been a snake there, not an unfamiliar hand.
   Cruachan guided him toward the instruments. “I promise you, give us twenty-four hours and you’ll have your pet restored to you unharmed, and you’ll never have to go through this again.”
   “I don’t know,” Flinx told him. “I’m still not sure of what you want from me.” It seemed to him that there was an awful lot of instrumentation around for just a few simple tests, and some of it looked almost familiar. Where had he seen that tendriled globe before?
   Over a table in a room far to the north, he realized suddenly.
   What do I do? he thought frantically. He could not lie down on that table, beneath those waiting tentacles. But if he hesitated, what might they do to Pip out of impatience and anger?
   Unexpectedly, as his thoughts were tied in knots and he tried to decide what to do next, a sudden surge of emotion burst into his brain. There was hate and a little fear and a self-righteous anger that bordered on the paranoiac. He looked up at Cruachan. The older man smiled pleasantly down at him, then frowned as he saw the expression that had come over the subject’s face. “Is some- thing wrong?”
   Hinx did not reply, methodically searching every face in the room. None of them seemed to be the source of the feelings he was receiving. And they were getting steadily stronger, more intense. They came-they came from- He looked sharply toward the main entrance.
   “Nobody move!” snapped a determined voice. The couple who burst through the door, having quietly circum- vented the lock, were complete strangers to Flinx. A middle-aged pair dressed like offworld tourists, each holding a gun bigger than a pistol and longer than a rifle carefully balanced in both hands, they surveyed the startled occupants of the storage chamber.
   Flinx did not recognize their weapons. That was un- usual. His learning expeditions through the marketplace had made him familiar with most personal armament. But these were new to him. As new as this couple. They looked unrelentingly average. There was nothing average about the way they moved, however, or gave commands or held those peculiar guns. The Meliorares certainly seemed familiar with them.
   “MO Section, Commonwealth Peaceforce,” the man barked. “All of you are under government detention as of this moment.” He grinned crookedly, almost savagely. “The charges against you, the specifics of which I’m sure you’re all quite familiar with, are many and varied. I don’t think I have to go into details.”
   Flinx started gratefully toward them. “I don’t know how you people found me, but I’m sure glad to see you.”
   “Hold it right there.” The woman shifted her weapon toward him. The expression on her face assured Plinx she was ready to shoot him if he took so much as another half step toward her. He froze, hurt and confused.
   There was something new there, partly in her eyes but also in her mind: not so much fear as a kind of twisted hatred, a loathing. The emotion was directed squarely at him. It was so new, so alien and sickening, that he didn’t know how to react. He knew only that his would-be saviors held no more affection for him, and perhaps even less in the way of good intentions) than this insane society of Meliorare people.
   His confusion was being replaced by anger, a frantic fury born of frustration and despair, compounded by helplessness and desperation. Through no fault of his own, de- siring only to be left alone, he had become the focal point of forces beyond his control, forces that extended even be- yond his world. And he didn’t know how, couldn’t begin to think how to deal with them.
   Through all the confusion came one lucid realization: he wasn’t as grown-up as he had thought.
   Near the back room the man named Westhoff had gone unnoticed by the Peaceforcers. He did not linger. Putting aside the control box he commenced a cautious retreat, utilizing crates and containers to make good his escape.
   Pressure removed, the button he had been holding down rebounded.
   “Over against that empty packing and away from the consoles. All of you,” the woman commanded them, gesturing meaningfully with her gun. Rising from their seats and showing empty hands, the Meliorares hurried to comply with her order.
   “Anybody touches a switch,” the other Peaceforcer warned them, “it’ll be the last thing he ever touches.”
   The woman threw Flinx a hard look. “Hey, you too. Move it.” Revulsion emanated from her. Disgust and pity washed over Flinx in waves. She was broadcasting them all. Flinx tried to squeeze the degrading emotions out of his mind.
   “I’m not with them,” he protested. “I’m not part of this.”
   “I’m afraid that you are, boy, whether you like it or not,” she told him. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble. But don’t worry.” She tried to smile. The result was a discomfiting parody. “Everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be fixed up so you can live a normal life.”
   A buzzer suddenly roared to life on one of the unattended consoles, filling the room with insistent discordance. Cruachan stared dumbly at it, then at Flinx, then at the Peaceforcers.
   “For heaven’s sake, don’t threaten him!”
   “Threaten me?” Flinx was almost crying now, ignoring Cruachan’s sudden terror, the buzzing, everything, as he spoke to the female Peaceforcer. “What does he mean, threaten me? What did you mean when you said you’re going to have me fixed up? I’m fine”
   “Maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t,” she replied, “but these Meliorares,” she spat the word out, “seem to think otherwise. That’s good enough for me. I’m no specialist. They’re the ones who’ll decide what’s to bedone with you.”
   “And the sooner the better,” her companion added. “Did you call for backup?”
   “As soon as we were sure.” She nodded. “It’ll take them a few minutes to get here. This isn’t Brizzy, you know.”
   Flinx felt unsteady on his feet as well as in his mind. Where he had expected rescue, there was only new hurt, fresh indifference. No, worse than indifference, for these people saw him only as some kind of deformed, unhealthy creature. There was no understanding for him here in this room, not from his ancient persecutors or these new ar- rivals. The universe, as represented by organizations illegal and legitimate, seemed wholly against him.
   Fixed, the woman had said. He was going to be fixed. But there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing! Why do they want to do these unnamable things to me? he thought angrily.
   The pain and confusion produced results unnoticed by the anxious antagonists facing each other across the floor. Prodded by the powerful emotions emanating from his master, half-awakened by the thinning quantity of soporific gas entering its cage, the flying snake awoke. It did not need to search visually for Flinx- his outburst of hurt was a screaming beacon marking his location.
   The snake’s wings remained folded as it quickly examined its prison. Then it rose up and spat. In the confused babble that filled the opposite end of the room, the quiet hissing of dissolving pancrylic Went unnoticed.
   “Let’s get them outside.” The male Peaceforcer moved to his right, separating from his companion to stand to one side of the entrance while she moved to get behind the shifting group gathered in the middle of the room.
   “Single file now,” she ordered them, gesturing with her gun. “All of you. And please keep your hands in the air. No dramatic last-minute gestures, please. I don’t like a mess.”
   Cruachan pleaded with her. “Please, we’re just a bunch of harmless old scholars. This is our last chance. This boy”-and he indicated Flinx- “may be our last opportunity to prove-“
   “I’ve studied your history, read the reports.”  “The woman’s voice was icy. “What you did is beyond redemption or forgiving. You’ll get just what you deserve, and it won’t be a chance to experiment further on this poor, mal- formed child.”
   “Please, somebody,” Flinx said desperately, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Won’t somebody tell me-?”
   “Somebody probably will,” she told him. “I’m not privy to the details, and explanations aren’t my department.” She shuddered visibly. “Fortunately.”
   “Rose, look out!” At the warning cry from her companion, the woman whirled. There was something in the air, humming like a giant bumblebee, moving rapidly from place to place: a pink and blue blur against the ceiling. “What the hell’s that?” she blurted.
   Flinx started to answer, but Cruachan spoke first, taking a step out of the line and toward the Peaceforcer. “That’s the boy’s pet, I don’t know how it got out. It’s dangerous.”
   “Oh, it is, is it?” The muzzle of the short rifle came up.
   “No!” Cruachan rushed toward her, the console buzzer screaming in his ears. “Don’t!”
   The Peaceforcer reacted instinctively to the unexpected charge. A brief burst of high-intensity sound struck the leader of the Meliorares. His stomach exploded through his spine. No sound had come from the gun. There had been only a slight punching noise when the burst had struck home.
   One of the elderly women screamed. The Peaceforcer cursed her overanxiousness and took aim at the source of her embarrassment. As she pointed her weapon at Pip, all the fury and pain and anguish crashed together inside Flinx’s head.
   “Pip! No’.” he yelled, rushing the woman. The other Peaceforcer moved to cover his companion. Pip darted toward the rear of the storage room. The woman’s gun tracked the minidrag as her finger started to tighten on the trigger.
   Something happened. Cruachan’s eyes were still open. A smile of satisfaction appeared on his face. Then he died.
   Night descended unexpectedly.
   Flinx was floating inside a giant bass drum. Someone was pounding on it from both sides. The rhythm was erratic, the sound soul-deafening. It hurt.
   Something was resting on his chest. I am lying on my back, he thought. He raised his head to look down at him- self. Pip lay on the slickertic, bruised but alive. The flying snake looked dazed. As consciousness returned with a vengeance, the narrow tongue darted out repeatedly to touch Plinx’s lips and nose. Content, the minidrag ceased its examination and crawled from chest to shoulder. Flinx fought to sit up.
   There was something wrong with his balance. It made the simple act of changing from a prone to a sitting position into a major operation. Two things he noted immediately; it was cold, and rain was soaking his face. Then his vision cleared and he saw the old man bending over him.
   For an instant the fear returned, but this was no Meliorare. It was a kindly, unfamiliar face. The oldster was dressed very differently from the Society members. There hadn’t been anything shabby about their attire. This stranger was a refugee from a simpler life.
   “Are you all right, boy?” He looked over his shoulder. “I think he’s all right.”
   Flinx looked past the old man. Several other strangers were gathered behind him. It occurred to Flinx that he was the center of their concerned curiosity. Strong arms reached toward him and helped him to his feet. There were comments about the flying snake riding his shoulder.
   A younger man stepped forward. “You okay?” He searched Flinx’s face. “I’ve had a little medical training.”
   “I’m not-1 think-“ Funny, his mouth wasn’t working right. He swallowed. “What happened?”
   “You tell me,” said the unsmiling young man. He was dressed neatly, much more so than the oldster who had first examined Flinx. A yellow-and-green-striped slickertic covered what Flinx could see of a brightly colored business suit.
   “I’m a factotum for the Subhouse of Grandier. I was Just coming down to check on the arrival of a recent shipment from Evoria.” He turned and pointed. “That’s our warehouse over there. I nearly tripped over you.”
   “Me, too,” the oldster said, “though I’m no factotum for anybody ‘cept my own house.” He grinned, showing missing teeth.
   Flinx brushed wet strands of hair from his eyes and forehead. How had he gotten so wet? He couldn’t remember lying down in the street. He couldn’t remember lying down at all.
   Now that those around him had quieted, the roar that had filled his ears since he had regamed consciousness assumed deafening proportions. Sirens sounded in counter- part.
   A couple of blocks away, flames shot skyward from the top of a warehouse in defiance of the steady, light rain. A fire-control skimmer hovered off to one side, its crew spraying the flames with fire-retardant chemical foam. It combined with the rain to knock the blaze back into itself.
   “Anyway,” the younger man next to Flinx continued as they both watched the dying inferno, “I was just entering our office over there when that building”-he nodded toward the flames-“blew up. If I remember aright, it was four or five stories tall. There are only two left, as you can see. Top three must’ve been incinerated in the first seconds. There’s charred debris all over the streets. Knocked me right off my feet, just like you.” Flinx’s gaze roved over the crowd that had gathered to watch the unusual sight. Large fires were rare in Drallar.
   “Somebody’s let themselves in for a nest o’ trouble,” the oldster muttered. “Storing explosives or volatiles inside the city limits. Bad business. Bad.”
   “Someone told me they felt it all the way to the inurbs,” the younger man said conversationally.  “I wonder what the devil was stored in there to cause an explosion like that? Piece of building went past me like a shot. It’s stuck: in our front door, no less, if you want to see it. As I was getting up, I saw you lying there in the street. Either something mercifully small hit you or else you got knocked out when your head hit the pavement.”
   “I didn’t see him get hit,” the oldster said.
   “Doesn’t mean anything, as fast as stuff was flying.” The executive looked at Flinx. “I’ll bet you never even felt it.”
   “No,” Fllinx admitted, still terribly confused. “I didn’t. But I’m okay now.”
   “You’re sure?” The man looked him over. “Funny. Whatever it was that knocked you down must have whizzed right past. I don’t see any bruises or cuts, though it looks like your pet got a little banged up.”
   “Can do you like that,” the oldster said. “ “Nother centimeter and maybe you’d have a piece of metal sticking out of your head. Conversation piece.” He chuckled.
   Flinx managed a weak grin. “I feel all right now.” He swayed a moment, then held steady.
   The executive was still studying the minidrag coiled around Flinx’s left shoulder. “That’s an interesting pet, all right.”
   “Everybody thinks so. Thanks for your concern, both of you.” He staggered forward and joined the ring of spectators gawking at the obliterated building.
   Slowly, reluctantly, his brain filled in the blank spaces pockmarking his memory. Third floor, he’d been up there, and the Meliorares ... Yes, the Meliorares-that was their name-were getting ready to run some tests on him. Then the Peaceforcers had broken in, and Pip had gotten loose, and one of them had been ready to shoot it, and the head Meliorare-Flinx couldn’t remember his name, only his eyes-had panicked and rushed the Peaceforcer, and Flinx remembered screaming desperately for the woman not to fire, not to hurt Pip, not to, not to-!
   “Then he had awakened, soaked and stunned in the street, an old man bending solicitously over him and Pip licking his mouth.
   His hand went to the back of his head, which throbbed like the drum he had dreamed of being imprisoned inside. There was no lump there, no blood, but it sure felt like something had whacked him good, just as the executive had surmised. Only the pain seemed concentrated inside his head.
   People were emerging from the burning warehouse: medical personnel in white slickertics. They were escorting someone between them. The woman’s clothes were shredded, and blood filled the gaps. Though she walked under her own power, it took two medics to guide her.
   Suddenly, Flinx could feel her, for just an instant. But there was no emotion there, no emotion or feelings of any kind. Then he noticed her eyes. Her stare was vacant, blank, without motivation. Probably the explosion had stunned her, he thought. She was the Peaceforcer who had been about to shoot Pip.
   In a hospital that blankness would doubtless wear off, he thought. Though it was almost as if she had been mind- wiped, and not selectively, either. She looked like a walking husk of a human being. Flinx turned away from her, uncomfortable without really knowing why, as she was put in a hospital skimmer. The vehicle rose above the crowd and headed downtown, siren screaming.
   Still he fought to reconstruct those last seconds in the warehouse. What had happened? That unfortunate woman had been about to kill Pip. Flinx had started toward her, protesting frantically, and her companion had started to aim his own weapon at him. The weapons themselves functioned noiselessly. Had the woman fired? Had the man?
   The instrumentation that had filled the storage chamber required a lot of power. If the Peaceforcer had missed Flinx, perhaps deliberately firing a warning shot, the bolt might have struck something equally sensitive but far more volatile than human flesh. As a rule, warehouses did not draw much power. There might have been delicately attuned fuel cells in the room. The shot might have set them off.
   Or had one of the Meliorares-perhaps the one who had fled from Pip’s cage-set off some kind of suicide device to keep his colleagues from the disgrace of an official trial? He felt much better as he considered both reason- able explanations. They fit what had happened, were very plausible.   .
   The only thing they failed to explain was bow he had landed two blocks away, apparently unhurt except for a raging headache.
   Well, he had been moving toward the door, and explosions could do funny things. The streets of the industrial district were notorious for their potholes, which were usually full of rain water. And he was soaked. Could the force of the explosion have thrown him into one deep enough to cushion his fall and cause him to skip out again like a stone on a pond? Obviously, that was what had happened. There was no other possible explanation.
   His head hurt.
   Local gendarmes were finally beginning to show up. At their arrival Flinx instinctively turned away, leaving the crowd behind and cradling Pip beneath his slickertic. He was glad that he hadn’t been forced to use his own knife, felt lucky to be alive. Maybe now, at last, external forces would leave him and Mother Mastiff and Pip in peace.
   He thought back a last time to that final instant in the warehouse. The rage and desperation had built up in him until he had been unable to stand it any longer and had charged blindly at the Peaceforcer about to kill Pip. He hoped he would never be that angry again in his life.
   The crowd ignored the boy as he fled the scene; he vanished into the comforting shadows and narrow alleys that filtered back toward the central city. There was nothing remarkable about him and no reason for the gendarmes to stop and question him. The old man and the executive who had found him lying in the street had already forgot- ten him, engrossed in the unusual sight of a major fire in perpetually damp Drallar.
   Flinx made his way back toward the more animated sections of the city, toward the arguing and shouting and smells and sights of the marketplace and Mother Mastiff’s warm, familiar little shop. He was sorry. Sorry for all the trouble he seemed to have caused. Sorry for the funny old Meliorares who were no more. Sorry for the overzealous Peaceforcers.
   Mother Mastiff wouldn’t be sorry, he knew. She could be as vindictive as an AAnn, especially if anything close to her had been threatened.
   For himself, however, he regretted the deaths of so many. All for nothing, all because of some erratic, harmless, usually useless emotion-reading ability he possessed. Their own fault, though. Everything that happened was their own fault, Meliorares and Peaceforcers alike. He tried to warn them. Never try to come between a boy and his snake.
   The damp trek homeward exhausted his remaining strength. Never before had the city seemed so immense, its byways and side streets so convoluted and tortuous. He was completely worn out.
   Mother Mastiff was manning the shop, waiting for him as anxiously as she awaited customers. Her thin, aged arm was strong as she slipped it around his back and helped him the last agonizing steps into the store. “I’ve been worried like to death over ye, boy! Damn ye for causing a poor old woman such distress.” Her fingers touched his bruised cheeks, his forehead, as her eyes searched for serious damage. “And you’re all cut up and bleeding. What’s to become of ye, Flinx? Ye have got to learn to stay out of trouble.”
   He summoned up a grin, glad to be home. “It seems to come looking for me, Mother.”
   “Hmpnh! Excuses. The boy’s wit is chock full of excuses. What happened to ye?”
   He tried to marshal his thoughts as he slid Pip out from beneath the slickertic. Mother Mastiff backed away. The millidrag was as limp as a piece of rope. It lay curled up in its master’s lap, if not asleep then giving a fine scaly imitation of some similar state.
   “Some people kidnaped Pip. They called themselves Meliorares. But they really wanted me. They-“ His expression screwed tight as he remembered, “One of them said something about wanting to fix me. Fix what? What did they want with me?”
   She considered a long moment, studying the boy. Truly, it appeared that he was telling the truth, that he had learned no more than what he said. Ignoring the proximity of the hated flying snake, she sat down and put an arm around his shoulders.
   “Now mark me well, boy, because this is vital to ye. I don’t have to tell ye that you’re different. You’ve always been different. Ye have to hide that as best ye can, and we’ll have to hide ourselves. Drallar’s a big place. We can move the shop if need be. But you’re going to have to learn to live quietly, and you’re going to have to keep your differences to yourself, or we’ll be plagued with more of this unwelcome and unwholesome attention.”
   “It’s all so silly, Mother, lust because I can sometimes sense what other people are feeling?”
   “That. And maybe more.”
   “There isn’t anything more. That’s all I can do.”
   “Is it, boy? How did ye get away from these people.” She looked past him toward the street, suddenly concerned. “Will they be coming after ye again?”
   “I don’t think so. Most of them were kind of dead when I left. I don’t know how I got away from them. I think one of them shot at something explosive and it blew up. I was blown clear out of a building and into the street.”
   “Lucky to be alive ye are, it seems, though by what providence I wonder. Maybe ‘tis best this way. Maybe ‘tis best ye don’t know too much about yourself just yet. Your mind always was advanced of your body, and maybe there’s something more that’s advanced even of that.”
   “But I don’t want to be different,” he insisted, almost crying. “I just want to be like everyone else.”
   “I know ye do, boy,” she said gently, “but each of us must play the cards fate deals us, and if you’ve been stuck with the joker, you’ll just have to learn to cope with it, turn it to your advantage somehow.”
   “I don’t want any advantage! Not if it’s going to cause us this kind of trouble.”
   “I’ll have none of that, boy! A difference can always be to one’s advantage. ‘Tis time ye chose a profession. I know you’ve no like for running a shop like this one. What is it ye like to do?”
   He mulled it over a while before replying. “All I enjoy doing is making other people happy.”
   She shook her head sadly. “Sometimes I think you’ve not enough self-interest to keep yourself alive. However, if that’s what ye like, then you’ll have to find some way to earn a living at it.”
   “Sometimes I dream of becoming a doctor and healing people.”
   “I’d advise ye to set your sights a bit lower, boy.”
   “All right. An actor, then.”
   “Nay, not that low. Be sensible. Set yourself to some- thing ye can do now, without years of study.”
   “I could perform right here in the marketplace,” he said thoughtfully. “I can juggle pretty good. You’ve seen me.”
   “Aye, and yelled at ye often enough for practicing with my expensive baubles. But ‘tis a sound thought. We must find ye a good street corner. Surely ye can’t get into trouble performing before these simple locals.”
   “Sure! I’ll go and practice right now.”
   “Easy, boy, easy. You’re nearly asleep on your feet, and I’ll not have ye breaking either my goods or yourself. Go inside and lie down. I’ll be in soon to fix ye something to eat. Go on now, boy, and be sure and take your monster with ye.”
   Cradling the exhausted Pip in his hands, Flinx rose and made his way through the displays to the section of the shop that served as their home. Mother Mastiff’s eyes followed him.
   What was to become of the boy? Somehow he had come to the attention of powerful, dangerous people. At least there was a good chance they wouldn’t be bothered for a while. Not if he had left them “kind of dead.”
   How had he escaped? Sometimes he still frightened her. Oh, not because he would ever harm a hair of her old head. Quite the contrary, as his dogged pursuit and rescue of her these past days had proven. But there were forces at work within that adolescent body, forces beyond the comprehension of a simple shopkeeper, forces he might not be able to control. And there was more to it than reading the emotions of others. Of that she was certain. How much more she could only suspect, for it was clear enough the boy had little awareness of them himself.
   Well, let him play at the trade of jongleur for a while. Surely that was harmless. Surely he could not find much trouble plying so simple an occupation.
   She told herself that repeatedly all the rest of the after- noon and on into evening as she sat watching him sleep. When she finally slipped into her own bed, she thought she had put such imaginary fears beyond her, but such was not the case.
   She sensed that the boy lying content and peaceful in the room opposite hers was destined for more than an idle life of entertaining on street corners.  Much more. She knew somehow that a damnable universe, which was al- ways sticking its cosmic nose into the destinies of innocent citizens, would never let anyone as unique as Flinx alone.
    
   

   
THE TAR-AIYM KRANG
Alan Dean Foster
 
 
 
 
 
To 
Larry Thor 
And
 John W. Campbell, Jr. 
Mentors
***************************************************
Chapter One
    
The Flinx was an ethical thief in that he stole only from the crooked. And' at that, only when it was absolutely necessary. Well, perhaps not absolutely. But be tried to. Due to his environment his morals were of necessity of a highly adaptable nature. And when one is living alone and has not yet reached one's seventeenth summer, certain allowances in such matters must be made.
   It could be argued, if the Flinx were willing to listen (a most unlikely happenstance), that the ultimate decision as to who qualified as crooked and who did not was an awfully totalitarian one to have to make. A philosopher would nod knowingly in agreement. Flinx could not afford that luxury. His ethics were dictated by survival and not abstracts. It was to his great credit that he had managed to remain on the accepted side of current temporal morality as much as he had so far. Then again, chance was also due a fair share of the credit.
   As a rule, though, he came by his modest income mostly honestly. This was made necessary as much by reason of common sense as by choice. A too-successful thief always attracts unwanted attention. Eventually a criminal law of diminishing returns takes over.
   And anyway, the jails of Drallar were notoriously inhospitable.
   Good locations in the city for travelling jongleurs, minstrels, and such to display their talents were limited. Some were far better than others. That he at his comparatively slight age had managed to secure one of the best was a tribute to luck and the tenacity of old Mother Mastiff. From his infancy she had reserved the small raised platform next to her shop for him, driving off other entrepreneurs with shout or shot, as the occasion and vehemence of the interloper required. Mother Mastiff was not her real name, of course, but that was what everyone called her. Flinx included. Real names were of little use in Drallar's market-places. They served poorly for identification and too well for the tax-gatherers. So in more appropriate ones were rapidly bestowed upon each new inhabitant. Mother Mastiff, for example, bore a striking resemblance to the Terran canine of the same name. It. was given in humour and, accepted with poor grace, but accepted, nevertheless. Her caustic personality only tended to compliment the physical similarity.
   The man-child had been an orphan. Probably involuntary, as most of his ilk were. Slill, who could tell? Had she not been passing the slave coops at that time and glanced casually m a certain direction, she would never have noticed it. For reasons she had never fully understood she had bought it, raised it, and set it to learning a trade as soon as it was old enough. Fortunately his theatrical proclivities had manifested themselves at quite an early stage, along with his peculiar talents. So the problem of choosing a trade solved itself. He proved to be a keen if somewhat solemn observer, and so his own best apprentice. Fine and well, because the older performers always became more nervous in his presence than they cared to admit. Rather than admit it, they pronounced him unteachable, and left him to his own devices.
   She had also taught him as early as was practical that in Drallar independence was ever so much more than an intangible thought. It was a possession, even if it would not fit into one's pocket or pouch, and to be valued as such. Still, when he had taken to her word and moved out to live on his own, the sadness lingered with her as a new coat of paint. But she never revealed it to him for fear of communicating weakness. Not in her words nor in her face. Urged oil affectionately but firmly he was, much as the young birds of the Poles. Also she knew that for her the Moment might come at any time, and she wanted it to brush his life as lightly as possible.
   Flinx felt the cottony pain of a sugar-coated probe again in his mind; the knowledge that Mother Mastiff was his mother by dint of sympathy and not birth. Coincidence was his father and luck his inheritance. Of his true parents he knew nothing, nor had the auctioneer. His card had been even more than usually blank, carrying not even the most elementary pedigree. A mongrel. It showed in his long orange-red hair and olive complex ion. The reason for his orphanhood would remain forever as obscure as their faces. Pic let the life flood of the city enter his mind and submerge the unpleasant thoughts.
   A tourist with more insight than most had once remarked that strolling through the great central marketplace of Drallar was like standing in a low surf and letting the geometrically patient waves lap unceasingly against one. Flinx had never seen the sea, so the reference remained obscure. There were few seas on Moth anyway, and no oceans. Only the uncounted, innumerable lakes of The- Blue-That-Blinded and shamed azure as a pale intonation.
   The planet had moved with unusual rapidity out of its last ice age. The fast-dwindling ice sheets had left its surface pock marked with s glittering lapis-lazuli embroidery or lakes, tarns, and great ponds.  An almost daily rainfall maintained the water levels initially set by the retreating glaciers. Drallar happened to be situated in an exceptionally dry valley, good drainage and the lack of rainfall (more specifically, of mud) being one of the principal reasons for the city's growth. Here merchants could come to trade their goods and craftsmen to set up shop without fear of being washed out every third-month.
   The evaporation-precipitation water cycle on Moth also differed from that of many otherwise similar humanx-type planets. Deserts were precluded by the lack of any real mountain ranges to block off moisture-laden air. The corresponding lack of oceanic basins and the general unevenness of the terrain never gave a major drainage system a chance to get started. The rivers of Moth were as uncountable as the lakes, but for the most part small in both length and volume. So the water of the planet was distributed fairly evenly over its surface, with the exception of the two-great ice caps al the poles and the hemispheric remnants of the great glacial systems. Moth was the Terran Great Plains with conifers instead of corn.
   The polyrhythmic chanting of barkers hawking the goods of a thousand worlds formed a nervous and jarring counter-point to the comparatively even susurrations and murmurings of the crowd. Flinx passed, a haberdashery he knew and in passing exchanged a brief, secret smile with its owner. That worthy, a husky blond middle-aged human, had just finished selling a pair of durfarq-skin coasts to two outlandishly dad outworlders … for three times what they were worth. Another saying trickled lazily through his mind. ‘Those who come unprepared to Drallar to buy skin, inevitably get.'
   It did not offend Flinx's well-considered set of ethics. This was not stealing. Caveat emptor. Fur and fibres, wood and water, were Moth. Can one steal seeds from a tomato? The seller was happy with his sale, the purchasers were pleased with their purchase, and the difference would go to support the city in the form of welfares and grafts anyway. Besides, any outworlder who could afford to come to Moth could damn well afford to pay its prices. The merchants of Drallar were not to any extent rapacious. Only devious.
   It was a fairly open planet, mostwise. The government was a monarchy, a throw back to the planet's earlier days. Historians found it quaint and studied it, tourists found it picturesque and frozepixed it, and it was only nominally terrifying to its citizens. Moth had been yanked abruptly and unprepared into the vortex of interstellar life and had taken the difficult transition rather well. As won id-be planet-baggers rapidly found out. But on a planet where the bulk of" the native population was composed of nomadic tribes following equally nomadic fur-bearing animals who exhibited unwonted bellicosity towards the losing of said fill's, a  representative government would have proved awkward in the extreme. And naturally the Church would not interfere. The Counsellors did not even think of them-selves as constituting a government, therefore they could not think of imposing one on others. Democracy on Moth would have to wait until the nomads would let themselves be counted, indexed, labelled, and cross-filed, and that seemed a long, long way off. It was well known that the Bureau of the King's Census annually published figures more complementary than accurate.
   Wood products, furs, and tourism were the planet's principal industries. Those and trade. Fur-bearing creatures of every conceivable type (and a few inconceivable ones) abounded in the planet's endless forests. Even the insects wore fur, to shed the omnipresent water. Most known varieties of hard and soft woods thrived in the Barklands, including & number of unique and unclassifiable types, such an a certain deciduous fungus. When one referred to 'grain' on Moth. it had nothing to do with flour. The giant lakes harboured fish that had to be caught from modified barges equipped with cyborg-backed fishing lines. It was widely quoted that of all the planets in the galaxy, only on Moth did an honest-to-goodness pisces have an even chance of going home with the fisherman, instead of vice-versa. And hunters were only beginning to tap I hat aspect of the planet's potentialities ... mostly because those who went into the great Forests unprepared kept an unquieting silence.
   Drallar was its capital and largest city. Thanks to fortuitous galactic co-ordinates and the enlightened tax policies of a sucession of kings it was now also an inter-stellar clearing-house for trade goods and commercial transactions. All of the great financial houses had at least branch headquarters here, reserving their showier offices for the more 'civilized' planets. The monarch and his civil service were no more than nominally corrupt, and the king saw to it that the people were not swamped by repressive rules and regulations. Not that this was done out of love for the common man. It was simply good business. And if there were no business, there would be no taxes. No taxes would mean no government. And DO government would mean no king, a state of affairs which the current monarch, his Driest Majesty King Dewe Nog Na XXIV, was at constant pains to avoid.
   Then too, Drallar could be smelled.
   In addition to the indigenous humans, the business of Drallar was conducted by half a hundred intelligent races. To keep this conglomeration of commerce pulsing smoothly, a fantastic diversity of organic fuels was demanded. So the central marketplace Itself was encircled by a seemingly infinite series of serving stands, auto-chefs, and restaurants that formed in actuality one great, uninterrupted kitchen. The resulting comb; nation of aromas generated by these establishments mingled to form an atmosphere unduplicated anywhere else in the known galaxy. On more refined trade stops such exotic miasmas were kept decently locked away. In Drallar t h ere was no ozone to contaminate. One man's bread was another man's narcotic. And one man's narcotic could conceivably make another being nauseous.
   But by some chance of chemistry, or chemistry of chance) the fumes blended so well in the naturally moist air that any potentially harmful effects were cancelled out. Left only was an ever-swirling thick perfume that tick led one's throat and left unexpecting mouths in a state of perpetual salivation. One could get a deceptively full and satisfying meal simply by sitting down in the centre of the markets and inhaling for an hour. Few other places in the Arm had acquired what might be described as an olfactory reputation. It was a truth that gourmets came from as far away as Terra and Proycon merely to sit on the outskirts of the marketplace and hold long and spirited competitions in which the participants would attempt to identify only the wisps of flavour that were wafted outwards on the damp breeze.
   The reason for the circular arrangement was simple. A businessman could fortify himself on the outskirts and then plunge mio the whirl of commerce without having, to worry about being cut down in the midst of an important trailsaction by a sudden gust of, say, pungent prego-smoke from the bahnwood fires. Most of the day the vast circle served admirably well, but during the prime meal hours it made the marketplace resemble more than ever that perspicacious tourist's analogy of the ebb and flow of a sea.
   Flinx paused at the stand of old Kiki, a vendor of sweets, and bought a small thisk-cake. This was a concoction made from a base of a tough local hybrid wheat. Inside, it was filled with fruit-pieces and berries and small, meaty parma-niits, recently ripened. The finished product was then dipped in a vat of warmish honey-gold and allowed to harden. It was rough on the teeth, but, ob, what it did for this palate It had one drawback: consistency. Biting into think was like chewing old spacesuit insulation. But it had a high energy content, the parma-nuts were mildly narcotic, and Flinx felt the need of some sort of mild stimulant before performing.
   Above the voices and the smells, above all, Drallar could be viewed.
   The edifices of the marketplace were fairly low, but outside the food crescents one could see ancient walls, remnants of Old City. Scattered behind and among were the buildings where the more important commerce took place. The lifeblood of Moth was here, not in the spectacular stalls below. Every day the economies of a dozen worlds were traded away in the dingy back 'rooms and offices of those old-new structures. There the gourmet restaurants catered to the rich sportsmen returning from the lakes, and turned up their noses and shut their windows against the plebeian effluvia assailing them from the food stalls below. There the taxidermists plied their noisome arts, stuffing downy Yax'm pelts and mounting the ebony nightmare heads of the horned Demmichin Devilope.
   Beyond rose the apartment houses where the middle and lower classes lived, those of the poorer characterized by few windows and cracking plaster, and those of the better-off by the wonderful multistoried murals painted by the gypsy artists, and by the brilliant azurine tiles which kept the houses warm in winter and cool in summer. Still further off rose the isolated tower groupings of the rich inurbs, with their hanging gardens and reinforced crystal terraces. These soared loftily above the noise and clamour of the commonplace, sparkling as jewelled giraffes amid each morning fog.
   Rising from the centre of the city to dominate was the great palace of the rulers of Drallar. Generations of kings had added to it each stamping a section here, awing there, with his own personality. Therein dwelt King Dewe Nog Na and his court. Sometimes he would take a lift to the topmost minaret, and there, seated comfortably on its slowly revolving platform, leisurely survey the impossible anthill that constituted his domain.
   But the most beautiful thing about Moth was not Drallar, with its jewelled towers and chromatic citizenry) nor the innumerable lakes and forests, nor the splendid and variegated things that dwelt therein. It was the planet itself. It was that which had given to it a name and made it unique in the Arm. That which had first attracted men to the system. Ringed planets were rare enough.
   Moth was a. winged planet.
   The 'wings' of Moth doubtless at one time had been a perfect broad ring of the Saturn type. But at some time in the far past it had been broken in two places - possibly the result of a gravitational stress, or a change in the magnetic poles. No one could be certain. The result was an incomplete ring consisting of two great crescents of pulverized stone and gas which encircled the planet with two great gaps separating them. The crescents were narrower near the planet, but out in space they spread out to a natural fan shape due to the decreasing gravity, this forming the famed 'wing' effect. They were also a good deal thicker than the ancient Saturnian rings, and contained a higher proportion of fluorescent gases, The result was two gigantic triangular shapes of a lambent butter-yellow springing out from either side of the planet.
   Inevitably, perhaps, the single moon of Moth was designated Flame. Some thought it a trite appelation, but none could deny its aptness. It was about a third again smaller than Terra's Luna, and nearly twice as far away, It had one peculiar characteristic. It didn't 'burn' as the name would seem to suggest, although it was bright enough. In fact, some felt the label 'moon' to be altogether inappropriate, as Flame didn't revolve around its parent planet at all but instead preceded it around the sun in approximately the same orbit. So the two names stuck. The carrot leading a bejewelled ass, with eternity forever preventing satisfaction to the latter. Fortunately the system's discoverers had resisted the impulse to name the two spheres after the latter saying. As were so many of nature's freaks, the two were too uncommonly gorgeous to be so ridiculed.
   The wing on Drallar's side was visible to Flinx only as a thin glowing line, but he had seen pictures of it taken from space. He had never been in space himself, at least, only vicariously, but had visited many of the ships that landed at the Port. There at the feet of the older crewmen he listened intently while they spun tales of the great KK ships that plied the dark and empty places of the firmament, Since those monster interstellar craft never touched soil, of course. He had never seen one in person. Such a landing would never be made except in a dire emergency, and then never on an inhabited planet. A Doublekay carried the gravity well of a small sun on its nose, like a bee carrying pollen. Even shrunk to the tiny size necessary to make a simple landing, that field would protect the great bulk of the ship. It would also gouge out a considerable chunk of the planetary crust and set of all sorts of undesirable natural phenomena, like tsunamis and hurricanes and such. So the smaller shuttle ships darted yoyo like between, traveller and ground, carrying down people and their goods, while the giant transports themselves remained in Polyphemian exile in the vastnesses of black and cold.
   He had wanted to space, but had not yet found a valid reason to, and could not leave Mother Mastiff without anyone. Despite unceasing bellows asserting to her good health she was a hundred and something. To leave her alone simply for a pleasure trip was not a thought that appeared to him.
   He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, half-burying Pip in the folds of thick fur. As human-inhabited worlds go. Moth was not an exceptionally cold planet, but it was far from tropical. He could not rein ember the time when lie had not been greeted upon awakening by a wet and clammy fog. It was a dependable but dampish companion. Here furs were used more to shed water than to protect from bitter chill. It was cold, yes, but not freezing. At least, it snowed only in winter.
   Pip hissed softly and Flinx absently began feeding him the raisins he'd plucked from the thisk-cake. The reptile gulped them down whole, eagerly. It would have smacked its lips, if it had any. As it was, the long tongue shot out and caressed Flinx's cheek with the delicate touch of a diamond cutter. The mini drag's iridescent scales seemed to shine even brighter than usual. For some reason it was especially fond of raisins. Maybe it relished their iron content.
   He glanced down at the plus window of his personal card meter. They weren't broke, but neither were they swimming in luxury. Oh, yes, it was definitely time to go to work!
   From a counter of her variegated display booth, Mother Mastif was pleading amiably with a pair of small, jeweled thranx touristas. Her technique was admirable and competent. It ought to be, he reflected. She'd had plenty of time in which to perfect it. He was only mildly surprised at the insectoid's presence. Where humans go, thranx also, and vicey-versy, don't you know? So went the children's rhyme. But they did look s bit uncomfortable. Thranx loved the rain and the damp, and in this respect Moth was perfect, but they also preferred a good deal less cold and more humidity. Paradoxically, the air could be wet and to them still too dry. Every time a new hothouse planet turned up they got ecstatic, despite the fact that such places invariably possessed the most objectionable and bellicose environments. Like any human youngster, he'd seen countless pictures of thranx planets: Hivehom, their counterpart of Terra, and also the famous thranx colonies in the blazon and Congo baisins on Terra itself. Why should humans wear themselves out in an unfriendly climate when the thranx could thrive there? They had put those inhospitable regions to far better use than man ever could or would have - as had humans the Mediterranean Plateau on Hivehom.
   Indeed, the Amalgamation had worked out very well all around.
   From the cut of their necklaces these two were probably from Evoria. Anyhow the female's tiara and ovipositor glaze were dead giveaways. Probably a hunting couple, hero for some excitement. There wasn't much to attract thranx to Moth, other than recreation, politics, and the light metals trade. Moth was rich in light metals, but deficient in many of the heavier ones. Little gold, lead, uranium, and the like, But silver and magnesium and copper in abundance. According to rumour, the giant thranx Elecseed complex had plans to turn Moth into a leading producer of electrical and thinkmachine components, much as they had Arnropolous. But so Far it had remained only rumour. Anyway, inducing skilled thranx workers to migrate to Moth would necessitate the company's best psycho publicists working day and night, plus megacredits in hardship pay. Even off-world human workers would find the living conditions unpalatable at best. He didn't think it likely. And without native atomics there' d be a big power problem. Hydro-electricity was a limited servant due to the lack of white water. It formed an intriguing problem. How to generate enough electricity to run the plant to produce electrical products?
   All this musing put not credit hi one's account nor bread in one's mouth.
   'Sir and madame, what think ye on my wares? No better of this type to be found this side of Shorttree, and damn little there.' She fumbled, seemingly aimless, about her samples. 'Now here's an item that might appeal to ye. What of these matched copper drink-jugs, eh? One for he and one for she,' She held up two tall, thin, burnished copper thranx drinking implements. Their sides were elaborately engraved and their spouts worked into intricate spirals.
   'Notice the execution, the fine scroll work, sir,' she urged, tracing the delicate patterns with a wrinkled forefinger. 'I defy ye to find better, yea, anywheres!'
   The male turned to his mate. 'What do yon say, my dear?' They spoke symbospeech, that peculiar mixture of Terran basic and thranx click-hiss which had become the dominant language of commerce throughout the Humanx Commonwealth and much of the rest of the civilized galaxy besides.
   The female extended a handfoot and grasped the utensil firmly by one of its double bandies. Her small, valentine-shaped head inclined slightly at an angle in an oddly human gesture of appraisal as she ran both truehands over the deeply etched surface. She said nothing, but instead looked directly into her mate's eyes.
   Flinx remained where he was and nodded knowingly at the innocent smile on Mother Mastiff's face. He'd seen that predatory grin before. The taste other mind furnished him with further inform a lion as to what would inevitably Follow. Despite a century of intimate familiarity and association with the thranx there still remained some humans who were unable to interpret even the commoner nuances of thranx gesture and gaze, Mother Mastiff was an expert and knew them all. Her eyes were bright enough to read the capital letters flashing there: SALE.
   The husband commenced negotiations in an admirably of hand manner, 'Well ... perhaps something might be engendered ... we already have a number of such baubles ... exorbitant prices ... a reasonable level ...'
   'Level! You speak of levels?' Mother Mastiff's gasp of outrage was sufficiently violent to carry the odour of garlic all the way to where Flinx stood. The thranx, remarkably, ignored it. 'Good sir, I survive at but a subsistence level now". The government takes all my money, and I have left but it pittance, a pittance, sir, for my three sons and two daughters!'
   Flinx shook his head in admiration of Mother Mastiff's unmatched style. Thranx offspring always came in multiples of two, an inbred survival trait. With most things terrene and human there had been little or no conflict, but due to a quirk of psychology the thranx could not help but regard human odd-numbered births as both pathetic and not a little obscene.
   'Thirty credits,' she finally sighed.
   'Blasphemous!' the husband cried, his antennae quivering violently. 'They are worth perhaps ten, and at that I flatter the craftsman unmercifully.'
   'Ten!' moaned Mother Mastiff, feigning a. swoon. 'Ten the creature says, and boasts of it I Surely ... surely, sir, you do not expect me to consider such an offer seriously'. 'Tis not even successful as a jest.'
   Fifteen, then, and I should report you to the local magistrate Even common thieves have the decency to work incognito.'
   'Twenty-five. Sir, you, a cultured and wealthy being, surely you can do better than taunt and make sport of an old female. One who has doubtless fertilized as many eggs as you ..." The female had the grace to lower her head and blush. The thranx were quite open about sex ... their's or anyone else's ... but still, Flinx thought, there were lines over which it was improper to step.
   Good manners it might not have been, but in this case at least it appeared to be good business. The male harrumphed awkwardly, a deep, vibrant hum. 'Twenty, then.'
   'Twenty-three five., and a tenth credit less I will not say!' intoned Mother Mastiff. She folded her arms in a recognizable gesture of finality.
   'Twenty-one,' countered the male.
   Mother Mastiff shook her head obstinately, immovable as a Treewall. She looked ready to wait out entropy.
   'Twenty-three five, not a tenth credit less. My last and final offer, good sir. This pair will find its own market. I must survive, and I fear I may have allowed you to sway me too far already.'
   The male wouid have argued further, on principle if for nothing else, but at that point the female put a truehand on his b-thorax, just below the ear, and stroked lightly. That ending the bargaining.
   'Ahhh, Dark Centres! Twenty-five ... no, twenty-three five, then! Thief! Assaulter of reason! It is well known that a human would cheat its own female-parent to make a half- credit!'
   'And it is well known also,' replied Mother Mastiff smoothiy as she processed the sale, 'that the thranx are the most astute bargainers in the galaxy. You have gotten yourself a steal, sir, and so 'tis you and not I the thief"
   As soon as the exchange of credit had been finalized, Flinx left his resting place by the old wall and strolled over to the combination booth and home. The thranx had departed happily, antennae entwined. On their mating flight'? The male, at least, had Seemed too old for that. His chiton had been shading ever so slightly into deep blue despite the obvious use of cosmetics, while the female had been a much younger aquamarine. The thranx too took mistresses. In the moist air, their delicate perfume lingered-
   'Well, Mother,' he began. He was not indicating parentage - she had insisted on that years ago - but using the title bestowed on her by the folk of the markets. Everyone called her mother. 'Business seems good.' She apparently had not noticed his approach and was momentarily flustered. 'What? What? Oh, 'tis you, cub! Pah!' She gestured in the direction taken by the departed thranx. 'Thieves the bugs are, to steal from me so I But have I a choice?' She did not wait for-an answer. I am an old woman and must sell occasionally to support myself, even at such prices, for who in this city would feed me?' 'More likely, Mother, it would be you who would feed the city, I saw you purchase those same mugspirals from Olin the Coppersmith not six days ago... for eleven credits.' 'Ay? Harrumph,' she coughed. 'You must be mistaken, boy. Even you can make a mistake now and then, you know. Um, have you eaten yet today?'
     'A thisk-cake only.' 'Is that the way I raised ye, to live on sweets?' In her gratefulness for a change of subject she feigned anger. 'And I'll wager ye gave half of it to that damned snake of yours, anyway!' Pip raised his dozing head at that and let out a mild hiss. Mother Mastiff did not like the minidrag and never had. Few people did. Some might profess friendship, and after coaxing a few could even be persuaded to pet it. But none could forget that its kind's poison could lay a man dead in sixty seconds, and the antidote was rare. Flinx was never cheated in business or pleasure when the snake lay curled about his shoulder. 'Gentle, Mother. He understands what you say, you know. Nor so much what as why, really.' 'Oh surely, surely! Now claim intelligence for the monster! Bewitched it is, perhaps. I believe it that latter, at least, for I can't deny I've seen the thing react oddly, yes. But it does no work, sleeps constantly, and eats prodigiously. You'd be far better off without it, lad.' He scratched the minidrag absently behind the flat, scaly head. 'Your suggestion is not humourful, Mother. Besides, it does work in the act ...'
   'Gimmick,' she snorted, but not loudly.
   'And as to its sleeping and easing habits, it is an alien tiling and has metabolic requirements we cannot question. Most importantly, I like it and ... and it likes me.'
   Mother Mastiff would have argued further except that they had gone through uncounted variations of this very argument over the years. No doubts dog or one of the local domesticated running-birds would have made a more efficacious pet for a small boy, but when she'd taken in the maltreated youngster Mother Mastiff'd had no credits for dogs or birds. Flinx had stumbled on the minidrag himself in the alley behind their first shack, rooting in a garbage heap for meats and sugars. Being ignorant of its identity he'd approached it openly and unfearing. She'd found the two huddled together in the boy's bed the following morning. She had hefted a broom and tried to shoo it off, but instead of being frightened the thing had opened its mouth and hissed threateningly at her. That initial attempt constituted her first and last physical effort at separating the two.
   The relationship was an unusual one and much commented upon, the more so since Alaspin was many parsecs away and none could recall having heard of a minidrag living unconfined off its native world before. It was widely surmised that it had been the pet of some space trader and had gotten loose at the shuttleport and escaped. Since the importation of poisonous animals was a felony on most planets, Moth included, few were surprised that the original owner had not made noisy efforts to reclaim his property. In any case it had banned no one (Flinx knew otherewise, and better than to boast the fact) and so none in the marketplace protested its presence to the authorities, although all wished with a passion it would go elsewhere.
   He moved to change the subject.
   'How are you equipped for credit, Mother?'
   'Fah! Poorly, as always. But,' and this with a sly, small grin, I should be able to manage for a while off that last transaction.'
   Id wager,' he chucked. He turned to survey the chromaticalllly coloured crowd which flowed unceasingly around and in front of the little shop, trying to gauge the proportion of wealthy tourists among the everyday populace. The effort, as usual, made his head ache.
   'A normal day's passings or not, Mother?'
   'Oh, there's money out there now, all right! I can smell it. But it declines to come into my shop. Better luck to you, perhaps lad'
   'Perhaps.' He walked out from under the awning and mounted the raised dais to the left of the shop. Carefully he set about rearranging the larger pots and pans which formed the bulk of Mother Mastiff's cheaper inventory to give himself sufficient room to work.
   His method of enticing an audience was simple and timeworn. He took four small brana balls from a pocket and began to juggle them. These were formed from the sap of a tree that grew only in Moth's equatorial belt. Under the sun's diffused UV they pulsed with a faint yellow light. They were per Feet for his needs, being solid and of a uniform consistency. A small crowd began to gather. He added a fifth ball now, and began to vary the routine by tossing them behind his back without breaking rhythm. The word was passed outwards like invisible tentacles, occasionally snatching fin of her person here, another there, from the fringes of the shuffling mob. Soon be bad acquired his own substantial little island of watchful beings. He whispered softy to the minidrag, almost buried in the soft fur.
   'Up, boy.'
   Pip uncurled himself from Flinx's shoulder, unfurling his leathery wings to their fullest extent. In spite of its rarity the crowd recognized the lethal shape and drew back. The snake soared into the air and performed a delicate, spiraling descent, to settle like a crown around the boy's head. It then proceeded to catch each ball arid toss it high into the air, changing the shape but not the rhythm of the act. The unbroken fluorescent trail took on a more intricate weave. A mild pattering of applause greeted this innovation. Jugglers were more than common in Drallar, but a young one who worked so deftly with a poisonous reptile was not. A few coins landed on the platform, occasionally bouncing metallically off the big pans. More applause and more coins when the snake flipped all five balls, one after another, into a small basket at the rear of the dais.
   'Thank you, thank you, gentlebeings!’ said Flinx, bowing theatrically, thinking, now for the real part of the act. 'And now, for your information, mystification, and elucidation ... and a small fee' (mild laughter), 'I will endeavour to answer any question, any question, that any one in the audience, regardless of his race or planet of origin, would care to tempt me with.'
   There was the usual sceptical murmuring from the assembly, and not a few sighs of boredom.
   ' All the change in my pocket,' blurted a merchant in the first row, 'if you can tell me how much there is!' He grinned amid some nervous giggling from within the crowd.
   Fiinx ignored the sarcasm in the man's voice and stood quietly, eyes tightly shut. Not that they had to be. He could 'work' equally as well with them wide open. It was a piece of pure showmanship which the crowds always seemed to expect. Why they expected him to look inward when he had to look outwards remained ever-puzzling So him. He had
   no real idea how his answers came to him. One minute his mind was empty, fuzzy, and the next ... sometimes ... an answer would appear. Although 'appear' wasn't quite right either. Many times he didn't even understand the questions, especially in the case of alien questioners. Or the answers. Fortunately that made no difference to the audience. He could not have promised interpretations. There!
   'Good sir, you have in your pocket four tenth pieces, two hundredth pieces ... and a key admitting you & certain club that...'
   'Stop, stop!' The man was waving his gnarled hands frantically and glancing awkwardly at those in the crowd nearest him. That will do! I am convinced.' He dug into his pocket, came out with a handful of change, thrust the troublesome key back out of sight of the curious who leaned close for a look. He started to hand over the coins, then paused almost absently, a look of perplexity on his face. It changed slowly to one of surprise.
   'By Pali's tide-bore, the whelp is right! Forty-two hundredths. He's right!' He hand ad over the corns and left, mumbling to himself.
   Flying coins punctuated the crowd's somewhat nervous applause. Flinx judged their mood expertly. Belief had about pulled even with derision. There were naturally those who suspected the merchant of being a plant. They granted he was a very convincing one.
   "Come, come, gentlebeings! What we have here is larvae plav. Surely there are those among you with questions worth tempting my simple skill'?'
   A being at the hack of the crowd, a Quillp in full postmating plumage, craned its thin ostrichlike neck forward and asked in a high, squeaky voice, 'In what summer-month my hatchlings come a-bout will?'
   'I am truly sorry, sir, but that is a question that involves the future, and I am not a clairvoyant.' The creature sighed unhappily and prepared to leave the gathering. At this sign of mortality on Flinx's part a number of others seemed inclined to go with the tall Ornithorpe. Flinx said hurriedly, 'But I hope fervent all five of your hatchlings successful are!'
   The Quillp whirled in surprise and turned goggling eyes on the small stage. 'How did you know that number my Circle had?' In its excitement it spoke in its native tongue and had to be reminded by a neighbour to shift to symbo-speech.
   I make it a policy not to reveal professional secrets.' Flilix yawned with calculated elaboration. 'Come, a real question, gentle beings. I bore quickly. Miracles I cannot produce, though, and they usually bore anyway.' Two humans, big, muscular fellows, were pushing their way ungently to the stage. The one on Flinx's left wore glasses-not for their antique therapeutic value, but because in some current fashion circles it was considered something of a fad. He extended a credcard.
   'Can you accept this, boy?'
   Flinx bridled at the 'boy.' but extracted his card meter. "Indeed I can, sir. Ask your question.'
   The man opened his mouth, paused. 'How do I know what to pay you?'
   I can't set value on my answers, only on your question. Whatever you deem it worth, sir. If I give no answer I will refund your credits.' He gestured to where the minidrag rested alertly on his shoulder. 'My pet here seems to have a feel for the emotional states of others which is quite sensitive. Even more so than myself. A swindler, for example, exudes something that he is especially sensitive to. I am rarely swindled.'
   The man smiled without mirth. I wonder why'?' He dialled a setting on the card, extended it again. 'Will a hundred credits do?'
   Flinx was quick to stifle his reaction. A hundred credits! That was more than he sometimes made in a month! For a moment he was tempted to lower the figure, mindful of the laugh Mother Mastiff might have if she Found out. Especially after his comments on her priceings this morning. Then he reminded himself that, after all, the man had set the price and surely would not cheat himself. He tried but could detect no trace; of humour about the man. Nor his companion. Quite the contrary. And he hadn't heard the question yet. What if he couldn't answer it?
   'A ... a hundred credits would be most satisfactory, sir.' The man nodded and stuck his card in the little black meter. The compact machine hummed softly and the amount, one-oh-oh-zero-zero, clicked into place on its tiny dial. There was a. brief pause and then it buzzed once, the red light on its top glowing brightly. It noted that the amount of so-and-so, card number such-and-such, was good for the amount dialled, and that credits numbering one hundred (100) had been transferred to the account of one Philip Lynx (his given name in the city records) in the Royal Depository of the sovereign Republic of Moth. Flinx returned the box to its place in his pouch and looked back to the two expectant men.
   'Ask your question, sirs.'
   'My co in pan ion and I are searching for a man ...a friend... whom we know to be somewhere in this part of the city, hut whom we have been unable as yet to contact.'
   'What is there distinctive about him?' Flinx asked from under closed eyes.
   The other man spoke for the First time. His voice revealed an impatience that his mind confirmed. It was brusque and low-pitched. "He is not tall ... thin, has red hair like your-self, only darker and tightly curled. Also his skin is not so dark us yours, it is mottled, and he has wet eyes.'
   That helped. Redheads were not plentiful in Drailar, and ihe reference to 'wet eyes' indicated a man with a high Sexual potential. The combination ought to be easy to locate. Flinx began to feel more confident, Still, Drallar was large. And there was the shuttleport to consider too.
   'Not enough. What else?'
   The two looked at each other. Then the bigger one spoke again. 'This man is dressed in navigator's clothes. He has with him ... probably on his person ... a small map. A star map. It is hand "drawn and very unprofessional looking. He usually keeps it in his blouse, which bulges slightly in consequence.'
   Flinx concentrated harder. So, a shift in the internal abstract, an angle resolved ... He opened his eyes, looked up in suprise. His gaze roved over the rear of the silent crowd and came to rest on an individual at the back. A red headed man, not tall, with mottled skin, wet eyes, and a slight bulge over his heart. Not surprisingly, Flinx sensed paper therein. As soon as their eyes met the map's went wide. He broke and plunged into the market mob. At the ensuing commotion the big man turned his head and strained to see through the mass. He clasped a hand on his companion's shoulder and pointed urgently. They started out in the direction of the disturbance, forcing the other members of the assembly out of their way with far more strength than tact.
   Flinx almost called to them, but the action turned to a shrug instead. If this form of an answer satisfied the two, he certainly wasn't going to argue the matter. A hundred credits! Without even committing himself. And the loose coin on the dais for Mother Mastiff. He waved an impulsive band at the crowd.
   'Thank you ever so for your attention, gentlebeings. For today, at least, the show is over.'
   The assemblage began to melt back into the flow of traffic, accompanied by not a few groans of disappointment from would-be questioners. With the unexpected dramatic build-up he had been given by the two strangers he probably could have milked the remainder for a pile, but his gift was capricious and possessed of a tendency to tire him quickly. Best to halt with an unchallenged success. This windfall entitled him to a serious celebration, and he was already impatient to get on with it.
   'Pip, if we could take in what we took today on a regular basis, the king would make me royal treasurer and you his official guardian. The snake hissed non-committally, the jet-black eyes staring, up at him. Ink boiled in those tiny poolings. Apparently government work didn't have much appeal.
   'And you are no doubt hungry again.' This produced a more positive hiss, and Flinx chuckled, scratching the mini-drag under its leather-soft snout. 'That's what I thought. However, I feel that something of a more liquid nature is in order for myself. So we will make our way over to Small Symm's, and I will guzzle spiced beer, and you may have all the pretzels your venomous little carcass will hold!' the snake wagged its tail at this, which involved its quivering all over, since it was mostly tail in the first place.
   As they made their way over the cobblestone back street he began mentally to reproach himself for not playing the crowd longer. He still felt that to overuse his talent would he to burn it out. But there were times when one had to be businesslike as we11 as cautious, a point Mother Mastiff had made to him many times. Still, he had slept late today and gotten started later than was usual. It would probably have proved difficult to bold the crowd much longer anyway. In Diallar darkness had a tendency to disperse people rapidly, and it was even now quite black out. Besides, be had a hundred credits in his pocket! Effectively, not actually, since it was in his account at the depository. So why worry? Did the sun fight to gather new hydrogen?
   He had almost reached the dimly lit bar when he tasted the sounds. They came filtering out of the alleyway to his left a hole dark as the gullet of a giant pseudo-sturgeon from one of the Great Northern Lakes. It sounded very much like a fight. A questing probe brought back overtones of fear/anger/terror/greed/bloodlust. Fighting in fun was accompanied by much cursing and shouting. None were uttered in a battle to the death since the participants were too busy and too intent of purpose to waste the breath. only humans fought quite that silently, so he knew they were not a part of the city's alien populace. There was that peculiar muteness of thought ...
   Flinx did not mix in such conflicts. In a city like Drallar where fat bellies and empty purses coexisted in abundance, one's own business remained healthy so long as one minded it. He had taken one step towards the peace of the bar when Pip uncoiled himself from his shoulder and streaked into the alley.
   Even at his comparatively young age, Flinx could curse fluently in fourteen languages. He had time for only five before he was hurtling into the blackness after his pet. It was only in precaution that he drew the thin stiletto from its boot sheath without breaking stride.
   Now he could perceive three forms in the dim light from the cloud-masked stars and the city-glow. Two were large and stood upright. The other was slight of build and lay with a recognizable stillness on the ground. One of the others bent over the prostrate body. Before it could carry out its unknown purpose, it jerked and roared loudly in the quiet.
   'GODDAMN!'
   The man began flailing wildly at a thin, leathery shape which dived and swooped at his head, The other pulled the wicked shape of a neuronic pistol from a shoulder cup and tried to sight on the rapidly moving object. Flinx had no time to think. With vague thoughts of forcing the man to the ground and knocking him out, be leaped on to the man's back. The thick ropes of broad muscle he felt beneath the man's blouse rapidly squelched that idea. The man lurched. In another second he'd be smashed against the wall of the nearest building. The thin blade plunged once, instinctively. The big man buckled horribly and crashed to the ground like a great tree. Flinx had already left the dead hulk before it reached the pavement,
   The other whirled, to meet this new menace as his companion pitched forward on to his face. Cursing, he fired in Flinx's direction. Rolling-like mad, the youth had made the cover of a broken metal crate, Fortunately the man's night vision didn't seem as good as his own. Even so, the near miss sent a painful tingle up his leg. An almost-hit with the ugly weapon would cause a man literally to shake himself to death in a series of uncontrollable muscular spasms, A direct hit to the heart or brain would kill instantly. Supposedly such weapons were outlawed on Moth. Obviously the law could be circumvented. The man rayed the area to his left. It was a mistake. Unhampered, Pip had the time he needed. The mini drag spat once.
   It was not a gesture of defiance, but of death. The flying snakes or 'miniature dragons' of Alaspin are akin to a few other carnivorous creatures. Among these is the Hema-chacus, or spitting cobra, of Terra. The latter has Forward-facing fangs and instead of injecting its venom via a bite, can spit it to a surprising distance with remarkable accuracy. The Alaspinian minidrags, however, have no fangs. Only small cutting teeth for biting. Little work has actually been done on them on their seldom visited planet, but they apparently, eject their poison through a narrowing tube of cartilaginous material running along the roof of the mouth. Muscles running the length of the jaw and along the neck force the venom even further than the Terran types, and with greater accuracy. Fortunately the minidrag has a relatively mild disposition and attacks only when threatened. Pip's actions were therefore unusual but not incomprehensible.
   The man gave vent to a shockingly shrill, soul-tearing scream and sank to his knees, clawing at his eyes. The venom was corrosive as well as killing. It was not fatal unless it got into the bloodstream, and so by rubbing at his eyes the man effectively killed himself. In thirty seconds he had become incapable of even that.
   In another thirty he was incapable of doing anything at all, Pip returned to his familiar resting place. As he settled his coils around Flinx's shoulder, the boy could feel the unnatural tension in the reptile's muscles, There was a brief urge to bawl the minidrag out good and proper, but his narrow escape and the fact that the snake had once again saved his life put it off. Time pressed. Still shaking slightly from muscular reaction of his own, he crept from his hiding place to the results of an undesired action.
   The only sounds in the alley were the ruffling whispers made by the always moist air flowing over the silk-cool stones and the steady plop, plop, plop of blood flowing from the wound in the back of the man the stiletto had finished. There remained the third body. In spite of everything, he bad been too late to help the small man. His neck had been broken cleanly. Unmoving, the sightless eyes reflected the silent stars.
   There was just sufficient light for him to make out the man's brilliant red hair.
   A crumpled piece of plastic lay clutched in a spasmodically Frozen hand. Flinx pried it from his grasp, bending open the lifeless but still stubborn fingers. Above him lights began to come on as the cautious inhabitants of the alleyway decided it was safe to trust their precious selves to the quiet uncertainty of the night. Prudence had been seized and now curiosity had taken over. It was time for him to leave. Now that the locals had bestirred themselves and the action had been resolved the local constabulary would be arriving. Although they would take their time, they would get here none the less. It would not do to be found standing over three lifeless bodies, all of them blatantly out world. Especially when one of them had registered a hundred credits to his account only this afternoon.
   He didn't like stealing from the dead, but anything that small that could cause the death of three men in one night was too important to leave to the discretion of the police. Without more than a casual glance at it, he shoved the rumpled sheet into his pouch.
   The police arrived shortly after lie had exited the mouth of the alley. A sudden increase in the babble of thoughts and voices told him that the bodies had been discovered. For locals action was time-defined and pedantic. When the police discovered that the three corpses were outworlders, a search pattern would be put into effect with small delay. Murder was not conducive to increased tourism. He hurried a mite faster towards the bar.
   Small Symm's establishment was notable not so much for its food and drink, hut rather for the reputation it enjoyed as being one of the few places in Drallar where a being could go at night, get comfortably drunk, and still be assured of retaining the same amount of body fluid that he held commenced the evening with. Small Symm himself was well aware of the business this favourable standing attracted to his place and so laboured mightily to maintain it. He did not know it, but if his business had been a country on Terra several odd centimes ago, it would have been called Switzerland.
   As Small Symm stood well over two metres tall and weighed in the neighbourhood of a hundred and fifty kilos, few felt inclined to dispute his neutrality. Those who had yearnings to contented them selves with imbibing elsewhere and commenting on the inordinate size of the barkeeps ears.
   There were no drinking laws on Moth. Only sober ones, as the saying went. As far as the judges were concerned one could proceed directly from the mother's breast to a bottle of Old Yeast-Bubble's best mash brew liquor. The end result of this oft-commented upon degenerate policy was a thriving local industry and a surprisingly small number of alcoholics.
   However, there had been a few who had commented at times on Flinx's comparative youth and thereby questioned his right to imbibe fermented spirits. One particular person, a travelling sin spinner from Puritan, had been especially obnoxious in this respect. Small Symm had lumbered over and politely advised the fellow to mind his own business.
   Holding fast to the tenets of his faith (and being a bit tipsy himself), the man had told Symm in no uncertain terms what he could do with his suggestions. The next thing he knew, his right arm had been neatly broken in two places. As gently as possible. The outworlder bad gone straight to the police and the police had objected ... after all, an outworlder, respected ... but not too vigorously. Especially after Symm had picked up their paddycraft and jammed it immovably into a sewer opening. After that Flinx and Symm both found themselves little troubled by minions of either God or Cop.
   The giant was pleased to see him. Not the least of the things they had in common was the tact both were technically orphans.
   'A dry hearth, young master! And how does the world find you tonight!'
   Flinx took the seat at the end of the bar. It finds me well enough, enormous one. Well enough so that I will have a bottle of your very finest Burrberry beer, and a cauldron of pretzels for my friend.'
   He rubbed the snake under the jaw and Pip's eyes slitted in appreciation. There were times when he would swear he could hear the thing purr. But since no one else could, he never made it a point of discussion.
   Symm's eyebrows went Lip slightly. Burrberry was expensive, and potent. He is far more concerned about the youth's ability to handle the former, however. The red ale was imported all the way from Crnkk, a thranx planet, and packed quite a kick for even a full-grown human. But he fetched it, and the pretzels for the minidrag.
   When he returned, the snake did not wait for an invitation, but dived immediately into the bowl and began wa11owning around in the salty twists, its tongue darting and flicking with machinelike rapidity at the big halite crystals. Like many things in Draliar, even the pretzels disdained subtlety. Flinx reflected again that for an undeniably carnivorous animal, his pet was notoriously fond of grain products. The mini drag's culinary adaptability had been one reason why it had been able to thrive so well in the city. There had been times when meat had been scarce, and vermin as well, and he and Mother Mastiff had watched in wonderment as the reptile happily downed large portions of salted bread or pime, the cheap cornlike growths that infested many of Moth's softwoods.
   Flinx hefted the delicately formed bottle and poured the cherry-red brew, watching it foam pinkly over the lip of the mug. Brewing was one of the thranx's most polished abilities. It was too late for the few perpetual drunkards and too early for most night crawlers. Small Symm satisfied himself that his other customers were taken care of and hunkered himself over the bar, leaning on crossed arms like hirsute trees. He watched silently as the boy downed a long draught of the effervescent liquid, then began from the remainder with short, caressing sips. Now and then a satisfied! hiss would come from the region to their right, among the pretzels.
   The barkeep's eyebrows jumped again when Flinx elected to pay for the nourishments in coin. 'Business has been so good, then?'
   'It has, it has. Believe it or not old friend, I made a hundred credits today. Honestly, too" The recent memory of three bodies in an alley came back to him. 'Although now I am not so glad I did, maybe.'
   'That is & strange thing to say.' The giant poured himself a tiny yttrium cognac. 'I am happy for you, but somewhat disappointed also, for it will mean that you will not need the job I've lined up for you.'
   'Oh? Don't be in such a hurry, massive one. And don't try to psych me, either. I am solvent at the moment, true, but money has a tendency to slip unnoticed from my fingers. I give too much away also. And I have the old woman to think of, although by now she might own the city fountains, despite her protestations of poverty.'
   'Ah, Mother Mastiff, of course. Well, possibly you would be interested, then. I can at least promise you some intriguing company.' He gestured behind Flinx. 'The third booth. Two most extraordinary personates.'
   Flinx turned to look at the small, cloth-covered booths winch lined the back of the establishment. Business and pleasure, sometimes mixed, were often conducted in those shrouded enclaves. He peered harder in the fuzzy light. Most people could not have discerned anything at even that short distance, but Flinx did not look with his eyes alone, Yes, there were indeed two figures in the indicated booth. And yes, from what he could see of them they did form an odd pair.
   One was a very tail human. His face was not sallow, but composed mostly of acute angles, Like knife blades protruding out from under the skin. His hair seemed to be greying at the temples and back, a natural turning of colour, and one streak of pure white ran all the way from front to back. The eyes were sharply slanted, almost mongoloid, and as black as most of his hair. They were made to appear mildly incongruous by the bushy eyebrows which met over the bridge of the nose. The mouth was small and thin-lipped, and the body, while not skinny, had the slenderness of careful diet more than vigorous exercise. He was heavily tanned on the visible portions of his body, the tan that Flinx had come to recognize as belonging to men who had been long in space and exposed to greater amounts of naked ultraviolet than most.
   If the man was unusual, his companion was twice so Although Flinx had not seen so very many thranx for they did not congregate in Drallar, he had seen enough to know til at the one lounging across from the man was by far the oldest he'd ever come across. Its chiton had Faded from a normal healthy pale blue to a deep purple that was almost black. The antennae drooped to the sides and were scaly at the base. Even at this distance he could perceive how the shell below the wing cases (both sets were present: un' mated, then) was exfoliating. Only the glowing, jewel-like compound eyes glittered with a gold that signified youth and vigour. A pity that he could not perceive even deeper.
   The cloth effectively cut off their conversation at this distance, but now and then the insect would make a gesture with a truehand and the human would nod solemnly in response. Flinx found the iiquor hampering him. Almost angrily, he turned back to his friend.
   'You were right, Symm. An odd coupling to find here.'
   'They've been in every night for four nights running now, and they drink steadily, although it seems to have about as much effect on them as water. But to the point. As is plain to a Mottl-bird, they arc strangers here. Yesterday they first began inquiring after a guide, saying that they wish to see more of the city. I was at a loss to help them until I thought of you. But now, since you are grown as rich as the king ...'
   'No, no. Wait.' Flinx was feeling expansive. Perhaps it was the beer. 'They should be good for a few stories, if nothing else. Yes. I'll assume the conveyance.'
   Symm grinned and ruffled the boy's hair roughly. 'Good I thought a glimpse of them might persuade you, as your interest in things off-world is notorious. Why it should be, though, the Tree knows! Wait here, I'll go tell them.'
   He went out from behind the bar and over to the booth. Through the faintly puce haze induced by the beer he could see the giant part the curtain and murmur to the two beings within.
   'Well,' he muttered to himself. 'One thing's helping, any-ways. At least they're not common tourists. Perhaps I'll be spared the agony of watching them chortle over buying ship-loads of junk at three times the honest price.' He made a sound that was a long hiss ending in a popped bubble. A scaly, smug head popped up from the bowl of demolished pixels, which had shrunken considerably in volume. The minidrag slid out on to the table and up the proffered arm, curling into its familiar position on Flinx's shoulder. It burped once, sheepishly.
   Symm returned with the two off-worlders in tow. 'This youth is called Flinx, sirs, and offers to be your guide. A finer or more knowledgeable one cannot be found in the city. Do not be misled by his comparative youth, for he has already acquired more information than is good for him.'
   Here at close range Flinx was able to study his two charges better. He did so, intently. The tail human was a fair sixth metre shorter than the huge Symm, but the thranx was truly a giant of its kind. With its upper body raised as it was now, its eyes were almost on a level with Flinx's own. The entire insect was a full two metres long. One and a half was normal for a male of the species. That their eyes were busy in their own scrutiny of him he did not mind. As a performer he was more than used to that. But he found himself looking away from those great golden orbs. Meeting them was too much like staring into an ocean of shattered prisms. He wondered what it was like to view life that way, through a thousand tiny eyes instead of merely two large ones.
   When the man spoke, it was with a surprisingly melodious voice. 'How do you do, youngster. Our good dispenser of spirits here informs us that you are practically Indispensabie to one who wishes to see: something of your city.'
   He extended a hand and Flinx shook it, surprised at the calluses there. As the enacts of the mildly hallucinogenic brew wore off, he became increasingly, aware of the uniqueness of the two beings he was going to be associating with each exuded an aura of something he'd not encountered before, even in his wanderings among the denizens of the shuitle-port.
   'My name is Tse-Mallory ..  Bran. And this, my companion is the Eint Truzenzuzex.'
   The insect bowed from the 'waist' at the introduction, a swooping, flowing motion not unlike that of a lake-skimmer diying for a surface swimming fish, Another surprise: it spoke Terranglo, instead of symbospeech. Hero was a learned and very polite bug indeed! Few thranx had the ability to master more than a few elementary phrases of Terrangio. Its inherent logical inconsistencies tended to give them headaches. The insect's pronunciation, however, was as good as his own. The rasping quality of it was made unavoidable by the different arrangement of vocal cords.
   'High metamorphosis to you, youth. We've been in need of a guide to this confusing city of yours for several days, actually. We're very glad you've agreed to help us out of our difficulty.'
   'I'll do what I can, gentlesirs. 'This flattery was embarrassing.
   'We would prefer to start at dawn tomorrow,' said Tse-Mallory. 'We're here on business, you see, and a more intimate acquaintance with the city is a prerequisite which we have put off" too long already. We were expecting a guide to meet us, actually, but since he has apparently changed his mind, you will have the commission.'
   'We are staying at a small inn a short distance down this same street..' added Truzenzuzex. It's sign is three fishes and...'
   '... a  starship. I know the place, sir I'll meet you at first-fog - seven hours - tomorrow, in the lobby.' The two shook hands with him once again and made as if to take their leave. Flinx coughed delicately but insistency. 'Uh, a small detail, sirs.'
   Tse-Mallory paused. 'Yes?'
   'There is the matter of payment.'
   The thranx made the series of rapid clicking sounds with its mandibles which passed for laughter among its kind. The insects had a highly developed, sometimes mischievous sense of humour.
   'So! Our guide is a plutocrat as well! No doubt as a larvae you were a hopeless sugar-hoarder. How about this, then? At the conclusion of our tour tomorrow - I daresay one day will be sufficient for our purposes - we will treat you to a meal at the finest constabulary in the food crescent.'
   Well! Let's see now, twelve courses at Portio's would come to ... well! His mouth was watering already.
   That'll be great ... sufficient, I mean, sirs.' Indeed, it would!
Chapter Two
    
Flinx was of course not a guide by profession, but he knew ten times as much about the real Drallar as the bored government hirelings who conducted the official tours of the city's high spots for bemused off-worlders. He'd performed this function for other guests of Small Symm more than once in the past.
   These, however, had proved themselves rather outré touristas. He showed them the great central marketplace, where goods from half-way across the Arm could be found. They did not buy. He took them to the great gate of Old Drallar, a monumental arch carved from water-pure silicon dioxide by native craftsmen, and so old it was not recorded in the palace chronicles. They did not comment. He took them also to the red towers where the fantastic flora of Moth grew lush in greenhouses under the tender ministrations of de dieted royal botanists. Then to' the tiny, out-of-the-way places, where could be bought the unusual, the rare, and the outlawed. Jewelled dishware, artwork, weaponry, utensils, gems, rare earths and rare clothings, tickets to anywhere. Scientific instruments, scientists, females or other sexes of any species. Drugs: medicinal, hallucinogenic, deadly, preservative. Thoughts and palm-readings. Only rarely did either of them say this or that small flung about their surroundings. One might almost have thought them bored.
   Once it was at an antique cartographer's, and then in a language incomprehensible to the multilinguistic Flinx.
   Yes, for two who had seemed so needful of a guide, they had thus far shown remarkably little interest in their surroundings. They seemed far more interested in Flinx and Pip than in the city he was showing them. As late afternoon. rolled around he was startled to realize how much they had learned about him through the most innocent and indirect questioning. Once, when Truzenzuzex had leaned forward to observe the minidrag more closely, it had drawn hack wanly and curled its head out of sight behind Flinx's neck. That itself was an oddity. The snake's normal reaction was usually either passivity or belligerence. This was the first time Flinx could recall it's displaying uncertainty. Apparently Truzenzuzex made little of the incident) but he never tried to approach the reptile closely again.
   ‘You are an outstanding guide and a cheerful companion,'the thranx said, 'and I for one count my self fortunate to have you with us.' They had moved along until they were now quite a distance from the city's centre. Truzenzuzex gestured ahead to where the tower homes of the very wealthy stretched away in landscaped splendour. 'Now we would wish to see the manicured grounds and hanging gardens of Drallar's inurbs, of which we have both heard so much.'
   I'm afraid I cannot manage that, sir. The grounds of Braav murb are closed to such as I, and there are ground-keepers - with guns - who are posted by the walls to keep the common folk from infesting the greens.'
   'But you do know the ways within?' prodded Tse-Mallory.
   'Well,' Flinx began hesitantly. After all, what did he really know of those two? 'At night I have sometimes found it necessary to ... but it is not night now, and we would surely be seen going over the walls.'
   'Then we shall go through the gate. Take us,' he said firmly, shutting off Flinx's incipient protests, 'and we will worry about getting past the guards.'
   Flinx shrugged, irritated by the man's stubbornness. Let them learn their own way, then. But he mentally added an expensive dessert to the evening's meal. He led them to the first gateway and stood in the background while the large, overbearing man who lounged in the little building there came over towards them, grumbling noticeably.
   It was now that the most extraordinary event of the day took place. Before the obviously antagonistic fellow could so much as utter a word, Truzenzuzex put a truehand into a pouch and-thrust under the man's eyes a card taken from somewhere inside- The man's eyes widened and he all but saluted, the belligerence melting from his attitude like wax. Flinx had never, never seen an inurb guard, a man widely noted for his cultivated rudeness and suspicious mannerisms, react so helplessly to anyone, not even the residents of the inurbs themselves. He grew even more curious as to the nature of his friends. But they remained basically unreadable. Damn that beer! It seemed to him that he had heard the name Tse-Maltory somewhere before, but he couldn't be certain. And he would have given much for a glimpse of the card Truzenzuzex had so negligently flashed before the guard.
   The way was now quite unopposed. He would at least have the opportunity of seeing some familiar things for the first time in the light of day. At leisure, too, without having to glance continually over his shoulder.
   They strolled silently amid the emerald parklike grounds and tinkling waterfalls, occasionally passing some richly dressed inhabitant or sweating underling, sometimes startling a deer or phylope among the bushes.
   I understand,' said Tse-Mallory, breaking the silence, 'that each tower belongs to one family, and is named thusly.'
   'That's true enough.' replied Flinx.
   'And arc you familiar with them?'
   'Most, not all. Since you are curious, I'll name the ones I do know as we pass them.'
   'Do that.' It seemed silly, but they were paying, so who was he to argue the practicality? A fine wine joined the dinner menu ...
   '.. and this,' he said as they drew abreast of a tail black-glazed tower, 'is the House of Malaika. A misnomer, sir. As I understand, it means "angel" in a dead Terran language.'
   'No Terran language is "dead,"' said Tse-Mallory cryptically, Then. 'He who is named Maxim?'
   'Why, yes. I know because I've performed here for parties, several times past. This next, the yellow ... '
   But they weren't listening, he saw. Both had halted by the black tower and were staring upwards to where the rose-tinted crystal proto-porches encircled the upper stories and over hung the lush greenery of the hanging vines and air-shrubs.
   ‘It is fortuitous,’ he heard Truzenzuzex remark, 'that you know each other. It might or might not facilitate certain matters. Come. we shall pay a call on your Mister Malaika.'
   Flinx was completely taken aback. Was this why they had hired him in the first place? To come this far to an impossibility? Next to the king and his ministers, the trader families of Drallar, nomads who had taken their talents off planet, were the wealthiest and most powerful individuals on the planet. And some might possibly be wealthier, for the extent of the great fortunes was not a subject into which even the monarch could inquire with impunity.
   It is a slight acquaintance only, sirs! What makes you believe he will do anything but kick us out? What makes you believe he'll even see us?'
   'What makes you think we can enter an oh-so-restricted inurb?' replied Truzenzuzex confidently. 'He will see us.'
   The two began to head up the paved walkway towards the great arch of the tower entrance and Flinx, exasperated and puzzled, had little choice but to follow.
   The double doorway of simple carved crystal led to a domes hallway that was lined with statuary and paintings and mindgrams which even Flinx's untrained eye could recognize as being of great value. There, at the far end, was a single elevator.
   They halted before the platinum-in laid wood. A woman's voice greeted them mechanically from a grid set off to one side.
   'Good afternoon, gentlebeings, and welcome to the House of Malaika. Please to state your business.'
   Now they would finish this foolishness! The message was all very nicely put, the surroundings pleasant. Out of the corner of an eye he could see a screen, delicately painted, ruffling in the slight breeze of the chamber's ventilators. Beyond which no doubt the muzzle of a laser-cannon or other inhospitable device was already trained on them. It was comfortably cool in the hall, but. he felt himself none the less beginning to sweat.
   'Ex-chancellor second sociologist Bran Tse-Mallory and first pililosoph the Ent Truzenzuzex present their compliments to Maxim of the House of Malaika and would have converse with him if he is at home and so disposed.'
   Flinx's mind parted abruptly from thoughts of making a run for the entrance. No wonder they'd gotten past the gate guard so easily! A churchman and a pure scientist. Highranked at that, although Tse-Mallory had said 'ex'. Chancellor second -that was planetary level, at least. He was less sure of Truzenzuzex's importance, but he knew that the thranx held their philosophs, or theoreticians, in an esteem matched only by that of the honorary Hive-Mothers and the Chancellor Firsts of the Church themselves. His mind was deluged with questions, all tinged by uncertainty as much as curiosity. What were two such eminences doing slumming in a place like Small Symm's? Why had they picked him for a guide - a youth, a nothing - when they could have had a royal escort by a king's minister? That answer- he could read clearly. Incognito; the one word said much and implied more. At the moment, what dealings did two such sophisticated minds have with a solid, earthy merchant like Maxim Malaika?
   While he had been dazedly forming questions without answer, a mind somewhere had been coming to a decision. The grid spoke again.
   'Maxim of the House of Malaika extends greetings, albeit astonished, and wilt have converse immediately with the two honoursirs. He wishes the both of you ...' there was a pause while a hidden eye somewhere scanned, '... the three of you to come up. He is' now in the southwest porchroom and would greet you there soonest.'
   The grid voice clicked off and immediately the rich grained doors slid back. Man and thranx, stepped unbidden into the dark-pile interior. Flinx debated a second whether to follow them or run like hell, but Tse-Mallory decided for him.
   'Don't stand there gawking, youth. Didn't you hear it say he wished to see the three of us?' Flinx could nowhere detect malignance. He stepped in. The elevator held them all more than comfortably. He'd
   been in this house before, but if there was one thing he was certain of it was that he was not now being summoned to provide entertainment. And this was not the servants' entrance he'd used before. The soft fsssh of air as the doors closed sounded explosively loud m his ears.
   They were met at the end of their ride by a tall skeleton of a man dressed in the black and crimson of the Malaika family colours. He said nothing as he conducted them to a room Flinx had not seen before.
   The far end of the room looked open to the sky. Actually if was one of the great crystal proto-porches which made this section of Drallar resemble so well a bejewelled forest. He quivered momentarily as he stepped out on to what appeared to be slick nothingness. The two scientists seemed unaffected. He had been on one of these before, when performing, but it had been opaque. This one was perfectly transparent, with just a hint of rose colouring, all the way to the ground. He looked up and the vertigo passed.
   The furnishings were all in red and black, with here and there an occasional bright colour in some imported article or work of art. Incense hung cloyingly in the air. In the distance the sun of Moth had begun to set, diffused by the perpetual thin fog. It got dark early on Moth.
   On one of the numerous big fluffy couches sat two figures. One he immediately recognized: Malaika. The other was smaller, blonde, and quite differently formed. The majority of her covering was formed by her waist-length hair.
   The voice that rumbled out of the thick-muscled neck was like a dormant volcano stirring to life. ‘Je? Our visitors are here. You run along, Sissiph, dear, and make yourself more pretty, ndiyo?'                
   He gave her a crushing peck on the cheek and sent her from the room with a resounding swat on the most prominent portion of her anatomy. He's got a new one, thought Flinx. This one was blonde and a bit more ripely curved" than the last. Apparently the trader's tastes were expanding along with his belly. In truth, though, it showed only slightly as yet.   
   'Well! Well,' boomed Malaika. His teeth flashed whitley in the ebony face, sparkling amidst wisps of curly beard. He was up to them and shaking hands in two steps. 'Bran Tse-Mallory and the Eint Tnizenzuzux. Usitawi. Thee Truzenzuzex?’
   The insect performed another of its slow, graceful bows. ‘I plead guilty of necessity to the accusation.' Flinx took the time to admire the insect's abilities. Due to the nature of their physiology the thranx were usually extremely stiff in their movements. To see one bow as did Truzenzuzex was exceptional.
   When the Humanx Commonwealth was in the process of being formed, humans had marvelled at the scintillating blue and blue-green iridescence of the thranx body colouring and swooned at the natural perfume they exuded. They had wondered miserably what the thranx would see in their own dun-coloured, stinky soft selves. What the thranx had seen was a flexibility coupled with firmness which no thranx could ever hope to match. Soon travelling dance companies from humanoid planets had become among the most popular forms of live entertainment on the thranx colonies and bomeworlds.
   But from the thorax up, at least, Truzenzuzex gave the impression of being made of rubber.
   Malaika finished shaking hands with both and then gave Flinx another little surprise. The' merchant extended his head and touched nose to antenna with the insect. It was the nearest a human could come to the traditional-thranx greeting of interwining antennae. But then, he reminded himself, a man who did business with as many races as had Malaika would know every gesture as a matter of course... and commerce.
   'Sit down, sit down" he roared in what be undoubtedly thought to be gentle tone of voice. 'What do you think of my little mwenzangu there, eh? Companion,' he added, seeing the puzzlement on their faces. He jerked his head in the direction taken by the departed girl.
   Tse-Mallory said nothing, the twinkle in his eyes being sufficient.  Truzenzuzex went further, If I read current human values aright, I should venture to say that such a propagation of marmoreal flesh to the width of the pelvic region would be viewed as more than usually aesthetic.'
   Malaika roared. 'Stars, you are a scientist, sir! Powers of observation, indeed! What can I give you both to drink?'
   'Ginger ale for me, if you have a good year.'
   'Fagh! I do, but 'pon my word, sir, you've mellowed if you're the same Tse-Mallory I've heard tell of, And you, sir?'
   'Would you by any chance have some apricot brandy?'
   'Oh ho! A gourmet, as well as a man of science! I believe we can accommodate you, good philosoph. But it will necessitate a-trip to the cellars. I don't often receive such a discerning guest.' The shadow which had conducted them from the elevator still stood wraithlike at the back of the room. Maiaika waved to it. 'See to it, Wolf.' The sentinel bowed imperceptibly and shuffled from the room, taking something in the atmosphere with him. More sensitive to it than the others, Flinx was relieved when the man's presence had gone.
   Now, for the first time, that hearty voice lost some of its bantering tone. ‘Je? What brings you two here, to Drallar? And so very quietly, too.' He glanced keenly from one imperturbable' face to the other, stroking that rich Assyrian beard slowly. 'Much as' my ego would be flattered, I cannot believe that such a stealthy entrance to our fair city has been effected purely for the pleasure of making my company.' He leaned forward expectantly in a manner that suggested he could smell money at least as well as Mother Mastiff.
   Malaika was not as tall as Tse-Mallory, but he was at least twice as broad and had the build of an over-age wrestler. Shockingly white teeth gleamed in the dusky face which bore the stamp of the kings of ancient Monomotapa and Zimbabwe. Massive, hairy arms protruded from the sleeves of the one-piece semisilk dressing-gown he wore casually belted at the waist. Legs to match, as solid looking as a Mothian ironwood tree, thrust out from the pleated folds at the knees. The short, knobbly toes on the splayed Feet bore a close resemblance to the woody parasites that often infested such growths. At least, they did on one foot. The other, Flinx knew, ended at the knee. Fuelled by credits, the prosthetic surgeons had laboured their best to make the left match its natural counterpart on the right. The match was not quite perfect.
   The real one, Flinx had learned from a talkative young woman at one of Malaika's parties, had been lost in the man's youth. He had been on a fur-gathering expedition to the planet of a minor sun in Draco when his party had been attacked by an ice-lizard. Being rather stupidly caught away from their weapons, they had watched helplessly as the carnivore instinctively sought out the weakest member of their party, the youthful female accountant. Malaika alone bad intervened. Lacking a suitable weapon, he had choked the beast to death by the simple expedient of jamming his left leg down its throat. It was the sort of extreme stunt that one wouldn't expect of the pragmatic merchant. Unfortunately, by the time they could get him to sufficient hospital facilities the limb had been torn and frozen beyond repair.
   'We neither intended nor expected to deceive you, friend Malaika. We happen in fact to be on the trail of something we have good reason to think you would find of value, yes. To us, however, it means much more than a paltry few hundred million credits.'
   Flinx swallowed.
   'But,' Tse-Mallory continued, 'our personal resources are limited, and so we are forced, however reluctantly, to seek an outside source of aid. One with an open credit slip and a closed mouth.'
   'And so you've wound your way to me. Well, well, well! It seems I'm to be flattered after all. I wouldn't be truthful if I said I were not. None the less, you must of course prove that what you wish me to provide credit for is going to be profitable to me ... in hard credit, not philosophical intangibles ... your pardon, friends. Tell me more about this thing which is worth much more than a mere few millions of credit.'
   'We assumed that would be your reaction. Any other, to tell the truth, would have made us suspicious. It is one of the reasons why we feel we can deal openly with your type of person.'                                           
   'How comforting to know that you regard me as so obviously predictable,' Malaika said dryly. 'Do go on.'
   'We could have gone to a government organization. The best are all too often corrupt, despite Church pronouncements. We could have gone to a large philanthropic organization. They are too prone to shock. In the end we decided it would be best to go where the promise of much credit would insure the exclusivity of our enterprise.'
   'And supposing that I do agree to put up fedha for this venture, what guarantee have you that I will not kill you outright if it proves successful and return with the object of search and two cancelled cheques?'
   'Very simple. First, odd as it may sound, we know you to be both reliable and reasonably honest in your business dealings. This has proved among the best of your wares in the past and should again, despite the bloodthirsty image your publicists enjoy presenting to the gullible public, Second, we don't know what we're looking for, but we will know it when we find it. And there is an excellent possibility that we will find nothing at all. Or worse, something will be found which will still remain worthless to us because of its incomprehensibility.'
   'Good! Any other thoughts and I would have become suspicious! I become more and more curious. Elucidate for the benefit of my poor, ignorant trader's mind. Why me, por favor?’
   Truzenzuzex ignored the pun and made the thranx equivalent of a shrug. 'Someone was necessary. As already mentioned, your reputation in a business noted for its back-stabbing made my ship-brother select you.'  Another revelation, thought Flinx. "And Moth itself is close to our objective . . . in a relative sense only, so it would do you little good and much expense to try to find it on your own. Also, another vessel departing Moth would mean nothing, with its constant flux of star travel. Our course would not be suspect from here, whereas elsewhere it might engender unwanted cogitation. Traders, however, often fly peculiar tangents to throw off competitors.'
   At this point the drinks arrived. Conversation was suspended by mutual consent as the debaters sipped at their refreshments. Flinx sampled Tse-Mallory's mug of ginger ale and found it delicious, if mild. Malaika drained at least half the contents of a huge tankard in one gulp. He rubbed his foamy lips with the sleeve of an immaculate gown, staining it irreparably. Knowing the fabric's worth in the marketplace, Flinx couldn't help but wince.
   ‘I again apologize for my denseness, sirs, but I would have whatever it is the competition is to be thrown off of spelled out to me.' He turned to face Tse-Mallory directly. 'And although you are apparently no longer associated with the Church in an official capacity, sociologist, I confess I am curious to know why you did not approach them seeking aid.'
   'My dealings with the United Church, Malaika, have not been over close for a number of years now. My parting was amicable enough, but there was a certain amount of unavoidable bitterness in certain quarters over my leaving that ... matters would be complicated, shall we say, should I reveal our knowledge to them at this time. Such would be necessary to secure their aid.’
   'Um. Well, that's blunt enough. I won't prod a sore. Maybe we should get on to...' He paused and looked to his right. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzezux followed his gaze with their own.
   Flinx shifted his position on the floor uncomfortably. He had managed to hear as much as he had by remaining utterly inconspicuous while in plain sight, an art he had learned from a certain patient and very sneaky old man. Aided by his own odd abilities, it had served him importantly more than once. These three, however, were far more observant than the folk one encountered in the marketplace. He could see clearly that he would have to leave. Why not voluntarily ?
   ‘Uh, sirs, I could do with some ... if you, honoured host, would point me in the direction of a pantry, I will endeavour to make myself instantly and painlessly nonpresent.'
   Malaika chuckled deafeningly. 'Astuteness is laudable, youth. So instead of sending you home ... I could wonder where that might be ... you go back to the hall, to your right, second door. You should find in there enough nourishment to keep even you busy for a few minutes!'
     Flinx uncurled from his lotus position on the floor and departed in the indicated direction. He felt their eyes and minds on him until he was out of view, at which point the pressure relaxed. Malaika's conviviality did not fool him. He might already have' heard more than would prove healthy. He was intensely interested in the answers to a good many questions that Malaika was now undoubtedly putting to his guests, and entertained thoughts of locating a good listening place at a thin section of wall. However, the death's head bad reappeared and stationed himself by the entrance to the porch-room. The blue eyes had passed over him once, as though he were not worthy of a second glance. Flinx bridled, then sighed. He would have to make do with what he could pick up without visual contact. Might as well enjoy the other opportunity while he bad it. He walked on.
   The pantry was all of fantastic. He almost forgot the unusual progression of incidents that had brought him here while he gorged himself and the minidrag on the store of luxuries. He had gotten as far as debating between Terran champagne and pine mint from Barabas when a short-series of extremely odd thoughts drifted across his open mind. He turned and noticed that the door to the room on his right was slightly open. The teasing sub-vocalizations came from beyond there. He did not for a moment doubt that that door should be securely locked. Cautiously, with a quick glance at the kitchen entrance, he made his way over to the door and slid it back another inch.
   The room next to the kitchen was narrow but long. It probably ran the whole length of this radius of the tower. Its function, at least, was unmistakable. It was a bar. With an eye towards locating' an even more palatable drink and his curiosity piqued he prepared to enter, only to catch himself quickly.
   The room was already occupied.
   A figure was hunched over by the opposite wall, its head pressed tightly against it. He could make out the outlines of a ventilating grid or something similar on the other side of the head. The face was turned away from him-and so bidden. The metal and wood he could see there was thin and light. The voices from the next room sounded clearly to him even from where he stood in the kitchen. 
   He eased the door back as slowly and easily as possible. Apparently totally engrossed in the conversation taking place on the other side of the wall, the figure did not notice his quiet approach. The grid itself could now be seen to be much larger than would be required for ventilating purposes. It looked loose and was probably hinged. Garbage could be passed through it from the other room, and thence shifted to nearby disposal units. He had a hunk of spiced Bice cheese in one hand and a pheasant leg between his teeth. His free hand started down for the stiletto hidden in his boot, then paused. The thoughts of the figure did not have the coldness nor the death-clear logic of the professional spy or assassin. Quite the contrary. Deaf killers were also rare, and this one had still refused cognizance of his presence.
   He made a rapid decision and brought back a foot, delivering a solid blow to the upthrust portion of the unbalanced figure below. It uttered a single screech and shot through the grille into the room beyond. In a split second he had regretfully discarded both pheasant and cheese and rolled through after it, coming up on his feet on the other side. The startled faces of Malaika, Tse-Mallory, and Truzenzuzex were already gazing in astonishment at the scene. The figure stood opposite him) rubbing the injured portion. It cursed him steadily and fluently. He noticed absently as he dodged the fingers which drove for his larynx that the figure was very much that of a woman. It matched the thoughts he had picked up. Reluctantly he assumed a defensive pose, legs apart, knees slightly bent, arms out and forward. Pip fluttered nervously on his shoulder, the pleated wings unfurling preparatory to the minidrag's taking flight.      
   The woman made another motion as if to attack again, but was frozen by the bellow which came from Malaika's - direction.
   'ATHA!' She turned to face him.
   The big merchant strode over to stand between them. His eyes went from one to the other, finally settling hard on Funx.
   'Well, kijana? I suggest something profound, and quickly!'
   Flinx tried to keep his voice as even as possible, despite the adrenalin pumping through his system.
   ‘I was in the pantry and happened to notice the door to the room next to it was open' (never mind why he had noticed it). 'Looking in, I saw a figure ... that figure ... hunched over next to a grille. The room most certainly ought to have been locked. I assumed that this was not part of your normal method of conducting private business talks and so I decided to force the issue -and the person – into the open, where the air is clearer. I'm sorry if I've broken a fetish or taboo of yours.'
   'What!' Then he caught the humour of it and grinned.. ‘Think I'm a weirdie, eh, kijana?
   ‘It was a thought, sir.'
   'Adabu! No, you did right, Flinx.' He turned a furious gaze on the girl. She shrank back slightly under that withering visage but the obstinate glare left her face. Somehow she found the wherewithal to look righteous.
   'Goddamn you, girl, double-damn and collapsed drives, I've told you about this, before!' He shook his head in exasperation. 'Again, kwa ajili ya adabu, for the sake of manners, I forgive it. Get out to the port and check out the shuttle.'
   It was checked again only last week and nothing was wrong with ...
   'Agggh!' He raised a hand the size of a ham. 'I.. strongly ' ... suggest ... that you ...!'She skittered by the descending hand and sped for the exit. The look she sent Flinx on the way out was brief, but hot enough to melt duralloy. Malaika caught his breath and seemed to calm himself somewhat.
   'How much of what she heard did you hear?'
   Flinx lied. In the situation he considered it more than ethical. 'Enough.'
   'So, so!' The merchant considered. 'Well, perhaps it will work out for the better. You'll probably turn out to be the sharpest one aboard, lad, but I'd stay clear of Atha for awhile. I'm afraid your method of making first greetings will never replace shaking hands'.' He shook with laughter at his own witticism. He put out an arm as if to embrace Fiinx's shoulders, drew it back hastily at a warning gesture from Pip.
   'She works for you?' It was a rhetorical question. But Flinx was curious to know what position the girl held that could inspire such trust on Malaika's part that he could treat her as he had without fear of reprisal.
   'Atha? Oh yes.' He looked in the direction taken by the girl. 'You wouldn't think a mwanamke that ferocious would have the patience to make starship copilot at her age, would you? She's been with me in that capacity for six years now.'
   Flinx resumed his former position on the floor. In reply to Tse-Mallory's inquiring gaze. Malaika said, I've decided that our young friend will accompany us on the journey. I know what I'm doing, gentlesirs. If the trip is long and tedious he will provide relief for us, and he's sharp as a whip besides. He also has some peculiar abilities which might prove useful to us) despite their capriciousness. It is a subject to which I have meant to give more attention in the past, but have never found the time.' Flinx glanced up interestedly, but could detect nothing beyond the merchant's veneer of surface geniality. In any case, he is too poor and not rich enough to pose a threat to us. And I believe him to be disgustingly honest. Although he has had ample opportunity to steal from my house he has never done so . . . as far as I know.'
   'His honesty was never in question,' said Truzenzuzex. I've no objection to the lad's presence.’
   'Nor I,' added Tse-Mallory.
   ‘Then, sociologist, if you would continue with your narrative?'
   'Actually, there is not much that is new to tell. Would that there were. As you might know my companion and I gave up our respective careers and regular pursuits some twelve odd years ago to research jointly the history and civilization of the Tar-Aiym.'
   'Some talk of your work has filtered down to my level, yes. Do continue. Naturally I am interested in anything that has to do with the Tar-Aiym ... or their works.'
   'So much we - naturally - supposed.'
   'Pardon, sir,' interrupted Flinx, I know of the Tar-Aiym, of course, but only by rumour and book. Could you maybe tell me more, please?' He looked properly apologetic.
   Since Malaika offered no objection, perhaps himself not considering such information redundant. Tse-Mallory agreed.
   'All right then, lad.' He took another long swig of his drink. 'As near as we have been able to determine, some 500,000 Terran-standard years ago this area of the galaxy was, as it is now, occupied by a large number of diverse and highly intelligent races. The Tar-Aiym were by far the strongest of these. Most of their time and effort was apparently absorbed in warring with their less powerful neighbours, as much for the pleasure of it,, it seems, as for the wealth it brought them, At one time the Tar-Aiym empire covered this section of space to a depth of four quadrants and a width of at least two, Maybe more.
   'Any reason we could put forth to explain the total disappearance of the Tar-Aiym and most of their subject races would be mostly conjecture. But working pains-takingly with bits and pieces of myth and rumour, and a very few solidly documented facts, researchers have put together one explanation that seems to offer more than most.
   'At the height of their power the Tar-Aiym came across a more primitive race far in towards the galactic centre. This race was not quite the intellectual equal of the Tar-Aiym, and they'd had star travel for only a short time. But they were tremendously tenacious and multiplied at an extra-ordinary rate. They resisted, successfully, every effort to be forced into the Tar-Aiym hegemony. In fact, under the impetus provided by Tar-Aiym pressures, they began to make giant strides forward and to spread rapidly to other systems.
   'Apparently the Tar-Aiym leadership did a most uncharacteristic thing. It panicked. They directed their war scientists to develop new and even more radical types of weaponry to combat this supposed new menace from the centre. True to form, their great laboratories soon came up with several offerings. The one that was finally implemented was a form of mutated bacterium. It multiplied at a phenomenal rate, living off itself if no other host was available. To any creature with a nervous system more complex than that of the higher invertebrates it was completely and irrevocably lethal.
   The story from there,' continued Truzenzuzex, 'is a simple and straightforward one. The plague worked as the leadership had hoped, to the extent of utterly wiping out the Tar-Aiym enemies. It also set about totally eliminating the Tar-Aiym themselves and most of the intelligent and semiintelligent life in that huge sector of space we know today as the Blight. You know it, Flinx?'
   'Sure. It's a-big section between here and the centre, Hundreds of worlds on which nothing intelligent Lives. They'll be filled again someday.'
   ‘No doubt. For now, though, they are filled only with the lower animals and the wreckage of past civilizations. Fortunately the surviving space-traversing worlds were informed of the nature of the plague by the last remnants of the dying Tar-Aiym. A strict quarantine must have been put into effect, because for centuries it appears that nothing was permitted in or out of the Blight. Otherwise it is probable that none of us would be sitting here now. It is only in recent times that the systems of the Blight have been rediscovered and somewhat hesitantly explored.'
   ‘The taboo' lingers even if the reason behind it has gone,' said Malaika quietly.
   'Yes. Well, some of the quarantined races on the fringe of the epidemic died out rather slowly. By means of interspace relay or some similar device they managed to pass out some threads of fact describing the Armaggedon. Innocent and guilty alike died as the plague burned itself out. Thank Hive that all traces of the germ have long since departed the cycle of things."
   'Amen,' murmured Malaika surprisingly. Then, louder, 'But please, gentlesirs, to the point. And the point is - credit.’
   Tse-Mallory took over again. 'Malaika, have you ever heard of the Krang?'
   ‘Nini? No, I ... no, wait a minute.' The trader's thick brows furrowed in thought. 'Yes. Yes, I believe I have. It forms part of the mythology of the, uh, the Branner folk, doesn't it?'
   Tse-Mallory nodded approval, 'That's right. The Branner, as you may or may not recall, occupy three star systems on the periphery of the Blight, facing Moth. According to a folk-legend of theirs passed down from the cataclysm, even though the Tar-Aiym were hard pressed to find a solution to the threat from the centre, they had not yet given up all forms of nonmilitary development and experimentation. As we now know for a fact, the Tar-Aiym were inordinately fond of music.'
   'Marches, no doubt,' murmured Truzenzuzex.
   'Perhaps. Anyway, one of the last great works of artistic merit that their culture was supposed to have produced was a great musical instrument called the Krang. It was theoretically completed in the waning days of the Empire, just as the plague was beginning to make itself known on Empire planets as well as those of the enemy.'
   'Ili?' said Malaika. 'So?'
   'On the side of the Blight almost one hundred and fifty parsecs from Banner lies the home world of a primitive race; ofhominids, little visited by the rest of the galaxy. They are far off the main trade routes and have little to offer in the way of value, either in produce or culture. They are pleasant pastoral, and nonaggressive. Seemingly they once possessed star travel, but sank back into a preatomic civilization and are only just now beginning to show signs of a scientific renaissance. Interestingly enough, they also have a legend concerning something called the Krang. Only in their version it is not an artistic device, but a weapon of war. One which the Tar-Aiym scientists were developing parallel with the plague, before the latter was put into widespread use. According to the legend it was intended to be primarily a defensive and not an offensive weapon. If so, it would be the first time in the literature' that the Tar-Aiym had been reduced to building a device for defensive purposes. This runs contrary to all we know of Tar-Aiym psychology and shows how severely they believed themselves pressed by their new enemy.'
   'Fascinating dichotomy,' said Malaika. 'And you have some indication as to where this weapon or lute or whatever might be? If either, it would be very valuable in Commonwealth markets.'
   'True, though we are only interested in its scientific and cultural properties.'
   'Of course, of course! While my accountants are estimating its net worth, you can draw theoretical rationalizations from its guts to your heart's content ... provided that you remember how to put its pieces back together again. Now just where is this enigmatic little treasure trove, eh?' He leaned forward eagerly.
   'Well, we know exactly, almost,' said Tse-Mallory.
   'Exactly? Almost? My weak mind again, gentlesirs. Forgive me, but I profess lack of comprehension.'
   Truzenzuzex made a very human-sounding sigh. Air made a soft whoosh! as it was forced out the breathing spicules of his b-thorax.
   'The planet on which the Krang is supposedly located was discovered accidentally nearly a t-year ago by a prospector working independently in the Blight. He was hunting for heavy metals, and he found them, 'Only they weren't arranged in the ground the way he'd expected.'
   'This fellow, be must have had sponsors,' said Malaika. 'Why didn't he take this information to them?'
   ‘The man owed a very great debt to my ship-brother. Heknew of his interest in Tar-Aiym relics. Supplying Bran with this information was his way of paying off the debt. It was of a personal nature and going into it here can serve no purpose. It would have been a more than equitable reimbursement.'
   'Would have been?' Malaika's humour was degenerating visibly into irritation. 'Come, come, gentlesirs, all this subtle evasion makes my mind sleepy and shortens my patience.'
   'No evasion intended, merchant. The man was to have met us in our rooms in the market section of the city, bringing with him a star map listing complete co-ordinates for the planet. As we had previously agreed on you as a likely sponsor, the three of us were then to proceed on to this house. When he did not arrive as scheduled we decided after some deliberation to seek you out anyway, in the hope that with your resources you might discover some hint as to his whereabouts. In any case, it would have been difficult to maintain our independence much longer. Despite our best efforts, we do not look like tourists. Enterprising persons had already begun asking awkward questions.'
   ‘I will - ' began Malaika, but Flinx interrupted.
   'Did your friend by any chance have red hair?'
   Tse-Mallory jerked around violently. For a second Flinx had a glimpse into something terrifying and bloody, which until now the sociologist had kept well buried beneath a placid exterior. It faded as rapidly as it had appeared, but a hint of it persisted in the crisp, military tones of the sociologist's voice.
   'How did you know that?'
   Flinx pulled the crumpled piece of plastic from his pocket and handed it to an astounded Truzenzuzex. Tse-Mallory recovered himself and glanced at the unfolded sheet. Flinx continued unperturbed.
   'I have a hunch that's your star map. I was on my way to Small Symm's establishment when my attention was caught by a commotion in an alleyway. Ordinarily I would have ignored it. That is the way one lives in Drallar, if one wishes to livelong. But for reasons unknown and thrice cursed my pet,' he gestured at Pip, 'got curious, and took it into his head to investigate. The occupants of the alley took exception to his presence. An unfunny fight was in progress, and in the situation which developed the only argument I had was my knife.
   'Your friend had been attacked by two men. Professionals by their looks and actions. They weren't very good ones. I killed one, and Pip finished the other. Your friend was already dead. I'm sorry.' He did not mention his earlier encounter with the three.
   Tse-Mallory was looking from the map to Flinx. 'Well, it was said before that it was a fortuitous circumstance that brought you to our notice. Now it appears to have been doubly so.'
   He was interrupted by an intent Malaika, who snatched up the map and moved over to where a flexilamp was poised. Positioning the powerful beam he began to study the lines and symbols on the plastic with great deliberation. Dust motes danced drunken spirals in the subdued light.
   'A most unusual and versatile pet,' commented Truzenzuzex idly. I've heard of them. The mortality rate from their venom is notoriously high, giving them a reputation all out of proportion to their numbers and disposition. Fortunately, as I understand it, they do not seem to attack without due provocation.'
   ‘That's right, sir,' said Flinx, scratching the object under discussion on the side of its narrow head. 'A ship's physician at the shuttleport once told me he'd met a scientist who'd actually been to Alaspin. The minidrag is native to there, you know. In his spare time, the man had done some limited research on them.
   'He said they seemed standoffish, which struck me as kind of a funny way to describe a poisonous reptile. But harmless unless, as you said, provoked. Pip was already pretty tame when I found him. At least, I've never had any trouble with him. The people in my area have learned to tolerate him, mostly because they haven't any choice.'
   'Understandable attitude,' murmured the philosoph.
   'This doctor's friend was with an expedition to Alaspin to study the ruins of the ancient civilization there. He hypotha ... hypothesized that the minidrag's ancestors might have been raised as pets by whoever had produced that culture. Selective breeding could account for some of their peculiar characteristics. Like, they have no natural enemies on the planet. Fortunately their birthrate is very low. And they are omnivorous as well as carnivorous. I found out early what that meant, when Pip started eating bread when he couldn't find meat. Oh yes, he also said they were suspected of being empathetic telepaths. You know, telepathetic on the emotional but not the mental level. That's why I'm never cheated in the marketplace or at business or gambling. Pip's sensitive to such things.'
   'A fascinating creature, I say again,' Truzenzuzex continued. 'A subject I would like to pursue further. However as I am not an exoherpetologist. I don't think it would be worthwhile just now. Too many other things on my mind,' The confession did not entirely ring true, as Flinx could read it. Mot entirely.
   Malaika was craning his neck over the map, tracing out lines in the plastic with his fingers and nodding occasionally to himself. 'Ndiyo, ndiyo ... yes.' He looked up finally.
   'The planet in question circles a GO, sol-type star. Four-fifths of the way towards GalCentre, straight through the Blight. Quite a trip, gentlesirs. He doesn't supply much information on the planet itself, no, not by an ndege-depositing, but it might be enough. Terratype, slightly smaller, marginally thinner atmosphere, higher proportion of certain gases ... helium, for example. Also eighty-one point two per cent water, so we should have little trouble finding the thing.'
   'Unless it happens to be submerged,' said Truzenzuzex.
   'So. I prefer not to consider possibilities upsetting to the liver. Besides, if that were the case I don't think your prospector friend would have found it. We'll have the same kind of heavy-metal detection instruments with us anyway, but I'd wager on its being above the water-line. If I recall, the information we do have on the Tar-Aiym suggests they were anything but aquatic in build.'
   'That's true,' admitted the philosoph.
   'We'll travel most of the way through unspaced areas, but then, one section of nothing is very much like any other, kweli? I foresee no problems. Which probably means a mavuno of them. At least we will be comfortable. The Gloryhole will not be crowded with all of us.'
   Flinx smiled but was careful to bide it from the merchant. The origin of the name of Malaga's private cargo-racer was a well-known joke among those in the know-Most thought it an ancient Terran word meaning a rich mineral strike ...
   'Unless, of course, this gun or giant harp or whatever is going to crowd us. How big did you say it was?'
   ‘I didn't,' said Tse-Mallory. 'We've no better idea than you. Only that it's .. large.'
   'Hmph! Well, if it's too big to go up on the shuttle, we'll just have to send back for a regular transport. I'd rather sit on it once we've found it, but there are no relay stations in that area. If it's been there untouched for a few millennia it will wait a few days.' He rolled up the map. 'So then, sirs. If there are no objections, I see no reason why we cannot leave kesho, tomorrow.'
   There were none.
   'Ema! A toast, then. To success and profit, not necessarily in that order! Naxdrovia!’ He raised his tankard.
   'Church and Commonwealth,' murmured man and thramt together, softly. They sipped down the remainder of their drinks.
   Malaika burped once, glanced out through the crystal wall where the sun of Moth was sinking rapidly behind the fog-squalls.
   It is late. Tomorrow then, at the port. The dock stewards will direct you to my pit. The shuttle will take us all in one trip and I need little time to set my affairs in order.'
   Tse-Mallory rose and stretched. If I may ask, who are "us all"?'
   'Those four of us here now, Wolf and Atha to run the ship, and, of course, Sissiph.'
   'Who?' asked Tse-Mallory.
   'The Lynx, the Lynx,' whispered Truzenzuzex, grinning and nudging his ship-brother in the ribs. 'Have your eyes aged as much as your brain? The girl!' They were strolling to the hallway now.
   'Ah yes.' They paused by the shadowlike Wolf, who held the door open for them. The man grinned in what was obviously supposed to be a friendly gesture, it did not come off that way. 'Yes, a very, ah, interesting and amusing personage.'
   'Ndiyo,' said Malaika amiably. 'She does have quite a pair, doesn't she?'
   As the others bid the spectral doorman goodeve, a hand came down on Flinx's shoulder. The merchant whispered. 'Not you, kijana. I've a question for you yet. Stay a moment.'
   He shook hands with Tse-Maltory and touched olfactory organs with Truzenzuzex, waving them towards the elevator.
   'Good rest to you, sirs, and tomorrow at first fog!'
   Wolf closed the door, cutting off Flinx's view of the scientists, and Malaika immediately bent to face him intently.
   'Now. lad, that our ethical friends have left, a point of, urn, business. The two hired corpses you Left rotting so properly in that alley. Did they have any special insignia or marks on them or their clothing? Think, youth!'
   Flinx tried to recall. It was awfully dark ... I'm not sure...'
   'And when did that ever bother you? "Don't hedge with me, kijana. This is too important. Think ... or whatever it is you do,'
   'All right. Yes. When I was trying to pry that map away from the dead man. I did notice the feet of the man Pip had killed. He'd fallen close by. The metal of his boots bad a definite design etched on them. It looked to be some kind of bird ... an abstract representation, I think.'
   'With teeth ?' prompted Malaika.
   'Yes ...no... I don't know for sure. The questions you ask, merchant! It could have been. And for some reason, during the fight I got this picture of a woman, an old-young woman.'
   Malaika straightened and patted the boy on the back. His expression was jovial but his thoughts were grim - grim. Ordinarily Flinx would have resented the patronizing gesture, but this time, coming from the merchant, it seemed only complimentary.
   'Thank the Mti of Miti for your powers of observation, lad. And for a good memory.' Flinx saw another word: uchawi, witchcraft, bill did not press the point. The big man changed the subject abruptly, 'I'll see you kesho, on ship, then?'
   ‘I would not miss it. Sir, may I ask the why of your question?'
   'You may not. The ship tomorrow, then. Good rest,' He ushered a puzzled Flinx to the elevator.
   The merchant stood pondering silently awhile, curses bubbling like froth from the cauldron of his mouth. They constituted the only sounds in the now 'deserted room. He turned and walked over to an apparently blank section of wall. Striking a hidden switch he sent the deep-grained panelling sliding lip into the ceiling to reveal a complex desk. The slim bulk of an interstellar transceiver dominated the other apparatus. Buttons were pushed, dials turned, meters adjusted. The screen lit up suddenly in a glorious fireball of chromatic static. Satisfied, he grunted and hefted a small mike.
   'Channel six, please. Priority. I wish to speak straight-line direct person, to Madame Rashalleila Nuaman, on Nineveh, in the Sirius system.' A small voice floated out of a tiny speaker set to one side of the rainbow flux rippling on the screen, 'Gall is being placed) sir. One moment, please.'
   Despite the incredible distances involved, the-slight delay was occasioned by the need to boost the call through half a hundred relay stations. Time of transit, due to the less-than-space concepts in use, was almost instantaneous.
   The screen began to clear, and in a short while he was facing one of the ten wealthiest humanoid females in the universe.
   She was lounging on some sort of couch. To one side he could easily make out the muscled, naked leg of whoever was holding the portable transceiver hookup for her. In the background he could see lush greenery, growing to fantastic size and shapes without the restraints of heavy gravity. Beyond that, he knew, was the dome which shut out the airless void that was the normal atmosphere of Nineveh. Nature battled surgery as the woman pulled her face into a toothsome, slinky smile. This time, surgery won. It was intended to be sexy, but to one who knew, it only came out vicious.
   'Why Maxy, darling! What a delightful surprise! It's always so delicious to hear from you. That lovely body of yours is well, I trust, and business equally?'
   'I'm only well when business is good. At the moment it is passible, Rasha, just passable. However I have hopes it will take a sudden jump for the better very shortly. You see, I've just had a most interesting chat with two gentlemen . . . three, if you count the redhead.'
   Nuaman tried to project an aura of disinterest, but surgery couldn't hide the way the tendons tautened in her neck. 'How interesting, I'm sure, I do hope it proves profitable for you. But your tone seems to imply that you believe I am somehow involved."
   ‘It did? I don't recall saying anything that might lead you to that conclusion... darling. Oh, it isn't the redhead you're thinking of. Your bully-boys did get to that one ... as per instructions, no doubt.'
   'Why Maxy, whatever are you thinking of? Why should any of my assistants be on Moth? My dealings on the planet are small, as you well know. You're the one who keeps blocking all my attempts to expand my interests there. Anyhow, I don't know many redheads altogether ... certainly can't recall any I'd want killed. Messed up a little, perhaps, but not killed. No, darling, you're mistaken. What an odd conversation! There's nothing on that 'pitifully damp ball of dirt of yours, redheaded or otherwise, that I'd risk a murder for,'
   'Ummm. Not even this, hasa?’ He held up the map. Folded, so that the interior would not show.
   It didn't matter. She recognized it, all right! She sat bolt upright and leaned forward so that her face, witchlike, seemed to fill the whole screen.
   'Where did you get that? That belongs to me!'
   'Oh now, Rasha, bibi, I do doubt that. And do sit back a little. Closeups are not your forte, you know.' He made a pretence of examining it. "No name. I'm afraid. And besides, I got it from a live redhead. A boy, really. He happened along just as your "assistants" happened to be performing acts of doubtful legality against the original owner. Either the youth is an extraordinary chap ... which I am inclined to believe ... or else the two assistants you assigned to this job were very low-grade morons ... which, come to think of it, I am also inclined to believe. They were yours, I see. It had your typically brazen touch about it. I merely wanted to make certain. I've done that. Thank you, Rasha dear. Sikuzuri, now.'
   He cut her off in midcurse and went off to find Sissiph.
   All in all, it had been rather a good day.
    
Chapter Three
    
On Nineveh, Rashalleila Nuaman, matriarch and head of one of the largest private concerns in the Commonwealth and one of the tea richest humanoid females in the known firmament, was howling mad. She booted the nearly nude male servant who held the portable transceiver in an indelicate place. The unfortunate machine fell into a pool of mutated goldfish. Startled, they scrambled for cover amidst pastel lily pads. A number of very rare and expensive opaline glasses were shattered on the stone pathway.
   Her anger momentarily assuaged, she sat back down on the lounge and spent five minutes rearranging her hair. It was olive this week. At that point she felt sufficiently in control of herself to get up and walk to the main house.
   How had that utter bastard Malaika found out about the map? And how had it found its way into his hands? Or possibly... possibly it had been the other way around? The two gentlemen he had so snidely referred to were undoubtedly that Tse-Mallory person and his pet bug. But who was this new 'redhead'? Who had so rapidly and shockingly managed to wreck what had until a few minutes ago been a comparatively smooth, routine operation? And all this now, with Nikosos only two days out of Moth! It was insufferable! She took a clawed swipe in passing at a stand of priceless Yyrbittium trumpet-blooms, shredding the carmine leaves. The delicate tube-shaped petals, sifted brokenly to the floor. Someone was definitely, yes definitely, going to be flayed!
   She stomped into the lounge-room that doubled as her office and collapsed disconsolately in the white fur mouldy chair. Her bead dropped on to her right hand while the left made nervous clicking sounds on the pure corrundum table. The brilliant quicksilver flickering was the only movement in the wave-proofed room. It was insufferable! He would not get away with it. It would be on his head, yes, on his, if a single killing operation devolved into a multiple one. It might even extend itself to his own exquisite carcass, and wouldn't that be sad. He would make a lovely corpse. Don't just sit there, you slobbering bitch. Get cracking She leaned over the desk and jabbed a button. A thin, weary face formed on the screen in front of her. 'Dryden, contact Nikosos and tell him that he is not to land at Drallar. He is instead to monitor all starships that are in parking orbit around the planet and stand off. Any which depart in the direction of the Blight he is to follow as closely as possible while at all times staying out of immediate detector range. If he complains, tell him I realize it's a difficult proposition and he's simply to do his best,' I can always fire him later, she thought grimly. If he presses you for an explanation, tell turn plans have been changed due to unforeseen and unpreventable circumstances. He is to follow that ship! I guarantee there will be one, and probably shortly. It will be headed for the planet be was originally to have proceeded to by map. For now he'll have to do without his own set of co-ordinates. Is that alI clear?'
   'Yes, Madame.'
   She had cut him off before he reached the second ‘m'. Well, she'd done what she could, but it seemed so goddamn little' Her feeling of comparative impotence magnified her rage and the corresponding desire to take out her frustration on someone else. Let's see. Who was handy? And deserving? Um. The idiot who had bungled with those two assassins? A fine choice! Her niece? That bubble-head. And to think, to think that one day she might have to take over the firm. When she couldn't even oversee a simple extraction. She pressed another button.
   'Have Teteen auz Rudenuaman report to my office at, oh, five hours tomorrow morning.'
   'Yes, Madame,' the grid replied.
   Now if there were only someone else. A budding career to squelch, perhaps. But in good faith there was no one else she could rake over the coals. Not that that should prove a consideration if she felt especially bitchy, but a loyal staff could be assured only through an equal mixture of fear and reward. No point in overdoing the former. No, face to it, what she really needed was relaxing. Hopefully that fop van Cleef would be in decent shape tonight. A smile suddenly Sickled across her face. The unlucky button got jabbed again.
   Cancel that last. Have my niece report at five hours tomorrow ... but to my sleeping quarters, not the office.'
   Noted,' said the grid compactly.
   Rashalleila leaned back and stretched luxuriously. Definitely she felt 'better. She knew her niece was hopelessly in love with her current gigolo. Why, she couldn't for the life of her see, but it was a fact. It would be interesting to see if the girl could keep a straight face tomorrow as she was bawled out in front of him. While he stirred groggily in her aunt's bed. It would fortify her character, it would. She giggled at the thought and even in the empty room it was not a pleasant sound.
    
Chapter Four
    
Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex were making their way casually back to their rooms via the routes of the market-place. It was twice as noisy and confusing at night as it was during the day. The flashing lights of motorized handcarts and fluorescent vendors added much to the atmosphere of controlled anarchy. Still, they did not need the Flinx. No matter how tortuous or confused the route, a thranx could always retrace it once travelled.
   'Well, brother,' said Truzenzuzex, dodging a mobile seller of novelties, 'what do you think of our friend the merchant?'
   I would feel much better if our friend the unusual youth were twenty years older and in his place. A partial telepath, for sure. I could sense it. But such wishes are useless. Chaos, Up the universe!' he muttered.
   ‘Up the universe!' replied Truzenzuzex. Both smiled at the private joke, which had a deeper meaning than the surface humour implied. 'The man seems as trustworthy a member of his type as we are likely to find, and he has the ship we need. I cannot be positive yet, of course, but under the circumstances I think we have done quite well. And the boy's presence on the vessel should serve as a moderating factor. He seems to trust the trader, too.' 'Agreed. The lad's presence will inject an uncertainty element, if nothing else.'
   'A certain uncertainty factor. How apropos of this venture so far "The insect shook its head in deliberate aping of the human gesture. 'This has caused three deaths so far. I would hope there will be no more.'
   'So would I, brother, so would I. The two of us have seen too much death already.' Truzenzuzex did not reply, as he was concentrating on a difficult forking of their path.
   Tse-Mallory followed mechanically. The noise and lights had a tendency to hypnotize, he allowed his mind to drift…
Chapter Five
    
The picture they were seeing in the viewscreen of the stingship was identical to the one being flashed to every member of the task force. It showed a tall, thin Ornithorphe with primarily black and yellow plumage. The being was possessed of a large amount of natural dignity, which it was at present being hard-pressed to retain. It is not easy to be dignified when one is begging.
   Ensign Bran Tse-Mallory, aged twenty-six years, Fourth Battle Group, Sixth Corps of the Enforcement Arm of the United Church, watched the military governor of the blue planet below them crumble mentally as he pleaded with their own commander for aid. Anger and embarrassment mingled in his own throat, which was unaccountably dry, as he followed the conversation.
   'Major Gonzalez,' the Ornithorphe intoned, 'I will ask you for a final time, and then T must go and do what I can to aid my people, even if it is only to die with them. Will you use the forces at your command to intercede and prevent a massacre?'
   The voice of Task Force Commander Major Julio Gonzalez filtered through the small grid used for interfleet Frequencies. It was cool and controlled. Bran wanted to smash the grid and the sickly smug face that sat behind it.
   'And I am forced to remind you once again, Governor Bolo, that much as I sympathize with your plight there is nothing I can do. It is, after all, only by pure coincidence that my force is here at all. We are on a peaceful patrol and stopped by your planet only to pay the customary courtesy call. Had we been a week earlier or later we would not even be witness to this unfortunate situation.'
   'But you are here and you are witness, Jaor,’ began the governor for the seventeenth time, 'and ...'
   'Please, sir, I've listened quite too Song as it is. The Church and the Commonwealth have been at peace with the AAnn Empire for years now ...'
   'Some peace!' muttered an indiscreet voice elsewhere on the network. If Gonzalez heard it, he gave no sign.
   '... and I refuse to jeopardize that peace by interceding In an affair that is none of my business. To intervene on either side would be tantamount to an act of war. Also, I should be acting directly contrary to my orders and to the purpose of this patrol. I must refuse to do so, sir. I hope you can understand my position.'
   'Your position" the governor gasped. His voice was breaking noticeably under the strain of the last few days and he had to fight to keep his thoughts framed in symbospeech.
   'What of those AAnn-ghijipps out there? An open attack on a helpless colony. "Act of war" you say! Isn't that a direct violation of y our precious Convention? The one that "your" patrol is supposed to be upholding?'
   If your claim is just, I am sure the Convention arbiters will decide in your favour.'
   'Whose favour!' roared the Governor. 'Surely you know what the AAnn do to subject planets! Especially those who have the impertinence to resist. If there are none of us left alive to accept the favourable decision of the arbiting board, what use your damned Convention! Will our memories receive pensions?'
   ‘I am sorry, governor. I wish I could help you, but ...'
   'Send just one of your ships, a token showing,' he cried.
   'They might hesitate .. '
   ‘I said I was sorry, governor. I am distraught. Good-bye, sir.' Gonzalez had broken the connection.
   From above and behind him. Bran heard the voice of his young ship-brother. The insect's deep blue-green chiton was rendered even more resplendent by the silver battle harness that enclosed its cylindrical body.
   'That,' said Truzenzuzex in cool, even tones, 'was just possibly the most nauseating bit of rhetorical doggerel it has ever been my misfortune to overhear.'
   Bran agreed. He was finding it more and more difficult to restrain himself. Even without the heightened-instinct-perception drugs, the killing urge was beginning to steal warmly over turn. It had the powerful push of righteous indignation behind it.
   Isn't it possible that maybe the locals ...?' '... haven't got a chance,' finished Truzenzuzex. 'They're outnumbered and outgunned, and not a regular armed force among them in the first place. As the AAnn doubtlessly surmised well in advance. I doubt 'f their ships even have doublekay drives. Theirs is only a colony and they wouldn't have need of many.'
   ‘Typical AAnn macoeuvre.  Damn those anthropomorphic bastards! Always sniping and chipping at edges. I wish they'd come right out and say they're going to contest us for this part of the galaxy. Let 'cm stand up and fight like men!'
   'No can do, brother, because they obviously aren't. And I refer not to their physiologies alone. According to the Aann standards set down by their philosophy of "perpetual warfare as the natural state of things," any advantage you can get over your opponent is by definition of success ethical. They're not immoral, just amoral. Sneak attacks are like sugar - pardon, -like bread- to them.'
   ‘If the major agreed to step in I'm sure headquarters would give retroactive approval to the action,' Bran said. 'They'd offer obeisance in public, sure, but privately I'll bet Marshal N'Gara would approve.'
   'He might. Might not. As soldiers grow older and more powerful their personalities tend more and more to the mercurial. I can't see dear sweet Gonzalez risking a chance to help a bunch of aliens, especially non-Commonwealh. He's far too fond of his scotch and imported Terran cigars, Besides, to undertake such an action would require at least a modicum of imagination, a commodity in which our commander is sadly deficient. Look. It's starting already.
   Bran glanced up above the communications equipment to the huge battle screen. Out in the void a number of ships represented only by ghostly dots were manoeuvring across thousands of kilometres for position in a battle which would prove notable only for its brevity. Somehow the locals had mustered six spaceworthy ships. He'd bet a year's credit not one of them was a regular warship. Police launches, most likely. Opposite, the well-drilled, superbly disciplined Aann force was to lining one of its characteristic tetrahedrons. Fifteen or so attack ships, a couple of destroyers, and two bloated pips that in a normal battle situation he would have interpreted as dreadnoughts. The finer instruments on the big board told the true story: same mass, small gravity wells. Troop carriers, nursing dozens of small, heavily screened troop shuttles.
   He'd observed AAnn occupation forces in action before. No doubt by now the members of the first assault wave were resting comfortably in their respective holds, humming softly to themselves and waiting for the 'battle' to begin, masking sure their armour was highly polished, their nerve-prods fully charged ...
   He slammed a fist down on the duralloy board, scraping the skin on the soft underside of his wrist. There were ten stingers and a cruiser in the humanx force ... more than a match for the AAnn, even without the dubious 'help' of the locals. But he knew even before the pathetic debate of a few moments ago that Major Gonzalez would never stir from his wood-panelled cabin on the Altair to intervene in any conflict where humanx interests weren't directly threatened. He paused at a. sudden thought. Of course, if a confrontation could be forced to the point that such a threat occurred ... still no certain guarantee ... definite court-martial ... dismissal from the Corps ... 300,000 sentient beings ... processing camps... He suddenly wasn't so sure that he wanted to make captain after all. Still, he'd need the concurrance of...
   'Bran, our drive appears to lie malfunctioning.'
   'Wha? I don't...'
   'Yes, there is no question about it. We appear to be drifting unavoidably into the area of incipient combat. At top speed, no less. A most unusual awkwardness, wouldn't you agree?'
   'Oh. Oh, yes.' A pseudo-smile sharp as a scimitar cut his face. "I can see that we're helpless to prevent it. God damn unfortunate situation.  Naturally we'll have to make emergency preparations to defend ourselves. I don't think the AAnn computers will be overly discerning about ships which float into their target area.'
   'Correct. I was just about to commence my own injections.'
   'Myself also.' He snuggled back into the reaction seat, felt the field that enabled them to manoeuvre at high speed and still live take hold gently. 'Best hurry about it.'
   He followed accepted procedure and did his best to ignore the barely perceptible pressures of the needles as they slipped efficiently into the veins on his legs. The special drugs that heightened his perceptions and released the artificial inhibitions his mind raised to constrain the killer instinct immediately began to take effect, A beautiful rose-tinted glow of freedom slipped over his thoughts. This was proper. This was right'. This was what he'd been created for. Above and behind him he knew that Truzenzuzex was undergoing a similar treatment, with different drugs. They would stimulate his natural ability to make split-second decisions and logical evaluations without regard to such distractions as Hive rulings and elaborate moral considerations.
   Shortly after the Amalgamation, when human and thranx scientists were discovering one surprising thing after another about each other, thranx psychologists unearthed what some humans had long suspected. The mind of Homo sapiens was in a perpetual state of uneasy balance between total emotionalism and computer like control. When the vestiges of the latter, both natural and artificial, were removed, man reverted to a kind of control led animalism. He became the universe's most astute and efficient killing machine. If tile reverse was induced he turned into a vegetable. No use had been found for that state, but for theformer ...
   It was kept fairly quiet. After a number of gruesome but honest demonstrations put on by the thranx and their human aides, mankind acknowledged the truth of the discovery, with not a small sigh of relief. But they didn't like to be reminded of it. Of course a certain segment of humanity had known it all along and wasn't affected by the news. Others began to read the works of ancients like Donation Francois de Sade with a different eye. For their part human psychologists brought into clearer light the marvelous thranx ability to make rapid and correct decisions with an utter lack of emotional distraction and a high level of practicality. Only, the thranx didn't think it so marvellous. Their Hive rulings and complicated systems of ethics had long kept that very same ability tied down in the same ways humanity had its killer desires.
   The end result of all the research and experimentation was this: in combination with a ballistics computer to select and gauge targets, a thranx-buman-machine triumvirate was an unbeatable combination m space warfare. Thranx acted as a check on human and human as a goad to thranx. It was efficient and ruthless. Human notions of a 'gentleman's' war disappeared forever. Only the AAnn had ever dared to challenge the system more than once, and they were tough enough and smart enough to do it sporadically and only when they felt the odds to be highly in their favour.
   It was fortunate that thranx and human proved even more compatible than the designers of the system had dared hope - because the nature of the drug-machine tie-up resulted in a merging of the two minds on a conscious level, it was as if the two loves of a brain were to fight out a decision between themselves, with the compromise then being paused on to the spinal cord and the rest of the body for actual implementation, Some stingship pilots likened it more closely to two twins in the womb. It was that intimate a relationship. Only in that way would the resultant fighting machine operate at 100 per cent effectiveness. A man's partner was his ship-brother.  Few stinger operators stayed married long, except those who were able to find highly understanding wives.
   The tingling mist flowed over his eyes, dimming and yet enhancing his vision. The tiniest things became obvious to his perception. Specks of dust in the cabin atmosphere became clear as boulders. His eyes fastened on the white diamonds on the battle screen with all the concentration of a starving cobra. All stinger pilots admitted to a slight but comforting sense of euphoria when under battle drugs. Bran was experiencing it now. For public relations purposes the enforcement posters insisted it was a beneficial byproduct of the HIP drugs. The pilots knew it for what it was; the natural excitement that overtakes most completely uninhibited humans as they anticipate the thrill of the kill. His feelings whirled within, but his thoughts stayed focused.
   'Up the universe, oh squishy bug!' he yelled drunkenly. Off from never-never land Truzenzuzex's voice floated down to him.
   ‘Up the universe, oh smelly primate!’ The ship plunged towards one corner of the Aann tetrahedron.
   The enemy force stood it as long as possible. Then three ships broke out to intercept their reckless charge. The rest of the formation continued to form, undaunted. Undoubtedly no one in a position of command had yet noticed that this suicidal charge did not come from the region of the pitiful planetary defence force circling below. And having all heard the interfleet broadcast  they knew it couldn't possibly be a Commonwealth vessel. Bran centred their one medium SCCAM on the nearest of the three attackers, the pointer. Dimly, through the now solid perfumed fog, he could make out the outraged voice of Major Gonzalez on intership frequency. It impinged irritatingly on his wholely occupied conscious. Obviously Command hadn't bought their coded message of engine trouble.
   'You there, what do you think you're doing! Get back in formation! Ship number ... ship number twenty-five return to Formation! Acknowledge, iih ... by heaven! Braunsch-weiger, whose ship is that? Someone get me some information, there!
   It was decidedly too noisy in the pod. He shut off the grid and they drove on in comparative silence. He conjured up a picture of the AAnn admiral. Comfortably seated in his cabin on one of the troop carriers, chewing lightly on a narco-stick ... one eye cocked on the Commonwealth Force floating nearby. Undoubtedly he'd also been monitoring the conversation between the planetary governor and Major Gonzalez, Had a good laugh, no doubt. Expecting a nice, routine massacre. His thoughts must now be fuzzing a bit, especially if he'd noticed the single stinger blasting crazily towards the centre of his formation. Bran hoped he'd split an ear-sac listening to his trackers.
   His hand drifted down to the firing studs. The calm voice of Truzenzuzex insinuated itself maddeningly in his mind. No, it was already in his mind.
   'Hold. Not yet,' Pause. 'Probability.'
   He tried angrily to force the thought out and away. It wouldn't go. It was too much like trying to cut away part of one's own ego. His hand stayed off the firing stud as the cream-coloured dot grew maddeningly large in the screen.
   Again the calm, infuriating voice. 'Changing course ten degrees minus y, plus x two degrees achieve optimum intercept tangent.'
   Bran knew they were going to die, but in his detached haze of consciousness it seemed an item of only peripheral importance. The problem at hand and the sole reason for existence was to kill as many of them as possible. That their own selves would also be destroyed was & certainty, given the numbers arrayed against them, but they might at least blunt the effect of the AAnn invasion. A tiny portion of him offered thanks for Truzenzuzex's quiet presence. He'd once seen films of a force of stingships in action with only human operators. It had resembled very much a tridee pix he'd seen on Ten-a showing sharks in a feeding frenzy.
   The moment notified him of itself. 'Firing one!' There were no conflicting suggestion from the insectoid half of his mind. He felt the gentle lurch of his body field as the ship immediately executed an intricate, alloy-tearing manoeuvre that would confuse any return fire and at the same time allow them to take the remaining two enemy vessels between them. Without the field he would have been jelled.
   The disappearance of a gravity well from the screen told him that the SCCAM projectile had taken the AAnn ship, piercing its defences. A violent explosion flared silently in space. A SCCAM was incapable of a 'near-miss.’ The SCCAM system itself was a modification of the dobblekay drive that powered the ships of most space-going races. When human and thranx met it was found that the human version was more powerful and efficient than the thranx posigravity drive. It also possessed a higher power-conservation ratio, which made it more reasonable to operate. Working with their human counterparts after the Amalgamation, thranx scientists soon developed a number of improvements in the already remarkable system. This modified propulsive drive was immediately installed in all humanx ships, and other races to order the components which would enable them to make their own modifications. A wholely thranx innovation, however, had been the adaption of the gravity drive as a weapon of irresistible power. The SCCAM projectiles were in actuality therm-o-nuclear devices mounted on small ship drives, with the exception that all their parts other than those requiring melting points over 2400 degrees were made of alloyed osmium. Using the launching vessel's own gravity well as the initial propelling force, the projectile would be dispatched towards a target. At a predetermined sate distance from the ship, the shell's own drive would kick in. Instantly the drive would go into deliberate overload. Impossible to dodge, the overloaded field would be attracted to the nearest large gravity well in this case, the drive system of an enemy ship. Coupled with the uncontrolled energy of a fusion reaction, the two intersecting drive fields would irrevocably eliminate any trace of the target. And it would be useless for an enemy vessel to try to escape by turning off its own field, for while it might survive impact with the small projectile field, the ship had not yet been constructed that could take the force of a fusion explosion Unscreened. And as the defensive screens were powered by the posigravity drives ...
   He felt the ship lurch again, not as violently this time. Another target swung into effective range. He fired again. Truzenzuzex had offered a level-four objection and Bran had countered with a level-two objective veto. The computer agreed with Bran and released the shell. Both halves of the ship-mind had been partially correct. The result was another hit ... but just barely.
   The AAnn formation seemed to waver. Then the left half of the tetrahedron collapsed as the ships on that side sought to counter this alarming attack on their flank. More likely than not the AAnn commander had ordered the dissolution. Penned up in a slow, clumsy troop carrier he was by now likely becoming alarmed for his own precious skin. Heartened by this unstrategic move on the part of their opponents the native defensive force was diving on the broken formation from the front, magnifying the confusion if not the destruction and trying to avert the attention of the Aann warships from their unexpected ally. Bran had just gotten off a third shot -amiss- when a violent concussion rocked the stinger. Even in his projective field he was jerked violently forward. The lights flickered, dimmed, and went off, to be replaced a moment later by the eerie blue of the emergency system. He checked his instruments and made a matter-of-course report upwards.
   'Tru, this time the drive is off for real. We're going to go into loose drift only ... be paused. A typically ironic reply was not forthcoming.
   Tru? How are things at your end?' The speaker gave back only a muted hiss. He jiggled the knob several times. It seemed operative. 'Tru? Say something, you slug! Old snail, termite, boozer ... god damn it, say something!'
   With the cessation of the ship's capacity for battle the HIP antidotes had automatically been shot into his system. Thank Limbo the automedics were still intact I He felt the killing urge flow out of him, heavily, to be replaced by the dull aftertaste and temporary lethargy that inevitably followed battle action.
   Cursing and crying all at once he began fighting with his harness. He turned off the body field, not caring if the ship suddenly decided to leap into ward rive and spatter him all over the bulkhead. Redfaced, he started scrambling over broken tubing and sparkling short-circuits up to where Truzenzuzex lay in his own battle couch. His own muscles refused to respond and he damned his arms which persisted in slipping off grips like damn hemp. He hadn't realized, in the comfort of HIPnosis, how badly the little vessel had been damaged. Torn sheeting and wavering filaments floated everywhere, indicating a loss of shipboard gravity. But the pod had remained intact and he could breathe without his hoses.
   The thranx's position was longer and lower than his own, since the insect's working posture was lying prone and facing forward. Therefore the first portion of his fellow ensign's body that Bran encountered was the valentine-shaped head with its brilliant, multifaceted compound eyes, The familiar glow in them had dimmed but not disappeared. Furiously he began to massage the b-thorax above the neck joint in an operation designed to stimulate the thranx's open circulatory system. He kept at it despite the cloying wetness that insisted on floating into his eyes. Throwing his head back at least made the blood from the gash on his forehead drift temporarily backwards.
   ‘Tru! C'mon, mate! Move, curse you! Throw up, do something, dammit!' The irony of trying to rouse his companion so that he could then be conscious when the Aann disruption beams scattered their component parts over the cosmos did not interrupt his movements.
   Truzenzuzex began to stir feebly, the hissing from the breathing spicules below Bran's ministering hands pulsing raggedly and unevenly.
   'Mmmfff! Ooooo! My friend, I hereby inform all and sundry that a blow on the cranium is decidedly not conducive to literate cognitation! A little lower and to the right, please, is where it itches. Alas, I fear I am in for a touch of the headache.'
   He raised a tmehand slowly to his head and Bran could see where a loose bar of something bad struck hard after the body-field had lapsed. There was an ugly dark streak in the insect's azure exoskeleton. The thranx organism was exceptionally tough, but very vulnerable to deep cuts and punctures because of their open circulatory system. When their armour remained intact they were well-nigh invulnerable. Much more so than their human counterparts. The same blow probably would have crushed Bran's skull like eggshell. The great eyes turned to face him.
   'Ship-brother, I notice mild precipitation at the corners of your oculars, differing in composition from the fluid which even yet is leaking from your bead. I know the meaning of such a production and assure you it is not necessary. Other than injury to my immaculate and irresistible beauty, I am quite all right ... I think.
   ‘Incidentally, it occurs to me that we both have been alive entirely too long, As I appear to be at least momentarily incapacitated I would appreciate it if you would cease your face-raining, get back to your position, and find out just what the hell is going on.'
   Bran wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. What Tru said was perfectly correct. He had been so absorbed in reviving the insect be bad failed to notice that by ail reasonable standards of warfare they should both have been dead several minutes now. The AAnn might be unimaginative fighters, but they were efficient. He scrambled back to his seat and flipped emergency power to the battle screen. What he saw there stunned his mind if not his voice.
   'Oooo-wowwww! Pibbixxx! Go get 'em Sixth, baybee!'
   'Will you cease making incomprehensible mouth-noises and tell me what's taking place? My eyes are not fully focused yet, but I can see that you are bouncing around in your seat in a manner that is m no way related to ship actions.'
   Bran was too far gone to hear. The scene on the screen was correspondingly weak, but fully visible none the less. It resembled a ping-pong game being played in zero gravity by two high-speed computers. The AAnn force was in full retreat, or rather, the remainder of it was. The bright darts of Commonwealth stingships were weaving in and out of the retreating pattern with characteristic unpredictability. Occasionally a brief, terse flare would denote the spot where another ship had departed the plane of material existence. And a voice drifted somehow over the roaring, screaming babble on the communicator, a voice that could belong to no one but Major Gonzalez. Over and over and over it repeated the same essential fact in differing words.
   'What happened what happened what happened what...?'
   Bran at this time suffered his second injury of the action. He sprained a lattisimus, laughing.
   It was all made very clear later, at the court-martial. The other members of the Task Force had seen one of their members break position and dive on the AAnn formation.' Their pilot-pairings had stood the resultant engagement as long as possible. Then they began to peel out and follow. Only the cruiser Altair bad taken no part in the battle. Her crew bad a hard time living it down, even though it wasn't their fault.
   Not so much as a tree on the planet had been scorched.
   The presiding officer at the trial was an elderly thranx general officer from the Hiveworld itself. His ramrod stiffness combined with fading exoskelelon and an acid voice to make him a formidable figure indeed. As for the majority of the Task Force, its members were exonerated of wrongdoing. It was ruled that they had acted within Commonwealth dictates in acting 'under a justifiable circumstance where an act of violence against Commonwealth or Church property or persons shall be met with a SI force necessary to negate the effects of such violence. This provision was ruled to have taken effect when the AAnn ships had engaged stingship number twenty-five in combat. That ship number twenty-five had provoked the encounter was a point that the court would 'take under careful study ... at length.'
   Ensigns Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzu of the Zex were ordered stripped of all rank and dismissed from the service. As a preliminary, however, they were to be awarded the Church Order of Merit, one star cluster. This was done. Unofficially, each was also presented with a scroll on which those citizens of the colony-planet known as Goodhunting had inscribed their names and thanks ... all two hundred and mnety-five thousand of them.
   Major Julio Gonzalez was promoted to commander and transferred immediately to a quiet desk post in an obscure system populated by semi-inteiligent amphibians.
   After first being formally inducted into his ship-brother's clan, the Zex, Bran had entered the Church and had become deeply absorbed in the Chancellory of Alien Sociology, winning degrees and honours there. Truzenzuzex remained on his home planet of Willow-Wane and resumed his preservice studies in psychology and theoretical history. The title of Eint was granted shortly after. Their interests converged independently until both were immersed in the study of the ancient Tar-Aiym civilization-empire. Ten years had passed before they had remet, and they had been together ever since, an arrangement which neither had had cause to regret.
   'Buy a winter suit, sir? The season is fast nearing, and the astrologers forecast cold and sleet. The finest Pyrrm pelts, good sir"
   'Pas? No. No thank you, vendor.' The turnout to their little inn loomed just ahead, by the seller of prayer-bells.
   Bran felt an uncommonly strong need of sleep.
    
Chapter Six
    
Flinx returned to his apartment to set himself in order for the trip. On the way back from the inurb he had stopped at a shop he knew well and purchased a small ship-bag. It was of a type he'd often seen carried by crewmen at the port and would do equally as well for him. It was light, had a built-in sensor lock on the seal, and was well-nigh indestructible, They haggled formally over the price, finally settling on the sum of nine-six point twenty credits. He could probably have cut the price another credit, but was too occupied by thought of the trip, so much so that the vendor inquired as to his health.
   At the apartment he wasn't too surprised to find that all his possessions of value or usefulness fit easily into the one bag. He felt only a slight twinge of regret. He looked around for something else to take, but the bed wouldn't fit, nor would the portikitchen, and he doubted there'd be a shortage of either on the ship anyway. Memories were stored comfortably elsewhere. He shouldered the bag and left the empty room.
   The concierge looked at him warily as he prepared to leave her the keys. She was generally a good woman, but inordinately suspicious, in reply to her persistent questioning he said only that he was departing on a journey of some length and had no idea when he would return. No, he wasn't 'running from the law'. He could see that the woman was suffering from a malady known as tridee addiction, and her imagination had been drugged in proportion. Would she hold the room for his return? She would ... for four months' rent, in advance if you please. He paid it rather than stand and argue. It took a large slice out of the hundred credits he'd made so recently, but he found that he was in a hurry to spend the money as quickly as possible.
   He strolled out into the night. His mind considered sleep but his body, tense with the speed at which events had been moving around him, vehemently disagreed'. Sleep was impossible. And it was pleasant out. He moved out into the lights and noise, submerging himself in. the familiar frenzy of the marketplace. He savoured the night-smells of the food crescent, the raucous hooting of the barkers and sellers and vendors, greeting those he knew and smiling wistfully at an occasional delicate face peeping out from the pastel lit windows of the less reputable saloons.
   Sometimes he would spot an especially familiar face. Then he would saunter over and the two would chat amiably for a while, swapping the stones and gossip of which Flinx always had a. plentiful supply. Then the rich trader or poor beggar would rub his red hair for luck and they'd part - this time, at least, for longer than the night.
   If a jungle could be organized and taxed, it would be called Drallar.
   He had walked nearly a mile when he noticed-the slight lightening of the western sky that signified the approach of first-fog (there being no true dawn on Moth). The time had run faster than expected. He should be at the port shortly, but there remained one last thing to do.
   He turned sharply to his right and hurried down several alleys and backways he knew well. Nearer the centre of the marketplace, which was quieter at night than the outskirts, he came on a sturdy if small frame building, it advertised on its walls metal products of all kinds for sale. There was a combination lock, a relic, on the inside of the door, but he knew how to circumvent that. He was careful to close it quietly behind him.
   It was dark in the little building but light seeped in around the open edges of the roof, admitting air but not thieves. He stole softly to a back room, not needing even the dim light. An old woman lay there, snoring softly on a simple but luxuriously blanketed bed. Her breathing was shallow but steady, and there was what might have been a knowing smile on the ancient face. That was nonsense, of course. He stood staring silently at the wrinkled parchment visage for several long moments. Then he bent. Gently shifting the well-combed white hair to one side he planted a single kiss on the bony cheek. The woman stirred but did not awaken. He backed out of the room as quietly as he had entered, remembering to lock the main door behind him.
   Then be turned and set off at a brisk jog in the direction of the shuttleport, Pip dozing stonelike on one shoulder.
    
Chapter Seven
    
The great port lay a considerable distance from the city, so that its noise, fumes, and bustling commerce would not interfere with the business of the people or the sleep of the king. It was too far to walk. He hailed a Meepah-beast rickshaw and the driver sent the fleet-footed creature racing for the port. The Meepahs were fast and could dodge jams of more modem traffic. It was a sporting way to travel, and the moist wind whistling past his face wiped away the slight vestiges of sleepiness which had begun to overtake him. As the animals were pure sprinters and good for only one long run an hour they were also expensive. They flew past slower vehicles and great hoverloaders bringing tons of goods to and from the port. As they had for centuries and doubtless would for centuries to come, the poor of Moth walked along the sides of the highway. There were none of the public moving walkways on Moth that could be found in profusion in the capitals of more civilized planets. Besides being expensive, the nomad populace tended to cut them up for the metal.
   When he reached an area away from the bustling commercial pits that he thought would be close to the private docks, he paid off the driver, debarked, and hurried off into the great tubular buildings. He knew more than a little of the layout of the great port from his numerous trips here as a child. Where his interest in the place had sprung from he couldn't guess. Certainly not from Mother Mastiff! But ever since an early age he'd been fascinated by the port for the link it provided with other worlds and races. When he had been able to steal away from that watchful parental eye he'd come here, often walking the entire distance on short, unsteady legs. He'd sit for hours at the feet of grizzled old crewmen who chuckled at his interest and spun their even older tales of the void and the pinpricks of life and consciousness scattered through it for his eager mind and the fawning attention he gave freely. There were times when he'd stay till after dark. Then he'd sneak ever so carefully home, always into the waiting, scolding arms of Mother Mastiff. But at the port he was all but mesmerized. His favourites bad been the stories of the interstellar freighters, those huge, balloonlike vessels that plied the distances between the inhabited worlds, transporting strange cargoes and stranger passengers. Why sonny, they'd tell him, if’n it weren't fer the freighters, the hull damn uneeverse 'ud collapse, 'an Chaos himself 'ud return t’rule!
   Now maybe he'd have a chance to see one of those fabulous vessels in person.
   A muted growl went audible behind him and he turned to see the bulky shape of a cargo shuttle leap spaceward, trailing its familiar of tail cream and crimson. The sound-absorbing material in its pit was further abetted by the layered glass of the building itself in muffling the scream of the rockets and ramjets. It was a sight he'd seen many times before, but a little piece of him still seemed to go spaceward with each flight. He hurried on searching for a dock steward.
   Approximately every fifteen minutes a shuttle landed or took off from Drallar port. And it was by no means the only one on the planet. Some of the private ports managed by the lumbering companies were almost as big. The shuttles took out woods, wood products, furs, light metals, food-stuffs; brought in machinery, luxury goods, traders, and touristas. There! Checking bales of plastic panels was the white and black checkered uniform of a steward. He hurried over.
   The man took in Flinx's clothing, age, and ship-bag and balanced these factors against the obviously dangerous reptile coiled alertly now about the boy's shoulder. He debated whether or not to answer the brief question Flinx put to him. Another, senior steward pulled up on a scoot, slowed and stooped.
   'Trouble, Prin?’
   The steward looked gratefully to his superior. "This ... person ... wishes direction to the House of Malaika's private docks.'
   ‘Um.' The older man considered Flinx, who waited patiently. He'd expected something of this sort, but read only good intentions on the elder's part. 'Tell him, then. 'Twill do no harm to let him have a gander at the ships, and mayhap he has real reason for being there. I've seen queerer board Malaika's craft.' The man revved his scoot and darted off down the vaulting hallway.
   Pit five, second transverse tube on your left,' the man said reluctantly. 'And mind you go nowhere else!'
   But Flinx had already started off in the indicated direction.
   It wasn't hard to find, but the telescoping rampway seemed endless. It was a relief to see the tail figure of the merchant waiting for him.
   'Glad to see you show, kijana!’ he bellowed, slapping Flinx on the back. Fortunately, he managed to avoid most of the blow. Pip stirred slightly, startled. 'You're the last to arrive. Everyone else is already aboard and safely fucked away. Give your pack to the steward and strap in, We're just ready to cut.'
   Malaika disappeared forward and Flinx gave his bag to the officious-looking young fellow who wore the House of Malaika arms (crossed starship and credit slip) on his cap and jacket. The man ducked into a low door to the rear, leaving Flinx alone in the small lock. Rather than stand by Himself until the man returned to check him off, he moved forward to the passenger cabin and found himself an empty seat.
   Since this was a private and not a commercial shuttle, it was smaller than most. There were only ten seats in the low, slim compartment. The craft was obviously not designed for extended journeys. The decoration verged on the baroque. He peered down the narrow aisle.
   The first two seats were occupied by Malaika and his Lynx, Sissiph. She was clad in a bulky Jumpsuit for a change, but it served only to emphasize the beauty of her face. In the second row Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex were leaning into the aisle, arguing animatedly but amiably on some subject which remained incomprehensible to Flinx on every level of perception. Then came their two starship pilots, Atha Moon and the shadow man, Wolf. Both were staring intently, but at different things. Atha was gazing out the port, observing what she could of their normal preparations for lift. The man's eyes were focused unwaveringly on an invisible point six inches in front of his nose. His face was, as usual, utterly devoid of expression. He remained unreadable.
   Atha's attention seemed to vary awkwardly between the outside of their tiny vessel and the front of the cabin. She was continually darting her head into the aisle or poking it above the back of the seat in front of her. Especially whenever an unusually loud giggle or chuckle came from that vicinity. Probably she thought herself inconspicuous. Perhaps she hadn't noticed him come aboard behind her. In any event she seemed unconcerned about Wolf's presence.
   Even from here he could see the way the muscles in her neck and cheeks tightened, the way her blood pressure changed and her breathing increased, in response to the byplay from up front. It was mild, but still ... He shook his head. They hadn't even reached their ship yet and already an explosive situation was building. He could not tell how long it had been forming, but he did know one thing. He personally had no wish to be around when it finally came to a head.
   He wondered if Malaika had the slightest inkling that his personal pilot of six years was hopelessly in love with him, There were several empty seats, so he chose the one behind Atha. Not that he preferred it so much to any other, but he preferred to stay as far away as possible from the enigmatic Wolf. He couldn't read the man, so ha was still unsure of him. As he had on numerous other occasions, he wished his peculiar talents wouldn't be so capricious in their operation. But when he directed his attention to Wolf there was only an oddly diffuse blank. It was like trying to fathom a heavy mist. Dew did not hold the symbols well.
   A brief admonition came over the cabin speaker and Flinx felt the ship tilt under him. It was being raised hydraulically. Shortly it had settled steady, at its lift-off angle of seventy degrees.
   Another problem brought itself to his notice as he was strapping himself in. Pip was still coiled comfortably about his left shoulder. This definitely was not going to work! How were they going to handle the minidrag? He motioned the steward over. The man struggled up the aisle by means of handles set into the sides of the chairs. He eyed the snake wanly and became a bit more polite.
   ‘Well, sir, it seems to be capable of keeping a pretty firm grip with that tail. It can't stay like it is, though, because on Jiff it'd be crushed between your shoulder and the chair.' The way he said it made it plain that he wouldn't mind observing that eventuality. He went back down the aisle.
   Flinx looked around and finally managed to urge the snake on to the thick arm of the seat opposite his. Since Pip was an arboreal creature, Flinx was much more concerned about how it would react to the pressure of lift-off than to 'the condition of weightlesness. Not to mention how he'd manage himself.
   He needn't have worried. The luxurious little craft lifted so smoothly that pressure was practically nonexistent, even when the rockets took over from the ramjets. It was no worse than a heavy blanket on his chest, pressing him gently back into the padded seat. The muted hum of the rockets barely penetrated the well-shielded cabin. Overall, be felt only a mild sense of disorientation. By contrast, Pip appeared positively ecstatic. Then he remembered that Pip had been brought to Moth by spaceship and bad therefore undergone this same experience at least twice before. His apprehensions had been groundless. But they bad served to take his mind off the flight. Another glance at the minidrag showed the narrow head weaving from side to side while the single-tipped tongue darted rapidly to and fro, touching every tiling within reach. The pleated wings were unfurled and flapping in sheer pleasure.
   After the rockets cut off and the little ship drifted weightlessly, Flinx felt acclimated enough to reach over and pick up the snake. He replaced it on its familiar spot on his shoulder. The confident pressure on his arm and back was, as ever, reassuring. Besides, the dam thing was having entirely too much fun. And the one thing they definitely did not need at the outset of their expedition was the venomous reptile flapping crazily in free fall about the confined space of the cabin.
   They passed several vessels in parking orbit around the planet, including one of the great fuelling stations for the shuttles. Some of the giant craft were in the process of loading or unloading, and men in suits floated about them sparkling like diamond dust. The boy's eyes drank in every-thing and hungered for more. Once, when the shuttle turned ninety degrees on its side and moved to line up for conjunction with their starship, the planet itself rolled majestically into view beneath them.
   From this angle the famous ring-wings were clearly visible. The radiant butter-gold layers of rock and gas combined with the lakes which glistened sapphirelike through breaks in the cloud cover to make the planet more than ever resemble the Terran insect for which it had been named.
   He got only the slightest glimpse of their ship, the Gloryhole. That was enough. Sandwiched in among bloated freighters and pudgy transports she looked like a thoroughbred in a barnyard. She still had the inevitable shape of a doliblekay drive ship, a balloon stuck on to the end of a plumber's helper, but the lines were different from most. The balloon at one end was the passenger and cargo space, and the plunger at the other the generating fan for the posigravity field. Instead of being wide and shallow, like a plate, the Gloryhole's generating fan was narrower and deep, chalicelike. The passenger-cargo area was still balloon-shaped, but it was a streamlined, tapered balloon. Simply on looks alone one could tell that the Gioryhole was faster than any regular freighter or liner aspace. It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.
   He felt a slight jolt through his harness as the shuttle clicked into the transfer lock of the big ship. Following the steward's instructions he released himself from the restraining straps and drifted after the others into the umbilicitube, pulling himself hand over hand along the portable pullway. The luxury of the Gloryhole in comparison to the freighters he'd bad described to him made itself quickly apparent. The starship's airlock was furlined.
   The steward and Malaika exchanged brief orders and the uniformed young man drifted out of the tube, pulling in the line behind him. After a bit the door whirred shut, and they were effectively separated from the shuttle.
   ‘Je? If you'll all follow me - use the handholds - we'll adjourn to the salon.' Malaika started off through the lock exit. 'Atha, you and Wolf get up to Control and start up the drive.  Let's have some decent gravity around here. A bwbui I'm not, to spin my own web! The two of you now where your cabins are.' Atha and the skull-face moved off through a side passage. Malaika swivelled to face them. 'The rest of you I'll show to your rooms myself.'
   The salon was a fairyland of glass, wood, and plastics. Bubbles of crystal containing brilliantly coloured forms of aquatic life were suspended throughout the big room by a thin but unbreakable network of plastic webbing. Real trees grew through the green-fur floor, each representing a different species native to Moth. Metal sculptures layered with gem dust hung cloud like from the ceiling, which was a tridee soloid depicting an open sky complete to clouds and sun. It began to darken, effectively simulating the sunset taking place on the planet's side below. It was an odd simile to come to mind, but for some reason Flinx could best liken the sensation to walking through an especially fine beer.
   The ship shuddered once, twice, ever so imperceptibly, and he could feel the weight beginning to return to his body. He started io float towards a side door and then began flailing frantically so that he would land on his feet and not his head. A glance showed that none of the other passengers were experiencing similar difficulties. Sissiph was being steadied by Malaika, and Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex hadn't even bothered to pause in their argument. Angrily he got his errant legs under him. No one commented on his obvious difficulty, for which he was grateful. Full gravity returned after a very short interval.
   Malaika walked- over to what looked like a cactus but actually a bar. "We'll remain at point nine five gravity for the duration of the trip. Possibly most of you aren't used to keeping up muscle tone in space' (Flinx took a quick sensing of the two scientists' compositions and doubted the accuracy of Malaika's remark) 'and so I'd hesitate to set it lower than that. The slight difference should be just enough to be exhilarating and it approximates what we'll encounter on our objective planetfall.'
   'This will serve as a. regular gathering place. Meals will be served here by the autochef, unless you prefer to eat in your cabin. Njoo, i will show you your own ...'
   Flinx spent three days just examining his 'own'. It was packed with fantastic devices that sprang at you out of floor, ceiling, and walls. You had to watch your step. Press the wrong switch and you were liable to be doused with warm water ... irrespective of your attire of the moment. That bad been a disheartening experience, especially as he had been trying for a haircut. Fortunately no one but Pip had been around to witness it.
   He had been concerned to see how his pet would take to the confinements of shipboard life. Everyone else, excepting possibly Sissiph, had adjusted to the reptile's presence. So that didn't give him cause for worry. As it happened, there were no others. The minidrag would go swooping in and out among the pylons and plastic tapestries of the salon as if he owned them, frightening the devil out of the inhabitants of the glass bubbles. Occasionally it would bang batlike from a particularly inviting artificial branch or real one. When it was discovered that the food selector in their cabin could deliver fresh bits of raw Wiodor meat, the snake's content ment was assured.
   They had been moving out of Moth's system at a slow but continually building speed for several days now. Malaika was in an expansive mood, and so when Flinx requested permission to stand by in Control during change over, the merchant acceded gracefully. Once they made the initial jump past light speed at changeover their rate of acceleration would go up tremendously.
   Apparently no one else shared his curiosity. Malaika remained secluded in his cabin with his Lynx. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex spent most of their time in the salon, playing personality chess and conversing in languages and on subjects Flinx could grasp only an occasional bit of. Once more he reflected on their complete ease and familiarity with starship travel.
   Malaika had half-promised to come up to Control for changeover to explain the workings to Flinx. But when the time came, Sissiph was pouting over some incomprehensible slighting and the merchant was compelled to remain in the cabin with her. In his place he instructed Atha to answer any questions Flinx might have regarding the workings of the ship or drive. She had acknowledged the order with obvious distaste.
   Flinx had come to the conclusion that he was going to have to be the one to break the silence that their unceremonious first meeting had produced. Otherwise they might not exchange a word the entire trip, and even a large spaceship is too small an area in which to retain animosities.
   He entered Control and strolled up behind her seat. Wolf was off on the opposite side of the room. She said nothing, but he knew she had noticed his entrance.
   He read directness and decided to counter with same.
   'Look, I didn't mean to kick you back there in the tower, that time.' She swivelled to eye him questioningly. That is, I didn't mean to kick you, t meant to kick ... oh. hell I' The explanation hadn't seemed this complicated when he'd rehearsed it in his mind. Of course, then, be hadn't had to contend with the rich red-brown in those eyes. I thought you were a spy ... or assassin, or something. You certainly didn't look as though you belonged where you were, so I took the least bloody route I could think of at the time of forcing you into the open. It worked, you turned out to be not what I expected, and I apologize. There! Truce?'
   She hesitated, and then her face softened into an abashed grin. She put out a hand. 'Truce" He kissed it instead of shaking it, and she turned, pleased, back to her instruments. 'You know, you were right, actually, I had no business at all being where I was. Nor doing what I was doing. Do I look that much like an assassin from the back?'
   'The contrary, the contrary.' Then, abruptly) 'You're quite attracted to your boss, aren't you?'
   Her face jerked up, surprised. One would have thought he'd just revealed one of the great secrets of the universe. He had to work to keep from grinning. Tree, was she that naive?
   'Why ... why, what a thing to say! What a perfectly absurd thought! Maxim Maiaika is my employer, and a good one. Nothing more. What makes ...? Oh, do you have any questions about the ship? If not, I am bus ...'
   Hastily, he said, 'Why is it that while this ship is infinitely more complicated than the shuttle, both require the same crew of two?' He knew the answer, but wanted to keep her talking.
   'That's the reason, right there.' She indicated the panoply of ranked lights and instruments around them. 'Because it is so complex, it requires a lot more automation just to operate. Actually, the Gloryhole pretty well runs herself most of the time. Except for providing instructions and handling decisions, we're here just in case of the unforeseen situation. Interstellar navigation, for example, is much too complex for human or thranx minds to manage on any really practical level. Starships have to be run by machines or they'd be impossible altogether.'
   ‘I see. By minor situations and unforseen things, do you mean like at changeover?'
   'Oh, there's no real danger from change over. The companies like to make a big thing of it to give their passengers a slight thrill. Sure, once in a while you'll hear about something happening. A meteor will make a millions-to-one infringement on the gravity well of a ship at the moment of shift and the ship will turn inside out, or some-thing equally weird. Those are real exceptions. The tridee and faxcax blow those incidents alt out of proportion for their ratings value. Usually it's no more trouble than stepping from land on to a floating boat.'
   'Glad to hear it. I don't think I'd enjoy being turned inside out. That was the old Curryon, wasn't it'?'
   'Why, yes. It was twenty-four thirty-three, old calendar. Actually, we have to worry only about keeping the center of the field positioned constant with respect to the fan and generator. The computers take care of most of that. Once it falls too far ahead or drops too close, you have to stop the ship, then start up all over again. That takes a lot of time, for deceleration and acceleration, and it's expensive as well as tricky. If the field should start to oscillate, the ship could be shaken to pieces. But as i said, the computers handle all that worry for us. Barring those unforeseen circumstances, of course.'
   'I've never been on a doublekay drive ship before. I'm no physicist, but could you maybe give me a quickee explanation of how the thing works? One that even my simple mind could understand'?'
   She sighed. 'Okay. What the Caplis generator does ... that's what we hold in the "fan" up ahead ... is in effect produce a powerful but concentrated gravitational field at the nose of the ship. As soon as the field exceeds the natural one of the ship, the ship moves towards it, naturally attracted by a "body" of greater "mass" than itself. Being part of the ship, the doublekay drive unit naturally goes along with it. But the unit, having moved forward, is set to keep the field at a constant distance from the hull of the craft. Therefore the field is moved forward also. The ship will try to catch up to it again, and so on, ad infinitum. The field is in effect pulling the ship instead of pushing it, as the shuttle rockets do, Doublekay vessels actually move in a series of continuous jerks, so rapid and close together that they seem to be one smooth, unbroken pull. The increase or decrease in the size of the field determines the speed of the ship.
   'Being a wave and not a particle form of energy, gravity isn't affected in the same way that mass is on approaching the speed of light. The doublekay field creates a coneshaped zone of stress behind it, in which mass acts differently than it does under normal circumstances. That's why when we exceed the speed of light I don't see through you or something. Once we've made that initial breakthrough, or “change over,” our rate of travel goes lip enormously. It's something like riding the back of a very tame SCCAM shell.
   'Our initial power comes from a small hydrogen "spark-plug" ...  I wonder sometimes where that word came from ... up near the generator housing in the tube section of the ship. Once started up, the field can be "channelled" to a certain extent. That's where we get our gravity for the ship and power to run the lights and a lit o bar and things.
   "in the event of a drive failure there are provisions for converting the fan loan old ion-type drive, powered by the hydrogen plug. It would take twelve years at its best speed to get from Moth to Power Line, the nearest inhabited planet. Farther out where the stars are more scattered it's even worse. But twelve years or so is better than never. Stranded ships have been saved that way ... those that managed to overcome problems like lack of food and insanity. But the rate of failure for doublekay drives in miniscule. Only rarely can a mere human manage to screw one up.'
   Thanks,' said Flinx. 'That helps ... sort of.' He glanced over at Wolf and saw that the man was totally immersed in his work. He lowered his voice. ‘Incidentaily, I think maybe you've got the wrong idea of what a Lynx is.'
   'A prostitute,' she replied automatically.
   'Uh-uh. The Lynx are a group of very beautiful and ambitious women who don't regard life mating as the end-all of civilization. They prefer to move from one fascinating man to another.'
   'So I've been told. And seen. That's still a matter of opinion.' She sniffed calculatingly.
   He started for the exit. 'So I don't think you need worry about Sissiph or any of the others settling down with your merchant, permanent-like.'
   'Listen!' she shouted, 'For the last time, I ...!' She dropped her voice as Wolf looked over curiously. 'I am not in love with Maxim Mataika!'
   'Sure, sure,' said Flinx from the doorway. ‘I can see that.'
   It was only a short while later, while watching a viewtape in his cabin, that he realized he'd missed changeover.
    
Chapter Eight
    
Teleen auz Rudenuaman was resting easily in her rooms on the great estate complex of her aunt. She was scantily clad. That is, she wore at least as little as the huge male form which stood admiring the play of its muscles in the wall-length mirror across from the bed-desk.
   'Rory,' she said to the ceiling, 'you do love me, don't you?'
   'Um-hmm,' said the figure, bending on one knee and flexing a forearm.
   'And you'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?'
   'Um-hmm.'
   'Then why,' she said, sitting up abruptly and shouting, 'the hell didn't you do anything when the old witch started in on me this morning'?'
   The figure sighed and turned regretfully from the mirror to face her. Its body was hard, but the face was curiously soft, almost childlike. Beautiful and soft. The expression it wore was amiable and best described as intensely vacuous.
   ‘I could have said something. Teleen, dear, but what would it have accomplished? Besides making her even more suspicious of us. She had it in for you anyway, and nothing I could have said would likely have turned her off. Besides, she was right, you know. You did foul up that ...'
   ‘I’m not interested. I had enough of that from her this morning. Surely she can't reasonably expect me to be responsible for the ineptitude of men her people hired m the first place?'
   Rory Mallap van Cleef sighed again and began pulling on a gold dressing-gown. ‘I suppose not, dear. But then when has she ever been reasonable a out anything? I really don't understand the intricacies of such dealings. She was awfully bitchy, wasn't she?’
   Teleen slid out of the bed and moved to sit next to him. She put her arms possessively around the massive shoulders, resting her head against one bulging dorsal.
   'Look, Rory, I've told you before. The only way we're ever going to have any happiness is to eliminate the old bag once and for all.'
   Rory grinned. He was not without a sense of humour, even if it did tend more than a bit to the primitive.
   'Now is that any way to talk about your beloved aunt?'
   'No, it's the only way to talk about her! And at that I'm flattering her. Every time we discuss her elimination my charitable instincts get the better of me. But to be specific...
   'Please, darling. I'm not in the mood now.'
   'Rory,' she said, sitting back, 'are you in love with me... or with her?'
   'Don't be obscene, dear! You have no idea, no idea, what a task it is constantly to have to feign interest in that sack of surgical miracles. Especially,' and be drew her on to his lap and kissed her, 'after you.'
   'Mmmmm, That's the way I like to hear you talk!' He had her purring again. 'You'll go along with me, then?'
   'As I've said before, if you come up with a reasonably sensible plan. Love or not. I'm not going to take a chance on spending the rest of my life on some prison moon because some scheme is only half worked out. I'm no genius, but I'm smart enough to know it. So you manage the brains for both of us. I'll supply any needed muscle. Of which,' he added, flexing a tricep lovingly, I have more than sufficient.'
   She slipped out of his grasp and stamped angrily on the deep fur floor, is did interesting things to the rest of her body. 'Stop admiring yourself for a minute and try to be serious. Murder is not a funny business!'
   'It is when it involves your aunt,'
   'Oh, you're impossible! All right; look, you know how food she is of bathing in that pool, the little one with all those lovely fish and snails and things?' Her eyes were slitted. 'How she never misses a daily swim?'
   'Yes, T know the place. So?'
   'Would it be a simple matter to wire the tiling, do you think?' He shook his head, doubtfully. 'Her people would notice that sort of thing. You know how careful she is.'
   'Not if we disguised it as one of those censored frogs, or something r She glowed. 'Yes, a frog. I'm sure such a device could be made. Waterproof, small, but still capable of delivering a lethal charge, yes. And you could, urn, put the guard "to sleep" for the minute necessary to slip the thing into the water.'
   'That does sound good, darling. Yes, Teleen, I do think so too!' He lifted her off the floor and kissed her gently. 'One thing, though. Why haven't you thought of something like this before?'
   Her mouth twisted in a feral smile that, had she known it, was almost a carbon copy of her aunt's. 'Oh, I have, I have, sort of. But until this morning, I really hadn't been sufficiently inspired I Today I was finally convinced she is quite mad. It will be only a kindness to gift her with a long sleep.'
   Rashalleila Nuaman switched off the spy-screen and smiled kittenishly to herself. Her niece's generosity and concern was ... well, appalling. So she had finally dug up enough courage to actually plan the thing! About time, yes. But to trust that 'side of beet" van Cleef with such knowledge! Tsk. Poor judgement, poor. How anyone could actually fall in love with an automaton, an utter nonentity, like that! Oh sure, he was great between the sheets. But beyond that he was a nothing, a void, a null factor. Well-meaning and' affectionate, to be sure. Like a large puppy-dog. Ah, well. Let them enjoy their private games. It would be good practice for Teleen. Buoy her self-confidence, and all that. Eventually, though, the poor thing would have to be jolted back to her senses. She giggled at the small witticism. Such folderol was fine, but not on company time. Which reminds. Must have the ground keeper get rid of all those nice froggies. Temporarily, at least. No use wasting. Dinner tomorrow, perhaps.
   She had turned off the spy-screen a-few moments too early. Downstairs, her niece's stimulated mind had come up with another thought.
   'We also ought to keep the old bitch off balance, Rory. While we're trying to hammer this thing out. She's not a complete idiot, you know,'
   'I suppose that's a good idea,' said van Cleef, flexing his quadriceps. 'You'll think of something,' Her face was alight. 'I have. Oh, have I!' She turned away and walked over to the china desk. A hidden switch revealed a comm-screen she knew wasn't being tapped by any of her dear auntie's automatic spy monitors. It was the one machine on the estate whose circuitry she'd checked over herself. She tapped out a rapid, high-speed series of numbers that sped her call over a very special and very secret relay system to a little-contacted section of space.
   Eventually the screen cleared and a face began to take shape.
   'Well, good light to you, Amuven DE, and may your house always be filled with dust.'
   The face of the AAnn businessman crinkled in a toothy smile. 'As always, as always. So good to hear from you again, Mistress Rude!'
Chapter Nine
    
Flinx had been staring silently out through the main viewport of the salon for some time, well aware that there was someone behind him. But to have turned immediately would have engendered unnecessary awkwardness. Now lie turned to see the two scientists and became aware that be needn't have been concerned. Neither was paying the slightest attention to him. They bad drawn over lounges and were staring out at the magnificent chaos of the drive distorted heavens. Taking no notice of their scrutiny, the prismatic panoply flowed on unchanged.
   'Don't mind us, Fhinx. We're here for the same thing. To enjoy the view,' The philosoph returned his attention to the great port and the doppler-distorted suns which glowed far more sharply than they ever could in their natural state.
   But Flinx's concentration and mood had been broken. He continued facing the two scientists.
   'Sirs, doesn't it strike you as odd that in a time when so many folk have so much trouble getting along with one another, you two, of two utterly different races, manage to get along so well?'
   'Your questions, T fear, will never carry the burden of subtlety, lad.' Tse-Mallory turned to the thranx. 'At times in the past my friend and I existed in a rather close – one could say intimate - association. Or work necessitated it. And we are not so very different as you might think.'
   ‘I remember your calling each other ship-brother several times.'
   'Yes? I suppose we did. We've never gotten used to the idea that other people might find it unusual. It's so very natural to us.
   ‘You were a gunnery team?'
   ‘No,' said Truzenzuzex. 'We flew a stingship. Small, fast, a single medium SCCAM projector.’
   'As to our relationship irrespective of ship life, Flinx, I'm not sure Tru and I could give you an objective answer. Our personalities just seem to compliment one another. Always have. The attraction between human and thranx is something, that psychologists of both races have sweated over for years, without ever coming up with a. satisfactory explanation. There are even some pairs and groupings that become physically ill if one is separated long from its alien counter-part. And it seems to work on both sides. A kind of mental symbiosis. Subjectively, we just feel supremely comfortable with each other.
   'You know the events leading up to the Amalgamation, the Pitar-humanx war, and such'?'
   'Only bits and pieces. I'm afraid. Regular schooling is something that eluded me early.'
   'Umm. Or vice versa, I suspect. Tru?'
   'You tell the lad. I'm certain he'd find the human version of the story more palatable.'
   'All right.'
   'Human and thranx have known each other for a comparatively short period of time. Hard to believe today, but true. A little over two t-centuries ago, scoutships of both races first encountered each other's civilizations. By that time, mankind had been in space for several previous t-centuries. In that time, while engaged in exploration and colonization, he had encountered many other alien life-forms. Intelligent and otherwise. This was also true of the thranx who had been in space even longer than humanity.
   ‘There was an indefinable attraction between the two races from the very outset. The favourable reactions on both sides far outweighed the expected prejudice and aversions.'
   'Such existed on the thranx planets as well,' put in Truzenzuzex.
   ‘I thought I was going to tell this?'
   'Apologies, oh omnipotent one!'
   Tse-Mallory grinned, and continued. 'The thranx were as alien as any race man had yet encountered. A hundred-per cent insectoid, hard-shelled, open circulatory system, compound eyes, rigid, inflexible joints ... and eight limbs. And they were egg-layers. As a news commentator of the time put it, "they were completely and delightfully weird." '
   If I recall aright, your people laid a few eggs at that time too,' piped the pililosoph. Tse-Mallory shut him up with an exasperated glance.
   'From past experiences one would have expected the human reaction to the discovery of a race of giant sentient insects to be hostile or at least mildly paranoid. That had proved the pattern in too many previous contacts. And man had been lighting small and much more primitive cousins of the thranx for thousands of years on the home planet. In fact, if you can believe it, the term "bug" originally had a derogatory connotation.
   'But by now mankind bad learned it was going to have to live in peace and harmony with beings whose appearance might be personally repulsive. It didn't help things to know that many of those same beings considered man at least as repulsive-looking as he considered them.' He glanced expectantly at Truzenzuzex, but that worthy was at least temporarily subdued. 'So the actual reaction between human and thranx was doubly unexpected. The two races took to each other like a pair of long-separated twins. The thranx traits of calmness, cool decision-making ability, politeness, and wry humour were admired tremendously by humans who'd sought such qualities in themselves. By the same token there was a recklessness combined with brains, an impossible self-confidence, and a sensitivity to surroundings that thranx found appealing in man.
   'Once it had been voted on by both races and approved by considerable margins despite the expected opposition from moneyed chauvinists. Amalgamation proved to be even less trouble than the optimists had anticipated. Thranx click-speech, with its attendant whistling, actually had a reasonable phonetic counterpart among the thousands of Terran languages and diaiects.'
   ‘African sub-divisions,' mused Tnizenzuzex, Xhosa.'
   ‘Yes. For their part thranx could, with difficulty, manage the major human language system ol' Terrangio. The eventual outgrowth of much work by phoneticists, semanticists and linguists on both sides was a language that hopefully combined the better aspects of both. The clicks and whistles and some of the rough rasps of Hive-speech major were kept in, intact, along with most of the smoother sounds and vowels of Terrangio. The result was probably the closest thing to a universal language, barring telepathy, we’ll ever have' symbospeech. Fortunately for business purposes, most other races with vocal apparatus can also manhandle at least enough of it to get by with. Even the AAnn, who turned out to be better at it than most.
   'The mutual admiration society was off and winging. Pretty soon it had extended itself to other aspects of the new human life-system. Our politicians, judges, and law-makers couldn't help but admire the beauty and simplicity with which thranx law and government had been put together. It was practically an art-form, built up as it had been from the old Hive structure itself. Not that it was that different from the oldest human municipalities and nation-states. Just much more sensible. Thranx lawyers and magistrates soon cleared away a lot of the backlog that had been clogging human courts. Besides their superlative natural sense of jurisprudence, they could not possibly be accused by anyone of partiality.
   Terran-derived sports, on the other hand, completely revolutionized the thranx's biggest problem - that of leisure. They simply hadn't realized that there were so many organized ways of having fun. When they discovered chess and judo, it was all over with flip-the-rock and that ilk.'
   'Third-degree black belt,' noted Truzenzuzex proudly. 'Although I'm getting a bit creaky for such activity.'
   'So I've noticed, I could go on and on, lad. Human planets were deluged with exquisite examples of thranx workmanship. Machinery, handicrafts, personal gadgetry, delicate electrical products, and so on.  Even the body colouring of each was pleasing to the other, although thranx odour had a decided advantage over the human.'
   'No argument there,' puffed the philosoph. That earned him another sharp glance.
   'When the thranx got hold of Terran literature, paintings, sculpture, and such seemingly unrelated things as ice-cream and children's toys ... in short, the two races just seemed to merge amazingly well, And the greatest of humans achievements, the modified doublekay drive, you must know about.
   'But by far the greatest impetus towards amalgamation along with the Pitar-liumanx war was the formation of the United Church. Powerful) relatively new groups existed among both races with similar beliefs. When they learned of one another's existence, an alien organization with practically identical theologies and desires, they soon had formed a combine which rapidly overwhelmed all but the most die-hard members of the older established churches. Not the least of its strengths was that it insisted on being called a nonreligious organization. For the first time, people could get top-level spiritual guidance without having to profess a belief in God. Back when, it was a real revolution.'
   'As near as we can tell,' put in Truzenzuzex, 'it is still unique in being the only multiracial spiritual institution in the galaxy. And other races have members.'
   ‘I'm afraid I don't belong,' said Flinx.
   'Doesn't bother me. The Church really couldn't care less. They don't proselytize, you know. They're much too busy with the important things. Sure, they'd be glad to have you or anyone else as a new member, but you have to go to them. The mountain will have to go to Mohammed, because Mohammed is busy enough in his neighbourhood!'
   'What?' said Flinx.
   'Forget it. Archaic reference. Even our materialistic captain is a member."
   ‘I guessed that. Does he believe in God. too?'
   'Difficult to tell,' Said Tse-Mallory thouglitfully. That's only inidental anyway. I'm more concerned about whether or not God believes in him, because I've a hunch we're going to need any outside help we can get before this trip is over.'
   'How about the Pitar-humanx war?' Flinx prompted.
   'Oh that. Tomorrow, hmm? I could use a drink right now. Haven't done that much lecturing since ... a long time.'
   True to his word he picked up the narrative the following morning, over tea and sweetcakes. Besides, one gets bored quickly in space. His audience had grown, however, since everyone was now in the salon except Wolf. It was his turn on duty watch.
   ‘I too am familiar with the details,' put in Malaika, an arm curled possessively around Sissiph's waist. 'But I think I'd enjoy hearing you tell it, juu ya. I know my versions are wrongs' He laughed uproariously.
   'So,' said Tse-Mallory, unconsciously aping their host. 'Some five t -decades after the initial Terran-thranx contact, relations between the two civilizations were growing at a geometric pace. Both sides, however, were still wary of each other. Contact between the two religious groups was still in a formative stage, and amalgamation was a dream in the minds of a few outstanding visionaries of both races. These were still greatly outnumbered by the "patriots" on both sides.'
   'Then came the first Terran contact with the Pitar. That race occupied two densely populated planets in the Orion sector. They were a totally unexpected factor, an alien race human to point nine six three places. Really a remarkable and as yet unequalled coincidence of form. Externally they were for all practical purposes identical with humankind. In looks, as a race, they came pretty close to the Terran ideal. The males were tail, muscular, handsome, and exceptionally structured. The women were one hundred per cent feminine and at least as attractive as the men. Humanity went through a brief, hysterical phase in which anything even remotely Pitarian was the subject of slavish imitation. The Pitar themselves seemed cordial enough, if a bit nervous and self-centred. Limitless professions of mutual aid and un-dying friendship were exchanged between the two races.
   'The Pi tar were highly scientific, and in a few phases of research came surprisingly close to matching Terra. Weaponry, for example. The reasons for this obvious dichotomy in their seemingly peace loving civilization became apparent later. Too much later. It also appeared to have a disproportionate influence in their social setup.
   'Human-Pitar friendship was progressing at a rate comparable to bliman-thranx. Several years after first contact, a tramp freighter happened to put in at a large but out-of-the-way human old colony. Treetrunk, or Argus V, as it's better known now. Apparently the entire colony, some six hundred thousand souls, had been utterly and ruthlessly wiped out by an unknown lifeform.  Not a man, woman, or child had been left alive on the entire planet. Corpses of women seemed to be especially lacking. The reason for this was discovered later also. Well, expressions of sympathy poured in from the other intelligent races, including the Pitar. They were at least as outraged as any of the others. Most races then sent out scouts to try to locate this new and virulent alien race before they themselves could become the victims of a similar atrocity.
   'Two months later a man was found orbiting one of the devastated planet's two moons in an antique, jury-rigged lifeboat. A cruiser of the Unop-Patha - you know that race? - was on courtesy patrol at the time and happened to drift within range of the boat's feeble transmitter. They had never encountered an insane human before and were pretty much at a loss as to what to do with him until they could finally turn him over to the nearest human authorities. That happened to be the big research group which was sifting Treetrunk for clues. A month of intensive treatment succeeded m restoring the fellow to partial coherency.
   It took them some time to make sense of his story. His mind had been badly unhinged by months of helpless drifting in space, fears of meeting an enemy ship - and, after a while, of not meeting one - and by what he had seen on the planet itself. It was fortunate that he didn't have the courage to commit suicide. The ugly story he told has been documented many times over and I find it personally distasteful, so I will skip over the gory parts.
   'The enemy had struck without warning, raining death on the unprepared, populace. Being without a regular military force - or need of one - the planet was quite helpless. The police skiffs tried and, as might have been expected, proved useless. All appeals for mercy, negotiations, or surrender were met with the same response as ferocious resistance. When all opposition had been crushed and all interstellar communications completely destroyed, or blanketed out, the invaders came down in ships of vaguely familiar design to inspect what remained of the battered colony.
   'Our single survivor had been as surprised as anyone when the sneak tridee screens had focused on the locks of the landing shuttles and armed Pitarian troops had come pouring out. They were remorseless in their destruction of the surviving human population, treating it as if they were the lowest, filthiest organisms in the universe. They helped themselves to a few valuables and such, but for the most part they seemed to enjoy killing for the love of it. Like weasels on Terra. At this point the man's mind started to shrink away again. The psychiatrists who attended him felt that if he'd remained sane he never would have been able to cope with the other stresses that his escape put on his mind. Like not eating for four days, and such. The Pitar were thorough. They carried life detectors to search out survivors no matter how well they were hidden.
   'Our informant had lived in a small town near the planet's equator. He had once been a ship's engineer and had bought a small, obsolete lifeboat which he enjoyed tinkering with in his spare time. Again, it took a madman to suppose that that wreck could ever make it to the nearest moon. Before the enemy troops had reached his area he had managed to provision the tiny ship and perform a successful liftoff. Obviously the orbiting warships were no longer expecting a vessel from the planet's surface. All spaceports had been destroyed, and all the commercial doublekay drive ships in parking orbit had been vapourized while trying to escape or taken over by Pi tan an prize crews. No one thought of an attempt to escape simply to space. The moons are uninhabitable' and there are no other planets in the system capable of supporting human life. Or possibly they weren't geared to the detection of a propulsive system as tiny and outmoded as his. Anyway, he made it safely through their outward-turned screens and into a closed orbit around the first moon. He never really expected to be picked up. All his addled mind could think of was getting away from the abomination below. It was pure chance that he was rescued.
   ‘That was the gist of Ins story. Among the nauseating details the probes pumped out of him was what the Pitar did with the bodies of all those missing women. That was so disgusting the authorities tried to keep it from the general public, but as usually happens in such cases, the word got out. The resultant uproar was violent and widespread. War was never even formally declared because most of the members of the Terran Congress held reserve commissions and rushed to get aboard their ships.
   'The gigantic armada that was assembled buried itself into the Pitarian system. Much to everyone's surprise, the Pitarians held their own from their planetary and satellite bases. In space their ships were no match for the human fleet, in addition to being heavily outnumbered, but the possibility of such an eventuality had been considered by the Pitarians and their scientists had put up an offensive-defensive net-work which the starship weaponry was unable to batter through. It settled down to a war of attrition which the Pitarians hoped to win by making it too expensive to bear. As a result they were effectively blockaded from the rest of the universe, or, as the more polite were wont to put it, were placed in a state of "enforced quarantine".
   ‘It appeared as though the situation might stay that way indefinitely. That is, until the t bran x stepped in. Like most of the rest of the intelligent races the thranx had heard the details of the Argus V massacre. Unlike most of them however, they were determined to do something more effective than blockading. As far as the thranx were concerned the final straw was the use to which the Pitar bad put human females. The female is considered even more an object of veneration and helplessness on thranx worlds than on the most gallant of humaiioid ones. This is a legacy from their early ancestors, when there was one egg-laying queen to protect and nurture. When this hereditary attitude was translated into manners, it was one reason why Terran and other humanoid females who had had contact with the thranx were among the first vociferous boosters of the idea of almalgamation.
   'So the thranx added their fleets to the human. At first this had no effect other than to intensify an already near-perfect blockade. Then the human-thranx teams made their first big breakthroughs on the doublekay drive systems, the SCCAM weapons complex, and more. A device had finally been found which could successfully penetrate the Pitarian battle network. It was used. There was at this time some desire among humanx scientists to make an attempt to preserve at least a portion of Pitarian civilization intact, for study. They Sloped to find an explanation for their extreme racial paranoia. Sentiment being what it was on the human planets, however, this proved impossible. There is also some reason to believe that the Pitarians themselves would not have permitted this. Their affliction was that strong. Any-way, they fought to the last city.
   ‘The three planets remain, blasted and empty. One human, two Pitarian. They are not often visited, except by the curious and the morbid.
   The scientific teams that worked on the ruins of the Pitarian civilization came to the conclusion that the race was totally unable to accept or understand terms like mercy, compassion, openness, and equality, and similar abstract concepts. They believed themselves to be the only race worthy of existence in the universe. Once they had managed to steal all the knowledge they would stoop to borrow from the barbaric humans, they set out to destroy them. The other intelligent races of the galaxy would have been next on their programme of extermination, including the thranx. Compaired to them our erstwhile modern competitors, the AAnn, are positively pacific.
   'Fortunately, in most respects the Pitarins were no-where near as sharp as the AAnn. Their weapons development far exceeded their racial maturity, and their conceit their cleverness. I've often wondered whether the Pitar-humanx war was a single boost to amalgamation or a multiple one. There was mutual hatred of the Pitarians, the gratitude mankind felt for the thranx aid, and the fear that somewhere out among the stars there might exist another bunch of psychopathic fillers like the Pitar.'
   It was very quiet in the elegant room when Tse-Mallory bad finished.
   'Well,' said Atha finally, breaking the thought-heavy silence, ‘it's my turn up front, I'd better go an relieve Wolf.' She uncurled herself from the lounge and departed forward.
   'Ndiye, ndiye,? The merchant, leaned over and leered at Sissiph. 'Come, my pakadoge, little pussy. We are only half-way through that delightful book of yours, and I can't wait to see how it turns out. Even if it is mostly pictures. You'll excuse us, gentlesirs?'
   Giggling, the girl led him out of the salon.
   Tse-Mallory began setting up the levels for the personallty-chess board, while Truzenzuzex began shuffling the cards and lining up the blue and red and black pieces.
   Flinx looked up at the sociologist. 'Sir, you didn't participate in the Pitar-humanx war, did you?'
   'Pure Flux, youth, no! I’ll admit to being aged, and rarely even to old, but archaic - never! I did have a grandfather who participated, though. As I suppose alt of our ancestors of that time did, one way or another. Didn't yours?'
   Flinx rose and idly brushed off his pants. The fur from the carpet had a tendency to cling. 'Excuse me, please, sirs. I recall that I haven't fed Pip his evening meal, and I wouldn't want him to get irritated and start nibbling on my arm.'
   He turned and headed for the passageway. Tse-Mallory looked after him curiously, then shrugged and tinned back to the game. It was his move.
    
Chapter Ten
    
Thus far there had been no trouble. The first sign of it came three ship-days safer.
   Malaika was in Control, checking out co-ordinates with Wolf. In his cabin Truzenzuzex was rigid in a meditation trance. He utilized that technique whenever be wished to consider a problem involving extreme concentration. And sometimes just to relax. In that state he required less body energy. In the salon, Tse-Mallory was trying to explain the workings of a semantic puzzle to Flinx. Atha was nearby, attempting somewhat' boredly to beat herself at the ancient and timeworn game Of Monopoly. She moved the obscure little idols and symbols in ways that Flinx had always found dully repetitive. Everything continued normally until Sissiph, bored and ejected from Control by the busy Malaika, stomped crankily into the room, a trail of translucent pseudolace flowing behind her.
   'This is a dull place! Dull, dull, dull! Like-like living in a coffin!' She fumed quietly for a few minutes. As no one deigned to notice her, she moved to a more central location. 'What a collection! Two pilots, two brain cases, and a kid with a poisonous worm for a pet!'
   Pip's head lifted abruptly and the minidrag made an unfriendly motion in the girl's direction. Flinx stroked the back of its head until it had relayed sufficiently for some of She tightness to leave the long muscles. His own response was mild as he considered the self-uacertainty/anger/coo-fusion in the girl's mind.
   ‘It is a reptile, and bears no relation to ...'
   'Reptile! Worm! What difference does it make?' She pouted. 'And Maxy won't even let me watch while he plays with all those darling co-ordinates and standards and things! He says I "distract" him. Can you imagine? Distract him?'
   ‘I can't imagine why it should either my dear,' murmured Atha without looting up from her game. Ordinarily Sissiph probably would haven't made anything of it. Back in Drallar she'd had more than ample opportunity to inure herself to Atha's sarcasm. But the combination of the long flight and her frustrations of the moment combined to make her turn. Her voice was tight.
   ‘Is that supposed to be some kind of crack?'
   Still Atha did not look up from her game. No doubt she expected Sissiph to brush off the remark as she usually did and go flouncing from the room in a dignified huff. She returned with a slang phrase
   ‘Tis truth, forsooth.’
   'And your mouth,' rejoined Sissiph, parodying the words terribly, 'is a bit too "looth"!’ She gave the game table a quick shove with a knee. Being portable and not bolted to the fabric of the ship, it toppled easily. Small metal objects and plastic cards sailed in all directions.
   Atha closed her eyes tightly, not moving, and then slowly opened them again. She turned easily to stare at the Lynx, her eyes even with the other girl's knees.
   ‘I think, honey, that if we're going to pursue this conversation, we'd do it better on a more equal level.'
   Her forearm shot out and caught the surprised Sissiph behind the knees. She let out a startled squeak and sat down hard.
   From there on, their bodies seemed to merge so closely that Flinx was hard put to tell them apart. Their thoughts were indecipherable. Scientific combat went out the port, so to speak. Tse-Mallory left his puzzle and made a laudible, if foolhardy, attempt to stop it. All he received for his efforts was a long scratch on one cheek. At that moment Malaika, summoned hastily by Flinx with a gentle probe, appeared in the fore doorway. He took in the whole scene at a half-glance,
   'What in the name of the obscenity sewn hells is going on here?'
   Even his familiar bellow had no effect on the two combatants, who were by now too deeply engrossed in their work to notice mere mortal entreaties. The merchant moved forward and made an attempt to separate the two. Several,in fact. It was like dipping one's bands into a whirlwind. Frustrated, he backed off.
   The longer one lived m the lower levels of Drallar, the greater one's acquired knowledge of elementary human psychology. Flinx said loudly bat evenly, putting as much disgust into his voice as be could muster, 'My, if you two only knew how funny you look!' He also risked a brief mental projection of the two combatants, suitably embellished.
   There was immediate peace in the room. The cloud of hair, teeth, nails, and shredded clothing ground to an abrupt halt, resolving itself into two distinct bodies. Both stared blankly at Flinx, then uncertainly at each other.
   ‘Thanks, kijana. I'd thought you might help out here and there, but apparently there's no end' to your talents.' Maiaika reached down and grasped each girl by the remaining material at the scruff of her neck, Sifting them much as one would a pair of obstinate kittens. The two glared silently at one another and seemed more than willing to start in all over again. Perceiving this, he shook them so hard that their teeth rattled and their tippers fell-off.
   'We're on a billion-credit hunt in rarely spaced territory after something which any other company in the galaxy would gladly slit my throat for an inkling of, and you two mwanamkewivu, cretins, idiots, can't live in peace for a month!' He shook them again, although not as furiously. Neither of them looked in the mood for fighting now. If this happens again, and I'll warn you only once, I will cheerfully chuck the both of you, biting and scratching if that's the way you want it, out the nearest airlock! Is that understood?'
   The two women stared silently at the floor.
   'An ndiyo au la! Tell me now!' The voice reverberated around the saion.
   Finally Sissiph murmured, almost in audibly. 'Yes, Maxy.' He turned to glare murderously at Atha.
   'Yes, sir,' she said meekly.
   Malaika would have continued, but Wolf chose that moment to peer into the room.
   'Captain, I think you'd better come take a look at this. There is an object or objects on the screens which I would say is a ship, or ships, i'd like your opinion,'
   'Nini?’ Malaga roared, whirling. 'What!' He let go of the two women. Both stood quietly, trying to create order out of the chaos of their clothing. Occasionally one would glance up at the other, but for now, at least, both were thoroughly abashed.
   ‘It appears to be closing on us, sir. I do wish you'd come take a look... now.' Malaika turned to face the erstwhile fighters. ‘Atha, you get fixed up and up front... upesi! Sissiph, you go back to our cabin and stay there.' Both nodded soberly and departed in different directions.
   'Sociologist, you go and get your friend out of that semi-sleep, or whatever he calls it. I want you at full consciousness in case anything untoward happens. I have a hunch both of you have had at least a modicum of experience with deep- space ship manoeuvres?'
   ‘Tse-Mallory had started off towards Truzenzuzex's cabin. Now he paused to smile back at the big trader. 'Something of the sort,' lie said quietly.
   ‘Fine. Oh, kijana?’ Flinx looted up. "You keep a close eye on that pet of yours. Things might get a little bouncy around here. I don't know how excitable that little devil is, but I wouldn't want him underfoot and nervous around busy people.'
   'Yes sir. Have you any idea what it is?'
   'Yes and no. And I'm afraid it's liable to be the former. And that's bad.' He paused, thoughtful. 'You can come up front, if you like, so long as you watch that snake. Tell our learned passengers they can too, if they so desire. There's enough room. I just don't want Sissiph around. The darling pakadogo has a tendency to get hysterical when things aren't where she can put a finger... and other delightful things... on them. But I think perhaps the others would like to be around when we find out what is what. And they might have hunches to contribute. I value hunches highly. By the way, I don't suppose you can answer that question for me?'
   Flinx concentrated, hard. It was a long way off, but there was nothing else around for light-years, so it came in strong, strong. "If was malignant/strange/picture of dry air, sun, blood/taste of salt/relief/all wrapped in cold, clear thoughts like snow-melt fitted in only one type...
   He looked up, blinked. The merchant was watching him intently, with not a little hint of concern. He became aware then of the beads of sweat on his brow. He said one word, because it was sufficient.
   'AAnn.'
   The merchant nodded thoughtfully and turned for the door.
    
Chapter Eleven
    
The dot that indicated the presence of an operating posi-gravity drive field was dear now and far off to their 'right' - about ninety degrees or so to the present x-plane. It was moving on a definite convergence course. They still could not be sure what it was, other than that at least one mind occupied a similar area of space.
   An ancient aphorism someone had once recited to Flinx came back to him. As he recalled it, there had been two men involved, one old and one young. The younger had said, "No news is good news,' and the other, a Terran holy man, had wisely replied, 'That's not necessarily true, my young friend. A fisherman doesn't think he's lucky if he doesn't get a bite.' He wasn't positive that the story was an appropriate analogy for the moment, because be found himself disagreeing with the holy man.
   ‘Two of them. Captain,' said Wolf. 'See...’
   It was true. Even Flinx could see that as the large dot came closer it was separating into two distinct points. At the same time he sensed a multiplicity of similar minds to the one he'd first noticed although much weaker.
   'Two ships,' said Malaika. 'Then my one guess is in error after all. Before shadows. Now, everything in the dark. Usiku. Still, it might be...'
   'What was your guess, Maxim?' asked Truzenzuzex.
   ‘I thought perhaps a competitor of mine - a certain competitor - had gotten drift of your discovery to a greater extent than I originally thought. Or that certain information had leaked. If the latter case, then I should suspect that some- one on this ship is a spy.’ There were some fast, uneasy glances around the cabin. 'That is still a possibility, but I am now less inclined to suspect it. I don't know of any combine in the Arm, neither the one I had in mind nor even General Industries, that could afford or would be inclined to put out two ships on what has a very good chance of being a profit-less venture on merely spurious, secondhand information. Not even an AAnn Nest-Corporation.'
   ‘In which case,' said Tse-Mallory, 'who are our two visitors?' I don't know, sociologist, hata kidogo. Not at all. But we will no doubt find out shortly. They should be in reception distance momentarily, if they aren't already. If there were a relay station in this area we might have found out sooner... assuming of course that they wished us to know of their presence, and knew closely enough where we were. I think that I doubt that...'
   Atha was efficiently manipulating dials and switches. I've got everything wide open, sir, and if they're beaming us, we'll pick it up, all right!'
   They did.
   The face that appeared on the screen was not shocking, thanks to Flinx's advance warning, but the garb it wore was because it was so totally unexpected.
   'Good morning to you, Gloryhole,' said the sallow-faced AAnn officer-noble who looked out at them. 'Or whatever day-period you are experiencing at the moment. The illustrious and renowned Maxim Malaika captaining, I assume?'
   'The puzzled and curious Maxim Malaika is here, if that's what you mean.' He moved into the centre of the transceiver's pickup. 'You're one up on me.'
   'Apologies,' said the figure. I am named Riidi WW, Baron Second of Tyrton Six, Officer in the Emperor Maahn the Fourth's Circumspatial Defence Forces. My ship is named Arr, and we are accompanied, in travel by her sister-ship, the Unn.'
   Malaika spoke in the direction of the omnipickup mike. 'All that. Your mother must have been long-winded. You boys are a bit off your usual tracks, aren't you'?'
   The Baron's face reflected mild surprise. As Flinx suspected, it was mock. 'Why, captain! The Blight is unclaimed space and open to all. There are many fine, colonizable, unclaimed planets here, free to any spacegoing race. While it is true that in the past His Majesty's government has been more involved in outward expansion, an occasional search for planets of exceptionai promise does sometimes penetrate this far.'
   ‘A very concise and seemingly plausible explanation,' whispered Truzcnzuzex to Malaika from out of range of the audiovisual pickups.
   ‘Yes,' the merchant whispered back. "I don't believe a word of it either. Wolf, change course forty-five degrees t-plus.'
   'Done, Captain.'
   'Well, Baron, it's always nice to hear from someone away out in the middle of nowhere, and I am sure that two of his Majesty's destroyers will be more than a match for any planet of "exceptional promise" you may happen to find. I wish you luck in your prospecting.'
   'Your offers of good fortune are accepted in the spirit in which they are given, Captain Malaika in return I should like to extend the hospitality of my ship and crew. Most especially of our galley. I am fortunate enough to have on board a chef who works wonders with the cuisine of thirty-two different systems. The fellow is a. wizard, and would be proud to have the opportunity to display his talents before such discerning gourmets as yourselves.'
   Wolf's low whisper cut across the cabin. 'They've changed course to match our new one, sir. And accelerated, too.'
   'Keep on course. And pick it up enough to match their increase. But do it subtly, mwanamume, subtly!' He turned back to the screen.
   'Truly a gracious offer, Baron, and ordinarily T would consider it an honour and a delight to accept. However, I am afraid that circumstances warrant we decline this particular invitation. You see, we had fish for supper last evening, and I am certain it was not per pared half so well as your chef could manage, because we have all been suffering from severe, pains of the lower intestinal tract today. If we may, I'll put off your kind offer till a later date.'
   Away from the mike he whispered, 'The rest of you get back to yow cabins and strap down. I'll try to keep you up on what happens through your intership viewers. But if we have to bump around a bit, I don't want you all bouncing off the woodwork and messing up my carpets!'
   Flinx, Tse-Mallory, and Truzenzuze made a scramble for the exitway, being careful to stay out of range of the tri-dee video pickup. But apparently Truzenzuzex couldn't resist a dig at a persistent and long-time enemy. The thranx had had dealings with the AAnn long before mankind.
   He stuck his head into range of the pickups and yelled, 'Know, 0 sand-eater, that I have sampled AAnn cuisine before, and that my gizzard has found it to be gritty to the palate. Those who dine upon rocks rapidly assume the disposition and mental capacity of the same"
   The AAnn bristled, the scales along its neck-ridge rising. 'Listen, dirt-dweller, I'll inform you that ...!' He caught it in mid-curse and recomposed himself with an effort. Feigning a sigh where he no doubt would have preferred a threat, he said, 1 retain the courtesies while it is evident they have departed your ship. Captain. Have it your way. You cannot outrun us, you know. Now that we are within easy range, my detector operators will be most careful not to lose you. It will be only a. matter of time before we come within filial distance of you. At that moment T would hope that you would have reconsidered my really exceptionally polite and generous invitation, and will lower your field. Otherwise,' he said grimly, lam very much afraid we shall be forced to open you up like a can of zith-paste.
   The screen abruptly went blank.
   In his cabin, Flinx lay down on his bed and began to strap into the emergency harness that was affixed permanently to its sides. He had Pip next to his left hand, curled around a bar On the side of the bed. He admonished it to bo quiet. The snake, sensing that important things were happening, did as k was told with a minimum of fuss and bother.
   When he had finished and settled himself into the closest thing to a comfortable position he could manage in the awkward harness, he turned on the little screen which hung suspended from the roof of the cabin. It cleared instantly to reveal Malaika, Atha, and Wolf busy in Control.  Un-willingly, he began to recall more familiar sights and smells. It embarrassed him, but at that moment he wished fervently he were back home in Drallar, juggling before an appreciative crowd and masking small boys laugh by telling them the names of their secret loves. What he could interpret of the mind/thoughts of the AAnn commander was not pleasant. The feeling passed abruptly as though a cool rag had been drawn across his mind and be settled himself grimly to wait.
   In the huge, exotically furnished cabin which formed her quarters, Sissiph lay alone on the big bed, curled in her harness. Her knees nearly touched her chest. She felt very alone. The order to don harness bad been delivered in a tough, no-nonsense tone that Maxy had never used with her before, and she was frightened. The luxurious accoutrements, the intricately carved furniture and sensuous cantilevered lighting, the king's ransom in clothing scattered about the room, all suddenly seemed as frivolous and flighty as the toys of a child. She had known, she had simply known, when she had chosen to try to replace that other little witch - what had been her name? - as Malaga's steady Lynx, that something terrible like this was going to happen. She had known it!
   Merchants were so damned unpredictable!
   She did not throw the switch which would lower the screen and put her in communication with Control and the rest of the ship. Let him survive without her for a while! Instead she buried herself as deeply as she could in the purr-silk pillows and promised herself that if she survived this awful, horrible journey into no place, she was going to find some nice hundred-and-fifty-year-old man ... on the verge of death. A senile, wealthy one, with whom she could look forward to a nice, quiet, comfortable, short, married life... and a long, wealthy widowhood.
   Bran Tse-Mailory was lying in his bed quietly reviewing the hundred and five maxims of the state of Indifferent Contentment, It was originally invented by a brilliant graduate student to help nervous students relax for examinations. It would do duty in other situations. The current one, for example. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get past twenty-one. It kept repeating it self over and over in his mind every time he tried to concentrate on twenty-two.
   'Mankind must without a doubt be the most conceited race in the universe, for who else believes that .God has nothing better to do than sit around all day and help him out of tight spots?'
   It was an unworthy thought for one who supposedly had mellowed so over the years, but how, oh, how lie wished for the comforting grip of a gun - any kind of gun -under his fingers. They tightened and relaxed reflexively, making deep furrows in the softness of the blankets.
   The Eint Truzenzuzex was lying quietly on his modified lounge, legs fully extended, foothands and truehands crossed on his chest in the proper Oo position. He tried to keep one half of his mind focused on the ship viewer, while the other half droned through the ritual.
   ‘I, Tru, of the family Zen, clan zu, the Hive Zex, do hereforth pray that I shall not bring disgrace on my-our ancestors. I, Tru, of the family Zen, clan zu, the Hive Zex, do hereforth pray that in the coming Time of Trouble I may reflect credit on my first-mother, clan mother, and Hive mother. I, Tru, of the family Zen, clan ...'
   Atha Moon and the man called Woif thought otherwise. They were much too busy for anything else. And Maxim Malaika, the man who was responsible for them all, did likewise. Also, he was too scared to have time for trivialities like worry. Wolf broke into his nonthoughts.
   They've closed to within five mils, sir. At this rate they'll be within particle-beam range in five, ten minutes.'
   'Choovy! And other urnmentionables! Damn!' Atha looked back at him worriedly. "Couldn't we try to dodge them, Maxim? I mean, Captain'?'
   'La, hasha, Atha. Mo way. Those are AAnn destroyers out there. They're built to chase down and slice up ships much faster than we are. The Gloryhole is a rich man's whim, not a navy ship. But it is something of a speedster, Sharti. Of necessity. With any kind of distance between us at initial contact we might have slipped out of detector range and lost them, but they were on top of us before we even knew who they were. Anyway, there are two of them. One, labda, we might still slip, but never two. Not at this range.'
   Atha thought. 'Couldn't we just, well, surrender and take our chances'? I mean, everything considered, that Baron didn't seem all that awful. Just impatient. And we aren't at war or anything with his people.'
   'Ndoto. A dream. The AAnn don't operate that way, Atha.' His lips were firmed, 'tight. 'At best they are... intolerant... with folk who co-operate with them. With those who don't... lf you're curious about details, ask Wolf. He was in an AAnn prison camp for five years, during the last real humanx-AAnn conflict. There may be others who survived that long in one of those hell-pits and lived to tell of it. If so, I haven't met him,'
   'The captain is right, Miss Moon. I would much rather throw myself into space to blow up like a deep-sea fish than be captured by those again.' He nodded at the screen, where the white dots continued their inexorable approach. 'Among their other affectations, they are very adept at the more refined forms of torture. Very. It is something of an art form with them, you see. Most of my scars don't show. They're up here, you see.' He tapped the side of his head. If you wish some detailed descriptions ...'
   Atha shuddered. 'Never mind.’
   'This Riidi fellow seems fairly decent... for an AAnn, but to take the chance... If I could spare Wolf from plotting, or myself from the computer... landunono' No, wait" He leaned over the mike pickup. 'Ninyi nyote! Tse-MaHory, sociologist. And you, bug! Have either of you ever handled a spatial weapon before ? Even In simulation T In his cabin Tse-Mallory nearly broke a finger struggling with his harness. And Truzenzuzex broke off his ritual in a place and manner that would have earned him the condemnation of every member of his clan, had they known of it.
   'You mean you've got a gun on this tub?' shouted Tse-Mallory. 'What kind? Where? Speak up, mercantilist! Implosion weapons, particle guns, missile tubes, explosive projectiles, rocks... Tru and T will handle it!'
   'Je? I hope so. Listen to me. Behind your cabins, naani, storage compartment. There's a walkway, it opens into the cargo balloon. Then a pullway. Go to the end of the main pull way, you can't get lost. You'll find branches there. Be carefull, there's no gravity in that part of the ship. Take the one that goes ninety degrees north of your horizontal. At the top you'll find a medium charge interstice laser, mounted on a universal belt encircling the ship, I'm powering it now.' He paused momentarily while his hands did things below the range of the camera's pickup.
   ‘It is a single-person mounting. Sorry, philosoph. But you could help him with the computer. If he doesn't have to watch the imageouts and battlescreen at the same time...'
   The two men of peace were already on their way.
   Malaika uttered a silent prayer in the hopes that the two scientists wouldn't cut up the ship and turned back to his tables.
   'How are we doing, Wolf?'
   'They're still closing, sir. Not as rapidly now that we've picked up our own speed, but still closing. Yon want to go on maximum?'
   'No. No, not yet. That's strictly out last gasp, if we need it. Let them continue to think the Glory’s just another freighter for a while. First I want to see what our braincases can do with the popgun.'
   The braincases in question were making their way along the pullway at breakneck speed. Fortunately, there was no drifting cargo to impede their progress. The great metal-fabric enclosure was almost completely empty. A few cases drifted lazily in their spiderweb enclosures, giving the pale green cavern and its ghostly atmosphere a tinge of perspective. The feeling was enhanced by the lighting, or lack of it. Since this area of the ship, although by far the largest, was rarely visited except upon arriving or departing a cargo stop, the lighting was kept to a minimum. Even so it would have been lost in the cargo compartments of one of the great 'Soaring Sun' class freighters.
   They had no trouble locating the correct branchway at the end nexus of the main one. It was the only strand headed remotely in the required direction. Tse-Mallory launched himself upward and began to float up to the rope. He reached out and began to pull himself rapidly upward, hand over hand. Truzenzuzex, he knew, would be right behind him. With its four hands the insect could go faster than he, but there was no reason for him to pass Bran since ho couldn't operate the human-contoured gun nearly as well.
   They reached the gun housing, a sphere of thick metal like a blister in the skin of the ship. It had its own emergency power and air supply. Far off to both sides he could see where the mounting's powered belt encircled the skin of the vessel. Moving along that belt the gun could cover an approaching threat from any angle. He had only a second to wonder what it was doing on a private yacht before he was inside the shell and buckling himself into the gun seat, Truzenzuzex secured the hatch behind them, moving to the computer imageouts to Bran's left, A more modern weapon would have had both combined in a single helmet-set that would fit down over the gunner's bead. The insect began to cannabalize braces, locks, and belts from the emergency compartments, until he had built himself a reasonably solid harness opposite the 'puter.
   Bran wrapped his light hand around the pressure trigger with all the fondness of a proud father caressing his new-born. His left went into the battlesureen sensory pickup. He let go of the trigger for a moment, reluctantly, to tighten the nerve sensors around his spread left hand. He flexed it once to make sure the pickups didn't pinch and then returned the right to the trigger grip. Next began a careful examination of the screen and dial scopes. It was definitely an early model, but then laser weapons hadn't changed much in their basic design for several centuries, and probably wouldn't in several more. The base design was too cheap and efficient. He had no doubt that he could operate this one effectively on the first try. Come to that, he'd damn well have to! Their pursuers weren't likely to give them a practice shot.
   Under impulses from his left hand the battlescreen Ht. He was gratified to see that his combat reflexes, at least, were still operative. On the screens were two dots the size of his thumbnail. For a moment he almost panicked, thinking he was back on the old Twenty-Five. If an opposing ship had m amazed to approach this close in a war situation they'd have been vapourized by now. But then, this wasn't a war situation. At least not yet. He put that unpleasant line of thought out of his mind. Something for the diplomats to sharpen their tongues on. Obviously neither of the approaching ships had expectations of meeting even token resistance. It was simply a game of catch-up. They came on openly and without caution. Possibly, hopefully, they also had their screens down or at least underpowered.
   From his left Truzenzuzex began rattling off a. stream of figures and co-ordinates. One of the destroyers was slightly nearer than the other. The sloppy formation was the inevitable result of overconfidence on the enemy's part. Bran began lining up a centre shot. His finger hesitated over the trigger, and he spoke into the intership mike.
   'Look, Malaika. These people are here after something, and since we've only got one something worth risking an interstellar incident over, they're going to want us in One piece. I don't expect them to start any reckless shooting. They're coming in as if all they expect to have to do is net us like a clipped Geech bird. I've played with the AAnn before. They're not overimaginative, but they think damn fast. That means one good shot and one only, and then we'd better run like hell. How close can you let them get while still giving us an outside chance to break their detection? Assuming they'll be sufficiently confused to let us.’
   Maiaika. calculated rapidly in his head. 'Um ... um ... mara kwa mara ... that Rildi fellow will have to decide whether to blow us to atoms or make another try ... the latter, I don't doubt ...has to take us alive, or not at all... I can give you another two mils distance. La, one and a half, now.'
   'Good enough,' said Tse-Mallory, concentrating on the screen, ft would have to be, he thought. 'We'll know it back here when the 'puter hits it.' Malaika didn't reply. That will bring us down almost to ... to three,' said Tnizenzuzex.
   I supposed. Let me know when we reach three point one.'
   Time enough?'
   Tse-Mallory grinned. '0le bug-wug, me friend, my reflexes have slowed down through the years, but dead yet they ain't! It'll be enough. Up the universe!'
   ‘Up the universe!' came the even reply.
   In Control, Malaika turned to Wolf, his face thoughtful.
   'You heard?'
   The shadow-man nodded.
   'All right then. Start slowing down. Yes, slowing down! If he says he's going to get only one shot, he's probably going to get only one shot, and I want him to have as good a line as possible. So let's make it look nearly as we can as though we're giving up the chase.'
   Obediently. Wolf began cutting their speed. Slowly, but the AAnn compouters would notice it.
   ‘Three point seven ... three point six... Truzenzuzex's voice recited the figures with machine-like precision and clarity.
   Bran's body was steady, but he was trembling ever so slightly inside He was older.
   ‘Tru, uh, did you spot any HTP drugs in that emergency locker?'
   'Heightened TP? Three point five ... you know that stuff's almost as carefully watched as the SCCAM circuitry. Oh, there's some of the bastard stuff back there, the kind that's available on any black market. All that will do, my friend, to borrow a saying, is "screw up you bod' ... three point four ...not to mention your reflexes... screw it down, more likely. Relax.'
   ‘I know, I know!' His eyes never left the screen. 'But, vertebrae. I wish I had some now!'
   'Obscenity is better ... three point three ... pretend you're back at the University working over old man Novy's thesis. That ought to generate enough anger for you to take those ships apart with your bare hands...'
   Bran smiled, and the tenseness left him. Back at the University old professor Movy had been one of their pet animosities.
   '... three point two ...'
   He could see the bastard's ugly face now. He wondered what had finally happened to the old boy after ... His finger tightened on the trigger.
   '... three poi ...'
   Already the pressure-stud was being depressed.
   In the nothingness of nowhere a lancet of emerald green brighter than a sun leaped from the Gioryhole across a second of infinity. A milli-instant later it impinged on the drive fan of the nearest AAnn warship, which happened to be the Unn. There was a soundless flash of impossible scintillating gold flame, like the waves of tortured hydrogen that march across the skin of stars. It was followed by an explosion of vapourized solids and an expanding, rapidly diffusing cloud of ionized gas.
   The battle screen showed one white dot and one tiny nebula.
   In the gun housing, Bran was frantically trying to reline the laser for a shot at the second ship, but he never got a real chance.
   At the instant of silent destruction, Malaika had permitted himself one violent cry of ‘Oseee-yees!’
   Then, 'Wolf, Atha, get us moving, watti!' Atha slammed over & connection and the Gloryhole leaped forward at her maximum acceleration.
   On the still existing AAnn ship, the Arr, panic reigned only in those areas of the vessel where Baron Riidi WW's control was peripheral. Around him the crew only reflected fatal resignation. The one pleasant thought m all their minds was what they would do to the people on their quarry once the commander and the techs had extracted whatever it was they wanted from them. None glanced at the Baron's face for fear of meeting his eyes.
   The Baron's polished claws scraped idly at the scales on his left arm. There was a voi pickup set by the right one.
   'Enginemaster,' he said calmly into the grid, 'full power, please. Everything you can spare from the screens.' He did not bother to inquire if they were now up.
   He turned back to the huge battlescreen which dominated the bridge. On it a white dot had shrunk rapidly but had not succeeded in disappearing completely. Now, it could not. Without taking Ills eyes from the screen he addressed the crew over the comm-system.
   'No one is to blame for the loss of the Unn. Not expecting interspace weaponry on a private craft of that type, only debris screens were up. That error has since been rectified. The enemy is faster than originally estimated. It apparently hoped to pass out of detector range in the confusion engendered by the loss of our sister-ship. This had not occurred. It will not occur. We are through playing polite. Bend your tails to it., gentlemen, we have a ship to catch! And when we have done I can promise you at least some interesting entertainment!’ Inspired, the crew of the Arr dipped to their tasks with a will.
   Bran cursed once, briefly, as the surviving A. Ann ship shrank out of range.
   Truzenzuzex was busily disengaging himself from his make shift harness. 'Relax, brother. You did as well as we'd hoped. Better. They had their screens down, all right, or they wouldn't have gone up like that. We must have hit their generator dead on. Metamorphosis, what a show!'
   Tse-Mallory took the advice and relaxed as well as he could. 'Yes. Yes, you're perfectly correct. Tru. A second time we wouldn't have been so lucky. If we'd had a second time.’
   'Quite so. I suggest now a return to our cabins. This toy will be of no further use. If we had a real gun, now ... oh, well. After you, Bran.'
   Truzenzuzex had reopened the hatch and they dived down the pullway. Heading back through the murky green hollows they missed Mataika's congratulations as they poured over the now untended mike in the gunshell.
   'Ships and novas, ships and novas! By the tail of the Black Horse nebula! They did it! Those effete, simple, peace-loving nduguzuri did it! Taking out a warship with one shot from that antique!' He shook his head. 'We may not get out of this but, by mitume, the prophets, those lizards'll know they've been in a fight!'
   Wolf brought the merchant back to reality. Not that his mind had ever really left it, but his spirit bad - momentarily. It had been refeshing, anyway.
   'They're beginning to pick up on us again, sir. Slower than before. Much slower. But we're running on everything we have and they're still making up distance on us.'
   Atha nodded concurrence. 'The screen may not show it yet, but it's here in the readouts. At this rate we've got maybe three - no, four hours before they're within paralysis-beam range.'
   'Je! That's it, then. Pepongapi? How many evil spirits?'
   He sat down in his seat. Once they got that close they'd make mummies out of everyone on board and then unwrap their minds at their leisure. The methods might vary, but they would undoubtedly be unique in their unpleasantness. That could not be permitted to happen. As soon as the AAnn got that close he'd see to it that everyone had a sufficiently lethal dose of something from med supply to insure that questioning would remain an impossibility. Or possibly a laser would be better. Burned down to ashes, the AAnn technicians, good as they might be, couldn't reconstruct. Yes, that was a better choice. After he finished with everyone else he'd have to make certain not to miss the brain. He'd have only the one shot. Better start looking for a mirror, Maxim!
   If there were only some way they could pick up enough speed to swing out of detector range! Even if only for a few microseconds, it might be enough. Space was vast. Given that one precious interval the Gloryhole should easily shake her pursuers. Unconsciously, he put his hand over Atha's.
   'There's got to be a way to pick up another half multiple!'
   He didn't notice the way her hand trembled when his covered it, not the way she looked down at it. He removed it abruptly without being aware of the effect he'd had on his co-pilot. It joined the other in digging at their owner's hair.
   Flinx was also considering the problem, in his own way. He knew little about stellar navigation, and less about doublekay units ... but Malaika had forgotten more than he might ever know. He couldn't match the mere h ant's knowledge, but he could remember for him. The links in the trader's mind branched a million ways. Patiently, he tracked down now this, now that one, bringing long-forgotten studies and applications to the surface where Malaika's own system would pick them up, look them over, and discard them. In a way it was tike using the retrieval system at the Royal Library, lie kept at it with a steadiness he hadn't known he possessed, until ...
   'But aktti! Commonsense ...!' He paused, and his eyes opened so wide that for a moment Atha was actually alarmed. 'Atha!' Sbe couldn't prevent herself from jumping a little at the shout. He had it. Somehow the idea had risen from its hiding place deep in his mind, where it had lam untouched for years.
   'Look, when the Blight was first reached, survey ships went through it - some of it - with an eye towards mapping the place, right? The idea was eventually dropped as impractical - meaning expensive - but all the information that had originally been collected was retained. That'd be only proper. Check with memory and find out if there are any neutron stars in our vicinity.'
   'What?'
   'An excellent idea, Captain,' said Wolf. 'I think ... yes, there is a possibility - outside and difficult, mind - that we may be able to draw them in after us. Far more enjoyable than a simple suicide.'
   It would be that, Wolf, except for one thing. I am not thinking of even a complicated suicide. Mwolizurl, talk to that machine of yours and find out what it says!'
   She punched the required information uncertainly but competently. It took the all-inclusive machine only a moment to imageout a long list of answers.
   'Why yes, there is one, Captain. At our present rate of travel, some seventy-two ship-minutes from our current attitude. Co-ordinates are listed, and in this case are recorded as accurate, nine point ... nine point seven places.'
   'Start punching them in.' He swivelled and bent to the audio mike. 'Attention, everybody. Now that you two minions of peace and tranquillity have effectively pacified half our pursuit, I've been stimulated enough to come up with an equally insane idea. What I'm ... what we're going to try is theoretically possible. I don't know if it's been done before or not. There wouldn't be any records of an unsuccessful attempt. I fee] we must take the risk. Any alternative to certain death is a preferable one. Capture is otherwise a certainty.'
   Truzenzuzex leaned over in harness and spoke into his mike. 'May I inquire into what you ... we will attempt to do'?'
   'Yes,' said Wolf. 'T admit to curiosity myself, Captain.'
   'Je!  We are heading for a nueutron star in this sector for which we have definite co-ordinates. At our present rate of speed we should be impinging on its gravity well at the necessary tangent some seventy ... sixty-nine minutes from now. At ha, Wolf, the computer, and myself are going to work like hell the next few minutes to line up that course. If we can hit that field at a certain point at our speed ... I am hoping the tremendous pull of the star will throw us out at a speed sufficient to escape the range of the AAnn detector fields. They can hardly be expecting it, and even if they do figure it out, I don't think our friend the Baron would consider doing likewise a worthwhile effort. I almost hope he does. He'd have everything to lose. At the moment, we have very little. Only we humans are crazy enough to try such a stunt anyway, kweli?'
   'Yes. Second the motion. Agreed,' said Truzenzuzex. I I were in a position to veto this idiotic - which I assure you I would do. However, as I am not... let's get on with it, Captain.'
   'Damned with faint praise, eh, philosoph? There are other possibilities, watu. Either we shall miss our impact point and go wide, in which case the entire attempt might as well not have been made and we will be captured and poked into, or we will dive too deeply and be trapped by the star's well, pulled in, and broken up into very small pieces. As Captain I am empowered to make this decision by right ... but this is not quite a normal cruise, so I put it to a vote. Objections?'
   The only thing that came over the comm was a slight sniffle, undoubtedly attributable to Sissiph (she had given in to curiosity and Hipped on her unit). It could not be construed as an objection.
   'Je! We will try it, then. I suggest strongly you spend some time checking out Your harnesses and spreading yourselves as comfortably as possible. Provided that we strike the star's field at the precise tangent I am almost positive that the Gloryhole can stand the forces involved. If it cannot it will not matter, because our bodies will go long before the ship does. Haidhuru. It doesn't matter. Physiologically I have no idea what to expect. So prepare your bodies and your spirits as well as possible, because in sixty ...' he paused to glance at the chronometer, 'six minutes, it will be all one way or all the other.'
   He cut the mike and began furiously feeding instructions and requests into a computer auxiliary.
   If they had one consolation, thought Flinx, it was that there would be no borrifyingly stow buildup of gravity within the ship. They would either fail or succeed at such a supremely high speed that it would be over in an instant... as Malaika bad said, all one way or all the other. He did not care to imagine, what would happen if they missed their contact point and dived too close to the star. Dwell in the well. Not funny. He saw himself and Pip mashed flat, like paper, and that proved unamusing also.
   The chronometer, oblivious of mere human concerns, continued to wind down. Sixty minutes left ... forty ... twenty to ... ten tofivetothreetotwo ...
   And then, unbelievably, there were only sixty seconds left till judgement. Before he had time to muse on this amazing fact, there was a. slight jar. A silent screaming from the furthest abyss of time flowed like jelly over the ship. He hung on the lip of a canyon of nothingness, while it tried desperately to ingest him. He refused to be ingested, REFUSED! A pin among other pins in a bowl of milk, while somewhere a million fingernails dug exquisitely scratching on a thousand hysterically howling blackboards- sscRRRREEEEEEEE...'
Chapter Twelve
    
On board the destroyer Arr the chief navigational officer blinked at his detector screen, then turned to stare up at where the Baron sat in his command chair.
   'Sir, the humanx vessel had disappeared from my screens. Also, we are rapidly approaching a neutron star of considerable gravitonic potential. Orders'?'
   Baron Riidi WW was noted for his persistence. The idea of a trapped quarry escaping him was most unappeaiing. Neither, however, was he a fool. His eyes closed tiredly.
   'Change course thirty degrees, right to our present plane. Cut to cruising speed, normal.' He looked up then, eyes open, at the battle screen. Somewhere out there was a white dot. Out there also, an invisible bottomless pit of uaimaginable energy masked an impossible retreat. Or a quick suicide. An inkling of the-human's intentions percolated through his cells. He did not feel the least inclined to try to duplicate the event. Whether the idiot was alive or dead, he would not know for many months ... and that was the most infuriating thing of all.
   He flexed his long lingers, staring at the brightly polished claws whose length was suitably trimmed to that for a high member of the aristocracy. Colloid-gems shone lavalike on two of them. He locked them over his chest and pushed out-ward. Those among the crew who were more familiar with the actions of the nobility recognized the gesture. It indicated Conception of Impractical Power. Under the Circumstances it constituted a salute to their departed foe.
   'Set a return course for Pregglin Base and signal our industrialist friend the following missive. No, I don't wish an interstar hookup. Just send it. "Intercepted anticipated vessel and made positive audiovisual identification. Repeat, positive. Chased to points..."give our current co-ordinates, shipmaster ... "where contact with same was irretrievably lost due to," 'he smiled slightly,' "an unexpected turn of speed on the part of the pursued vessel. In hostile action with same, the destroyer Unn was lost with all hands.” Add this note, communicator, and scramble it to my personal code. "Sir. Your request has proven expensive in the extreme. Contrary to your indications we did not encounter, as you led me to believe, a terrified shipload of frightened moneylenders. As a result of your bungling. I now find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to account for my off-base time to my good friend Lord Kaath, C. How good a friend, he is will now be put to a considerable test. As will your ability to place judicious bribes, I hope, for both our sakes, that the latter will be sufficient. Explaining the loss of the Unn will be rather more difficult. Should the true circumstances surrounding this idiocy leak out it would be more than enough to condemn us both to death by nth degree torture at the hands of the Masters. Kindly do keep this in mind."
   'Sign it, "yours affectionately, Riidi WW, Baron etc., etc." And get me a drink.'
Chapter Thirteen
    
It was autumn, Mother Mastiff bad closed up the shop, packed a lunch, and taken them both off to the Royal Parks. It was a cloudless day, which was why. Literally cloudless. On Moth this wasn't merely a pleasant exception, it was an event. He could remember staring endlessly at the funny-coloured sky. It was blue, so different from the normal light grey. It hurt his eyes. The thoughts of the animals, the birds, were odd and confused. And the hawkers sat listlessly in their respective booths, cursing softly at the sun. It had stolen all their customers. It was a softer sky, and softness of any kind was rare in Drallar. So everyone bad taken the day off, including the king.
   The Royal Parks were a great, sprawling place. They had originally been created by the builder's of the first botanical gardens to use up the space left over from those great constructs. By some monstrous bureaucratic error it had been opened to the general public and had remained so ever since. The great f1ashing boles of the famous iron wood trees shot straight and proud to impossible heights over his boyish head. They seemed much more permanent than the city itself.
   The ironwoods were moulting. Every other week the royal gardeners would come and gather up all the fallen leaves and branches. Iron wood was rare, even on Moth, and the scraps where far too valuable to be swept away. The guards in their lemon-green uniforms sauntered easily about the park grounds, there more to protect the trees than the people.
   Children were playing on the marvellous gyms and tangles that an earlier king had setup. As long as the people had abrogated the park, he felt that they might as well enjoy it to the fullest. The kings of Drallar bad been greedy, yes, but not exceptionally so.
   He had been too shy to join the giggling, darting shapes on the funchines. And they had all been frightened of Pip, silly things! There had been one little girl though ... all curls and blue eyes and flushes. She had shuffled over hesitantly, trying hard to appear disinterested but not succeeding. Her thoughts were nice. For a change, she was fascinated by the minidrag rather than repelled by it.
   They had been on the verge of making introductions in the simple but very correct manner that adults Jose so quickly, when a. great leaf had drifted down unseen and struck him fair between the eyes. Ironwood leaves are heavy, but not enough to produce injury, even to a small boy. Only embarrassment. She had started giggling uncontrollably. Furious, he had stalked off, ears burning with the heat of her laughter, his mind frozen with her picture of hum. He had thought momentarily of siccing Pip on her. That was one of the impulses he had learned to control very early, when the snake's abilities had been glass-gruesomely demonstrated on a persistent tormentor, a stray mongrel dog.
   Even as he strode farther and farther away, the sounds of her laughter followed, ghostlike. As be walked he took vicious and ineffectual swings at the rust-coloured leaves floating down uncaringly about him. And sometimes he didn't even touch them when they dropped brokenly to the ground.
Chapter Fourteen
    
Then the sky wasn't blue anymore. Nor light grey. It was pastel green.
   He stopped flailing his arms and looked around, moving only his eyes. Pip stopped beating his pleated wings against his matter's face and flew off to cur] comfortably against the nearest bed-bar, satisfied with the reaction it had produced. The mi n id rag's tough constitution had apparently suffered few ill effects, Flinx didn't know yet whether to curse it or kiss it.
   He tried to sit up but fell back, exhausted by the brief effort. Oddly enough, his bones didn't bother him at all. But his muscles! The tendons and ligaments too, all of the connective web that held the framework together. Felt like they'd been tied end to end, stretched out, rolled together into a ball, and pounded into one of Mother Mastiff's less palatable meatloafs.
   It was a trial, but he finally managed to sit up. The events of ... how long had he been out? ... came back to him as he rubbed circulation back into benumbed legs. As soon as he felt reasonably humanoid again, he leaned over and spoke into his shipmike. In case the others were in less positive shape than he, he enunciated slowly and clearly so as to besure to be understood.
   'Captain? Captain? Control? Is anyone up there?' He could sense all the other minds but not their condition, as his own was too addled to focus yet.
   'Rahisi, kijana! Take it easy. Glad to hear you' re back too.' The trader's voice was a familiar healthy boom but Flinx could read the strain on his mind. In another minute his picture flashed on to the small viewscreen. The blocky face had added another line or two, the beard a. few white hairs, but otherwise the craggy visage was unchanged. And although his body and mind looked wearied by the stresses they had undergone, the face reflected old enthusiasms.
   'Wolf and I have been up, although not about, by moyo Uzito, what an experience! It seems that our friend the hard-headed philosoph, who wears his bones inside out, stood it better than the rest of us. He's been up here rubbing us poor softies back into consciousness.'
   The voice of the insect came over the speaker from some-where off-camera, but Fiinx could place the thranx from the strength of its thoughts, which were indeed better organized than those of its companions.
   ‘If the rest of your body was as hard as your head. Captain, you, at least, would not need my aid.'
   ‘Je! Well, kijana, Tse-Mallory's been up the longest of us poor humans, and I believe Der Bugg is just now bringing Atha 'round... yes, bless her flinty moyo. We were going to send him in to see you next, Flinx, but I see that's not necessary.'
   'Did we...?' but Malaika seemed not to hear and Flinx was too tired to probe.
   'Mwanamume and mtoto, what a buggy ride! Sorry, bwana Truzenzuzex. No offence intended. It's an old Terran saying, meaning "to go like blazes," roughly. I know only that it's appropriate to our present situation. Perhaps it's designed to invoke a friendly Mungu, je? Metamorphosis! Fxlinx me lad, me kijana, me mtoto, we went past that star so fast after hitting that field that our transversion
   'puter couldn't handle it! The mechanism wasn't built to programme that kind of speed, and I'd hate to tell you where the cut-off max is! If there were only some way this sort of thing could be done on a commercial basis ... owk!'
   He winced and gingerly touched a hand lo the back of his neck.
   'However, I must admit at the present time there appear to be certain drawbacks to the system. Uchawi!. I would have given much to have' seen the face of our friend the Baron when we shot off his screens, je! Unannounced, as it were. I wonder if he ... but unwrap yourself from that webbing, kijana, and get thee forward. I've a bit of a surprise for you, and it looks even better from up front.' Flinx could feel the tone beginning to return to his muscles He undid the rest of the harness and slid slowly off the bed. There was an awkward moment as he had to grab the wall for support, balancing himself on shaky legs. But things began to normalize themselves quickly now. He walked around the room & few times, experimentally, and then turned and headed for Control, Pip curled comfortably about his left shoulder.
   Malaika swivelled slightly in his seat as Flinx appeared on the bridge.
   ‘Well'? What's the surprise?' He noted that Truzenzuzex had disappeared, but could feel the insect's presence in another part of the ship.
   Apparently Malaika noted his searching gaze. Or possibly he was becoming sensitive. He'd have to be careful around the big trader.
   'He's gone to try to help Sissiph. She figured to be the last to return, rudisha.'
   That was undoubtedly true. Atha and Wolf he could clearly see busy at their instruments.
   'Kijana, that big kick in the... boost we got shoved us far ahead of my anticipated schedule ... on our prearranged path! I planned it that way when we were setting up the interception co-ordinates. No use wasting a brush with death if it can be utilized to profit also ... but I honestly didn't link the Glory's field could hold us that steady. How- ever, it did, and here we are.’
   'Which is where?' asked Flinx.
   Maiaika was smug. 'Not more than ninety minutes ship-mafasi from our intended destination!' He turned back to his desk, muttering. 'Now if there's only some way to make it commercially feas...'
   Flinx put together what he knew of bow far they'd come when they were intercepted by the AAnn warship and how far they'd still had to go at that time. The result he came up with was an acceleration he had no wish to dwell on. That's great, of course, sir. Still, it would also be nice if...'
   'Um? If what?'
   If when we get where we're going we find something worth getting there for.’
   'Your semantics are scrambled, kijana, but I approve the sentiment. Mbali kodogo, a little way off, perhaps, but I do indeed approve.'
Chapter Fifteen
    
The planet itself was a beauty. It would have been ideal for colonization if it hadn't been for the unfortunate dearth of land area. But even the fact that ninety per cent of the land was concentrated in one large continent might not make such exploitations prohibitive. Oceans could be farmed and aimed, too, as on colony worlds like Dis and Repler. And those of Booster, as they had named it, were green enough to suggest that they fairly seethed with the necessary base-matrix to support humanx-style sea-culture. Fortunately the chlotophyll reaction had proved the norm on most humanx-type planets found to date.
   By contrast the single continent appeared to be oddly dry. Especially discouraging to Truzenzuzex, as the thranx would have preferred a wet, tropical climate. He confirmed this opinion by voicing it every chance he got.
   As far as they were able to determine from orbit, every-thing was exactly as it had been described on the star-map. Atmospheric composition, with its unusual proportion of free helium and other rare gases, UV radicount (est, surf./ sq.mi./ki), mean and extreme, temperatures, and so forth. There was only one fact their observer had failed to note.
   As near as their probes could estimate, at no place on the surface of Booster did the wind ever blow less than seventy kilometres sn hour. At certain points over the oceans, especially n e art he: equator, it was remarkably consistent. But it did not appear to drop below that approximated minimum. There was currently one gigantic storm system visible in the southeastern portion of the planet. The meteorology 'puter guessed the winds near its centre to be moving in excess of 780 kilometres per hour.
   Impossible!' said Malaika, when he saw the initial image-out. 'Mchawi mchanganyiko!'
   'Quite.' said Truzenzuzex. 'Definitely. Go fly a kite.' The sceintist indulged in the whistling laughter of the thranx.
   Malaika was confused, by the laughter as well as the referent. 'Translation, please?'
   'It means,' put in Tse-Mailory over the insect's laughter, that it is more than possible.' He was gazing in complete absorption at the sphere turning below. The unusual silver-gold tinge to the atmosphere had aroused interest in his mind. 'And there might be places, on the single continent, for example, where canyons and such would channel even higher velocities.'
   The merchant took a deep breath, whooshed it out, and fingered the small wooden image that hung omnipresent about his neck. 'Namna gemi mahaili? What kind of place? No wonder there's nothing more than one little continent and a few visiwabovu. Such winds would cut down high places like chaff!' He shook his head. 'Why the Tar-Aiym would pick a place like this to develop their whatever-it-is I'll not guess.'
   There is much we don't know of the Tar-Aiym and their motives,' said Tse-Maliory. Tar more than we do know. From their point of view it might have been perfect. Maybe they felt that its very unattractiveness would discourage inspection by their enemies. And we have no final evidence as to what they considered a hospitable climate. We don't even know for certain what they looked like, rember. Oh, we've got a vague idea of the basics. The head goes here, the major manipulative limbs there, and so on. But for all we really know they might even have been semiporous. A nice the-hundred-kilo-an-hour hurricane might have been as a refreshing bath to them. In which case I'd expect the Kiang to be some sort of resort facility.'
   'Please!' said Malaika. 'No obscenities. If that were true, why haven't we found such winds on any of the other planets we know the Tar-Aiym inhabited?'
   Tse-Mallory shrugged, bored with the turn of the conversation. 'Perhaps the weather has changed since then. Perhaps they changed it. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I am crazy. In fact, there are times when my suspicions of the latter approach certitude.'
   I've noticed,' said Truzenzuzex, unable to resist.
   'Agh! If I knew all the answers,' said the sociologist. I'd be God. In which circumstance I'd most certainly be outside this ship right now and not cooped up with the rest of you mental cases!' He returned his gaze to the screen, but Flinx could taste the humour in his mind.
   'Captain?' broke in Wolf's quiet tone. 'Preliminary read-out from geosurv probes indicates that the con
   tinent has a basaltic base, but is composed on the surface primarily of sedimentary rocks, heavily calcinaceous, and with a high proportion of limestones.'
   'Um-hum. Figures. That would also tend to explain how the wind could knock down any mountains so quickly. In another million years, barring any rising of the ocean bed, there probably won't be a plot of land sticking above the waters of this planet. Fortunately I do not have to worry about that, too.' He turned from the screen. 'Atha, go and ready the shuttle. And get set to take us down. It doesn't appear that we're going to need airsuits, thank Mungu, but make damn sure the crawler is in good running condition. And see if you can't turn up something for us to use as eye protection against this infernal wind. So that we won't have to use the suit helmets. Je?'
   She started to leave, but he halted her at the door, his face thoughtful. 'And make sure we have plenty of rope. I've been on planets where the rain would eat right through a suit to your skin, if the fauna didn't get to you first, if the flora didn't beat the fauna out. But this makes the first one I've ever been on where my primary concern will be being blown away.'
   'Yes, Captain.' She left then, passing the arriving Sissiph on the way out. The two had recovered enough to glare at each outer meaningfully for a moment but, aware that Malaika's eyes were on them, said nothing.
   I don't think we'll have much trouble locating this thing of yours, gentlesirs - providing it does indeed exist. There don't appear to be any canyons or other rugged areas where it could be hidden, and since your friend found it without seeming difficulty, I see no reason why we, with more sophiscated instrumentation, should not do likewise- Yes, we should get to it quickly, quickly. Afyaenu, gentlesirs. Your health!'
   He clapped those huge hands together and the report
   they made in the enclosed space was deafening.
   'He looks like a small child in expectation of receiving a new toy,' Tse-Mallory whispered to Truzenzuzex.
   'Yes. Let us hope that it is indeed of an aesthetic rather than a lethal nature.'
   The shuttle had its own balloonlike hangar in the bottom of the great cargo section. Sissiph, professing ignorance of manoeuvring the pullways, had to be helped down. But the way she snuggled into an obliging Malaika suggested motives other than incompetence. The powerful little ship was a complete space-going vessel, albeit a far more streamlined and less spacious one than the Gloryhole. It was powered by rockets of advanced design and, for atmospheric suborbital flight, by ramjets. Being intended for simple ground-to-space, space-to-ground filghts, it had limited cruising range. Fortunately they had only a limited area of probability to search. Conducted from tha Gioryhole it would have been more leisurely, but Malaika wasn't going to restrain himself any longer than was necessary, despite the attendant inconveniences. He wanted down.
   The fact that they wouldn't need the flexible but still awkward airsuits would be a. great help. Atha had fitted them all with goggles whose original purpose was to protect, the wearer from heavy UV. While dark, they would serve equally well to keep dust and airborne particles out of everyone's eyes. For Truzenzuzex she had managed a pair from empty polmer containers.
   Off in a corner, Sissiph was arguing petulantly with Malaika. Now that the fun of her escorted trip down the pull way was over ...
   'But I don't want to go, Maxy. Really I don't.'
   'But you will, my mwanakondoowivu, you will. Njoo, come, we all stay together. I don't think our playful Aann friends will find us. I don't see how they could, but I still fear the possibility. In the event of that obscene happening, I want everyone in one and the someplace. And I don't know what we're going to run into downstairs, either. We're going into the ruins of a civilization dead half a million years, more advanced than us, and utterly ruthless. Maybe they have left some uncouth hellos for late drop-ins'? So every hand will be along in case it's needed. Even your delicious little ones.' He smacked the collection of digits in question with a juicy kiss.
   She pulled the hand away and stamped a foot (her favourite nonvocal method of protest, but ineffectlual in the zero-gravity). 'But Maxy ...!'
   ‘Starehe! Don't "Maxy" me. A definite no, pet.'He put a hand on her shoulder and spun her gently but firmly about, giving her a shove in the direction of the shuttle's personnel port.
   'Besides, if I were to leave you on board all by yourself you'd likely as not erase the navigation tapes trying to order dinner from the autochef. No, you come with us, ndegedogo, little bird.  Also, your hair will look so pretty streaming away in the gentle breezes.'
   Her caustic voice came faintly as they entered the lock. 'Breeze! I heard you talking about the hurric...!'
   Or, thought Flinx as he struggled with the gun and belt that Atha had given him, it is possible that our Captain hasn't Forgotten how neatly the AAnn seemed to find us. Maybe he thinks dear, sweet, helpless Sissiph is not entirely to be trusted. He went quiet, sought within the mind in question for a hint, a relationship that might bear out the merchant's possible suspicion. If anything was there, it was too deeply buried or well-hidden for him to seek out. And there were other things that seeped in aground the edges of his probe that embarrassed him, even a sixteen-year-old from Drallar. He withdrew awkwardly. Let Malaika. Keep the load on his mind.
   He was far more interested in admiring the gun. The handle was all filigree and inlay, a good deal fancier than the practical destroyers he'd seen in the barred and shadowed gun shops of Drallar. Unquestionably, it was equally as deadly. He knew what this model could do and how to handle it. In those same shops he had fired this and similar
   weapons with empty charge chambers while the owners had looked on tolerantly and exchanged patronizing comments with the regular customers.
   It was beautiful. Compact and efficient, the laser pistol could cook a man at five hundred metres or a steak at one. It could weld most metals, or burn its way through any form of conventional plastic; barrier. All in all, it was a useful and versatile tool as much as a weapon. While he hoped he wouldn't need it down on the surface and Still had Pip with him, the streamlined weight felt ever so comfortable bugging his hip.
   At Malaika's insistence they had all also been issued a full survival belt. Even Sissiph, who had complained that the negligible weight distorted her Figure. This prompted an un flattering comment from Atha which Fortunately went un-heard by the Lynx, or they might have had an other minor cataclysm in the tiny vessel's lock.
   The belt was equipped and designed for use on planets which varied no more than ten per cent from the humnax norm. Besides hefting the mandatory gun, the belt contained concentrated rations and energy pills) sugar salt solution, their portable communicator units, a tent for two which was waterproof, conserved body heat, and folded to a
   package smaller than one's fist, charges for both comm and gun, tools for finding direction, making nails, of planting corn, among other things. There was also a wonderfully compact minimiciofilm reader, with some fifty books on its spool. Among the selections were two staples: the Universal Verbal Communications Dictionary (in seven volumes, abridged), and the Bible of the United Church, The Holy Book of Universal Truths, and other Humorous Anecdotes.
   IF he had had his entire apartment and all its accoutrements from Drallar, he would have been less well off than he was with that single fabulous device encircling his waist.
   The tremendous winds and jet streams that flowed unceasingly around the planet should have made their descent difficult. Under Atha's skilful  handling,  however, it was almost as gentle as it might have been in the Gloryhole. The only rough moments came as they passed through the silvery-gold impregnated sections of the atmosphere. The natural layers of airborne metallic particles (there were two) seemed unusually dense to the two scientists, but as long as they remained on rockets, not dangerously so.
   Unlike the luxury craft which had lifted them from Moth's surface, this shuttle was equipped more For carrying cargo than folk, and so wasn't provided with as many ports. Despite the small ness of the scattered plexalloy sections, however. Flinx still had some view of the land below. The one continent rambled from the north pole down to a point just below the equator. It was mostly red-yellow at this height, with here and there large splotches of dull green. Small rivers, faint and insignificant in comparison with the coppery blues of the planetary ocean, meandered lazily down among the low hills. Naturally there were no river canyons. Any such would have disappeared millennia, ago under the punishing onslaught of the untiring winds.
   He had been momentarily worried about Pip, who had adamantly refused to be fitted with a tiny pair of make-shift goggles. Close inspection revealed that the reptile was equipped with transparent nictitating membranes, which slid down to protect the eye. He'd never noticed them before, probably because he'd simply not looked. He berated hi in-self mentally for not realizing that an arboreal animal would naturally come built with some such type of natural protection against wind-carried objects. But then, neither of the two scientists had, either. Actually, Pip was more of a glider than a flyer. If he could master the winds down there he'd no doubt be more at home on Booster's surface than any of them.
   A small intercabin comm conveyed the voice of Malaika back to them from Control. The tiny piloting cabin barely had space enough for the two pilots, and the big trader crowded it unmercifully. But he had insisted on remaining 'on top of things.' It was literally put.
   They had been cruising on jets for only a short while when his excited cry broke the cabin's silence. 'Maisha, there it is! Check out the ports to your right.' There was a concerted rush to that side of the ship. Even Sissiph, her natural curiosity piqued, joined the movement.
   They were still high, but as they banked the ruins of what had been a good-sized city, even by Tar-Aiym standards, came into view. They had built well, as always, but on this planet very little could remain in its original state for long. Still, from here it seems as well preserved as any of the Tar-Aiym cities Flinx had seen on tape. As they dropped lower the alien city pattern of concentric crescents, radiating out from a fixed point, became as clear as ripples from the shore of a pond.
   But even at this height the thing that inmediately caught everyone's attention and caused Truzeazuzex to utter a soft curse of undefinable origin was not the city itself, but the building which stood on the bluff above the metropolis's nexus. A single faceless edifice in the shape of a rectangular pyramid, cut on squarely at the top. Both it and the circular base it rose from were a uniform dull yellow-white in colour. The very top of the structure appeared to be covered with some kind of glassy material. Unlike the rest of the city it looked to be in a state of perfect preservation. It was also by far the tallest single structure he had ever seen.
   'Baba Giza!’ came Malaika's hushed voice over the speaker. He apparently became aware that his speaker pick-up was on. Take your seats, everybody, and fasten your straps. We are going to land by the base of that bluff. Rafiki Tse-Malloiy, rafiki Truzenzuzex, we will explore the entire city beam by beam if you wish, but I will bet my majicho that your Krang is in a certain building at the top of a certain hill"
   Nothing like understatement to heighten anticipation, thought Fhiix.
   They landed, finally, on the broad stretch of open sandy ground to the left of both city and bluff. Atha had wisely' elected to use replaceable landing skids instead of the wheeled gear, being uncertain as to the composition of the land they were going to set down on. There had been no clear, paved stretch of territory nearby. They had had a quick glimpse of the ruins of a monstrous spaceport off to the rear of the city's last crescent. Malaika had vetoed landing there, wishing to land as close as possible to the ziggurat itself. He felt that the less distance they had to travel on the ground and the closer they could remain to the ship itself, the safer he would feel about roaming around the ruined city. The great spaceport had also no doubt served as a military base, and if any unpleasant automatic devices still remained to greet unauthorized visitors, they also would probably be concentrated there. So their landing was a bit rougher than it might have been. But they were down now, in one piece, and had received another benefit none had thought of. It would have been obvious had anyone reflected on it.
   The wind came in a constant wall from behind the building and the bluff below which they had landed. While by no means perpendicular, the bluff proved steep enough to cut out a good portion of the perpetual gale. It would mean easier working conditions around the shuttle itself, in addition to eliminating the possible problem of having to tie the ship down. The ship's branch meteorology 'puter registered the outside windage at their resting point at a comfortable forty-five kilometres an hour. Positively sylvan.
   'Atha, Wolf, give me a hand getting the crawler out. The rest of you check over your equipment and make sure you've got an extra pair of goggles apiece." He turned to Tse-Mailory. Je! They built their city behind the biggest wind-break they could find. Sort of gives the lie to your "caressing wind bath" theory, kweli?'
   "Do not abuse my guesses, Captain, or I'll make no more.' His eyes and mind were obviously focused elsewhere,
   'Wolf?'
   'Here, Captain.' The skeleton came out of the fore cabin, looking even more outre than usual in his silver belt and goggles. The expression on his face was odd, because any expression on his face was an oddity.
   'Captain, there's an active thermal power source some-where under this city.'
   "Not nuclear?' asked Malaika. A gravitonic power plant was of course impossible on any body-with a reasonable field of its own. Still, there were known aspects to Tar-Aiym science that humanx researchers couldn't even begin to explain.
   'No, sir. It's definitely thermal. Big, too, according to the sensors., although it was a very fast check-through.'
   Malaika's eyebrows did flip-flops. 'Interesting. Does that suggest any "guesses" to you, gentlesirs?'
   Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex pulled themselves away from their rapt contemplation of the monolith above and considered the question.
   'Yes, several,' began the philosoph. 'Among which is the confirmation of a fact we were fairly certain of anyway, that this is a young planet in a fairly young GO system. Tapping the core-power of a planet is difficult enough on the youngest which this is not. But anyone can tap. The problem is to keep it under sufficient control to be able to channel it with-out causing planetwide earthquakes or volcanoes under major Hive-centres. We're still not so very adept at that ourselves. And only in the most limited sense.’
   'And,' continued Tse-Mallory, 'it suggests they needed a hell of a lot of power for something, doesn't it? Now this is a fairly good-sized Tar-Aiym town, but it also seems to be the only one on the planet.' He looked at Malaika for confirmation and the trader nodded, slowly. 'So for the mind of me I can't see what they had to go to all that trouble for, when their qua sin u clear plants would have provided more than enough power for this one city. Especially with all the water that's available.'
   'Captain,' said Truzenzuzex impatiently. 'We will be bappy to hypothesize for you at length - later. But now I wish you would see about removing our surface transportation from the hold.' His head swiveled to a port and the great golden eyes stared outward. I have little doubt that your unasked questions and, hopefully, most of ours will be answered when we get inside that Tuarweh on top of this bluff '
   'If we get into it.' added Tse-Mallory. ‘it is lust possible that the owners locked up when they moved, and left no Key behind.'
Chapter Sixteen
    
The crawler was a low, squat vehicle, running on twin duralloy treads. It also had a universal spherical 'wheel' at its centre of gravity to facilitate turning. Atha had made a few preliminary safety calculations and had conic up with the fact that it would remain relatively stable in winds up to two hundred and fifty kilometres per, at which point things would start to get sticky. Flinx, for one, had no desire to put her calculations to a practical test. Nor did Malaika apparently. He insisted on filling every empty space on the machine with objects of weight. If the winds got that bad, all the paraphernalia they could stuff into it wouldn't help. But it at least provided them with something of a psychological lift.
   Not the least of these 'objects of weight' was a heavy laser rifle, tripod-mounted.
   'Just in case,' the merchant, had said, 'opening the door proves more difficult, than it might.'
   'For a peaceful trader travelling on his private racer you appear to have stocked quite an arsenal,' Truzenzuzex murmured.
   ‘Philosoph, I could give you a long, involved argument replete with attractive semantic convolutions, bull will put it, so, and leave it. I am in a very competitive business.'
   He cocked a challenging eye at the thranx,
   'As you say.' Truzenzuzex bowed slightly.
   They boarded the crawler, which had been manoeuvred close to the cargo port to minimize the initial force of the wind. The big land cruiser held all of them comfortably. It had been designed to transport heavy cargo, and even with Malaika's 'objects of weight' scattered about there was plenty of room in which to move around. If bored, one might take the ladder up to the driver's compartment, with its two beds and polyplexalloy dome. There was room up there for four, but Malaika, Wolf, and the two scientists occupied it immediately and were disinclined to give it up. So Flinx had to be content with the tiny ports in the main compartment for his view of the outside. He was alone in the quiet spaces with the two women, who sat at extreme opposite end of the cabin from each other and exchanged deathly thoughts back and Forth. A less congenial atmosphere would have been difficult to imagine. Try as he would, they were beginning to give him a headache. He would far rather have been upstairs.
   They were making their way up the slope of the bluff now, zigzagging whenever the incline grew too steep for even the crawler's powerful spiked treads to negotiate. Their progress was slow but steady, the machine after all having been designed to get from point A to point B in one piece, and not to race the clock. It did its job effectively.
   As might have been predicted, the ground was crumbly and soft. Still, it was more lock than sand. The treads dug in deeply and the engine groaned, it slowed their advance somewhat, but assured them of excellent traction in the teeth of the wind. Still, Flinx would not like to have faced a real blow in the slow device.
   They finally topped the last rise. Looking back into the distance Tse-Mallory could make out the crumbled spires and towers of the city, obscured by eternal dust and mad. It was more difficult to see up here. Gravel, dirt, and bits of wood from the hearty ground-bugging plants began to - splatter against the front of the dome. For the first time the howl of the wind became audible through the thick shielding, sounding like fabric tearing in an empty room.
   Wolf glanced al their anemometer. 'A hundred fifteen point five-two kilos an hour ... sir.'
   ‘Je! I'd hoped for better, but it could be worse. Much worse. No one is going to be taking long walks. Upepokuu! In a gale we can manage. A hurricane would be awkward.'
   As they moved further in from the edge of the bluff the air began to clear sufficiently for them to catch sight of their objective. Not that they could have missed it. There wasn't anything else to see, except an occasional clump of what looked like dried seaweed. They rolled on, the wind dying as they moved further into the lee of the building. Three pairs of eyes leaned back ... and back, and back, until it seemed certain it would be simpler to lie down and stare upward. Only Wolf, eyes focused on the instrument board of the massive crawler, failed to succumb to the lure of the monolith.
   It towered above them, disappearing skyward in swirls of dust and low clouds, unbroken by ledge or window.
   "How huyukubwa?’ Malaika finally managed to whisper.
   'How big do I make it? I couldn't say too well,' answered Tse-Mallory. 'Tru? You've got the best depth vision among us.'
   The philosoph was quiet for a long moment. In human terms?' He lowered his eyes to look at them. If he could have blinked he would, but thranx eyeshields reacted only in the presence of water or strong sunlight, so he could not. His improvised goggles gave his face an unbalanced look.
   'Well over a kilo at the base... each way. It looked a perfect square from the air, you know. Perhaps ...' he took another brief glance upward, 'three kilometres high.'
   The slight jolting and bumping they had been experiencing abruptly disappeared. They were now travel ling on the smooth yellowy-white circle on which the structure was centred.
   Malaika peered down at the substance they were traversing, then back at the building. The heavy crawler left no tracks on the solid surface.
   'What do you suppose this stuff is, anyway?'
   Tse-Mallory had joined him in looking down at the even ground, 'I don't know. When I saw it from the air my natural inclination was to 'think, stone. Just before we grounded I thought it looked rather "wet," like certain heavy plastics. Mow that we're down on it I'm not sure of anything. Ceramics. maybe'?'
   ‘Metal-reinfced, surely,' added Truzenzuzex. 'But as for the surface, at least a polymer ceramic would be a good guess, certainly. It's completely different from anything I've ever seen before, even on other Tar-Aiym planets. Or for that matter, from anything I could see of the city as we came in.'
   'Um. Well. since they built their city in the lee of this bluff, as a windbreak, I don't doubt, I'd expect any mlango to be on this side of the structure. Je?’
    As it turned out shortly enough, there was, and it was.
   Unlike the rest of the mysterious building the material used in the construction of the door was readily identifiable. It was metal. It towered a good thirty metres above the cab of the crawler and stretched at least half that distance in either direction. The metal itself was unfamiliar, dull-grey in colour, and possessed of an odd glassy lustre. Much like the familiar fogs of home for Flinx. The whole thing was recessed several metres into the body of the building.
   'Well, there's your door. Captain.' said Tse-Mallory. ‘How do we get in? I confess to a singular lack of inspiration, myseif.'
   Malaika was shaking his head in awe and frustration as he examined the entrance. Nowhere could be seen the sign of a single joint, weld, or seam.
   'Drive right up to it, Wolf. The wind is practically dead here. We'll have to get out and look for a door uzz or something. If we don't find anything that's recognizably a handle or a keyhole, we'll have to unlimber the rifle and try a less
   polite entrance.' He eyed the massive square dubiously. 'Although I hope that alternative doesn't become necessary. I know the stubborness of Tar-Aiym metals.'
   As it turned out, the problem was solved for them.
   Somewhere in the bowels of the colossal structure, long dormant but undead machinery sensed the approach of an artificial mechanism containing biological entities. It stirred sleepily, prodding resting memory circuits to wakefulness. The design and composition of the approaching vehicle was unfamiliar, but neither was it recognizably hostile. The entities within were likewise unfimiliar, albeit more obviously primitive. And there was an A-class mind among them. Likewise unfamiliar, not hostile, and it had been such a long time! The building debated with itself for the eternity of a second.
   'Hold it, Wolf!' The merchant had noticed a movement in front of the crawler.
   With a smoothness and silence born of eternal lubrication, the great door separated. Slowly, with the ponderousness of tremendous weight, the two halves slid apart just far enough for the crawler to enter comfortably. Then they stopped.
   'Utamu. We are expected, perhaps?'
   'Automatic machinery,' mumbled Truzenzuzex, entranced.
   'My thoughts also, philosoph. Take us in, Wolf.'
   The quiet man obediently gunned the engine and the powerful landcraft began to rumble forward. Malaika eyed the sides of the narrow opening warily. The metal was not a reasonably thin sheet. It was not even a moderate one.
   'A good nineteen, twenty, metres through,' said Tse-Mallory matter-of-factly. 'I wonder what it was designed to keep out.'
   "Not us, apparently,' added Truzenzuzex. 'You could have played your toy on that for days. Captain, and burned it out before you scratched the entrance. Id like to try a SCCAM on it, just to see which would come out the winner. I've never heard of any artificial structure resisting a SCCAM projectile, but then I've never seen a twenty-metre-thick Hive-block of solid Aiymetal before, either. The question will undoubtedly remain forever academic.'
   They had rolled perhaps a few metres beyond the door when it began to slide heavily shut behind them. The silence of it was eerie. Wolf glanced questioningly at Malaika, hand on throttle. The merchant, however, was at least outwardly unconcerned.
   ‘It openeed to let us in, Wolf. I think it will do so to let us out.' The doors closed, "’In case, any kwa nini worry? It doesn't matter now.'
   They got another surprise. Unless they were hollow,
   which hardly seemed likely with that door, the walls of the pseudoceramic material were a good hundred and fifty metres thick. Far more than was needed merely to support the weight of the building, great as it was. It bespoke much more an attempt at impregnability. Such had been found before in the ruins of Tar-Aiym fortresses, but never approaching this in scale.
   Flinx did not know what he expected of the interior. He'd been scanning consistently ever since the great doors had opened, but had not been able to detect anything thinking inside. And he'd lamented his purely sideways view from the crawler. He didn't see how the inside could possibly surprise him any more than that unmatched exterior.
   He was wrong.
   Whatever it was he had anticipated in his wildest thoughts, it was nothing like the reality. Malaika's voice drifted down to him from above. It was oddly muted.
   'Katika here, everyone. Atha. open the lock. There's air in here and it's breathable, and light, and no wind, and I don't know whether to believe it myself or not, even through my majicho tells me ... but the sooner you see it ...'
   They didn't need further urging. Even Sissiph was excited. Atha scrambled to the small personnel lock and they watched while she cracked the triple seal. cutting the flow of liquid at the three prescribed points. The heavy door swung itself outward. The automatic ramp extended itself to touch ground, buzzed once when it had made firm contact, and turned itseif off.
   Flinx was first out, followed closely by Atha and the two scientists, Malaika and Sissiph and lastly, Wolf. All stood quite silent under the panorama spread before them.
   The ulterior of the building, at least, was hollow. That was the only way to describe it. Somewhere above Flinx knew those massive wails joined a ceiling, but strain his eyes as be might lie couldn't make it out. The building was so huge that despite excellent circulation, clouds had formed inside. The lour gigantic slabs pressed heavy on his mind, if not his body. But claustrophobia was impossible in an open space this large. Compared to the perpetual swirl of air and dust outside the utter calm within was cathedral-like. Perhaps, indeed, that was what it was although he knew the idea to be more the feeling imparted by his first view than the likely truth.
   The light, being intended for nonhunanx eyes, was wholely artificial and tinged slightly with blue-green. It was also dimmer than they would have preferred. The philosoph's naturally blue chiton looked good in it, but it made the rest of them appear' vaguely fishlike. The dimness did not obstruct their vision as much as it made things seem as though they were being viewed through not-quite-clear glass. The temperature was mild and a bit on the warm side.
   The crawler had been halted because it could proceed no farther. Row upon row of what were indisputably seats or lounges of some sort stretched out from where they stood. The place was a colossal amphitheatre. The ranks extended onward, unbroken, to the far side of the structure. There they ended at the base of... something.
   He took a glance and risked a brief probe of the others. Malaika was glancing appraisingly about the limits of the auditorium. Wolf, his permanent nonexpression back on his face, was sampling the air with an instrument on his belt. Sissiph clung tightly to Malaika, staring apprehensively about the disquieting silence. Atha wore much the same look of cautious observation as the big trader.
   The two scientists were in a state as close to Nirvana as it was possible for scientists to be.  Their thoughts were moving so fast Flinx was hard-pressed even to sample them. They had eyes only for the far end of the great room. For them a search bad been vindicated, even if they didn't know what it was they bad found. Tse-Mallory' chose that moment to step forward, with Truzenzuzex close behind, The rest of them began to file down the central aisle after the scientists, towards the thing at the far side.
   It was not an exhausting walk, but Flinx was grateful for the opportunity to rest at the end of it. He sat on the edge of the raised platform. He could have taken one of the seat-lounges below, but they were nowhere near contoured [or the human physiology and doubtless were as uacomfortable as they looked.
   Large steps led up to the dais he sat on. At its far end a flawless Dome of glass or plastic enclosed a single, unadorned couch. A large oval doorway opened in the dome facing the auditorium, it was a good metre higher than their tallest member and far wider than even Malaika's copious frame would require. The bench itself was tilled slightly to face the amphitheatre. A smaller dome, shaped like a brandy glass, fitted partway over its raised end. Thick cables and conduits led from it and the bottom of the couch to the machine.
   The 'machine' itself towered a hundred metres above them and ran the length of the auditorium, melting into the curved corners. While the exterior of the structure was remorselessly acute, the interior was considerably rounded off. Much of the machine was closed off but Flinx could see dials and switches catching the light from behind half-open plates. Those he could make out had obviously not been designed with haumanx manipulating members in mind.
   From above the dull metal plating of the machine an uncountable profusion of chromatically coloured tubes ran towards the distant roof. Azure roof. Azure, peach, shocking pink, ivory, Tyrolean purple, chartreuse, orange, mutebony, smoke, white-gold, verdanure... every imaginable shading and tone, and not a few unimaginable ones. Some were the size of a child's toy, small enough to fit over his little finger. Others looked big enough to swallow the shuttle with ease. In the corners they merged into the fabric of the structure. He turned a slow circle and saw where bulges in the walls, extending even above the entrance way, indicated the presence of in ore of the colossal pipes. He reminded him-self that he had no way of being certain they were even hollow, but somehow the impression of pipes persisted. Sometimes his talents operated independent of his thoughts.
   ‘Well,' said Malaika. He said it again. 'Well. well!'
   He seemed uncertain of himself, a rare state. Flinx smiled at the merchant's thoughts. The big man wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not. He definitely had something, all right. But he didn't know what it was, let alone bow to market it. He stood while everyone else sat.
   I suggest we obtain whatever supplies we'll need for our investigations.' Truzenzuzex and Tse-Mallory were examining everything in minute detail and hardly heard him. 'This has passed over my head, and so from my hands. I trust you gentlebeings can find out what this thing does'?' He waved a broad hand to encompass what they could see of the machine.
   I do not know,' said Truzenzuzex. 'Offclaw, I would say that our acquaintances the Branner had the right idea. When they spoke of this thing as a musical instrument. It certainly looks like one, and the arrangements in here,' he indicated the amphitheatre, 'would tend to support that assumption. For my wings, though, I can't see as yet how it operates.'
   'Looks like the ultimate product of a mad organbuilder's worst nightmares,' added Tse-Maliory. 'I wouldn't say for sure unless we figure out how to operate the thing.'
   'Will you?' asked Malaika.
   'Well, it seems to be still partially powered, at least. Wolf recorded she power source, and something operated the doors, turned on the lights ... and keeps the air fresh, I hope. It wasn't designed according to conceptions we'd find familiar, but that thing,' and he gestured at the dome with its enclosed   bench, looks an awful lot like an operator's station. True, it might also be a resting place for their honoured dead. We won't know till we dig a lot deeper. I suggest that we move everything we'll need from the shuttle in here. It'll be a lot simpler than running out in this gale every time we need a spanner or a sandwich.'
   'Mapatano! I agree. Wolf, you and I will start transferring things from the shuttle. It will go quickly enough, once we unload some of that junk I piled into the crawler. It appears we are going to be here for a bit, hata kidogobaya!"
Chapter Seventeen
    
It was an odd feeling to be constantly within the building. Not confining, for the door worked perfectly even for one person - provided he earned with him at least one item of recognizable metallic artificial construction. It was a peculiarly satisfying sensation to approach the great bulks, comm unit or gun extended m front of one, and have a million tons of impregnable metal slide gently aside to reveal a personalized passageway a metre wide and thirty metres high.
   It was better outside at night, but not much. In spite of the goggles the dust eventually worked its insistent way into eyes. And it was chilly.
   Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex had been pouring over the Immense apparatus, prying behind those panels in the slate-grey wall which would open, ignoring those which would not. There was no point in forcing entry and risking break-age to the intricate device. Not when they could spend years on the unresisting portions. And they didn't have years. So they continued to dig into the exposed guts on the Krang without disturbing a single wire from its proper place, treading with the utmost care lest they nudge some vital circuit from its proper alignment. While the scientists and Malaika laboured over the enigma of the machine, Atha and Flinx would sometimes take the crawler into the vast city. Wolf remained behind to help Malaika, and Sissiph to be near him. So Flinx had the crawler's observation dome practically to himself.
   He found it hard to believe that structures which even in ruin and under a centuries-old coat of dust could remain beantiful had been raised to house the most warlike race the galaxy had known. The thought cast an unshakable pail over the quiet ruins. Little in the way of decoration was visible on the sand blasted exteriors of the structures, but that didn't necessarily mean much. Anything not integral to the actual support of the edifice would long since have been worn away. And they were cruising far above what had once been a main boulevard. The street itself was somewhere far below, buried under a millennia of shifting sand and soil. They recognized it as such only because of the absence of buildings. Probably this city had been covered and un-covered at least a hundred times, each new cycle grinding away some portion of its original aspect. They had soon discovered that a mild electrostatic field came up regularly every evening and cleared the days' accumulation of dust and debris from the base of the Krang for the width of the yellow-white circle. But no such care was visible in the city. In the evenings, as the sun set, the sands turned blood-red and the hulks of h oil owed buildings sparkled like topaz and ruby in a setting of carnelian. The constant, unceasing wind spoiled the illusion of beauty, and its rise-and-fail moan seemed an echoing curse of all the vanished races ever subjugated by the Tar-Aiym.
   And they didn't even know what they had looked like.
Chapter Eighteen
    
A week later they were all gathered in informal conference on the dais. A small, portable cook stove, powered by an aeternacell, had been set up nearby, giving the place an incongruously domesticated look. Next, thought Flinx, they would be hanging out laundry. It had been found more convenient for the scientists to sleep and eat by their work, instead of making the daily hike to the crawler. They could have brought the cruiser right up to the base of the dais, but for all they knew the seals themselves might play some crucial part in the operation of the Krang. Besides, reducing parts of the place to rubble hardly seemed the proper way to go about resurrecting its secrets. It was just as we 11th at they hadn't, because the sleepy machine would have noted the gesture as hostile and taken immediate and appropriate action.
   The odours of frying bacon and eggs, and juquil for Truzenzuzex, added to the homey atmosphere. At the moment, Atha and Sissiph were managing the cooking for the scientists. This was proved a necessity after all the men had demonstrated a monumental ineptitude with the device, which did ninety per cent of the work itself. Knowing full well he could operate it better than any of them, Flinx had pleaded ignorance when offered the chance to try it. He had no desire to be tied down with the, job of cook, not when he could spend his time watching the two scientists dissect the amazing innards of the machine.
   'This thing grows more incredible by the day.' Tse-Mallory was talking now. 'You know, we found walk way at each corner of the building, where the machine disappears into the walls.'
   I'd wondered where you two had disappeared to,' said Malaika.
   'They extend I don't know bow far beneath us. To the centre of the planet for all I can tell, although I'd think that the heat would make that a prohibitive development even for the Tar-Aiym. Nor do we have any idea how far it extends on the horizontal level, either. To the ocean? Under it? We didn't have an easy time of it down there, you know. There are steps and ladders and ramps, and none designed for human or thranx hands. But between the two of us, we managed. There must be mechanical lifts somewhere, but we couldn't find them.'
   ‘We first went down three days ago ... apologies For worrying you. I suppose we should have mentioned where we were going, but we didn't really know ourselves, and certainly didn't expect to be gone as long as we were. The excitement of the moment overcame our time-sense.
   'We went more or less straight down, pausing only twice, for three hours and sleep-time. These pipes, or whatever,' he indicated the rainbow giants ranked above them, 'are continuous below this flooring, and descend to levels we didn't reach. Not even at the furthest, point of our journey. Most of the machinery was completely unfamiliar to us. And I daresay we two are as familiar with Tar-Aiym design as anyone in the Arm. But the majority of this stuff was way past us.'
   'Near the surface the machinery is practically solid. Further down it thins out to a sufficient degree to become recognizable as to its individual components. All of it looked brand-new. In many places the metal was warm, confirming what we've suspected all along. Power is being fed into it continually. And there must be a billion kilometres of wire down there.
   'Still, we have no idea what it does. Captain. I am sorrier than you could ever be, but you can console yourself in the knowledge that whatever it is, it is far and away the biggest and best of its kind.'
   This last from a tired looking Truzcnzuzex. The phliosoph had been working at an incredible pace the past week, and his age was beginning to show. On the ship he had kept it well masked with his energy and youthful spirits.
   'Couldn't you discover anything about its function?' pleaded Malaga.
   T se-Mallory sighed. He had been doing a lot of that, lately. 'Not really. We both incline to the musical instrument theory, still. There are many arguments against it that bother us, though.' He looked at Truzenzuzex, who nodded confirmation.
   ‘Je?’ Malaika prompted.
   'For one thing, we can't quite bring ourselves to believe that in a time of such stress a. race as war-oriented as the Tar-Aiym would devote so much effort and material to anything of a nonlethal nature. The metal for that door, for example, must have been required for the construction of warships. Yet it was brought and used here. On the other hand, we know they were artistically inclined in a gruesome sort of way. Their tastes did run strongly to the martial. Possibly they felt the need of a project to stimulate patriotic fervour, and this was their way of doing it. It would also have possible psychological benefits we can't begin to imagine. If that seems unlikely, consider the lack of evidence we have to go on. I’m not ready to believe any of my explanations myself.'
   'And another thing. Did you happen to notice the unusual silvery-gold tinge to the atmosphere as we were coming down?'
   'No ... yes!' said Malaika. I've seen it before on other planets, so I didn't think it too out of the ordinary. These ... then.' were mbili layers, if I remember aright ... seemed thicker than most. And better defined. But I don't view that as a cause for surprise. I've seen quadruple layers, too. And the unusual thickness of these layers, too. And the unusual thickness of these could easily be accounted for by the scouring effects of these wachawi upepo, sorcerer's winds,'
   True,' Tse-Mallory continued. 'Wind glitter, I believe they call it. As you say, there could be natural explanations for the odd thickness of the layers. The reason I bring them up at all is because on one of the levels we reached we found what appeared to be at least a portion of a. great meteorological monitoring station. Among other things, several of the instruments appeared to be occupied solely with keeping information on those two levels in the atmosphere. We only had time for a fast look at it, as our prime concern was making speed downward. But the only reason we noticed is at all was because the metal was quite warm there, gave off a lot of heat, and seemed to be running at full power. That's something we observed in only a very few other places. We now think that those layers, have something to do with the actual function of the Krang. What, I can't imagine.'
   To be more specific,' said Truzenzuzex, 'this thing,' and he pointed at the transparent dome and the lounge within, 'takes on more and more the aspect of a centre control for the operation  of the entire apparatus. I know it seems difficult to imagine this monstrosity being operated by a single being lying on that slab, but evidence seems to support it. I am sceptical, myself. There is not a switch, dial, or similar device anywhere near the thing. And yet its location alone, and isolation, seem to support its importance.
   'Close examination of that helmet, or headdress, or what- ever it is, shows that it's line with what might be some form of sensory pickups. If the machine is indeed still capable of more than partial activation, then theoretically mere proximity to those pickups ought to do it. Actual physical
   contact with the operator wouldn't seem to be necessary. So the fact that the size and shape of our heads in no way corresponds to that of the Tai-Aiym ... in all probability ... shouldn't hinder us.'
   'You're thinking of trying it, then,' said Malaika.
   'We must.'
   'But suppose it's geared to respond only to the electromagnetic patterns generated by a Tar-Aiym mind'?'
   'We have no indication that "electromagnetic patterns" are even the type of whatever is necessary to activate the machine,' retorted Tse-Mallory. 'But if that does prove to be the case, then unless you can produce a live and cooperative Tar-Alym, I am very much afraid that we might as well pack and go home.' He shrugged. 'Tru and I feel we've more or less reached a dead end as far as mere circuit-tracing goes. We could continue to poke around in this pile of complexity for a thousand years - fascinating as that might be - and not come any closer to mating it work.'
   'Trying it ... couldn't that be awfully dangerous?' asked Atha.
   ‘It could very well be lethal, my dear. We decided that long ago. For instance, there might be a feedback which could ... for that very reason, and for several others, I shall try it first. If we have still failed to activate it and no obviously harmful results are forthcoming, I see no reason why everyone here should not have an opportunity to try the same.'
   'Not we" said Sissiph loudly.
   'Now wait a minute!’ began Malaika, ignoring her.
   'Sorry, Captain.' Truzenzuzex, now. 'Starhe! Don’t bother, as you would say. Bran is correct. Our training may not exactly qualify us as operators of this thing, but our familiarity with the works of the Tar-Aiyrn and what little we know of their psychologies might help us cope with any unforeseen problems that could develop. Such designs might arise which would overwhelm a complete novice. Sorry, but there is too much involved to permit you to make the initial attempt, at least. We are not on board ship. You are momentarily overruled, Captain.'
   'Je!’ rumbled Malaga.
   Tse-Mallory stepped to the entrance of the dome. 'Let's he on with it, then.'
   'You mean, sasaa kuume?' asked Malaika.
   Tse-Mallory paused. ‘I don't see why not.' He hesitated again at the entrance, looked back. I don't expect much to happen, let alone anything dangerous. And it if does I wouldn't expect this to he much protection, but for my own psychological comfort, everyone off the dais, please. It certainly ought to be safe enough in the seats, or lounges, or whatever they are. Obviously the Tar-Aiym used them when this thing was in operation, so they should be safe for us as well. Theoretically speaking.'
   'Sociologist, theoretical injury I don't mind.' Malaika smiled in what was intended to be a reassuring manner and joined the others in moving off the raised area into the rows of 'seats' below.
   Truzenzuzex was the only other one to remain on the platform. Ostensibly he was there to observe, but both he and Tse-Mallory knew that if anything went wrong the insect's aid would not likely be of much use. He took the proverbial and ritual deep breath and entered the dome.
   The ceramic-plastic slab was now familiar from days of prolonged and minute inspections. He climbed up on to the smooth, cold surface and turned, facing out and slightly up. From inside the dome the roof of the monolith seemed almost visible. Possibly the transparent material had an actual slight magnifying effect. It did not seem significant.
   The slab was much longer than was necessary to hold his lanky frame. It wasn't heated, though. He found himself squirming uncomfortably on the hard, chilly surface and wishing it were abed. This was too much like the moulds in a cryogenic suspension lab. Do it quick, his mind told his body I Digging into the unyielding surface with his heels, he shoved hi in self upward. In one motion his head was fully within the helmet.
   Flinx didn't know' what to expect. Explosions, earthquake, a collapsing building, perhaps. In any case the results were disappointing, if safe.
   The helmet took on a pale red tinge, shifting to yellow, and thence to a light green. Also, a slight humming sound become audible. Apparently it came from within the slab itself. That was all, No fireworks, not even a few simple flashes of Lightning.
   Tsp-Mallory's face within the dome was twisted, but it was obviously in concentration and not pain. Oddly, his mind was unreachable to Flinx. If nothing e]se the dome blanketed the thoughts of whoever lay within.
   Twenty minutes later he was out of the dome, shaking his head while the others crowded around.
   'Je?’ asked Malaika.
   The sociologist looked irritable. ‘Je? Well, we proved one thing. If this machine is still capable of functioning as it was intended, that helmet is certainly the initiating point.'
   ‘I can't believe that this entire insanity was built just tomake pretty coloured lights in a plastic headdress!'
   ‘No, of course not.' Tse-Maliory looked wistfully back at the slab and the once-again transparent helmet. It seems as though I was able to activate it. But only a very little. Apparently there's a necessary something missing from my mind. Or maybe it merely takes a kind of training we know nothing about. I don't know. I tried everything I could with my mind. Self-hypnosis. Yoga. The Banda exercises. Total objective concentration. An open subconscious. You saw the results. Or rather, the lack of them.'
   'Could you feel anything, anything at all?' asked Flinx.
   'Umm. Yes, it was peculiar. Not painful or threatening. Just peculiar. Like something was trying to get inside my head. A tickling of the outside of the brain, barely noticeable. And when I tried to concentrate on it, it went away and hid. I must say I'm disappointed.'
   'Je" You think perhaps you've got a monopoly on it?' The merchant looked upset, as well he had a right to be. 'What now?'
   'Now I suggest the rest of the humans give it a try. I believe that I've amply demonstrated its harmlessness, if nothing else. Keeping it attuned to one type of mind might have a beneficial cumulative effect.'
   One at a time the rest of them took a turn under the innocuous helmet. Excepting of course Sissiph, who refused even to go near it. Malaika managed to generate a strong yellow glow in the transparent material. Flinx did as well (or as poorly, no one could say) as Tse-Mallory, only his colouring also possessed an uneven pulsing. As if to counter Tse-Mallory's claim, he emerged from the domed chamber with a definite headache. Atha and Wolf could each manage a light red, almost rose colour. They had better luck when Truzenzuzex? at last made his attempt.
   The second that ageing, iridescent head entered the zone of effectiveness, the soft colours immediately ran from pink up to a deep blue. Tse-MaHory had to remark on it to get everyone's attention. Repeated failure had led to discouraging boredom. But no one was bored now. Even outside the dome the humming from the base of the slab was clearly audible. On one of the open panels of the great grey bulk of the machine, lights were beginning to glow faintly. The helmet bad by now turned a deep lavender.
   'Look at the dome’ Flinx pointed.
   For several inches of its height the dome was glowing a solid and unwavering crimson. Every now and then the cottony light would creep upward a few millimetres, only to sink back and disappear into the floor.
   An hour later Truzenzuzex staggered out of the dome. Tse-Mallory had to support the philosoph around the b-thorax, as the old insect's legs proved too shaky to manage on their own. The philosoph was visibly tired. Together they lurched down to the first row of alien benches. Truzenzuzex's visage did not Wrinkle as did a primate's, but the usual healthy glow of his eyes was more subdued than before.
   'You certanily labelled it correctly, brother,' he finally gasped, 'when you said there was something trying to get inside your head! I felt like a youth again, trying to break out of my chrysalis. Whew! I could tell it did no good, though.'
   'Not true,' said Flinx. Mahilka nodded confirmation. 'You had the dome itself glowing red - around the base, anyway.'
   'I did?' The whistling thranx laughter followed. I suppose that is an accomplishment of sorts. I could not detect it from the inside. I was concentrating rather deeply, and my optics weren't the nerves I was working with. Does that mean perhaps we are on a proper track?' He turned to face Malaika. The tone was gradually returning to his muscles. 'Captain, I retract my earlier statement. Give me another three or four weeks at this and I believe I'll be able to tell you, one way or another, whether this thing can ever be operated by man or thranx. Or whether your investment has proved itself a loss.'
   Malaika looked resigned rather than frustrated. His own unsuccessful strivings with the Krang had produced a little patience, if no other results.
   'Bado Juzi. "Yet the day before yesterday." An old saying in my family, gentlemen. You've done already much more that I had a right to hope. Take your time, gentlesirs, take your time.'
   Far below in the secret places of the planet the consciousness of the Krang stirred sluggishly, it considered more fully the impulses which had awakened the Prime Nexus with feeble, childish probings and pressures. Even in its semisomnolent state it was easonably certain (+prob., 90.97, —prob., 8.03, random factoring, 1.00) that there was an A-class mind present above. One tully capable of arousing the Krang to the state of Naisma, or total effectiveness. Apparently it had chosen not to reveal itself yet. The machine considered and allowed the sections of itself which controlled intelligence to lapse back to dormancy, ready.
   When the mind was ready, the Krang would be.
   After all, it had been built that way.
Chapter Nineteen
    
As it developed, Truzenzuzex did not get his month. Nor his three weeks. They had been pouring over the accessible portions of the machine's innards for only three days when Malaika's comm signalled an extra-atmosphere incoming call. As a matter of safety his portable comm was hooked to the big transmitter in the crawler. Flinx was present when the signal came in, helping the two scientists with the more physical aspects of their work. Sissiph, Atha, and Wolf were back in the crawler, rearranging their supplies in its cavernous hold.
   In order to facilitate their work, two cots (one modified) had been placed nest to the scientists' portastove. The others still found U more comfortable to sleep within the familiar confines of the crawler, despite the attendant daily walk it engendered.
   Both scientists paused in their work the moment they spotted the strange expression which had come over Malaika's face. Flinx picked it up from the sudden confusion of the merchant's thought. He had been watching them labour over strange markings and unfamiliar alien switching devices all morning. Nine tenths of what they were trying to do mechanically eluded him. He had been able to help them with the more delicate portions of their operations, having, as they put it, a certain ‘feel' for where things were located. And as always, their conversation on both the vocal and mental level had been fascinating.
   Captain...' began Tse-Maliory.
   We're being called,' the merchant replied. 'Extra-atmospheric.'
   His thoughts reflected suspicion as much as disbelief. He flipped over the broadcast switch of the tiny comm unit.
   Wolf, are you monitoring this?'
   Yes, Captain,' came the unmodulated reply from the distant crawler.
   All right. Send an acknowledgement and put it over. Someone knows where we are. Not much use denying it.' He turned to the others. °We might be being monitored now, although I doubt it's possible through these walls. But then, I also doubt we're receiving a call from another star-ship, and that is the case, Haidhuru. Nothing matters. Leave your comms off and listen on mine, if you wish. No point in broadcasting how many units we have in operation. If they don't know already.'
   It was the first time Flinx had seen the merchant so down-cast. Obviously the strain was taking a bigger toll of his resources than he cared to show. At any rate, all he said into the comm was, 'Yes?'
   The voice that responded was naturally high. But if the tone was slightly effeminate, the words were not.
   Captain Maxim Malaika, House-Head and Plutocrat? I bring you greetings, sir, from Madame Rashaleila Nuaman and Nuaman Enterprises.' Malaika's lips twisted in a sub-vocal oath which made Flinx blush. 'Congratulations!'
   That superciliousness was sufficient to stimulate the merchant's tongue,
   'Damned decent of you. And who are ninyi nyote?’
   'Pardon? Oh, I. I am of little consequence. But for purposes of facilitating further conversation ... which, I assure you, will be forthcoming ... you may know me as Able Nikosos.'
   'Je, Mister Nikosos. I agree wholeheartedly that your personage is doubtless of little consequence. I am curious as to bow you got here. This planet seems to be acquiring a universal notoriety.'
   'How so? Umm. As to your question, Captain, why,' and the voice reflected mock astonishment, 'we followed you. Most of the way from Moth. At a discreet distance, of course. Speaking of which, you certainly changed your course a good deal at the beginning of your journey. Yes you did. But after the first week we had no trouble plotting your approximate course. You know, this is the fourth system in this sector with planets that we've visited. We knew more or less where the one we wanted was, but not its exact co-ordinates. It made it hard on us, yes hard, when we lost you completely. Those co-ordinates were on a bit of material which ... but never mind that. That's long in the past now, isn't it?'
   'You didn't by any chance get some help from a certain AAnn baron?'
   'An AAnn baron?' The squeaky voice reflected surprise. MaSaika glanced at Flinx.
   'He's telling the truth, sir. And they're definitely in a set orbit.'
   The two scientists looked in surprise at Flinx. Neither said anything, but he could sense a mild resentment of his secrecy in their thoughts. He wanted desperately to tell them how necessary it was to maintain that secrecy. Even today, psi-sensitives were not universally popular, a fact he had found out early and painfully as a child. Now was not the time, though. The voice on the comm continued.
   'What would we have to do with the AAnn? Nasty people, those, nasty! No indeed, sir. We found you all by ourselves, in spite of the difficulties your disappearance occasioned us. But we did find you, didn't we? So no harm done. Besides, no use trying to share the blame, and I refuse to share the credit. Not that it should matter to you in the long run. Or even the short one.' A brief giggle broke the commentary. 'My ship is parked a couple of field lengths from your Gloryhole. We beamed it first. When we did not receive a reply and when the lock refused us entrance - how clever of you, Captain! - we assumed you had already made your drop to the surface. A glance at your shuttle bay confirmed it.'
   'Thelathini nguruwe! Thirty pigs. Which is the ultimate number which can be fitted into a standard captain's cabin, in case you didn't know.' The voice seemed immune to insult as well as to modesty. Tut, tut, Captain. You'll offend my modest nature.'
   'Small chance of that.'
   'Anyway, the emanations from your components would have revealed your location to us even if you had declined to acknowledge our call. As I am sure you were well aw are.'
   'Captain,' said Flinx, 1 thought you said . . .'
   'Forgot about the relay to the shuttle's comm. That's what they'd pick up. They could hardly miss us anyway.' He was already setting up a last-ditch defence in his mind.
   ‘Where are you now, friend Nikosos, other than in orbit?'
   'A good guess, Captain. Why, we're drifting over this moisture-poor continent. Rather close to you, I've no doubt. We should be down in a short while, at which time I hope to greet you personally.'  The voice paused, then resumed again. 'Whatever you are hiding in must really be something. We're having no end of trouble picking up your signal.'
   'You've travelled along way for a lot of nothing, Nikosos. We've been working on this "whatever," as you so accurately say, for weeks now. We haven't been able to figure out what it does, much less how it does it.'
   'Certainly, Captain, certainly!' The voice carried a humouring tone now. 'Personaly whenever the cold of space affects me too deeply, I like to fly through the nearest M Supergiant to warm my chilly bones. As I said, we'll be seeing you shortly.'
   ‘He doesn't believe you,' said Flinx,
   Malaika nodded. 'And then?'
   'Well, that does pose a problem. eh? I certainly can't wave you on your happy way home, because then all my hard work would have been for naught, wouldn't it? But then, assassination realty isn't my line, either Perhaps some-thing can be worked ...' Malaika cut the comm. He turned to the others.
   ‘Je, you heard. Where new planets are concerned, possession is nine tenths of the ancient law. I doubt Rasha will leave me be to call in a Church Evaluation Force.' He switched the comm to inter personnel frequency.
   'Wolf. you heard everything?'
   'Yes, Captain.' The shadow-man's reply was even. Flinx wondered if the pilot were capable of an excitement he never showed. I fear that your pet took it rather hard, though. She's fainted. Miss Moon is caring for her now.'
   ‘Je! She will be quiet for a while then, anyway. We're going to join you shortly. We'd best all remain pamoja. He flipped off the comm again.
   'What do you propose?' asked Tse-Mallory.
   'Not much I can, sociologist. Even if this Nikosos person should be mjinga enough to come without a portable defensive screen, it would be awkward to attempt to fight our way out. Although we are not.' and here he looked directly at Flinx, 'without surprises of our own. However, I am certain the men he leaves on his ship - only one this time, for a change - will be monitoring everything that happens. We'd be at their mercy in the shuttle. If this Nikosos doesn't bring a screen, and if we could surprise him and get off a crippling few shots before they had time to warn their starship, and if we could slip to the Gloryhole under their detectors, and if we could get inside and get the generator powered before they noticed - why, we might have a good chance of sneaking off or fighting them.'
   Too many "ifs",' said Truzenzuzex unnecessarily.
   'Kabisa, quite. Still, we have other weapons. Rest assured I'll try them. Bribery, for one, has often proven more effective in war than nucleonics.' But I fear that Rasha wouldn't send a creature that vulnerable on such an important mission. Not one who'd be tempted by total bribery, anyway. Partial, now ... There is only one other thing I can think of to do. There's only one miango to this building. Set up the rifle and blast the first being to enter it. As long as he has no certain idea of how we are equipped for supplies and guns he might be impatient enough to dicker with us. Unfortunately we don't have much, even with what we could move in here from the shuttle, Mibu, ail he has to do is burn the shuttle and take a leisurely safari back to Nineveh with co-ordinates for the Registry!'
   'Why doesn't he do that anyway?' asked Flinx.
   'Not his assignment, kijana, or he wouldn't even have bothered to call us. Simply disabled the Glory and been on his way. Obviously he needs to find out everything he can about the Krang.' He gestured at the two scientists. 'Rasha knows about you two. I told her myself, chura that I am. She could hire experts of her own, but she knows your reputation. Rasha never neglects her homework. So I'm not worried for your lives. Only your reputations. I believe I can also manage something For myself. Too many people would ask awkward questions if I were to disappear suddenly ... even on a trip of exploration in an unspaced area. And he can't make that much fedha! Oh, he still couldn't afford to let any of us go free. Most likely he's been ordered to keep us comfy someplace until Rasha's investment here is tied up sixways in four dimensions. That veiled hint at "assassination" was probably his way of opening bids.'
   'A suggestion. Captain,' said Truzenzuzex.
   'Ndiyo?’
   'Assuming all you've said to be true, why not simply accede quietly and give him what he wants?'
   'What" Even Flinx was startled.
   I assure you that the Krang will remain useless to both him and his employer. I was pessimistic when I said I would require three weeks to evaluate the machine's potential usefulness. We could learn much about the Tar-Aiym from it, of that I've no doubt. I think that I can also say with a great deal of certitude right now that it will otherwise never be more than an outstanding curiosity for archaeologists and touristas.'
   'Lakini, but... you got it working! Part of it, anyhow.'
   'What I did was no more than polishing the drive coils of a Caplis generator. I succeeded in warming it up, perhaps, and appearing functional, but I doubt that I could ever, ever bring it to even partial operation. And we still have no more idea of what it's supposed to do than we did before. No being could go further, I think ... no matter who your Madame Nuaman engages.'
   Lf you're positive- ' began Malaika.
   Truzenzuzex looked questioningly at Tse-Mallory and both turned back to the merchant. 'Nothing is positive, Captain, but I will not bandy Church maxims with you. Without hesitation, I concur with my brother's evaluation.'
   'Mbwa ulimwengu! Very well, then. We will forgo destruction in favour of more subtle manoeuvres.' He activated the comm for a wide broadcast channel. Now that he was on familiar ground once more, his voice had the old ring back. 'Nikosos!' There was a hiss, sput, pause, and then the mousey voice had returned. 'No need to shout, Captain. You have thoughts?'
   'Look, agent. I will give you the opportunity to gain what you wish and perhaps save a few lives in the process, I have a fully operational six millimetre luser rifle here, and plenty of charges, but I don't see anything worth fighting over. I wish you luck in making it perform if you can, which I doubt. The whole city is yours. I wish only to leave this mukia as rapidly as possible. You may have our notes, if you wish. Everything we've found out about, the Krang itself ... which amounts to very little. But I've a boy and two women here, and I want them out of this.'
   'How touching' I did not expect such admirable altruism from you. Captain. Yes, despite my orders I think a financial agreement satisfactory to all concerned can be arranged. Blood tends to upset my liver, anyway. Although I'm sure you'll understand when I say that you and your companions must remain as my guests for a short while, A minimal amount of time, really, but very necessary.'
   'Naturally, I understand the necessity and will be glad to sign...'
   'Oh no, Captain, that won't be required. I trust your word. Your reputation precedes you. Personally I find honesty in our profession somewhat nauseating, but in this case it is to my advantage. No, much as you'd like to have such an agreement in words, I'd rather not have such a missive in existence. Such things have a habit of disappearing and turning up later in the most destressing places. Shortly, now.
   'Our flight has been interesting so far. Captain, but I fear I should find this planet boring. If you would be so kind as to leave your transmitter on  standby,  we will follow its pulse In.' This entire distasteful business can be speeded to completion. I am certain you have even less desire than I to prolong it.' He clicked off.
   'Captain,' came Wolf's voice over the comm, 'this makes me ill. Is there no other way ...?'
   ‘No other way, Wolf. I would rather fight too, but ... Leave open the transcomm for them to follow down, as he requested. At least our work here appears to have been fruitless, or I wouldn't consider such an alternative. We can wish them much of the same. Whatever they find in the city they are welcome to. It's been something of a wild mbizu chase after all.'
   'But he as much as threatened murder ...I'
   'Wolf, please, I know. Jua is hard. Still, we've little choice. I don't trust him, either. But he could simply leave now and return for our emaciated corpses later. No, I'm betting he'd rather pick up the extra, credit my offer holds. Why shouldn't he?' He shrugged, despite the fact that Wolf couldn't see it.
   'Wolf, if the odds weren't so nyani-sided ... " He sighed. 'House rules.'
   'I understand, Captain.'
   Malaik'a switched off and sat down heavily on one of the alien benches, looking suddenly very old and tired.
   'Of course, if you gentlesirs had discovered how to make this mashineuzi work, I wouldn't even consider ...'
   'We understand, too, Captain,' said Tse-Mallory. 'A bad choice is no choice. We never worried for ourselves. He must at least display us to Nuaman to convince her of our uselessness. And one abrupt disappearaace, too, would cause discussion in certain quarters.'
   'Nuaman. Damn that bitch" He looked upward. 'This day I forget forever that creature is human and mwanamke!’ He noted Flinx's glance. 'She ceased to be a bibi, a lady, kijana, long before you were born.'
    
Chapter Twenty
    
Kilometres above, a very satisfied Able Nikosos leaned back in his lounge in the plush shuttle cabin and relayed orders to his pilots. He rubbed his hands together. Things had gone nicely, nicely. Almost as nicely as it" he had received that map as scheduled, back on Moth. The presence of Malaika already down on the planet made things a mite more complicated, but not overmuch. It appeared that it would make things is ore profitable. Besides collecting a fat bonus from the old witch for successfully carrying out a mission more difficult than originally' assigned, there would be the ill after of the wealthy Malaika's ransom ... payable in advance. As preplanned, the two braincases would be shipped off to Nuaman. As soon as a decent amount of the ransom had been paid - wasn't Malaika's word good now? - the boy could be shunted out the nearest lock. As for the two women, well, the ancestral homestead was in need of a few new toys. The price of healthy young women bad gone up insufierably in the past few years. Insufferably! All the fault of those damned priggish Churchmen. 'Violence is unsanitary,' indeed! At the rate he used them up his hobby was becoming prohibitively expensive. Shameful? The addition of two new, free faces (and bodies, oh yes!) would therefore be a financial as well as an aesthetic bonus. He did not doubt but that they would both prove young and attractive. Otherwise what business would they have with the roguish Malaika?
   If they weren't his type, quite, he could still use them. Less artistically, perhaps, but they might still remain serviceable. And he was not known as a connoisseur for nothing.
   The shuttle's delta wings began to unfold as it dipped towards atmosphere.
 
Chapter Twenty-One
    
   Malaika, Tse-Mallory, Truzenzuzex, and Flinx were making their way slowly back to the crawler. No one spoke. Flinx had already determined not to let his gun be taken from him without argument. He could prove equally adept at treachery! He'd read the confusion and little piggish thoughts Nikosos had been having, difficult as it had been with their owner moving so rapidly above the planet's surface. He trusted him now about as far as he could throw the Gloryhole. That the two scientists and Malaika would get off safely was a possibility, but from the agent's thoughts the chance that he and the women would do likewise seemed small in the light of what he had read. In 'the final analysis he would not count - no, not expect the merchant to put Ins life on the line for him, or for the women, or even for the scientists. Survival is an argument that morals do not even belong in the same class with. So he'd best plan on taking some action on his own. It was an unflattering but logical evaluation of their present situation. That scared him almost as much as the reality of it did. He shivered slightly, despite the warmth.
   Something had, been bothering him for the last few minutes, in addition to the expected quota of fearful anticipation. He shrugged his shoulders despite the lack of an itch there. That was it! Not an itch, but the tack of a' persistent and familiar one. The minidrag was elsewhere. In the absorption of the past moments and his concentration on the agent's mind, he'd not noticed that the reptile was missing. He turned abruptly.
   'Pip? Where's Pip?'
   ‘Just to be certain,' murmured Malaika, not hearing
   Flinx's low enquiry. He flipped his comm. 'Wolf, I don't like to play without at least a few cards. Break out the rifle and set it up facing the entranceway.'
   'Yes, Captain,’ came the enthusiastic reply.
   ‘If this fellow has us so neatly tied up and packaged,’ said Tse-Mallory, 'why bother with the gun? I thought you'd given up once and for all the idea of our fighting our way out of this?'
   Flinx searched the air around them. The snake was still not visible. He felt naked without the familiar reptilian presence.
   'So I have, more or less. We know that he has us packaged, and he knows that be has us packaged, but he doesn't know that we know he has us packaged.'
   'Simplify that, please.'
   'Ndiyo. Sure. Put it this way. A man negotiates with considerably less arrogance than he might when he knows he's sitting under the gun of a man who fears for his life. We've little enough in the way of levers so that we've got to use the slightest we can find.'
   Despite Flinx's varieties of calls, whistles, and entreaties the minidrag had not shown itself. It was unusual, but not unprecedented. Sometimes the snake had a mind of its own. Truzenzuzex couldn't duplicate the stuttering calls Flinx was using, but the insect was helping with the visual portion of the search. It served to take his mind at least temporarily off their unfortunate circumstances.
   'Where would he be likely to hide, lad?' asked the scientist.
   'Oh, I'm not sure, sir. Different places.’ He was becoming honestly concerned now and listened with only one ear to the philosoph's questions. He could not sense the minidrag's presence and that alone worried him. 'He doesn't do this sort of thing often. I suppose the depression in the atmosphere got to him. He's sensitive to that, you know. He does prefer cool, closed-in places. Like ...'
   He broke off in shock. In the distance he could see the minidrag. Even as he watched, it fluttered about the transparent dome. Its natural curiosity got the better of it then, because despite a warning thought from Flinx it poked its head under the attractive shape of the helmet. What happened next surprised both watchers. The minidrag did an awkward turn in the air and seemed to fall in on itself, collapsing into a tight curl at the very highest point of the helmet. It lay still, unmoving, within the structure, which now pulsed an uncertain yellow.
   All thoughts of their immediate difficulties were instantly discarded in a paroxysm of fear for his life-long companion. Heedless of Truzenzuzex's cautions he plunged forward at a run for the place they'd just left. Malaika turned and uttered an oath, charging after the boy. His bandy legs were no match for those of the youth but moved at a respectable speed none the less.
   As he neared the dome Flinx noted a slight but definite tremor underfoot. He paid it no heed.
   Truzenzuzex did. He glanced at Tse-Mallory.
   'Yes, brother. I felt it too.' His voice was reflective. Another tremor, stronger this time.
   'What occurs?’ said a puzzled Truzenzuzex. ‘I thought we'd established that this part of the planet, at least, was plutonically secure.' He stared uneasily at the vaulting walls, gauging their-strength and stability.
   The gentle sharing started again, only this time it was somewhat less than gentle. And it didn't stop. It grew progressively louder and more forceful, and although no one noticed it, it did so as Flinx drew closer to the dome.
   The steady vibration was felt, no, sensed, more than heard. It bespoke power somewhere deep below.
   'What is going on?' whispered Tse-Mallory.
   ‘Elitat! I'm not sure, replied the philosoph in equaly subdued tones, 'but I think perhaps our puzzle is setting about answering itself.'
   Fiinx had mounted the dais and was moving towards the dome. Pip had still not moved. He barely noticed the tremors which were shaking the structure. As he neared his motionless pet the odd buzzing which had begun in his head began to get worse. He shook his head impatiently to clear it hut with no effect. There was an odd feeling of euphoria alternating with the pain.
   Don't fight it, something seemed to whisper. He heard waves on a beach, breaking softly. The minidrag's eyes were shut tightly. It appeared to be jerking to the strains of some silent song. His first thought was of convulsions, but the reptile's movements, although irregular, seemed too even for that. He started to reach under the great helmet for his troubled pet. The buzzing increased and he reeled backwards under a startling attack of dizziness.
   DONT ... FIGHT ... YOU!
   Pip's in ... trouble. Trouble.
   He shook his head again and this time it seemed to give him a little relief. Blurred, his thoughts were blurred. He focused watery eyes on the snake and plunged drunkenly under the helmet.
   E*P*I*P*A*N*Y.
   Inside his skull an ancient dam, weakened by chance and evolution, collapsed. The surge of stuff behind it was awesome.
   The normally transparent structure of the dome exploded in a mass of scintillating, brilliantine auroras. From crown to base, all the colours of the visible spectrum ... and probably those of the invisible also. Purples, greens, golds dominated the reds, blues, and other primes. A corruseating maelstrom of angry, almost metallic iridescence wove -  intricate and indecipherable patterns within the material of the dome itself. Faerie grids of phosphorescence, fox fire, and ball-lightning etched spiderwebs of light in the air within the building.
   On the bench within the dome within the building that was the K rang, Fiinx lay stilled in seeming unconsciousness next to his now quiescent pet. The helmet above them pulsed a deep and fiery violet.
   'Captain...' Wolf's voice fluttered distorted by waterfalls of static over the crackling comm unit, but Malaika didn't notice. He had pulled up short in astonishment as soon as the dome had begun its eye blinding display.
   The gigantic pipes of the machine pulsed with anvil like ringings, circlets of lambent electricity crawling up their sides like parasitic haloes. They crackled viciously, much as ripping plastic foil.
   '... interspace call ...!' Wolf didn't have a chance to pick up Malaika's acknowledgement, for the voice of Nikosos overrode the pilot's on the channel.
   'What are you trying down there, merchant? No tricks, I warn you! I will have my men destroy your ship! I wish only a transmitter signal. A whole section of the continent to your east is... glowing, yes, glowing, under the surface, it seems. The place looks like it's on fire. I don't know what you're up to, man, but if you so much as ..."
   The voice disappeared in a Niagara of interference. At that moment the world became filled with H's, U's, N's, and for some reason, especially G's,
   Malaika took one step forward and dropped to the floor as if he'd been axed. At least, later, he thought he'd Fallen. For all he could actually remember, he might have floated. The air in the amphitheatre suddenly seemed to exert its presence, forcing him back and down. He was drowning in it.  Msaada! Funny, they'd never noticed how dense it was. Dense.' His head was imprisoned in a giant vice ... no, not a vice. A thousand million jackboots drummed alien marches on the sides of his head while a conspiracy of laughing electrons tried to pull his scalp. He smelled burnt-orange.
   As he rolled on the floor trying to keep his head together while it insisted on flying apart, he caught a glimpse of Tse-Mallory. The sociologist was a similar shape. His face was a terrifying sight as he battled the force that was pushing them all towards gentle madness. Deprived of full rational control, the tall body twisted and flopped on the pale white floor like a suffocating samakl. Truzenzuzex, on the other hand, was sprawled motionless on his back. His eye membranes were closed for the first time the merchant could recall. Nowhere could he see what might have stimulated the reflex. The philosoph's legs were extended straight out and stiff, but the hands and foot hands waved feebly in the electrostatically charged air.
   Down below, the trillion kilometres of circuitry (and other things) that was the dormant mind of the Krang stirred, awoke. A-class mind, yes. But blocked'. Naturally blocked! And what's more, unaware of itself! It was unheard of! An A-class mind could be reduced, yes, but only artificially. Blocked? Never! And naturally! The situation was ... unnatural. It conflicted with the Law.
   The Krang found itself con fronted with a Unique Circumstance. It would be forced to the ultimate mechanical decison. Taxing the initiative. But it could not operate itself itself. The mind above was essential/needed/required.  It probed gently. Once the blocks were removed ... cooperation ...
   ADJUST YOUR CELLS, ORGANISM ... SO I
   Gently, gently.
   Above, the body of Flinx jerked once.
   I can't do that!
   YOU MUST. IT IS ... NECESSARY.
   It hurts!
   IGNORANCE HURTS. TRY.
   Flinx's inert body squirmed again. His head throbbed unmercifully, seeming to grow to impossible proportions.
   I ... can't!
   The Krang considered. Stronger pulsation could remove the blockage forcefully ... and possibly destroy the mind forever. Consider alternatives. If blocked, how was the mind able to stimulate initial activation in the first place?
   It required the fraction of a nanosecond to locate the answer. There was a catalyst mind nearby. That Explained. In referents the K-rang was familiar with. Working swiftly through the moderating channels of the C-mind, the great machine made the necessary adjustments/tunings in the A-class brain. Gratefully, it sensed the barriers go down/dissolve. It was easy, tills time. They had been weak and perforated to begin with. ETTA energies started to flow in the waiting floways. Further intervention was no longer required.
   E*N*T*R*O*P*Y*R*E*A*L*I*Z*A*T*I*O*N.
   In an instant of falling glass shards Flinx perceived the entire universe. It appeared as a very small, opaque ball of crystal. The instant passed, but he saw things clearly for the first time. Yes, much more clearly. He sensed filings only half-noticed, suspected, before. And things not noticed at all. He saw the marvellous structure that was the Krang. He perceived the marvellous structure that was himself. Certain energies were required fully to awaken the instrument. Only a tiny part of it pulsed with awareness now. Here, and here, yes.
   The Krang awoke. To full awalefulness for the first time in half a million years. Hymn-march. Gilorianus! The threnody that flowed from the now attuned activator-mind was an unfamiliar one and crude in technique. But the Krang realized that in five hundred millennia tastes might have changed. The important thing was that the Screen had gone up automatically the instant the tune had supplied the necessary keying impulses.
   The Krang's sensors instantly scanned the sky for light-years in all directions. Since the activator had done nothing on an instructional level except to broadcast sensations of danger, the machine instituted a general optimum scan pattern and hoped it would prove sufficient. It recognized the activator now as a novice. He would have to he guided.
   Somewhere a minor circuit dutifully noted that a single ship of alien construct had been pulverized at the moment of Screen activation, caught as it went up. A close call! Again the Krang regretted it could operate at only partial consciousness until the moment of full stimulation. Fortunately, the vessel had not penetrated. No harm done. The activator was informed and concurred. Another ship - no, two - lurked just outside the Screen. Although it remained stationary and made no hostile gestures, the activating mind directed the Krang to focus on the area of space occupied by the larger of the two vessels. Obediently, the machine complied.
   Its field of effective Close-range focus was a minimum thousand-kilometre sphere. It would have no trouble impacting the single indicated craft while missing the other. Those incredible sensors could line up the necessary cone of projection within a metre of any desired point. That was far more than necessary. It drew the necessary information as to specifics from a now co-operating A-mind. If the Krang had had feet, it would have been tapping them.
   Above, the rhythmic pulsations that were making a pulp of Tse-Mallory's thoughts let up momentariiy. They were instantly transformed into an utterly indescribable cross between a modulated screech and a bellow. The supersonic shriek of a bat amplified a million times and made audible, backed with electric trumpets and kettledrums. Even so, it did not press as intolerably on to his skull as had the other. The sociologist was able to roll on to his back and lie still, panting and gasping irregularly for the hostile air which seemed intent on evading his lungs.
   Painfully, he turned his head. He fought to keep the skreeling moan from penetrating too deep, knowing that if he eased up and allowed it to gain deep purchase, the knife-edge of the sonics would begin slicing up the nerves and neurons therein. He was able to stave it off.
   Apparently Malaika was stronger in his resistance than any of them. Somehow he staggered to his feet and began to lurch and sway in the direction oft he platform. He bad made half the distance when the building moved.
   At the moment of the first thrum. Wolf had gunned the crawler's engines and made a dash for the door. Fortunately the big cruiser had been pointing in that direction. When the First full note struck him he had tumbled from the control seat, clasping his ears. But the crawler, set on its course, continued on dumbly. As they bad before, the great doors parted. The moment they closed behind the crawler, the torture stopped.
   Wolf pulled himself slowly into the chair and managed to halt the machine's headlong plunge before it sent them hurling over the bluff, "He didn't know what had happened - too quick! But he did know that the captain and the others were still inside. He made a quick check of the cargo area. Both women were sprawled among the supplies, mercifully unconscious - whether from the effects of the 'thing' or their precipitous exit he couldn't tell.
   What to do. Sprawled helplessly on the floor of the crawler, beating at the metal in agony, he would be little help to the captain or anyone. For the moment, returning inside was out of the question. A try at the comm units produced only an ocean of static. Maybe he could find something in the shuttle that would screen his mind enough to permit him to reenter that hell. He wasn't given finis to ponder the problem.
   The building, every million-ton of it, was shifting its position. It leaned backward and for a horrible moment he feared it was going to topple on to the miniscule crawler. It did not. It hung poised in the swirling sky for a second and then turned slightly to the south. It began to hum, deeply. The vibrations could be felt through the floor of the cab – or in one's teeth. Miles up m the dust-laden air be could see the upper hundred metres or so of the structure begin to glow a rich ebony. He'd never seen anything glow black before and was fascinated by the phenomenon. It continued for some thirty seconds. The circular base on which the building rested also seemed to brighten slightly. The air for some distance around took on a momentary rose colour. Then it stopped.
   The Krang recorded the dispatch of the second vessel as matter-of-factly as it had the first.
   The entire process, from initial activation to now, had taken a. little under two minutes.
   Impatiently the Krang waited for further orders from the activation Nexus. The directive to destroy the other alien spacecraft did not come. In fact, the mind then and there removed it self from control of the Nexus.
   The machine debated with itself. It had been a long, long time since it bad existed at full consciousness. It had discovered again that it rather enjoyed the sensation.
   But its imprinted instructions were clear and left no room for logical evasions. In the absence of an activating mind it was to return to a state of powered-down dormancy. This meant deactivation of all but the most elementary maintenance functions. The Krang sighed. The purposes of its builders had often seemed at variance with their desires and it had not now been shown reason to change that opinion. But it knew what a Frankenstein was, if it utilized a different reference. The great vanes in the depths of the limestone caverns which channeled the planet's unceasing gales began to shift down. The generators which drew power in countless ergs from the molten core of the planet throttled back, and the bubbling iron-nickel centre calmed.
   Slowly but efficiently, the Krang went about the necessary task of turning itself off.
 
Chapter Twenty-two
    
Flinx rolled over and picked himself up. His head still throbbed but the actual pain bad almost disappeared. He'd been drunk only once in his life. The memories of the monstrous hangover he'd suffered as a consequence came back to him now, incongruously. He stared around. After their close swing around the neutron, star it had been his muscles which had been beaten and mauled. Controlled by the piano-string tautness of his outraged nervous system, it was now the marrow of his bones which vibrated in remembered sympathy with the ton-tones of the abruptly silent Krang. He looked inward, unconsciously rearranging certain cellular structures, fluids. The pain drifted away, leaving only a lot of light.
   Aided by his friend, Truzenzuzex was slowly getting to his feet. Flinx didn't care to imagine what the insect, with its "unprotected exoskeleton, had gone through. Malaika had been thwarted in his attempt to reach the dais by the un-expected angling of the building. He was sitting on the edge of a bench now, rubbing a knee and carefully checking the ligaments and tendons to make certain that nothing critical had been damaged. Otherwise he seemed unharmed, for a multiplicity of oaths in a. remarkable number of languages flowed in unceasing profusion from his thick lips.
   Assured that his humanx companions were all right, Flinx turned his attention to his pet. The small, leathery body was curled tightly under the activation hood. It gave sign of neither motion nor life. Careful not to get his head under that quiet object, he lifted the solid little form from its resting place. Still it did not stir. With his newly stimulated mind he probed gently within the small body. He had been pushed, indeed shoved into a new and unfamiliar universe and was still a little uncertain (honest now, frightened) of his abilities. He probed deeper. The minidrag had served as a conduit for forces beyond its own capacity to handle. Like an overloaded capacitor, certain rearrangements and adjustments were in order.
   Flinx set about making them.
   The others had gathered together and were standing off to one side, watching silently and having the courtesy not to offer sympathy. With an unoccupied portion of his mind lie searched theirs, briefly. All three were still stunned by the events of the past few minutes. Almost as much as he, lie reflected wryly. He could feel the empathy radiating outward
   from them and it made him feel better.
   A last readjustment, a stubborn artery ... no, there! One thin eyelid flickered, raised. An oil-black eye peered out and around. It swivelled up to where it encountered Flinx's own, was joined by its twin. In slow, jerky motions the minidrag began to uncurl. Flinx stuck out his tongue. Pip's darted out to make contact with it in an old gesture of familiarity and affection. He could feel the tension begin to slip from the muscular coils, the life-pulse to strengthen.
   He had dropped the habit of crying at about the time he-had discovered it did nothing more than clean his pupils. Still, there was a suspicious moisture at the corners of his eyes. He turned away so that the others might not be offended by it. If he had remained facing the other way or had bothered to probe he might have noticed that Truzenzuzex's expression was something more than merely sympathetic.
    
Chapter Twenty-Three
    
The shuttle had not been h armed and they made the ascent into the upper atmosphere with more ease and certainty than they bad managed the trip down. Atha and Wolf were at the controls. The others were in the rear cabin, their minds intent on the present instead of the future for the first time is some while.
   'Well, sir,' said Truzenzuzex to Malaika, 'we apologize. It seems as though your investment has proven singularly unprofitable. I confess that it was not really a concern of ours from the beginning. But after the expense and danger you have been through I do wish you could have realized something in the way of a more substantial increment from it.'
   'Oh now, you are unnecessarily pessimistic, my hard-shelled rafiki.' The merchant puffed vigorously on an incredibly foul-smelling pipe. 'I have a city that is no doubt filled to overflowing with priceless Tar-Aiym artifacts and inventions ... If I can ever dig them out of that infernal sand! A fine, inhabitable planet. With a thriving native aqueous ecological system, probably compatible to the humanx norm. I think that thus planet might even bring back the sailing ship, ndiyo!'
   'The reference eludes me,' said the philosoph.
   I'll show you trioids when we get back. One of the more poetic bits of man's technological past. No, no, from the fedha standpoint I am not ready to count this journey a bust! And there is always the Krang to play with, Je? Even if our young friend insists it was a freak accident that he had nothing to do with.' He looked questioningly at Flinx, who studiously ignored them all. 'But for you two, I am afraid, it been a real disappointment. You must be even more frustrated now than when we landed, Je?’
   It all depends on how you choose to view it,' said Tse-Mallory. 'When we started on the trail, of this thing we really had no idea what we expected to find, other than something big. When we found that, we didn't know what we'd found. And now that we've left it ... well, when you get ready to come back and dig out those artifacts,' he glanced at his ship-brother, 'Tru and I will be more than happy to help you with the sorting, if not the excavating. And we still, as you say, have the Krang itself to "play" with. It will at least form the basis for many a lengthy and infuriating scientific paper.' He smiled and shook his head. 'The psychological and sociological implications alone ... eh, Tru?'
   'Unquestionably, brother.' The thranx tried hard to convey a human attitude of profound reflection, failed, and substituted one of nostalgic unconcern instead. The result did not quite come off.
   It seems as though the legends of both the Branner and our primitive hominids had some validity to them. Who would have suspected it? The Krang is both a weapon and a musical instrument.’
   They had left the atmosphere now and Atha was setting an orbit that would bring them up on the Gloryhole from below and behind. The blackness poured in on one side while the sun, filtered down automatically by the photosensitive ports, lit them from the other. Despite the equalizing effects of the cabin lights, it tended to throw facial features into unnaturally sharp relief.
   It tells us a lot about the Tar-Aiym ... not to mention going a long way towards explaining their interest in two such seemingly divergent fields as war and art. I can't say that I care for their tastes in music, though. Myself, I prefer Debussy and Koretski. No doubt to their ears ... or what-ever they used ... such sounds were pleasing and exciting, nay, patriotic.'
   'Subtle sounds of death resound, and lyres smote as children drowned,' Tse-Mallory recited.
   'Porzakalit, twenty-third sonnet,' said Truzenzuzex. It would take a poet.'
   "I may be overly dense,' said Malaikii, 'but I still don's understand how the kelelekuu worked!’
   'You are not alone in that respect, Captain, but rather the member of a large minority. II' you wish, though, I could hypothesize.'
   'Go ahead and hypothesize, then!'
   'Apparently,' continued the thranx, discreetly waving away the noxious effluvia produced by the carbonized weed in the merchant's pipe, ‘the machine generates some form of vibration ...I confess myself hesitant to label it "sound waves". Probably something partaking of those characteristics as well as those of wave forms we could not identity - although their effects were noted! You recall that on our initial passage through the atmosphere. I remarked on the unusual density of the double layer of windglitter?' Malaika nodded. ' Probably those layers are kept artificially reinforced The wave forms - let's call them "k-waves" for want of a better, or more accurate, term - were generated by the Krang, These waves passed through the lower layer of the metallic wind glitter but not the higher, denser one. Accordingly, they were then "bounced" along between the two layers, as they were by now sufficiently weakened to be incapable of breaking back through the lower one. All around the planet, I'd wager. Perhaps more than once, constantly being rejuvenated by the generators of the Krang.'
   "0h now I know they're probably not sound waves,' said Malaika, 'but planet-wide circulation in the atmosphere? From a single generating source - maintenance of a certain minimal strength - the power requirements ... You really think if possible'?'
   'My dear Malaika, I regard anything as-possible unless clearly demonstrated otherwise ... the more so when this machine is involved.'
   'Even simple sound waves,' put in Tse-Mallory. 'Back on Terra itself, old calendar eighteen eighty-eight, there was a volcanic explosion in the major ocean. An island called Krakatoa blew up rather violently. The shock waves travelled several times around the globe. The sound of the explosions - simple sound waves, remember - was heard half-way around the globe. Given the Tar-Aiym's abilities and the fact that these were much more than mere sound waves, I should consider the production of such forms an elegant possibility. Besides, I should think you'd need little convincing after that highly spectacular demonstration we had.'
   'A conclusion after the fact,' said Truzenzuzex dryly. ‘Very astute of you, brother. However, as I am only slightly more knowledgeable in this regard than you ...'
   'Disputed!'
   '... I let the matter drop. The Tar-Aiym were fully capable, as you say, of amplifying on nature - pardon the pun.'
   I would suppose that explains what became of our Nikosos, then,' murmured Malaika, 'Once his shuttle entered the region of effective vibrations ...'
   'Destructive oscillation?' added Tse-Mallory.
   'Shaken to pieces? Possibly,' said Truzenzlizex.'Or maybe they cause a breakdown or weakening of the atomic structure. Even in what was probably the safest plaice on the planet the vibrations - "music" if you must- near to shook my skeleton off' Not an impossible device. Fantastic, yes, but not impossible. Myself, I am much more interested in the method used to eliminate their starship,'
   'Ndiyo,' said Malaika. 'How about that? It was nowhere near the atmosphere and so could not have been trapped in the wind glitter layers.'
   In addition to maintaining an impenetrable defensive screen around the planet, the Krang would be no more than a stalemate device if it did not have offensive capabilities as well,' continued the thranx. 'A device wholely defensive in nature would be contrary to everything we know of Tar-Aiym psychology. And you are all aware of how the quality of vibrations changed ever so significantly towards the end of our ordeal. Now then, Flinx, you say sensed the destruction of the other starship, yet there was no sign of an explosion? No flare, nothing?'
   A safe question, and one he could hardly deny. 'That's right, sir. It just ... vanished.'
   'Uni. A possibility suspected that will probably never be confirmed, but ... remember that our ship was a very short distance away, yet apparently has not been afected. I suspect, gentlesirs, that the Krang is a gravitonic generator - but of power undreamed of even by the ancient Gods.' He farced Malaika squarely. 'Captain, what would happen if a gravity field approximately one cetimetre in diameter with a field equal in strength to the surface of a neutron star impinged on a real mess?'
   Malaga's swarthy face reflected puzzlement, revelation, and astonishment in amazingly brief succession. His voice reflected all three.
   'Manisa!’ That would trigger a Schwarzchild Discontinuity! But that's ...!'
   Impossible?' Truzenzlizex smiled. 'Pardon, Captain, but how else might you explain if? The power necessary to generate such a field would need a planet-sized ship ... much simpler to use a pianet, eh? And remember there was no evidence of an explosion. Of course not. Not even light could escape a field of such strength! And gravity follows an inverse square law, so naturaily our ship was not effectively endangered. A more perfectly selective weapon would be hard to imagine. A mere kilometre away and you would not even notice such a field. But touch it and poof! Instant non-existence! I hope that one might have the sense not to tamper with such a device overmuch, Captain.' The thranx's voice was steel-solemn. 'We do not know anywhere near enough about the operation of such a field. Suppose we did not discover the way to "uncreate" such a field? The Krang obviously can do that-how, I cannot begin to imagine. But if such a field were to be released, uncontrolled, it would simply wander around the universe gobbling up ... every-thing.'
   It was too quiet in the cabin, now. 'But I think there's little chance of that,' he continued more spiritedly, 'unless our young friend can activate the mechanism once again. Not to mention,' he added, 'directing it as successfully.'
   Flinx had read the veiled accusation coming for some time now. He knew it would have to be countered. They must not think him capable of operating such a threatening weapon. Especially, he reminded himself, when he wasn't sure if he could!
   I told you sir, I don't know what happened. The machine controlled me, not vice versa!'
   'Still,' the thraax said significantly.
   It would have been easy to rearrange the insect's mind so that he would simply take Flinx's explanation of the occurrence at face value. Too easy. The Krang had not affected his sense of ethics. Besides, the idea of deliberately tampering with another's deepest centres of thought was mildly repulsive, as well as a bit frightening. Especially when the mind in question was recognizably wiser than his own. Power, he reminded himself, is not knowledge. He would need a tot of the latter in the future,
   'Look ...' He was thinking rapidly, it was easy, now. ‘As far as "directing" the device goes, you said yourself that the machine was composed of infinitely sophisticated circuitry. Once started up, it would be fully capable of handling the situation to its own satisfaction. I was merely like the hydrogen "plug" that starts the KK drive.'
   'Um. And how do you account for its taking the actions it did?'
   'Maybe Nikosos' ship made a movement that the machine interpreted as hostile, and it responded accordingly. Perhaps it was just keyed and ready when I entered it. I'm certainly not that much different from anyone else here.'
   (Lie!) 'Probably my gift or talent or whatever you want to call it had something to do with it. Remember, it didn't do anything the first time I entered it.'
   ‘I have a hunch your own fears at the moment had a lot to do with it too. Yes, that's plausible.'
   ‘Right,' Flinx continued, grateful for the opening. 'I was scared when I entered it this time ... really scared.' (Truth) 'My emotional strain had to be picked up by the machine. It's an artistic device, too! Probably any of us could have stimulated it under those conditions.' (Possible, not probable.) In any case, it's finished now and i've no desire, not the tiniest, to try it again!' (Mixed truth.)
   'Enough lad! You are too aggressive for my poor, senile mind.' (Baloney!) ‘I am satisfied, for the nonce.' (Flinx read otherwise, but it did not matter.) 'You have convinced me in fair and equal oral combat. Try me at personality chess and I'll beat the freckles off you! Yet ...' He glanced at the minidrag, then back to Flinx. 'You say you feel unchanged? No after effects?'
   Minx shook his head with a confidence that would have made Mother Mastiff proud. 'No. I really don't know what happened. My mind was ...' He broke off as the outside light was abruptly extinguished. The shuttle had slipped into her mooring dock in the cargo hold of the Gloryhole.
   'And that is that,' said Malaika, unnecessarily. To every-one's great satisfaction, his pipe bad gone out. "I'd love to discuss this all further with you gentlebeings, but at some future nafasi, ndiyo? If I do not get something of a recognizably liquid consistency down my throat very soon, you'll be able to scatter me in orbit with the wind glitter, for I shall dry up to dust!'
   He moved down the narrow aisle between them and opened the small personnel lock. The pale green light of the cargo balloon sifted inward. A pullway drifted conveniently nearby. Sissiph in hand he began hauling the two of them up its swaying length. Atha went next, followed by the two scientists. Flinx plucked Pip from where the minidrag lay coiled comfortably about a chair arm and placed him on his shoulder. He hurried out of the ship. Even now the figure of Wolf was still one he wished to avoid. He followed the others up the pullway.
   On reaching the gravitized section of the ship, everyone went his separate way. Atha and Woif to Control, Malaika and Sissiph to their cabin. The merchant had not yet had a drop of in toxic ant, but he had escaped a ransom and gained a planet. Even if he never realized a cent off his investment, that alone was enough to make him slightly drunk. The two scientists prepared to resume their endless game of personality chess as though they had never been interrupted.
   'That was not a legal psychosis.' said Tse-Mallory, his voice drifting back to Flinx. 'And you are well aware of it!'
   'Why, Bran, how can you say that? Surely when I instigated a Jump of four places in that secondary childhood fear piece ...' Their voices faded as he turned the corner leaving to his cabin.
   Flinx glanced down at this shoulder. The minidrag, the effects of its ordeal now apparently catching up with it, was fast asleep. He paused after a moment's hesitation for twice that in thought. Then he shrugged, grinned. Whistling a famous and delightfully ribald tune, he sauntered off in expectation of the biggest pseudo steak the ship's autochef could produce. He had much to think about.
   And much to do it with.
    
Chapter Twenty-Four
    
Rashalleila Nuaman lay back in her huge bed and idly examined the bedraggled, seminude figure of her niece. The girl had obviously used more force than good sense in protesting madame's request' for her presence.
   'Teleen,’ she said, sighing, ‘I am awfully disappointed in you, you know. Stupidity I can sometimes understand, but sloppiness is inexcusable. I knew about your amusing plan for doing away with me, of course.'
   The girl started at this and her eyes darted around the room in search of an escape route. Even assuming she could evade the grasp of the two giants who stood impassively to either side of her, there was nowhere on the airless moon to escape to.
   'Oh, don't let it bother you, child. It didn't me. Actually I thought it rather an admirable attempt. Showed some spunk, for a change. But that you should undertake to interfere with business ... that, my dear,' and her voice dropped dangerously, 'was ill-chosen on your part. I would perhaps have more sympathy for you had you succeeded. And with the AAnn, too. Dear, dear! I suppose you are aware they are the closest thing to a hereditary enemy mankind has?'
   Teleen's tone was bitterly sarcastic. 'Don't foist patriotic mush on me, you sanctimonious crank! You'd sell babies to the Devil if you thought he was more than a superstition ... and enough profit.'
   'You are being absurd, girl. Also impertinent. I certainly would not. At least, certainly not for spite, as you did. Being branded an enemy of the Commonwealth and excommunicated by the Church would require promise of a considerably greater potential return than such pettiness as you aspired to. And on top of everything else, your adolescent ineptitude will force me to tolerate an unbearable amount of ridicule from a very old and dear friend. Who incidentally, I am informed, has long since sewn up the registry of a certain planet by interspace relay, beyond argument of any kind. I will now be forced to fall back on legal means to obtain what was rightfully mine in the first place. As you may know, such procedures are notoriously unfair.
   'However, we are not here to discuss that. What we are here to determine, dear niece, is what T am to do with you. I fear that your attitude has taken rather a dangerous turn. I do not fear it, but my men are capable of error too. Accordingly, I am forced to send you on vacation, until such time as you have been persuaded to channel your considerable energies into more porductive pursuits. You shall be given ample time to repent and readjust your rebellious attitudes, There is a very excellent and renowned mental institution in the Qatar system. It is operated by a. group of exceptional therapists who have aided me often in the past. While their methods have often been questioned, most notably by the Church, their successes cannot be denied. The director is a personal friend of long standing.'
   'Rory,' said Teleen imploringly.
   ‘I am sure they will be more than happy to accommodate you as a guest for awhile. Unfortunately, they specialize in childhood neuroses and sexual maniacs of the most extreme kind. Now, which section do you suppose you would find more comfortilble for your stay?'
   'Rory!' The girl's voice was frightened and shrill, now.
   Rory Mallap van Cleef stood quietly by the foot of the bed in silk loincloth and beads.
   'Oh, you needn't badger your accomplice and confidant, my dear. Darling Rory knows what side of the bed his butter is on.' She smiled sweetly.
   His voice was even and mild. Almost neutral, in fact, I am sorry, love.' He flexed a bicep. I still love you, of course, but I don't see why we should both be made to suffer for this unfortunate setback. I'll wait for you.' Then, after a thoughtful pause. I do hope this doesn't complicate our relationship.'
   Teleen's answer was unprintable.
   'Teh! Such language. And after all those expensive schools, too. Yes, I am certain you will be placed in the section most suitable to your attitude, child. I see no reason why you shouldn't take the opportunity to add to your education at the same time as we are about improving your disposition.'
   She waved a hand negligently and the girl was dragged spitting and squealing from the room.
   'Remember now, dear. I am depending on you to show your hosts the true Nuaman spirit! Come back to us in one piece, won't you?' She shook her head mournfully after the closing doors had cut off the sound of the girl's fading shrieks. ‘The, I'm not sure that girl will ever be ready to take over the company reins. Everything devolved upon me, and I am old. But not that old.' She extended a hand 'Rory ... come here...'
    
   They were half-way home and proceeding smoothly for Moth. Flinx looked up from his game of crystal solitaire, now grown childishly slimplistic. The sense of thoughts in violent conflict had grown too strong to be ignored. As it was a normal sleep shift he was the only one in the lounge, and the commotion surprised him.
   A rather dishevelled-looking Atha stepped into the room. She obviously hadn't expected to encounter anyone and was noticeably upset by Flinx's presence.
   'Well,' she began awkwardly, simultaneously trying to adjust her clothing, 'we've, uh, almost finished our journey, Flinx. I imagine you're looking forward to getting home ... and to that credit slip Malaika's prepared for you!’
   'Yes, to both. You're on your way to relieve Wolf at Control, I assume?'
   'Hmmm? Oh yes, naturally!' He had to hide his amusement at the way she had pounced on the excuse. 'Yes, I've just come from making some alterations, uh, in the arrangement of the ship's supplies. They were becoming unwieldy. I had to... work on the problem at some length to get things right.'
   'And did you?'
   Her smile was broad. 'Oh, yes, Everything should now be m its proper place.' She disappeared forward.
   A short while later a much more dishevelled Sissiph, clothes and self in nearly equal disarray staggered into the lounge. The expression on her face was murderous, interrupted only when she grimaced at a particularly painful bruise. She spared him one unfocused glance before weaving off in the direction of the big cabin she shared with Malaika.
   Apparently then, everyone had profited from the expedition, with the exception of an attractive and furious minority of one. He sighed and returned to his game, its attraction dimmed. There were many things to do, and he wasn't sure how to go about doing them. Lf he couldn't have any fun ... Malaika, lie knew, was preparing great things for him. He could not see himself in the role the merchant had envisioned for him. Dressing up for gala conferences, withering competitors with his astonishing insight. Perhaps a compromise might be arranged. But that might mean leaving the markets, and his friends there. Mother Mastiff would probably have no trouble adapting to such a life. He grinned. Could High Society survive her? More seriously, how would he adapt? With everyone these days convinced of his own righteousness and secure in the knowledge that 'his was the proper way of doing things.'
   He'd also seen what un-nice people could do to the nice, enough to want to modify the situation. Out there were  minds which would resist such efforts. And who was he, to arbitrate the lives of others? Did he want to play God? He didn't think so. Besides he was only ... well, he was almost seventeen, wasn't he? He had talent, and one innocent man and two probably guilty ones had died because he hadn't used it properly. "Now he had Power, and who knew how many had died in space because of it? Power. Fagh! He wasn't one tenth the Man Tse-Mallory was! He'd need. Men like that to help him or he'd likely make some horrendous mistakes. Now they might prove deadly. Could be handle what he was now? Did he want to?
   Still, the whole universe was out there and it seemed a shame not to take a look at it.
   Now that he could see.
    
    



ORPHAN STAR
Alan Dean Foster
 
 
 
 
For Joe and Sherry Hirschhorn, and their
		Three Princesses,
	Renee, Bonnie, and Janice,
Who would grace any fairy tale,
	With love from Alan. . .
***************************************************
   Chapter One
    
   "Watch where you're going, qwot,"" 
   The merchant glared down at the slim, olive-skinned youth and made a show of readjusting his barely rumpled clothing. 
   "Your pardon, noble sir," the youngster replied politely. "I did not see you in the press of the crowd." This was at once truth and lie. Flinx hadn't seen the overbearing entrepreneur, but he had sensed the man's belligerence seconds before the latter had swerved intentionally to cause the collision. 
   Although his still poorly understood talents had been immensely enriched several months ago by his en- counter with the Krang—that awesome semisentient weapon of the now-vanished masters of the galaxy, the Tar-Aiym—they were as inconsistent as ever. The experience of acting as an organic catalyst for the colossal device had almost killed both him and Pip. But they had survived and he, at least, had been changed in ways as yet uncomprehended. 
   Lately he had found that at one moment he could detect the thoughts of the King himself off in Drallar's palace, while in the next even the minds of those standing in close proximity stayed shut tight as a miser's purse. This made for numerous uncertainties, and oftentimes Flinx found himself cursing the gift, as its capriciousness kept him in a constant state of mental imbalance. He was like a child clinging desperately to the mane of a rampaging devilope, struggling to hang on at the same time he was fighting to master the bucking mount. 
   He shifted to go around the lavishly clad bulk, but the man moved to block his path. "Children need to learn how to mind their betters," he smirked, obviously unwilling, like Flinx, to let the incident pass. 
   Flinx could sense the frustration in the man's mind, and sought deeper. He detected fuzzy hints of a large business transaction that had failed just this morning. That would explain the man's frustration, and his apparent desire to find someone to take it out on. As Flinx considered this development, the man was making a great show of rolling up his sleeves to reveal massive arms. His frustration faded beneath the curious stares of the shifting crowd of traders, hawkers, beg- gars, and craftsmen who were slowing and beginning to form a small eddy of humanity in the round-the-clock hurricane of the Drallarian marketplace. 
   "I said I was sorry," Flinx repeated tensely. 
   A blocky fist started to rise. 
   "Sorry indeed. I think I'm going to have to teach you ..." The merchant halted in his stride, the threatening fist abruptly frozen in midair. His face rapidly turned pale and his eyes seemed fixed on Flinx's far shoulder. 
   A head had somehow emerged from beneath the loose folds of the youth's cape. Now it regarded the merchant with a steady, unblinking gaze that held the quality of otherworld death, the flavor of frozen methane and frostbite. In itself the skull was tiny and unimpressive, scaled and unabashedly reptilian. Then more of the creature emerged, revealing that the head was attached to a long cylindrical body. A set of pleated membranous wings opened, beat lazily at the air. 
   "Sorry," the merchant found himself mumbling, "it was all a mistake ... my fault, really." He smiled sickly, looked from left to right.  The eyes of the small gathering stared back dispassionately. 
   It was interesting how the man seemed to shrink into the wall of watchers. They swallowed him up as neat and clean as a grouper would an ambling angelfish. That done, the motionless ranks blended back into the moving stream of humanity. 
   Flinx relaxed and reached up to scratch the flying snake under its leathery snout. "Easy there, Pip," he whispered, thinking warm relaxing thoughts at his pet. "It's nothing, settle down now." 
   Reassured, the minidrag hissed sibilantly and slid back beneath the cape folds, its pleated wings collapsing flat against its body. The merchant had quickly recognized the reptile. A well-traveled individual, he knew that there was no known antidote for the poison of the Alaspin miniature dragon. 
   "Maybe he learned whatever lesson he had in mind to give us," Flinx said. "What say we go over to Small Symm's for a beer and some pretzels for you. Would you like that, summm?" 
   The snake summmed back at him. 
   Nearby buried within the mob, an obese, unlovely gentleman thanked a gratified goldsmith as he pocketed a purchase indifferently made. This transaction had served the purpose of occupying time and covering up his true focus of attention, which had not been the just-bought bauble. 
   Two men flanked him. One was short and sleek, with an expression like a wet weasel. The other showed a torso like a galvanized boiler, and half a face. His one eye twitched persistently as he stared after the retreating figure of Flinx, while his small companion eagerly addressed the purchaser of the tiny gold-and- pearl piano. 
   "Did you see the look on that guy's face, Challis?" he asked the plump man. "That snake's a hot death. Nothin' was said to us about anything like that. That big idiot not only saved his own life, but mine and Nanger's too." 
   The one-eye nodded. 
   "Ya, you're goin' to have to find someone else for this bit of dirty stuff." His short companion looked adamant. 
   The fat merchant remained calm, scratched' at one of his many chins. "Have I been ungenerous? Since yon both ape on permanent retainer to me, I technically owe you nothing for this task." He shrugged. "But if it is a question of more money ..." 
   The sleek weasel shook his head. "You can buy my service, Challis, but not my life. Do you know what happens if that snake's venom bits you in the eyes? No antivenom known will keep you alive for more than sixty seconds." He kicked at the gravel and dirt underfoot, still moist from the regular morning ram. "No, this isn't for me and not for Nanger neither." 
   "Indeed," the .man with half a face agreed solemnly. He sniffed and nodded in the direction of the now de- parted youth. "What's your obsession with the boy, anyway? He's not strong, he's not rich, and he's not particularly pretty." 
   "It's his head I'm interested in, not his body," sighed Challis,  "though this is a matter of my pleasure." Puffing like a leaky pillow, he led them through the bustling, shouting crowd. Humans, thranx, and representatives of a dozen other commercial races slid easily around and past them as though oiled, all intent on errands of importance. 
   "It's my Janus jewel. It bores me." 
   The smaller man looked disgusted. "How can any- one rich enough to own a Janus jewel be bored?" "Oh, but I am, Nolly-dear, I am." 
   Nanger made a half-smirk. "What's the trouble, Challis? Your imagination failing you?" He laughed, short, stentorian barks. 
   Challis grinned back at him. "Hardly that, Nanger, but it seems that I have not the right type of mind to produce the kind of fine, detailed resolution the jewel is- capable of. I need help for that. So I've been at work these past months looking for a suitable mental adept, trying to find a surrogate mind of the proper type to aid in operating the jewel. I've paid a lot of money for the right information," he finished, nodding at a tall Osirian he knew. The avian clacked its beak back at him and made a gesture with its graceful, ostrichlike neck, its periscope form weaving confidently through the crowd. 
   Nanger paused to buy a thisk cake, and Challis continued his explanation as they walked on. 
   "So you see why I need that boy." 
   Nolly was irritated now. "Why not just hire him? See if he'll participate willingly?" 
   Challis looked doubtful.  "No, I don't think that would work out, Nolly-dear. You're familiar with some of my fantasies and likes?" His voice had turned inhumanly calm and empty. "Would you participate voluntarily?" 
   Nolly looked away from suddenly frightening pupils. In spite of his background, he shuddered. "No," he barely whispered, "no, I don't guess that I would...." 
   "Hello, lad," boomed Small Symm—the giant was incapable of conversing in less than a shout. "What of your life and what do you hear from Malaika?" 
   Flinx sat on one of the stools lined up before the curving bar, ordered spiced beer for himself and a bowl of pretzels for Pip. The flying snake slid gracefully from Flinx's shoulder and worked his way into the wooden bowl of trapezoidal dough. This action was noted by a pair of wide-eyed unsavory types nearby, who promptly vacated their seats and hastily made for the rearmost booths. 
   "I've had no contact with Malaika for quite a while, Symm. I've heard he's attending to business outsystem."
   Flinx's wealthy merchant friend had enabled him to quit performing his personal sideshow, having provided him with a substantial sum for his aid in exploring the Tar-Aiym world of the Krang. Much of the money had gone to set up Flinx's adoptive mother. Mother Mastiff, in a well-stocked shop in one of Drallar's better market districts. Muttering at her capriciousness, the old woman had rescued Flinx as a child from the slave-seller's block, and had raised him.  She was the only parent he had ever known. She muttered still, but with affection. 
   "As a matter of fact," he went on, sipping at the peppery brew, "Malaika wanted me to go with him. But while I respect the old hedonist, he'd eventually get ideas about putting me in a starched suit, slicking my hair back, and teaching me diction." Flinx shuddered visibly. "I couldn't stand that. I'd go back to juggling and audience guessing games first. What about you, father of oafs? I've heard that the municipal troops have been harassing you again." 
   The owner of the bar leaned his two-and-a-half-rneter-tall, one-hundred-seventy-five-kilo frame onto the absorbent wood-plastic counter, which creaked in protest. "Apparently the marketplace commissioner took it as a personal affront when I ejected the first group of officious do-gooders he sent round to close you down. Maybe I shouldn't have broken their vehicle. Now they are trying to be more subtle. I had one in just this week, who claimed to have observed me serving borderline minors certain hallucinogenic liquids." 
   "Obviously you deserve to be strung up by your extremities," commented Flinx with mock solemnity. He, too, was underage for much of what Symm served him. 
   "Anyway," the giant went on, "this heckster flies out of a back booth, flashes his municipal peace card, and tries to tell me I'm under arrest. He was going to take me in, and I had best come along quietly." Small Symm shook his massive head mournfully as Flinx downed several swallows. 
   "What did you do?" He licked liquid from the corners of his mouth. 
   "I really don't want any more trouble, certainly not another assault charge. I thought an inferential demonstration of a mildly physical nature might be effective in persuading the gentleman to change his opinion. It was, and be left quietly." Symm gestured at Flinx's now empty mug. "Refill?" 
   "Sure. What did you do?" he repeated. 
   "I ate his peace card. Here's your beer." He slid a second mug alongside the first. 
   Flinx understood Small Syrnm's gratification. He had his reputation to uphold. His was one of the few places in Drallar where a person could go at night with a guarantee of not being assaulted or otherwise set upon by rambunctious rovers. This was because Small Symm dealt impartially with all such disturbers of the peace. 
   "Be back in a minute," Flinx told his friend. He slid off the stool and headed for the one room whose design and function had changed little in the past several hundred years. As soon as he stepped inside he was overwhelmed by a plethora of rich smells and sensations:  stale beer, hard liquor, anxiety, tension, old water, dampness, fearful expectation. The combination of thick thoughts and airborne odors nearly overpowered him. 
   Looking to his left, where the combination was strongest, he noticed a small twitch of a man watching him anxiously. Flinx observed the man's outward calm and felt his internal panic. He was holding an osmotic syringe in one hand, his finger coiled about it as-if it were a weapon. As Flinx started to yell for help, his rising cry was blanketed by the descent of something dark and heavy over his head. A mental cry was aborted by the cool efficiency of the syringe.... 
   He awoke to find himself staring at a tumbled panoply of lights. They were spread out before and below him, viewed as they were through a wall and floor of transparent plastic. 
   Slowly he struggled to a sitting position, which was accomplished with some difficulty since his wrists were manacled together by two chromed metal cuffs. A long tube of flexible metal ran off from them and disappeared among rich furniture. The chain meandered through the thick transparent carpet like a mirror- backed worm. 
   Looking out, Flinx could see the lights that were the city-pulse of Drallar, dominated by the glowing spires of the King's palace off to the left. The view enabled him to orient himself. Combining the position of the palace with the pattern of lower lights and the knowledge that he was several stories above ground indicated that he was being held captive in one of the four sealed inurbs of the city. These guarded, restrictive enclaves held the homes of the upper classes, of those native to Drallar and those off-worlders who had commerce here. His assailants, then, were more than gutter thieves. 
   He was unable to pick tip any impressions nearby. At the moment the only alien sensation he could detect was a slight throbbing in the muscles of his upper right arm, where the syringe had struck home. A different kind of sensation was inspired by his own anger, anger directed at himself for not detecting the inimical emanations his attackers must have been putting out before he entered the bathroom. 
   Suddenly he noticed another sensation missing, too. The comfortable weight of Pip was absent from his shoulders. 
   "Hello," ventured a tiny, silvery voice. 
   Spinning, Flinx found himself eye-to-eye with an angel. He relaxed, swung his feet off the couch, and regarded her in surprise. She could not have been more than nine or ten years old, was clad .in a powder blue- and-green fringed pantsuit with long sleeves of some transparent lacy material. Long blond hair fell in manicured ripples to the backs of her thighs. Baby-blue eyes looked out at him from the high-boned face of a sophisticated cherub. 
   "My name's Mahnahmi," she informed him softly, her voice running up and down like a piccolo trill, "what's yours?" 
   "Everybody calls me Flinx." 
   "Flinx." She was sucking on the knuckle of her big finger.  "That's a funny name, but nice." A smile showed perfect pearly teeth. "Want to see what my daddy brought me?" 
   "Daddy," Flinx echoed, looking around the room. It was dominated by the great curve of the transparent wall and balcony and the sparkling panorama laid out below. It was night outside ... but was it that same night? How long had he lain unconscious? No way to tell ... yet. 
   The room was furnished in late Siberade: lush cushions, chairs and divan mounted on pencil-thin struts of duralloy, with everything else suspended from the ceiling by duralloy wires so thin that the rest of the furniture appeared to be floating in air. A massive spray of luminescent spodumene and kunzite crystals dominated the domed roof. They were surrounded by circular skylights now open to the star-filled night sky. Climatic adjusters kept the evening rain from falling into the room. 
   His captor was a very wealthy person, Petulant-rich with nonattention, the girlish voice interrupted his inspection. "Do you want to see it or not?" 
   Flinx wished the throb in his upper arm would sub- side. "Sure," he said absently. 
   The smile returned as the girl reached into a suit pocket. She moved closer, proudly opened her fist to reveal something in the palm of her hand. Flinx saw that it was a miniature piano, fashioned entirely from filigree gold and real pearls. 
   "It really plays," she told him excitedly. She touched the tiny keys and Flittx listened to the almost invisible notes. "It's for my dolly." 
   "It's very pretty," Flinx complimented, remembering when such a toy would have cost him more credit than he ever thought he would possess. He glanced anxiously past her, "Where is your daddy right now?" 
   "Over here." 
   Flinx turned to the source of those simple, yet some- how threatening words. 
   "No, I already know you're called Flinx," the man said, with a wave of one ring-laden hand. "I already know a good deal about you." 
   Two men emerged from the globular shadow. One had a sunk-in skull half melted away by some tremendous heat and only crudely reconstructed by medical engineers. His smaller companion exhibited more composure now than he had when he'd held the syringe on Flinx in the bathroom at Symm's. 
   The merchant was talking again. "My name is' Conda Challis. You have perhaps heard of me?" 
   Flinx nodded slowly. "I know of your company." 
   "Good,"" Challis replied. "It's always gratifying to be recognized, and it saves certain explanations." The uncomfortable pulsing in Flinx's shoulder was begin- ning to subside as the man settled his bulk in a waiting chair. A round, flat table of metal and plastic separated him from Flinx. The half-faced man and his stunted shadow made themselves comfortable—but not too comfortable, Flinx noted—nearby. 
   "Mahnahmi, I see you've been entertaining oar guest," Challis said to the girl. "Now go somewhere and play like a good child." 
   "No. I want to stay and watch." 
   "Watch?" Flmx tensed. "Watch what?" 
   "He's going to use the jewel. I know he is!" She turned to Challis. "Please let me stay and watch, Daddy! I won't say a word, I promise." 
   "Sorry, child. Not this time." 
   "Not this time, not this time," she repeated. "Yon never let me watch. Never, never, never!" As quick as a sun shower turns bright, her face broke into a wide smile. "Oh, all right, but at least let me say good-bye." 
   When Challis impatiently nodded his approval she all but jumped into Flinx's arms. Much to his distress, she wrapped herself around him, gave him a wet smack on one cheek, and whispered into his right ear in a lilting, immature soprano, "Better do what he tells yon to, Flinx, or he'll rip out your guts." 
   Somehow he managed to keep a neutral expression on his face as she pulled away with a disarmingly innocent smile. 
   "Bye-bye. Maybe Daddy will let us play later." Turning, she skipped from the room, exiting through a doorway in the far wall. 
   "An ... interesting little girl," Filax commented, swallowing. 
   "Isn't she charming," Challis agreed. "Her mother was exceptionally beautiful." 
   "You're married, then? You don't strike me as the type." 
   The merchant appeared truly shocked. "Me, life- mated? My dear boy! Her mother was purchased right here in Drallar, a number of years ago. Her pedigree claimed she possessed exceptional talents. They turned out to be of a very minor nature, suitable for parlor tricks but little else. 
   "However, she could perform certain other functions, so I didn't feel the money wholly wasted. The only drawback was the birth of that infant, resulting from my failure to report on time for a standard debiojection. I didn't think the delay would be significant." He shrugged. "But I was wrong. The mother pleased me, so I permitted her to have the child.... I tend to be hard on my property, however. The mother did not live long thereafter. At times I feel the child has inherited her mother's minuscule talents, but every attempt to prove so has met with failure." 
   "Yet despite this, you keep her," Flinx noted curiously. For a second Challis appeared almost confused, a sensation which passed rapidly. 
   "It is not so puzzling, really. Considering the manner of the mother's death, of which the child is unaware, I feel some small sense of responsibility for her. While I have no particular love for infants, she obeys with an alacrity her older counterparts could emulate." He grinned broadly and Flinx had the impression of a naked white skull filled with broken icicles. 
   "She's old enough to know that if she doesn't, I'll simply sell her." Challis leaned forward, wheezing with the effort of folding his chest over his protruding belly. "However, you were not brought here to discuss the details of my domestic life." 
   "Then why was I brought here? I heard something about a jewel. I know a little about good stones, but I'm certainly no expert." 
   "A jewel, yes." Challis declined further oral explanation; instead, he manipulated several switches concealed by the far overhang of the table between them. The lights dimmed and Challis' pair of ominous attendants disappeared, though Flinx could sense their alert presence nearby. They were between him and the only clearly defined door. 
   Flinx's attention was quickly diverted by a soft humming. As the top of the table slid to one side, he could see the construction involved. The table was a thick safe. Something rose from the central hollow, a sculpture of glowing components encircled by a spiderweb of thin wiring. At the sculpture's center was a transparent globe of glassalloy. It contained something that looked like a clear natural crystal about the size of a man's head. It glowed with a strange inner light. At first glance it resembled quartz, but longer inspection showed that here was a most unique silicate. 
   The center of the crystal was hollow and irregular in outline. It was filled with maroon and green particles which drifted with dreamy slowness in a clear viscous fluid. The particles were fine as dust motes. In places they nearly reached to the edges of the crystal walls, though they tended to remain compacted near its middle. Occasionally the velvety motes would jerk and dart about sharply, as if prodded by some unseen force. Flinx stared into its shifting depths as if mesmerized. ... 
    
   On Earth lived a wealthy man named Endrickson, who recently seemed to be walking about m o daze. His family was fond of him and he was well liked by his friends. He also held the grudging admiration of his competitors. En drickson, though he looked anything but sharp at the moment, was one of those peculiar geniuses who possesses no creative ability of his own, but who instead exhibits the rare power to marshal and direct the talents of those more gifted than himself. 
   At 5:30 on the evening of the 25th of Fifth Month, Endrickson moved more slowly than usual through the heavily guarded corridors of The Plant. The Plant had no name—a precaution insisted on by nervous men whose occupation it was to worry about such things—and was built into the western slope of the Andes. 
   As he passed the men and women and insectoid thranx who labored in The Plant, Endrickson nodded his greetings and was always gratified with respectful replies. They were all moving in the opposite direction, since the work day had ended for them. They were on their way—these many, many talented beings—to their homes in Santiago and Lima and New Delhi and New York, as well as to the Terran thranx colonies in the Amazon basin. 
   One who was not yet off duty came stiffly to attention as Endrickson turned a corner in a last, shielded passage- way. On seeing that the visitor was not his immediate superior—a gentleman who wore irritation, like his under- wear, outside his trousers—the well-armed guard relaxed. Endrickson, he knew, was everyone's friend. 
   "Hello . . . Dav'is," the boss said slowly. 
   The man saluted, then studied him intently, disturbed at his appearance. 
   "Good evening, sir. Are you sure you're all right?" 
   "Yes, thank you, Davis," Endrickson replied. "I had a last-minute thought ... won't be long." He seemed to be staring at something irregular and shiny that he held cupped in one palm. "Do you want to see my identity card?" 
   The guard smiled, processed the necessary slip of treated plastic, and admitted Endrickson to the chamber beyond which contained the shop, a vast cavern made even vaster by precision engineering and necessity. This was the heart of The Plant. 
   Moving with assurance, Endrickson walked down the ramp to the sealed floor of the enlarged cavern, passing enormous machines, long benches, and great constructs of metal and other materials. The workshop was deserted now. It would remain so until the early-morning shift come on five hours later.
   One-third of the way across the floor he halted before an imposing door of dun-colored metal, the only break in o solid wall of the same material that closed off a spacious section of the cavern. Using his tree hand while still staring at the thing in his other hand, he pulled out a small ring that held several metal cylinders. He selected a cylinder, pressed his thumb into the recessed area at one end of it, then inserted the other into a small hole in the door and shoved forward. A complex series of radiations was produced and absorbed by the doorway mechanism. These passed judgment on both the cylinder and the person holding it. 
   Satisfied that the cylinder was coded properly and that ifs owner was of a stable frame of mind, the door sang soft acquiescence and shrank info the floor. Endrickson 'passed through and the door noted his passage, then rose to close the gap behind him. 
   A not quite finished device loomed ahead, nearly filling this part of the cavern. It was surrounded by an attending army of instruments: monitoring devices, tools in repose, checkout panels and endless crates of assorted com- ponents. 
   Endrickson ignored this familiar collage as he headed purposefully for a single black panel. He thoughtfully eyed the switches and controls thereon, then used another of his ring cylinders to bring the board to life. Lights came on obediently and gauges registered for his inspection. 
   The vast bulk of the unfinished KK-drive starship engine loomed above him. Final completion would and could take place only in free space, since the activated posigrovity field of the drive interacting with a planet's gravitational field would produce a series of quakes and tectonic adjustments of cataclysmic proportions. 
   But that fact didn't concern Endrickson just now. A far more intriguing thought had overwhelmed him. Was the drive unit complete enough to function? he wondered. Why not observe the interesting possibilities firsthand? 
   He glanced at the beauty in his palm, then used a second cylinder to unlock a tightly sealed box at one end of the block beard.  Beneath the box were several switches, all enameled' a bright crimson.  Endrickson heard a klaxon yell shrilly somewhere, but he ignored the alarm as he pressed switches in proper order.  His anticipation was enormous. With the fluid-state switches activated, instructions began flowing through the glass-plastic-metal monoIith. For off on the other side of the locked door, Endrickson cou!d hear people shouting, running. Meanwhile the drive's thermomdear spark was activated and Endrickson saw full engagement register on the appropriate monitors. 
   He nodded with satisfaction. Final relays interlocked, communicated with the computermind built into the engine. For a brief second the Kurita-Kita field was brought into existence.  Momentarily the thought flashed through Endrickson's mind that this was something that should never be done except in the deep reaches of free space. 
   But his last thoughts were reserved for the exquisite loveliness and strange words locked within the object he held in his hand. ... 
   Had the unit been finished there might have been a major disaster. But it was not complete, and so the Field collapsed quickly, unable to sustain itself and to expand to its full, propulsive diameter. 
   So, although windows were shattered and a few older buildings toppled and the Church of Santa Avila de Seville's ancient steeple cracked six hundred kilometers away in downtown Valparaiso, only a few things in the immediate vicinity showed any significant alteration, 
    However, Endrickson, The Plant, and the nearby technologic community of Santa Rosa de Cristobal (pop. 3,200) vanished. The 13,352-meter-high mountain at whose base the town had risen and in whose bowels The Plant had been carved was replaced by a 7,200-mefer-deep crater fined with molten glass. 
   But since logic insisted the event could have been nothing other than on accident, it was so ruled by the experts called upon to produce an explanation—experts who did not have access to the same beauty which had so totally bedazzled the now-vaporized Endrickson. ...
    
   Flinx blinked, awakening from the Janus jewel's tantalizing loveliness. It continued to pulse with its steady, natural yellow luminescence. 
   "Did yon ever see one before?" Challis inquired. 
   "No. I've heard of them, though. I know enough to recognize one." 
   Challis must have touched another concealed switch because a low-intensity light sprang to life at the table's edge. Fumbling with a drawer built into the table, the merchant then produced a small boxy affair which resembled an abstract carving of a bird in flight, its wings on the downbeat. It was designed to fit on a human head. A few exposed wires and modules broke the device's otherwise smooth lines. 
   "Do you know what this is?" the merchant asked, 
   Flinx confessed he did not. 
   "It's the operator's headset," Challis explained slowly, placing it over his stringy hair. "The headset and the machinery encapsulated in that table transcribe the thoughts of the human mind and convey them to the jewel. The jewel has a certain property." 
   Challis intoned "property" with the sort of spiritual reverence most men would reserve for describing their gods or mistresses. 
   The merchant ceased fumbling with unseen controls and with the headset. He folded his hands before his squeezed out paunch and stared at the crystal. "I'm concentrating on something now," he told his absorbed listener softly. "It takes a little training, though some can do without it." 
   As Flinx watched raptly, the particles in the jewel's center began to rearrange themselves. Their motion was no longer random, and it was clear that Challis' thoughts were directing the realigmnent. Here was something about which rumor abounded, but which few except the very rich and privileged had actually seen. 
   "The larger the crystal," Challis continued, obviously straining to produce some as yet unknown result, "the more colors present in the colloid and the more valuable the stone. A single color is the general rule. This stone contains two and is one of the largest and finest in existence, though even small stones are rare. 
   "There are stones with impurities present which create three- and four-color displays, and one stone of five-color content is known. You would not believe who owns it, or what is done with it." 
   Flinx watched as the colors within the crystal's center began to assume semisolid shape and form at Challis' direction. "No one," the merchant continued,  "has been able to synthesize the oleaginous liquid in which the colored particulate matter drifts suspended. Once a crystal is broken, it is impossible to repair. Nor can the colloid be transferred in whole or in part to a new container. A break in the intricate crystal-liquid formation destroys the stone's individual piezoelectric potential. Fortunately the crystal is as hard as corundum, though nowhere near as strong as artificials like duralloy." 
   Though the outlines shifted and trembled constantly, never quite firmly fixed, they took on the recognizable shapes of several persons. One appeared to be an exaggeratedly Junoesque woman. Of the others, one was a humanoid male and the third something wholly alien. A two-sided chamber rose around them and was filled with strange objects that never held their form for more than a few seconds. Although their consistency fluctuated, the impression they conveyed did not. Flinx saw quite enough to turn his stomach before everything within the crystal dissolved once again to a cloud of glowing dust. 
   Looking up and across from the crystal he observed that the merchant had removed the headpiece and was wiping the perspiration from his high forehead with a perfumed cloth. Illuminated by the subdued light concealed in the table edge below, his face became that of an unscrupulous imp. 
   "Easy to begin," he murmured with exhaustion, "but a devilishly difficult reaction to sustain. When your attention moves from one figure, the others begin to cpl- lapse. And when the play involves complex actions performed by several such creations, it is nigh impossible, especially when one tends to become so ... involved with the action." 
   "What's all this got to do with me?" Flinx broke in. Although the question was directed at Challis, Flinx's attention was riveted on those two half-sensed figures guarding the exit. Neither Nolly nor Nanger had stirred, but that didn't mean they had relaxed their watch, either. And the door they guarded was hardly likely to be unlocked. Flinx could see several openings in the floor-to-ceiling glassalloy wall which overlooked the city, but he knew it was a sheer drop of at least fifty meters to the private street below. 
   "You see," Challis told him, "while I'm not ashamed to admit that I've inherited a most successful family business in the Ghallis Company, neither do I count myself a dilettante. I have improved the company through the addition of people with many diverse talents." He gestured toward the door. "Nolly-dear and Nanger there are two such examples. I'm hoping that you, dear boy, will be yet another." 
   "I'm still not sure I understand," Flinx said slowly, stalling. 
   "That can be easily rectified." Challis steepled his fingers. "To hold the suspended particles of the Janus jewels, to manipulate the particulate clay, requires a special kind of mind. Though my mental scenarios are complex, to enjoy them fully I require a surrogate mind. Yours! I shall instruct you in what is desired and you will execute my designs within the jewel." 
   Flinx thought back to what he had glimpsed a few moments ago in the incomplete playlet, to what Challis had wrought within the tiny god-world of the jewel. In many ways he was mature far beyond his seventeen years, and he had seen a great many things in his time. Though some of them would have sickened the stomach of an experienced soldier, most of them had been harmless perversions. But beneath all the superficial cordiality and the polite requests for cooperation that Challis had expressed, there bubbled a deep lake of un- treated sewage, and Flinx was not about to serve as the merchant's pilot across it. 
   Surviving a childhood in the marketplace of Drallar had made Flinx something of a realist. So he did not reel at the merchant's proposal and say what was on his mind: "You revolt and nauseate me, Conda Challis, and I refuse to have anything to do with you or your sick private fantasies." Instead he said: "I don't know where you got the idea that I could be of such help to you." 
   "You cannot deny your own history," Challis sniggered. "I have acquired a small but interesting file on you. Most notably, your peculiar talents figured strongly in assisting a competitor of mine named Maxim Malaika. Prior to that incident and subsequent to it you have been observed demonstrating abnormal mental abilities through the medium of cheap sideshow tricks for the receipt of a few credits from passersby. I can offer you considerably more for the use of your talents. Deny that if you can." 
   "Okay, so I can work a few gimmicks and fool a few tourists," Flinx conceded while studying the thin silvery bracelets linking his wrists and trying to find a hidden catch. "But what you call my 'talents' are erratic, undisciplined, and beyond my control much of the time. I don't know when they come or why they go." 
   Challis was nodding in a way Flinx didn't like. "Naturally. I understand. All talents—artistic, athletic, whatever kind—require training and discipline to develop them fully. I intend to help you in mastering yours. By way of example ..." Challis took out some- thing that looked like an ancient pocket watch but wasn't, pressed a tiny button. Instantly the breath fled from Flinx's lungs, and he arced forward. His hands tightened into fists as he shuddered, and he felt as if someone had taken a file to the bones in his wrists. The pain passed suddenly and he was able to lean limply backward, gasping, trembling. When he found he could open his eyes again, he saw that Challis was staring into them, expectantly interested. His stare was identical to the one a chemist would lavish on a laboratory animal just injected with a possibly fatal substance. 
   "That ... wasn't necessary," Flinx managed to whisper. 
   "Possibly not," a callous Challis agreed, "but it was instructive. I've seen your eyes roving while you've tatted. Really, you can't get out of here, you know. Even should you somehow manage to reach the central shaft beyond Nolly and Nanger, there are others waiting."  The merchant paused, then asked abruptly, "Now, is what I wish truly so abhorrent to you? You'll .be well rewarded. I offer you a secure existence in my company. In return you may relax as you like. You'll be called on only to help operate the jewel." 
   "It's the ethics of the matter that trouble me, not the salary," Flinx insisted. 
   "Oh, ethics." Challis was amused, and be didn't try to hide it. "Surely you can overcome that. The alternative is much less subjective." He was tapping two fingers idly on the face of the pseudo-watch. 
   While pretending to enjoy it all, Flinx was thinking. His wrists were still throbbing, and the ache penetrated all the way to his shoulders. He could stand that pain again, but not often. And anything more intense would surely knock him out. His vision still had an alarming tendency to lose focus. 
   Yet ... he couldn't do what Challis wanted. Those images—his stomach churned as he remembered—to participate in such obscenities ... No! Flinx was considering what to say, anything to forestall the pain again, when something dry and slick pressed against his cheek. It was followed by the feathery caress of something unseen but familiar at the back of his neck. 
   Challis obviously saw nothing in the darkness, since when he spoke again his voice was as controlled as be- fore. His fingers continued to play lazily over the ovoid control box. "Come, dear boy, is there really need to prolong this further? I'm sure you gain less pleasure from it than do 1." A finger stopped tapping, edged toward the button. 
   "HEY!" 
   The shout came from the vicinity of the door and was followed by muffled curses and dimly perceived movement. Challis' two guards were dancing crazily about, waving and swatting at something unseen. 
   Challis' voice turned vicious, angry for the first time. "What's the matter with you idiots?" 
   Nanger replied nervously, "There's something in here with us." 
   "You are both out of your small minds. We are eight floors from the surface and carefully screened against mechanical intruders. Nothing could possibly—" 
   Nanger interrupted the merchant's assurance with a scream the likes of which few men ever encounter. Flinx was half expecting it. Even so, the sound sent a chill down his spine. What it did to Nolly, or to Challis, who was suddenly scrambling over the back of the chair and fumbling at his belt, could only be imagined. 
   Flinx heard a crash, followed by a collision with something heavy and out of control. It was Nanger. The half-face had both hands clamped tight over his eyes and was staggering wildly in all directions. 
   "The jewel ... watch the jewel!" a panicky Challis howled. Moving on hands and knees with surprising rapidity, he reached the edge of the table and hit a switch. Instantly the light went out. In the faint illumination from the wall window Flinx could see the merchant disconnect the top of the apparatus, the globe containing the crystal itself, and cradle it protectively in his hands as he removed it. 
   Suddenly there was another source of light in the room, in the form of sharp intermittent green flares from a needler. Nolly had the weapon out and was sparring desperately with an adversary that swooped and dove at him. 
   Then something began to buzz for attention within the table, and Challis lifted a receiver and listened. Flinx listened too, but could hear nothing. Whatever was being said elicited some furious responses from the merchant, whose easygoing manner had by now vanished completely. He mumbled something into the pickup, then let it snap back into the table. The look he threw Flinx in the near blackness was a mixture of fury and curiosity. "I bid you adieu, dear boy. I hope we have the opportunity to meet again. I thought you merely a beggar with talents too big for his head. Apparently you may be something more. I'm sorry you elected not to cooperate. Your maternal line hinted that you might," Challis sneered. "I never repeat mistakes. Be warned."  Still scrambling on hands and knees, he made his way to the hidden door. As it opened, Flinx caught a glimpse of a small golden figure standing there. 
   "Listening again, brat-child?" Challis muttered as he rose to his feet. He slapped the girl, grabbing her by one arm. She started to cry and looked away from Challis as the door cycled shut. 
   As Flinx turned his attention back to the other door, his mind was already awhirl at an offhand comment of the merchant's. But before he could consider all the implications of the remark, Flinx was hit with a tsunami of maniacal mental energy that nearly knocked him from the couch. It was forceful beyond imagining, powerful past anything he had ever felt from a human mind before. It held screaming images of Conda Challis coming slowly apart, like a toy doll. These visions were mixed haphazardly with other pictures, and several views of Flinx himself drifted among them. 
   He winced under that cyclonic wail. Some of the fleeting images were far worse than anything Challis had tried to create within the jewel. The merchant's mind may have been one of utter depravity, but the brain behind this mental storm did not stop with anything that petty. 
   Flinx stared back at the closing door, getting his last view of black eyes set in an angelic face. In that un- formed body, he knew, dwelt a tormented child. Yet even that revelation did not spark the same wild excitement in him that Challis' last casual statement bad. "Your maternal line," the merchant had said. 
   Flinx knew more about the universe than he did about his real parents. If Challis knew even a rumor of Flinx's ancestry ... the merchant was going to get his wish for another meeting. 
   Chapter Two
    
   The door to the tower's central shaft opened as the only other occupant of the room sought escape. Instead of an empty elevator, he found himself confronted by a figure of gargantuan proportions that lifted him squealing from the floor and removed the needler. The new arrival quickly rendered the weapon harmless by crumpling it in a fist that had the force of a mechanical press. Nolly's fingers, which happened to be wrapped around the needler, suffered a similar fate, and a single shriek of pain preceded unconsciousness. 
   Small Symm ducked to clear the top of the portal, dropping the limp human shape to one side. Simultaneously a long lean -shape settled easily about Flinx's shoulders, and a single damp point flickered familiarly at his ear. Reaching back, Flinx scratched under the minidrag's jaw and felt the long muscular form relax. "Thanks, Pip." 
   Rising from the chair, he moved around the table- safe and played with the controls on the other side. Before very long he succeeded in lighting the entire room. 
   Where Nanger had crashed and stumbled, the expensive furnishings lay broken and twisted. His body, already growing stiff with venom-inspired death, lay crumpled across one bent chair. The unmoving form of his companion was slumped to one side of the doorway. A mangled hand oozed blood. 
   "I was wondering," Flinx informed Symm, "when you'd get here." 
   "It was difficult," the bartender apologized, his voice echoing up from that bottomless pit of a chest. "Your pet was impatient, disappearing and then reappearing when I fell behind. How did he know how to find you?" 
   Flinx affectionately eyed the now somnolent scaly head. "He smelled my fear. Life-water knows I was broadcasting it loud enough." He held out manacled wrists. "Can you do something about these? I have to go after Challis." 
   Symm glanced at the cuffs, a look of mild surprise on his face. "I never thought revenge was part of your makeup, Flinx." 
   Reaching down with a massive thumb and forefinger, Symm carefully pinched one of the narrow con- fining bands. A moment's pressure caused the metal to snap with an explosive pop. Repeating the action freed Flinx's other hand. 
   Looking at his right wrist as he rubbed it with his left hand, Flinx could detect no mark—nothing to indicate the intense pain that the device had inflicted. 
   He debated how to respond to his friend's accusation. How could he hope to explain the importance of Challis' remark to this good-natured hulk? "I think Challis may know something of my real parents. I can't simply forget about it." 
   The unaccustomed bitterness of Symm's answer startled him. "What are they to you? What have they done for you? They have caused you to be treated like chattel, like a piece of property. If not for the intervention of Mother Mastiff you'd be a personal slave now, perhaps to something like Challis. Your real parents— you owe them nothing, least of all the satisfaction of showing them you've survived!" 
   "I don't know the circumstances of my abandonment, Symm," Flinx finally countered. "I have to find out. I have to." 
   The bartender, an orphan himself, shrugged massively. "You're an idealistic misfit, Flinx." 
   "And you're an even bigger one," the boy shot back, "which is why you're going to help me." 
   Symm muttered something unintelligible, which might have been a curse. Then again, it might not. "Where did he get out?" 
   Plinx indicated the hidden doorway, and Symm walked over to the spot and leaned against the metal panel experimentally. The hinging collapsed inward with surprising ease. Beyond, they discovered a short corridor, which led to a small private lift that conveyed them rapidly to the base of the luxarions tower. 
   "How did you get in, anyway?" Flinx asked his friend. 
   Symm Switched. "I told the security people I met that I had an appointments pass, the usual procedure in an inurb like this." 
   "Didn't anyone demand to see it?" 
   Symm didn't crack a smile. "Would you? Only one guard did, and I think he'll be all right if he gets proper care. Careful now," the giant warned as the lift came to a stop. Crouching to one side, he sprang out as soon as the door slid open sufficiently to let him pass. But there was no ambush awaiting them. Instead, they found themselves in a ground-car garage, which showed ample sign of having been recently vacated. 
   "Keep your monumental ears open," Flinx advised quietly. "See if you can find out where Challis has fled. I'm going to work my own sources...." 
   When they left through the open doorway of the-garage, no one challenged their departure, though hidden eyes observed it. But those behind the eyes were grateful to see the pair go. 
   "You're sure they're not still here?" Symm wondered aloud. "Someone could have taken the car as a diversion." 
   Flinx replied with the kind of unnerving assurance Symm didn't pretend to understand, but had come to accept. "No, they're no longer in this vicinity." 
   The pair parted outside the last encircling wall of the inurb. There was no formality, no shaking of hands—nothing of the sort was required between these two.  If you learn anything get in touch with me at Mother Mastiff's shop," Flinx instructed the giant. "Whatever happens, I’ll let you know my plans." 
   As he made his way back through the market's concentric circles, he clutched his cloak tightly about him. The last drops of the morning rain were falling. In the distance an always hopeful sun showed signs of emerging from the low, water-heavy clouds. 
   Plenty of activity swirled about him. At this commercial hub of the Commonwealth, business operated round the clock. 
   Flinx knew a great many inhabitants of this world- within-a-world oil sight. Some were wealthy and great, some poor and great. A few were not human and more were less human than others though all claimed membership in the same race. 
   Passing the stall of the sweets vendor Kiki, he kept his attention resolutely ahead. It was too early and his stomach was too empty for candy. Besides, his innards still rocked slightly from the aftereffects of Challis' seemingly harmless jewelry. So, at Chairman Nils he bought a small loaf of bran bread coated with nut butter. 
   Nils was a fortyish food vendor with an authoritative manner. Everyone called him the Chairman. He ruled his comer of the marketplace with the air of a dictator, never suspecting that he held this power because his fellow sellers and hawkers found it amusing to humor his gentle madness. There were never any delusions in his baked goods, however. Flinx took a ferocious bite out of the triangular loaf, enjoying the occasional crunch of chopped nuts woven into the brown butter. 
   A glance at the sky still hinted at the possibility of the sun breaking through, a rare occurrence in usually cloud-shrouded Drallar. 
   His snack finished, Flinx began moving through a section filled with handsome, permanent shopfronts—a section that was considerably different from the region of makeshift shacks and stores in which he had been raised. When he’d first proposed shifting the ancient stall from the noisome depths of the marketplace
   Mother Mastiff had protested vociferously. "I wouldn't know how to act," she had argued. "What do I know about treating with fancy customers and rich folks?" 
   "Believe me, Mother"—though they both knew she wasn't his real mother, she acted as one to half the homeless in Drallar—"they're the same as your old customers, only now the idiots will come with bigger bankrolls. Besides, what else would I do with all the money Malaika pressed on me?" 
   Eventually he had been forced to purchase the shop and thus present her with a fait accompli. She railed at him for hours when he told her—until she saw the place. Though she continued muttering dire imprecations about everything he showed her—the high-class inventory, the fancy living quarters upstairs, the automatic cooking devices—her resistance collapsed with unsurprising speed. 
   But there were two things she still refused to do. One was to change her handmade, homemade attire— as esoteric a collage of beads, bells, and cloth as could be imagined. The other was to use the small elevator that ran between the shop proper and the living quarters above. "The day I can't climb a single flight of stairs," she remonstrated, "is the day you can have me embalmed, stuffed, and put in the window at a curio sale."  To demonstrate her determination, she proceeded at once to walk the short stairway on all fours. 
   No one knew how old Mother Mastiff was and she wasn't telling. Nor would she consent to submit to the extensive cosmetic surgeries Flinx could now afford, or to utilize any other artificial age-reduction device. "I've spent too long and too much effort preparin' for the role of an aged crone, and I'm not about to give up on it now," she told him.  "Besides, the more pitiful and decrepit I look, the more polite and sympathetic the suck—the customers are." 
   Not surprisingly, the shop prospered. For one thing, many of the better craftsmen in Drallar had come from equally humble origins, and they enjoyed selling their better products to her.
   As Flinx rounded the comer, he saw she was waiting for him at the rear entrance. "Out all night again. I don't suppose you've been anywhere as healthy as the Pink Palace or Sinnyville. D'you want your throat cut before you make eighteen?" she admonished, wagging a warning finger. 
   "Not much chance of that. Mother." He brushed past her, but—not to be put off—she followed him into the little storeroom behind the shopfront. 
   "And that flyin' gargoyle of yours won't save you every time, y' know. Not in a city like this, where everyone has a handshake for you with one palm and a knife for your back in the other. Keep walkin' about at the depths of the night like this, boy, and one day they'll be bringin' you back f me pale and empty of juice. And I warn you," she continued, her voice rising, "it's a cheap funeral you'll be gettin', because I'm not workin' my fingers to the quick to pay for a fancy send-off for a fool!" 
   A sharp buzz interrupted the tirade. "So I'll tell you for the last time, boy..." 
   "Didn't you hear the door Mother?" He grinned. "First customer of the morn." 
   She peered through the beads in the doorway. "Hub. Tourists, by the look of 'em. You should see the tanzanite on the woman's ring." She hesitated, torn between the need to satisfy affection and avarice simultaneously. "But what's a couple of customers when ..." another hesitation, "still, that's twelve carats at least in the one stone. Their clothes mark 'em as Terrans maybe, too." She finally threw up her hands in confusion and disgust. "It's my punishment. You're a visitation for the sins of my youth. Get out of my sight, boy. Upstairs and wash yourself, and mind the disinfectant. You smell of the gutter. Dry yourself well, mind ... you're not too big or old for me to blush your bottom." She slipped through the screen and a radical metamorphosis took place. 
   "Ah sir, madam," an oily voice cooed soothingly, the voice of everyone's favorite grandmama, "you honor my small shop. I would have been out sooner but I was tending to my poor grandson who is desperately ill and in need of much expensive treatment. The doctors fear that unless the operation is performed soon, he will lose the power of sight, and—" 
   Her slick spiel was cut off as the elevator door slid shut behind Flinx. Unlike Mother Mastiff, he had no compunction about using modern conveniences—certainly not now, as tired as he was from the experiences of the night before. As he stepped into the upstairs quarters he did wonder how such disparate tones could issue from the same wrinkled throat. 
   Later, over the evening meal (prepared by him, since Mother Mastiff had been occupied with customers all day), he began to explain what had happened. For a change, she neither harangued nor chastised him, merely listened politely until he had finished 
   "So you're bound to go after him then, boy," she finally said. 
   "I have to, Mother." 
   "Why?" 
   He looked away. "I'd rather not say." 
   "All right." She mopped up the last of her gravy with a piece of bread. "I've heard much of the man Challis—plenty of rumors about his tastes in certain matters and none of them good. There's less known about his businesses, though word is the Challis Company has prospered since he became the head." She granted noisily and wiped at her mouth with a corner of her multilayered skirt. 
   "You sure you got to do this, boy? You've only been off-planet once before, y' know." 
   "I think I can handle myself, Mother." 
   "Daresay, daresay," she replied disparagingly. "Though by all the odds you ought to have been dead a dozen times before your fifteenth birthday, and I don't suppose that grinnin' devil could have been responsible for savin' you every time." 
   She favored a small artificial tree with a poisonous stare. Pip was coiled comfortably around one of its branches. The minidrag did not look up. The relationship between him and Mother Mastiff had always been one of uneasy truce. 
   "Before you take off, let me make a call," she finished. 
   While Flinx finished his dessert and fought to pry the last bits of thick gelatin from his back teeth, he listened to her mutter into the pickup of a small communicator at the far end of the room. The machine gave her a mobility she hadn't possessed for decades. It was one of the few conveniences the shop provided that she'd use. It also made her the terror of every city official in any way responsible for the daily operation of the marketplace. 
   She was back at tableside soon. "Your friend Challis left on the freighliner Auriga this morning with his daughter and a covey of servants." Her expression contorted. "From what I was told, he left in a real hurry. You and that great imbecile Symm must have thrown quite a scare into him, but then the giant's enough by himself to frighten the polish off a mirror." 
   Flinx did not return her inquiring gaze. Instead he played with one edge of the tablecloth. "What's the Auriga's destination?" 
   "Hivehom," she told him. "The Challis Company has a lot of investments on the Mediterranea Plateau. I expect that's what he'll head for once he sets down." 
   "I'd better get ready." Flinx rose and started toward his room. 
   A strong, crinkled hand caught one of his wrists, and a face like a rift valley stared searchingly into his. "Don't do this, boy," she begged, her voice low. 
   He shook his bead. "No choice, Mother. I can't tell you what calls, but call it does. I have to go." 
   The pressure did not ease on his wrist. "I don't know what dealings you have with this bad man, but I can't believe it's this serious." Flinx said nothing and she finally released him. "If it's in you to go, go then." She looked away. "I don't know how your mind works, boy. Never did never. But I do know that when you get somethin' like this into it, only you can put it out. Go then, and my blessin's with you. Even," she concluded tightly, "if you won't tell me the why of it." 
   Bending over, he kissed the gray bun curled at the lack of the old woman's head. "Blessings on you too, Mother," he said as she squirmed violently at the gesture. 
   It didn't take him long to pack the few 'possessions he wanted to bring with him. They didn't seem to mean much to him now. As he started to leave the room, he saw that the woman was still sitting alone at the table, a suddenly tiny and frail figure. How could he tell her he had to risk the life she'd coddled in a vain search for the people who had done nothing beyond giving him birth ...? 
   When he arrived at Drallar Port later that day, he found he was only physically tired. His mind was sharp and alert. Over the years he had gradually discovered that he required less and less sleep. Some days he could get by with as little as half an hour. His mind rested when it wasn't being pushed, which was frequently. 
   He no longer had to worry about how he would travel, for there were sufficient funds registered on his cardmeter to sustain him for some time yet. Malaika had been generous. Not all the determining factors were financial, however. A glance at those waiting to board the first-class section of the shuttlecraft engendered an acute sense of unease in him, so he registered for standard fare. 
   Traveling so would be more enlightening anyway, for his first journey on a commercial spacecraft and his second time off Moth. As he followed the line into the shuttle, passing under the mildly aristocratic eye of the steward, he was shocked to discover that his about-to-be-realized childhood dream of traveling off- planet in one of the great KK-drive freightliners no longer held any thrill for him. It worried him as he strapped into his couch.
   Mother Mastiff could have explained it to him if she were there. It was called growing up. 
   Though tolerable, the shuttle journey was rougher than his single previous experience with the little surface-to-orbit vessels. Naturally, he told himself, the pokier commercial craft would be nowhere near as luxurious as the shuttle carried by Malaika's yacht, the Gloryhole. This one was designed solely to get as many beings and as much cargo as possible from the ground into free-fall as economically as possible. There they could be transferred—passengers and cargo alike, with sometimes equivalent handling—into the great globular bulk of the deepspace ship. 
   Following that transfer Flinx found himself assigned to a small, compactly designed cabin. He barely took the time to inspect it, and he had little to unpack. During the week-long journey he would spend the majority of travel time in the ship's several lounges, meeting fellow travelers—and learning. 
   The shift from sublight to KK-drive superlight velocity was hardly a surprise. He had already experienced it several times on Malaika's ship. 
   One part of the liner he especially enjoyed. From a forward observation lounge he could look ahead and see the immense length of the ship's connecting corridor rods stretching outward like a broad narrowing highway to join the back of the colossal curving dish of the KK field projector. It blotted out the stars ahead. 
   Somewhere in front of that enormous dish, he knew, the drive unit was projecting the gravity well of a small sun. It pulled the ship steadily and, in turn, the drive projector which then projected the field that much further ahead—and so on. Flinx wondered still at the explanation of it and decided that all great inventions were essentially simple. 
   He was amusing himself in the ship's game lounge' on the third day when a neatly painted thranx in the stark brown, yellow, and green of commerce took the couch opposite. Less than a meter high at the b-thorax, he was small for a male. Both sets of wing cases still gleamed on his back, indicating that the traveler was as yet unmated. Brilliant, faceted eyes regarded Flinx through multiple gemlike lenses. The wonderful natural perfume odor of his kind drifted across the game table. 
   The creature glanced down at the glowing board, then its valentine-shaped head cocked curiously at the young human operating it. 
   "You play hibush-hunt? Most humans find it too complicated. You usually prefer two-dimensional games." The insect's symbospeech was precise and textbook-flat, the variety any good business thranx would speak. 
   "I've heard a little about it and I've watched it played," Flinx told his visitor modestly. "I really don't know how to play myself." 
   Mandibles clacked m a gesture of interest and understanding, since the insect's inflexible chitonous face allowed for nothing as robbery as a smile. A slight nod of the head was more easily imitated. 
   Question-response having served for a courteous greeting, the thranx settled himself more firmly on the couch, trulegs doubled up beneath the abdomen, foothands locked to support the thorax and b-thorax, and truhands moving with delicate precision over the board, adjusting the game plan. "My name is Bisondenbit," he declared. 
   "I'm called Flinx." 
   "One calling?" The thranx performed an insectoid shrug. "Well, Flinx, if you'd like to learn, I have some small skill at the game. Which is to say I know the rules. I am not a very good player, so I’ll probably make a good first opponent for you." Again the mandible clicking, accompanied this time by a whistling sound—thranx laughter. 
   Flinx smiled back. "I'd like to learn very much." 
   "Good, good ... this is a standoffish group and I've been preening antennae till my nerves are beginning to twitch." The head bobbed.  "Your biggest mistake," Bisondenbit began in businesslike fashion, "is that you're still neglecting the ability of your pieces to move above ground and downward, as well as through existing tunnels. You've got to keep your antennae to the board and seek to penetrate your opponent's movements." 
   The thranx touched a silvery figure within the three-dimensional transparent board.  "Stay attuned now. This is a Doan fighter and can move only laterally and vertically, though it can never appear on the surface. This divisible piece here . . ." 
   Flinx got to know Bisondenbit fairly well during the remainder of the trip. The alien kept his actual business veiled in vague circumlocutions, but Flinx got the impression he was an antique dealer. Perhaps there would be a chance to pick up some interesting curios for Mother Mastiff's shop. 
   Bisondenbit did display in full a trait which had helped endear his kind to humans: the ability to listen attentively no matter how boring the story being told. He seemed to find Flinx's judiciously censored story of his own life up to his present journey fascinating. 
   "Look," he told Flinx as they shared supper in one of the ship's dining lounges, "you've never been to Hivehom before and you're determined to look up this human what's-his-name—Challis? At least I can help you get oriented. You'll no doubt find him somewhere on the Mediterranea Plateau. That's where most of the human settlers live." The insect quivered. "Though why anyone would choose to set up housekeeping on a chilly tundra like that is beyond my understanding." 
   Flinx had to smile. The mean temperature on the Mediterranea Plateau, a level area several thousand meters above the steaming, humid swamplands of Hivehom, was a comfortable 22° C. The thranx preferred the high thirties, with humidity as near one hundred percent as possible. 
   The word colonization was never mentioned in connection with such settlements—on either world. There were several such human regions on Hivehom, of which the Mediterranea Plateau, with apopulation of nearly three million, was by far the largest. The thranx welcomed such exploitation of the inhospitable regions they had always shunned. Besides, there were some four million thranx living in the Amazon basin on Terra alone—which sort of evened things out.
   Most of the large human-dominated concerns, Bisondenbit explained, made their headquarters on the southern edge of the Plateau, near the big shuttleport at Chitteranx. This Challis had DO doubt located him-self there, too. 
   "The human city there has a thranx name—Azerick," Bisondenbit went on, whistling softly. "That's High Thranx for 'frozen waste,' which in this case has a double meaning I won't go into, except to say that it's a good thing you humans have a sense of humor approximating our own. After we land, I'll be happy to take you up there myself, though I won't stay long. I'm not equipped for arctic travel. Furthermore, Azerick is not cheap." He hesitated politely. "You look pretty young for a human out traveling on his own. You have funds?"
   "I can scrape by," Flinx admitted cautiously. Probably it was his innate distrust of others, though he had to admit that in the past few days Bisondenbit had been not only helpful but downright friendly. 
   They boarded the shuttle together. Flinx sat near a glassalloy port, where he would, have a good view of the principal thranx world, one of the Common- wealth's dual capitals. The planet swung lazily below him as the shuttle separated from the freightliner and commenced its descent. Two large moons glowed whitely above the far horizon, one partly hidden by the planet. Wherever the cloud cover broke, Flinx could see hints of blue from Hivehom's small oceans, rich green from its thick jungles. 
   Suddenly he felt the force of gravity pressing him back in his seat as the shuttle dropped tail first through the clouds.... 
   Chapter Three
    
   Chitteranx was impressive. Though a small port for a world as populous and developed as Hivehom, it still dwarfed the shuttleport of Drallar. 
   "The city is mostly underground, of course. All thranx cities are, though the surface is well utilized." The jeweled head shook in puzzlement. "Why you humans have always chosen to build up instead of down is something I'll never comprehend." 
   Flinx's attention was more engaged by the view through the transparent access corridor than by the standard sights of the shuttle terminal. Lush jungle practically overgrew the plastic walls. It was raining outside—steaming, rather. The heat in the terminal was oppressive, despite the fact that it was a com- promise between the delightful weather outside—as Bisondenbit called it—and the arctic air atop the nearby plateau. 
   Rain, Flinx had grown up with on Moth, but the humidity was something new and unpleasant. Humans could tolerate a hothouse climate, but not for long without protection, and never comfortably. 
   Bisondenbit, however, could only grumble about the chill inside the terminal. When Flinx remonstrated, he told him. "This is the principal human port of entry on Hivehom. If we'd landed near the equator, at Daret or Ab-Neub, you'd be wilting, Flinx." He looked around as they emerged from the terminal proper into a cluster of roofed-over commercial buildings. 
   "Before I have to accompany you up to the plateau, and struggle into a hotsuit, let me enjoy a rational climate for a while. What about a drink?" "I'd really like to start looking for Challis as soon as—" 
   "The plafeau shuttles run every ten chronits," Bisondenbit insisted.  "Do come. Besides, you still haven't told me: What do you keep in that box?" A truhand gestured at the large square, case Flinx lugged with his left hand. 
   "It must be something exotic and valuable, judging from the care with which you've handled it." 
   "It's exotic, I suppose," he admitted, "but not particularly valuable." 
   They found a small eating place just inside the climate-controlled cluster of buildings. Only a few humans were present, though it was crowded with thranx. Flinx was thoroughly enchanted with the thranx resting couches, the subdued lighting which made even midday appear dim, and the ornately carved, communal drinking cannisters suspended from the ceiling above each booth. 
   Bisondenbit selected an isolated table at the back of the room and made helpful though unnecessary recommendations. Flinx had no trouble deciphering the menu which was printed in four languages: High Thranx, Low Thranx, symbospeech and Terrangio. 
   Bisondenbit ordered after Flinx opted for one of the several thousand liqueurs which the thranx were masters at concocting. 
   "When do you want to go back to the terminal to pick up the rest of your luggage?" the insect asked casually, after their drinks arrived. He noted with approval that Plinx disdained a glass in favor of one of the weaving-spouted tankards used by the thranx themselves. 
   "This is it," Flinx told him, indicating his small shoulder bag and the single large perforated case. Bisondenbit didn't try to conceal his surprise. 
   "That's all you've brought all this way with you, without knowing how long it will take you to find this human Challis?" 
   "I've always traveled light," was his companion's explanation. The drink was typically sweet, with a faint flavor of raisin. It went down warm and smooth. The trip, he decided, was beginning to catch up with him. He was more tired than he should be this early in the day. Obviously he wasn't quite the urbane interstellar traveler he pictured himself as. 
   "Besides, it shouldn't be hard to find Challis. Certainly he'll be staying at his local company headquarters." Flinx let another swallow of the thick, honeylike fluid slide down his throat, then frowned. Despite his age, he considered himself a good judge of intoxicants, but this new brew was apparently more potent than the menu description indicated. He found his vision blurring slightly. 
   Bisondenbit peered at him solicitously. "Are you all right? If you've never had Sookcha before, it can be a bit overwhelming. Packs quite a concussion?" 
   "Punch," Flinx corrected thickly. 
   "Yes, quite a punch. Don't worry ... the feeling will pass quick enough." 
   But Flinx felt himself growing steadily groggier. "I think ... if I could just get outside. A little fresh air ..." He Started to get up, but discovered his legs responded with indifference while his feet moved as if he were walking on an oiled treadmill. It was impossible to get any traction. 
   Abandoning the effort, he found that his muscular system was entering a state of anarchy. "That's funny," he murmured, "I can't seem to move." 
   "No need to be concerned," Bisondenbit assured him, leaning across the table and staring at him with an intensity that was new to Flinx. "I'll see that you're properly taken care of." 
   As all visual images faded, Flinx feared his strange, new acquaintance would do just that....
   Flinx awoke to the harmony of destruction, accompanied by curses uttered in several languages. Blinking —his eyelids felt as if they were lined with platinum —he fought unsuccessfully to move his arms and legs.  Failing this, he settled for holding his eyes partially open. Dim light from an unseen source illuminated the little room in which he lay. Spartan furnishings of rough-hewn wood were backed by smooth walls of argent gunite. As his perceptions cleared he discovered that metal bands at his wrists and ankles secured him to a crude wooden platform that was neither bed nor table. 
   He lay quietly. For one thing, his stomach was performing gymnastics and it would be best to keep the surroundings subdued until the internal histrionics ceased. For another, the sensations and sounds surrounding him indicated it would be unwise to call attention to his new consciousness. 
   The sounds of destruction were being produced by the methodical dissection of his personal effects. Looking slowly to his right, he saw the shredded remains of his shoulder bag and clothing. These were being inspected by three humans and a single thranx. Recognizing the latter as his former games mentor and would-be friend, Bisondenbit, he damned his own naivete. 
   Back in Drallar he would never have been so loquacious with a total stranger. But he had been three days isolated and friendless on board ship when the thranx had approached him with his offer of games instruction. Gratitude had shunted aside instinctive caution. 
   "No weapons, no poison, no beamer, needler—not even a threatening note," complained one of the mea in fluent symbospeech. 
   "What's worse," one of his companions chipped in, "no money. Nothing but a lousy cardmeter." He held up the compact computer unit which registered and transferred credit in unforgeable fashion, and tossed it disgustedly onto a nearby table. It landed among the rest of Flinx's few possessions. Flinx noted that there was one remaining object they had not yet broken into. 
   "That's not my fault," Bisondenbit complained, glaring with eyes of shattered prism at the three tall humans. "I didn't promise to deliver any fringe benefits. If you don't think I've earned my fee I'll go straight to Challis himself." 
   One of the men looked resigned. Taking a double handful of small metal rectangles from one pocket, he handed them to Bisondenbit. The thranx counted them carefully. 
   The human who had paid him looked over at the restraining bonds, and Flinx closed his eyes just in time. "That's a lot of money. I don't know why Challis is so afraid—this is just a kid. But he thinks it's worth the fee you demanded. Don't understand it, though." 
   The man indicated the biggest of the three. "Charlie, here, could break him in two with one hand." Turning, he tapped the large sealed case. "What's in this?" "I don't know," the thranx admitted. "He kept it in his cabin all the time." 
   The third man spoke up. His tone was vaguely contemptuous. "You can all stop worrying about it. I've been examining that container with appropriate instrumentation while the rest of you have been occupying yourselves with a harmless wardrobe." He gave the bag a shove. "There's no indication it contains any- thing mechanical or explosive. Readings indicated that it's full of shaped organics and organic analogs—probably the rest of his clothing." He sighed. "Might as well check it out. We're paid to be thorough." Taking a pair of thick metal clippers from a neat tool case, he snipped through the squat combination lock. That done, the top of the case opened easily. He peered inside, grunted. "Clothes, all right. Looks like another couple of suits and—" He started to remove the first set of clothing—then screamed and, stumbling backward, clawed at the left side of his face, which was suddenly bubbling like hot mud. A narrow, beltlifce shape erupted from the open case. 
   Bisondenbit chattered something in High Thranx and vanished out the single door. The one called Charlie fell backward across Flinx's pinioned form, his beamer firing wildly at the ceiling as he dug m awful silence at his own eyes. The leader of the little group of humans was close on Bisondenbit's abdomen when something hit him at the back of his neck. Howling, he fell back into the room and started rolling across the floor. 
   Less than a minute had passed. 
   Something long and smooth slid onto Flinx's chest. 
   "Thats enough. Pip," he said to his pet. But the minidrag was beyond persuasion. His inspection over, he took to the air again and began darting and striking at the man on the floor. Gaping holes appeared in the supplicant's clothing and skin wherever the venom struck. Eventually the man stopped rolling. 
   The first man who had been struck was already dead, while the second lay moaning against a wall behind Flinx. Pieces of skin hung loosely from his cheek and neck; and a flash of white showed where Pip's extremely corrosive poison had exposed the bone. 
   Meanwhile the minidrag settled gently on Flinx's stomach, slid upward caressingly. The long tongue darted out again and again to touch lips and chin. "The right hand, Pip," Flinx instructed, "my right hand." In the darkness the reptile eyed him questioningly. 
   Flinx snapped Ms fingers in a special way and now the minidrag half crawled, half fluttered over to the hand in question, rested his head in the open palm. A few scratches and then the hand closed gently but firmly. The snake offered no resistance. 
   Adjusting his pet with some difficulty, Flinx aligned Pip's snout with the place where the metal band was locked to the table. His fingers moved, massaging various muscles behind the jaw. A few droplets of poison oozed from the tapered tube which ran through the minidrag's lower palate. 
   There was a sizzling sound
   Flinx wafted until the noise died away, then palled hard. A second pull and the rotted metal gave way. Transferring Pip, with greater control now, he repeated the process on his other bindings, the snake doing his bidding through each step. 
   As he was freeing his left leg, Flinx noticed a movement on his right. So did Pip, and the minidrag took to the air again. 
   The single survivor shrieked as the dragon shape moved close. "Get away, get away, don't let it near me?" he gibbered in total terror. 
   "Pip!" Flinx commanded. A hushed pause. The mrinidrag continued to hover nervously before the crouching man, its wings a hummingbird blur, soul- less, cold-blooded eyes staring into those of the bleeding human whose clavicle showed pale through dissolved clothing. 
   Flinx finally ripped clear of the last strap. Getting slowly to his feet, he made his way carefully to the other table. The clothes he'd been wearing were an unsalvageable mess. He began to slip into the second jumpsuit, in whose folds Pip had been so comfortably coiled. 
   “I'm sorry for your friends, but not too sorry," he murmured. Zipping up the suit, Flinx turned to the shocked creature on the floor. "Tell me the whole story and don't leave out any details. The more questions I have to ask, the more impatient Pip will get." 
   A stream of information poured from the man's lips. "Your thranx friend is a small-time criminal." 
   "Antique services," Flinx muttered. "Very funny. Go on." 
   "It struck him odd that a kid like you, traveling alone, would be so interested in looking up Conda Challis. On a hunch he beamed Challis' offices here and told them about you. Someone high up got upset as hell and told him to deliver you to us, to be checked out." 
   "Makes sense," Flinx agreed. "What was supposed to happen to me after I was—er—checked out?"
   The man huddled into the comer farthest away from the fluttering minidrag, whispered, "Use your head— what do you think?" 
   "Challis claimed he was the thorough type," Flinx observed. "I could have been an innocent passenger— it wouldn't have mattered."  Repacking his few intact belongings in the hand case, Flinx started for the door that Bisondenbit had exited through only moments before. 
   "What about me?" the man mumbled. "Are you going to kill me?" 
   Flinx turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the human wreck who had confidently pawed through his luggage just minutes before. "No. What for? Tell me where I can find Conda Challis. Then I'd advise you to get to a hospital." 
   "He's on the top floor of the executive pylon at the far end of the complex." 
   "What complex?" Flinx asked, puzzled. 
   "That's right—you still don't know where you are, do you?" Flinx shook his head. "This is the fourth sublevel of the Challis Hivehom Mining Components plant. The Challis family's very big in mining machinery. 
   "Go to the corridor outside the door, turn to your left, and keep on until you reach a row of lifts. They all go to the surface. From there anyone can direct you to the executive pylon—the plant grounds are hexagon-shaped and the pylon's at the northeast corner." 
   "Thanks," said Flinx. "You've been helpful." 
   "Not helpful, you poisonous little bastard," the unemployed cripple muttered painfully as soon as Flinx had departed, "just pragmatic." He began to crawl slowly toward the open door. 
   - In the corridor, once assured that no one waited in ambush, Flinx snapped his fingers again. "Pip ... rest now." 
   The minidrag hissed agreeably and fluttered down into the open case, burying itself quietly within the folded shreds of torn clothing. Flinx snapped the latch shut. At the first opportunity he would have to replace the ruined lock, or else chance some innocent bystander suffering the same fate as his three former captors. 
   No one challenged him as he continued on toward the lifts. The numbers alongside the doors were labeled 4-B, 3-B and so on to zero, where the count began again in normal fashion. Four levels above ground and four below, Flinx noted. Zero ought to take him to the surface, and that was the button he pressed when a car finally arrived. 
   The lift deposited him in an efficiently designed four-story glass antechamber. A steady stream of humans and thranx utilized the lifts around him. "Your pardon," a triad of thranx trilled, as they made their way purposefully into the lift he had just vacated. 
   Although every eye seemed focused on him, in reality no one was paying him the least attention. No reason they should, he thought, relaxing. Only one man and a few of his minions would be hunting him. 
   A large desk conveniently labeled Information was set just inside the transparent facade of the vaulted chamber. A single thranx sat behind it. Flinx strolled over, trying to give the impression that he knew exactly what he was about. 
   "Excuse me," he began, in fluent High Thranx, "can you tell me how to get to the executive pylon from here?" 
   The elderly, rather officious-looking insect turned to face him. He was painted black and yellow, Flinx noted, and was utterly devoid of the enamel chiton inlay the thranx were so fond of. A pure business type. 
   "Northeast quadrant," the thranx said sharply, implying that the asker should know better. "You go out the main door there," he continued, pointing with a truhand as a foothand supported his thorax on the table edge, "and turn left down H portal. The pylon is a full twelve floors with carport on top." 
   “Blessings of the Hive on you,” Flinx said easily. The oldster eyed him sharply.
   "Say, what do you want with ...?" 
   But Flinx had already been swallowed up by the bustling crowd. The officer hunted for him a moment longer, then gave up and went back to his job. 
   Flinx made rapid progress across the factory grounds. A friendly worker gave him ready directions the one time he found himself lost. When he finally spied the unmistakable shape of the executive pylon, he slowed, suddenly aware that from this point on he had no idea how to proceed. 
   Challis" reaction to his unexpected appearance was going to be something less than loving. And this time he, if not his underlings, would be prepared to deal with Pip. For all his lethal abilities, the minidrag was far from invulnerable. 
   Somehow, he was going to have to slip inside the tower and find out where Challis was. Even from here he could sense the powerful emanations of a smaller, darker presence. But he had no guarantee that he would find Mahnahmi and Challis together. Did the girl sense his presence as well? It was a sobering thought. 
   Deciding to move fast and purposefully, he strode boldly through the tower's main entrance. But this was no factory annex. An efficient-looking thranx with three inlaid chevrons on his b-thorax was there to intercept him—politely, of course. 
   "Swarm be with your business," the insect murmured. "You will state both it and your name, please." 
   Flinx was about to answer when a door on one side burst open. A squad of heavily armed thranx gushed out, the leader pointing and shouting:  "That's the one—restrain him!" 
   Reacting swiftly, the officer who had confronted Flinx put a truhand on one arm. Flinx brought his leg up and kicked reluctantly. The armorlike chiton was practically invulnerable—except at the joints, where Flinx's foot struck. The joint cracked audibly and the officer let out an agonized chirp as Flinx broke for the rank of lifts directly ahead. 
    Jumping inside, he swung clear and .hit the topmost switch, noticing that it was for the eleventh floor. A key was required to reach the twelfth. 
   Several beamers pierced the lift doors even as the car began its ascent. Fortunately they didn't strike any vital machinery and his ride wasn't slowed, though the three molten-edged holes bored in the door provided plenty of food for thought. 
   An angry pounding and banging inside the carrybag attracted his attention. Once the latch was popped a furious Pip rocketed out. After a rapid inspection of the lift's interior the minidrag settled nervously around Flinx's right shoulder. It coiled tightly there, muscles tense with excitement. 
   There was no point in keeping the reptile concealed any longer, since they clearly knew who he was. But who/what had given him away? 
   Mahnahmi—it had to be! He almost felt as if he could sense a girlish, mocking laughter. Her capacity for mischief remained an unknown quantity. It was possible that her mental talents exceeded his own, both in strength and lack of discipline. Of course, no one would believe that if he had the chance to tell of it. Mahnahmi had her role of goggle-eyed, innocent infant perfected. 
   The question, though, was whether her malicious- ness was grounded in calculation or merely in a desire for undisciplined destruction. He sensed that she could change from hate to love, each equally intense, at a moment's thought. If only she would realize that he meant her no harm ... then it came to him that she probably did. 
   He was a source of potential amusement to her, nothing more. 
   Some simple manipulations sufficed to jimmy the door mechanism. When the car passed the tenth floor he jumped clear, then turned to watch it continue past him. Frantically, he began to hunt around the room that appeared to be a combination of offices and living quarters, probably belonging to one of Challis' principal assistants. Or maybe the plant manager. 
   If there were no stairways he would be trapped here. He didn't think Challis' bodyguard was so stupid as to allow him to descend and escape. 
   At least these quarters were deserted. As he considered his situation, a violent explosion sounded above. Looking up, he saw shredded metal and plastic alloy fall smoking back down the lift shaft. 
   He suddenly realized that there was only one way to deal with Mahnahmi's mischief. Consciously, he fought to blank his mind, to suppress every consideration of subsequent action, every hint of preconception. "The dark cloud which had hovered nearby slowly faded. He could no longer detect Mahnahmi's presence—and she should be equally blind to his whereabouts. There was a chance she, like everyone else, would momentarily think that he had died in the ambush of the lift car. 
   A quick patrol revealed that these quarters had only one entrance—the single, now useless lift. No other lift opened on this level. That left one way in to the floor above—the roof carport. Gradually his gaze came to rest on the curving window that looked out across the plant and to the Plateau beyond. 
   Flinx moved to the window, found it opened easily. The side of the pylon was marked with decorative ripples and thranx pebbling. He looked upward, considered one additional possibility. 
   At least they wouldn't be expecting him anymore. 
   His mind briefly registered the magnificent panorama of the Mediterran Plateau, dotted with factories and human settlements. In the distance the mist-filled low- lands stretched to the horizon. 
   The footing on the rippled metal exterior of the building was not as sure as he would have liked, but he would manage. At least he had to climb only one floor. Moving through the apartment-office, he located the bathroom, opened the window there, and started up. 
   Unless the floor plan upstairs was radically different, he should encounter another bathroom, perhaps larger but hopefully unoccupied, above the one he had just exited from. That would be the best place from which to make an unobtrusive entrance. 
   Moving hands and feet methodically, he made slow but steady progress upward, never looking back. In Drallar he had climbed greater heights on wet, less certain surfaces—and at a younger age at that. Still, he moved cautiously here. 
   The absence of Wind was a blessing. In good time he encountered a ledge. There was a window above it. Reaching, he pulled himself up so that he was staring through the transparent pane, and observed with satisfaction that the window was open a few centimeters. Then he noticed the two figures standing at the back of the room. One was fat and sweating, a condition not due to recent exercise. The other was small, blond, and wide-eyed. 
   Suddenly they saw him. 
   "Don't let him get m&, Daddy," she said in mock- fright. Opening his mind, Flinx sensed the excitement racing through hers and he felt sick. 
   "I don't know why you persist in tormenting me," Challis said in confusion, his beamer now focused on Flinx's shoulder. "I didn't hurt you badly. You've turned into something of a pest. Good-bye." His finger started to tighten on the trigger. 
   Pip was off Flinx's shoulder instantly. Challis saw the snake- move, shifted his aim, and fired. Remembrance of what the minidrag was capable of shook the merchant, and his shot went wild. It struck the wooden molding above the window, missing Pip and Flinx completely. Whatever the molding was made of, it burned with a satisfying fury. In seconds the gap between window and Challis was filled with flame and smoke. 
   While the smoke chased the merchant from the room and prevented him from getting a clear shot, it also left Flinx pinned outside the window. He started downward as rapidly as he dared, Pip thrumming angrily around his head and looking for something to kill. Flinx doubted he could make the ground safely before Challis got word to the guards below. Slowly he descended past one floor, a second, a third. On the fourth floor down he noticed that the reflective one-way paneling had broken and been repaired with transparent film. 
   Two sharp kicks enlarged the opening and he jumped through—to find himself confronting a single startled woman: 
   She screamed. 
   "Please," he begged, making calming sounds and moving toward her. "Don't do that. I don't mean you any harm." 
   She screamed again. 
   Flinx made violent shushing motions with his hands. "Be quiet ... they'll find me." 
   She continued to scream. 
   Flinx halted and thought furiously what to do. Someone was bound to hear the noise any second. 
   Pip solved the immediate problem. He lurched speculatively at the woman.  She saw the long, sinuous, quick-moving reptilian form, mouth agape, rushing toward her on broad membranous wings. 
   She fainted. 
   That stopped the screaming, but Flinx was still trapped in a now alerted building with next to no prospect of slipping out unseen. His gaze traveled frantically around the room, searching for a large carton to hide in or a weapon or ... anything useful. Eventually his attention returned to the woman. She had fallen awkwardly and he moved to shift her into a more natural resting position. As he propped her up, Flinx noticed a bathroom nearby. His gaze shot back to the girl.... 
   A minute later several heavily armed guards burst into the unlocked room. It seemed to be deserted. They fanned out, made a quick inspection of every possible hiding place. One guard entered the bathroom, noticed feminine legs beneath the privacy shield, and hastily withdrew, apologizing. With his comrades he left and moved on to inspect the next office. 
    Three offices later it occurred to him that the woman hadn't responded to his apology—not with a thank- you, not with a frosty acknowledgment, not with a curse. Nothing. That struck him as being strange and he mentioned the fact to his superior. 
   Together they dashed back to the office in question, entered the bathroom. The legs were still in the same position. Cautiously, the officer knocked on the shield, cleared his throat appraisingly. When there was no response, he directed the other two men to stand back and cover the shield exitway, which he then opened from the outside. 
   The woman was just opening' her eyes. She found herself sitting stark naked on the convenience, staring into the muzzles of two energy weapons held in the steady grip of a pair of resolute-looking, uniformed men. 
   She fainted again. 
   By the time the badly shaken woman had been revived once more, Flinx was well clear of the tower. No one had noticed the lithe, short-haired woman leaving the building. Flinx had made excellent use of the cosmetics found in the woman's desk—in Drallar it was useful to have knowledge of abilities others might find absurd or even disreputable. Only one clerk had noticed anything unusual. But he wasn't about to mention to his fellows that the double leather belt encircling the woman's waist had moved independently of her walk. 
   Finally away from both the tower and the Challis plant, Flinx discarded the woman's clothing and let Pip slip free from around his belly. Disdaining normal transportation channels as too dangerous now, he made his way to the edge of the escarpment. 
   The two-thousand-meter drop was breathtaking, but he couldn't risk waiting around the Plateau for some of Challis' armed servants to challenge him in the street. Nor did he want to risk awkward questions from the authorities. So he took a deep breath, selected what looked like the least sheer cliff, and began his descent. The basalt was nearly vertical, but crumbling and weathered, so he encountered an. abundance of handholds. Even so, he doubted that Challis would imagine that anyone would consider descending the escarpment by hand and foot. 
   Flinx came upon some bad places, but the overgrowth of dangling vines and creepers enabled him to bypass these successfully. His arms began to ache, and once, when a foot momentarily became numb, he was left clinging precariously by fingers and one set of toes to tiny cracks in the rock. 
   At the thousand-meter mark, the cliff started to angle slightly away from him, making climbing much easier. He increased his pace. Finally, bruised, scratched, and utterly exhausted, Flinx reached the jungle at the bottom. Pausing a moment to orient himself, he headed immediately in what he hoped was the direction of the port. He had chosen his place of descent with care, so he didn't have far to go through the dense vegetation. 
   But he was totally unaware that he was struggling over a region as densely populated as any of Terra's major cities. An entire thranx metropolis lay below him, hewn in traditional fashion, from the earth and rock beneath the sweltering surface. Flinx walked upon a green cloud that hovered over the city. 
   Totally drained and beginning to wish Challis had shot him, he shoved himself through one more stubborn cluster of bushes ... then stumbled onto the surface of a neatly paved roadway. Two more days, and he had made his way back to Chitteranx Port. Those he met cautiously avoided him. He was quite aware of the sight he must present after his scramble down the cliff wall and his hike through the jungle. 
   A few thranx did take pity on the poor human, enough to provide him with sufficient food and water to continue on. 
   The sight of the Port outskirts cheered him immensely. Pip took to the air at Flinx's shout of joy before settling back on his master's shoulder. Flinx glanced up at the minidrag, who looked relaxed and comfortable in the tropical heat so like that of his native world of Alaspin. 
   "You can afford to look content, spade-face," Flinx addressed his companion enviously. While he had fought his way down the cliff centimeter by centimeter, Pip had fluttered and soared freely nearby, always urging him on faster and faster, when a single misstep could have meant quick death. 
   The clerk at the overbank counter in the Port terminal was human, but that didn't prevent him from maintaining his composure at the sight of a dirty, ragged youth approaching. A wise man, he had learned early in life a basic dictum: odd appearance may indicate wealth or eccentricity, with the two not necessarily mutually exclusive. 
   So he treated the ragamuffin as he would have any well-dressed, clearly affluent arrival. "May I be of service, sir?" he inquired politely, unobtrusively turning his head to one side. 
   Flinx explained his needs. The information he provided was fed to a computer. A short while later the machine insisted that the person standing before the counter—name Flinx, given recorded name Philip Lynx, retina pattern so-and-so, pulse variables such- and-such, heart configuration thus-and-that—was indeed a registered depositor at the King's Bank on Moth, in the city of Drallar, and that his present drawable balance as of this date was ... 
   The clerk stood a little straighter, fought to face Flinx. "Now then, sir, how did you happen to lose your registered cardmeter?" 
   "I had an accident," Flinx explained cryptically, "and it fell out of my pocket." 
   "Yes." The clerk continued to smile. "No need to worry. As you know, only you can utilize a personal cardmeter. We will note the disappearance of your old cardmeter and within the hour you will have a new one waiting at this desk for you." 
   "I can wait. However," he indicated his clothing with an eloquent sweep of his hands, "I'd like to bay some new clothes, and get cleaned up a little." 
   "Naturally," the clerk agreed, reaching professionally into a drawer. "K you'll just sign this slip and permit me to register your eyeprint on it, we can advance you. whatever you require." 
   Flinx applied for a ridiculously modest amount, listened to the clerk's directions as to where he could hire a bath and buy clothing, and left with a grateful handshake. 
   The jumpsuit he eventually chose was more elaborate than the two Hivehom had already appropriated, but he felt he owed himself a little luxury after what he had been through. 
   The bath occupied most of the rest of the hour, and when he returned to the overbank desk he once more resembled a human being instead of a denizen of Hivehom's jungles. As promised, his new cardmeter was ready for him. 
   "Anything else I can do for you, sir?" 
   "Thanks, you've done more than enough. I ..." He paused, looked to his left. "Excuse me, but I see an old friend." 
   He left the clerk with an open mouth and a tip of ten percent of his total withdrawal. 
   The central terminal floor was high-domed and filled with the noise of travelers arriving and departing. The smallish thranx Flinx strode up behind was engaged in activity of a different sort. 
   "I think you'd better give that lady back her abdomen purse," he whispered to the insectoid lightfinger. As he spoke, a lavishly miaid and chiton-bejeweled thranx matron, her flaking exoskeleton elegantly streaked with silver, turned to stare curiously at him. 
   At the same time the thranx Flinx had surprised started visibly and whirled to confront his accuser. "Sir, if you think that I have ..." The voice turned to a clacking gargle. Flinx smiled engagingly as Pip stirred on his shoulder. 
   "Hello. Bisondenbit."
   The concept of compound eyes bugging outward was unreasonable from a physiologic standpoint, but that was the impression Flinx received. Bisondenbit's antennae were quivering so violently Flinx thought they might shake free, and the thranx was staring in expectant terror at the lethal length of Pip. 
   "The abdomen purse," Flinx repeated softly, "and calm down before you crack your braincase." 
   "Y-ye-yes," Bisondenbit stuttered. Interesting! Flinx had never heard a thranx stutter before. Turning to the old female, Bisondenbit reached into an overly capacious b-thorax pouch and withdrew a small, six- sided bag of woven gold-colored metal. 
   "You just dropped this. Queen Mother," he muttered reluctantly, using the formalized honorific. "The hooks have come all unbent ... see?" 
   , The matron was checking her own abdomen with a foothand while reaching for the purse with a truhand. 
   "I don't understand. I was certain it was secured 
   ..." She broke off, ducked her head and executed a movement with skull and antennae indicative of pro- found thanks, adding verbally, "Your service is much appreciated, warsire." 
   Flinx flinched when she bestowed the undeserved compliment on Bisondenbit. 
   That worthy's courteous pose lasted until the matron had passed out of hearing range. Then he turned nervous eyes on Flinx. "I didn't want you killed ... I didn't want anyone killed," he stammered rapidly, "they said nothing to me about a killing. I only was to bring you to ..." 
   "Settle down," Flinx advised him. "And stop yammermg of death. There are already too many deaths in this." 
   "Oh, on that I concur," the thranx confessed, the tension leaving him slowly.  "None of my doing." Abruptly his attitude changed from one of fear to one of intense curiosity. 
   "How did you manage to escape the tower and leave the plateau? I am told many were watching for you but none saw you leave." 
      "I flew down," Flinx said, "after I made myself invisible." 
   Bisondenbit eyed him uncertainly, started to laugh, stopped, then stared again. "You are a most peculiar fellow, even for a human. I do not know whether to believe you or not." He suddenly looked around the busy terminal, his nervousness returning. "Powerful people around Chaflis want to know your whereabouts. There is talk of a large reward, to be paid without questions. The only clue anyone has as to your escape, however, resides in a woman who is confined to a hospital. She is hysterical still." 
   "I'm sorry for that," Flinx murmured honestly. 
   "It is not good for me to be seen with you—you have become a desired commodity." 
   "It's always nice to be wanted," Flmx replied, blithely ignoring Bisondenbit's fear for his own safety. "By the way, I didn't know that the thranx counted pickpocketing among their talents." 
   "From a digital standpoint we've always been adroit. Many humans have acquired equally, ah, useful abilities from us." 
   "I can imagine," Flinx snorted. "I happen to live in a city overstocked with such abilities. But I haven't time to debate the morality of dubious cultural ex- changes. Just tell me where I can find Conda Challis." 
   Bisondenbit eyed the youth as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra pair of hands. "He almost lolled you. It seems he wants another chance. I can't believe you will continue to seek out such a powerful enemy. I consider myself a fair judge of human types. You do not appear revenge-motivated." 
   "I'm not," Flinx confessed uneasily, aware that Small Symm had assumed he was following Challis for the same reason. People persisted in ascribing to him motives he didn't possess. 
   "If not revenge, then what is it you follow him for ... not that it makes me sad to see a beme of Challis' reputation squirm a little, even if it be bad for business." 
   "Just tell me where he is." 
   "If you'll tell me why you seek him." 
   Flinx nudged Pip and the flying snake stirred, yawned to show a sac-backed gullet. "I don't think that's necessary," Flinx said softly, meaningfully. A terrified Bisondenbit threw up truhands and foothands in feeble defense.       . . 
   "Never mind," sighed Flinx, tired of threatening. "If I tell you it might even filter convincingly back to Challis. I just think he holds information on who my real parents are and what happened to them after they ... abandoned me." 
   "Parents?" Bisondenbit looked quizzical. "I was told you had threatened Challis." 
   "Not true. He's paranoid because of an incident in our mutual past. He wanted me to do something and I didn't want to do it." 
   "For that you've killed several people?" 
   "I haven't killed anyone," Flinx protested unhappily. "Pip has, and then only to defend me." 
   "Well, the dead are the dead," Bisondenbit observed profoundly. He gazed in disbelief at Flinx. "I did not believe any being, even a human, could be so obsessed with perverse desire. Does it matter more than your life to know who your parents were?" 
   "We don't have the tradition of a general hive- mother that I could trace myself to and through," Flinx explained. "Yes, it matters that much to me." 
   The insect shook his double-lobed head. "Then I wish you musical hunting in your mad quest. In another time, another place, I would maybe be your clanmate." Leaning forward, he extended antennae. After a moment's hesitation, Flinx touched his own forehead to the proffered protrusions. He straightened, gave the slight thranx a warning look. 
   "Try," he said to Bisondenbit, "to keep your truhands to your own thorax." 
   "I don't know why my activities should concern you, as long as you are not affected," the thranx protested. He was almost happy, now that it appeared Fliax wasn't going to murder him. "Are you going to report me to the authorities?" 
   "Only for procrastination," Flinx said impatiently. "You still haven't told me where Challis is." 
   "Send him a tape of your request," the thranx advised. 
   "Would you believe it?" 
   Bisondenbit's mandibles clicked. "I understand. You are a strange individual, man-boy." 
   "You're no incubator yourself, Bisondenbit. Where?" 
   Shoulder chiton moved to produce a ruffling sound, like cardboard being scraped across a carpet. Bisondenbit spoke with a modicum of pride. 
   "I'm not one of Chalks' hired grubs—I'll tell yon. You drove him from Moth, it seems; and now you've chased him off Hivehom. The Challis Company's home office is in Terra's capital, and I presume that's where he's fled. No doubt he'll be expecting you, if he hasn't died of fright by now. May you find him before the many-who-pursue find you." He started to leave, then paused curiously. 
   "Good-bye, Bisondenbit," Flinx said firmly. The thranx started to speak, but spotted the minidrag moving and thought better of it. He walked away, looking back over his shoulder occasionally and muttering to himself, unsatisfied. For his part Flinx felt no guilt in letting the pickpocket go free. It was not for one who had performed his fair share of borderline activities to judge another. 
   Why wouldn't Challis believe that his purpose in seeking him out was for nothing so useless and primitive as revenge? Challis could understand only his own kind of mind, Flinx decided. 
   Somehow, he would have to find a way around it. 
   From Hivehom to the Commonwealth's second capital world of Terra was a considerable journey, even at maximum drive. But eventually Flinx found himself drinking in a view of it from another shuttlecraft port as the little transfer ship dropped free of the freight- liner. 
   This was the green legend. Terra magnificent, spawning place of mankind, second capital of the Common- wealth and home of the United Church. This was the world where once a primitive primate had suddenly risen to stand on hind feet to be nearer the sky, never dreaming he would one day step beyond it. 
   And yet, save for the royal blue of the oceans, the globe itself was unremarkable, mostly swirling white clouds and brown splotches of land. 
   He hadn't known what to expect ... golden spires piercing the cloudtops, perhaps, or formed crags of chromium backing against the seas—all that was at once absurd and sublime. Although he couldn't see it, Terra possessed both in munificent quantities, albeit in forms far more muted than his grandiose visions. 
   Surely, Flinx thought as the shuttle dropped into the outer atmosphere, the omnipresent emerald of Hivehom was more striking and, for that matter, the lam- bent yellow ring-wings of Moth were more sheerly spectacular. 
   But somewhere down there his great to the second or third power grandfather had lived and died....
   Chapter Four
    
   Descending on a west-to-east path, the shuttle passed over the big approach station at Perth before beginning its final powerglide over the endless agricultural fields of central Australia. Flinx had passing views of isolated towns and food-processing plants and the shin- ing solar power stations ringing the industrial metropolis of Alice Springs. He patted the shiny new case sitting by his feet, heard the relaxed hiss from within, and strapped himself down for landing.
   The shuttle was dropping toward the largest shuttle- port on Terra. The port formed the base of an enormous urban T whose cap stretched north and south to embrace the warm Pacific. Brisbane had been Terra's capital city for hundreds of years now, and its port, with long, open approaches over the continental center and the open Pacific, was the planet's busiest. It was also convenient to the large thranx settlements in North Australia and on New Guinea, and to the United Church headquarters at Denpasar.
   There was a gentle bump, and he was down.
   No one took any notice of him in the terminal, nor later as he walked through the streets of the vast city. He felt very much alone, even more so than he had on Hivehom.
   The capital surprised him. There were no soaring towers here. Brisbane had none of the commercial intensity of West North America's city of Lala or of London or Jakutsk, or even of the marketplace in Drallar. The streets were almost quiet, still bearing in places  a  certain  quaintness  with  architecture  that reached back through to the pre-Amalgamation time.
   As for the government buildings, they at least were properly immense. But they were built low to the ground and, because they were landscaped on all sides, seemed to reach outward like verdant ripples in. a metal and stone pond.
   Locating the headquarters of the Challis Company was a simple matter. Careful research then gave him the location of the family residence. But gaining en- trance to that isolated and protected sanctum was an- other matter.
   Bisondenbit's comments came back to him. How could he reach Challis and explain his purpose before the merchant had him killed?
   Somehow he must extend the time Challis would grant him before destruction. Somehow ... he checked his cardmeter. He was not wealthy, but he was certainly far above beggar status.  If he could stretch things a bit, be would have a few weeks to find the proper company to implement his plan.
   There was one such firm located in the southern manufacturing sector of the capital. A secretary shuffled him to a vice-president, who gazed with a bemused expression at the crude plans Flinx had prepared and passed him on to the company's president.
   An engineer, the president had no difficulty with the mechanical aspects of the request. Her concern was with other matters.
   "You'll need this many?" she inquired, pursing her lips and idly brushing away a wisp of gray hair.
   "Probably, if I know the people involved. I think I do."
   She made calculations on a tiny desk computer, looked back at his list again. "We can produce what you want, but the time involved and the degree of precision you desire will require a lot of money."
   Flinx gave her the name of a local bank and a number. A short conversation via machine finally caused a smile to crease the older woman's face. "I'm glad that's out of the way. Money matters always make me feel a little dirty, you know? Uh ... may I ask what you're going to use these for?"
   "No," Flinx replied amiably as Pip shifted lazily on his shoulder. "That's why I came to you—a small firm with a big reputation."
   "You'll be available for programming?" she asked uncertainly.
   "Direct transfer, if need be."
   That appeared to settle things in the president's mind. She rose, extended a hand. "Then I think we can help you, Mr....?"
   He shook her hand, smiled. "Just use the bank number I gave you."
   "As you wish," she agreed, openly disappointed.
    
   The contrast between the rich blue of the ocean and the sandy hills of the Gold Coast was soft and striking. One high ridge in particular was dotted with widely spaced, luxurious private residences, each carefully situated to drink in as much of the wide bay as possible—and to provide discreet, patrollable open space between neighbors.
   One home was spectacular in its unobtrusiveness. It was set back in the cliffs like a topaz in gold. Devoid of sharp corners, it seemed to be part of the grass-dusted bluff itself.  Only the sweeping, free-form glassalloy windows hinted that habitation lay behind.
   Nearby, curling breakers assaulted the shore with geometric regularity, small cousins of more mature waves to the south. There, at an ancient village named Surfers paradise, many-toned humans, and not a few adaptive aliens rode the surf, borne landward in the slick wet teeth of suiciding waves.
   Flinx was there now, but he was watching, not participating. He sat relaxed on a low hill above the beach, studying the most recent converts to an archaic sport. Nearby rested his rented groundcar.
   At the moment Flinx was observing a mixed group of young adults, all of whom were at once older and younger than himself. They were students at one of the many great universities that maintained branches in the capital. This party disdained boards in favor of the briefer, more violent experiences of body surfing. He saw a number of young thranx among them, which was only natural. The deep blue of the males and the rich aquamarine of the females was almost invisible against the water, and showed clearly only when a comber broke into white foam.
   Body surfing was hardly an activity native to the thranx, but like many human sports it had been adopted joyfully by them. They brought their own beauty to it. While a thranx in the water could never match the seal-like suppleness of a human, when it came to nakedly riding the waves they were far superior. Flinx saw their buoyant, hard-shelled bodies dancing at the forefront of successive waves, b-thorax pushed forward to permit air to reach breathing spicules.
   Occasionally a human would mount the back of a thranx friend for a double ride. It was no inconvenience to the insectoid mount, whose body was harder and neariy as buoyant as the elliptical boards them- selves.
   Flinx sighed. His adolescence had been filled with less innocent activities. Circumstances had made him grow up too fast.
   Looking down at the sand he put out a foot to impede the progress of a perambulating hermit crab. A toe nudged it onto its side. The tiny crustacean flailed furiously at the air with minute hairy legs and buried motes of indignant anger at its enormous assailant. Regaining its balance, it continued on its undistinguished way, moving just a little faster than normal. A pity, Flinx thought, that humans couldn't be equally self- contained.
   Looking up and down the coast, where a citrine house lay concealed by curving cliffs, Flinx reflected that Challis should be arriving there soon from his offices in the capital.
   A gull cried wildly above, reminding him that it was time....
    
   Conda Challis had all but forgotten his young pursuer as he stepped from the groundcar. Mahnahmi ran from the house to greet him, and they both saw the solemn figure in the gray jumpsuit moving up the walk at the same time. Somehow he had penetrated the outer defenses.
   Mahnahmi drew in her breath, and Challis turned a shade paler than his normal near-albino self. "Francis ..."
   Challis' personal bodyguard did not wait for further verbal command. Having observed the reaction of both his employer and employer's daughter, he immediately deduced that this person approaching was something to be killed and not talked to. Pistol out, he was firing before Challis could conclude his order.
   Of course, the person coming up the walk might be harmless. But Challis had forgiven him such oversights in the past, and that reinforced the man's already supreme confidence.
   Challis' policy seemed to pay off, for the wildly gesticulating figure of the red-haired youth disintegrated in the awesome blast from the illegally overcharged beamer.
   "And that," the shaken merchant muttered with grim satisfaction, "is finally that. I never expected him to get this close. Thank you, Francis."
   The guard holstered his weapon, nodded once, and headed in to check the house.
   Mahnahmi had her arms around Challis' waist. Normally, the merchant disdained coddling the child, but at the moment he was shaken almost to the point of normalcy, so he didn't shove her away.
   "I'm glad you killed him," she sniffed. Challis looked down at her oddly.
   "You are? But why? Why should he have frightened you?"
   "Well ..." there was hesitation in the angelic voice, "he was frightening you, and so that frightened me, Daddy."
   "Um," Challis grunted. At times the child's comments could be startlingly mature. But then, he reminded himself, smilingly, she was being raised surrounded by adults. In another three or four years, if not sooner, she would be ready for another kind of education.
   Mahnahmi shuddered and hid her face, hid it so that Challis could not see that the shudder was of revulsion and not fear. Francis returned and took no notice of her. She had experienced the thoughts Challis was now thinking all her life, knew exactly what they were like. They were always sticky and greasy, like the trail a snail left behind it.
   "Welcome home, sir. Dinner will be ready soon," the servant at the interior door said. "There is someone to see you. No weapons, I checked thoroughly. He insists you know him. He is waiting in the front portico."
   Challis snorted irritably, pushed Mahnahmi away ungently. It was unusual for anyone to come here to conduct business. The Challis offices in the tritower downtown were perfectly accessible to legitimate clients and he preferred to keep his personal residence as private as possible.
   Still, it might be Cartesan with information on that purchase of bulk ore from Santos V, or possibly ... he strolled toward the portico, Mahnahmi trailing behind him.
   A figure seated with its back to him stared out the broad, curving window at the ocean below. Challis frowned as he began, "I don't think..."
   The figure turned. Having just barely regained his composure, Challis was caught completely unprepared. The organic circuits that controlled the muscles of his artificial left eye twitched, sending it rolling crazily in its socket and further confusing his thoughts.
   "Look," the red-haired figure began rapidly, "you've got to listen to me. I don't mean you any harm. I only want…"
   "Francis!" the terrified merchant shrieked at the sight of the ghost.
   "Just give me a minute, one minute to explain," Flinx pressed. "You're only going to ruin your furniture if ..." He started to rise.
   Challis jumped backward, clear of the room, and stabbed frantically at a concealed switch. A duplicate of that switch was set just outside of every room in the house. It was his final security and now it worked with gratifying efficiency.
   A network of blue beams shot from concealed lenses in the walls, crisscrossing the room like a cat's cradle of light. Two of them neatly bisected the form standing before him. He had had to wait until the figure rose or the beams would have passed over it.
   Now the merchant let out a nervous little laugh as the figure collapsed, awkwardly falling against the couch and then tumbling to the floor. Behind him, Mahnahmi stared with wide eyes.
   Challis fought to steady his breathing, then walked cautiously toward the unmoving figure. He kicked at it, gently at first, then good and hard. It did not give under his boot as it should have.
   Leaning over he examined the two punctures the beams had made in the upper torso. There was no blood, and inside both holes, he saw something charred that wasn't flesh and bone. The smell drifting from the figure was a familiar one—but the wrong one.
   "Circuitry and coagulated jellastic!" he muttered. "No wonder there were two of him. Robots."
   "A robot?" a small voice squeaked behind him. "No wonder I couldn't—" She shut up abruptly. Challis frowned, half turned to face her.
   "What was that, Mahnahmi?"
   She put a finger in her mouth, sucked innocently on it as she gazed at the twisted figure on the floor. "Couldn't see any blood," she finished facilely. "Yes, but ..." A sudden thought brought concern to his face. “Where’s Francis?”
   Sleeping.” A new voice informed him. The merchant's hands fell helplessly to his side, and Mahnahmi drew away as Flinx walked into the room, smiling softly. Unlike the previous two, this youth had a gently stirring reptile coiled about his right shoulder.
   "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I had to knock him out—and your overzealous butler, too. You have a nervous staff, Challis." His hand came up to touch the wall next to the concealed hallway switch controlling the multiple beamers. "That's a neat trick."
   Challis debated whether he ought to drop to the floor, then looked from the switch back to Flinx and licked his lips.
   "Will you stop with your paranoia?" the youth pleaded. "If I wanted to kill you I could have hit that control already, couldn't I?" He tapped the wall next to it.
   Challis dropped, relaxing even as he fell below the lethal level of the beams. But Mahnahmi was running in a crouch toward him, screaming with child-fury: "Kill him, Daddy, kill him!"
   "Get away, child," Challis said abruptly, slapping her aside. He climbed slowly, carefully, back to his feet and stared at the silent figure in the hall. "You're right . . . you could have killed me easily just now, and you did not. Why?"
   Flinx leaned against the door jamb. "I've been trying to tell you all along. That incident on Moth is past, finished, done with. I haven't been following you to kill you, Challis. Not all the way to Hivehom and certainly not here”
   "I can't believe ... maybe you do mean what you say," the merchant confessed, words coming with difficulty as he fought to readjust his thinking. "Is it the real you, this time?"
   "Yes." The youth nodded, indicated his shoulder where Pip yawned impressively. "I'm never without Pip. In addition to being my insurance, he's my friend. You should have noticed that the mechanicals appeared without reptilian companionship.”
   “Kill him!” Mahnahmi screamed again.
   Challis turned on her. "Shut up, or I'll let Francis play with you when he comes to. Why this sudden fury, Mahnahmi. He's right ... I could be dead a couple of times over by now, if he really desired that. I'm beginning to think he's telling the truth. Why are you so—"
   "Because he ..." she started to say, then subsided suddenly and looked quietly at the floor. "Because he frightens me."
   "Then go where he won't frighten you. Go to your room. Go on, get out,"
   The golden-haired child turned and stalked petulantly toward a door at the far end of the chamber, muttering something under her breath that Challis would not have appreciated, had he been able to hear her.
   He turned curiously back to Flinx. "If you don't want me dead, then why in Aucreden's name have you chased me halfway across the Commonwealth?" He quickly became a solicitous host. "Come in, have a drink then. You'll stay for the evening meal?"
   Flinx shook his head, grinning in a way Challis didn't like. "I don't want your friendship, Challis. Only some information."
   "If it's about the Janus jewels or anything related to them, I can't tell you anything."
   "It has nothing to do with that, or with your attempt to force me to participate in your private depravities. When you were ... leaving your house in Drallar, you said something about the characteristics of my maternal line."
   Challis looked puzzled. "If you say I did, then I guess I did. What of it?"
   "I know nothing whatsoever of my true parents. All my seller could give my adoptive mother was my name. Nothing more." He leaned forward eagerly. "I think you know more."
   "Well, I ... I hadn't given it any thought."
   "You said you had a file on me ... that you had amassed information on my background."
   "That's true. To insure that you really possessed the kind of talent I was hunting for, it was necessary to research your personal history as completely as possible."
   "Where did you find the information?"
   "I see no reason to keep it from you, except that I don't know." Flinx's hand moved a little nearer the fatal switch. "It's true, it's true!" Challis howled, panicky again. "Do you think I keep track of every source of minor information my people unearth?" He drew him- self up with exaggerated pride.  "I happen to be the head of one of—"
   "Yes, yes," Flinx admitted impatiently. "Don't regale me with a list of your titles. Can you locate the in- formation source? Let's see if your retrieval system is as efficient as you claim it is."
   "If I do," the merchant said sharply, "will that be the last I see of you?"
   "I'll have no further interest in you, Challis."
   The merchant came to a decision. "Wait here." Turning, he made his way to the far end of the room. There he rolled back the top of what looked to be an antique wooden desk. Its interior turned out to be filled with no-nonsense components combined in the form of an elaborate console. Challis' fingers moved rapidly on the control keys. This produced several minutes of involved blinking and noises from hidden depths within the desk.
   Eventually he was rewarded with a small printout which he inserted into a playback.
   "Here it is. Come look for yourself."
   "Thanks, but I'll stay here. You read it to me."
   Challis shook his head at this unreasonable lack of trust, then turned his attention to the magnified readout. "Male child," he began mechanically, "registered age seven months with Church-sponsored orphanage in Allahabad, Terra, India Province. This information is followed by some staff speculation matching identity points ... cornea prints, fingerprints, retina prints, skull shape, and so on, with purely physical superficialities such as hair and eye color, finger rings and the like.
   "These vital statistics are matched to an orphan aged five years who was sold under the name Philip Lynx at such-and-such a date in the free body market in Drallar, Moth. My people apparently felt there were sufficient similarities to link the two."
   "Is the name ... does it tell ...?" Flinx had to know whether the name Lynx was lineal, or given only because he was the offspring of a Lynx—that is, a sophisticated, independent woman who was mistress by her choice rather than by the man's, free to come and go as she wished.
   Challis was unable to tell him. "It does not. If you want additional information you'll probably have to hunt it out of the original Church records—assuming you'll be allowed access to them. You could begin in Allahabad, of course, but without a look at the original records it would be hard to tell where to start. Besides, Denpasar itself is much closer."
   "Then I'll go there."
   "You'll never gain access to those records. Do you think, dear boy, anyone who wishes is permitted the use of the original Church files?"
   "Just tell me where it is."
   Challis grinned. "On an island called Ball, about five thousand kilometers northwest of here in the Indonesian archipelago."
   "Thank you, Challis. You won't .see me again." He turned, left the hall.
   As soon as the youth was out of sight Challis' attention was drawn to several tiny screens set into a console. One showed his visitor about to leave via the front door. Challis touched a switch. The red-haired figure grabbed the door mechanism—and both he and the door dissolved in a blinding flash. The concussion shook the merchant where he stood.
   I don’t make it easy for unwanted guests to get in,” he told the console grimly. "But once in, I see to it they don't get out."
   Challis had not become what he was by leaving any- thing to chance. Perhaps the boy's absurd tale was true—and then, perhaps it was only a device to lure Challis into some unimaginable, fiendish trap. That the lad was cunning he had amply demonstrated. In any case, it cost nothing to make sure.
   Only his life.
   Shutting down the console, he walked leisurely toward the front of the house. He was surprised to see Mahnahmi standing in the hallway. Behind her, smoke still drifted from the blackened metal frame of the doorway, which now bordered a roughly rectangular crater. The depression extended the length of the hall and well out into the ferrocrete walk leading to the entrance.
   The girl was holding something. It was a piece of arm. Variously colored fluids dripped from it and tiny threads of material hung loosely from both torn ends.
   Challis was struck with a mixture of fear and admiration as he stared at the section of limb Mahnahmi was examining so intently. For the first time he began to wonder just what sort of creature he had selected for an enemy. That it was more than an unusually clever seventeen-year-old boy he had suspected ever since that incredible escape on Hivehom. Now he was certain of it.                   
   The arm, of course, was mechanical. The Flinx he thought to be real had been but a more convincing automaton, as Mahnahmi could have told him. Now Challis had gone and spoiled her game. But the leftover pieces were interesting. She studied the armature in seemingly casual fashion, compared it to a nearby fragment of mechanical flying snake.
   It just wasn't fair! Since Challis had told the machine what it wanted to know, against her advice, she would never see the real Flinx again. And he had been so much fun.
   She would have to find someone else's mind to play with....
    
   Flinx watched the hermit crab, its terrestrial explorations concluded, disappear in an obliging wavelet. At the same time he flicked off the recorder at his belt. The tape had recorded nothing since the third simulacrum of himself had been destroyed by the merchant.
   Rising, Flinx brushed the sand from the bottom of his jumpsuit and thought sorrowful thoughts about the unfounded paranoia of Conda Challis. Everything he could learn from the fat trader he had finally learned, and the information was carefully stored in the little belt recorder, which functioned over surprising distances. The simulacninis had been an expensive gamble that bad worked.
   Flinx returned to the rented groundcar. A special console had been rigged on one seat with five telltales at its center. Three were dark, while two still winked a steady green. Challis might have been interested to know that had he destroyed his third visitor before answering its questions, there were two additional elaborate Flinxes in waiting.
   For a delicious moment Flinx savored the thought of sending both of them into the merchant's bedroom tonight. But ... no. That would place him in the position of rendering a judgment of sorts on another.
   Instead he gave the two remaining simulacrums the return-to-base signal. The two remaining lights began to blink steadily, indicating they were operating properly and were in motion. They were on their way back to the fabrication plant from which Flinx had ordered them. There, their intricate innards would be salvaged, along with a concomitant part at Flinx's badly depleted bank account.
   Starting up the powerful little car, he set it for a formal flight pattern leading to the atmospheric shuttle" port. That strictly planetary terminal- lay far to the south of the capital, nearer the suburban industrial city of Sydney.
   Challis had hinted it would be difficult for a stranger to gain admittance to the United Church headquarters. Well he would know soon enough. There was anob- scure genealogy there that he wanted very much to trace.
    
   Chapter Five
    
   Suborbital flights to and from every major city and province on Terra were regularly scheduled at the huge port. The clerk Flinx encountered was straight of body but mentally geniculate from a quarter century of answering the same inane questions. Not only could he expect no promotion, but he suspected that his youngest daughter was dating two old men and a young woman simultaneously. As Flinx drew near, the man was reflecting that in his day, children had behaved differently.
   "I just tried to buy a ticket to a city called Denpasar," Flinx explained, "and the light on the dispenser flashed No Such Destination. Why?"
   "Where are you from, young sir?" the clerk inquired politely.
   Flinx was startled. He hadn't been called "sir" but a few times in his whole life. He started to reply "Drallar, Moth," but suddenly recalled an early dictum of Mother Mastiff's.
   "Always answer a question as concise as you can, boy," .she had instructed him. "It makes folks think of you as intelligent and non-borin', while givin' 'em as little information about yourself as possible."
   So he said simply, "Off-planet."
   "Far off-planet, I'll venture," the clerk added. "Didn't you know, young sir, that Bali is a closed is- land? Only three classes of people are allowed to travel there." He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. "Balinese and their relatives, Church personnel, and government officials with special clearance."
   He studied Flinx carefully. "You could pass for Balinese, excepting that carrot top of yours, so you're obviously not a native. You don't claim to be an official of the Church and—" he couldn't repress a little smile "—1 don't think you're a special government representative. Why did you want to go there, anyway?"
   Flinx shrugged elaborately. "I'd heard it was the seat of the United Church. I thought it would be an interesting place to visit while I'm touring Terra, that's all."
   Ah, a standard query. Any incipient suspicions the old man might have had died aborning. "That's understandable. If you're interested in the same kind of countryside as Bali, though, you can get as close as ..." he paused to check a thick tape playing on the screen before him, "... the eastern tip of the island of Java. I've been there myself. You can see the island from Banjuwangi and Surabaja's a fine old city, very picturesque. You might even take a day-flyer over to Komodo, where the dinosaur-rebreeding station is. But Bali itself," the man shook his head regretfully, "might as well try landing on the Imperial Home world than get into Denpasar. Oh, if you could slip onto a shuttle going in you might get into the city. But you'd never get off the island without having to answer some hard questions."
   "I see," Flinx replied, smiling gratefully. "I didn't know. You've been very helpful."
   "That's all right, sir. Enjoy the rest of your stay on Terra."
   Flinx left in a pensive mood. So there was a chance he could get onto the island, somehow. But did he want to have to answer those hard questions on his departure? He did not.
   That left him with the problem of gaining admittance to a place no one was allowed into. No, he reminded himself, whispering to the case and its leathery contents, that wasn't entirely true. Three classes of people were permitted onto the island.
   He didn't think it would be easy to forge government identification, and he was too young to claim to be anything worthwhile. There did exist the possibility of palming himself off as an acolyte of the Church. But what about ...? Hadn't the old man said that save for his red hair he could pass for Balinese?
   Passing a three-story-high interior panel of polished metal, Flinx caught sight of his reflection. A little hair dye, a crash course in the local dialect, a small boat— surely it couldn't be that easy!
   But there was the chance this plan was so simple that he might be overlooked by those on the watch for more sophisticated infiltrators. And Flinx had often seen how possession of a certain amount of brass— nonmetallic variety—could be more useful in fooling bureaucracy than all the formal identification in the Arm.
   Turning, he retraced his path to the ticket dispensers. A punched demand and the subsequent insertion of his cardmeter produced a one-way shuttle ticket for Surabaja....
   The ancient market town had preserved much of its seventeenth-century flavor. Flinx felt right at home, learning something he had long suspected:  one crowded marketplace is much like any other, no matter where one travels.
   Everyone spoke Terrangio and symbospeech in addition to the old local dialect known as Bahasa Indonesia. Flinx easily secured black dye, and with his hair color changed he quickly became one of the locals. A stay of several weeks was sufficient to provide him, a natural linguist, with an efficient smattering of the language.
   Procuring a small boat was simple enough. If the ploy failed he could always fall back on the story that he was a simple fisherman whose automatic pilot had failed, causing him to be blown off course. Besides, for any off-world spy the really hard part would be passing customs at Terra port-of-entry, and Flinx had already accomplished that.
   So it was that after several days of calm, automatic sailing he found himself in sight of the towering peaks of Mounts Agung and Batur, the two volcanoes that 'dominated the island.
   Under cover of a moonless night, he made his approach at the northernmost tip of the magnificent empty beach called Kuta, on the western side of the is- land. No patrol appeared to challenge him as he drew his small boat up on the sand. No automated beamers popped from concealed pits to incinerate him where he stood.
   So far he had been completely successful. That didn't lessen his sense of unease, however. It was one thing to stand on an empty beach, quite another to penetrate the recesses of the Church itself.
   Making his way inland with his single bit of baggage—the perforated case holding a few clothes, and Pip—it wasn't long before be encountered a small, unpaved road through the jungle that fringed the beach. After a walk of several hours he was able to hail a groundcar cultivator. The farmer driving it provided him with a ride into Bena and from there it was easy to hire an automatic bekak into Denpasar proper.
   Everything went as well as he dared hope. The farmer had assumed he was a stranger visiting relatives in the city, and Flinx saw no reason to argue with a story so conveniently provided. Nor had the young farmer shown any desire to switch from Terrangio to Bahasa Indonesia, so Flinx's hastily acquired vocabulary was not put to the test.
   The innkeeper made Flinx welcome, though she insisted on seeing the animal in the bag. Flinx showed her, hoping that the woman wasn't the garrulous sort. If word got around to representatives of the Church, someone might grow curious about the presence here of such an exotic and dangerous off-world species as the minidrag.
   But Flinx refused to worry. After all, he was ensconced in a comfortable room in the city he had been told he would have trouble reaching. Tomorrow he would set about the business of penetrating the Church system.
   The first thing he had to find out was where on the island the genealogical records were stored, then what procedures one was required to go through to gain access to them. He might yet have to resort to forgery. More likely he would end up stealing a Church uniform and brazening his way into the facility.
   Flinx the priest—he went to sleep smiling at the thought, and at Mother Mastiff's reaction to him in Church garb....
   The next morning, he began his private assault on the inner sanctums of the most powerful single organization in the Commonwealth.
   The first step was to select a car with a talkative driver. Flinx chose the oldest one he could find, operating on the theory that older men engaged in such professions were more inclined to gabble excessively and otherwise mind their own business. Flinx's driver was a white-maned patriarch with a large drooping mustache. He was slight and wiry, as were most of the locals. The women had a uniform doll-like beauty and appeared to age in jumps, from fourteen to eighty with no in-between.
   A few of them had already regarded Flinx somewhat less than casually, something he was becoming used to as he grew older. There was no time for that now, however.
   "What did you have in mind for today's journey, sir?"
   "I'm just a visitor, here to see my cousins in Singaradja. Before I'm swamped with uncles and aunts, I'd like to see the island unencumbered by family talk. The old temples ... and the new."
   The oldster didn't bat an eye, merely nodded and started his engine. The tour was as thorough as the old man was loquacious. He showed Flinx the grand beaches at Kuta where the huge breakers of the Sunda Bali rolled in. unaware that Flinx had negotiated those same waves the night before. He took him to the great oceanographic research station at Sanur, and to the sprawling grounds of the Church University on Denpasar's outskirts.
   He showed him various branches of Church research facilities, all built in the old Balinese style replete with ferrocrete sculptures lining every lintel and wall. He drove him over the ancient rice paddies that terraced the toy mountains—the most beautiful on all Terra, the old man insisted, even if the farmers in their wide hats now rode small mechanical cultivators instead of water buffalo.
   Half a day passed before Flinx was moved to comment, "It's not at all like what I expected the head- quarters of the United Church to be."
   "Well, what did you expect?" asked the old man. "A reproduction on a grander scale of the Commonwealth Enclave in Brisbane? Black- and bronze-mirrored domes and kilo-high spires done in mosaic?"
   Flinx leaned back in the worn old seat next to the driver and looked sheepish. "I have never been to the capital, of course, but I have seen pictures. I guess I expected something similar, yes." The old man smiled warmly.
   "I am no expert on the mind of the Church, son, but it seems to my farmer's soul to be a collection of uncomplicated, gentle folk. The University is the largest Church building on the island, the astrophysics laboratory, at four stories, its tallest." He became silent for a while as they cruised above a river gorge.
   "Why do you suppose," he asked finally, "the United Church decided centuries ago to locate its head- quarters on this island?"
   "I don't know," Flinx replied honestly. "I hadn't thought about it. To be nearer the capital, I suppose."
   The old driver shook his head. "The Church was here long before Brisbane was made Terra's capital city. For someone who travels about with a Garuda spirit for a companion, you seem rather ignorant, son."
   "Garuda spirit?" Flinx saw the driver looking back at the somnolent reptilian head that had peeked out from inside his jumpsuit. He thought frantically, then relaxed.
   "But the Oaruda is a bird, not a snake."
   "It is the spirit I see in your pet, not the shape," the driver explained.
   "That's good then," Flinx acknowledged, remembering that the monstrous Garuda bird was a good creature, despite its fearsome appearance. "What is the reason for the Church's presence here, if not to be near the capital?"
   "I believe it is because the values of the Church and of the Balinese people are so very similar. Both stress creativity and gentleness. All of our own arrogance and animosity is subsumed in our ancient mythology."
   Flinx regarded the old man with new respect and new curiosity. At the moment he sounded like something more than merely an old groundcar driver—but that was Flinx's overly suspicious mind looking to create trouble again.
   "Our most aggressive movement is a shrug," the old man continued, staring lovingly at the surrounding landscape. "It is the result of living in one of the galaxy's most beautiful places."
   A light rain had begun to fall. The old man closed the car's open top and switched on the air-conditioning. Flinx, who prided himself on his adaptability in strange environments and who until now had been forced to play the role of near-native, let out a mental sigh of relief at the first cooling caress of the air-conditioner.
   The humidity in one of the galaxy's most beautiful places could be stifling. No wonder the thranx members of the Church had agreed to build its headquarters here, those many centuries ago.
   They paused in Ubud, and Flinx made a show of looking at the famous wood carvings in the shops the old man had recommended. This was not an exclusively Balinese custom. Mother Mastiff had her arrangements with guides in Drallar, too.
   The tour continued, and the need to show interest became more and more of a burden. Flinx yawned through the elephant cave, biinked at the sacred springs, and saw temples built on temples.
   An appropriate location for the home of the Church, Flinx thought, as the clouds cleared and a double rainbow appeared behind the smoking cone of 15,000- meter-high Mount Agung. The aquamarine robes and jumpsuits of passing Church personnel blended as naturally with the still flourishing jungle vegetation as the fruit trees which stood stolid watch over roadways and fields and rice terraces.
   "It's all very beautiful," Flinx finally told the old driver, "though I'd still like to see the Church headquarters."
   "Church headquarters?" the old man looked uncertain, pulled at his mustache. "But the entire island is the headquarters of the United Church."
   "Yes, I know," Flinx said, trying not to seem impatient. "I mean the headquarters of the headquarters."
   "Well," the old man looked up and left off pulling his mustache, "the nearest thing to that would be the Administration Depot, but why anyone would want to see that I don't know." Surprisingly, he smiled, showing white teeth beneath his wrinkled upper lip.
   "Still expecting towers of precious metal and amethyst arches, eh son?" Flinx looked embarrassed. "Ill tell you, though the Depot is nothing to waste one's time with, it's in a setting the Buddha himself would envy."
   The driver made up his mind. "Come then, I'll take you there, if you've set your mind on it."
   They continued north out of Ubud, passing steeper and steeper terraces as they mounted an old roadway. It showed no evidence of the heavy traffic Flinx would expect to be en route to and from the headquarters of the headquarters. Maybe the old man was right. Maybe the facility he sought didn't exist.
   Maybe he was wasting his time.
   He leaned out the window, saw that his initial estimate of the road condition still held. The grass covering the path was several centimeters tall. Thick and healthy, it showed none of the characteristic bends the steady passage of groundcars over it would have produced.
   Eventually the car sighed to a stop. The oldster motioned for Flinx to get out and he did so, whereupon the driver guided him to the edge of a steep precipice.
   Flinx peered cautiously over the side. At the bottom of a valley several thousand meters below lay a broad, shallow lake. Irrigated fields and scattered farmers' homes dotted the greenery.
   At the far end of the lake, near the base of smouldering Mount Agung, sprawled a tight group of modest boxlike two-story structures enameled a bright aquamarine. They were strictly utilitarian in appearance if not downright ugly. There wasn't an arch or tower among them.
   A few antennae sprouted flowers of abstract metal mesh at one end of the complex, and there was a small clearing nearby that was barely large enough to accommodate a small atmospheric shuttle.
   Was that all?
   Flinx stared at it disbelievingly. "Are you sure that's it?" "That is the Administration Depot, yes. I have never been there myself, but I am told it is mostly used for storing old records."
   "But the Church Chancellory …?" Flinx started to protest.
   "Ah, you mean the place where the Counselors meet? It's the low clamshell-like building that I showed you in Denpasar itself, the one next to the solar research station. Remember it?" Flinx searched his memory, found that he did. It had been only slightly more impressive in appearance than the disappointing cluster of small buildings below.
   "The Council of the Church meets there once a year, and that is where their decisions are made. I can take you back there, if you wish?"
   Flinx shook his head, unable to hide his disappointment. But ... if this was a warehouse for old records, it might contain what he'd come to see. If not—well, he could set about solving the problem of leaving this island without incurring unwanted questions. Perhaps in India province, in Allahabad ...
   "You said you've never been inside," he turned to the old man. "Does the Church forbid visitors there?"
   His driver looked amused. "Not that I ever heard of. There is no reason to go there. But if you wish ..."
   Flinx started back toward the car. "Let's go. You can leave me there."
   "Are you certain, son?" the old man asked with concern, eying the sun in its low-hanging position in the damp sky. "It will grow dark soon. You may have trouble finding a ride back to the city."
   "But I thought ..." Flinx began.
   The old man shook his head slowly, spoke with patience. "You still do not listen. Did I not say it was merely a place of storage? There is no traffic down there, in the valley. It is a place of slow-growing things, dull and far from any town. Were I a Churchman, I would far rather be stationed in Benoa or Denpasar, It is lonely here. But," he shrugged at last, "it is your money. At least it will be a warm night."
   They climbed back into the car and he started down a winding narrow path Flinx hadn't seen before. "If you do not get a ride back you might try sleeping on the ground. Mind the centipedes, though; they have a nasty bite. I am sure some farmer will give you a ride back to the city in the morning—if yon rise early enough to catch him."
   "Thanks," Flinx said, his gaze fixed on the valley below. With its shining lake snug against the base of the great volcano, it was attractive indeed, though his attention was still drawn to the prosaic architecture of the Depot, It became even less impressive as they drew nearer. The aquamarine enamel seemed stark against the rich natural browns and greens of the vegetation ringing the mountain. As they reached the valley floor Flinx saw that the structures were devoid of windows.
   Befitting, he thought grimly, a facility devoted to things and not people.
   The car pulled up before what must have been the main entrance, since it was the only entrance. No massive sculptures depicting the brotherhood of the humanx, no playing fountains flanked the simple double- glass door. A few undistinguished-looking groundcars were parked in the small open hangar to one side
   Flinx opened the door, climbed out. Pip stirred within the loose folds of the jumpsuit and Flinx hushed his restless pet as he handed the old driver his cardmeter.
   The driver slipped if into a large slot in his 'dash, waited until the compact instrument ceased humming. The transfer of funds completed, he handed the cardmeter back to Flinx.
   "Good luck to you, son. I hope your visit proves worth all your trouble to come here." He waved from the car as it started back toward the mountain road.
   "Trouble" is an inadequate word, old man, Flinx thought as he called a farewell to him. "Selamat seang!"
   Flinx stood alone before the Depot for a moment, listening to the soft trickle of water dropping from terrace to terrace. The soft phutt-putt of a mechanical cultivator guided by the hand of a farmer drifted across the fields to him. According to the old guide, the people were in the process of harvesting their fifth rice crop of the year and had begun sowing the sixth.
   By now, Flinx was sick of agriculture, temples—and the island itself. He would inspect what this unprepossessing structure had to offer, try the city records in Allahabad, and be on his way home to Moth in a few days, with or without information.
   He berated himself for not taking the shuttleport clerk's indirect suggestion and contriving to come here via the diplomatic atmospheric shuttle from South Brisbane. Instead he had wasted weeks on learning the local language and piloting the small boat.
   He expected an armed fortress with walls half a kilometer thick and bristling with beamers and SCCAM projectors. Instead he found himself stalking an island of rice farmers and students. Even the Chancellory was out of session.
   Flinx mounted the few steps and pushed through the double doors, noting with disgust that they opened manually and without challenge. A short hallway opened into a small circular high-domed chamber. His gaze was drawn upward—where it froze. The dome was filled with a tridee projection of the entire inhabited galaxy. Each Commonwealth world was plainly marked by color and minute block letters in symbospeech.
   Flinx studied it, picking out Terra and Hivehom first because of their brighter colors, then moving on to Evoria, Arnropolous, Calm Nursery—thranx worlds all. Then on to the human planets of Repier, Moth, Catchalot, and Centaurus III and V. Half-lights indicated the outposts of humanx: exploration, fringe worlds like Burley with its vast store of metals, Rhyinpine of the troglodytes and endless caverns, and the frigid globe of far distant Tran-ky-ky.
   His eyes lowered to the curving floor of the chamber, and at last he found his mosaic, though the motif in the floor was simple. It consisted of four circles, two representing Terra's hemispheres and the other two Hivehom's. They formed a box with a single smaller sphere at their center, tangent to all four circular maps. The central sphere contained a vertical hourglass of blue, representing Terra, crossed by a horizontal hour- glass of green, standing for Hivehom. Where they met the colors merged to form aquamarine—the signet color of the United Church.
   Three halls broke the walls around him, one vanishing into the distance ahead, the others to left and right. Each wall between was filled with engravings of impressive figures from the history of the Church—thranx and human both—in modest pose. Most impressive was a scene picturing the signing of the Amalgamation that formally united thranx and mankind. The Fourth Last Resort, David Malkezinski, touched forehead to antennae with the tri-eint Arlenduva, while the insect's truehand was locked in the human's right palm.
   To the right of this relief were engraved some of the basic maxims of the Church: Man is animal; thranx is insect—both are of the species Brother.... Advise not civilization; physical force reciprocates mentally.... If God wished man and thranx to devote themselves to Him, He would not have made the worlds so complicated. ...  Self-righteousness is the key to destruction—the list went on and on.
   Opposite that wall was an engraved list of recent philosophical pronouncements, which Flinx read with interest. He had just finished the one about hedonism violating the Prime Edict and was on to the admonition to distrust anything that smacks of absolute right when his attention was broken by a voice.
   "Can I help you, sir?"
   "What?"
   Flinx turned, startled, to see a young woman in aquamarine robes staring quizzically back at him. She was seated near the corridor at the far left, behind a sparsely covered desk. He hadn't even noticed her until she spoke.
   "I said, may I help you." She walked over to stand next to him, staled into his eyes. That alone was unusual. Most new acquaintances found their first gaze going somewhat lower, to the scaly shape wrapped around Flinx's shoulder or, in this instance, peeping out of his suit front.
   But this slim girl ignored the flying snake. That smacked of poor vision or great self-confidence, Flinx thought. Her indifference to the snake was the first impressive thing he had encountered on this island.
   "Sorry,' he lied easily, "I was just about to come over and talk to you. Did I keep you waiting?"
   "Oh no ... I just thought you might be getting tired. You've been studying the maps and inscriptions for over an hour now."
   His gaze went instantly to the glass doors, and he saw that she was telling the truth. A tropical night black as a gambler's conscience had settled outside.
   He was uneasy and upset. It felt as if he had been eying the engravings in the little domed alcove for only a few minutes. His gaze traveled again over the three- dimensional map overhead, to the inlaid pictorials and the subtly inscribed sayings. Did those carefully raised colors and words and reliefs conceal some kind of mnemonic device, something to capture an observer into absorbing them despite himself?
   His speculation was abruptly cut off by the girl's soft voice: "Please come over to the desk. I can help you better from there."
   Still dazed, Flinx followed her without protest.  A few papers and several small screens rested on the desktop, and he saw switches set in ranks of panels at the far side.
   "I've been studying," she explained apologetically, "or I would have come over sooner. Besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Nonetheless, I thought I'd better find out if you needed anything since I go off shift soon and my replacement would start ignoring you all over again."
   If that was a lie, Flinx thought, it was a smooth one. "What are you studying?"
   "Spiritual assignation and philosophical equations as they relate to high-order demographic fluxation."
   "I beg your pardon?"
   "Diplomatic corps. Now," she continued brightly, "what can I help you with?"
   Flinx found himself staring at the unlocked glass doors, the tridee map overhead, the words and pictures engraved on the encircling walls. In his thoughts he matched them with the simple exterior of this structure, compared that to his vaunted imaginary pictures of what it ought to look like.
   Everything he'd encountered on this island, from the unpretentiousness of this Depot to the language of his driver, was a mixture of the simple and the sophisticated. A dangerously uncertain mixture. For a moment he seriously considered forgetting the whole thing, including his purpose in traveling across half the Commonwealth, and turning to walk out those unguarded doors. He had spent much of his frenetic young life trying to avoid attention, but whatever he told this girl now promised to deliver him to questioners.
   Instead of leaving, he said, "I was raised by a foster parent who had no idea who my parents were. I still don't know. I don't know for certain who I am or where I come from, and it may not matter much to anyone else, but it matters to me."
   "It would matter to me, also," the girl replied seriously. "But what makes you think we can help you find out?"
   "An acquaintance indicated he had found some information on my parentage, some hints that physically I could match up with a child born here on Terra, in the city of Allahabad. I do know my real name as it read on the ... on the slaver's records, but I don't know if it's a family name or one given me well after my birth.
   "It's Philip Lynx." He pronounced it carefully, distinctly, but it still wasn't his name. It belonged to an alien; it was a stranger's name. He was just Flinx.
   "I was told that this was a storage facility for Church records, although," he indicated the little chamber with its three connecting halls, "these buildings hardly look big enough to hold even a portion of those records."
   "We're very space-efficient," she told him, as if that should explain it. "The records for Allahabad are kept here, as are the records of every being registered with the Church." Her eyes shifted, but not to look at Pip.
   Flinx turned, thinking she was staring at something behind him. When he saw nothing and turned back, he saw she was smiling at him.
   "It's your hair," she said easily. "The dye is beginning to come off." His hand went instinctively to his scalp, felt of the dampness there. When he brought it down, it was stained black.
   "You've been out in the city too long. Whoever sold you that dye cheated you. Why dye it, anyway—the red is attractive enough."
   "A friend thought otherwise." He couldn't tell from her thoughts if she believed him; but she chose not to press the matter, touching instead a switch on her desk.
   "Allahabad, you said?" He nodded. She bent over the desk, addressed a speaker. "Check for records on a Philip Lynx," she told it, "Allahabad-born." She looked up at him. "Spelling?"
   Flinx spread his hands. "L-y-n-x, P-h-i-l-i-p was the way it was listed on the slaver's sheet, but that could be a misspelling."
   "Or a corruption," she added, turning to the speaker again. "Check also variational spellings. Also all inquiries into said records for the past ... five years." Then she clicked off.
   "Why that last?" he inquired. Her expression was grim.
   "Your acquaintance should not have had access to your records. Those are between you and the Church. Yet it seems someone managed to gain permission to see them. You're going to be asked some hard questions later, if you are this Philip Lynx."
   "And if I'm not?"
   "You'll be asked questions anyway—only you won't be looking at anyone's files." She smiled pleasantly. "It's not your wrongdoing, it seems ... though someone is going to lose his robes. The lower grades are always vulnerable to bribery, especially when the request is for seemingly harmless information."
   "No need to worry about that," Flinx told her. "About the only thing I'm sure of in this galaxy is that I'm me." He grinned. "Whoever that is."
   She did not return the smile. "That's what we're going to find out."
   Once Flinx's identity was established, through various checks, the girl became friendly once more. "It's late," she observed when the identification procedures had concluded. "Why don't you wait and begin your retrieval in the morning? There's a dormitory for visitors and you can share cafeteria food with the staff, if you have the money. If not, you can claim charity, though the Church frowns on direct handouts."
   "I can pay," Flinx insisted.
   "All right." She pointed to the far corridor. "Follow the yellow strip on the floor. It'll take you to the visitors' bureau. They'll handle things from there."
   Flinx started toward the hallway, looked back. "What about the retrieval? How do I begin?"
   "Come back to this desk tomorrow. I'm on duty ten to six all week. After that you'd have to hunt to find me again. I have to transfer to another manual task, but for the rest of this week, I can help you. My name's Mona Tantivy." She paused, watched Flinx's retreating form, then called to him as he entered the corridor. "What if the name Philip Lynx doesn't match up with the child born in Allahabad?"
   "Then," Flinx shouted back to her, "you can call me anything you want ..."
    
   Chapter Six
    
   The cubicle they assigned him was small and simply furnished. He spent an hour washing off the dust of days, and a pleasant surprise awaited him when he exited the shower—his jumpsuit had been taken away and cleaned. It was a good thing he had taken Pip into the bath with him.
   Feeling uncomfortably clean, he was directed to the nearest food service facility and soon found himself mingling with a crush of aquamarine robes and suits. The facility itself was a surprise, decorated with local shrubs and fountains, its lushness in stark contrast to the spartan exterior of the building. It was divided into three sections by semipermeable paneling.
   One section was adjusted to the midtemperate zone climate most favored by humans, while the area farthest from the door was almost misted over from the heat and. humidity favored by the thranx. The eating area in between was by far the largest. Here the two environments blended imperfectly, to form a climate a touch warm and damp for humans, slightly dry and cool to the thranx, yet suitable to both. All three areas were crowded.
   He was thankful for the presence of several humans and thranx who wore something other than the Church color; it made him feel considerably less conspicuous.
   The smells of recently prepared food were every where. While a few of the aromas were exotic, they couldn't compete with the incredible variety of odors always present in the marketplace in Drallar. Even so, he found himself salivating. He had had nothing to eat since his brief breakfast in the city early that morning.
   A short time after placing his order with the auto chef he was rewarded with a flavorful steak of uncertain origin and an assortment of breads and vegetables. But when he inquired again about the rest of his order, a small screen lit -up: No intoxicants of any sort, however mild, are permitted in Depot commissaries.
   Flinx swallowed his disappointment - a poor substitute for the beer he had ordered - and settled for iced shaka.
   Pip was curled about his shoulder once again. The flying snake had aroused a few comments bat not fear. The creatures in the facility - they ranged in age from less than his own to elders well over a hundred-were peculiarly indifferent to the possibility of the minidrag suddenly spewing corrosive death.
   Flinx took a seat by himself. His ears were no larger than normal, and his talent no sharper than usual, but his hearing was well trained. To survive in Drallar, one had to utilize all one's sences to the utmost. Listening to the conversation around him in the food service facility, they served to satiate his curiosity.
   To his left a pair of elderly thranx were arguing over the validity of performing genetic manipulation with unhatched eggs. It had something to do with the scorm process as opposed to the oppordian method, and there was much talk of the morality of inducing mutation by prenatal suggestion in unformed pupae.
   Hunting for something less incomprehensible, he overheard an old woman with two cream-colored stripes on her suit sleeve lecturing a group of acolytes: two human, two thranx. A hydrogen atom was emblazoned above the stripes.
   "So you see, if you check the research which has been performed on Pluto, Gorisa, and Tipendemos over the last eight years, you'll find that any additional modifications to the SCCAM weapons system must take into account the stress limitations of the osmiridium casing itself."
    A bite of bread and yet another wisp of conversation, this from a middle-aged man behind him with a lash white beard: "Production levels on Kansastan and Inter-Kansastan in the Bryan Sector suggest that with proper preatmospheric seeding, food grain production can be increased as much as twenty percent over the next three planting years."
   Flinx frowned as he considered this intense babble, bat it wasn't the absence of theology in the discussions that troubled him. He really couldn't judge, but even to his untrained ears it seemed that a lot of very sensitive matters were being freely discussed in the presence of non-Church personnel. Whether that proved the Church was inefficient or only typically humanx he could not decide. Though security wasn't his problem, it troubled him nonetheless as he finished his meal.
   He was still troubled the following morning, as he made his way back to the desk in the entrance chamber. Mona Tantivy was on duty, and she smiled when she saw him approach. Traffic was moving briskly through the chamber now as Church personnel hustled from one corridor to another and through the double- glass entranceway.
   "Ready?" she asked.
   "I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible," he said, in a sharper tone than he intended. Flinx, aware he was trembling slightly, resolutely calmed himself.
   The woman pursed her lips reprovingly. "Don't act as if you're going to be inoculated or something."
   "In a sense that's just how I feel," he replied grimly.
   And it was. Flinx had grown up with a deficient image of self. If he found no remedy here, he would likely carry that cross with him forever.
   The woman nodded slowly, pressed a switch. A few minutes later a fortyish human with a build like a wrestler came out of the near corridor. His smile was identical to Tantivy's, and he projected the same desire to aid and be helpful. Flinx wondered if this attitude was natural or if that, too, was part of the Church course of instruction: Advanced Personality Manipulation through Traditional Facial Gesticulation or something similar.
   Angrily Flinx thrust his instinctive sarcasm aside. All that mattered was seeing what he had come for.
   "My name's Namoto," the blocky oriental said, introducing himself with smile and handshake. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Lynx."
   Flinx put up a restraining hand. "Let's not call me that until we prove it. Just Flinx, please."
   The smile didn't fade. "All right, whoever you be. Come with me and we'll see if we can find out who you are."
   After what seemed like twenty minutes of walking through hallways and featureless corridors, Flinx was thoroughly disoriented. "It's hard to believe that the Church records of every human being in the Commonwealth ..."
   "... and of every thranx," Namoto finished for him, "are all stored in this small building, but it is true. Information storage is a thousand-year-old science, Flinx. The art of document reduction has been developed to a high degree. Most of the records in this building would be invisible under a standard microscope. Our scanners and imprinters work with much finer resolutions." He paused before a door that looked no different from a hundred already passed.
   "We're here."
   The single word engraved in the translucent door said simply. Genealogy. Behind this door were the early histories of billions of humanx lives-though not all of them. There were still those who did not wish to be documented by anything other than their own epitaph, and a few of them achieved this.
   On the other hand, Flinx had been undocumented his whole life, and he was tired of it.
   "There could be a large number of Philip Lynxes still alive," Namoto suggested as he keyed the door, "although because of certain colloquial sociological connotations, it is a less common name than many."
     "I know what it means," Flinx snapped. Pip shifted uneasily on his master's shoulder at the sudden flare of mental violence.
   The room was enormous. Mostly it consisted of seemingly endless aisles alternating with rows of enclosed metal that stretched from floor to ceiling. No row appeared different from its neighbor.
   Flinx was led to a row of ten booths. Two were occupied by researchers, the rest were empty. Namoto sat down before the single large screen in the walled booth and gestured for Flinx to sit next to him. Then he pressed both thumbs to a pair of hollows set in the screen's side.
   A light winked on beneath them and the screen lit up. Namoto leaned forward, said, "My name is Shigeta Namoto." He relaxed. There was a pause; the machine hummed, and a green light winked on above the screen's center.
   "You are recognized. Padre Namoto," the machine intoned. "Awaiting requests."
   "Report results of previous night's search on one human male named Lynx, Philip. Hold alternate spellings till directed."  He turned, whispered to Flinx, "For a start we'll assume the name on the slaver's record was correct."
   "Possible place of origin," he told the machine, "Allahabad, India Province, Terra." The Padre looked over at his anxious companion. "How old are you ... or do you know?"
   "Mother Mastiff tells me I should be about seventeen, though she can't be sure. Sometimes I feel like I'm seven hundred."
   "And sometimes I feel like I'm seven," the massive Churchman countered pleasantly, returning his attention to the machine.
   "Age approximation noted," the device stated. "Results of search appear."
   Namoto studied the list. "I was right... it's not a common name. There are records of only three Philip Lynxes having been born and registered at Allahabad within the last half century. Only one of them fits your age bracket." He addressed the machine once more.
   "Further information desired."
   There was a brief hum, then the screen lit brightly with the legend: TRANSFERRING ALLAHABAD TERMINAL. Then a moment later: TRANSFER COMPLETED ... CODE LENGTH.
   Namoto gazed at the numbers following. "Doesn't seem to be much information at all. I hope it's worth ..." He paused, suddenly concerned. "Are you all right, Flinx? You're shivering."
   "I'm fine ... it's a lot cooler in here than outside, that's all. Hurry up."
   Namoto nodded. "Decode transfer."
   Flinx's hands tightened convulsively on his thighs as each word was printed out. ...
   LYNX, PHILIP... TRUE NAME... BORN 533 A.A., 2933 OLD CALENDAR IN THE SUBURB OF SARNATH, GREATER URBAN ALLAHABAD,INDIA PROVINCE, TERRA.
   There was a pause during which nothing further appeared on the screen. Flinx turned to Namoto, almost shouting.
   "Is that all?"
   "Gentle, Flinx ... see, more comes." And the print- out continued again.
   NOTES ADDITIONAL: RECORDS OF ASSISTING SEMI- PHYSICIAN AND MONITORING MEDITECH INDICATE PRES- ENCE OF UNUSUALLY HIGH BIRTH AURA IN R-WAVE MATERNITY CHAMBER READINGS ... NO UNUSUAL OR ADVERSE REACTION FROM MOTHER ... R-WAVE READOUTS INDICATE POTENTIAL OF POSSIBLE ABNORMAL TALENTS, CLASS ONE ...
   DELIVERY NORMAL ... NO R-WAVE REACTION ASCRIBABLE TO TRAUMA ... MONITORS POSTOPERATIVE CHECK NORMAL ...INFANT OTHERWISE NORMAL AND HEALTHY. ...
   MOTHER AGED 22 ... NAME: ANASAGE ... GRANDPARENTS UNKNOWN. ...
   Namoto did not look at Flinx as the readout con eluded: FATHER UNKNOWN, NOT PRESENT AT BIRTHING. ...
   Flinx fought to relax. Now that this ordeal was over he wondered at his tension. What information there was told him little and as for the last, well, he had been called a bastard before and far worse than that. But all this new information still did not tell him if Lynx was a lineal name, or one applied solely to him at birth. Without that-or additional information-he might as well not have bothered.
   "Any information," he asked in a soft monotone, "on the post delivery status of the .. ." the word came surprisingly easy now, "mother?"
   Namoto requested it of the machine. The reply was short, eloquent.
   MOTHER DECEASED ... OFF-PLANET, 537 A.A. ... ADDITIONAL DETAIL AVAILABLE. ...
   "Explain the ..." Flinx began, but Namoto hushed him.
   "Just a minute, Philip."
   Pip stirred nervously as his master bristled in reaction.
   "Don't call me that. It's Flinx, just Flinx."
   "Grant me the minute anyhow." Namoto used a small keyboard to instruct the machine manually. There was a low whine from sealed depths. A tiny wheel of millimeter-wide tape, so narrow as to be almost invisible, was ejected from an almost invisible slot. At the same time the screen lit for the last time.
   PRINTOUT OF DELIVERED INFORMATION ACCOMPLISHED ... SECONDARY INFORMATION WITH- DRAWN TEN STANDARD MONTHS TWO WEEKS FOUR DAYS PRIOR THIS DATE....
   Namoto's gaze narrowed. "Someone's been tampering with your file, all right." To the machine, "Identify withdrawing authority."
   UNABLE TO COMPLY ... AUTHORITY WITHDRAWN IMMEDIATELY SUBSEQUENT TO INFORMATION WITHDRAWAL. ...
   "Neat," was all Namoto said. "Your acquaintance wanted to make certain no one else had access to whatever information he stole."
   A red-tinged image grew in his mind-Challis! The merchant had fooled him even at the point of imagined death. He had confessed to the Flinx simulacrum where he bad obtained his information on Flinx, without finding it necessary to add that the critical information was no longer there.
   What he had left in the Church archives was just enough to satisfy any casual inspector and to prevent any cancellation alarms from being activated.
   And Flinx doubted that Challis was awaiting his return back in the capital. So he would have to start his hunt all over again - with no hint of where the merchant had fled to this time. A quiet voice nearby was speaking to him.
   Namoto had keyed the machine release and was offering him the tape. "Here's a copy of what the thief left in the archive." Flinx took it, his movements slow and stunned. "I'm sorry about the rest, whatever it consists of. I suspect if you want to know the contents you're going to have to find your acquaintance again and ask him some direct questions. And when you do, I'd appreciate it if you'd contact the nearest Church authorities." The padre was not smiling. "Theft of Church records is a rather serious offense."
   "This tape-and the one that was stolen - is a many-times-enlarged duplicate of the archive original. Any microscopic scanner will play it back." He rose. "If you want to see it again use the machine in the booth two alcoves over. I'll be at the monitor's desk if you want me for anything."
   Flinx nodded slowly as the padre tamed, walked away.
   Challis! Thief, would-be murderer, casual destroyer of other's lives-next time he might let Pip kiH him. The Commonwealth would be a little cleaner for the absence of ... Something burned his shoulder and nearly yanked him from the chair.
   Pip had all but exploded from his shoulder perch, fast enough to mark the skin beneath Flinx's jumpsait. Fumbling the cassette into a pocket, he scrambled to his feet and raced down the aisle after his panicked pet.
   "Pip ... wait ... there's nothing wrong ...!"
   The minnidrag had already reached the entrance. Both Namoto and the monitor on duty had moved away from the desk. They were watching the snake warily while backing slowly away. The minidrag beat at the translucent plexite for a moment as Flinx rushed from the booth aisle. He was calling to the reptile verbally and mentally, praying that the snake would relax before someone, gentle and understanding or not, took a shot at him.
   The minidrag backed off, fluttering and twisting in the air, and spat once. A loud hissing sound, and a large irregular hole appeared in the door. Flinx made a desperate grab for the receding tail, but too late-the elusive reptile had already squeezed through the aperture.
   "Open the door," he yelled, "I've got to go after him!"
   The attendant stood paralyzed until Namoto murmured tensely, "Open the door, Yena."
   Yena moved rapidly then. "Yes, sir-should I sound an alarm?"
   Namoto looked to Flinx, who was ready to rip the door from its glide. "Pip wouldn't hurt anyone unless he sensed a threat to me."
   "Then what's the matter with him?" the padre asked as the door slid back. Flinx plunged through, the padre close behind.
   "I don't know ... there he goes! Pip ...!"
   The curling tail was just vanishing around a bend in the corridor. Flinx plunged after.
   In the twists and turns of the labyrinthine building, Flinx occasionally lost sight of his pet. But ashen-faced human personnel and thranx with uncontrollably shivering antennae marked the minidrag's path as clearly as a trail of crimson lacquer. Despite his bulk, Padre Namoto remained close behind Flinx.
   It felt as if they had run around kilometers of corners before they finally caught up with the minidrag. Pip was beating leathery wings against another doorway, much larger than any Flinx had seen so far.
   Only this time there was more than a single studious monitor in attendance. Two men wearing aquamarine uniforms were crouched behind a flanking tubular barrier. Each had a small beamer trained on the fluttering mirndrag. Flinx could see a small knot of Church personnel huddled expectantly at the far end of the corridor.
   "Don't shoot!" he howled frantically. "He won't hurt anyone!" Slowing, he moved closer to his pet. But Pip refused every summons, remaining resolutely out of grabbing range as he continued to beat at the doors.
   "Whatever's berserked him is on the other side." He called to the two armed men. "Let him through."
   "That's a restricted area, boy," one of them said, trying to divide his attention between the flying and this new arrival.
   "Let us through," a slightly winded Namoto ordered, moving out where he could be seen clearly. The guard's voice turned respectful.
   . "Sorry, Padre, we didn't know you were in charge of this."
   "I'm not, the snake is. But open the doors anyway. My authority."
   Flinx had barely a minute to wonder exactly how important his helpful guide was before the surprisingly thick double doors started to separate. Pip squeezed through the minimal opening and an impatient Flinx had to wait another moment before the gap was wide enough to admit him.
   Then he was on the other side, which proved to be a corridor no different from any of the many he had al- ready traversed.
   Except...
   Except for the bank of six lifts before him. Two padre-elects were waiting in front of the lift at far left. One was a very old, tall, and oddly deformed human. He stood next to a young female thranx.
   Pip was hovering in midair as Flinx and Namoto slipped into the corridor. Then he suddenly dived at the couple, completely ignoring the other Church personnel who were beginning to notice the presence of the venomous reptile in their midst.
   "Call him off, Flinx," Namoto ordered. There was no hint of obsequiousness in his voice now. He had his beamer out and aimed.
   Flinx suddenly sensed what had pulled so strongly at his pet. As Pip dove, the bent old man ducked and dodged with shocking agility, fairly throwing his young companion against the lift door. She twisted herself as she was shoved. It was sufficient to prevent a nasty break, but too weak to keep her from slamming hard into the unyielding metal. Shiny blue-green legs collapsed and she folded up against the door.
   The old cleric's extraordinary suppleness caused Namoto and the others to delay intervening. Producing a beamer of his own from within the folds of his robes, the man-who had yet to utter a word, even a simple cry for help--took a wild shot at Pip. The minidrag spat, and inhuman reflexes enabled his target to just avoid the corrosive venom. It scorched the finish on the wall behind him.
   "Pip, that's enough!" Something in his master's voice apparently satisfied the minidrag.  Hesitating briefly, the reptile pivoted in midair and raced back to Flinx. But the flying snake still felt uncomfortable enough to disdain his normal shoulder perch, opting in- stead to remain hovering warily near Flinx's right ear.
   For several silent seconds a mass of people were momentarily unified by the paralysis of uncertainty. Then Namoto broke the spell. "What branch are you working with, sir?" he inquired of the object of Pip's assault. "I don't believe I recognize ..."
   The padre became silent as the beamer recently directed against the snake shifted to cover him. Trying to look in every direction at once, the man moved a shifting, glacial glare over the small crowd which had gathered. No one challenged him, electing instead to wait and watch.
   "Keep back, all of you," he finally warned. His accent was one Flinx did not recognize, the words almost more whistled than articulated.
   As the man began backing toward the portal Flinx and Namoto had just passed through, Flinx cautiously edged around to where he could aid the injured young thranx. She was just regaming consciousness when he came near her. Getting both hands around her thorax, he lifted steadily. "He ... threatened to kill me," she was murmuring groggily, still none too steady on trulegs and foothands. He could feel her b-thorax pulsing with uneven breathing.
   Abruptly in control of herself again, the thranx looked accusingly across at her attacker. "He said if I didn't take him down to command level he'd kill me!"
   "You can't get out of this building, sir," Namoto informed the man whom the girl had just accused. "I'm going to have to ask you to put down that beamer and come with me." The beamer waved at him and the padre ceased his approach after a single step.
   "To be rational is to live," the man whistle-talked.
   Without releasing his grip on the beamer, the man reached into the folds of his robes-exceptionally voluminous they were, Flinx noted. A moment's search produced a small brown cube sporting wires and several awkwardly installed knobs.
   "This is a hundred-gram casing of kelite- enough to kill everyone in this corridor."  His explanation was enough to send the younger of the watching acolytes scurrying in retreat.
   Namoto didn't budge. "No volume of explosives could get you out of this complex," he informed the nervous man, his voice steady now. "Furthermore, although that cube looks like a kelite casing, I find that most unlikely, since no volume of explosives can get into this complex without being detected. Furthermore, I don't think you're an authorized member of the Church. If that's true, then you can't be in possession of an activated beamer."
   The padre took another step forward.
   "Keep away, or you'll find out whether it's activated or not!" the man shouted shrilly.
   Every eye in the corridor was locked on the two principals in the threatening standoff-every intelligent eye.
   Flinx thought he saw something move close to the ceiling, suddenly glanced to his right. Pip was no longer there.
   There was no way of telling whether the same thought occurred simultaneously to the old man, or whether he simply detected motion overhead. Whatever the cause, he was ducking and firing before Flinx could shout to his pet.
   Namoto had been right and wrong. The tiny weapon looked like a beamer but wasn't. Instead it fired a tiny projectile that just passed under the minidrag's writhing body. The projectile hit the far wall and bounced to the floor. Whatever it was was nonexplosive, all right; but Flinx doubted its harmlessness.
   This time, Pip was too close to dodge. Powerful muscles in jaws and neck forced the poison out through the hypodermal tube in the minidrag's mouth. The poison missed the eyes, but despite his uncanny agility, the old man couldn't avoid the attack completely. The venom grazed head and neck. A sizzling sound came from dissolving flesh, and the man emitted an unexpected piercing hiss, sounding like an ancient steam engine blowing its safety valve.
   It was not a sound the human throat could manufacture.
   Namoto and Flinx rushed the falling figure. But even as he was collapsing he was fumbling with the cube of "kelite."
   The confidence of a dying man was reason enough for Namoto to fall to the floor and yell a warning to everyone else. Suddenly there was a muffled explosion-but one far smaller than Mite would have produced, and it did not come from the brownish cube. A few screams from the crowd, and the threat past.
   As Flinx climbed back to his feet, he realized that Namoto's observations were once again confused. First, the beamer had turned out to be a weapon, but not a beamer.  And now it seemed this intruder had succeeded in smuggling a minimal amount of explosive into the complex, but not enough to hurt anyone else. If it was indeed kelite, it was a minute amount; but nonetheless, it made an impressive mess of the man's middle. His internals were scattered all over this end of the corridor.
   Flinx was still panting when Pip settled around his shoulder once again. Moving forward, he joined Namoto in examining the wreckage of what minutes before had been a living creature.
   With death imminent, the creature's mind had cleared, his thoughts strengthened multifold. Flinx suddenly found his head assailed with a swirl of unexpected images and word-pictures, but it was the familiarity of one which shocked him so badly that he stumbled.
   Flinx could sense the ghostly rippling picture of a fat man he desired strongly to see again, the man he had given up hope of ever relocating: Conda Challis. This vision was mixed with a world-picture and the picture- world had the name Ulru-Ujurr. Many other images competed for his attention, but the unexpected sight of Challis in the dying intruder's mind overwhelmed them beyond identification.
   Pip had sensed his master's fury at that very individual long minutes ago, back in the archives. Then this wretched person suddenly-undoubtedly-pictured the very same merchant, in terms unfavorable to Flinx. So Pip had reacted in proportion to Flinx's emotional state. Whether the minidrag would still have attacked the stranger had he not drawn a weapon was something Flinx would never know.
   Namoto was studying the corpse.. The explosion had been contained but intense. Little was left to connect the head and upper torso with the legs. Most of the body between had been destroyed.
   Reaching down, the padre felt what appeared to be a piece of loose skin. He tugged ... and the skin came away, revealing a second epidermis beneath. It was shiny, pebbled, and scaly--as inhuman as that final cry had been.
   As inhuman as the thoughts Flinx had entered.
   A low murmur of astonishment began to rise in the crowd, continuing as Namoto, kneeling, pulled and tore away the intricate molding which formed the false facial structure. When the entire skull had been exposed, Namoto rose, his gaze moving to the sample of forged flesh he held in one hand. "A nye," he observed matter-of-factly. He dropped the shard of skin, wiped his hands on his lower robe.
   "An adult AAnn," someone in the crowd muttered.
   "In here!"
   "But why? What did he hope to accomplish with so small an explosive?"
   Someone called for attention from the back of the crowd, held up a tiny shape. "Crystal syringe-dart," she explained. "That's how he got past the detectors-no beamer, no explosive-shell weapon."
   "Surely," someone approached Namoto, "he didn't come all this way with all this elaborate preparation, just to kill someone with a little dart gun?"
   "I don't think so, either," the padre commented, gazing down at the body. "That explosive-that was a suicide charge, designed to kill him in the event of discovery. But perhaps it was also there to destroy some- thing else."
   "What kind of something else?" the same person wondered.
   "I don't know. But we're going to analyze this corpse before we dispose of it." Kneeling again, Namoto pawed slowly through the cauterized meat. "He was well armed as far as it went-his insides are full of pulverized crystal. Must have been carrying several dozen of those syringe-darts."
   Flinx jerked at the observation, started to say some- thing-then turned his budding comment into a yawn. He couldn't prove a thing, and it was an insane sup- position anyway. Besides, if by some miracle he were half right, he would certainly be subjected to a year of questioning by Church investigators. He might never find Conda Challis then. Worse, by that time the indifferent merchant might have destroyed the missing record he had stolen, that remaining piece in the puzzle of Flinx's life.
   So he could not afford to venture a childish opinion on what those fragments might be of.
   A full crew of uniformed personnel entered the corridor. Some began dispersing the still buzzing crowd while others commenced an intensive examination of the corpse.
   One small, very dark human glanced casually at the organic debris, then walked briskly over to confront the padre.
   "Hello, Namoto."
   "Sir," the padre acknowledged, with so much respect in his voice that Flinx was drawn from his own personal thoughts to consideration of the new arrival. "He was well disguised."
   "An AAnn," the short package of mental energy noted. "They're feeling awfully bold when they try to slip one of their own in here. I wonder what his purpose was?"
   Flinx had an idea, but it formed part of the information he had chosen not to disclose. Let these brilliant Churchmen figure it out for themselves. After he recovered the lost piece of himself from Challis, then he would tell them what he had guessed. Not before.
   While the new man talked with Namoto, Flinx turned his attention back to the swarm of specialists studying the corpse. This was not the first time he had encountered the reptilian AAnn, though it was the time in the flesh.
   An uneasy truce existed between the Humanx Commonwealth and the extensive stellar empire of the AAnn. But that didn't keep the reptilians from probing for weak spots within the human-thranx alliance at every opportunity.
   "Who penetrated its disguise?"
   "I did, sir," Flinx informed him, "or rather, my pet did, Pip." He fondled the smooth triangular head and the minidrag's eyes closed with pleasure.
   "How," Namoto asked pointedly, "did the snake know?" He turned to his superior, added for his benefit,  "We were in genealogy at the time, sir, halfway around the complex."
   Flinx's reply walked a fine line between truth and prevarication. What he left out was more important, however, than what he said.
   "The minidrag can sense danger, sir," he explained smoothly. "Pip's an empathic telepath and we've been together long enough to develop a special rapport. He obviously felt the AAnn posed a threat, however distant, to me and he reacted accordingly."
   "Obviously," murmured the smaller man noncommittally. He turned to face the young thranx. "How are you involved in this Padre-elect?"
   She stopped preening her antennae, snapped to a pose of semiattention. "I was on monitor duty at the lift station, sir. I thought it was a human. He approached me and said he had to go down to command level."
   Down to-Flinx's mind started envisioning what wasn't visible.
   "I wondered why he didn't simply use his own lift pass. No one without a pass should be allowed this far. He had one, and showed it to me. He insisted that either it didn't work or else that the lift receptor was out of order."
   She looked downward. "I suppose I ought to have sensed something then, but I did not."
   Namoto spoke comfortingly. "How could you know?
   As you say, he got this far. His forgery wasn't good enough to fool the lift security 'puter, though."
   "Anyway," she continued, "I tried my own pass on Lift One, and it responded perfectly. Then I tried his and it didn't even key the Acknowledge light. So he asked me to call a lift for him. I told him it would be better to have his pass checked for malfunction, first. He said he didn't have time, but I was obstinate. That's when he pulled the weapon and told me to call him a lift or he'd kill me."
   Flinx noted that she was still unsteady despite the support of four limbs.
   "Then these two gentlemen arrived, just as I was about to call the lift." She indicated Flinx and Namoto.
   'You couldn't sound an alarm?" the smaller man wondered gruffly.
   She made an elaborate thranx gesture of helplessness with her truhands.
   "When he pulled the weapon I was away from the silent alarm at the desk, sir. I couldn't think of a reason to get back to it ... and, I was frightened, sir. I'm sorry. It was so unexpected. ..." She shivered again. "I had no reason to suspect it was an AAnn."
   "He looked human to everybody else," Flinx said comfortingly. The valentine-shaped head looked gratefully across at him. Though that face was incapable of a smile, she clicked her mandibles at him in thanks.
   "Every experience that doesn't end in death is valuable," the short man pontificated. That appeared to end her involvement as far as he was concerned. His attention was directed again to the people working with the body.
   "Get this cleaned up and report to me as soon as preliminary analysis is completed," he snapped. His motions, Flinx noted, were quick, sharp, as if he moved as well as thought faster than the average being. One of those movements fixed Flinx under a penetrating stare. "That's an interesting pet you have, son. An empathic telepath, you say?"
    "From a world called Alaspin, sir," Flinx supplied helpfully.
   The man nodded. "I know of them, but I never expected to see one. Certainly not a tame one. He senses danger to you, hmmm?"
   Flinx smiled slightly. "He makes a very good body- guard."
   "I dare say." He extended a hand too big for his body. "I'm Counselor Second Joshua Jiwe."
   Flinx now understood the deference which had been shown this man. He shook his hand slowly. "I never expected to meet anyone so high in the Church hierarchy, sir." Though he didn't add that in Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex, who had been with him in the hunt for the Tar-Aiym Krang, he had met two who had at one time ranked even higher.
   "I'm in charge of Depot security." Again that head whipped around, instead of turning normally, to face Namoto. "What do you know about this young man?"
   "He's come a long way in search of his natural parents. I've been doing my best to help him locate traces of them."
   "I see." Jiwe spun on Flinx again. "No doubt you're anxious to leave?"
   "I've done everything here I can," Flinx admitted. Jiwe could be the man to ask the awkward questions Flinx always feared.
   The Counselor Second reminded him of a Canish, a small, superactive little carnivore that haunted the chill forests of Moth. It was a quick, sharp-eyed killer whose movements were as hard to pin down as a muffled curse in a crowd, and a threat to creatures many times its size.
   Like this Jiwe, Flinx suspected. The man was too interested in Pip and in the minidrag's relationship to Flinx. It was difficult to concentrate on Jiwe, however, when Flinx's mind was still astorm with the knowledge that Conda Challis had appeared in the thoughts of the dying AAnn. What had a human merchant to do with the lizards?
   "Are you all right, Flinx?" Namoto was eying him concernedly. "You looked dazed."
   "I was. I was drifting home in my mind ... where my body ought to be headed."
   "And where is that?" Jiwe inquired interestedly.
   Damn the man! "A central trading world, name of Moth, city of Drallar."
   The Counselor looked thoughtful. "I know the world. Interesting, a lightly populated planet with a long history of settlement. Very independent-minded people. The local government's a benevolent monarchy, I believe."
   Flinx nodded.
   "An indifferent monarchy would be more accurate, I think," ventured Namoto.
   The Counselor smiled. "It all amounts to the same thing as far as the locals are concerned." He even grinned like a Canish, Flinx mused.
   "And you say you can occasionally sense his thoughts and he yours, son?"
   "Feelings, not thoughts, sir," Flinx corrected hastily.
   The Counselor seemed to consider for a moment before asking, "I wonder if you'd have a minute or two to spare? We won't delay your departure very long. If you'll just accompany us downstairs ..."
   "Sir ..." Namoto started to interrupt, but the Counselor waved his objection away.
   "It doesn't matter. This is a perceptive young man and he's heard more than enough to know by now that there are levels to the Depot below what is visible on the surface. I think he's sufficiently mature to know when to keep his mouth shut and what not to talk loosely about." He stared piercingly at Flinx. "Aren't you, son?"
   Flinx nodded vigorously, and the Counselor rewarded him with another quasi-carnivorous smile. "Good ... I like a free spirit. Now then, we have a small problem we've been unable to solve. You might be able to approach it differently than anyone else. All I ask is that you make an effort for us. Afterward, regardless of the results, we'll put you on an atmospheric shuttle free to anywhere on Terra. What do you say?"
   Since he couldn't very well refuse the offer without making the Counselor twice as suspicious of his peculiar abilities as he already was, Flinx smiled cheerfully and replied with a marvelous imitation of innocent enthusiasm.
   "I’ll be happy to do anything I can, of course!"
   "I thought you might say that. I hoped so. Padre Namoto, you might as well join us-this could be instructive.  Someone else can temporarily cover your normal duties." He gestured at the reptilian corpse. "Security will be working with this mess for quite a while yet."
   Then he turned to face the young thranx. "Padreelect Sylzenzuzex, you were about to call a lift. Do so now."
   "Yes, sir." She appeared to have recovered completely from the shock of her near-abduction. Returning the Counselor's request with a poised salute of truhand and left antenna, she moved to the nearest lift door and inserted a complex three-pronged card into a slot on its right.
   Following an intricate push-and-twist of the card, the slot immediately lit with a soft green glow. A matching telltale winked on above the doorway, beeped three times. Sliding silently aside, the door revealed an elevator car of surprising size.
   Flinx entered after the padre-elect. Something ... something about her was nudging a familiar memory. The thought faded as his attention was caught by the rank of numbers set just inside the door.
   In descending order the panel read: 2-1-0-1-2-3- and so on down to twelve. Twelve stories below ground level and only three above.  Mentally, he smiled, remembering. Now he was certain that his groundcar driver had been something more than a talkative oldster. But he hadn't lied to Flinx-he had simply described the Depot only as it was, without bothering to mention what couldn't be seen.
   The thranx inserted the card into a slot below the panel of numbers. Flinx saw there were no switches, buttons, or other controls. Someone without a card might force the doorway into a lift, but without that intricate triangle-shape it could not be activated.
   She cocked her head toward Jiwe. "Sir?"
   "Seventh level," the Counselor directed her, "quadrant thirty-three."
   "That's the hospital, isn't it, sir? I don't get out that way very often."
   "That's right. Padre-elect."
   Inserting the card into the slot, she made another complex turn with it. The number seven lit on the panel, and a long series of tiny numbers appeared within the material of the card itself. Holding it firmly in place, she slipped one digit over the number 33. As soon as the light was covered, the door slid shut.
   Flinx felt the lift move downward, accelerate, and shift in directions he could not follow. Several minutes later it stopped. Combining changes of direction with an approximation of their steady, smooth speed, he decided rapidly that they were no longer beneath the visible structure of the Depot.
   When the door finally slid aside Flinx stepped out into a crowd of humans and thranx that was startling in its density. Here white was the predominant color of clothing, though every uniform, robe, or jumpsuit was touched at some spot or another with the identifying aquamarine.
   Jiwe and Namoto led while Flinx lagged behind, keeping pace with the young thranx. His nagging supposition concerning her had blossomed impossibly.
   She spoke first, however, reaching up to put a delicate truhand on his free shoulder. "I did not have a chance to thank you and your pet for saving my life. My delay shames me. Accept those thanks now."
   He inhaled deeply of her natural fragrance. "All the thanks belong to Pip, not me," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Listen, what did the Counselor call you?" "Padre-elect. The rank is approximately-"
   "Not that," he corrected curiously. "Yonr name."
   "Oh... Sylzenzuzex."
   "That would break down as Syl, of the Hive Zen, family Zu, the Clan Zex?"
   "That's right," she acknowledged, unsurprised. Any human could break down a thranx name. "What's yours?"
   "Flinx ... yes, one calling. But I've another reason for making certain of yours, one that goes beyond exchanging identification." They rounded a bend in the pastel-walled corridor.
   "You see. I think I know your uncle...."
   Chapter Seven
    
   Thranx are stiff-jointed but extremely sure of foot. Nevertheless, Flinx's pronouncement caused his insectoid companion to stumble. Multiple-lensed eyes regarded him with astonishment.
   "My... what?"
   Flinx hesitated as they turned still another corner. How far did this underground world extend laterally, he wondered. Perhaps for the length and breadth of the whole island?
   "I might not have the pronunciation correct," he said awkwardly. "But aren't you related to an old philosoph named Truzenzuzex?"
   "Say that one more time," she coaxed him. He did so. "You're sure of that stress on the family syllable?" A positive nod. "I'm not sure 'uncle' would be a proper Terrangio analog, but yes, we are closely related. I haven't seen Tru in several years, not since my adolescence began."
   "You know him well?"
   "Not really. He was one of those childish gods-you understand, an adult whom other adults idolized? How do you happen to know him?"
   "We were companions on a journey not long ago," Flinx explained.
   "He was an Eint, you know," she went on thoughtfully. "Very famous, very controversial in his beliefs. Too controversial, many in the Clan thought. Then when I heard he had left the Church ..."
   The sentence died quickly. "It is not discussed in the Clan. I've heard practically nothing of him since he vanished many years ago to engage in private research with a human stingship partner of his youth."
   "Bran Tse-MaHory," Flinx supplied, reminiscing.
   The girl nearly stumbled again. "I've never known a human so full of the nectar of the unexpected. You are a strange being, Flinx-man."
   When the question of his strangeness came up it was always a good time to change the subject.
   He gestured upward. "So the Records Depot above- ground isn't much more than camouflage for the real Church center."
   "I ..." She looked ahead and Flinx noted that the Counselor hadn't missed a word of their conversation, judging from the speed with which he replied.
   "Go ahead and tell him, padre-elect. If we don't he'll probably divine it anyway. How about it, son - are you clairvoyant?"
   "If I was, I wouldn't be asking, would I?" Flinx shot back nervously, trying to conceal his increasing unease at the Counselor's pointed comments. He had to get out of here. If he was still present when word of his extraordinary escape on Hivehom trickled down to Jiwe's level, they might never let him go. He would become something he had always fought to avoid-a curiosity, to be studied and examined like a pinned butterfly under glass.
   But he couldn't turn and run. He would have to wait this out.
   Now that she'd been granted permission, Sylzenzuzex explained enthusiastically, "The aboveground De- pot is fully utilized, but the majority of the installation extends under much of Bali, in many directions. There are only two ways in and out. Through the records center, above and behind us now, and through the undersea shuttleport facing Lombok." Her eyes glistened.
   "It's a wonderful place. So much to study. So much to learn here, Flinx!"
   Flinx's reaction so far had been something less than boundless enthusiasm. He suspected Sylzenzuzex came from a rather coddled family. His own blithe trust of honored people and institutions had died somewhere between the ages of eight and nine.
   He noticed how the overhead fluorescents filled her enormous eyes with ever-changing rainbows. "The active volcanic throat of Mount Agung is channeled and controlled. It supplies all the power the Church complex requires. The entire island is completely self-contained and self-sustaining. It..."
   She broke off as Namoto and Jiwe stopped in front of a door flanked by two Church guards wearing aqua- marine uniforms. Their apparent relaxation, Flinx sensed, was deceptive, as was the casual way they seemed to hold their beamers.
   Proper identification was exchanged, and they were admitted to a much smaller corridor. Two additional screenings by six more armed men and thranx finally gained them entrance to a modest chamber. In the center of this room was a narrow bed. It sat like a spider in its web at the center of a gleaming mass of highly sophisticated medical machinery.
   As they moved toward the bed Flinx saw it contained a single immobile man. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. Indirect, carefully aligned lighting insured that his vacant eyes would not be damaged and a tiny device regularly moistened his frozen-open orbs. Awake but unaware, conscious but not cognizant, the man floated nude save for wires and tubes on a bed of clear medical gelatin.
   Flinx tried to follow the maze of lines and cables and circuitry that stopped just short of metallic mummification, decided that more than anything else the immobile man resembled an over utilized power terminal.
   Jiwe glanced once at the sleeper. "This is Mordecai Povalo." He turned to Flinx. "Ever hear of him?"
   Flinx hadn't.
   The Counselor leaned over the motionless figure. "He's been hovering between life and death for weeks now. On certain days he'll show some slight improvement. Other days will require the efforts of a dozen physicians to keep him living. Whether he has any will to live left no one can tell.
   "The technicians insist his mind is still active, still functioning. His body tolerates the machines that keep it running. Although his eyes are open we can't tell if they're registering images. Just because his visual centers continue to operate doesn't mean he's seeing anything."
   Flinx found himself drawn to the frozen figure. "Will he ever come out of his coma?"
   "According to the doctors it's not properly a coma. They don't have a term for it yet. Whatever it is ... no. They expect him to stay like this until his mind quits or his body finally rejects the life-sustaining equipment."
   "Then why," Flinx wanted to know, "keep him alive?"
    
   On Evoria there dwelt a thranx Di-einf ccaled Tintonurac, who was universally famed for his brilliance - though of present, he wore the look of a happy idiot.
   Of course, his insectoid face could not produce a human expression, but in the years since the Amalgamation humans had learned to read thranx expressions with the some facility their quasi-symbiotic insect associates had teamed to interpret mankind's.
   No human or thranx noticed his expression at the moment, an expression alien to the face of the most acclaimed member of his Hive.
   Head of his clan, he was a credit to his aunts and uncles, to his hive-mother and to his real parents, Tintonorac's particular wizardry lay in the ability to translate the concepts and schemes of others into reality-for he was o Master Fabricator, or precision engineer. Not only did his mechanical creations improve upon their originator's initial drawings, they were as attractive to look upon as they were supremely functional. Debate raged among his admirers as to whether their idol should more properly be considered o sculptor than an engineer.
    Among his many products were a device which neatly dispatched a virulent human disease, an energy multiplex system for the hydroeleciric plants so prevalent on thranx worlds, and an improved fire-control system for the sometimes wild yet irresistible SCCAM weapons system that was the mainstay of the combined human-thranx peace-forcer fleet. There were still others, some more esoteric than believable, which only his magic could transform into working devices.
   But none of his inventions was the cause of his giddily pleased expression in this eighth month of the tail end of the Season of High Pollen on Evorio. The source of his pleasure was a glistening object that he kept concealed in a drawer of his workbench. He was staring of if now, reveling in ifs message and its glory as he sat at work in the laboratory, his six assistants attending to business around hint. All were respected scientists and engineers in their own right. Of the group, four were thranx and two human. It was a measure of the admiration accorded Tintonurac that such people would volunteer to serve as his assistants, when they could easily have had laboratories and staffs of their own.
   The Di-eint's mandibles moved in thranx laughter as he chuckled of a new thought. How curious a thing to occur to him! What might it be like to combine the two liquid metals in the flasks on his truhand's left with the catolyst solvent locked in its container across the room?
   Acting as if half asleep, Tintonurac walked to the cabbinet and removed the solvent. Turning back to his lounge-seat, he discovered that the pleasure grew deeper and more profound as he pursued this course of action.
   Dridenvopca was working with the human Cassidy, but not so intensely that he foiled to notice the Di-eint's actions. Distracted, he left his work to store as Tintonurac poured the syrupy contents of one flask info a second. Be'jeweled compound eyes glittered uncertainly when the contents of the overfull flask gushed the new mixture onto the bench, then to the floor. The Di-eint was as clean in his physical manipulations as in his mental, and this was not like him. Nor was the mask of pure, unthinking delight on his face.
   Dridenvopa started to comment, then held himself back. Surely the Di-eint knew what he was doing. That reassuring thought sent him back to his own task, until he and Cassidy both noticed the brightly labeled container the Di-eint was transferring from a toothand to a truhand.
   "Isn't that ...?" the human Cassidy began in puzzled symbospeech, the all-purpose galactic patois, as the Di-eint unlocked the container. Instead of finishing the question he lei out a strange human yowl and tried to cross meters of intervening benches and equipment before the inevitable occurred. But he was unable to get there in time to prevent a small portion of the harmless liquid in the container from entering the flask of the harmless, mixed liquid metal. Together, these harmless substances formed a rapidly expanding boll so hot and intense as to make white phosphorus seem arctic cold.
   Despite the increasing incandescence, Tintonurac concentrated on the pleased beauty within the object...
   The always efficient fire-fighting arm of the local thranx municipality arrived with its usual speed. All that remained for them to lavish their attention on was a scorched region between two buildings. The incredible heat had incinerated the metal walls of the laboratory. Its organic inhabitants had perished.
   The investigators decided that someone had made an unusual yet possible mistake. Even the most brilliant scientist could make a fatal slip, even a thranx could lethally err, when hypnotized by a magnificence that the investigators might have understood, had it not been cremated along with the rest of the laboratory's contents-as had been intended.
    
   Jiwe reflected on Flinx's question. "Because he's symptomatic of something which has been happening with distressing frequency lately throughout the Commonwealth. Most people refuse to see any pattern to it, any connection between incidents. A very few, myself among them, aren't so certain these events are unrelated.
   "Over the past several years, important people with unique talents have exhibited an unnerving tendency to blow themselves to bits, along with a sometimes equally unique apparatus. Taken individually, these incidents affect only the immolated. Taken collectively, they constitute something potentially dangerous to a great many others."
   The silence in the chamber was punctuated only by the efficient hum of life-sustaining equipment, the eerie wheeze of a mechanical zombie.
   "Out of dozens, Povalo here is the only one who wasn't quite thorough enough in doing away with himself. Though for all the difference, he might as well be dead. He's certainly no good to himself anymore."
   "You say some of yon believe these suicides are all linked," Flinx ventured. "Have you discovered anything to connect them?"
   "Nothing positive," Jiwe admitted, "which is why there are so few of us. All of them did have one thing in common, though. Not one appeared to have any reason for wanting to kill himself. I happen to think that's mighty significant. But the Council doesn't agree."
   Flinx showed little interest. Now was the time to quash personal curiosity and get about the business of getting out. "What do you want of me?"
   Jiwe moved to a nearby chair, threw himself into it. "Povalo was a wealthy, intelligent, wholly self- possessed engineer doing important research. Now he's a vegetable. I want to know why a man like that-why many humans and thranx like that-seem to find it suddenly necessary to murder themselves. Yes, self- murder ... I can't call it suicide when I truly believe it's something else."
   "What am I supposed to do?" Flinx asked warily.
   "You detected that AAnn infiltrator when no one else suspected his presence."
   "That was lust an accident," Flinx explained. He scratched Pip's jaw. "It happens only when. Pip gets excited, when he perceives a possible threat to me." He indicated Povalo. "Your subject is hardly a threat."
   "I'm not expecting a thing," Jiwe calmed him, "I'm just asking yon to try. I'll try tarot readers and tea leaves after you've failed."
   Flinx sighed elaborately. "If you insist..."
   "Ask," the Counselor reminded him gently, "not insist."
   Semantics, Flinx thought sardonically; but he dutifully turned to face the bed and concentrated on its limp occupant. He struggled to reach past those sightless eyes, more afraid of what he might discover than what he might not.
   Pip tightened reflexively on his shoulder, sensing his master's effort. Flinx hoped without much confidence that Jiwe hadn't noticed the minidrag's reaction. What he had failed to consider was that his very unease as he concentrated on Povalo was enough to stimulate Pip. There was a threat present, even if only in his own mind.
   No faint haze obscured his vision. There was no lilting music in his ears to distract him. The bed, its cocoon of circuitry, the shining equipment, and the translucent gelatin suspension-all were clear as ever to his eyes. And yet ... there was something in his mind that he saw without those eyes, something that hadn't been there a moment ago. It was part of the creature on the bed.
   A young man in the fullness of youth-an idealized distortion of Mordecai Povalo-was courting a woman of supernal beauty. Together they floated in thick cumulus clouds engorged with moist love. Side by side they dove ecstatically to the glassy green depths of a shallow ocean. From time to time the figures changed slightly, in build, in coloring, but the subject was ever the same.
   Without warning the woman disappeared-swam off, flew off, ran away, depending on the terrain of the moment. Distraught beyond hope, the man walked to a workbench, depressed a switch on a tiny instrument board which would make everything well again.
   In the magnificence of youth, Povalo-plus courted a woman of supple grace, swirling and spinning in love- tarns about her as they floated among pink clouds....
   Flinx biinked once, looked away from the bed. Jiwe was watching him intently. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
   "I couldn't detect a thing."
   The Counselor held his stare a moment longer, then slumped back into the chair. He appeared to age ten years.
   "I got what I expected. I thank you for trying, Flinx."
   "May I leave, now?"
   "Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Padre-elect," he directed Sylzenzuzex, "you'd better go with our young friend and show him his way out." Then he looked again at Flinx. "I'll authorize a blank voucher for travel any where on Terra. You can pick it up on your way out."
   "If it's all right with you, sir," Flinx declared, "I'd like to make one more trip to Records. I think I might find some related information on my parents. And I'd like to replay the copy of the information I already have."
   Jiwe looked blankly at Namoto, who reminded him: 'The boy's parents, remember?"
   "Yes. Naturally any help we can give you we will gladly provide. Padre-elect, you can assist our friend Flinx in finding any information he requires. One last thing, son," Jiwe finished, managing to smile slightly again, "if you run into any more visitors who smell like an old jacket instead of a human or thranx, please speak up before your pet assassinates them?"
   "I'll do that, sir," Flinx agreed, smiling back. His relief as they left the room was considerable.
   "Where do you want to go?" Sylzenzuzex inquired as they re-entered the main hospital corridor. "Back to Genealogy?"
   "No ... I think I've gotten all I can from there. Let's try your Galographics Department. I think I may have located the world my parents moved to." This was a lie.
   "No problem," Sylzenznzex assured him, her mandibles clacking politely.
   As they continued down the corridor, Flinx mulled over what he had seen in Povalo's mind. The idealized vision of himself, the woman, the clouds, seas, and rolling hills-all gentle, simple images of an uncomplicated paradise.
   Except for the console. Everything had been all golden and red and green. He had not seen reality, of course, but merely a simulation of it which the comatose engineer had thought was reality.
   Those simple colors. The shifting body outlines. Flinx had seen them before.
   Just prior to his death, the engineer Mordecai Povalo had owned and played with a Janus jewel.
   Povalo's jewel naturally led Flinx to think of Conda Challis and his own little crystal playhouse. Conda Challis had been in the mind of the infiltrating AArm, along with the unknown world Ulru-Ujurr.
   A bizarre series of coincidences which undoubtedly led nowhere. Never mind the AAnn and to perdition with poor Mordecai Povalo! Flinx had no room in his mind for anything now save Challis and the information be had removed from the Church archive.
   That was why he was going to Galographics. His parents ... they could quite easily have died right here on Terra. To find out for certain he had to find Challis; and the merchant might well have fled to an unfamiliar globe Eke this Ulru-Ujurr-if indeed such a world existed and was not merely some aspect of the AAnn's mind that Flinx had misinterpreted.
   It felt as if they had walked for hours before they reached the bank of lifts again. Once more Sylzenzuzex employed the complex card key, once more they traveled an angular pathway.
   The level they eventually stepped onto was deserted, a far cry from the bustle of the hospital section. She led him past doors with long compound names engraved in them until they entered the one they sought.
   Physically, Galographics looked like a duplicate of the Genealogy Archives, with one exception.  This room was smaller and it contained more booths. Furthermore, the monitoring attendant here was much younger than the one he had encountered before.
   "I'd like some help hunting up an obscure world."
   The attendant drew herself up proudly. "Information retrieval eliminates obscurity. It is the natural building block of the Church, on which all other studies must be based. For without access to knowledge, how can one learn about learning?"
   "Please," Flinx said, "no more than two maxims per speech." Behind him, Sylzenzuzex's mandibles clicked in barely stifled amusement.
   The attendant's professional smile froze. "You can use the catalog spools, three aisles down." She pointed.
   Flinx and Sylzenzuzex walked toward the indicated row. "The world I want to check on is called Ulru- Ujurr."
   "Ujurr," she echoed in symbospeech, the odd word sounding more natural when spoken in her consonant- oriented voice. Flinx watched her closely, but she gave no sign that she had ever heard the name before.
   He couldn't immediately decide whether that was good or bad.
   "Is that symbospeech spelling?" she asked after he made a show of blocking it out. "The tape doesn't say for sure. There may be variables. Let's try phonetic first, though." The attendant appeared to hesitate slightly, wondering if perhaps a Church tape would be so unspecific. But there were variable spellings of far better known worlds, she reminded herself.
   They walked down an aisle lined by the vast, nearly featureless walls of the information storage banks. In those metal ramparts, Flinx knew, were stored trillions of bits of information on every known world within and without the Commonwealth.
   These records nrobablv had an annex buried somewhere beneath them in the true labyrinth of the Depot complex, an annex closed to casual inspection. For that reason, if Flinx's globular quarry happened to be of some secretive, restricted nature, it might not appear in the spools here.
   He was somewhat surprised when they found what appeared to be the proper compartment. Sylzenzuzex pressed a switch nearby and the metal wall responded with oral confirmation.
   "It could be a different Ulru-Ujurr," she warned him, as she studied the labels and minute inscriptions identifying the spool case. "But there don't appear to be any cross-references to another world with a similar name."
   "Let's try it," Flinx instructed impatiently.
   She inserted a card key into the appropriate slot. It was a far simpler device than the one used to operate the multilevel lifts. They were rewarded with a tiny spool of thread-thin tape. She squinted at it-though that was merely an impression Flinx interpreted by her movements, rather than by a physical gesture, since she had no eyelids to narrow.
   "It's so hard to tell, but it seems as if there's very little on this tape," she finally told him.  "Sometimes, though, you can find a spool that looks like it contains two hundred words and in actuality it holds two mil- lion. They could make this system more efficient."
   Flinx marveled at anyone who could call such a sys- tem inefficient. But, he reminded himself, even the lowliest members of the Church hierarchy were constantly exhorted to find ways to improve the organization. Spiritual methodology, they called it.
   Only a few of the booths were occupied. They found one at the end of a row, isolated from the other users.
   Flinx took the chair provided for humans, while Sylzenzuzex folded herself into the narrow bench designed for thranx and inserted the fragment of sealed plastic into the playback receptor. Then she activated the viewscreen, using the same procedure Namoto had employed earlier. The screen lit up Immediately.
   Displayed was the expected statistical profile: Ulru-Ujurr was approximately twenty percent larger than Terra or Hivehom, though its composition produced a gravity only minimally stronger. Its atmosphere was breathable and uncomplicated and it contained plenty of water. There were extensive ice caps at both poles. Further indicative of the planet's cool climate was the extent of apparent glaciation. It was a mountainous world, its temperate zone boasting intemperate weather, and primarily ice north of that.
   "It's not a true iceworld," Flinx commented, "but it's cooler than many which are suited to humanx habitation." He examined the extensive list closely, then frowned. "A little cold weather shouldn't discourage all humanx settlement on an otherwise favorable world, but I don't see any indication of even a scientific monitoring post. Every inhabitable world has at least that. Moth supports a good-sized population, and there are humanx settlements of size on far less hospitable planets. I don't understand, Sylzenzuzex."
   His companion was all but quivering with imagined cold. " 'Cool,' he calls it. 'Habitable.' For you humans, perhaps, Flinx. For a thranx it's a frozen hell."
   "I admit it's far from your conception of the ideal." He turned back to the readout. "Apparently there's both animal and vegetable native life, but no descriptions or details. I can see how the terrain would restrict such studies, but not eliminate them totally the way they seem to have been." He was growing more and more puzzled.
   "There aren't any significant deposits of heavy metals or radioactives."
   In short, although people could live on Ulru- Ujurr-there just wasn't anything to entice them there. The planet lay on the fringe of the Commonwealth, barely within its spatial borders, and it was comparatively distant from the nearest settled world. Not an attractive place to settle.
   But dammit, there ought to be some sort of outpost!
   That was the end of the tape except for one barely legible addendum:  THOSE DESIROUS OF OBTAINING ADDITIONAL STATISTICAL DETAIL CONSULT APPENDIX 4325 SECTION BMQ....
   "I presume you're as tired of reading statistics as I am," Sylzenzuzex said as she set the tiny tape to rewind. "As far as your parents are concerned, this world certainly looks like a dead end. What do you wish to see now?"
   Trying to keep his tone casual, he said, "Let's go ahead and finish with this one first."
   "But that means digging through the sub-indexes," she protested. "Surely you ..."
   "Let's make sure of this," he interrupted patiently.
   She made a thranx sound indicating moderate resignation coupled with overtones of amusement, but she didn't argue further.
   After nearly an hour of cross-checking they hunted down Appendix 4325, Section BMQ; obtained the necessary sub-index, and prodded the somehow reluctant machine to produce the requested tape sub-sub- heading. Someone, Flinx thought, had gone to a lot of trouble to conceal this particular bit of information without being obvious about it.
   This time his suspicions were confirmed. Slipped into the viewer and activated, the screen displayed glaring red letters which read: ULRU-UJURR ... HABIT- ABLE WORLD ... THIS PLANET AND SYSTEM ARE UNDER EDICT....
   The date of the first and only survey of the planet was listed, together with the date on which it was placed under Church Edict by the Grand Council.
   That was the end of it, as far as Sylzenzuzex was concerned. "You've reached the Hive wall. I can't imagine what led you to think your parents could be on this world. You must have made a mistake, Flinx. That world is Under Edict. That means that nothing and no one is permitted to travel within shuttle distance of its surface. There will be at least one automated peaceforcer in orbit around it, programmed to intercept challenge anything that tries to reach the planet. Any- one ignoring the Edict ... well," she paused significantly, "you can't outrun or outmaneuver a peace- forcer." Her eyes glistened. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
   "Because I'm 'going there. To Ulru-Ujarr," he added, at her expression of disbelief.
   "I retract my first evaluation," she said sharply. "You are more than strange, Flinx-or perhaps your mind is becoming unhinged by the traumatic events of today."
   "My mind's hinges are fastened down and working smoothly, thanks. You want to hear something really absurd?"
   She eyed him warily. "I'm not sure."
   "I think all these suicides of important people that Jiwe is so worried about have something to do with the Janus jewel."
   "The Janus - I've heard of them, but how ...?"
   He rushed on recklessly. "I saw powder that might have come from a disintegrated jewel on the body of the infiltrator."
   "I thought that was from destroyed crystal syringe- darts."
   "It could also have been from a whole jewel."
   "So what?"
   "So . . . I don't know what; but I just have a feeling everything ties together somehow:  the jewels, the suicides, this world-and the AAnn."
   She looked at him somberly. "If you feel so strongly about this, then for the Hive's sake why did you not tell the Counselor?"
   "Because ... because ..." his thoughts slowed, ran into that ever-present warning wall, "I can't, that's all. Besides, who'd listen to a crazy theory like that when it comes from .. ." then he smiled suddenly, "an unhinged youngster like myself."
   "I don't think you're that young," she countered, pointedly ignoring the comment about him being unhinged. "Then why tell anyone ... why tell me?"
   "I ... wanted another opinion, to see if my theory sounded as crazy out loud as it does in my head."
   Her mandibles clicked nervously. "All right, I think it sounds crazy. Now can we forget all this and go on to the next world your research turned up?"
   "My research didn't turn up any other worlds. It didn't turn up Ulru-Ujurr, either."
   She looked exasperated. "Then where did you find the name?"
   "In the ..." He barely caught himself. He had al- most confessed that he'd plucked it out of the mind of the dying AAnn. "I can't tell you that, either."
   "How am I supposed to help you, Flinx, if you refuse to let me?"
   "By coming along with me,"
   She stood there dumbstruck.
   "I need someone who can override a peaceforcer command. You're a padre-elect in Security or you wouldn't have been monitoring a station as sensitive as the surface lift corridor. You could do it." He stared anxiously at her.
   "You had better go talk to Counselor Jiwe," she told him, speaking very slowly. "Even assuming I could do such a thing, I would never consider challenging a Church Edict."
   "Listen," Flinx said quickly, "a higher-ranking Church member wouldn't consider it, and would be followed, if only for protective reasons. Not even a Commonwealth military craft would. But you're not so high up in the hierarchy that it would cause alarm if you suddenly deviated from your planned activities. I'm also betting that you've something of your uncle in you, and he's the most brilliant individual I ever met."
   Sylzenzuzex was looking around with the expression of one who suddenly awakens to find herself in a locked room with a starving meat-eater.
   "I am not hearing any of this," she muttered frantically. "I am not. It ... it's blasphemous, and ... idiotic." Never taking her eyes off him, she started to slide from the bench. "How did I get involved with you, anyway?"
   "Please don't scream," Flinx admonished her gently. "As to your question, if you'll think a minute ... I saved your life...."
   Chapter Eight
    
   She paused, all four running limbs cocked beneath her in preparation for a quick sprint toward the monitor's desk. Flinx's words rolled about in her head.
   "Yes," she finally admitted, "you saved my life. I'd forgotten, for a moment."
   "Then by the Hive, the Mother-Queen and the miracle of metamorphosis," he intoned solemnly, "I now call that debt due."
   She tried to sound amused, but he could see she was shaken. "That's a funny oath. Is it designed to tease children?"
   For emphasis he repeated it again ... this time in High Thranx. It was difficult and he stumbled over the clicks and hard glottal stops.
   "So you know it," she murmured, slumping visibly, then glancing at the monitor sitting quietly at the distant desk. Flinx knew that a single shout could bring a multitude of armed personnel-and angry questions. He was gambling everything that she wouldn't, that the ancient and powerful life-debt sworn on that high oath would restrain her.
   It did. She looked at him pleadingly. "I'm barely adult, Flinx. I still have all my wingcases and I shed my adolescent chiton only a year ago. I've never been wed. I don't want to die, Flinx, for your unexplained obsession. I love my studies and the Church and my potential future. Don't shame me before my family and my Clan. Don't ... make me do this.
   "I'd like to help you ... truly I would. You've apparently had more than your share of unhappiness and indifference. But please try to understand-"
   "I haven't got time to understand," he snapped, shutting her up before she weakened his resolve. He had to get to Ulru-Ujurr, if there was even a chance Challis had fled there. "If I'd taken time to understand, I'd be dead half a dozen times already. I call on that oath for you to pay your debt to me."
   "I agree then," she replied in a dull voice. "I must. You drown me in your dream." And she added some- thing indicative of hopelessness mixed with contempt.
   For a brief moment, for a second, he was ready to tell her to disappear, to leave the room, to run away. The moment passed. He needed her.
   If he went directly to someone like Jiwe and told him he had to go to Ulni-Ujurr the Counselor would smile and shrug his shoulders. If he told him about his theory concerning the Janus jewels, Jiwe would demand details, reasons, source of suspicions. That would mean owning up to his talents, something he simply couldn't do.
   The Church, for all its goodwill and good works, was still a massive bureaucracy. It would put its own concerns above his. "Sure," they would tell him, "we'll help you find your real parents. But first ..."
   That "first" could last forever, he knew, or at least until a bored Challis had destroyed the last link between Flinx and his heritage. Nor was he convinced they would help him even if he did reveal himself fully - he wasn't certain the Church's adaptability extended to breaking its own Edict.
   He was going to Ulru-Ujurr, no matter what, though he couldn't tell anyone the real reason why. Not even the silently waiting Sylzenzuzex, who stared at the floor with the look of the living dead. Surely, though, she would be fully reinstated when it became known she had accompanied him under duress.
   Surely...
   After Sylzenzuzex had applied for and, as a matter of course, received her accumulated leave of several Terran weeks, they took an atmospheric shuttle back to Brisbane Shuttleport. To the questioning machine she had explained that it was time for her to visit her parents on Hivehom. Throughout it all, Flinx never wavered in his determination to take her with him. This couldn't be helped. She was frigidly polite in response to his questions. By mutual agreement they did not engage in casual small talk.
   They were held up in Brisbane for over a week while Flinx concluded the complex arrangements required for renting a small, autopiloted KK-drive ship. Private vessels capable of interstellar travel were not commonly available.
   Malaika had been very generous, but the three-day rental fee exhausted the remainder of Flinx's credit account. That didn't trouble him, since he was already guilty of kidnaping. It would hardly matter when the ship broker sent collectors to stalk him after three days had elapsed without his return. He would worry about repaying the astronomical debt he was about to incur another time. If he returned, he reminded himself. The Church had not slapped an Edict on Ulru-Ujurr out of bored perversity. There was a reason ... and there was always Challis.
   Sylzenzuzex knew less about astrogation than he did. If the broker had lied to him about the little ship's self-sufficiency, they would never get to Ulru-Ujurr- or anywhere else.
   As a matter of fact, she explained, her chosen field was archeology. Security was only her student specialty. Hivehom's early primitive insectoid societies had always fascinated her. She had dreamed of studying them for the rest of her life, once she graduated and returned home as a full padre-something that would never happen now, she reminded him bitterly.
   He ignored her. He had to, or his resolve would crack. Once more he wondered at why an apparently innocuous, inhabitable planet like Ulru-Ujurr should have been placed Under Edict. The information they had studied in Galographics, the long lists of cold statistics that had led him in short order to abduction and fraud and debt, neglected to elaborate on that small matter.
   At least one worry was quickly allayed when the powerful little vessel made the supralight jump that took them out of immediate pursuit range. According to simplified readouts, the ship was proceeding at maximum cruising speed on course for the coordinates Flinx had provided it.
   Flinx wasn't really concerned that he was worse than broke once again. In a way he was almost relieved. He had spent his entire life in an impecunious state. The abrupt resumption of that familiar condition was like exchanging an expensive dress suit for a favorite pair of old, worn work pants.
   The time they spent traveling wasn't wasted. Flinx constantly consulted and questioned the ship's computer, improving his rudimentary knowledge of navigation and ship operation while staying a respectful distance from the autopilot override. He was not ashamed of his ignorance. All KK-drive ships were essentially computer-run. Stellar distances and velocities were far too overwhelming for simple organic minds to manipulate. The humanx crew present on the large KK freightliners was there merely to serve the needs of passengers and cargo, and as a precaution. They constituted the flexible fail-safe, ready to take over in the event the ship's machine mind malfunctioned.
   It was fortunate that he was so interested in the ship, because Sylzenzuzex proved to be anything but a lively companion. She preferred instead to remain in her cabin, emerging only to pick up her meals from the autochef. Gradually, however, even the patience of one accustomed to underground living began to wear thin, and she spent more and more time on the falsely luxurious bridge of the ship. Still, when she deigned to say anything at all, her conversation was confined to mono- syllabic comments of utter despondency.
   Such willing submission to reality grated against Flinx's nature even more than her silence. "I don't understand you, Sylzenzazex. You're like a person attending her own wake. I told you I'll confirm that I kidnaped yon against your will. Surely everyone will have to admit you're blameless for anything that happens?"
   "You just don't understand," she muttered sibilantly. "I could not lie like that. Not to my superiors in the Church, or to my family or hive-mother. Certainly not to my parents. I went with you willingly." Her exquisite head, shining like the sea in the overhead lighting, dipped disconsolately.
   "You're not making sense," Flinx argued vehemently. "You had no choice! I called on you to fulfill a hereditary debt. How can anyone blame you for that? As for our forbidden destination-that was wholly my choice. You bad nothing to say about my decision and you have voiced plenty of objections to it." As he talked, his pre-prepared meal lay cooling in its container nearby. Meanwhile Pip's jet eyes stared pensively up at his troubled master.
   Sylzenzuzex stared across at him. "There are still some things humans do not understand about us," and she turned away as if those were to be her last words on the subject.
   Always the convenient phrase, Flinx thought furiously. Whether human or thranx, it mattered not-always the ready willingness to seek refuge in absolutes. Why were supposedly intelligent beings so terrified of reason? He stared out the foreport, frustrated beyond measure. The universe did not run on emotional principles. He had never been able to understand how people could.
   "Have it your way," Flinx grumbled. "We'll stick to more immediate concerns. Tell me about this peace-forcer station that's supposed to prevent us from landing on this world."
   There was a whistling sound as a large dollop of air was forced out through breathing spicules - a thranx sigh. "Peaceforcers, more likely. There should be anywhere from one to four of them in synchronous orbit around the planet. I'm not certain 'because so few worlds are Under Edict that the subject is rarely brought up for discussion. So, of course there is no information whatsoever on .the worlds themselves. Being Under Edict, as they say, is a situation discussed more as a possibility than a fact.
   "I would imagine," she concluded, walking over to a console and gazing idly at the instrumentation, "that we will be signaled or intercepted in some fashion and ordered to leave."
   "What if we ignore any such warning?"
   She made a thranx shrug. "Then we're likely to have our wingcases blown off."
   Flinx's tone turned sarcastic. "I thought the Church was an interspecies purveyor of gentleness and understanding."
   "That's right," she shot back, "and it provides a lot of comfort and assurance to everyone to know that the Church's decrees are enforced." Her voice rose. "Do you think that the Church puts a whole world Under Edict because of some counselor's whim?"
   "I don't know," he replied, unperturbed. "Probably we'll get the chance to find out...."
   Without warning a flying fortress appeared out of nowhere. One minute they were alone in free-space, cycling in toward the fourth planet of an undistinguished sun, and the next a craft with six points projecting from its principal axes had matched their speed and was cruising alongside. This ship was many times the size of their small vessel.
   "Automated peaceforce station twenty-four," a mechanical voice said pleasantly over the speakers. The tridee screen could not pick up any picture.
   "To undeclared vessel class sixteen-R. In the name of the Church and the Commonwealth you are hereby notified that the world you approach is Under Edict. You are directed to reverse your present course and re-engage your double-K drive. No vessel is permitted to make shuttlefall on the fourth planet, nor to remain in the vicinity of this sun.
   "You have thirty standard minutes from the conclusion of this notification to reprogram your navigational computer. Do not, repeat, do not attempt to approach" within scanner range of the fourth world. Do not at- tempt to move closer than five planetary diameters. Failure to comply with the aforementioned regulations will be dealt with appropriately."
   "A polite way of saying it'll blow us to small pieces," Sylzenznzex commented dryly. "Now can we go back?"
   Flinx didn't reply. He was busy studying the mass of metal drifting next to them. That it was supremely fast, far faster than this small craft, had already been demonstrated. Without question, several weapons of various destructive capabilities were trained on the bridge even as he wondered what to do next. They could no more make a desperate dash for the planet's surface than he could outrun a devilope on the plains bordering the Gelerian Swamp, back home.
   "This is why I've brought you," he told the waiting thranx. "It sure wasn't for the pleasure of your company." Flinx moved aside, revealing activated instrumentation. "Here's the tridee. Give it your name, Church identity number. Security code-whatever it takes to gain clearance to land."
   She didn't budge, her legs seemingly rooted in the metal floor. "But it won't listen to me."
   "Try."
   "I ... I won't do it."
   "You're under life-oath, you've sworn on your Hive," he reminded her between clenched teeth, hating himself more with every word.
   Again the symmetrical head drooped; again the hollow, defeated voice. "Very well." She shuffled over to the console.
   "I'm telling you for the last time," she told him, "that if you make me do this, it's as if you've banished me from the Church yourself, Flinx."
   "I happen to have more confidence in your own organization than you apparently do besides, if after a full explanation of the circumstances they actually do kick you out, then I don't think the organization's worthy of you."
   "How sure you are," she said calmly, concluding with a sound so harsh it made Flinx flinch.
   "Go ahead," he ordered.
   She tested the broadcast, then rattled off a series of superfast words and numbers. Flinx could barely identify them, much less make any sense of the steady stream of hybrid babble. It occurred to him that she might just as well have given the fortress the command to destroy them. That unpleasant thought passed when nothing happened. After all, survival was as strong a thranx drive as it was a human one.
   Instead, the announcement brought the hoped-for result. "Emergency temporary cancellation received and understood," came the stiff voice. "Processing."
   Two minutes stretched long as two years while Flinx waited for the final reply.
   Then: "Other stations notified. You may proceed."
   There was no time to waste on giving thanks. Flinx rushed to the navigation input and verbally instructed the ship to take up a low orbit around the temperate equatorial zone, above the largest continent. The detector devices on the ship were then to begin a search for any sign of surface communications facilities-anything that would indicate the presence of humanx settlement.
   Anywhere someone like Challis could exist.
   "What if there isn't anything like that," Sylzenzuzex asked, her face paling as the ship pulled away from the orbiting fortress. "There's a whole world down there, bigger than Hivehom, bigger than Terra."
   "There'11 be someplace developed," he assured her. His confident tone belied the uncertainty in his mind.
   There was. Only they didn't locate it-it found them.
   "What ship ... what ship ...?" the speakers crackled as soon as they entered parking orbit. The query came in perfect symbospeech, though whether from thranx or human throat he couldn't tell.
   Flinx moved to the pickup. "Who's calling?" he asked, a mite inanely.
   "What ship?" the voice demanded.
   This could go on for hours. He responded with the first thing that sounded halfway plausible. "This is the private research vessel Chamooth on Church-related business, out from Terra."
   There, that wasn't a complete lie. His abduction of Sylzenzuzex certainly constituted Church-related business, and he had been led here by information in Church files.
   A long pause followed while unseen beings at the other end of the transmission digested this. Finally: "Shuttleport coordinates for you are as follows."
   Flinx scrambled to record the information. His ruse had gotten them that much. After they landed ... well, he would proceed from there. The numbers translated into a position on a fairly small plateau in the mountains of the southern continent. According to the information, the landing strip bordered an enormous lake at the 14,000-meter-level.
   Sweating, muttering at his own awkwardness, Flinx succeeded in positioning the ship over the indicated landing spot with a minimum of corrections to the autopilot. From there it was a rocky, bouncing descent by means of autoprogrammed shuttlecraft to the surface.
   Sylzenzuzex was talking constantly now, mostly to herself. "I just don't understand," she kept murmuring over and over, "there shouldn't be anything down there. Not on an edicted world. Not even a Church outpost. This just doesn't make any sense."
   "Why shouldn't it make sense?" Flinx asked her, fighting to keep his seat as the tiny shuttle battled powerful crosswinds. "Why shouldn't the Church have business on a world it wants to keep everyone else off of?"
   "But only an extreme threat to the good of humanx kind is reason enough for placing a world Under Edict," she protested, her tone one of disbelief. "I've never heard of an exception."
   "Naturally not," Flinx agreed, with the surety of one who had experienced many perversities of human and thranx nature. "Because no information is available on worlds which are Under Edict. How very convenient."
   The shuttle was banking now, dipping down between vast forested mountain slopes. A denser atmosphere here raised the treeline well above what existed on Moth or Terra. Tarns and alpine lakes were everywhere. At the higher elevations, baby glaciers carved tentative paths downward-even here, near the planet's equator.                                         .
   "Commencing landing approach," the shuttle computer informed them. Flinx stared ahead, saw that the plateau the ground-based voice had mentioned was far smaller than he had hoped.  This was not a true plateau, but instead a broad glacial plain ice-quarried from the mountains. One side of the plateau-plain was filled with a narrow lake that glistened like an elongated sapphire.
   As the shuttle straightened out they rushed past a sheer waterfall at least a thousand meters high, falling to the canyon below in a single unbroken plunge like white steel. This, he decided, was a magnificent world. If only the shuttle would set them down on it in one piece.
   His acceleration couch trembled as the ship fired braking jets. Ahead he could now make out the landing strip that ran parallel to the deep lake. At the far end, a tiny cluster of buildings poked above the alluvial gravel and low scrub.
   At least the installation here-whoever was manning it-was advanced enough to include automatic landing lock-ons. Built into the fabric of the landing strip itself, they hooked into the corresponding linkups in the belly of the shuttle. The completion of this maneuver was signaled by a violent lurch. Then the landing computer, somewhere below them, took over and brought the shuttle in for a smooth, safe setdown.
   Sylzenzu2ex stared out the side port on the left even as she was undoing her straps. "This is insane," she muttered, gazing at the considerable complex of structures nearby, "there can't be a base here.  There shouldn't be anything."
   "Some anythings," he commented, gesturing toward the pair of large groundcars which were now moving onto the field toward them, "are coming to pay their greetings. Remember now," he reminded her as he calmed a nervous Pip and headed for the access corridor leading to the hatch, "you're here because I forced you to come."
   "But not physically," she countered. "I told you before, I can't lie."
   "The Horse Head," he murmured, looking skyward. "Be evasive then. Ah, do what you think best. I'm no more going to convert you to reason than you're going to convince me to enter your Church."
   Flinx activated the automatic lock, and it began to cycle open. If the atmosphere outside had been un- breathable, despite the information in the Galographics records, the lock would not have opened. As the door plug drew aside, a rippled ramp extended itself, sensors at its far end halting it as soon as it touched solid ground,
   Pip was stirring violently, but Flinx kept a firm hand on his pet. Apparently the minidrag perceived some threat again, which would be natural if, say, this was indeed a Church installation. In any case they couldn't take on an entire party which was presumably armed. It took several minutes before he succeeded in convincing his pet to relax, regardless of what happened next.
   Flinx took a deep breath as he started down the ramp. Sylzenzuzex trooped morosely behind, lost in morose thought. Despite the altitude, the air here was thick and rich in oxygen. It more than counteracted the slightly stronger gravity.
   Snow-crowned crags rose around, the valley on three sides. Except for the glacial plain they now stood on, the valley and mountain slopes were furred with a thick coat of great trees. Green was still the predominant color but there was a substantial amount of yellow-hued vegetation. Their branches rose stiffly skyward, no doubt to be fully spread by the winter snowfall.
   The temperature was perfect-about 20°C. At least, it was as far as Flinx was concerned.  Sylzenzuzex was already cold, and the dry air did nothing to help the flexibility of her exoskeletal joints.
   "Don't worry," he said, trying to cheer her as the groundcars drew near, "there must be quarters pro- vided for thranx personnel. You can warm up soon."
   And explain your story to the local authority in private if you wish, he added silently.
   His thoughts were broken as the first big car pulled to a halt before them. As he waited Flinx kept a tight grip on Pip, holding the tense minidrag at the wing joints to prevent any sudden flight. Yet despite the minutes he had already spent calming his pet, Pip still struggled. When he finally settled down, he coiled painfully tight around Flinx's shoulder.
   People began to emerge from the groundcar. They did not wear aquamarine robes of the Church, nor the crimson of the Commonwealth. They did not look like Commonwealth-registered operatives, either, and they were carrying ready beamers.
   Seven armed men and women spread out in a half- circle which covered the two arrivals. They moved with an efficiency Flinx did not like. As the second car arrived and began to disgorge its passengers, several members of the first group broke off to run up the ramp and disappear into the shuttle.
   "Now listen ..." Flinx began easily. One of the men in the group waved his beamer threateningly.
   "I don't know who you are, but for now, shut up."
   Flinx complied readily, as Sylzenzuzex-frozen now with more than the cold-stood behind him and studied their captors.
   Several minutes passed before the pair who had entered the shuttle reemerged and shouted down to their companions: "There's no one else aboard, and no weapons."
   "Good. Resume your positions."
   Flinx turned to the squat, middle-aged woman who had spoken. She was standing directly opposite him. She had the face of one who had seen too many things too soon and whose youth had been a time of blasted hopes and unfulfilled dreams. A vivid scar ran back from a corner of one eye in a jagged curve to her ear, then down the side of her neck to disappear beneath her high collar. Its livid whiteness was shocking against her dusky skin. She flaunted the scar like a favorite necklace. He noticed that her simple garb of work pants, boots, and high-necked overblouse had seen plenty of use.
   Taking out a pocket communicator, she spoke into it:  "Javits says there's no one else on board and no weapons." A mumble too soft and distant for Flinx to understand issued from the compact unit's speaker.
   "No, instruments don't show any automatic senders aboard, either. Has the ship in orbit responded again?" Another pause, then, "It looks like there's only the two of them."
   She flipped off the unit, stuck it back in her utility belt and regarded Flinx and Sylzenzuzex. "Does anyone know you've come here?"
   "You don't expect me to make it easy for you, do you?" Flinx responded, to divert attention from Sylzenzuzex as well as to answer the query.
   "Funny boy." The woman took a deliberate step forward, raised the beamer back over her left shoulder. Pip stirred and she suddenly became aware that the minidrag was not a decoration.
   "I wouldn't do that," Flinx told her softly. She eyed the snake.
   "Toxic?"
   "Very."
   She didn't smile back. "We can kill it and the both of you, you know."
   "Sure," agreed Flinx pleasantly. "But if you swing that beamer at me, then both Pip and I are going to go for your throat. If he doesn't kill you I probably will, no matter how fast this ring of happy faces moves. On the off chance we don't, then I'll be dead and your superior will be damned displeased at not having the chance to question me. Either way, you lose."
   Fortunately the woman wasn't the type to act with out thinking.  She stepped back, still keeping her beamer trained on him. "Very funny boy," she commented tightly. "Maybe the Madam will let me have you after she's finished asking her questions. Act as smart as you like. You've got a short future." She gestured sharply with the beamer. "Both of you-into the first car."
   They walked between the beamers. Flinx tensed in readiness as he entered the large compartment, saw to his disappointment that two armed and equally tense people were awaiting him inside. No chance of jumping for the controls, then. He climbed in resignedly.
   Sylzenzuzex followed him, having to squat uncomfortably on the bare floor because the car was equipped only with human seating, which would not accommodate her frame. Several of the armed guards followed. To Flinx's relief, the squat woman was not among them.
   A low hum rose to a whine as the groundcar lifted. Staying a meter above ground, it moved toward the nearby buildings, the second car following close be- hind. As they came nearer, Flinx could see that the complex was built at the edge of the forest. In the distance he could just make out several additional structures bugging the mountainside, high up among the trees.
   The cars pulled up before a steeply gabled five-story building. They were escorted inside.
   "The buildings here are all slants and angles," Flinx commented to Sylzenzuzex as they made the short walk from car to entranceway. "The trees already show that the snowfall here must be tremendous in winter. And this is the local equivalent of the tropics."
   "Tropics," she snorted, her mandibles clacking angrily. "I'm freezing already." Her voice dropped.  "It probably doesn't make any difference, since we're likely to be killed soon. Or hasn't it dawned on you that we've stumbled onto a very large illegal installation of some kind?"
   "The thought occurred to me," he replied easily.
   Taking a lift to the top floor, they came out into a corridor along which a few preoccupied men and women moved on various errands. They were not so absorbed that they failed to look startled at the appearance of Flinx and Sylzenzuzex.
   The group made one turn to the left, continued almost to the end of a branch corridor, then stopped. Addressing the door pickup, the squat woman requested and received permission to enter. She disappeared inside, leaving the heavily guarded twosome to wait and think, before the door slid aside once again.
   "Send 'em in."
   Someone gave Flinx a hard shove that sent him stumbling forward. Sylzenzuzex was introduced into the room with equal roughness.
   They stood in a luxurious chamber. Pink-tinted panels revealed a rosy vista of lake and mountains, landing field and - Flinx noted with longing-their parked shuttlecraft. It seemed very far away now.
   A small waterfall danced at one end of the room, surrounded by carpets that were more fur than fabric. Thick perfume scented the air, clutched cloyingly at his senses. Behind them the door slid silently shut.
   There was another person in the room.
   She was seated in a lounge chair near the transparent panels, and was clad in a light gown. Her long blond hair was done up in a triple whirl, the three braids coiled one above each ear and the last at the back of her head. At the moment she was drinking something steaming from a taganou mug.
   Scarface addressed her with deference.  "They're here, Madam Rudenuaman.”
   "Thank you, Linda." The woman turned to face them. Flinx sensed Sylzenzuzex's surprise.
   "She's barely older than you or I," she whispered.
   Flinx said nothing, merely waited impassively and gazed back into olivine eyes. No, olivine wasn't right - gangrenous would be more appropriate. There was an icy murderousness behind those eyes which he sensed more strongly than the drifting perfume.
   "Before I have you killed," the young woman began in a pleasant liquid voice, "I require answers to a few questions. Please keep in mind that you have no hope. The only thing you have any control over whatsoever is the manner of your death. It can be quick and efficient, depending on your willingness to answer my questions, or slow and tedious if you prove reluctant. Though not boring, I assure you...."
   Chapter Nine
    
   Flinx continued to study her as she took another sip of her steaming drink. She was almost beautiful, he couldn't help but notice-though any trace of softness was absent from her face.
   Reaching to one side, she picked up an intricately carved cane. With this she was able to rise and limp over to examine them more closely. She favored her left leg.
   "I am Teleen aux Rudenuaman. You are ...?"
   "My name's Flinx," he responded readily, seeing no profit in angering this crippled bomb of a woman.
   "Sylzenzuzex," his companion added.
   The woman nodded, turned and walked back to resume her seat, instructing them both to sit also. Flinx took a chair, noticing out of the corner of an eye that the scarred woman called Linda was watching his - and Pip's - every move from her position by the door.  Sylzenzuzex folded herself on the fur floor nearby.
   "Next question," the woman Rudenuaman said. "How did you get past the Church peaceforcer?"
   "We ..." he started to say, but stopped as he felt a delicate yet firm grip on his arm. Looking past the truhand, he saw Sylzenzuzex eying him imploringly.
   "I'm sorry, Syl, but I've got an aversion to torture. We're not going anywhere and for the moment, at least. I'd like to ..." The truhand pulled away. He did not miss the look of utter contempt she threw him.
   "Sensible as well as sassy," Rudenuaman commented approvingly. "I've been listening to you ever since you landed." The brief flicker of a grin vanished and she repeated impatiently, "The fortresses, how did you get past?"
   Flinx indicated Sylzenzuzex. "My friend," he explained, ignoring the hollow mandibular laugh that flowed from her, "is a padre-elect currently working in Church security. She talked the peaceforcer into letting us pass."
   Rudenuaman looked thoughtful. "The circumvention was accomplished verbally, then?" Flinx nodded.
   "We'll have to see if we can do something about that."
   "About a peaceforcer fortress?" Sylzeozuzex blurted. "How can you modify - in fact, how did you succeed in passing them? What are you doing here, with this illegal installation? This is an edicted world. No one but the Church or those in the highest echelons of the Commonwealth government have the codes necessary to pass a peaceforcer station; certainly no private concern has that ability."
   The woman smiled. "This private concern does."
   "Which concern is that?" Flinx asked. She turned her unfunny grin on him.
   "For a condemned man you ask a lot of questions. However) I don't have the chance to brag very often. It's Nuaman Enterprises. Ever hear of it?"
   "I have," Flinx told her, thinking that this search for his parentage was making him a lot of rotten business contacts. "It was founded by ..."
   "By my aunt's relatives," she finished for him, "and then further developed by my Aunt Rashalleila, may a foulness become her soul." The smile widened. "But I am in charge now. I felt a change of personnel at the uppermost executive position was in order."
   "Unfortunately, the first time I tried replacing her I chose for my cohort a man of muscle and no brains. No, that's not accurate. Muscle and no loyalty. It cost me," and she frowned in reminiscence, "s. bad time. But I managed to escape from the medical heH my aunt had me committ»d to. My second attempt was better planed and successful.
    "It is now Rudenuaman Enterprises, you see. Me."
   "No private concern has the wherewithal to circum- vent a Church peaceforcer," Sylzenzuzex insisted.
   "Despite your security clearance, stiff one, you seem to cherish all kinds of foolish notions. Not only have we, with some help, I admit, circumvented them; but they remain in operation to warn off or destroy any visitors we do not clear.
   "You can see why your sudden appearance caused me considerable initial worry. But I'm not worried anymore - not since you proved so cooperative in following our landing instructions. Of course, you had no reason to expect a greeting from anyone other than a bunch of surprised Churchmen."
   "You have no right ..." Sylzenzuzex began.
   "Oh, please," a disgusted Rudenuaman muttered. "Linda..."
   Scarface left her place at the door. Flinx held on tightly to Pip; this was no time or place to force a final confrontation. Not yet.
   The squat woman kicked suddenly and Flinx heard the crack of chiton. Sylzenzuzex let out a high, shrill whistle as one foothand collapsed at the main joint. Reddish-green blood began to leak steadily as she fell on her side, clutching with truhands and her other foothand at the injured member.
   Linda turned and resumed her position at the door as if nothing had happened.
   "You know she has an open circulatory system," Flinx muttered carefully. "She'll bleed to death."
   "She would," Rudenuaman corrected him, "if Linda bad cracked the leg itself instead of just breaking the joint. A thranx joint will coagulate. Her leg will heal, which is more than you can say for what mine did after my aunt's medical experimenters finished with it." She tapped her own left leg with the cane. It rang hollowly. "Other parts of me also had to be replaced, but they left the most important thing," she indicated her head, "intact. That was my aunt's last mistake."
   "I've only one more question for you." She leaned forward, and for the first time since the interrogation began seemed genuinely interested. "What on Tefra possessed you to come here, to a world Under Edict, in the first place? And only two of you, unarmed."
   "It's funny," Flinx told her, "but ... I also have' a question that needs to be answered-"
   Seeing that he was serious, she sat back in her chair. "You're a peculiar individual- Almost as peculiar as you are stupid. What question?"
   He was suddenly overwhelmed by a multitude of conflicting possibilities. One fact was clear - whether or not she could tell him what he wished to know, he and Sylzenzuzex would die. As the silence lengthened, even Sylzenzuzex became curious enough to forget the pain in her foothand momentarily.
   "I can't tell you that," he finally answered.
   Rudenuaman looked at him askance. "Now that's strange. You've told me everything else. Why hesitate at this?"
   "I could tell you, but you'd never believe me."
   "I'm pretty credulous at times," she countered. "Try me, and if I find it intriguing, maybe I won't kill you after all." The thought seemed to amuse her. "Yes, tell me and I'll let you both live. We can always use unskilled labor here. And I am not surrounded by clever types. I may keep you around for novelty, for when I'm visiting here."
   "All right," he decided, electing to accept her offer as the best they could hope for, "I came hoping to find the truth of my birthright."
   Her amused expression vanished. "You're right ... I don't believe you. Unless you can do better than that..."
   She was interrupted by a chime and looked irritably to the door. "Linda ..." There was a wait while the squat woman slid the door back and silently conversed with someone outside. Simultaneously something almost forgotten suddenly howled in Flinx's mind.
   That was matched by a scream which everyone could hear.
    "Challis," an angry Rudenuaman yelled, "can't you keep that brat quiet? Why you continue to drag her around with you is something I never ..." She broke off, looking from the merchant who was standing in the half-open doorway goggling at Flinx, to the red-haired youth, and then back at the merchant again.
   "Gu ... wha ... you!" Conda Challis finally managed to blurt, like a man clearing his throat of a choking bone.
   "You know this man?" Rudenuaman asked Challis. A terrible fury was building in her, as it slowly became clear how Flinx had found this world. She was only partially correct, but it was the part she could believe. "You know each other! Explain yourself, Challis!"
   The merchant was completely out of control. "He knows about the jewels," he babbled. "I wanted him to help me play with a jewel and he ..."
   Unwittingly, the merchant had revealed something Flinx half suspected. "So, the Janus jewels come from here. That's very interesting, and it explains a great deal." He looked down at Sylzenzuzex.
   "Most obviously, Syl, it explains why anyone would go to the incredible expense and chance the enormous penalty involved in ignoring a Church edict."
   A miniature, silvery voice exploded. "You colossal, obese idiot!" it half screamed, half bawled.
   The already battered Challis looked down, shocked to see the ever-compliant Mahnahmi making horrible faces up at him. Flinx watched with interest. The merchant had finally done something dangerous enough to cause her to break her carefully maintained shell of innocence.
   Rudenuaman looked on with equal curiosity, though her real attention and anger were still reserved for Challis. She was eying him almost pityingly.
   "You are becoming a liability, Conda. I don't know why this man has come here, but I don't think it involves the jewels. Nor does it matter anymore that you've just given away the best-kept secret in the entire Commonwealth, because it will never leave this world-certainly not with either of these two." She indicated Flinx and Sylzenzuzex.
   "But he's been following me, hauntiag me!" Challis protested frantically. "It has to have something to do with the jewels."
   Rudenuaman turned to Flinx. "You've been following Challis? But why?"
   The merchant yammered on, unaware he was providing confirmation of Flinx's earlier reply. "Oh, some blithering insanity about his ancestry!" Hs didn't add, much to Flinx's dismay, whether he possessed any further information on that particular obsession.
   "Maybe I do believe you," Rudenuaman said cautiously to Flinx. "If it's an excuse, it's certainly a consistent one."
   Better get her off the subject of himself, Flinx decided. "Where are the jewels mined? Up at that big complex on the mountainside?"
   "You are amusing," she said noncommittally. "Yes, I may keep you alive for a while. It would be a change to have some mental stimulation." She turned sternly to face the merchant. "As for you, Conda, you have finally allowed your private perversions to interfere with business once too often. I had hoped ..." She shrugged. "The fewer who know about the jewels and where they originate, the better. But considering what is at stake here I think I have to risk finding another outside distributor."
   "Teleen, no," Challis muttered, shaking his head violently. From an immensely wealthy, powerful merchant be had suddenly been reduced to a frightened, fat old man.
   "And we'll have to do something about the whining brat-child, too," she added, turning a venomous stare on the silently watching Mahnahmi. "Linda … take them over to Riles. He can do what he wants with Challis, as long as it's reasonably quick. After all," she added magnanimously, "he was an associate of ours for a while. As for the little whiner, save her for after-dinner entertainment. We ought to be able to make her last a few days."
   "No!"
   Flinx felt himself lifted in the grip of a mental shriek of outrage. A tremendous force ripped through the room, tearing rugs and-furniture and people from their moorings and hurling them away from the doorway. Several of the thick pink polyplexalloy panels were blown out.
   Flinx fought for control of his body, managed to come to a halt against a couch firmly anchored in the floor. Pip fluttered uneasily above his head, hissing angrily but unable to do more than hold his air in the face of the gale.
   Hair flying, Flinx shielded his face with one hand and squinted into the hurricane.
   Sylzenzuzex had been rolled skittering into a far corner. The guard, Linda, was lying unconscious nearby. She had been standing closest to the immense blast. Teleen auz Rudenuaman lay buried in a mass of thick fur rugs and broken fixtures, while the considerable bulk of Conda Challis bugged the fixed fur near the doorway and hung on for dear life as the wind pulled and tore at him.
   "You fat imbecile!" the source of that pocket typhoon was screaming at him, stamping childishly at the floor. "You pig's ass, you jelloid moron ... you've gone and spoiled everything! Why couldn't you keep your dumb mouth shut? For years I've kept you from tripping over your own tongue, for years I've made the right decisions for you when you gleefully thought it was your doing! Now you've thrown it all away, all away!" She was- crying, girlish tears running down her cheeks.
   "Child of my own," Challis gasped into the wind, "get us out of this and-"
   "Child of my own."' she spat down at him. "I don't know the words yet to describe what you've thought of doing to me, or what you have done-not that it would matter to you. I can't save yon anymore, Daddy Challis." She glared around the room.
   "You can all go to your respective hells! I'm not afraid of any of you. But I need time to grow into myself. I don't know what I am, yet."
   She glared contemptuously back at Challis. "You've mined my chance to grow up rich and powerful. The Devil take you."
   Turning, she disappeared, running down the corridor. "Someday," a mental shout stabbed fadingly at Flinx, "I'll even be strong enough to come back for you."
   The wind died slowly, in increments. Flinx was able to roll over in the falling breeze and feel of his bruises. He saw that Sylzenzuzex had succeeded in protecting her broken foothand. Her hard exoskeleton had saved her from any additional injury, so that while the first wounded, she actually was the least battered of anyone in the room. Except for Pip, of course, who settled unhurt but disturbed on Flinx's shoulder. Only the force of the wind had prevented him from killing Mahnahmi.
   Teleen auz Rudenuaman was more shaken than she cared to admit. "Linda ... Linda!" The guard was just regaining consciousness. "Alert the base, everyone. That child is to be killed instantly. She's an Adept."
   "Yes ... Madam," the woman replied thickly. Her right cheek was bleeding and discolored, and she was wincing painfully as she touched her left elbow.
   Rudenuaman tried to sound confident. "I don't care what kind of magic tricks she can pull. She's only a child and she can't go anywhere."
   As if in reply, minutes later a dull rumble reached them through the broken window panels. Rudenuaman limped hurriedly to the transparent wall. Flinx was also there, in time to see something that he, alone of those in the room, wasn't surprised at.
   Their shuttlecraft-and all remaining hope of escape-was shrinking rapidly into the sky at the end of the landing strip, a vanishing dot between the mountaintops.
    "She ... she can pilot a shuttle," a dazed Challis was mumbling to himself.
   "Quiet, Conda. Anyone can direct a craft attuned to accept verbal commands. Still, alone, at her age ..."
   "She's been using me. Her, using me" Challis continued, oblivious to everything around him. His eyes were glazed. "All these years I thought she was such a charming, pretty little ... and she's been using me!" The laughter began to fall.
   "Will you shut up!" Rudenuaman finally had to scream. But the merchant ignored her, continued to roll around on the floor roaring hysterically at the wonderful, marvelous joke that had been played on him. He was still chuckling, albeit more unevenly, when two guards arrived to escort him out.
   Flinx envied him. Now he would never feel the beamer when they executed him. Shake a man's world badly enough and the man comes apart, not the world. First the sudden sight of Flinx, here, and then Mahnahmi. No, not even all the King's horses and all the King's men could put Conda Challis together again.
   Rudenuaman watched until the door closed and then collapsed, exhausted, on a battered couch-one of the few left undestroyed by Mahnahmi's uncontrolled infantile violence. She debated with herself, then finally said, "It has to be done. Call Riles."
   "Yes, Madam," Linda acknowledged.
   Momentarily forgotten, Flinx and Sylzenzuzex rested and treated each other's wounds as best they could. Before long a tall, muscular man entered the room.
   "I've been briefed," he said sharply. "How could this happen, Rudenuaman?"
   Pip bridled and Flinx put a tight restraining grip on his pet. His own senses were quivering. Something he had sensed the moment they'd left the shuttle was intensified in this newcomer's presence.
   "It could not be prevented," Rudenuaman told him, her tone surprisingly meek. "The child is apparently a psionic of unknown potentialities. She had fooled even her own father."
   "Not a difficult task, from what I am told of how Challis behaved. He will be more useful to us dead," the tall figure said, swinging around to face Flinx and Sylzenzuzex. "These are the two captives who penetrated the defenses?"
   "Yes."
   "See that they do not also escape, if you can," the figure snapped. "Though if the child escapes to tell of what she knows of this place, it will not matter what is done with these two. This entire deception is beginning to weary me...." Then he reached up, grabbed his chin, and pulled his face off.                 
   A gargled clicking came from Sylzenzuzex as the irritated not-man turned to leave the room. Flinx was shaken, too. He knew now what had been troubling him and his pet, since they had landed on this world. It wasn't just that the man turned out to be an AAnn- for that was a possibility he had suspected ever since he'd fished the image of Conda Challis and Ulru-Ujurr out of the reptilian infiltrator's mind back on Terra.
   It was because he knew this particular AAnn.
   But the Baron Riidi WW had never set eyes on Flinx, who had never strayed within range of the tridee pickup when the Baron had pursued him and the others on board Maxim Malaika's ship, so many months ago. Flinx, however, had seen all too much of that frigid, utterly self-possessed face, had heard too many threats pronounced by that smooth voice.
   Riidi WW turned at the door, and for a moment Flinx feared the AAnn aristocrat had recognized him after all. But he'd paused only to speak to Rudenuaman again.
   "You had best hope that the child does not escape, Teleen."
   Though no longer conveying the impression of total omnipotence, the merchantwoman was far from being cowed. "Don't threaten me, Baron. I have resources of my own. I could make it difficult for you if I were suddenly missed."
   "My dear Rudenuaman," he objected, "I was not threatening you. I would not ... you have been too- valuable to us- both you and your aunt before you. I would not have any other human holding the Commonwealth end of this relationship. But if the child gets away, then by the-sand-that-shelters-life this entire operation will have to be closed down. If a follow-up party from the Church were to discover this base and find that it is being partially funded and operated by the imperial race, that could serve as a pretext for war. While not afraid, the Empire would prefer not to engage in hostilities just now. We would be forced to destroy the mine and obliterate all trace of this installation."
   "But it would take years to replace this," she pointed out.
   "Several, at least," the Baron concurred. "And that is but an optimistic estimate.  Suppose the Church should elect to patrol this system with crewed fortresses instead of gullible automatons? We could never come back."
   "I was right," Sylzenzuzex declared with satisfaction. "No private concern does have sufficient resources to bypass a Church peaceforcer station. Only another spatial government like the Empire could manage it."
   The Baron gave her an AAnn salute that suggested she had just won a Pyrrhic victory. "That is quite so, young lady. Neither would the Empire be concerned, as a private corporation might be, that your Church has placed this world Under Edict. What does concern us is that it lies within Commonwealth territory. Our danger in discovery lies in the diplomatic consequences, not in some imaginary devil someone in your hierarchy places here."
   "You haven't found anything on this world to justify its quarantine?"  Flinx asked, curiosity drowning his caution.
   "Nothing, my young friend," the tall AAnn replied. "It is wet and cold, but otherwise most hospitable."
   Flinx eyed the Baron closely, trying to penetrate that calculating mind, without success. His erratic talent refused to cooperate. "You're chancing an interstellar war just to make some credit?"
   "What's wrong with money? The Empire thrives on it, as does your Commonwealth, Who knows," the Baron said, smiling, "it may be that my hand in this is concealed from my own government. What the arkazy does not see in the sand will not bite him, vya-nar?
   "Now you must excuse me, for we have a runaway infant who requires scolding." He vanished through the doorway.
   Flinx had dozens of questions he could have thrown at the AAnn aristocrat. However, while the Baron had not given any sign of recognition when replying to the single question, the danger remained that in an extended conversation Flinx might let some unthinking familiarity slip. If the AAnn ever suspected that Flinx had been among those who had cheated him and the Empire of the Krang, those several months ago, he would vivisect the youth with infinite slowness. Better not take a chance.
   They stayed there waiting while Teleen recomposed herself from both the ordeal of Mahnahmi's escape and from the trauma of confronting the angry Baron. Flinx watched from a broken windoiv as a distant, concealed elevator lifted two big military shuttles from the ground beneath the landing strip. A single groundcar, no doubt containing Riidi WW, pulled up alongside one of the shuttles and several figures hurried from it to the waiting ships.
   Once the groundcar had moved out of the way, the two shuttles thundered into the heavens, where they would likely rendezvous with at least one waiting AAnn naval vessel. Mahnahmi had had a good start, but Flinx knew his rented craft could never outrun even a small military ship. However, the girl's mind was like a runaway reactor: there was no telling what she was capable of under sufficient stress. The Baron, he decided, had better-watch out for himself.
   Turning from the window, Flinx conversed in low tones with Sylzenzuzex. Both tried to come up with reasons for the AAnn's presence here. She no more believed the Baron's casual disclaimer that he was on this world for mere profit than he did. The AAnn had been the Commonwealth's prime enemies since its inception. They never ceased searching, guardedly yet relentlessly, for a new way to hasten its destruction and hurry what they relieved was their destiny to rule the cosmos and its "lesser" races.
   There had to be a deeper reason involving those unique Janus jewels, though neither of them could think of a viable theory.
    
   On Tharce IV lived a woman called Amasar, who was widely celebrated for her wisdom. Ai the moment, however, she adopted on air of drunken ecstasy as she reveled in the beauty of the object she held.
   Adored by her constituents and respected by opponents, she had been the permanent representative from the Northern Hemisphere of Tharce IV to the Commonwealth Council for two decades. Her mind never rested in its search for solutions to problems or answers to questions, and she worked hours that embarrassed colleagues and assistants half her age. Currently she held the post of Counselor Second in charge of Diplomatic Theory on the Council itself. As such she was in a position to influence strongly the direction of Commonwealth foreign policy.
   She should have been studying the transcript of the up-coming agenda, but her mind was occupied instead with the magnificence dwelling in the object in her hand. Besides, on the majority of questions that would come to a vote in the Council her mind was already made up. As a respected counselor, her advice would be a powerful influence.
   Yes on this issue, nay on that one, leaning so and so on this proposal, not to withdraw on this matter, not to yield on that particulw point-it was a long list.
   Her mind focused elsewhere, Amasar switched off the viewer, which had been running blankly for several moments. Leaning back in her chair, she continued to store raptly at the shining irregularity of the abject on her desk.
   Tomorrow she would board ship for the annual Councle meeting. The gathering place varied between the dual Commonwealth capitals of Terra and Hivehom. This year the thranx capital world was to be the site. This promised to be an absorbing, stimulating session, one she was looking forward to. Several issues of vital importance were due to come to a vote, including measures involving those sly murderers, the AAnn. The Council had some who believed in moderation and appeasement of the reptiles, but not her!
   But why worry about such things now? Moving as if in a dream, she opened the center drawer of her desk to perform a final check. Everything was there: diplomatic credentials, reservation confirmations, documentation and information topes. Yes, it should be an interesting session this year.
   She was still aglow with pleasure as she reached into the lowermost drawer on her right, took out the small, lightweight needler, and fried that insidiously seductive thing before blowing out her brains!
   The apparent suicide was recorded by the local coroner and confirmed by Commonwealth officials as another of those inexplicable occurrences that periodically afflict even the stablest of human beings. Anything could hove been the cause. Too little confidence, too little money, too little affection...
   Or too much of an especially lethal kind of beauty.
    
   "A remarkable infant," Teleen auz Rudenuaman finally said, interrupting their talk. She eyed them, and commented, "This appears to be a day for unusual infants." When her captives remained sullenly silent, she shrugged and looked out the panels again. "I knew there was a reason for hating that brat so strongly. I admit, though, that she had me completely fooled. I wonder how long she'd been manipulating Challis to suit her own ends?"
   "According to what she said, all her conscious life." Flinx thought it a good idea to keep the merchantwoman's attention focused elsewhere. "Are you going to kill us now?" he asked with disarming matter-of-factness. "or have you decided to believe me?"
   "My having you kilted has nothing to do with your story, Flinx," she explained, "though Challis seems to have confirmed it. I have plenty of time to get rid of you. I still find you a novelty." She gazed appraisingly at him. "You're a bundle of interesting contradictions, and hard to pin down. I'm not sure I like that. I tend to get frustrated with something I don't understand. That's dangerous, because I might end up killing you on a whim, and that would only frustrate me more, since you'd die with all the answers."
   "No, I think I'll wait for the Baron to return before doing anything irreversible with you two." She showed white teeth. "The AAnn are very adept at clearing up contradictions."
   Sylzenzuzex climbed to her trulegs and tested her injured limb. She would be forced to limp along on three supports until it healed. She glared at the merchant- woman-compound eyes being especially good for glaring.
   "To work so with the sworn enemies of humanx- kind."
   Rudenuaman was not impressed. "So much outrage over a little money." She looked reprovingly at the thranx. "The AAnn have given me exclusive rights to distribute the Janus jewel within the Commonwealth. In return I permit them to take a certain percentage of the production here. I supply much of the means for the mining, and they neutralized the peaceforcers.
   "I've made Nuaman, now Rudenuaman, Enterprises stronger than it has ever been, stronger than it was under my aunt. We have discovered only the one pocket of jewels, which appear to be an isolated mineralogical mutation. In five to ten years we will have taken the last jewel out of that mountain. Then we will depart from here voluntarily, with the Church none the wiser and the Commonwealth hurt not at all. By that time Rudenuaman Enterprises will be in an invincible financial position.  And my aunt, may she rot in limbo, would have approved. I think-"
   "I think you're blinding yourself." Flinx put in, "voluntarily. There's a great deal more in this as far as the Empire is concerned than a little petty cash."
   Rudenuaman eyed him curiously. "What gives you the right to say something like that?"
   "I was at the Church administrative headquarters before we came here. During that time an AAnn in surgical disguise-similar to but rather more elaborate than what the Baron was wearing-tried to sneak into the command center there. After he killed himself I found crystalline dust scattered all over his middle. It could have come from a pulverized Janus jewel." "But the crystal syringe-darts he was carrying ..." Sylzenzuzex started to remind him.
   "...  could  have  been  manufactured  from  flawed Janus Jewels themselves," he told her. "Did you stop to think of that? Wouldn't it make a marvelous cover?" He turned to look at her. "I don't think that infiltrator killed himself to keep from being questioned. You can't break an AAnn. I think the explosion was to destroy what he was carrying - a Janus jewel."
   "But what for?" she wondered. "To bribe someone?"
   "I don't think so ... but I'm not sure. Not yet."
   "As if I cared what happens to the Church," Rudenuaman added in disgust.
   Sylzenzuzex  responded with great dignity,  "The Church is all that stands between civilization and barbarism."
   "Now would the Commonwealth representatives like that, my dear? They appear to consider themselves the guardians of humanx accomplishment.
   The commonwealth stands only because it's backed by the incorruptible standards of the United Church."
   "There is someone I'd like to meet," The merchant-woman quipped, shifting on her couch. " An incorruptible."
   "Me too," admitted Flinx.
   Sylzenzuzex spun on him. "Whose side are you on, anyway, Flinx?" The fine hairs rose on the back of her b-thorax.
   "I don't know," he replied feelingly.  "I haven't studied all the sides carefully enough yet."
   "Would you like to see the mine?" Teleen asked suddenly.
   "Very much," he admitted. Sylzenzuzex looked indifferent, but he could sense her interest.
   "Very well," the merchantwoman decided, apparently on impulse. "Linda ..."
   "Groundcar, Madam-and guards?"
   "Just a driver and one other."
   The squat bodyguard looked uncertain. "Madam, do you think that ...?"
   Rudenuaman waved her objections aside. She was in the mood to wipe away the distressing events of the afternoon. Boasting and showing off would be excellent therapy. "You worry too much, Linda. Where can they go? Their shuttle has been stolen, the Baron has taken our craft, and this world grows progressively more inhospitable no matter which way one travels. They're not about to run away."
   "Right," Flinx agreed. "Besides, my companion has an injured limb."
   "Why should that matter to you?" Sylzenzuzex sneered.
   He turned on her angrily. "Because despite every- thing that's happened, and I regret much of it, I do care what happens to you-whether you want to believe it or not!"
   Sylzenzuzex stared at his back as he spun away from her, jamming his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. Security schematics, archeologic chronophysics- all appeared simple alongside this impenetrable young human. It would not have comforted her, perhaps, to know that her opinion of him was shared in varying degrees by the other two women in the room.
   No doubt Flinx would have been easier to understand if he had understood himself…. 
   Chapter Ten
    
   The groundcar whined smoothly, well tuned as it was, as it climbed a sloping path covered with a low growth resembling heather. Flinx leaned back and stared through the transparent roof. Just beyond the mine buildings, the mountain became nearly vertical, soaring another 2,500 meters above the lake.
   At the moment neither the incredible scenery, nor their present dim prospects, nor Sylzenzuzex's occasional whistling moans of pain held his attention. Instead, his mind was on that stolen tape which might contain the early part of his life. And in his mind, the tape was still inextricably linked with Conda Challis, who would run from him no longer.
   Flinx had already seen the sumptuous living quarters/office occupied by Teleen auz Rudenuaman. No doubt Challis possessed a similar if less extensive chamber somewhere in the complex behind them ... probably in the very same building. Eventually Challis' rooms would be cleaned out, his effects disposed of so that the space could be put to new uses. But for now it was doubtless sealed and undisturbed—including that tape, so tantalizingly near.
   If this unpredictable young woman could be persuaded to keep them alive awhile yet, he might still have the chance to see what was on that stolen spool. Though if she knew how desperately he wanted it, she might just slowly unwind it in a dish of acid before his eyes.
   It was a measure of her megalomania, or confidence, that she had ordered Challis killed. Someone would have to go to considerable lengths to cover up his disappearance—not that his company subordinates would object. Rudemiaman's agents should have no trouble locating several survivors who would be eager to take over the reins of power unquestioningly.  Besides, Challis' private activities were of such a nature as to discourage close investigation. A man engaged in such distasteful hobbies could come to any number of sudden, unexpected ends.
   Flinx wondered if the merchant's mind were still functional enough for him to regret the simple manner of his passing. No doubt he had conceived an eventual demise of grandiose depravity for himself.
   The groundcar came to a halt level with the lowest part of the sheer-sided, gleaming metal buildings. These were constructed on a more or less flat area that had been gouged in the flank of the mountain. Suspended at a higher elevation, a series of square metal arches punctured the rock walls like silvery hypodermics sucking blood from a whale. From within the structure, clear mountain air carried to the arrivals the steady ca-rank, ca-rank of tireless machinery.
   A guard who may or may not have been as human as he looked saluted casually as they entered the structure. "The exterior building we are now in," Rudenuaman was explaining, "houses all our milling and processing facilities." She waved constantly as they made their way through the building. "This installation has cost an incredible amount of credit ... a tiny drop when compared to the profit which we will eventually realize."
   "I still don't see why the AAnn need you so badly," Flinx told her, his eyes taking in everything on the principle that knowledge is freedom.  "Particularly since they're the ones responsible for negating the peace- forcer fortresses."
   "I thought I'd already made that clear," she said. "First, the Commonwealth is a far larger market for the gems than the Empire. They have no way to market their share except through a human agent ... me. But more important, as the Baron explained, this world lies within Commonwealth boundaries. Though comparatively isolated, there are a number of other busy, inhabited Commonwealth planets plus numerous automatic monitoring stations between here and the nearest populated Empire world. AAnn technicians require safe conduct, which Rudenuaman company ships provide."
   Flinx, thinking suddenly of the Baron's pursuit of Mahnahmi, asked, "Then there are no Imperial military vessels in this region?"
   Rudennaman looked surprised at Flinx's naivete. "Do you take the Baron for a fool? It would only take the discovery of one such ship and this quadrant of space would be swarming with Commonwealth warships. The Baron," she informed them smugly, "is far more subtle than the AAnn are normally given credit for."
   So subtle, Flins thought with mixed feelings, that he might have outfoxed himself. If he were chasing Mahnahmi in a freighter instead of in a destroyer or frigate, she might elude him after all. Not that be was certain he wanted that precocious talent to escape; but at least a merry chase might prolong the Baron's absence from Ulru-Ujurr for some time.
   They had to resolve the situation before that happened and the Baron returned. Novelty value or no, Flinx did not think the AAnn aristocrat would tolerate his and Sylzenzuzex's continued existence. If it came to a confrontation between Flinx and Rudenuaman, she would have him and Sylzenzuzex executed without a thought in order to keep her associate placated,
   Though Rudenuaman might be swayed by flattery and amusement, Flinx had no illusions about his ability to so manipulate the Baron, "Teleen," he began absently, "have yon ever ..."
   She turned angrily on him, voice chill and expression dark. "Don't ever call me that or you'll die a lot quicker than otherwise. You will address me as Madam or Madam Rudenuaman, or the next way you will amuse me is with your noise as I have the skin stripped from your back."
   "Sorry ... Madam," he apologized carefully. "You still insist that the AAim's only interest in the Janus jewels is financial?" He was aware of Sylzenzuzex watching him,
   "You continue to bring that up.Yes, of course I do."
   "Tell me—have you ever seen an AAnn, the Baron, for example, utilize a headset linkage to create particle- plays within one of the crystals?"
   "No." She didn't appear to be disturbed by the thought. "This is a mining outpost. There are no hedonists or idlers here."
   "Do you have a headset link here?"
   "Yes."
   "And Challis ... I presume he did, also? Colloid plays seemed to have been one of his favorite obsessions."
   "Yes, though not the only one," she said, her mouth wrinkling in distaste.
   "What about the Baron? Surely he enjoys the gems?"
   "Baron Riidi WW," she announced with confidence, "is all business- and military-minded. I have on occasion seen him relaxing at various AAnn recreations, but never with a Janus jewel."
   "What about the other AAnn of importance and rank here?"
   "No, they're all fully absorbed in their assignments. Why so curious to know if I've ever seen one of the reptiles using a gem?"
   "Because," Flinx said thoughtfully, "I don't think they can. I don't know what the Baron does with the jewels which are consigned for supposed sale within the Empire, but I'm certain they're not provided for the amusement of wealthy AAnn. Possibly for bribery purposes within the Commonwealth—1 haven't worked that out yet.
   "The AAnn mind is different from that of human or thranx.," he went on. "Not necessarily inferior—probably superior in some ways—but different. I've read a little about it, and I don't believe that their brains produce the proper impulses for operating a Janus jewel linkage. They could scramble the colloidal suspension, but never organize it into anything recognizable,"
   "Really," Rudenuaman murmured at the conclusion of his little lecture. "What makes you an expert on such matters?"
   "1 have big ears," Flinx replied. Better she continued to consider him a wild guesser than a calculating thinker.
   "All right, suppose they can't operate the jewels the way we can." She shrugged indifferently. "The beauty of the gem is still unsurpassed."
   "That's so," he conceded, "but to the point of justifying this kind of risky invasion of Commonwealth territory? I'm damned if I think the AAnn love beauty that much. Somehow those jewels are being used against the Commonwealth, against humanxkind."
   Rudenuaman didn't reply, choosing to ignore what she couldn't refute. They had walked deep into the higher levels of the building. A tall AAnn approached them, his surgical disguise perfect—except now Flinx knew what it concealed and was able to recognize the reptilian beneath.
   "That's Meevo FFGW," Rudenuaman informed them, confirming Flinx's guess. "He is the AAnn second in command and the Baron's assistant. He's also an excellent engineer, in charge of the overall mining operation here." She glared confidently at Flinx. "I've thought a little about your accusations, and you know what I've decided?" She smiled. "I don't give a goddamn what the AAnn do to the Commonwealth with their share of the jewels, as long as it doesn't interfere with my business."
   "That's about what I thought you might say." Sylzenzuzex's voice carried contempt in a way only the sharply clipped tones of a thranx can. Flinx thought it idiotic to antagonize their mercurial host, but she appeared unperturbed. If anything, she was pleased to see one of her captives so upset.
   "Isn't it nice to have one's thoughts confirmed?" She faced the newcomer. "Greetings, Meevo."
   Flinx used the opportunity to study the reptilian's makeup in detail. Were a Rudenuaman ship to be stopped by Commonwealth inspectors, he doubted that any casual observer could penetrate the carefully crafted disguise,
   If one knew to look closely, though, the eyes were a dead giveaway. For Meevo FFGW, like the Baron, like all AAnn, had a double eyelid. A blink would reveal the mind behind such eyes as not human.
   "These are the ones who succeeded in passing the adjusted fortresses?" the AAnn lieutenant asked, glancing from Sylzenzuzex to Flinx.
   "Just the two of them, yes," Rudenuaman told him. Meevo appeared amiably curious. "Then why are they still alive?"
   Sylzenzuzex shivered again, this time at the utterly inhumanx indifference in that voice.
   "They keep me amused for now. And when the Baron returns he may have some questions of his own for them. The Baron's a more efficient interrogator than I. I tend to be impatient."
   A low reptilian chuckle came from the engineer. "I heard about the child. Most unfortunate, irritating. There is no need to worry, though. The Baron will finish her before she can contact outsiders. His efficiency extends to other areas besides questioning."  He grinned, showing false human teeth set into an elongated false human jaw. At the back of the open mouth Flinx could just make out the gleam of real, far sharper teeth.
   "You find them amusing ... curious." the engineer concluded, with a gesture Flinx was unable to interpret. His attitude suggested that casual amusement was as alien to him as bearing living young.
   Curiosity, however, was a trait the AAnn did share with their enemies. Meevo tagged along as Rudenuaman led them through the remainder of the complex.
   "The milling and separation you saw downstairs. Polishing and removal of surface impurities takes place over there." She indicated a series of doorless chambers from which musical sounds emerged.
   "Are they all AArm here except you and your bodyguard?" Sylzenzuzex wondered sardonically.
   "Oh, no. We're about half and half here. There are a surprising number of talented humanx in our loving society for whom the everyday problems of living have proven too much. They've been driven by insensitive authority to seek marginally reputable work. Existence overrides any qualms they hold about such intangibles as interspecies loyalty,"
   "I'll venture none of them ever gets off this world alive."
   Rudenuaman appeared genuinely surprised. "Ridiculous woman ... that would be bad for business. Oh, I don't mean we inspire their loyalty. For most of those who work here that term no longer has meaning, or they wouldn't be here in the first place. Any of them would gladly sell their knowledge of this illegal installation the moment they were discharged.
   "We employ, with their knowledge and consent, a selective mind-wipe which cleats their brains of all memories of their stay here. It leaves them with the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that they've undergone a long period of unconsciousness. That and their newly fat bank accounts insure they will not give away our presence here."
   "Mind-wipe," a stunned Sylzenznzex muttered, "is forbidden for use by anyone other than Commonwealth or Church high physicians, and then only in emergency circumstances!"
   Rudenuaman grinned. "You must remember to add that to your report."
   They entered a large chamber, and the temperature dropped noticeably. "We'll be going into the main shaft," she explained, indicating long racks of bulky overclothing hanging nearby. Sylzenzezex saw that a number of them were designed for thranx.
   "Did you think that your precious cousins were immune to the lure of credit?" Rudenuaman taunted her. "No species has a comer on greed, child."
   "Don't call me a child," Sylzenzuzex countered softly.
   Radenuaman's response was not what Flinx expected—the first real laugh they had heard from her. She leaned on her cane, chuckling. Curious workers turned to glance at them as they passed.
   "I’ll call you dead, if you prefer," the merchantwoman finally declared. She pointed toward the long racks of overclothing, "Now put one of those on— it's quite cold inside the mountain,"
   After donning the protective outer garments, they followed her and the AAnn engineer down a wide rectangular avenue. Metal soon gave way to bare rock. Evenly spaced single span duralloy arches helped support the roof.
   Flinx's thermal suit was partly open, permitting a small reptilian head to peep out from within, eyes on blinking as it surveyed the chill surroundings. Double rows of brightly glowing light tubes cast a steady radiance) throughout the tunnel.
   "This section has already been played out," Rudenuaman explained. "The jewels lie in a vein running horizontally into the mountain."
   They slowed.
   "There are several additional subsidiary shafts, running the length of lesser veins. Some run slightly above, others below our present position. I'm told that the gems formed in occasional pockets in the volcanic rock which were once filled with gas. An unusual combination of pressure and heat produced the Janus jewels.
   "The gemstones themselves lie in a different sort of material from the mountain, like diamonds in the kimberlite of Terra and the Bronine rainbow craters which are mined on Evoria. That's what my engineers tell me, anyhow."
   Ignoring her possessive reference to him, Meevo made a curt gesture of acknowledgment. "It is so. Similar examples of isolated gem formation lie within the Empire, though nothing so unusual as this."
   Something tickled Flinx's brain, and he found himself staring down into the dim recesses of the shaft. "Someone's coming toward us," he announced finally.
   Rudenuaman turned to look, commented idly, "Just a few of the natives. They're primitive types, but intelligent enough to make good menial workers. They have no tools, no civilization, and no language beyond a few grunts and imitated human words. They don't even wear minimal clothing. Their sole claim to rudimentary intelligence appears to be in the simple modifications they make in their cave-homes—rolling boulders in front to make a smaller entrance, digging deeper into the hillside, and so on. They do the heavy manual work for us, and they're careful with the jewels they uncover."
   "We've simplified the drilling equipment for their use. Their fur is thick enough so that the cold inside the mountain doesn't seem to bother them, which is fortunate for us. Even with thermal suits it would be hard for humans and impossible for AAnn to work the gem deposits anymore, considering how deep the shaft now runs into the mountain. If they mind the cold, they seem willing to risk it for the rewards we give them in return for each stone."
   "What do you reward them with?" Flinx wondered curiously. The bulky shapes were still coming slowly toward them. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and Pip stirred violently within the folds of the warm suit.
   "Berries," Meevo snapped in disgust. "Berries and fruits, nuts and tubers. Root eaters!" he finished, with the disdain characteristic of all carnivores.
   "They're vegetarians, then?"
   "Not entirely," Rudenuaman corrected, "They're apparently quite able to digest meat, and they have the teeth and claws necessary for hunting, but they much prefer the fruits and berries our automatic harvester can gather for them."
   "Dirt grubbers," the AAnn engineer muttered. He glanced at Rudennaman. "Excuse me from your play, but I have work to do." He turned and lumbered back up the shaft.
   By this time the four natives had come near enough for Flinx to discern individual characteristics. Each was larger than a big man and two or three times as broad— almost fat. How much of that bulk was composed of incredibly dense brown fur marked with black and white splotches he couldn't tell. In build and general appearance they were essentially ursinoid, though sporting a flat muzzle instead of a snout. It ended in a nearly in- visible black nose that was almost comical on so massive a creature.
   Short thick claws tipped the end of each of four seven-digited members, and the creatures appeared capable of moving on all fours or standing upright with equal ease. There was no tail. Ears were short, rounded, and set on top of the head. By far the most distinctive features were the tarsier-like eyes, large as plates, which glowed amber in the tunnel's fluorescent light. Huge black pupils like obsidian yolks floated in their centers.
   "Nocturnal from the look of them, diurnal at the least," was Sylzenzuzex's intrigued comment.
   The natives noticed the new arrivals, and all rose onto their hind legs for a better look. When they stood upright they seemed to fill the whole tunnel.  Flinx noted a slight curve at the back of their mouths, which formed a falsely comic, dolphinish grin on each massive face.
   He was about to ask another, question of Rudenuaman when something stirred violently within his suit top. Flinx's frantic grab was too late to restrain Pip. The flying snake was out and streaking down the shaft toward the natives.
   "Pip ... wait, there's no ...!"
   He had started to say there was no reason to attack the furry giants. Nothing fearful or threatening had scratched his sensitive mind. If the minidrag were to set the group of huge natives on a rampage, it was doubtful any of them would get out of this tunnel alive.
   Ignoring his master's call. Pip reached the nearest of the creatures. On its hind legs, the enormous animal was nearly three meters tall and must have weighed at least half a ton. Great glowing eyes regarded the tiny apparition, whose venom was nearly always fatal.
   Pip dove straight for the head. At the last second pleated wings beat the air as the minidrag braked—to land and curl lightly about the creature's shoulder. The monster eyed the minidrag dispassionately, then turned its dull gaze on Flinx, who gaped back at the giant in shock.
   For the second time in his life, Flinx fainted. ...
    
   The dream was new and very deep. He was floating in the middle of an endless black lake beneath an oppressively near night sky. So dark was it that he could see nothing, not even his own body ...which might not have been there.
   Against the ebony heavens four bright lights drifted. Tiny, dancing pinpoints of unwinking gold moved in unpredictable yet calculated patterns, like fireflies. They danced and jigged, darted and twitched not far from the eyes he didn't have, yet he saw them plainly.
   Sometimes they danced about each other, and once all four of them performed some intricate weaving in and out, as complex and meaningful as it was quickly forgotten.
   "He's back now," the first firefly observed.
   "Yes, he's back," two of the others agreed simultaneously.
   Flinx noted with interest that the last of the four fireflies was not the steady, unwavering light he had first thought. Unlike the others, it winked on and off erratically, like a lamp running on fluctuating current. When it winked off it disappeared completely, and when it was on it blazed brighter than any of the others. "Did we frighten yon?" the winter wondered.
   A disembodied voice strangely like his own replied. "I saw Pip ..." the dream-voice started to say.
   "I'm sorry we shouted at yon," the first firefly apologized,
   "Sorry we shouted," the other two chorused. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We didn't mean to frighten you."
   "I saw Pip," Flinx mused, "settle around one of the native's shoulders. I've never ever seen Pip do that to a stranger before. Not to Mother Mastiff, not to Truzenzilzex, not to anyone."
   "Pip?" the third voice inquired.
   "Oh," the second firefly explained, "he means the little hard mind."
   "Hard but tasty," agreed the first one, "like a chunut."
   "You thought the little hard mind meant to hurt us?" first voice asked.
   "Yes, but instead he responded to yon with an openness I've never seen before. So you must also broadcast on the empathic level, only your thoughts are friendly thoughts."
   "If you say we must," third firefly elucidated, "then we must."
   "But only when we must," fourth voice said sternly, blazing brighter than the other three before vanishing.
   "Why does the fourth among you come and go like a fog?" Flinx's dream-voice murmured.
   "Fourth? Oh," first voice explained, "that's Maybeso. That's his name—for this weektime, anyway. I am called Fluff." Flinx got the impression the other two lights brightened slightly. "These are Moam and Bluebright." The fourth light blazed momentarily.
   "They're mates," it said, and then winked out once more.
   "Gone again," Flinx observed with disembodied detachment.
   "That's Mayheso, remember?" reminded Fluff-voice. "Sometimes he's not here. The rest of us are always here. We don't change our names, either, but Maybeso comes and goes and changes his name every weektime or so,"
   "Where does Maybeso go when he goes?"
   Bluebright replied openly, "We don't know."
   "Where does he come from when he comes back, then?"
   "Nobody knows," Moam told him.
   "Why does he change his name from weektime to weektime?"
   "Ask him," Moam and Bluebright suggested together.
   Maybeso came back, his light brighter than any of theirs.
   "Why do you change your name from weektime to weektime, and where do you go when you go, and where do you come from when you come back?" Flinx-voice wondered,
   "Oh, there's no doubt about it," Maybeso told him in a dream-singsong, and winked away again.
   Fluff spoke in a confidential dream-whisper: "Maybeso, we think, is a little mad. But he's a good fellow all the same."
   Flinx noted absently that he was beginning to sink beneath the surface of the black lake. Above him the four lights swirled and dipped curiously.
   "You're the first who's talked to us," Fluff-voice murmured,
   "Come and talk to us more," Moam requested with pleasure. "It's fun to have someone to talk to. The little hard one listens but cannot talk. This is a fun new thing!"
   Flinx's dream-voice bubbled up through the deepening oily liquid. "Where should I come and talk to you?"
   "At the end of the long water," Moam told Him.
   "At the end of the long water," confirmed Bluebright.
   "At the far end of the long water," added Fluff, who was rather more precise than the others.
   "No doubt about it," agreed Maybeso, winking on for barely a second.
   About it, about it ... the words were subsumed in gentle rippling currents produced by Flinx's slowly sinking body. Sinking, sinking, until he touched the bottom of the lake. His legs touched first, then his hips, then back, and finally his head.
   There was something peculiar about this place, he thought. The sky had been blacker than the water, and the water grew lighter instead of darker as he sank. At the bottom it was so bright it hurt his eyes.
   He opened them.
   A glistening, almost metallic blue-green face dominated by two faceted gems was staring down at him with concern. Inhaling, he smelled cocoanut oil and orchids. Something tickled his left ear.
   Looking for the source, he discovered Pip's small reptilian face lying on his chest. A long pointed tongue darted out and hit him several times on the cheek. Apparently satisfied as to his master's condition, the minidrag relaxed and slid off the pillow to coil itself comfortably nearby.
   Pillow?
   Taking a deep breath, Flinx smiled up at Sylzenzuzex. She backed away and he saw that they were in a small, neatly furnished room. Sunlight poured in through high windows.
   "How are you feeling?" she inquired in the sharp clicks and whistles of symbospeech. He nodded and watched her slump gratefully onto a thranx sleeping- sitting platform across the room.
   "Thank the Hive. I thought yon were dead."
   Flinx rested his head on a supporting hand. "I didn't think that mattered much to you."
   "Oh, shut up!" she snapped with unexpected vehemence. He detected confusion and frustration in her voice as feelings and fact vied within her. "There have been plenty of times when I would have cheerfully cut your throat, if I hadn't been under oath to protect it. Then there have been an equal number of other occasions when I almost wished you didn't wear your skeleton outside in.
   "Like the time back on Terra when you saved my life, and the way you've stood up to that barbaric young female." Flinx saw her antennae flicking nervously, the graceful curve of her ovipositors tightening uncertainly. "You are the most maddening being I have ever met, Flinx-man!"
   He sat up carefully, found that everything worked inside as well as out. "What happened?" he asked, confused. "No, wait ... I do remember blacking out, but not why. Did something hit me?"
   "Nobody laid a parcel hook on you. You collapsed when your pet charged one of the native workers. Fortunately, that maneuver seems to have been just a bluff. The native didn't know enough to be frightened." Her expression turned puzzled. "But why should that make you faint?"
   "I don't know," he answered evasively. "Probably the shock of visualizing the rest of the natives rending us into pieces after Pip killed one of their number. When he didn't, the shock was magnified because Pip just doesn't take to strangers that way." Flinx forced himself to appear indifferent. "So Pip likes natural fur better than a thermal suit, and he snuggled down in one of the natives. That's probably what happened."
   "What does that prove?" Sylzenzuzex wondered.
   "That I faint too easily." Swinging his legs off the bed, he gave her a grim look. "At least now we know why this world's Under Edict."
   "Shhh!" She nearly fell off her sleeping platform. "Why ... no, wait," she admonished him. Several minutes passed during which she made a thorough in- spection of the room, checking places Flinx would never have thought to inspect,
   "It's clean," she finally announced with satisfaction. "I expect they don't think we have anything to say that's worth listening to."
   "You're certain?" Flinx asked, abashed. "I never thought of that."
   Sylzenzuzex looked offended. "I told you I was training in Security. No, there is nothing in here to listen to you save me."
   "Okay, the reason this world has been placed Under Edict by the Church met us in the tunnel today. It's the natives  ... Rudenuaman's grunting, goblin- eyed manual laborers. They're the reason."
   She continued to stare at him for another minute, considered laughing, thought better of it when she saw how serious he was.
   "Impossible," she muttered finally. "You have experienced a delusion of some sort. Surely the natives are nothing more than they appear to be-—big, amiable, and dumb. They have not yet developed enough for the Church to isolate this world."
   "On the contrary," he objected, "they're a great deal more than they appear to be."
   She looked querulous. "If that's true, then why do they perform heavy manual labor for long hours in freezing temperatures in exchange for a few miserable nuts and berries?"
   Flinx's voice dropped disconsolately. "I don't know that yet." He glanced up. "But I know this—they're natural telepaths."
   "A delusion," she repeated firmly, "a hallucination you experienced."
   "No." His voice was firm, confident. "I have a few slight talents of my own. I know the difference between a hallucination and mind-to-mind communication."
   "Have it your way," Sylzenzuzex declared, sighing. "For the sake of discussion let us temporarily assume it was not an illusion. That is still no reason for the Church to place a world Under Edict. A whole race of telepaths is only theory, but it would not be enough to exclude them from associate membership in the Commonwealth."
   "It's not just that," Flinx explained earnestly. "They're ... well, more intelligent than they appear."
   "I doubt that," she snorted, "but even a race of intelligent telepaths would not be considered such a threat."
   "Much more intelligent."
   "I won't believe that until I see evidence to prove it," she objected. "If they represented any kind of serious threat to the Commonwealth ..."
   "Why else would the Church put this world Under Edict?"
   "Flinx, they have no tools, no clothing, no spoken language—no civilization. They run around grubbing for roots and fruits, living in caves. If they're potentially as clever as you claim, why do they persist in dwelling in poverty?"
   "That," admitted Flinx, "is a very good question,"
   "Do you have a very good answer?"
   "I do not. But I'm convinced I've found the reason for the Church's actions. What is the effect of putting a race Under Edict?"
   "No contact with outside parties, space-going peoples," she recited. "Severest penalties for any infraction of the Edict. The race is free to develop in its own way."
   "Or free to stagnate," Flinx muttered. "The Commonwealth and the Church have aided plenty of primitive peoples, Why not the Ujurrians?"
   "You set yourself up as arbiter of high Church policy," she murmured, drawing away from him again.
   "Not me!" he half shouted, slamming both hands noisily against the bedcovers. His hands moved rapidly as he talked. "It's the Church Council that sets itself up as the manipulator of racial destinies. And if not the Church, then the Commonwealth government does, And if not the Commonwealth, then the great corporations and family companies. Then there is the AAnn Empire which sets itself above everything." He was pacing angrily alongside the bed.
   "My God, but I'm sick to death of organizations that think they have the right to rule on how others ought to develop!"
   "What would yon have in its place?" she challenged him. "Anarchy?"
   Flinx sat down heavily on the bed again, his head sinking between his hands. He was tired, tired, and much too young. "How should I know? I only know that I'm getting damned sick of what passes for intelligence in this corner of creation."
   "I can't believe you're so innocent," she said, more gently now.  "What else do you expect from mere mammals and insects? The Amalgamation was just the beginning of your race's and mine's emergence from long dark age. The Commonwealth and the United Church are only a few of your centuries old. What do you expect of it so soon—Nirvana? Utopia?" She shook her head, a gesture the thranx had acquired from man- kind.
   "Not for me or you to set ourselves up above the Church, which helped bring us out of those dark times."
   "The Church, the Church, your almighty Church!" he shouted. "Why do you defend it so? You think it's composed of saints?"
   "I never claimed it was perfect," she responded, showing some heat herself. "The Counselors them- selves would be the last to claim so. That's one of its virtues. Naturally it's not perfect—it would never claim to be."
   "That's what Tse-Mallory once said to me," he murmured reflectively.
   "What ... who?"
   "Someone I know who also left the Church, for reasons of his own."
   "Tse-Mallory, that name again," she replied thoughtfully. "He was that stingship mate of my uncle's you mentioned before. Bran Tse-Mallory?"
   "Yes."
   "They talk of him as well as of Truzenzuzex at the Clan meetings." She snapped herself back to the present—no use thinking wistfully about things she would probably never be able to experience again.
   "Now that you've decided the universe is not perfect and that the instrumentalities of intelligence are somewhat less than all-knowing, what do you propose we do about it?"
   "Have a talk with our friends-to-be, the Ujurrians."
   "And what are they going to do?" she smirked. "Throw rocks at the Baron's shuttles when he returns? Or at the beamers that are surely stocked in plenty here?"
   "Possibly," Flinx conceded. "But even if they can do nothing, I think we'll have a far better chance of surviving among them than there, than waiting for Rudenuaman to get tired of having ns around. When that happens she'll dispose of us as casually as she would an old dress." He let his mind wander, saw no reason to hide himself from Sylzenzuzex anymore. "There's only one guard outside the door."
   "How do you know ... oh, you told me," she answered herself. "How extensive are your talents?"
   "I haven't the vaguest notion," he told her honestly. "Sometimes I can't perceive a spider in a room. Other times ..." He felt it better to keep a few secrets. "Just take my word that there's only one guard outside. I guess our docility has convinced Rudenuaman we don't require close watching. As she said, there's nowhere for us to run to."
   "I'm not sure I disagree with her," Sylzenzuzex murmured, her gaze going to the chill mountains outside. "Though I must admit that if we do escape, she may leave us alone. We would be no more danger to her in the mountains than we are here."
   "I'm hoping she thinks so," he admitted. "The Baron wouldn't agree with her. We have to leave now." Sliding off the bed, he walked to the door and knocked gently. The door slid aside and their guard eyed them carefully—from several paces away, Flinx noted.
   He was a tall, thin human with a worn expression and hair turned too white too soon. As near as Fliax could tell, he was not an AAnn in human disguise.
   "You interrupted my reading," he informed Flinx sourly, indicating the small tape viewer that rested nearby. This reminded Flinx of another tape he wanted to read himself.. Despite the anxiety surging inside him, he would have to wait until much later, if ever, to see that tape.
   "What do you want?" It was clear that this man was well informed about their cooperation thus far. Flinx shouted with his mind, conjuring up a sensation of half-fear.
   Pip shot out from under the pillows on the bed and was through the door before the man could put his viewer aside. A beamer came up, but instead of firing the man crossed both hands in front of his face. Flinx jumped through the opening and planted a foot in the other's solar plexus. Only closing lids kept his eyes from popping out of his face.
   The guard hit the far wall with a loud whump, sat down, and leaned like a rag doll against the chair leg. This time the minidrag responded to Flinx's call. He settled tensely back on Flinx's shoulder, glaring down at the unconscious guard.
   Sylzenzuzex came up hurriedly behind him. "Why didn't he shoot immediately? As a matter of fact ..." She hesitated, and Flinx sensed her mind working.
   "That's right. No one here recognized Pip as a dangerous animal. The only one I told was Rudenuaman's bodyguard. In all the rush she must have neglected to inform everyone else. We were trapped 'here without hope of escape, remember? The only others who knew were Challis and Mahnahmi. He's dead, and she's fled."
   Flinx gestured behind him. "That's why I called Pip off and knocked him out myself. Everyone's still ignorant of Pip's full capabilities. Sooner or later, Linda will remember to tell her mistress. But by then we should be free. We'd better be—Rudenuaman won't give us a second chance."
   "What are we going to do now?"
   "No one's seen us except a small corps of armed security personnel and a few people up at the mine. This is a good-sized installation. Act as if yon know what you're doing, and we might walk out of here without being challenged."
   "Yon are crazy," she muttered nervously, as they entered the lift. "This may be a large base, but it's still a closed community. Everyone here must know every- one else."
   "Yon participate in a bureaucracy and still you don't understand," Flinx observed sadly. "Everyone in a complicated operation like this tends to stick pretty much to his own specialty. Each one interacts with people within that specialty. This is hardly a homogeneous little society here. Unless we encounter one of the guards who met us on landing, we ought to be able to move about freely."
   "Until our guard regains consciousness," she reminded him. "Then they'll come looking for us."
   "But not beyond the boundary of the base, I’ll bet. Rudenuaman will be more irritated than angry. She'll assume the environment here will take care of us. And it will, if the Ujurrians don't help us."
   They entered the lift car, started downward. "What makes you think they will?"
   "I got the impression that they're anxious to talk to me. If you have ten marooned thranx speaking only Low Thranx and an eleventh suddenly appears, wouldn't you want to talk to him?"
   "Maybe for a while," she conceded. "Of course, after I'd heard everything he had to say I might want to eat him, too."
   "I don't think the Ujurrians will do that." The lift reached ground level.
   "What makes you so certain? Berries or not, they are omnivorous, remember. Suppose they're simply telepathic morons?"
   "If I'm wrong about them, then we'll die a lot cleaner than at Rudenauman's hands. I'm betting on two things—a dream, and the fact that I never before saw Pip fly at any being he didn't intend to attack."
   Reaching down, he rubbed the back of Pip's head through the jumpsuit fabric.
   "You were right, Syl, when you said he was flying toward greater warmth, but the warmth wasn't in the Ujurrian's fur." The lift door slid aside and they strode boldly out into the deserted hall.
   Leaving the structure they started walking between buildings, heading toward the lake. Several people passed them. Flinx didn't recognize any of them, and fortunately none of them recognized the two prisoners. As they neared the outskirts of the base Flinx
   slowed, his senses alert for anything like an automatically  defended  perimeter. Sylzenzuzex searched for concealed alarms. They didn't find so much as a simple fence. Apparently there were no large carnivores in this valley, and the merchantwoman's opinion of the natives they already knew.
   Once they reached the concealing trees, they accelerated their pace, moving as fast as Sylzenzuzex's injured leghand would permit. Despite the abnormally long day, the sun was low in the sky before they slowed. When the sun finally moved behind one of the towering snowy peaks, its warmth would dissipate quickly in the mountain air. Sylzenzuzex would be affected first, and most severely; but Flinx didn't doubt that he'd also be dangerously exposed in his thin jumpsuit.
   He hoped their furry hosts could do something about that. If no one was waiting for them at the far end of the lake—the "long water" of his dream—he was going to be very embarrassed. And very sorry.
   At its lower end the lake narrowed to a small outlet, then tumbled with the bright humor of all mountain streams down a gentle slope, dancing and falling with fluid choreography over rocks and broken logs and branches. Despite the density of the forest overhead, the thick heatherlike ground cover was lush here.
   Flinx picked out small flowering plants with odd needlelike leaves and multiple centers. Minute furred creatures dug and twisted and scurried through this lowlevel jungle.
   Sylzeiiziizex sniffed disdainfully, her spicules whistling, as they watched a tiny thing with ten furry legs and miniature hooves dart down a hole in the far bank of the stream.
   "Primitive world," she commented. "No insects." She was shivering already. "That's not surprising. This world is too cold for them—and me."
   Flinx began hunting through the trees and was rubbing his hands together. Occasionally he would reach into his jumpsuit to fondle Pip. The minidrag also came from a hothouse world. It had grown still in an instinctive effort to conserve energy and body heat.
   "I'm not exactly at home here either, you know," Flinx told her. Glancing worriedly upward, he saw that the sun had been half swallowed by a mountain with a backbone like a crippled dinosaur.
   "We can freeze to death out here tonight, or go back and take our chances with that female," Sylzenzuzex stammered. "A wonderful choice you've given us."
   "I don't understand," he muttered puzzledly. "I was so certain. The voices were so clear."
   "Everything is clear in a dream," she philosophized. "It's the real world that never makes sense, that's fuzzy at the fringes. I'm still not sure that you're not a little fuzzy at the fringes, Flinx."
   "Ho, ho," a voice boomed like a hammer hitting the bottom of a big metal pot. It was. a real voice, not a telepathic whisper.
   "Joke, I like jokes!"
   Flinx's heart settled back to its normal beat as he and Sylzenzuzex whirled, to see an enormous wide shape waddle out from between two trees. There was little to distinguish one native from another physically.
   Flinx, however, now knew to hunt for something less obvious.  It blinked brightly out at him,  a strong, concentrated mental glow—like a firefly, he reminded himself.
   "Hello, Fluff. Yon have a sense of humor, but don't, please, sneak up on us like that again."
   "Sense of humor," the giant echoed. "That mean I like to make jokes?" On hind legs he towered above them. "Yes. What is better than making jokes? Except maybe building caves and eating and sleeping and making love."
   Flinx noticed that the broadly grinning month was moving.
   "You're talking," Sylzenzuzex observed simultaneously. She turned to Flinx. "I thought you said they were telepathic?"
   "Can do mind-talk too," something said inside her head, making her jump.
   "So that's telepathy," she murmured at the new experience. "It's kind of unnerving."
   "Why trouble with talking?" Flinx wondered.
   "Is less efficient, but more fun," Fluff husked.
   "Lots more fun," two voices mimicked. Moam and Bluebright appeared, shuffling toward the stream. Lowering to all fours, they began lapping the water.
   "Why don't you talk like this to the people at the base?"
   "Base? Big metal caves?"
   Flinx nodded, was rewarded with a mental shrug.
   "No one ask us to talk much. We see inside them that they like us to talk like this," and he proceeded to produce a few grunted words and snorted phrases.
   "It make them happy. We want everyone to be happy. So we talk like that."
   "I'm not sure I understand," Flinx admitted, sitting down on a rock and shivering. A monstrous shape materialized at his shoulder, and Sylzenzuzex jumped half a meter into the air.
   "No doubt about it," thundered Maybeso. One paw cuddled two wrinkled objects while the other held a large plastic case. Flinx felt a warm thought flow over him like a bucket of hot water and then Maybeso was gone.
   "What was that?" a gaping Sylzenzuzex wanted to know.
   "Maybeso," Flinx told her absently, examining what the mercurial Ujurrian had brought. "Thermal suits— one for you and one for me,"
   After climbing into the self-contained heated over- clothing they spent a few luxurious moments defrosting before they began their inspection of the big case's contents,
   "Food," Sylzenzuzex noted. "Two beamers ..."
   Flinx reached into the depths of the container, aware he was trembling. "And this ... even this." He withdrew his hand, holding a small, slightly battered spool.
   "How?" he asked Fluff, awed. "How did he know?" Fluff's smile was genuine and went beyond the one frozen into his features.
   "Maybeso plays his own games. Everything is a game to Maybeso, and he's very good at games. Better than any of the family. In some ways he's just like an overgrown cub."
   "Cub," agreed Moam, "but a big light."
   "Very big light," Bluebright agreed, raising his head and licking water from his muzzle with a long tongue.
   "It's fun to have someone who can talk back," Fluff observed playfully. Then Flinx had the impression of a hurt frown. "Others came bat did not land. Maybeso saw them and says they did some strange things with constructs—with instruments like those at the metal caves. They got very excited, then went away."
   "The Church exploration party," Flinx commented unnecessarily.
   "We didn't understand why they went away," a troubled Fluff said. "We wished they would have come down and talked. We were sad and wanted to help them, because they were frightened of something." Again the mental shrug, "Though we could have been wrong."
   "I don't think you're wrong, Fluff. Something frightened them, all right."
   Sylzenzuzex paid no attention to him. She was staring at Fluff, her mandibles hanging limp. Flinx turned to her, asked, "Now do you understand why this world was put Under Edict?"
   "Under Edict," Fluff repeated, savoring the sound of the spoken words. "A general admonition embodying philosophical rationalizations which stem—"
   "You're a fast learner. Fluff," gulped Flinx.
   "Oh sure," the giant agreed with childish enthusiasm. "Is fun. Let's play a game. You think of a concept or new word and we try to learn it, okay?"
   "It wasn't a game to the exploration party which took readings here," Sylzenzuzex announced suddenly. She looked over to Flinx. "I see what you were trying to tell me." To the giant: "They didn't land because ... because they were afraid of you, Fluff."
   "Afraid? Why be afraid of me?" He slapped his meters-wide torso with a paw that could have decapitated a man. "We only live, eat, sleep, make love, build caves, and play games ... and make jokes, of course. What to be afraid of?"
   "Your potential, Fluff," Flinx explained slowly. "And yours, Moam, and Bluebright, and you too, Maybeso, wherever you are."
   "Someplace else," Moam supplied helpfully.
   "They saw your potential and ran like hell instead of coming down to help you, Put you Under Edict so no one else would come to help you, either. They hoped to consign you all to ignorance. You have incalculable potential. Fluff, but you don't seem to have much drive. By denying you that the Church saw they could—"
   "No!" Sylzenzuzex shouted, agonized. "I can't believe that. The Church wouldn't ..."
   "Why not?" snorted Flinx. "Anyone can be afraid of the big kid down the block."
   "Is wrong to fear," Fluff observed mournfully, "and sad."
   "Right both times," concurred Flinx. Suddenly aware his stomach demanded attention, he dug a large cube of processed meat and cheese from the plastic container, sat down on a rock. After removing the foil sealer, he took a huge bite out of it, then started searching the container for something suitable for Pip.
   Sylzenzuzex joined him, but her inspection of the supplies was halfhearted at best. Her mind was a maelstrom of conflicting, confusing, and destructive thoughts. The khowledge of what the Church had certainly done was chattering beliefs she'd held since pupahood. Each time another ideal came crashing down, it sent a painful stab through her.
   Flinx had reached a decision. "You wanted to talk, to play a concept and words game?"
   "Yes, let's play," Moam snuffled enthusiastically, ambling over.
   "Let's talk," agreed Bluebright.
   Flinx looked grim, considered what he was about to do, and was gratified to discover that it made him feel more satisfied than any decision he'd made in his entire life.
   "You bet we'll talk...." 
   Chapter Eleven
    
   "But not here," Fluff put m.
   "Definitely not here," Bluebright echoed. "Let's go to the cave." Turning away from Flinx, he and Moam started off into the trees, matching each other stride for stride. Fluff waddled after them, gesturing for Flinx and Sylzenzuzex to follow.
   "The cave?" Flinx inquired later as he and the shaking thranx struggled to maintain the blistering pace. "You all share the same cave?"
   Fluff seemed surprised. "Everyone shares the same cave."
   "You're all part of the same family, then?" Sylzenzuzex panted.
   "Everyone same family." The big native was obviously puzzled at these questions.
   It occurred to Flinx that Fluff might have something other than immediate blood relationships in mind. A word with multiple meanings could be confusing to a human, to say nothing of an alien with a bare knowledge of the language.
   "Are we of the same family Fluff?" he asked slowly. Heavily furred brows wrinkled ponderously.
   "Not sure yet," their unassuming savior finally told him. "Let you know."
   Another hour of Scrambling hectically over rocks and ditches, and Flinx found himself becoming winded. It was much worse for his companion, who finally settled to an exhausted halt in the middle of a clump of flowering growth.
   "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I can't keep up. Tired and—cold."
   "Wait," he instructed her. "Fluff, wait for us!" Ahead, the three Ujurrians paused, looked back expectantly.
   Flinx knelt and gently examined the broken leghand. Though Sylzenzuzex wasn't putting any pres- sure on it, the joint didn't seem to be healing properly. "We're going to have to splint that break," he muttered softly. She nodded agreement.
   "Do at the cave," Fluff advised, having retreated to join them.
   "I'm sorry. Fluff," Flinx explained, "but she can't go any further unless we fix this break." He considered, suggested, "You three continue on—leave a trail of broken branches and we'll catch up with you later."
   "Foolish," the native advised. He moved nearer, his huge bulk dwarfing the slim youth. Flinx noted that Pip hadn't moved. If his pet expressed no concern, then it sensed no threat behind those advancing luminous eyes.
   Fluff studied the quaking Sylzenzuzex, asked curiously, "What to do, Flinx-friend?"
   "If you think it's foolish of us to follow your trail," he told the Ujurrian carefully, alert for any indication of outraged anger, "you could let us ride,"
   Bluebright scratched under his chin with a hind foot. "What is ride?" he asked interestedly.
   "Means to carry thems instead of gems," a deep voice snorted with mild contempt at Bluebright's slowness. Flinx spun just in time to see the slightly phosphorescent form of Maybeso vanish into someplace else.
   "Understand now," Fluff bubbled with satisfaction. "What do we do?"
   "Just stand there," Flinx instructed, wondering as he walked up next to that brown wall if this was going to turn out to be such a clever idea after all. The big ursine head swung to watch him. "Now lie down on your stomach."
   Fluff promptly collapsed with a pneumatic whump. Tentatively placing one foot against his left flank, Flinx reached up and grabbed a double handful of coarse   hair and pulled hard. When no protest was forthcoming, he pulled again, hard enough this time to swing himself up on the broad back.
   "Okay, yon can get on all fours again," he told his jocular mount.
   Fluff rose with hydraulic smoothness, his mind  ' smiling. "I see. This is a better idea."
   "A new fun thing," Moam agreed. She and Bluebright ambled over to Sylzenznzex and spent a minute arguing over who should have the privilege of trying this new experience first. Moam won the debate. She moved next to the watching thranx and lay down next to her.
   Sylzenzuzex studied that muscular torso apprehensively, glanced across at Flinx. He nodded encouragement, and she climbed carefully onto Moam, dug her claws into the thick fur, and hung on firmly.
   They discovered now how patiently the Ujurrians had walked before, to enable their two pitiful friends to keep up with them. If either Fluff or Moam noticed the weight on their backs it wasn't apparent, and the little group flew through the forest.
   They had only one further mishap, when Flinx was nearly thrown. He barely managed to maintain his seat when Fluff rose without warning onto his two hind legs. He ran on like a biped to the manner born, and at a pace which no Terran bear could have duplicated. With seven limbs to hold on with, Sylzenzuzex kept her perch much more securely when Moam likewise rose to match Fluff's long two-legged stride.
   It was impossible to tell how long or how far they had traveled when they descended into the last valley. From the beginning of the real run until the end, none of the ursinoids slackened their pace, though by then they were puffing slightly,
   This third valley was dominated by the stream they'd run parallel to during their retreat. It broadened into another lake here, though one much smaller than that bordering the miming encampment now far behind them. A new variety of tree grew here among the quasi-evergreens, It had broad, yellow-brown leaves. Certain varieties, Flinx saw in the moonlight, held different kinds of berries, though these were scarce. Others boasted clusters of oval-shelled nuts, some big as cocoanuts.
   "You eat those?" Flinx asked, pointing at the burdened branches.
   "Yes," Fluff informed him.
   "And you also eat meat?"
   "Only in snowtime," his host explained quietly, "when the baiga and magilwc do not bloom. Meat is no fun, and more work. It runs away."
   They were moving toward a steep hillside now. In the soft moonlight Flinx saw that it was bare rock, devoid of talus. Several circles made dark stains against the gray granite.
   Ujurrians of many sizes, including the first cubs they had seen, gamboled between the dark shoreline and the cave mouths.
   "If one doesn't eat meat for variety," Fluff went on, "one begins to feel sick."
   "Why don't you like to eat meat?" Sylzenzuzex wondered.
   Flinx prayed she wouldn't involve their impressionable hosts in some abstract spiritual dialogue.
   Fluff spoke as if to children. "Even the life of the najac or the six-legged ugly coivet is like a piece of the sun. When smothered, the warmth leaves it."
   "We do not like to make bright things dark," Bluebright elaborated. "We would rather make dark things bright. But," he finished mournfully, "we don't know how."
   They slowed to a walk, finally came to a complete stop outside the first of the caves. Flinx observed that the exterior of the entrance was composed of neatly piled boulders, chinked together with smaller rocks and pebbles in the absence of ferrocrete. Motioning for
   Fluff to lie down, he started to slide off the ursinoid's back.
   A glance behind him showed a long glass spear of moonlight broken into pieces by the ripples and eddies on the lake. A look into the cave ahead revealed nothing but blackness.
   "You said everyone shares the same cave. Fluff, but I see other openings in the mountainside."
   "Is all same cave," the native explained.
   "You mean that all connect inside the mountain somewhere?"
   "Yes, all meet one another." A warm mental smile came to him. "Is all part of the game we play."
   "The game?" Sylzenzuzex echoed, chilled despite the fact her thermal suit was set on high. When Fluff didn't comment, she wondered aloud, "Do you think we could build a fire?"
   "Sure," Moam said cheerfully. "What is building a fire? Is like building a cave?"
   Patiently, Flinx explained what was necessary, confident he would have to do so only once.
   "We will go and gather the dead wood," Moam and Bluebright volunteered, when he had finished his explanation.
   "What is this game you play, the one involving your warren. Fluff?" Flinx inquired when the other two had departed.
   Fluff ignored the question, urged them into the cave where he silently exchanged greetings with another huge native.
   "This is Softsmooth, my mate," he informed them in response to the question Flinx phrased in his mind. "You ask about the game, Flinx-friend? ... Our parents' parents' parents many times over-and-dead worried that one day the cold would stay forever, and many lights among the family would vanish.
   "I wouldn't call this a heat wave right now," Sylzenzuzex commented.
   "The cold comes when the sun is smothered by the mountains," Fluff explained, "Our many-times parents felt it was becoming colder each  year. It seemed to them that each year the sun grew smaller than the year before."
   Flinx nodded slowly. "Your world has an elliptical orbit, Fluff, but it's not a regular orbit. According to the statistics I saw, it's swinging farther and farther away from your sun every century—though how your ancestors realized this I can't imagine."
   "Many new concepts," a frowning Fluff murmured. "Anyhows, our parents many times dead decided how to fix. Should move closer to sun in certain way."
   "They were talking about regularizing Ulru-Ujurr's orbit," Flinx husked. "But how did they know""
   "Have to ask ancestors," Fluff shrugged. "Very difficult to do."
   "I'll bet," Sylzenzuzex agreed readily.
   "Was a new way, though," the big native went on. "Diggers..."
   "The people at the mine?"
   "Yes. They make their own caves very warm. We asked them how we could make warm, too."
   "What did they suggest?" Flinx wondered. Fluff appeared confused. "They told us to dig big hole in the ground and then pull dirt in on top of our- selves. We tried and found it does make warm. But you can't move, and one gets bored that way. Also no light. We did not understand why they told us to do this way. They do not do for themselves. Why they tell us to do that, Flinx-friend?"
   "That's the AAnn excuse for humor at work," he replied with quiet fury.
   "AAnn?" Fluff queried. Moam and Binebright returned, each buried under enormous armload of dead branches.
   "Some of the people at the mine," Flinx explained, "the ones with—the ones with the cold minds."
   "Ah, the cold minds," Fluff echoed in recognition. "We did not see how such cold ones could give us knowledge on how to become warm. But we tried anyway."
   Flinx couldn't look at the amiable native. "How ... how many of the experimenters died?"
   "Experimenters?"
   "The ones who tried burying themselves?"
   "Oh, Flinx-friend worries wrongly. No one died," Fluff assured him, feeling relaxation in the human's mind at these words.
   "You see, we buried Maybeso. ..."
   "Here is wood," Moam said.
   "Do yon need more?" asked Bluebright.
   "I think this is enough to last us at least a week," Flinx told them. As he spoke Sylzenzuzex was arranging some of the broken wood in a triangular stack, del- icate truhands making a sculpture out of twigs and thin trunks.
   Flinx eased himself up against the wall of the cave, feeling the coolness of the stone through the thermal suit.  "How did your parents many times dead think you could regula—move closer to the sun?"
   . "By playing the game," Fluff told him again. "Game and making cave home is one."
   "Digging caves is supposed to bring your world nearer its sun?" Flinx muttered, not sure he had heard correctly.
   But Fluff signaled assent. "Is part of pattern of game."
   "Pattern? What kind of pattern?"
   "Is hard to explain," Fluff conceded languidly.
   Flinx hesitated, voiced a sudden thought, "Fluff, how long have your people been playing the game of digging cave patterns?"
   "How long?"
   "How many of your days?"
   "Days." Fluff decided it was time to consult with the others. He called Bluebright over, and Moam came with Bluebright. Softsmooth joined them and for a brief moment Maybeso winked into existence to add his comment.
   Eventually Fluff turned back to Flinx, spoke with confidence as he named a figure. A large figure. Exceedingly so.
    "Are you certain of your numerology?" Flinx finally asked slowly.
   Fluff indicated the affirmative. "Number is correct. Learned counting system at the mine,"
   Sylzenzuzex eyed Flinx speculatively as he turned away, leaned back against the wall and stared at the dark cold roof above. She paused prior to starting the fire. "How long?"
   There was a long pause before he seemed to come back from a far place, to glance across at her. "Ac- cording to what Fluff says, they've been playing this game of digging interconnecting tunnels for just under fourteen thousand Terran years. This whole section of the continent must be honeycombed with them. No telling how deep they run, either."
   "What is honey?" wondered Moam.
   "What is comb?" Bluebright inquired.
   "How far is deep?" Fluff wanted to know.
   Flinx replied with another question. "How long before this pattern is supposed to be finished. Fluff?"
   The Ujurrian paused, his mind working busily. "Not too long. Twelve thousand more of your years."
   "Give or take a few hundred," Flinx gulped dully.
   But Fluff eyed him reprovingly. "No ... exactly." Great glowing guileless eyes stared back into Flinx's own.
   "And what's supposed to happen when this pattern is complete, when the game is finished?"
   "Two things," explained Fluff pleasantly. "We move a certain ways closer to the warm, and we start looking for a new game."
   "I see." He muttered half to himself. "And Rudenuaman thought these people were primitive because they spent all their time digging caves.'"
   Sylzenzuzex hadn't moved to light the fire. Her face was a mask of uncertainty. "But how can digging a few caves change a planet's orbit?"
   "A few caves? I don"t know, Syl," he murmured softly, "I doubt if anyone does. Maybe the completed pattern produces a large enough alteration in the planetary crust to create a catastrophe fold sufficient to stress space the right amount at the' right moment. If I knew more catastrophe math—and if we had the use of the biggest Church compnter—1 could check it.
   "Or maybe the tunnels are intended to tap the heat at the planet's core power, or a combination of it and the fold ... we need some brilliant mathematicians and physicists to answer it."
   Sylzenzuzex eyed Fluff warily. "Can you explain what's supposed to happen. Fluff, and how?"
   The bulky ursinoid gave her a mournful look, a simple task with those manifold-souled eyes. "Is sad, but do not have the terms for."
   It was quiet in the cave then until the pile of dry wood coughed into life. Several small flames appeared at once, and in seconds the fire was blazing enthusiastically. Sylzenzuzex responded with a long, low whistling sigh of appreciation and settled close to the comforting heat.
   "Is warm!" Moam uttered in surprise.
   Bluebright stuck a paw close to the flames, drew it back hastily. "Very warm," he confirmed.
   "We can teach you—hell, we've already taught you—how to make all the fires like this yon want. I'm not saying you should abandon your game, but if you're interested Sylzenzuzex and I can show you how to insure your warmth during aphelion a lot sooner than twelve thousand years from now."
   "Is easier," Fluff conceded, indicating the fire.
   "And fun," added Moam.
   "Listen, Fluff," Flinx began energetically, "why do your people work so long and hard for the cold minds and the others at the mine?"
   "For the berries and nuts they bring us from far places," Softsmooth supplied from a little alcove cut into the cave wall.
   "From far places," Bluebright finished. "Why not travel there and get them for yourselves?"
   "Too far," Fluff explained, "and too hard, Maybeso says."
   Flinx leaned away from the wall, spoke in earnest tones, "Don't you understand, Fluff? I'm trying to show yon that the people at the mine are exploiting you. They're working you as hard as you're willing, at tremendous profit to themselves, and in return they're paying you off with only enough nuts and berries to keep you working for them."
   "What is profit?" asked Moam.
   "What is paying off?" Bluebright wanted to know.
   Flinx started to reply, then realized he didn't have the time. Not for an explanation of modem economics, the ratio of work to value produced, and a hundred other concepts it would be necessary to detail before he could explain those two simple terms to these people.
   Leaning back again, he stared out the cave mouth past the flicker of the fire. A smattering of strange stars had risen above the rim of the mountains bringing the far side of the lake. For hours he remained deep in thought, while his hosts relaxed in polite silence and waited for him to speak again. They recognized his concern and concentration and stayed respectfully out of his thoughts.
   Once he moved to help Sylzenzuzex resplint her broken joint with a stronger piece of wood. Then he returned to his place and his thoughts. After a while the stars were replaced by others, and they sank in their turn.
   He was still sitting there, thinking, when he heard a sound like that made by a warehouse door mounted on old creaky hinges. Fluff yawned a second time and rolled over, opening saucerish eyes at him.
   In a little while, the sun was pouring into the cave, and still Flinx hadn't offered so much as a good morning. They were all watching him curiously.  Even Sylzenznzex maintained a respectful silence, sensing that something important was forming beneath that unkempt red hair.
   It was Fluff who broke the endless quiet. "Last night,  Flinx-friend,  your  mind  a  steady  noise  like much water falling. Today it is like the ground after water has fallen and frozen—a sameness piled high and white and clean."
   Sylzenzuzex was sitting on her haunches.  With truhands and her one good foothand she was cleaning her abdomen, ovipositors, great compound eyes, and antennae.
   "Fluff," Flinx said easily, as if no time had paused since they had last conversed, as if the long night had been but the pause of a minute, "how would you and your people like to start a new game?"
   "Start a new game," repeated Fluff solemnly, "This is a big thing, Flinx-friend."
   "It is," admitted Flinx. "It's called civilization."
   Sylzenzuzex stopped in mid-preen and cocked her head sharply at him, though there was far less certainty in her voice when she spoke her objections:  "Flinx, you can't. You know now why the Church placed this world Under Edict. We can't, no matter how we may feel personally about Fluff and Moam and the rest of these people, contravene the decision of the Council."
   "Who says so?" Flinx shot back. "Besides, we don't know that the Edict was declared by the Council. A few bureaucrats in the right place could have made their own little godlike decision to consign the Ujurrians to ignorance. I'm sorry, Syl, but while I admit the Church is responsible for some good works, it's still an organization composed of humanx beings. Like all beings, their allegiance is first to themselves and second to everyone else. Would the Church disband if they could be convinced it was in the Commonwealth's best interests? I doubt it."
   "Whereas you, Philip Lynx, are concerned first with everyone else," she countered.
   Frowning, he started pacing the warming floor of the cave. "I honestly don't know, Syl. I don't even know who I am, much less what I am." His tone strengthened. "But I do know that in these people I see an innocence and kindness that I've never encountered on any humanx world." He stopped abruptly, stared out at the stars the morning sun made on the lake.
   "I may be a young fool, a narrow-minded idealist— call it anything you like, but I think I know what I want to be now. If they'll have me, that is. For the first time in my life, I know."
   "What's that?" she asked.
   "A teacher." He faced the patient Ujurrians. "I want to teach you. Fluff. And you Moam, and you Bluebright and Softsmooth, and even Maybeso, wherever you are."
   "Here," a voice grumbled from outside. Maybeso was lying on the low heatherlike growth before the cave entrance, rolling and stretching with pleasure.
   "I want to teach all of yon this new game."
   "A big thing," Fluff repeated slowly. "This is not for us alone to decide."
   "Others must be told," Bluebright agreed.
   It took some time for everyone to be told. To be exact, it took eleven days, four hours, and a small basket of minutes and seconds. Then they had to wait another eleven days, four hours, and some minutes for everyone to answer.
   But it took very little time for each individual to decide.
   On the twenty-third day after the question was asked, Maybeso appeared outside the cave. Flinx and Sylzenzuzex were sitting by the lakeshore with Fluff, Moam, and BluebSght. They didn't notice the new arrival.
   At that moment, Flinx was holding a long tough vine with sharp shards of bone attached to one end. While the others of their small group watched, he was teaching Fluff how to fish. Fluff looked delighted as he brought in the fourth catch of the day, a rounded silvery organism that looked like a cross between a blow- fish and a trout.
   Swimmers, the Ujurrians explained, had smaller lights than najacs and other land prey. Therefore fishing was a smaller evil than hunting.
   "This too is part of the new game?" Moam inqmred, duplicating the vine and bone hook arrangement perfectly on her first try.
   "It is," Flinx admitted.
   "That's good," Bluebright observed.
   "I hope everyone agrees."
   Sylzenznzex downed another clutch of berries. The sugar content was satisfactory, and the freshness enlivened her diet.
   Miffed, Maybeso vanished from before the cave and reappeared next to her. She nearly fell off the smooth granite she'd been crouched on.
   "Everyone has answered," Maybeso announced. "Most everybody says yes. We play the new game now."
   "Fourteen thousand years of digging, down the excretory cannal," Sylzenzuzex commented, climbing to her feet again and brushing at her abdomen. "I hope you know what you're doing, Flinx."
   "Not to worry," Maybeso snorted at her. "Only here do we play new game, now. Other places on backsides of the world will continue with old game. If new game is not fun," he paused slightly,  "we go back to old game," He turned a forceful gaze on Flinx. "Forever," he added.
   Flinx shifted uncomfortably as the enigmatic Ujurrian vanished. Several weeks ago he had been so sure of himself, fired with a messianic zeal he had never previously experienced. Now the first real doubts were beginning to gnaw at his confidence. He turned away from the stares around him—the ursinoids were well equipped for staring.
   "Is good," was all Fluff murmured. "How do we begin the game, Flinx?"
   He indicated the perfect hook-and-line arrangements everyone had completed. "Fire was a start. This is a start. Now I want everyone who works for the people at the mine to come here to learn with us—at night- time, so the cold minds will not become suspicious.
   That would be," he hesitated only briefly, "bad for the game."
   "But when will we sleep?" Moam wanted to know.
   "I won't talk too long," replied Flinx hopefully. "It's necessary. Maybe," he added without much confidence, "we can accomplish the first part of the game without making any light places dark. Ours or anyone else's."
   "Is good," declared Fluff. "We will tell the others at the mine."
   Sylzenzwzex sidled close to him as the ursinoids dispersed.
   "Teach them something basic about civilization while we help ourselves," he murmured. "Once they get rid of the people at the mine, they'll have a start at obtaining all the nuts and berries they want...."
    
   Chapter Twelve
    
   "I hope," Teleen anz Rudenuaman ventured, "that the Baron concludes his hunt soon. We're running low on a number of synthetics and supplements for the food synthesizers, and we're nearly out of stock on several other unduplicatable items."
   "There is no need to worry about the Baron," Meevo FFGW assured her from beneath his stiff human face..
   There really wasn't any reason for concern, she insisted to herself, turning to look out the newly replaced pink window panels.  On the mountain above, the miners worked steadily, efficiently as always.
   The Baron had made several journeys through Commonwealth territory before. Nevertheless, she couldn't help experiencing a pang of concern every time one of her ships carried any of the disguised reptilians. She might survive, via a web of confusing explanations, if a Commonwealth patrol ship ever intercepted one of those missions and discovered the AAnn on board.
   But she would lose an irreplaceable business associate. Not all of the AAnn aristocracy were as understanding of human motivations or as business-minded as Riidi WW.
   The office communit buzzed for attention. Meevo rose and answered the call. Turning from the vista of forest and mountain, she saw his flexible humanoid mask twist repeatedly, a sign that incomprehensible reptilian contortions were occurring beneath.
   "Said what ... what happened?" The AAnn's thick voice rose. Teleen leaned closer. "What is going on, Meevo?"
   Slowly the AAnn engineer replaced the communit receiver. "That ... was Chargis at the mine. The escaped human and thranx have returned alive. He reports that there are many natives with them, and that the newcomers have joined with those working the mine in armed revolt."
   "No, no ..." She felt faint as his words overpowered her. "The natives, in arms ... that's impossible." Her voice rose to a scream as she regained control of herself. "Impossible! They don't know the difference between a power drill and a beamer. Why would they want to revolt, anyway? What do they want ... more nuts and berries? This is insane!" Her face elongated suddenly, dangerously. "No, wait—you said the human and thranx had returned with them?"
   "So Chargis insists."
   "But that's impossible, too. They should have died weeks ago from exposure. Somehow," she concluded inescapably, "they must have succeeded in communicating with the natives."
   "I would say that is understatement," the engineer declared. "I was told the natives possessed no language, no means of communicating abstract concepts among themselves—let alone with outsiders."
   "We have overlooked something, Meevo."
   "As a nye, I say that is so," the engineer concurred. "But it will not matter in the end. It is one thing to teach a savage how to fire a weapon and another to ex- plain the tactics of warfare to it."
   "Where did they get weapons, anyway?" Teleen wondered, staring up the mountainside once more. The distant structures showed no sign of the conflict evidently taking place within.
   "Chargis said that they overwhelmed the guard and broke into the mill armory," Meevo explained. "There was only one guard, as there are none here who would steal weapons. Chargis went on to say that the natives were clumsy and undisciplined in breaking in, and that the human and thranx tried hard to quiet them." He grinned viciously. "They may have unleashed something they cannot control. Chargis said ..." The engineer hesitated.
   "Go on," Teleen prompted, determined to listen to it all, "what else did Chargis say?"
   "He said that the natives gave him the impression that they regarded this all as ... a game."
   "A game," she repeated slowly. "Let them continue to think that, even as they are dying. Contact all personnel on base," she ordered. "Have them abandon all buildings except those here, centered around Administration, We have hand beamers and laser cannon big enough to knock a military shuttle out of the sky. We'll just relax here, holding communications, food processing, this structure, and the power station until the Baron returns.
   "After we've incinerated some of their number," she continued casually, as though she were speaking of pruning weeds, "the game may lose interest for them. If not, the shuttles will end it quickly enough." She glanced back at him. "Also have Chargis gather some good marksmen into two groups. They can use the two big groundcars and keep our friendly workers bottled up where they are. Mind the shooting, though; I don't want anything damaged within the mine buildings unless it's absolutely unavoidable. That equipment is expensive. Barring that, they can have target practice on any natives they find outside."
   She added, in a half-mutter, "But under no circumstances are they to kill the human youth or the thranx female. I want both of them healthy and undamaged."
   She shook her head, disgusted, as the engineer moved to relay her orders. "Damned inconvenient. We're going to have to import and train a whole new clutch of manual laborers. ..."
   Everything, Flinx thought furiously, had gone smoothly and according to plan—at the start. Then he had watched helplessly as months of planning and instruction were cast aside, submerged in the uncontrollable pleasure the Ujurrians took in breaking into the armory to get at the toys which made things vanish. Not even Fluff could calm them.
   "They're enjoying themselves, Flinx," Sylzenzuzex explained, trying to reassure him. "Can you blame them? This game is much more exciting than anything they've ever played before."
   "I wonder if they'll still think so when some of their lights are put out," he muttered angrily. "Will they think my game is still fun after they've seen some of their friends lying on the ground with their insides burnt out by Rudenuaman's beamers?"  He turned away, speechless with anger at himself and at the Ujurrians.
   "I wanted to take over the mine silently, by surprise, without killing anyone," he finally grumbled. "With all the noise they made breaking into the armory, I'm sure the remainder of the building staff heard and reported below. If she's smart, and she is, Rudenuaman will place her remaining people on round-the-clock alert and wait for us to come to her."
   He grew aware of Fluff standing nearby, looked deep into those expectant eyes. "I'm afraid your people are going to have to kill now, Fluff."
   The ursinoid looked back at him unwaveringly. "Is understood, Flinx-friend. Is a serious game we play, this civilization."
   "Yes," Flinx murmured, "it always has been. I'd hoped to avoid old mistakes, but ..."
   His voice died away and he sat on the floor, staring morosely at the metal surface between his knees. A cool leathery face rubbed up against his—Pip. What he didn't expect was the gentle pressure below the back of his neck, where his b-thorax would have been had he been thranx.
   Looking back and up he saw faceted eyes gazing into his. "Now you can only do the best you can do," Sylzenzuzex murmured softly. The delicate truhand moved gently, massaging his back. "You have begun this thing. If you don't help finish it, that female down there will."
   He felt a little better at that, but only a little.
   A sharp crack like tearing metal foil sounded clearly. Flinx was on his feet, running in the direction of the sound, which was followed soon by a second. From a transparent panel running the length of an access corridor they were able to peer out and down the gentle slope on the right side of the large building. It was devoid of growth, which had been cleared off for a distance of twenty meters from the side of the structure.
   Across the clearing, near the edge of the forest, they could see the hovering shapes of two groundcars. The same cars, Flinx noted, which had met their shuttle upon its arrival here so many weeks ago.
   Each car mounted, a small laser cannon near its front. Even as they watched, a thin red beam jumped from the end of one such weapon to the rocky slope ahead and above. There were several small shafts there, sunk into the cliffside.
   Soon the clean rock was scarred by three black ellipsoids, modest splotches of destruction where brush had been crisped and the lighter silicate rocks fused to glass.
   From somewhere at the upper end of the mine shaft a blue line from a hand beamer flashed down to strike the exterior of the groundcar. The car's screen was more than strong enough to absorb and dissipate such tiny bursts of energy.
   Unexpectedly, the two cars turned and moved rapidly back downslope toward the main installation. Their muted hum penetrated into the corridor where Flinx and the others watched silently as the cars, floating smoothly a meter above the surface on thick cushions of air, turned and stopped just out of beamer range.
   A moment later the familiar bulk of Bhiebright came churning around the corner toward them. Pulling up sharply, he let his words spill out in between steam-engine pants: "They have killed Ay, Bee, and Cee," he gasped, his enormous eyes wider than usual.
   "How did it happen?" Flinx asked quietly. "I told everyone that they wouldn't fire into these buildings. They won't risk damaging their equipment because they're not yet convinced we pose a serious threat to them."
   Fluff took over the explanation, having already communicated silently and rapidly with Bluebright. "Ay, Bee, and Cee went outside the metal caves."
   "But why?" Flinx half asked, half cried.
   "They thought they had created a new idea," Fluff explained slowly. Flinx showed no comprehension, so the ursinoid continued. "These past many days you have told us over and over that this game you call civilization should be played according to common sense, logic, reason. From what Bluebright tells me, Ay, Bee, and Cee decided among themselves that if this was so the cold minds and the others would see that it was reason and logic to cooperate with us, since we have taken their mine from them.
   "They went out without weapons to talk logic and reason to those in the machines. But," and Fluff's voice grew hurt at the wonder of it, "those did not even listen to Ay, Bee, and Cee. They killed them without even listening. How can this thing be?" The shaggy head peered puzzledly down at Flinx. "Are not the cold minds and the ones like you down there also civilized? Yet they did this thing without talking. Is this the reason you speak of?"
   Flinx and Sylzenzuzex had yet to see one of the jovial ursinoids angry. Fluff appeared close to it, though it really wasn't anger. It was frustration and lack of understanding.
   Flinx tried to explain. "There are those who don't play the game fair, Fluff. Those who cheat."
   "What is cheating?" wondered Fluff.
   Flinx endeavored to explain.
   "I see," Fluff announced solemnly when the youth had finished, "This is a remarkable concept. I would not have believed it possible. The others must be told. It explains much of the game." Turning, he and Bluebright left Flinx and Sylzenzuzex alone in the corridor,
   "How long," she asked, staring out the window panel toward the distant complex, "do you think they will sit down there before growing impatient and coming up after ns?"
   "Probably until the shuttles return. If we haven't resolved this before then—no, we must finish this before the Baron comes back. ... We have nothing but hand beamers here. They have at least two surface-to- space, gimbal-mounted laser cannons down by the landing strip, in addition to the smaller ones mounted on the groundcars. Possibly more. We can't fight that kind of weaponry. I hope Fluff and Bluebright can get that through their family's hairy skulls." He moved up alongside her to stare out the panel.
   "I'm sure the two big guns are directed toward us right now. If we tried a mass retreat they'd incinerate the lot of us, Just like Ay, Bee, and Cee. We're going to have to—"
   A high-pitched scream suddenly floated shockingly down the corridor. It rose from mid-tenor to the high, wavering shriek of the utterly terrified ... then stopped. It was undeniably human.
   The second scream was not. It came from an AAnn. Then came more screams of both varieties.
   Pip was fluttering nervously above Flinx's shoulder and cold perspiration had started flowing from beneath the crop of red hair.
   "Now what?" he muttered uneasily, as they started off in the direction of the screams. Every so often another scream would be heard, followed at regular intervals by an answering sound from the opposite camp,
   In one respect they were all alike—short and intense.
   They must have heard two dozen before encountering Moam and Bluebright.. "What happened?" he demanded. "What were those screams?"
   "Lights," began Moam.
   "Going out," Binebright finished.
   Flinx discovered he was trembling. There was blood on Moam's naturally grinning month. Both broad, flat muzzles were stained with it. There were small groups of workers and guards who had been unsuccessful in their attempt to flee the captured mine.
   "You've killed the prisoners," was all he could stutter.
   "Oh yes," Moam admitted with blood-curdling cheerfulness. "We not sure for a while, but Fluff explained to us and family. Cold minds and people down there," then gesturing in the direction of the main base, "cheat. We think we understand now what is to cheat. It means not playing the game by the rules, yes?"
   "Yes, but these aren't my rules," he whispered dazedly, "not my rules."
   "But is okay with us," Bluebright offered. "We understand these rules not yours, Flinx-friend. Not good rules. But cold minds make up new rules, we play that way okay too."
   The Ujurrians waddled off down the corridor.
   Flinx sank to his knees, leaned up against the wall, "Game, it's still all a game to them." Suddenly he looked at Sylzenzuzex and shuddered. "Goddamn it, I didn't want it to happen like this."
   "You are she who rides the grizel," Sylzenzuzex said without anger. "You have wakened it. Now you must ride it."
   "You don't see," he muttered disconsolately. "I wanted Fluff and Moam and Bluebright and all the rest of them to be spared all our mistakes. I want them to become the great thing they can—and not," he finished bitterly, "just a smarter version of us."
   Sylzenzuzex moved nearer, "You still hold the grizel by its tails, Flinx. You haven't been thrown yet. It is not you who taught them to kill—remember, they do hunt meat."
   "Only when they have to," he reminded her. "Still," and be showed signs of relaxing some, "this may be a time when they have to. Yes, a snowtime hunt, to live. The rules have been altered, but we still have rules. They just need to be defined further."
   "That's right, Flinx, you tell them when it's all right to kill and when it's not,"
   He looked at her oddly, but if there was anything hidden beneath the surface of her words he couldn't sense it. "That's the one thing I never wanted to do, even by proxy."
   "What made you think you'd ever have the opportunity?"
   "Something ... that happened not so long ago," he said cryptically. "Now it's been forced on me anyway, I've been shoved into the one position I vowed I'd never hold,"
   "I don't know what you're rambling on about, Flinx," she finally declared, "but either you ride the grizel or it tramples you."
   Flinx looked up the corridor to where Moam and Bluebright had turned the corner. "I wonder who's going to ride whom?"
   The answer came several days later. There had been no assault from below, as he'd guessed, although the two groundcars pranced daily right next to the walls of the mine structures, daring anyone to show a fuzzy head.
   Fluff woke them in the small office Flinx and Sylzenzuzex had chosen for Sleeping quarters. "We have made a backtrap," he told them brightly, "and we are going to catch the groundcars now."
   "Backtrap ... wait, what ...?" Flinx fought for awareness, rubbing frantically at his eyes still rich with sleep. Vaguely he seemed to recall Fluff or Softsmooth or someone telling him about a backtrap, but he couldn't form a picture of it.
   "You can't stop a groundcar with a ..." he started to protest, but Fluff was already urging him to follow.
   "Hurry now, Flinx-friend," he insisted, listening to something beyond the range of normal hearing, "is started."
   He led them to the mill supervisor’s office, a curving transparent dome set in the southernmost end of the building.
   "There," Fluff said, pointing.
   Flinx saw several of the ursinoids running on all fours over exposed, bare ground. They were racing for the upper slopes, near the place where the main shaft entered the mountain. Still well behind, Flinx could make out the two groundcars following.
   "What are they doing out there!" Flinx yelled, leaning against the transparent polyplexalloy. He looked helplessly at Fluff. "I told you no one was to go outside the buildings."
   Fluff was unperturbed. "Is part of new game. Watch."
   Unable to do anything else, Flinx turned his attention back to the incipient slaughter.
   Moving at tremendous speed, the three ursinoids passed the near end of the building, below Flinx's present position. Fast as they were, though, they couldn't outrun the groundcars. First one burst, then another jumped from the muzzles of the laser cannon. One hit just back of the trailing runner, impelling him to even greater speed. The other struck between the front-runners, leaving molten rock behind,
   The three runners, Flinx saw, would never make the open doorway at the upper end of the mill. The grolindcars suddenly seemed to double their speed, When they fired again, they would be almost on top of the retreating Ujurrians.
   He visualized three more of the innocents he had interfered with tamed to ash against the gray stone of the mountainside.
   At that point the ground vanished beneath the groundcars.
   There was a violent crash, the whine of protesting machinery, as the two vehicles were unable to compensate fast enough for the unexpected change in the surface. Still moving forward, both abruptly dipped downward and smashed at high speed into the far wall of the huge pit.
   Flinx and Sylzenzuzex gaped silently at the enormous rift which had unexpectedly appeared in the ground.
   "Backtrap," Fhiffi noted with satisfaction. "I remembered what you tell us about how the little machines work, Flinx-friend." Battered humans and AAnn—the latter's surgical disguises now knocked all askew—were fighting to get control of themselves within the wreck- age of the two cars.
   A mob of furry behemoths was pouring from the mine buildings toward the pits. Flinx could make out the narrow ledges of solid earth and rock that ran like a spiderweb across the rift. They formed safe path- ways across which the three decoy runners had retreated. By the same token, they were far too narrow to provide adequate support for the groundcars. The surface against which their air jets pushed had been suddenly pulled away.
   Hundreds of thin saplings now lined the edges of the pit. These had been used to support the heavy cover of twigs, leaves, and earth, all carefully prepared to give the appearance of solid ground.
   New screams and the flash of blue hand beamers lit the pit as the ursinoids poured in. Flinx saw a three-hundred-kilo adolescent male pick up a squirming AAnn and treat its head like the stopper of a bottle. He turned away from the carnage, sick.
   "Why is Flinx-friend troubled?" Fluff wanted to know. "We play game with their rules now. Is fair, is not?"
   "Ride the grizel," Sylzenzuzex warned him in High Thranx.
   By the head, not the tail, something echoed inside him. He forced himself to turn back and watch the end of the brief fight.
   As soon as it became clear to the observers down below what had happened, a red beam the thickness of a man's body reached upward from a small tower at the base's far end. It passed unbroken through several sections of forest, cutting down trees like a lineal scythe and leaving the stamps smoking, until it impinged on the mountainside to the left of the pit. A flare of intense light was followed by a dull explosion.
   "Get everyone back inside, Fluff," Flinx yelled. But an order wasn't necessary. Their work concluded, the ursinoids who had assaulted the pit were already running, dodging, scampering playfully back into the mine.
   Flinx thought he saw movement far below as the top of the tower started to swivel toward him, but apparently calmer heads prevailed. The mills itself was still out of bounds for destructive weaponry, Rudenuaman had no reason yet to raze the mountainside, to turn the complex mine and mill into a larger duplicate of the small slag-lined crater which now bubbled and smoked where the heavy laser had struck. Much as she might regret the loss of the two groundcars and their crews, she was not yet desperate.
   So no avenging light came to destroy the building. The simple natives were to be permitted their one use- less victory. Undoubtedly, Flinx thought with irony, Rudenuaman would attribute the brilliant lactic to him, never imagining that the huge dull beasts of burden had conceived and executed the rout entirely by themselves.
   "I wonder," he said to Sylzenzuzex over a meal of nuts and berries and captured packaged food, "if there's any point to continuing this. I've never really felt as if I were in control of things. Maybe ... maybe it would be better to run back to the caves. I can still teach from there—we both can—and we have a lot of life left in us."
   "You're still in control, Flinx," Sylzenzuzex told him. She tapped one truhand against the table in a pat- tern few human ears would have recognized. "The Ujurrians want you to be. But yon go ahead, Flinx. You tell them all," and she waved a hand to take in the whole mine, "that they should go back to their caves and resume their original game. You tell them that. But they won't forget what they've learned. They never forget."
   "O'Morion knows how much knowledge they've acquired from this mine already," Flinx mumbled, picking at his food.
   "They'll go back to digging their cave pattern, but they'll retain that knowledge," she went on. "You'll leave them with the game rules Rudenuaman's butchers have set. If they ever do show any initiative of their own, after we've gone ..." She made a thranx shrug. "Don't blame yourself for what's happened. The Ujurrians are no angels." Whistling thranx laughter forced her to pause a moment. "You can't play both God and the Devil to them, Flinx. You didn't introduce these beings to killing, but we'd better make certain we don't teach them to enjoy it."
   "Moping and moaning about your own mistakes isn't going to help us or them. You've put your truleg in your masticatory orifice. You can pull it out or suffocate on it, but you can't ignore it." She downed a handful of sweet red-orange berries the size of walnuts.
   "We not enjoy killing," a voice boomed. They both jumped. The Ujurrians moved with a. stealth and quietness that was startling in creatures so massive. Fluff stood in the doorway on four legs, filling it completely.
   "Why not?" Sylzenznzex asked. "Why shouldn't we worry about it?"
   "No fun," explained Fluff concisely, dismissing the entire idea as something too absurd to be worthy of discussion. "Kill meat when necessary. Kill cold minds when necessary. Unless," and beacon-eyes shone on the room's other occupant, "Flinx say otherwise."
   Flinx shook his head slowly. "Never, Fluff."
   "I think you say that. Is time to finish this part of game." He gestured with a paw. "You come too?"
   "I don't know what you have planned this time, Fluff, but yes," Flinx concurred, "we come too."
   "Fun," the giant Ujurrian thundered, in a fashion indicating something less than general amusement was about to ensue.
   "I don't want any of the buildings down there damaged, if it can be avoided," Flinx instructed the ursinoid as he led him and Sylzenzuzex down corridors and stairways. "They're filled with knowledge—game rules. Mechanical training manuals, records, certainly a complete  geology  library.  If we're going to be marooned on this world for the rest of our lives. Fluff, I'm going to need every scrap of that material in order to teach you properly."
   "Is understood," Fluff grunted. "Part of game not to damage buildings' insides. Will tell family. Not to worry."
   "Not to worry," Flinx mimicked, thinking of the alert and armed personnel awaiting them at the base of the mountain. Thinking also of the two atmosphere- piercing laser cannon set to swivel freely in the small tower.
   Fluff led them downward, down through the several floors of mill and mine, down to the single storage level below ground. Down past rooms and chambers and corridors walled with patiently waiting, snoozing, playful Ujurrians. Down to where the lowest floor itself had been ripped up. There they halted.
   Moam was waiting for them, and Bluebright and Softsmooth and a dimly glimpsed flickering something that might have been Maybeso, or might have been an illusion caused by a trick of the faint overhead lighting.
   Instead of stopping before a solid ferrocrete barrier, they found three enormous tunnels leading off into total darkness. Light from the room penetrated those down-sloping shafts only slightly, but Flinx thought he could detect additional branch tunnels breaking off from the three principal ones further on.
   "Surprise, yes?" Fluff asked expectantly.
   "Yes," was all a bewildered Flinx could reply.
   "Each tunnel," the ursinoid continued, "come up under one part of several metal caves below, in quiet place where cold minds are not,"
   "You can tell where the floors aren't guarded?" Sylzenzuzex murmured in amazement.
   "Can sense." Moam explained. "Is easy."
   "Is good idea, Flinx-friend?" a worried Fluff wondered. "Is okay part of game, or try something else?"
   "No, is okay part of game. Fluff," Flinx admitted finally. He turned to face the endless sea of great-eyed animals. "Pay attention, now."
   A massive stirring and roiling shivered through the massed bodies.
   "Those who break into the power station must shut everything off. Push every little knob and switch to the—"
   "Know what means off," Bluebright told him confidently.
   "I probably should leave you alone, you've managed fine without my help," Flinx muttered. "Still, it's important. This will darken everything except for the tower housing the two big cannon. They'll be independently powered, as will the shuttlecraft hangar beneath the landing strip. Those of you who get into the cannon tower will have to—"
   "Am sorry, Flinx-friend," a doleful Fluff interrupted. "Cannot do."
   "Why not?"
   "Floors not like this," the ursinoid explained, eyes glowing in the indirect lighting. He indicated the broken ferrocrete lying around. "Are thick metal. Cannot dig through."
   Flinx's spirits sank. "Then this whole attack will have to be called off until we can think of something that will eliminate that tower. They can destroy all of us, even if they have to melt the entire remaining installation to do so. If Rudenuaman were to slip away and reach the tower, I don't think she'd hesitate to give the order. At that point she'd have nothing further to lose."
   "Not mean to make yon worry, Flinx-friend," comforted Bluebright.
   "Nothing to worry about," Moam added.
   "Have something else to take care of tower," explained Fluff.
   220
   "But you ..." Flmx stopped himself, went on quietly, "no, if you say you do, then yon must."
   "What about the three who got themselves killed?" Sylzenzuzex whispered. "They thought they had something too. This time there are many more lives at stake."
   Flinx shook his head slowly. "Ay, Bee, and Cee were playing by different rules, Syl, It's time for us to trust our lives to these.  They've risked theirs often enough on our say-so. But just in case ..."
   He turned to Fluff. "There is one thing I must do even if this fails and we all end up dead. I want to come up through the floor of the big living house, Fluff. There is something in there that I need the use of."
   "In this tunnel," Fluff told him, indicating the shaft at far left. "Are ready, then?"
   Flinx nodded. The huge Ujurrian turned and shouted mental instructions. They were accompanied by a nonverbal emotional command.
   A soft, threatening rumble responded ... a hair-curling sound as dozens, hundreds of massive shapes bestirred themselves in long lines reaching back into the far places of the mine.
   Then they were moving down the tunnels. Flinx and Sylzenzuzex bugged close to Fluff, each with a hand tight in his fur. Sylzenzuzex's night vision was far better than Flinx's, but the tunnel was too black even for her acute senses.
   If the Ujurrians' activities had been detected, Flinx reflected, they might never re-emerge into the light. They could be trapped and killed here with little effort.
   "One question," Sylzenzuzex asked.
   Flinx's mind was elsewhere when he responded: "What?"
   "How did they excavate these tunnels? The ground here is rock-laden and the tunnels seem quite extensive."
   "They've been digging tunnels for fourteen thousand years, Syl." Flinx found he was moving with more and more confidence as nothing appeared to deal death from above them. "I imagine they've become pretty good at it. ..."
    
   Teleen auz Rudenuaman panted desperately, nearly out of breath, as she limped along the floor. The sounds of heavy fighting sounded outside and below her.
   A massive brown shape appeared at the top of the stairwell which she had just exited. Turning, she fired her beamer in its direction. It disappeared, though she was unable to tell whether she'd hit it or not.
   She had been relaxing in her living quarters when the attack had come—not from the distant mine, but from under her feet. Simultaneously, hundreds of enormous, angry monsters had exploded out of the sub- levels of every building. Every building, that is, except for the cannon tower. She'd barely had time to give the order for those powerful weapons to swing around and beam every structure except the one she was in when they had been destroyed.
   A peculiar violet beam no thicker than her thumb had jumped the gap between the uppermost floor of the far-off mine and the tower's base. Where it had touched there was now only a deep horizontal scar in the earth. It had been so quick that she'd neither seen nor heard any explosion.
   One moment the tower had been there—three stories of armor housing the big guns—and the next she'd heard a loud hissing sound like a hot ember being dropped in water. When she turned to look, the tower was gone.
   Now there was no place to run to, nothing left to bargain with. Her badly outmatched personnel—human, thranx and AAnn alike—had been submerged by a brown avalanche.
   She'd tried to make for the underground shuttle hangar in hopes of hiding there until the Baron's return, but the lower floors of this building were also blocked by swarms of lemur-lensed behemoths. The ground outside was alive with them.
   It made no sense! There had been perhaps half a hundred of the slow-moving natives living in the immediate vicinity of the mine. Surveys had revealed a few hundred more inhabiting caves outside the vicinity.
   Now there were thousands of them, of all sizes, overrunning the installation—overrunning her thoughts. The crash of overturned furniture and shattered glass- alloy sounded below. There was no way out. She could only retreat upward.
   Limping to another stairwell, she started up to her apartment-office on the top floor. The battle was all but over when the cannon tower had been eliminated. Meevo confirmed that when he reported the power station taken. Those were the last words she heard from the reptilian engineer.
   With the station, the power to communications and the lifts had gone. It was hard for her to mount the stairwell, with her bad leg. Her jumpsuit was torn, the carefully applied makeup covering her facial scars badly smudged. She would meet death in her own quarters, unpanicked to the end, showing the true selfconfidence of a Rudenuaman.
   She slowed at the top of the stairs. Her quarters were at the far end of the hall but there was a light shining from inside the chamber nearest the stairwell. Moving cautiously, she slid the broken door a little further back, peered inside.
   The light was the kind that might come from a small appliance. There were many such self-powered devices on the base—but what would anyone be doing with one here and now, when he should have a beamer in his fist?
   Holding her own tightly, she tiptoed into the chamber.
   These quarters had' not been lived in since the demise of their former occupant. The light was coming from a far corner. It was generated by a portable viewer. A small, slight figure was hunched intently before it, oblivious to all else.
   She waited, and in a short while the figure leaned back with a sigh, reaching out to switch the machine off. Fury and despondency alternated in her thoughts, to be replaced at last by a cold, calm sense of resignation.
   "I ought to have guessed," she muttered.
   The figure jerked in surprise, spun about.
   "Why aren't you decently dead, like you're supposed to be?"
   Flinx hesitated, replied without the hint of a smile, "It wasn't destined to be part of the game."
   "You're joking with me ... even now. I should have killed you the same time I finished Challis. But no," she said bitterly, "I had to keep you around as an amusement."
   "Are you sure that's the only reason?" he inquired, so gently that she was momentarily taken aback.
   "You play word games with me, too." She raised the muzzle of the beamer. "I only regret I haven't got time to kill you slowly. You haven't even left me that." She shrugged tiredly. "The price one pays for undersight, as my aunt would say, corruption be on her spirit. I am curious, though—how did you manage to tame and train these creatures?"
   Flinx looked at her pityingly. "You still don't understand anything, do you?"
   "Only," she replied, her finger tightening on the beamer's trigger, "that this comes several months too late."
   "Wait!" he shouted pleadingly, "if you'll give me one min—"
   The finger convulsed. At the same time someone doused her eyes with liquid fire. She screamed, and the beam passed just to the right of Flinx to obliterate the viewer nearby.
   "Don't rob!" he started to yell, rushing around the chair he'd been sitting in—already too late. At the moment of contact she'd dropped the beamer and begun rubbing instinctively at the awful pain in her face. She was on the floor now, rolling over and over.
   The distance between them was no longer great, but by the time he reached her she was unconscious and stiff. Thirty seconds later she was dead.
   "You never did take the time to listen, Teleen," he murmured, kneeling numbly by the doubled-over corpse. Nervously flicking his long tongue in and out, Pip settled softly on Flinx's shoulder, The minidrag was taut with anger.
   "Your life was too rushed. Mine's been too rushed, also."
   Something moved in the doorway. Looking up, Flinx saw a wheezing Sylzenzuzex standing there, favoring her splinted leghand. One truhand had a firm grip on a thranx-sized beamer.
   "I see you found her," she observed, her breath coming through the spicules of her b-thorax in long whistles. "Softsmooth tells me that the last bits of resistance are almost cleaned out." Her compound eyes regarded him questioningly as he looked back down at the body.
   "I didn't find her. She found me. But before I could make her listen, Pip intervened. I suppose he had to; she would have killed me." Unexpectedly, he glanced at her and smiled.
   "You should see yourself, Syl. You look like a throwback from Hivehom's pre-tranquility days. Like a warrior who has just concluded a successful brood'raid on a neighboring hive. A wonderful advertisement for the compassionate understanding of the Church."
   She didn't respond to the jibe. There was something in his voice…. "That's not like you, Flinx."  She studied him as he turned back to stare at the corpse, trying to remember everything she knew of human emotion. It seemed to her that his interest in this woman, who for a few tarns of vackel had worked willingly with the sworn enemies of hurnanx kind, was abnormal.
   Sylzenzuzex was not her uncle's equal when it came to intuitive deduction, but neither was she stupid. "You know something more about this human female than you have said."
   "I must have known her before," he whispered, "though I don't remember her at all. According to the time intervals given on the tape that's not too surprising." He gestured limply at the chamber behind him. "This was Challis' apartment." His hand returned to indicate the corpse. For a moment his eyes seemed nearly as deep as Moam's. "This was my sister."
   Not until the following afternoon, after the bodies had been efficiently buried by the Ujurrians, did Sylzenzuzex insist on hearing about everything that had been recorded on the stolen tape.
   "I was an orphan, Syl, raised on Moth by a human woman named Mother Mastiff. The information I found said that I'd been born to a professional Lynx named Rud, in Allahabad on Terra. The records also said I was a second child, though they didn’t give details. Those facts were to be found on the tape Challis stole, the tape I didn't read until last night.
   "My mother also had an elder sister. My mother's husband, who according to the tape was not my father, gave that elder sister a position in his commercial firm. After he died, under still unexplained circumstances, the sister took control of the company and built it into a considerable business empire,
   "It seems my mother and her sister were never the best of friends. Some of the details of what amounted to my mother's captivity, and that's what it reads like, are ..." He had to stop for a moment.
   "It's easy to see how a mind like Challis' would be attracted to details like that. My mother died soon after her husband. A number of unexplained incidents followed. No one could be certain, but it was theorized they might be attributable in some way to her male nephew. So ... I was disposed of. A small sale in so large a commercial concern," he added viciously. "It amused the elder sister, Rashalleila, to keep the girl niece around. The sister's name was Nuaman. The niece—my sister—was called Teleen, She became a mirror image of her aunt, took the company from her, and merged her mother's name with her aunt's. Symbospeeched it. Teleen of Rud and Nuaman ... Teleen auz Rudenuaman.
   "As for me—1 was long forgotten by everyone. Challis' researchers were interested in the part about my causing some 'unexplained incidents,' as they were called. He never troubled to make any other connections from the information."
   They walked on in silence, past the long gouge in the earth where the cannon tower had stood. Fluff, Moam, Bluebright, and Softsmooth trailed behind. They came upon a small building set alongside the landing field. Earlier, one of the Ujurrians had discovered that it led down to the extensive shuttlecraft hangar. The hangar held complete repair and constrution facilities for shuttlecraft, as would be necessary on an isolated world like this. There was also an extensive machine shop and an enormous technical library on all aspects of Commonwealth KK ship maintenance. It would make a very useful branch of the Ujurrian school Flinx was planning to set up.
   "I didn't have time to ask last night. Fluff," Flinx: began, as they passed the end of the scar, "how did you manage that?"
   "Was fun," the big ursinoid responded brightly. "Was Moam's idea mostly. Also a young She named Mask. While others dug tunnels, they two read much that was in books at the mine."
   "Made some changes in cold minds' cave digger," Moam supplied.
   "The press drill," murmured Svizenzuzex, "they must have modified the press drill. But how?"
   "Change here, add this," explained Moam. "Was fun."
   "I wonder if modified is quite the word for turning a harmless tool into a completely new kind of weapon," Moam and Mask and their friends play with the library and machine shop below. But first we have some other modifications that have to be carried out in a hurry...."
    
   The big freighter came out of KK drive just inside the orbit of Ulru-Ujurr's second satellite, moving nearer on short bursts from its immensely powerful space- spanning engine. The freighter entered a low orbit around the vast blue-brown world, remaining directly above the only installation on its surface.
   "Honored One, there is no response," the disguised AAnn operating the ship's communicator reported.
   "Try again," a deep voice commanded.
   The operator did so, finally looked up helplessly. "There is no response on any of the closed-signal frequencies. But there is something else—something very peculiar."
   "Explain," the Baron directed curtly. His mind was spinning.
   "There is evidence of all kinds of subatmospheric broadcasting, but none on any frequencies I can tap into. And none of it is directed at ns, despite my repeated calls."
   A man named Josephson, who was a very important executive in Rudenuaman Enterprises, moved next to the Baron. "What's going on down there? This isn't like Madam Rndenuaman."
   "It is not like many things," observed the Baron cautiously. He turned his attention to another of the control pod operatives. "What is the cloud cover like above the base?"
   "Clear and with little wind, sir," the atmospheric meteorologist reported quickly. "A typical Ujurrian autumn day."
   The Baron hissed softly. "Josephson-sir, come with me, please."
   "Where are we going?" the' confused executive wanted to know, even as he followed the Baron down the corridor leading to the far end of the command blister.
   "Here." The Baron hit a switch and the door slid back, "I require maximum resolution," he instructed the on-duty technician.
   "At once, Honored One," the disguised reptilian acknowledged as he hurried to make the necessary adjustments to the surface scope. Sitting down alongside the tech, the Baron punched the requisite coordinates into the scope computer himself.
   Then he remained motionless for several minutes, staring through the viewer. Eventually he moved aside, gestured that Josephson should take his place. The human did so, adjusting the focus slightly for his eyes. He gave a verbal and physical start.
   "What do you see?" the Baron inquired.
   "The base is gone, and there's something in its place."
   "Then I may not be mad," the Baron observed. "What do you see?"
   '"Well, the landing strip is still there, but something like a small city is climbing from the lakeshore up into the mountains. Knowing the terrain, I'd say several of the unfinished structures are a couple of hundred meters high." His voice faded with astonishment.
   "What does this suggest to you?" the Baron asked.
   Josephson looked up from the scope, shaking his head slowly.
   "It suggests," the Baron hissed tightly, that the structures may be built deeply into the mountains. By whom or how deeply we will fact know, unless we go down to see for ourselves."
   "Wouldn't advise that," a new voice boomed.
   Josephson gave a cry and stumbled out of the chair, pressing himself back against the console. The technician and the Baron whirled, both reaching simultaneously for their sidearms.
   An apparition stood solidly in the center of the room. It was a good three meters tall, standing on its hind legs, and its bulk nearly dented the deck. Huge yellow eyes glared balefully down at them.
   "Wouldn't advise it," the apparition repeated. "Get lost."
   The Baron's hand beamer was aimed—but now there was nothing to shoot at.
   "Hallucinations," Josephson suggested shakily, after his voice returned.
   The Baron said nothing, walked to the place where the creature had stood. He knelt in a way no human could, hunting for something on the floor. "A very hirsute hallucination," he commented, examining several thick, coarse hairs. His mind was churning furiously.
   "You know I've never been outside the main installation," Josephson declared. "What was it?"
   "An Ujurrian primitive," the Baron explained thoughtfully, rubbing the hairs between false-skinned fingers.
   "What... what was it talking about?"
   Disgust was evident in the Baron's voice. "There are times when I wonder how you humans ever achieved half of what you have."
   "Now, look," the executive began angrily, "there's no need to get abusive."
   "No," the Baron admitted. After all, they were still within Commonwealth territory. "There is no reason to get abusive. I apologize, Josephson-sir." Turning, they left the room and the wide-eyed technician.
   "Where are we going now?"
   "To do what the creature said."
   "Just a minute." Josephson eyed the unblinking AAnn aristocrat firmly. "If the Madam is in trouble down there ..."
   "Sssisssttt ... use your brain, warm-blood," the Baron snorted. "Where there was a small base there is now a rapidly growing city. Where there used to be a single welcoming signal there is now a multitude of peculiar local communications. From a few clusters of rave-dwelline native there comes a teleport who advises us curtly not to land. Who advises us curtly— in your vernacular I might add, Josephson-sir—to make haste elsewhere.
   "I think it reasonable, considering the evidence, for us to comply quickly. I act according to realities and not emotions, Josephson-sir. That is why I will always be one who gives orders and yon will always be one who takes them." He hurried his pace, pushing past the man and leaving him standing, to gape down the corridor after him.
   As directed by the Baron, the freighter left Ulru-Ujurr's vicinity at maximum velocity. Resting in his sumptuous cabin, the Baron pondered what had taken place during his absence. Something of considerable importance, with unknowable implications for the future.
   Of one thing he was certain: Madam Rudenuaman and the enterprise they had collaborated on no longer existed. But there could be a host of reasons why.
   That the natives were more than ignorant savages now seemed certain ... but how much more certain he could not say. A single genius among them could have been mnemonically instructed to deliver what had been, after all, an extremely brief message. A new experimental device could have projected him aboard the freighter.
   The burgeoning city below could be the product of the Church, the Commonwealth, a business competitor, or an alien interloper. This section of the Arm was still mostly unexplored; anything could be setting itself up on an isolated, unvisited world like Ulru-Ujurr.
   He had done well by the venture. There were a number of small stones still in his possession, which he could ration out slowly to the Commonwealth over the years. His status at the Hmperor's court had risen considerably, though the Imperial psychotechnicians' scheme of implanting suicidal impulse-plays into the Janus jewels and then selling them to important humans and thranx would now have to be abandoned.
   That was too bad, for the program had been very successful. Yet this could have been worse. Whatever had wiped out the installation and Madam Rudenuaman could also have taken him, had he not gone in pursuit of the human child.
   A pity the way she happened to encounter that human patrol vessel, forcing him to abandon any hope of eliminating her. Almost as if she'd known what she was doing. But it did not matter much, he knew. Let her rave about Ulru-Ujurr to any who might be credulous enough to listen—for now that world was no concern of his.
   In the future, given the inevitable triumph of the Empire, he could return with an Imperial fleet, instead of skulking about in disguise like this and in the forced company of despised mammals and insects. Then he might reestablish control, nay, sovereignty over that enigmatic world, holding all the glory and profits to be gained therefrom for himself and the house of WW.
   Maybe so, he mused pleasurably, maybe so.
   He did not hear the voice that echoed in response from the depths of Someplace else. A voice that echoed ... maybe not!
    
   The day dawned bright and warm. Sylzenzuzex found she could walk about freely with only the flimsiest covering.
   She had developed a special rapport with the shy adolescent female called Mask, who had turned out to be a wonderful guide to the history and unexpectedly complex interrelationships of the Ujurrians. So Sylzenzuzex was reveling in her study of a subject dear to her heart.
   Perhaps someday it would form the basis for a monograph, or even a full dissertation, one important enough to win reinstatement in the Church for her. Although the discovery that the Church had indeed been responsible for quarantining these people continued to cause her to question that organization's standards, and her own future participation in it.
   She left her quarters in the building, intending to mention yesterday's revelations to Flinx, But he did not seem to be anywhere around, nor was he at the landing strip school, nor at any of the factory centers ringing the old mine. One of the ursinoids finally directed her to a place at the far end of the valley, where she had once fled Rudenuaman's grasp. After a fair climb up a steep bluff, she found him sitting cross-legged on a ledge consorting with a local insect no larger than his finger. It was enameled green and ochre, with yellow- spotted wings.
   Pip was darting through the nearby bushes, worrying an exasperated, sinuous mammal half his size.
   From here one could look back down the full length of the valley, see the azure lake cradled between snow- capped peaks, and watch the steady progress of construction along the south shore.
   When Flinx finally turned to her, he wore an expression so sorrowful it shocked her.
   "What's the matter... why so sad?" she inquired.
   "So who's sad?"
   She shook her valentine-shaped head slowly. When he didn't respond, she gestured toward the lake valley.
   "I don't know what you have to be disappointed about. Your charges seem to have taken to your game of civilization with plenty .of enthusiasm. Is it the ship Maybeso boarded? Whatever he told them must have been effective. They haven't come back, and there's been no sign of another ship in the months since."
   By way of reply he pointed toward the north shore of the lake. A vast metal superstructure was rising there. It was nearly as long as the lake itself.
   "Something about the ship?"
   He shook his head. "No ... about the reason behind it. Syl, I've only accomplished half of what I set out to do. I know that my mother's dead, but I still don't know who my father was or what happened to him." He stared hard at her. "And I want to know, Syl. Maybe he's long dead, too, or alive and even a worse human animal than my sister turned out to be; but I want to know. I will know!" he finished with sudden vehemence.
   "How does that connect with the ship?"
   Now he cracked a wan smile. "Why do you think the Ujurrians are building a ship?"
   "I don't know... for fun, to explore... why?"
   "It's my present from them—Moam's little surprise. He knows I want to go looking for my father, so they're doing their best to help me look. I told them they couldn't construct a KK-drive ship here ... that it had to be done clear of a planet's gravity. You know what he said? 'We fix ... too much trouble other way.'
   "He located an Ujurrian—skinniest one I ever saw—who thinks only in mathematical terms. She's so weird—her name-translation came out as 'Integrator'— she can almost understand Maybeso. Moam set her the problem. Two weeks ago she cracked the problem of landing in a gravity well on KK-drive. Commonwealth scientists have been trying to solve that puzzle for a couple of hundred years."
   He sighed. "All to help me find my father. Syl ... what happens if the Ujurrians don't find the rest of the cosmos, our civilization, to their liking? What if they decide to 'play' with it? What have we unleashed?"
   She sat back on trulegs and foothands and pondered. Long minutes passed. The gem-encrusted bug flew away.
   "If nothing else," she told him finally, staring down at the ship, "a way to go home. You worry overmuch, Flinx. I don't think our civilization will hold much of interest for these creatures. It's you they're interested in. Remember what Maybeso said ... if this new game bores them, they'll go back to their old one."
   Flinx considered this, appeared to brighten. Then abruptly he rose, brushed the dust from his legs. "I suppose you're right, Syl. I can't do any good worrying about it. When they finish the ship, it will be time to go home. I need Mother Mastiff's acerbity, and I need to lose myself again, for a while." He glanced up at her oddly. "Will you help?"
   Sylzenznzex turned great, glowing multifaceted eyes on Pip, watched as the minidrag folded pleated wings to dive down a burrow after the retreating mammal. Sounds of scuffling came from below.
   "It promises to be intriguing ... from a purely scientific point of view, of course," she murmured.
   "Of course," Flinx acknowledged, properly straight- faced.
   A narrow reptilian head popped out of the burrow and a pointed tongue flicked rapidly in their direction. Pip stared smugly back at them, a Cheshire cat with scales....
    



 THE END OF THE MATTER
 Alan Dean Foster
   
   
   
   
   
   For Tim Kirk,
           With thranx …
******************************************************
   Prologue
    
   Take a God-sized bottle of hundred-proof night, spill it across a couple of dozen light-years, and you have the phenomenon humanxkind called the Velvet Dam. A dark nebula so dense that no near star was powerful enough to excite it to glow, the Dam drew an impenetrable curtain across a vast portion of the stage of space. No sun shone through it to the inhabited region known as the Humanx Commonwealth. No broadcasts, transmissions, or birthday greetings could be sent from beyond the vast ebony wall.
   It lay far above the burgeoning ellipsoid of the Commonwealth, and ran roughly parallel to the galactic equator. Yet since that which is unseeable is ever the most attractive, humanx exploratory efforts had already begun to probe persistently at its flanks.
   One mission was the same as any other to the drone. Whether it sought out new information behind the as- yet-unexplored Dam or above the surface of Earth's own moon made no difference to its tireless mind. Not that the drone was ignorant, however. The enormous distances traveled by such long-range sensor vehicles rendered constant monitoring impossible. So in addition to the plethora of precision recorders and scientific instrumentation provided for sampling the far reaches of space, the independent robotic drones were equipped with sophisticated electronic brains. Of necessity, they also possessed a certain amount of decision making ability.
   Its own incredibly complex collage of minute circuitry was what changed the drone's preprogrammed course. In its limited mechanical fashion, the drone had determined that the new subject was of sufficient importance to dictate a shift in plans. So it broke from its assigned path, fired its tiny KK drive, and relayed its decision to the drone mother monitor station.
   Though small, the tiny drive could push the unmanned vehicle at a speed no humanx-occupied craft could attain. As it raced toward the source of the extraordinary disturbance, it continued to relay its readings back to the monitoring station. Before very long (drone time) it had approached a spot where visual recording was possible. Without judging, without evaluating, the drone worked hard to send a flood of information back to the station banging just at the corner of the Velvet Dam.
   What the drone recorded and relayed was consumption on a cosmic scale. It hunted through its memory for records of similar phenomena, but came up empty. This was shattering, since in its ultraminiaturized files the drone retained some mention of every variety of astronomical occurrence ever witnessed and noted by humanxkind.
   The drone-mind worked furiously. Preliminary surveillance was complete-should it depart now and return to its original task or continue to study this momentous event? This was a critical decision. The drone was aware of its own value, yet it seemed inarguable that any additional bit of information it could obtain here would be more valuable to its makers than everything else it might accomplish elsewhere. So the crucial circuits were engaged, locked with religious fervor. The drone moved nearer, closer, ever studying and transmitting new knowledge until, without so much as an electronic whimper, it too was devoured.
   The drone protested electronically its own destruction, but its message was not heard or seen. That wasn't the drone's fault. There was, at the moment of ingestion, simply nothing to see. But other instruments were better equipped to tell of those last seconds, and they told the drone station all that was necessary.
   Several months passed.
   In the station's center a circuit closed. Powerful machinery was engaged. All the information gathered by a dozen far-ranging drones was concentrated into a tight beam for deep-space transmission. With a violent belch of energy, the station spat the knowledge to an occasionally manned station on a far-distant humanx colony world. That station shunted the transmission on to another world, and then on to another, and finally on to Earth, one of the Commonwealth's two capitals. Commonwealth Science Headquarters was located there, on the outskirts of a city on a high mountain plain whose inhabitants had once practiced human sacrifice.
   Patiently computers decoded, unraveled, and otherwise made the transmission comprehensible. One small portion of that information was marked for special notice. In due course it reached the eyes of a competent but bored human being. As she examined the information, her eyes grew wide and her boredom vanished. Then she alerted others-human and thranx-and initial puzzlement became panic, then metamorphosed into stunned resignation. The information was reprocessed, rechecked, reexamined. The science staff of the station became reresigned to the situation.
   A meeting quickly convened on the other side of the world.  The four people present-two human, two thranx-were very important-important enough to have passed beyond arrogance to humility.
   One of the thranx was the 'current President of the Commonwealth, the other head of all Commonwealth- sponsored scientific research. One of the humans was the Last Resort of the United Church. The other would not normally be considered as important as the other three beings assembled in that room, but circumstances had temporarily made him so. He was the technical supervisor in charge of processing drone information at the Mexico City complex.
   When the discussion finally had run out of new things that needed saying, the aged President trieint "Drusindromid folded truhands over his thorax and sighed through his spicules. His chiton shone violet with many years, and his antennae drooped so low they hung before his glowing compound eyes. He turned multicolored ornmatidia on the waiting human technician. "The information is accurate. There are no mistakes. This you are sure of?'
   Both the human technician and the thranx science chief nodded, the human adding: "We are running an- other drone to the area, sir. It will move on a projected intercept path. Since by the time the drone reaches the region the sun which was being absorbed will have been completely destroyed, we will have to depend on nonvisual instrumentation to detect the wanderer. But I don't really think all this is necessary, sir. The first drone's report is unchallengeable."
   "I know the speed of which those drones are capable," the President murmured. "Yet this object is so massive that it surely will have sucked an entire star into itself by the time the new drone arrives?"
   "Yes, Honored One," the thranx science chief admitted dolefully. "The radiation that first led our drone to it was from the last of the sun's plasma being drawn off from the surface. That portion of space was full of a ginhought amount of particulate radiation, especially gamma rays. It-'” The science chief respectfully halted, seeing that the President was absorbed with less technical worries.
   The old thranx shook his head slowly, a gesture the insectoids had picked up near the beginning of the Amalgamation, the joining of human- and thranxkind several hundred years ago. "This course," he said, gesturing with a foothand toward the three-dimensional star projection floating above the center of the table, "how long?"
   Brushing back white-brown hair, the human technician replied mechanically, "Unless for some unimaginable reason it alters its path, sir, the massive collapsar will emerge from the Velvet Dam in seventy-two point one standard Commonwealth years. Fifteen point six years thereafter, it will impact tangent to the projected critical distance from the sun around which the twin Commonwealth worlds of Carmague-Collangatta orbit. We estimate"- he paused to swallow-" that the sun of the twin worlds will have completely vanished down the hole within a week."
   "So fast," the President whispered, "so fast."
   "Twenty-seven point three years later," the technician continued remorselessly, "the same catastrophe will befall the star around which the world Twosky Bright circles." He paused a moment, then went on. "No other Commonwealth suns or worlds lie within crisis range of the collapsar’s projected path through our galaxy. It will continue on through the galactic axis. Several thousand years from now, it will leave the Milky Way, traveling in the general direction of RNGC 185."
   "How can the collapsar move so fast?" the President asked.
   The technician glanced at his superior; it was the science chief who replied. "We still do not fully understand all the mechanics of collapsars, Honored One. Such radical distortions of the stellar matrix retain many secrets. It is enough to know that it is moving at the indicated speed, on the predicted path."
   The President nodded and touched a switch, throwing a vast semicircular map onto the ceiling. He studied the map, ignoring the view of sweltering jungle and marshland visible through the window below the ceiling screen. "What of the three worlds, then?"
   Rising, the Last Resort moved to stand next to the science counselor. A tail human, be towered over the President-but only physically. One of the three endangered worlds was inhabited almost solely by thranx, yet they were as much a part of his flock, as devout and inspiring, as was his own family. His robes, in the aquamarine of the Church, were simple and comfortable. Only a single gold insignia on sleeve and collar indicated that he was the ranking member of the Commonwealth's major spiritual organization.
   "Caimague and Collangatta are the fourth and twelfth most populous worlds in the Commonwealth, sir," he declared. "Twosky Bright is the twenty-third, but ranks fifteenth in real economic production. Together, the three endangered planets have a population of over three and a half billion. From both a humanxistic and an economic standpoint, their destruction would be a stunning blow."
   Great compound eyes stared expectantly up at him. The President hoped wisdom was shining from each of them, instead of the anxiety and helplessness he felt. "What can be done for them?"
   The supreme spiritual leader of the Commonwealth turned eyes downward but found no inspiration in the tiled floor. "The Church's logisticians tell me ... very little, sir. Even given the nearly ninety years left to us, actual evacuation is not practical. It would take the resources of the entire navy plus every Church peace- forcer to shift even a fraction of the populations safely and successfully to other worlds. As soon as such a movement was initiated, the reason behind it would be impossible to keep secret. There would be panic of the worst sort. Naturally, we cannot consider such action. And with the Commonwealth so weakened, there are those who would take advantage of our absent defense."
   "I know," murmured President Drusindromid. "What is the maximum number that can be saved with- out weakening our forces to the point of inviting scavengers?"
   "The figures are not exact ..." the Last Resort began apologetically.
   Abruptly, the President's voice cut instead of soothed: "I dislike inaccuracy where humanx lives are concerned, Anthony,"
   "Yes, sir. If we are lucky, I am told, we may hope to rescue as many as five percent."
   There was silence m the tower chamber. Then the President mumbled to himself in High Thranx. Aware that no one had heard, he raised his voice. "Set the necessary events in motion. If it were but one percent, I would still consider the effort worthwhile."
   "The problem of panic remains, sir," the Last Resort pointed out.
   "We will think of a suitable excuse," the President assured him. "But this must be done. Five percent is nearly two hundred million. Saving two hundred mil- lion lives is worth the risk of panic. And we may be lucky and save even more."
   "Science does not allow much leeway for luck," the Commonwealth -science chief muttered, but only to himself. The President was eyeing them each in turn.
   "If there is nothing else, gentlesirs?" Silence in the room. "We have much to do, then, and I have another meeting in half an hour. This one is at an end."
   At that signal, the Last Resort, the science chief, and the technician started from the chamber. The President saw them out, using foothands in addition to all four trulegs to support himself. As always, everything rested finally on those aged antennae, the technician thought as he was about to bid the President goodbye. But a truhand reached out and stopped him.
   "A moment, young man." The technician was nearly seventy.  The President was, however, a good deal older. "There is, of course, no way of stopping, turning, or destroying a collapsar?"
   Remembering to whom he was talking, the physicist kept any sign of condescension from his voice. "Hardly, sir. Anything we could throw at it, whether a million SCCAM projectiles or another star, would simply be sucked in. The more we tried to destroy it, the larger it would become, though we wouldn't notice its growth, since it would still be only a point in space. Furthermore, we already know from measurements sent back by the first drone that this wanderer consists of much more than a single collapsed star. Much more.
   Perhaps several hundred suns." He shrugged. "Some of my colleagues believe that because of the wanderer's speed and theoretical mass, it may be an object only guessed at by recent mathematics: a collaxar. A collapsed galaxy, sir, instead of a single star."
   "Oh" was all the President said immediately. Upper mandibles scraped at the lower pair as he considered this information. "There is a political analogy, young man," he finally ventured. "Something like an idea whose time has come. The more insults and arguments you throw at it, the more powerful it becomes, until one is overwhelmed by it."
   "Yes, sir," the technician agreed. "I wish all we were dealing with here was an idea, sir."
   "Don't underestimate the destructive power of an idea, hatchling," the President admonished him. He glanced at a wrist chronometer banding a truhand. "Twenty-four minutes till my next appointment. Good day, gentlesir."
   "Good day, Mr. President," the technician said; then he left the chamber.
   Each of the beings who had joined briefly for the momentous meeting returned to his own task. Each had much to do that did not relate to the subject of the meeting, and glad of it. Being busy was a blessing. It was not healthy to dwell on the unavoidable premature death of over three billion of one's fellow creatures.
   Chapter One
    
   "Your offer," the withered woman screamed, "is worthy of a kick in the groin!" She lowered her voice only slightly. "However, I am an old, weak woman. You are younger, larger, stronger, healthier, and wealthier." One hand curled defiantly around the hilt of a crooked blade jutting out from a hole in the dirty brown rag of a skirt. Her other hand held the object under discussion. "So what am I to do?" she finished expectantly.
   "Please don't get so excited," the young man standing across from her pleaded, making quieting motions at her with his hands as he looked nervously from side to side.
   No one in the shifting mob of sidewalk vendors and buyers was paying any attention to the argument. But, being an outworlder, the young man was sensitive to the old lady's accusations. After all, he and his bride were scheduled to be on Moth for only three days be- fore moving on to New Paris with the rest of the tour. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown in jail, on his honeymoon, for fighting with one of the locals.
   "Really," he explained desperately to her, adjusting his rain-soaked mustard-and-puce weather slicker, "thirty credits is all I can afford. Have some sympathy for me. My wife is back in our hotel. She's not feeling very well. The daily rain and constant cloud cover is depressing her, I think. I want something to cheer her up. But we have a long way to travel yet. Thirty credits is all I can afford for a trinket."
   The old woman proudly drew herself up to her full height. Her eyes were now level with the young man's chest. She held the object of contention firmly in one hand as she shook it accusingly at him. The slim, graceful bracelet of some silvery metal was inlaid with fragments of polished wood and stone.
   "This wristlet was worked and set by Cojones Cutler himself, infant! Do you have any idea, any idea, what that signifies?"
   "I'm sorry," the youth tried to explain, sniffing, "but I've been trying to explain all along that I am only a visitor here."
   Clearly the woman restrained herself only by some great inner effort. "Very well," she said tightly, "never mind the honored name of Cojones Cutler," She indicated the oval bulges set in the bracelet. "Look at these whirlwood cabochons- forget the topazes for now." As she turned the bracelet, the naturally hardened) polished sap facing the wood broke the dim daylight into points of azure-and-green fire.
   "Hardly a tree in a million has the genetic deficiency necessary to produce such colors, boy. Hardly one in a million, and those grow only in the far north of Moth, where the nomads hunt the Demichin devilope. Why, it takes-"
   "Oh, all right." The young man sighed, exasperated. "Anything to get this over with. Thirty-five credits, then." He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three. His face was soft and earnest. "We'll just have to stay at a lower-class hotel on New Paris, that's all."
   The old woman stared up at him and shook her head in disbelief "You talk of hotels, and me with three starving children and a husband long dead. You can stand there and talk of hotels, brazen child, while offering me thirty-live credits for the finest bracelet I've been lucky to get on consignment in twenty years. Twenty years!" Her voice rose to a hoarse shout again. "Make me a decent offer or go room with the devil, I say!" she screeched, loudly enough to turn a few heads in the crowd. "But don't stand there innocently and insult a poor old woman!"
   "For Church's sake," the youth pleaded, "lower your voice."
   Sheltered beneath a rain cape of Violet-gray charged slickertic, the young man who had been idly observing the noisy byplay of buyer and seller licked the last sweet traces of thisk-cake honey from his fingers. Then he rose and sauntered toward the quarreling pair,
   Slightly under average height, with smoothly arcing cheekbones and deeply tanned skin, he did not present a particularly eye-catching figure. A thatch of curly red hair roofed his skull, hair the color of a field of fireweed on the open tundra. It tumbled over his fore- head and ears. Only the odd movement of something under the right side of his rain cape indicated anything out of the ordinary, but the object-whatever it was- was too well concealed to be identified.
   "... and if there's nothing better yon can say," the old woman was raving on, "then you'd better-" "Excuse me," a quiet voice interrupted. "I'd say tbirty-five credits for that bracelet is a fair price."
   Mouth agape in puzzlement, the young husband stared, uncomprehending, at the slim youth, and wondered why a native should interfere on his behalf. The old vendor turned a furious gaze on the brazen interloper.
   "I don't know who you are, sir," she rumbled dangerously, "but if you don't mind your own business I'll-" She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth frozen in an 0 of shock,
   "You'll do what, old woman?" the youngster asked. "Send me to bed without supper?" Sensing an. advantage without knowing its origin, the dazed bracelet-buyer was quick to act. "Thirty-five credits is really a fair price, as he says."
   "Yes ... I ..." The old woman, appearing a little stunned herself, hardly seemed to hear the offer. "Thirty-five, then, and be done with it."
   "You're certain?" The outworlder, now sure of his purchase, was anxious to ingratiate himself with the seller. Since he was a good deal bigger than the new arrival, he took a step forward. "If this boy is intimidating you. I'd be glad to ..."
   Something moved and partially emerged from cape folds. It was leathery, thin, and brightly colored. Without actually recognizing the object, the outworld tourist nonetheless had an immediate impression of serpentine lethality. His hand proffered his credit slip instead of closing into a fist.
   "Here's your money, then."
   Mesmerized by the caped figure, the old woman mechanically processed the credit slip through her cardmeter; she handed it back to the buyer without even troubling to check the reference number.
   "The bracelet," the young visitor urged impatiently.
   "Hrnmm? Oh, yes." She handed it over. Flushed with pleasure at his imagined bargain, the tall tourist vanished into the milling crowd of humans and aliens.
   Slowly the old woman studied the unimposing figure standing before her. Then she abruptly threw thin but still muscular arms around him and squeezed tightly. "Flinx!" she shouted exuberantly. "Flinx, boy, you've come home!" She shook the lanky youth out of sheer Joy, for the familiar feel of him. Jostled, Pip the mini- drag shifted uncomfortably on Flinx's shoulder and attempted to tolerate the roughhousing with fine reptilian indifference.
   "For a little while, Mother Mastiff," the youth re- plied quietly. He grinned and nodded in the direction of the departed outworlder. "I see you're having as much fun as ever."
   "Fun!" she snorted derisively, making an obscene gesture in the general direction of the marketplace into which her customer had disappeared. "Pathetic, most of them. They suck the enjoyment from trading. Sometimes I wonder how the Commonwealth hangs together, with cement like that."  A triangular head flanked by eyes of fire peeked out from beneath the slickertic. The old woman eyed it with evident distaste. "See you're still dragging that creature around with you."
   Pip responded with a nasty hiss. There had never been any love lost between Mother Mastiff and the minidrag.
   "Many times I think it's Pip who drags me, Mother," the youth argued.
   "Well, no matter perversions I can't cure you of, boy. At least you're here." She whacked him on the left shoulder in mock anger.  "Here you are ... you good-for-nothing, forgetful, heartless lump of immature meat! Where have you been to? It's been over a year. A year, paragon of ingrates! Not a tridee tape, not a card, nothing!"
   "I am sorry. Mother Mastiff," he confessed, putting his arm around her bony shoulders. She shrugged angrily, but not hard enough to dislodge his arm. "It wasn't that I didn't think of you. But I was far from modem communications."
   "Ah, in trouble again?" She shook her head. "Is that the way I raised you?" He started to reply, but she cut him off hastily. "Never mind that now. Where were yon? Come, tell me back at the shop."
   They started down the street. Aromatic scents and the cries of Drallar's inner marketplace filled the air around them. "Come, boy, tell me, where were you, that you couldn't let me know if your worthless carcass was still intact?"
   Flinx considered his response carefully. He had good reasons for wanting to keep his whereabouts of the past year secret. What Mother Mastiff didn't know she could never reveal.
   "I took a job, sort of," he finally explained.
   She gaped at him. "You ... a job?"
   "I'm not lying," he argued uncomfortably, unable to meet those disbelieving eyes. "I set my own hours and work pretty much as I want to."
   "Now I just might, just might believe you. What kind of job?"
   Again he glanced away evasively. "I can't say exactly. I'm sort of a teacher, a private tutor."
   "A teacher," she echoed, evidently impressed. "A private tutor, eh?" She let out a snicker. "What is it you teach? Pickpocketing, breaking and entering, or general theft?"
   "Now what would I know about such things?" he countered in astonishment. "Is that how you brought me up?" They both chuckled. "No, I'm kind of a general-purpose instructor in basics."
   "I see" was all she said this time, so he was spared the difficulty of explaining what kind of basics he taught) and to whom. Especially to whom; it was not time for Mother Mastiff or anyone else to know about the Ulru-Ujurrians, the race he had adopted and which had adopted him. The race that could turn this corner of creation inside out.
   "Never mind me," he insisted, staring at her. "Here I take money and set you up in one of the fanciest shop districts of Drallar, with top-flight stock, and how do I find you? Like this!" He indicated her ragged clothes, torn skirt and overblouse, the ugly muffin of a hat perched precariously on long, straggly hair. "Out in the street in the rain and damp, clad in scraps."
   Now it was Mother Mastiff's turn to glance away. They turned up a cobblestone street and entered a less frenetic section of the city.
   "I got itchy nervous, boy, sitting in that fancy store all day. I missed the streets, the contacts, the noise-"
   "The arguments and shouting," Flinx finished for her.
   "And the gossip," she went on. "Especially the gossip." She eyed him defiantly. "At my age it's one of the few disreputable delights I haven't grown too old for."
   Flinx indicated the street ahead.  "So that's why we're not headed for the shop?"
   "No, not that stuffy snuffbox, not on a beautiful day like today." Flinx studied the gray, overcast sky, blinked at the ever-present mist, but said nothing. Actually, it was a rather nice day for Drallar. It wasn't raining. He had been home for two weeks and had yet to see the sun.
   "Let's go to Dramuse's stall. I'll treat you to lunch."
   Flinx expressed surprise. "You buy someone else lunch? Still, after the profit you made on that bracelet ..."
   "Pfagh! I could have gotten that callow stripling up to fifty credits easy. Knew it the second he set eyes on that bracelet. Then you bad to come along."
   "One of these days. Mother, you'll go too far with some knowledgeable offworlder and he'll turn you in to the Ring's police. I broke in because he seemed like a decent man on his mating flight, and I didn't want to see him cheated too badly."
   "Shows what you know," she snapped back. "He wasn't as ignorant as he made you think. You weren't there to see his eyes light up when I mentioned the street my shop is on and told him that's where it was stolen from. He knew what he was about, all right. Did you see him shout for the police? No, he was cuddling his hot property like any decent good citizen. Here." She stopped and gestured beyond a gate to tables covered with brightly dyed canopies.
   They had entered the last of the concentric rings that formed Drallar's marketplace. This outermost ring consisted entirely of restaurants and food stalls. "They ranged from tiny one-being operations with primitive wood-fired stoves to expensive closed-in establishments in which delicacies imported from the farthest corners of the Commonwealth were served on utensils of faceted veridian. Here the air currents stalled, weaving languorous zephyrs of overpowering potency.
   They entered a restaurant that used neither wood nor veridian plates and was somewhere between the opulent and the barely digestible in terms of menu. After taking seats, they ordered food from a creature who looked like a griffin with tentacles instead of legs. Then Mother Mastiff exchanged her gentle accusations for more serious talk.
   "Now, boy, I know you went off to look for your natural parents." It was a sign of her strength that she could voice the subject without stumbling. "You've been gone for over a year. You must have learned something,"
   Flinx leaned back and was silent for a moment. Pip wiggled out from beneath the cape folds, and Flinx scratched the flying snake under its chin. "As far as I know," he finally responded tersely, "they're both long dead." Pip shifted uneasily, suddenly sensitive to his master's somber mood. "My mother ... at least I know who she was. A Lynx, a concubine. I also found a half sister, and when I found her, I ended up having to kill her."
   Food arrived, spicy and steaming. They ate quietly for a while. Despite the heavy spices, the food tasted flat to both of them.
   "Mother dead, half sister dead," Mother Mastiff grunted. "No other relatives?" Flinx shook his head curtly. "What about your natural father?"
   "Couldn't find a thing about him worth following up."
   Mother Mastiff wrestled with some private demon, and finally murmured, "You've run far and long, boy. But there's still a possibility."
   He glanced sharply at her, "Where?"
   "Here. Yes, even here."
   "Why," he said quietly, "didn't you ever tell me?"
   Mother Mastiff shrugged once. "I saw no reason to mention it. It's an obscure chance, boy, a waste of time, an absurd thought."
   "I've spent a year pursuing absurdities," he reminded her. "Give, Mother."
   "When I bought you in the market," she began easily, as if discussing any ordinary transaction, "it was a perfectly ordinary sale. Still don't know what possessed me to waste good money."
   Flinx stifled a grin. "Neither do 1. I don't follow you through "
   "Find the dealer who sold you, Flinx. Perhaps he or she is still in business. There's always the chance the firm kept decent records. I wasn't too concerned with your pedigree. Might be there's some additional in- formation in their records that wasn't provided with the bill of sale. Not likely, now. But all I was interested in was whether or not you were diseased. You looked it, but you weren't." She sipped from a mug. "Sometimes those slavers don't give out all the information they get. They've got their reasons."
   "But how can I trace the firm that sold me?"
   "City records," she snuffled, wiping liquid from her chin. "There would have been a tax on the business, Try the King's tax records for the year I bought you. Waste of time, though."
   "I've plenty of time now," he said cryptically. "I'll try it and gladly." He reached out across the table and patted a cheek with the look and feel of tired suede. "But for the rest of the day, let's be mother and son."
   She slapped the caressing hand away and fussed at him... but softly.
    
   Chapter Two
    
   The following day dawned well. The morning ram was light, and the cloud cover actually snowed some signs of clearing. Flinx was spared the shocking sight of sunlight in Drallar when the clouds thickened after he started toward the vast, rambling expanse of official buildings. They clustered like worker ants around the spines of their queen, whose body was the King's palace.
   Damp, cool weather invigorated Flinx. Moist air felt familiar in his lungs; it was the air of the only home he had ever known. Or could remember, he corrected himself.
   He stopped to chat with two side-street vendors, people he had known since childhood. Yet at first neither of them recognized him. Had he changed so much in one year? Was he so different at seventeen from what he had been at sixteen? True, he had gone through a great deal in that year. But when he looked in the mirror it was no stranger he saw. No fresh lines marred his smooth brown skin, no great tragedy welled out of cocoa eyes. Yet to others he was somehow not the same.
   Possibly the crashing kaleidoscope that was Drallar simply made people forget. Resolutely he shut out the shouts and excitement of the city, strode past intriguing stalls and sights while ignoring the implorings of hawkers and merchants. No more time to waste on such childish diversions, he instructed himself. He had responsibilities now. As the leader of an entire race in the Great Game he must put aside infantile interests.
   Ah, but the child in him was still strong, and it was a hard thing to do, this growing up ...
    
   Like a granite ocean the myriad walls of Old Drallar crashed in frozen waves against the sprawling bastion of bureaucracy which was the administrative center of Drallar and of the entire planet Moth. Modern structures piled haphazardly into medieval ones. Beyond lowered the King's palace) spires and minarets and domes forming a complex resembling a gigantic diatom. Like much of the city, the building looked as if it had been designed by a computer programmed with the Arabian Nights instead of up-to-date technologies.
   Flinx was crossing the outermost ring of stalls when two striking figures passed in front of him-a man and woman, both slightly taller than Flinx but otherwise physically unimpressive. What was striking about them was the reaction they provoked in others. People took pains to avoid the couple, even to avoid looking in their direction. But they did so carefully, to be certain of not giving offense.
   The couple were Qwarm.
   Barely tolerated by the Commonwealth government, the Qwarm were a widely dispersed clan of professional enforcers, whose services ranged from collecting overdue debts to assassination. Despite being shunned socially, the clan had prospered with the growth of the Commonwealth. Since the beginning of time, there had always been a market for the services they chose to provide.
   Flinx knew that the two walking past him were related in some fashion to every other Qwarm in the Commonwealth. Both wore skin-tight jet-black jump- suits ending in black ankle boots.  Those boots, he knew, contained many things besides feet, A decorative cape of black and rust-red streamers fluttered from each collar to the waist, like the tail of an alien bird.
   Having heard of the Qwarm but never having had the opportunity to see one, Flinx paused at a small booth.  Pretending to inspect a copper-crysacolla pitcher, he surreptitiously eyed the two retreating strangers.
   Standing behind them now, he could no longer see their faces, but he knew that the bodies inside the jumpsuits would be as hairless as their heads were beneath the black skullcaps. Red foil designs marked each cap, the only decorative touch aside from the streamers on their clothing. Various pouches and containers hung from each black belt-pouches and containers which held a great many varieties of death, Flinx knew. If he remembered correctly, each belt would be joined in front by a buckle cut from a single orange-red vanadium crystal, which would be inlaid with a gold skull-and-crossbones. Their uniform was sufficient to identify them.
   The crowd parted for them without panic. To run might be to give offense. No one desired to give offense to a Qwarm.
   Flinx took a step away from the booth-and froze. Unbidden, as it often was, his talent had unexpectedly given him an image. The image was of incipient murder. He hadn't sought the information. The most frustrating feature of his peculiar abilities was that they of- ten functioned most effectively when he had no need of them.
   Instantly he knew that the man and woman were a husband-wife team and that their quarry was very near. He tried for a picture of the quarry and, as he half expected, saw nothing.
   Even more bewildering were the waves of curiosity and confusion that emanated from the Qwarm couple. Flinx bad heard that the Qwarm were never puzzled about anything, least of all anything related to their work. Someone was nearby whom they had to murder, and this puzzled them. Strange. What could so puzzle a pair of professional killers?
   Flinx cast about for an explanation and found only a mental blank. He was human and only human once more. So he found himself torn between common sense and his damnably intense curiosity. If only that powerful sensation of uncertainty from the couple hadn't leaped into his mind. Nothing should puzzle a Qwarm so. Nothing! Cause concern, yes, because murder was still illegal and if caught they could be tried and punished by the authorities.
   But confusion? Impossible!
   Suddenly Flinx found himself walking not toward the receding solidity of the administration center but back into the depths of the sprawling, chaotic marketplace. The black-clad pair were easy to follow. They were utterly devoid of suspicion. Qwarm stalked others; no one followed a Qwarm.
   Despite Pip's nervous stirrings on his shoulder, Flinx moved closer. Still the Qwarm gave no indication that they were at all aware of him. At the moment he had nothing in mind beyond following the two killers to the source of their confusion.
   A small crowd formed a bottleneck just ahead. The black-clad couple paused and talked together in whispers. Flinx thought he could sense muscles tensing. They ceased conversing and seemed to be straining to see over the heads of the cluster of beings ahead of them.
   Moving forward, Flinx encountered a low section of ancient wall off to one side. Part of it was occupied by seated figures staring over the heads of the crowd. No one spared him a glance as he mounted the wall and joined them. Seated securely on the damp, slick stone, he found he could easily see over the heads of even the tall avians in the crowd, which consisted mostly of local humans sprinkled with a few warmly bundled thranx and a smattering of other alien types. His position afforded him a clear view of the center of attraction. He could also keep an eye on the Qwarm, off to his right.
   In front of the crescent of laughing, appreciative creatures was a small raised stage. Flinx experienced a jolt of recognition. Jongleurs, magicians, and other entertainers were using the public stage to perform their various specialties for the entertainment of the crowd and the enhancement of their own empty pockets. Not much more than a year and a half ago, he had been one of those hopeful, enthusiastic performers. He and Pip had gone through much since those days. He felt the snake relax, responding to his nostalgic mood.
   A juggler currently working the stage finished manipulating four brightly colored spheres. One by one he tossed them into the air, and one by one they vanished, to the apparent mystification of the performer and the appreciative oohs and ahs of the crowd. The watchers applauded; the juggler collected. Life advanced.
   Flinx smiled. The material of which the balls were composed remained visible only when heat was steadily applied-such as that generated by the juggler's rapidly moving hands. When that activating body heat was removed, even for a couple of seconds, the spheres became invisible. Behind the stage, Flinx knew, the juggler's assistant waited to catch the carefully thrown invisible objects. Timing was essential to the act, since the assistant had to be in just the right position to catch the spheres.
   The juggler departed. As the next act came out on stage, Flinx felt a supple dig at his mind. For a brief instant he was experiencing the same feeling as the Qwarm. Looking over, he felt that they were straining to see a little harder.
   He turned his attention to their intended victim.
   A tall, robust-looking individual, the figure on stage was not as dark-skinned as Flinx. Black hair fell in greasy strands down his neck. He was dressed simply in sandals, loose slickertic pants, and a shirt opened to show a mat of thick curls on his chest. The shift sleeves were puffed, possibly to hide part of the act. Try as he would, Flinx could see or detect nothing remarkable about the man-certainly nothing that might require the attention of two Qwarm instead of one. Yet something here worried someone enough to engage the services of those dread people.
   Holding on to a shiny cord, the man was pulling at something still hidden behind the stage backdrop. The jokes and insults he alternately bestowed on whatever was at the other end of the cord were not particularly clever, but the crowd was well baited, anxious to see what could absorb such comments without responding.
   It was beginning to drizzle again. The crowd, used to omnipresent precipitation, ignored the rain. The jokes started to wear thin, and the crowd showed signs of restlessness. Having built the suspense, the rope-handler vented a violent curse and gave a hard yank on the cord. Flinx tensed slightly, now really anxious to see what was at the other end of the tether.
   When the creature finally wobbled unsteadily around the backdrop, its appearance was so anticlimactic, so utterly ludicrous, that Flinx found himself laughing in mixed relief and disbelief. So did the rest of the crowd.
   What emerged from behind the wall was probably the dopiest-looking creature he had ever seen, of a species completely unknown to him. Barely over a meter and a half tall, it was shaped roughly like a pear. The ovoid skull tapered unbroken into a conical neck, which in turn spread out into a wide, bulbous lower torso. It stumbled about on four legs ending in circular feet tipped with toe stubs. Where the neck began to spread into the lumpy body, four arms projected outward, each ending in four well-developed, jointless fingers. The thing gave the impression of being rubbery, boneless.
   The creature was dressed in a vest with holes cut at equal intervals for the four arms. Baggy, comical trousers completed the attire. Four large holes were set around the top of the head. Flinx guessed these were hearing organs. Beneath them, four limpid eyes stared stupidly in all directions.  Occasionally one or two would blink, revealing double lids which closed like shades over the center of each pupil.
   A single organ like an elephants flexible trunk protruded from the top of the bald skull. It ended in a mouth, which served, Flinx guessed, as both eating and speaking organ ... assuming the thing was capable of making noises.
   As if this grotesque farrago of organs, limbs, and costume wasn't hysterical enough, the creature was colored bright sky-blue, with green vertical stripes running from neck to feet. Its owner-manager-trainer gave the cord another sharp yank, and the apparition wobbled forward, letting out a comical honk. Those in the front of the crowd burst into laughter again.
   Flinx only winced. Although the tugs on the cord didn't seem to be injuring the creature physically, he didn't like to see anything mistreated. Besides, no matter how hard its owner palled, Flinx had the feeling that the creature was moving at its own speed, in its own time.
   Then, abruptly, Flinx wondered what he was doing there. He ought to be bunting down officials and records, not watching an unremarkable sideshow. The training which had preserved him as a child in Drallar began to reassert itself. It was none of his business if the Qwarm wanted to kill an itinerant animal trainer. He could gain nothing by intruding himself into this affair, Flinx reminded himself coldly. His curiosity had gotten him into trouble often enough before.
   He began to slip from his perch as the man in question ran through his routine, prancing about on stage while the crowd laughed at his antics and at those of the poorly trained but funny-looking creature. As the owner attempted to get the creature to execute various movements and the thing clumsily tried to comply, the laughter rose steadily.
   Flinx was about to abandon his place when something happened to give him pause-at a command from the owner, the creature spoke.
   It had an arresting, well-modulated, and undeniably intelligent voice, and it spoke quite comprehensible Terrangio despite its alien vocal organs. At another command, the creature switched to symbospeech, the commercial and social dialect of the Commonwealth. The alien's voice was a high, mellifluous tenor that bordered on the girlish.
   It was reciting gibberish. The words each meant something, but the way the alien was stringing them together made no sense. Over this rambling monologue, the trainer was speaking to the crowd. "Alas," the man was saying, "this strange being) who lives to delight and amuse us all, might possibly be as intelligent as you or I. Yet it cannot learn to speak understandably, for all that it could be our superior."
   At this the alien produced- on cue from its trainer, Flinx suspected- another of its hysterical honks. The crowd, momentarily mesmerized by the trainer's spiel, collapsed with laughter again.
   "Unfortunately," the trainer went on when the roar had subsided, "poor Ab is quite insane. Isn't that right, Ab?" he asked the alien. It responded with more of its nonstop gibbering, only this time all in rhyme. "Maybe he's glad, maybe he's sad, but as the philosopher once said, he is undoubtedly mad," the trainer observed, and the alien honked again, beaming at the crowd.
   Flinx made an attempt to plunge into that alien mind. He achieved just what he expected, which was nothing. If an intelligence capable of something greater than mimicry existed there, it was hidden from him. More likely, there was nothing there to read.
   Flinx pitied the creature and idly wondered where it bad come from as he jumped down off the wall and brushed at the seat of his clammy pants. No doubt the Qwarm were going to perform their job soon, and he had no morbid desire to stay around to discover what method they were going to employ.
   It hit him like a hammer blow when he was halfway up the street. The imagery had come from the Qwarm. Turning and walking quickly back toward the crowd, he had a glimpse of them heading for a nearby building. The image they had unexpectedly projected explained the cause of their confusion: Their intended victim was not the simple animal trainer but rather his subject.
   It was reputed that the Qwarm did not hire themselves out for killing cheaply or frivolously. Therefore, one had to assume that in utter seriousness, and at considerable expense to someone-they were about to murder a foolish, seemingly harmless alien.
   There was no hint of worry or suspicion in the trainer's mind, and nothing at all in that of his muddled ward. The minds of the Qwarm held only continued confusion and a desire to complete their assigned task. They could not question their task aloud, but they wondered privately,
   The stone-and-wood structure they vanished into was slightly over two stories tall, backed up against several other old, solid edifices. As if in a daze, Flinx found himself moving toward the same building. Listening with mind and ears, hunting with eyes, he stopped at the threshold. No one was standing guard inside the doorway. And why should they? Who would trail Qwarm, especially these Qwarm?
   He stepped into the building. The old stairway at the far end of the hallway showed one of the Qwarm ascending out of view. It was the woman, and she had been pulling something from a pouch. Flinx thought the object she removed might be a very tiny, expertly machined pistol of black metal.
   Cautioning Pip to silence, Flinx approached the railing and started upward, alert for any movement from above. As he mounted the rickety spiral he ran his last image of her over again in his mind. Probably a dart pistol, he mused. He knew of organic darts that would dissolve in a victim's body immediately after insertion. Both the dart and the toxin it carried would become undetectable soon after injection.
   The staircase opened onto a second floor. Flinx turned his head slowly. Both Qwarm were standing by a window. One of them pulled the shade aside and peered through cautiously.
   A quick glance revealed that this floor was being lived on. It was sparsely but comfortably appointed. In a far, dark corner an attractive but tired-looking young woman was huddling on cushions, cuddling a much younger girl protectively in her arms. She was staring fearfully at the Qwarm.
   Flinx returned his attention to the assassins. While her companion held the shade back, the woman was readying the black pistol, her arm resting motionless on the windowsill. Without question, she was about to murder the alien.
   He had learned everything he could here; there was no point in staying around. As he started to retreat back down the stairs, the woman in the dark corner saw him and drew in a startled breath. No normal person would have noticed it, but to the Qwarm it might just as well have been a scream. Both whirled from the window, startled. Pip was off Flinx's shoulder before the youth could restrain the minidrag.
   Reaching for his boot top, Flinx beard a slight phut from the supposed dart pistol. The explosive shell blew apart the section of floor he bad just been leaning against. Then he rose and threw the knife in one smooth motion at the other Qwarm, who was fumbling at a belt pouch. It struck the man in the neck. He went down, trying to staunch the Sow of blood from his severed artery.
   The female hesitated ever so slightly, unable to make up her mind whether to fire at Flinx or at the darting, leathery little nightmare above her. The hesitation was fatal. Pip spat, and the minidrag’s venom struck the woman in the eyes. Unbelievably, she didn't scream as she stumbled about the room, clawing frantically at her face. She banged into the wall, fell over the twitching body of the man, and began rolling on the floor.
   Fifteen seconds later, she was dead.
   The man continued to bleed, though he had stopped moving. Flinx entered the room and rapidly inspected side rooms and closets. He was safe-for the moment. The little girl in the corner was crying softly now, but the woman holding her merely stared wide-eyed at Flinx, still too terrified to scream.
   "Don't tell a soul of this," Flinx admonished her as a nervous Pip coiled once more around his right shoulder.
   "We won't ... please, don't kill us,” the woman whispered in fear. Flinx gazed into blank, pleading eyes. The little girl stared at the two motionless bodies, trying to understand.
   Flinx found himself staggering back toward the stairway. Without even bothering to recover his knife, he plunged down the steps. Somehow he had completely lost control of events and as had happened too often in the past, events had ended up controlling him.
   At the bottom of the stairs he paused, regarding the open doorway as an enemy. A glance right and left showed that this floor was still deserted. There had to be a back way out; he went hunting and found a little used exit opening onto a narrow, smelly alley. The pathway appeared empty. After a careful search, he started down it at a brisk trot. Soon he was back on the streets. The moment he was convinced he wasn't being followed, he turned and angled back toward the stage, approaching it from a new direction.
   As for the woman with the child, he suspected she would find new lodgings as quickly and quietly as possible. She might notify the police and she might not.
   By the time be reached his destination, the show was concluding. He slipped easily into the protective wall of bodies. Nothing had changed:  The trainer was still making jokes at the dopey alien's expense and the alien was bearing it all with the serenity of the softheaded. And that oval head did look soft, Flinx reflected. So why bad the Qwarm felt it necessary to use such dangerously identifiable explosive projectiles?
   A respectable amount of applause and some tossed coins were awarded at the end of the show, as much for uniqueness as for polish, he suspected. The trainer scrambled about after the coins without regard for dignity.
   The crowd started to disperse. Apparently the alien act was the last for the afternoon at this location. Flinx sauntered casually backstage, where he found the trainer counting his money and inspecting his few props. Almost at once, the man grew aware of Flinx's attention and looked up sharply. On seeing that it was only a youth, he relaxed.
   "What do you want, youngling?" he inquired brusquely.
   "We have something in common, sir."
   "I can't imagine what."
   "We both train aliens." Pip moved suddenly on Flinx's shoulder, showing bright colors in the cloud-filtered light. The man frowned, and squinted as he peered close.
   "I don't recognize your pet, boy."
   Whoever this fellow was, Flinx thought, he wasn't well traveled or informed. Minidrags were not common, but their reputation far exceeded their numbers. Yet this man obviously didn't know one when he saw one.
   Flinx found his attention shifting to the alien, which stood patiently to one side, muttering rhythmically to itself in some unknovm language. "In any case," he explained, "I'm curious about your pet. I've never seen anything like him." To make conversation, he went on, "Where did you get its name from?"
   Flint's politeness disarmed the man a little. "It came with the poor dumb monster," he explained, exhibiting more sympathy than Flinx would have suspected of him. "I bought it from an animal dealer who thought it no more than that. But the creature has some kind of intelligence. It can speak as well as you or I, and in many languages. But in none of ‘em does it make sense. Oh, Ab's quite mad, it is, but he can learn. Slowly, but enough to serve in the act." He smiled," now filled with pride. "I was smart enough to recognize his uniqueness. No one else has ever been able to identify Ab's species either,) boy. I hope it's a long-lived one, though, since this one's irreplaceable.
   "Far as the name goes, that's kind of a funny tale. Only time he's ever made sense." He frowned. "I was trying to decide what to call 'im when he gave out with one of his crazy ramblings." He turned and eyed the alien. One egg-yolk eye watched him while the other  three operated independently, Flinx considered that a creature capable of looking in four directions at once must have a mind of considerable complexity, simply to monitor such a flood of neural responses.
   "What's your name, idiot," the trainer asked, pronouncing the words slow and careful. "Name!"
   "Mana, Orix, Geimp nor Panda," the liquid tones ventured promptly, "my name is Abalamahalamatandra."
   While the creature continued to mumble on in verse, the man looked back at Flinx. "Easy to see why I call 'im Ab, hey?" he bent over and wiped at his muddy boots. "Dealer I bought him from had no clue to his species. Just assured me he was docile and friendly, which he is."
   "It's remarkable," Flinx observed, Battering the man as he studied the blue-and-green lump, "that as mad as Ab is, you've managed to teach him so much."
   "Told you, boy, all I've taught Ab are the rules of the act. He's a mind of his own, of sorts. I said he can talk in many tongues, didn't I?" Flinx nodded. "Terrangio and symbospeech are just two of 'em. Every once in a while Ab gives me a start when I think he's said something almost sensible," He shrugged. "Then when I try to follow it up he goes on blabbin' about the taste of the sky or the color of air or stuff I can't make any sense of whatsoever. You're curious about 'im, are you? Go over and say hello, then."
   "You're sure it's all right?"
   "I said he was friendly, boy. In any case, he's got no teeth."
   Flinx approached the alien tentatively. The creature observed his approach with two eyes, which crossed as he neared. Flinx smiled in spite of himself. Experimentally, he extended a hand as if to shake the alien's.
   Two eyes dipped downward. One smooth hand came up and slapped Flinx's palm. Flinx drew his hand back sharply, more surprised than hurt. As if in admonition, another hand came around and slapped at the one which bad struck Flinx. Apparently enchanted, the alien commenced slapping its four palms together, entirely ignoring Flinx.
   The alien palm had been hard, flat, and cool to the touch.
   The owner was speaking again. "Ab will eat just about anything except," he finished with a smile, "me and thee." Rising, he walled up to Ab and booted the creature hard. It ceased slapping itself and resumed mumbling steadily, like an idling engine. "C'mon, sit down for a while, you stupid monstrosity.”
   Showing no sign of pain, Ab sat down on the ground and began cleaning its feet with all four hands. In that position it looked like a demented triclops trying to pull its toes off. Again Flinx found himself grinning unintentionally.
   "Have to do that when I'm not watchin' 'im," the man explained, "or he'll wander off."
   "I can see why you use Ab in a comedy act," Flinx observed readily. "What I can't understand is why anyone, least of all a Qwarm, would want to kill it."
   At the mention of the assassin clan the trainer lost his composure, his emerging friendliness, and most of the color in his face.
   "Qwarm?" he stammered.
   "Two of them," Flinx elaborated. He nearly turned and indicated the building with its window facing on the stage. Then he thought better of it, "I don't know why they changed their minds," he lied, "but I know for a fact that they want your pet dead."
   "Qwarm?" the man repeated. At that moment, Ab appeared to be the more balanced of the two. Looking around frantically, the man grabbed a small black satchel. A couple of coins fell from a half-open pocket. He ignored them.
   "You train aliens too?" he bloated hurriedly. "Good. He's all yours now, boy."
   "Wait a minute!" Flinx protested. Things were happening too quickly again. "I don't want to-"
   " 'Bye and luck to you, boy!" the man shouted back to him. He put out a hand, vaulted a nearby railing, and vanished on the nm into the milling crowd nearby. "Hey, hold on'" Flinx shouted, rushing to the railing. "Come back, I can't take care of-"
   There was a tentative honk from behind. Flinx turned and saw Ab staring blankly at him while mumbling steadily. When he turned back to the crowd, the trainer was out of sight, though his terror still lingered like the scent of cloves.
   Flinx stared over and down at the striped blue alien. "Now what am I going to do with you?" The fix he now found himself in was his own fault, of course, if be had taken care not to mention the Qwarm by name ... Well, no matter now. He started to walk away. A fresh, louder honk stopped him.
   Ab had stood up and was following Flinx. At the sight of that utterly open, helpless face, Flinx's coldness shattered. Whatever else he did he couldn't leave the poor thing alone. It would probably remain where it was, cleaning itself, until someone took charge of it or it starved to death.
   Served him right. He had started the day in an at- tempt to find out something about himself. Instead, he'd killed two Qwarm and acquired an alien simpleton by default.
   "I can't keep you,'* he told the bubbling creature, "but we'll find a place for you as quickly as possible." One big eye blinked disarmingly at him.
   "Mur'til burtill?" he sang.
   "Yeah, come on," Flinx instructed. "I'm going to finish the day the way I should have started it." He started off; a glance behind showed the creature following dutifully, weaving on its four legs. Spouting sing-song nonsense, it trailed Flinx through the crowd, apparently as happy with its present master as it bad been with the former one.
   Flinx was not happy with the stares his strange companion drew, but there was nothing that could be done about it. As soon as he finished with the records department, he would get rid of the creature.
   There was a knock at the door,
   The woman sent her silent little girl into the bathroom. Then she walked over to lean against the door and listened with one hand on the bolt. "Yes?" she finally asked quietly.
   "You have a delivery," a soft voice replied.
   That was the code sentence. She glanced at the covered bodies of the black-clad man and woman lying beneath the window and threw the bolt sharply.
   "Thank you for coming so quick," she said gratefully. "I don't care how you dispose of them, just-" She choked on the rest of the words.
   The man on the other side of the doorway was not from the discreet service she had contacted. Dressed entirely in black, devoid of hair even to the shaved eyebrows, he was clearly a mate to the corpses in her chamber.
   His gaze indicated that he bore her no animosity, but that he would as soon kill her as talk with her. Her hand went to her lips, and she slowly backed away from the door as the man entered. He was tall- very tall. He had to bend to fit beneath the portal.
   His stare traveled across the room, lingering momentarily on the two shapes beneath the blankets. Embroidered red whirls on his skullcap caught the after- noon light, as did the skull engraved into his belt buckle. It gleamed like alien blood in the room.
   "I didn't," the woman started to say, then she slumped inwardly, her hands falling limply to her side. "What does it matter now," she muttered, with the resignation of those who have no hope. She sank down on the pillows in the far corner, where she entertained business far too frequently. "It's a rotten life, probably hopeless for the poor child, too. Kill me if you want. This is all too far above me. I can't light any more."
   Ignoring her, the man strode past her to kneel above the two bodies. He did not seem to believe these two could be dead. When he finished, he rose and turned to her. The fury in his eyes was so bright that in spite of her declaration she shrank back a little deeper into the cushions.
   "I have no quarrel with .you or your child," he explained, with a curt nod in the direction of the bathroom. "Why, though, did you not notify us instead of calling for others to take away the dead?"
   The woman laughed hollowly. "Nobody contacts the Qwarm if it can be avoided, no matter what their situation."
   "True. I note your point," the tall specter acknowledged without humor. "I suppose it would have been too much to expect." Moving to the window, he leaned out and made a beckoning motion.
   Shortly, four men entered the room. They were not Qwarm. Carefully they loaded the bodies into two long cylinders. When they departed, the tall hunter turned his attention back to the silent woman in the corner. There was a soft murmur from the region of the bathroom.
   "Mommy... can I come out now?"
   Suddenly the woman looked frightened again. Her gaze shifted rapidly from the tall figure to the bathroom door and back again.
   "I said I have no quarrel with yon, woman." He leaned close over her, ice-eyed, hollow-cheeked. "Our quarrel is with whoever was foolish enough to have done this thing." Reaching into a pocket at his belt, he brought out a fistful of metal bars.
   In spite of her fear, the woman's eyes glowed. Here was more money than she had ever seen at one time in her life. It represented many, many weeks during which she would not have to entertain visitors in the room.
   "Describe them," the Qwarm said tightly, extending the metal.
   The woman licked her lips as she considered. She did not have to consider long. "Not them," she corrected. "Him."
   For the first time since entering the apartment, the specter showed some emotion: surprise. "Only one?" he inquired in a disbelieving, warning tone. "You are certain? Might he have had friends, accomplices?"
   "I don't know," she insisted. "I saw only one man. Boy, maybe. He was young, less than twenty for certain," She grimaced. "I'm good at estimating such things. No taller than myself, dark skin, red hair ..." She went on describing Flinx as best she could, from clothing to demeanor.
   When she had finished, the man handed her the metal bars, not throwing them at her feet, as her visitors did. Exhibiting an unnerving politeness, he murmured a startlingly gentle "Thank you" and turned to leave.
   "You're not ... going to kill us?" the woman wondered, still unable to comprehend her good fortune.
   For the second time the tall figure showed surprise. "You have been only a witness to unfortunate events you could not affect. You have done nothing detrimental to me or mine, and you have been helpful. We will not see you again, and this business will be concluded satisfactorily very soon now." He closed the door behind him quietly.
   Stunned, the woman sat on the pillows and stared at the gleaming metal in her hands. She tried not to think about the promise of silence she had made to the youth as he fled from her rooms. But what could she have done? Money or not, she eventually would have told the Qwarm anything he wanted to know, voluntarily or-she shuddered-otherwise. And she had the child to think of.
   She managed a slight smile. At least she might have given the boy a chance, through one slight oversight on her part. She had told the Qwarm the truth when she said she had seen only one man. But she had failed to mention the small flying dragon that had slain one of the two dead ones. Let the Qwarm form their own conclusions from the state of the two corpses.
   The tall man had carried through on his other promises, so she assumed he had told the truth when he said he would never see her again. Nevertheless, after letting her frightened daughter out of the bathroom. She set about making preparations to find new lodgings. The money represented by the metal bars would permit them to leave Moth, and she was in a rush to do so.
   Chapter Three
    
   Administrative offices wove in and about one an- other like copulating squid. Though raised on Drallar, Flinx still had a terrible time trying to locate the offices he wanted.
   At first sight, minor bureaucrats were inclined to regard the persistent youth with contempt. Such bellicose thoughts, however, always brought a quivering, questioning little head out from beneath the folds of Flinx’s clothing. It was amazing how rapidly once-indifferent civil servants took an interest in Flinx's problem. Helpful as they tried to be, he still found himself shunted from one department to the next. Planetary Resources bounced him down to Taxation, which kicked him up to Resources again.
   Finally he found himself in a small, dingy compartment occupied by a sixth-level bureaucrat in the King's government. This lowly tape-twister was a tired, withered old man who had started life with great expectations, only to turn around one day and discover that he had become old. He sighed unencouragingly when Flinx once again explained his request.
   "We don't have slave records here, boy."
   "I know that, sir," Flinx acknowledged, settling himself into a chair so ancient it was actually made of real wood instead of plastic. "But money changed hands not just between seller and buyer, but between seller and the government in the form of taxes. Slave sales still require more documentation than most today.  I'm assuming that hasn't changed in the past, oh, dozen years."
   "Not that I know of, boy, not that I know of. Okay, we'll give it a try. What do they call yon, and what is the name of the one whose sale you wish to trace?"
   "I'm called Flinx. The name I wish to trace is Philip Lynx, and I have the exact date of the transaction.” The man nodded when Flinx gave him the date.
   "Couldn't do much without that," he admitted. He rose and tottered to the wall behind him. It was lined from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with tiny squares. Examining the wall, he finally touched several minute buttons. One of the squares clicked and extended itself into a meter-long tray. A single thin piece of dark plastic popped out of the tray.
   Removing the thin square, the old man inserted it into a boxy machine on the left side of his desk. Then he turned it to face the left-hand wall, which was coated with a silvery-white substance.
   At that point he paused, one wrinkled hand hovering over the controls of the machine. "I need to know the reason and justification for showing this, boy," he announced pleasantly. Flinx laid a discreet but ample bribe in the hovering palm.  After transferring the money to a pocket, the hand activated the controls on the device.
   "You don't have to tell me," the old man went on, "and it's none of my business, but why this transaction, exactly?"
   "You're correct, it's none of your business." "The old man looked resigned and, disappointed, turned away from Flinx. Motivated by some perverse impulse, Flinx blurted it out: "It's myself that was sold. I'm that same Philip Lynx."
   Rheumy eyes squinted at him, but the man said nothing, merely nodded slowly. Aware that he had learned more than he was entitled to, he activated the projector. A series of seemingly endless tiny figures appeared on the wall. The oldster was experienced at his task. He scanned the figures and words as they flashed past on the wall faster than Flinx could follow. Abruptly, the flash flood of figures slowed, then began to back up, and finally it stopped,
   "Here we are," the clerk declared with satisfaction, using a built-in arrow to indicate one thin line. "A tax of twenty-two credits paid to the municipal fund on the sale in the city of one boy Lynx, Philip. Selling price was," and he ran off figures and facts Flinx already knew. Date of transaction, time ... Flinx grinned when the name of the purchaser was read. So, Mother Mastiff had paid the tax under a false name.
   "That's all?" he inquired when the wall unexpectedly went dark. "Nothing on the origin of the shipment, where it arrived from?"
   "I'm truly sorry, boy," the old man confessed, sounding as if he meant it. He turned and folded his hands on the desk. "What did you expect? This department holds only financial records. But ..." He hesitated, then went on. "If you want more information, if I were you I'd look up Arcadia Organics in the slave traders' offices. That's the firm that sold you. They might still retain some records themselves. They're not the largest concern of that type on Moth, but they're not the smallest, either. That's what I'd do if I were you, boy."
   "I'd rather not," Flinx admitted. Returning to the slave market under any circumstances was a disquieting prospect. "But since that's where my only remaining hope leads, I suppose I must." Rising, he nodded thankfully to the old man. "You've been very kind, old sir." He turned to go.
   "Just a minute, boy." Flinx turned, and winced reflexively as he caught something thrown at him. It was a small but still substantial credit chip-the same one he had given the oldster moments ago. His gaze went to the aged clerk, who could expect little more in the way of promotion or money in his lifetime. His eyes framed an unvoiced question.
   "I don't have much drive, never did, and I'm a stranger to greed. I'm afraid," he explained slowly. "Also, compassion- that's out of keeping with being a successful bureaucrat."
   "I can see that, old sir," Flinx acknowledged, respectfully tossing the chip back. It clattered faintly on the tabletop. "That's why you're going to keep this."
   "I don't take bribes," the old clerk said firmly, ignoring the chip, "from those more unfortunate than myself."
   "Appearances can be deceiving, old man," Flinx insisted, giving the impression that he wasn't boasting. "Keep it." He turned and left the room, left an uncertain yet gratified human being staring after him.
    
   Flinx spent the night with Mother Mastiff, regaling her with tales of his trip to Earth. He detailed his visit to United Church headquarters on the island of Ball, told of his eventual discovery of who his natural mother was, and something of her death.
   He told a carefully edited story, for he left out his encounter with the daughter of Rashalleila Nuaman, who, had turned out to be his half sister. Nor did he mention the Baron of the AAnn, Riidi WW, or Conda Challis, or that unfortunate merchant's mysterious off- spring, Mahnahmi-the girl with the angelic visage and wild talents. Most important, he left out any mention of his journey to Ulru-UJurr and his commitment to educate the innocent geniuses who were the Ulri-Ujurrians themselves.
   Whether she could figure out that there was more to his tale, Flinx could not tell. With Mother Mastiff, one was never certain whether a lie had been believed or tolerated. In any case, she did not comment until he mentioned his intention of looking up the slave firm which had originally sold him,
   "I don't know, boy," she muttered. "Do yon think it wise?"
   "Why not? All they can do is refuse to talk to me."
   "It's your state of mind that concerns me, Flinx. You've been throwing yourself into this search for a long while. I worry what you'll do if this last trail dead-ends on you."
   He did not look at her. "Let's see what Arcadia Organics tells me, first."
   She tapped the arm of the plush chair she sat in. "Better to leave yourself some hope. You'll drain it too quickly."
   Now he stared at her in surprise. "Mother Mastiff, what are you afraid of? Of what I might find?"
   "I haven't stood in your way during this mad chase of yours, boy. You know that. Though I'd rather you spent your time looking for a fine young lady of wealth and form to settle down with." She leaned forward out of the chair. "It's only that I don't like to see so much of you put into a wild-drizer chase. By your own ad- mission, it has left you almost dead several times now." Flinx wondered what she would say if he told her about the encounter with the two Qwarm he-and Pip-had killed this morning.
   "I'm sorry” Mother Mastiff. It seems this search is controlling me, not the other way around. I've got to know. My mother I found out about. Suppose . . . suppose my father is still alive?"
   "Oh, what of that!" she shouted angrily. "What would that mean? Would it change you any, boy? Would it affect your life?"
   Flinx started one reply, settled himself down, and switched to another. "I tell you what. Mother. If he's a fine man of wealth and form, I'll bring him back here, and maybe then I can finally get you to settle down."
   She gaped at him momentarily, then broke into a robust cackling laugh which did not seem to die down until the last vestiges of daylight did. "All right, boy, you go," she finally agreed, sniffing and blowing her nose. "But be certain you take that gargoyle with you." She pointed to a far corner of the room, where Abalamahalamatandra was honking and rhyming steadily to himself. "I will not have that monster living in my house, and I certainly can't keep him downstairs in the store. He'll scare away customers."
   "Who, Ab?" argued Flinx desperately. He had hoped to unload the helpless tag-along on Mother Mastiff. "What else can I do with him? I can't let him follow me around."
   "Why not?" she countered. "He seems happy enough doing so."
   "I was thinking maybe you could take care of him for a while," he pleaded. "Besides, Ab doesn't frighten people; he makes them laugh."
   "Maybe he makes you laugh," she snorted, "maybe he makes others laugh," She jabbed a leathery thumb at her bony sternum. "But he doesn't make me laugh. I want him out of my house and out of my shop, boy.” She thought a moment, then ventured brightly, "As to what you can do with him, well, you're going to the slave market tomorrow. Sell him. Yes," she finished, well pleased with herself, "maybe you can make a profit on your inconvenience."
   "I can't," he whispered.
   "Why not?"
   He thought rapidly. "Having once been sold myself, Mother, I can't see myself selling another creature. I'll let him follow me, I guess, until I can find him a kind home."
   Flinx turned to eye his new ward while Mother Mastiff grunted in disgust. There was no way he could tell her that he was keeping Ab around because he was still curious as to why the Qwarm wanted him dead.
   Ab honked and gazed cryptically back at him with two vacant blue eyes.
   The following day dawned damp and drizzly. That was not the reason behind Fhnx's shivers, however. A modest walk had brought him to the outskirts of the slave market, and he was discovering that, despite his determination, the atmosphere was having a chilling effect on him. Pip squirmed anxiously on his shoulder, uncomfortable at his master's state of mind. The only member of the little group who remained unaffected was Ab, singsonging irrepressibly behind Flinx: "Neutron, neutron, who you are, why is an organ camelbar?"
   "Oh, shut up," Flinx muttered, aware that his admonition would have no effect.
   He made his way, frozen-eyed, through the stalls. The beautiful maidens and dancing girls were present, just as in the old spacers' tales and marketeers' stories, but they danced much more reluctantly and unenthusiastically than those stories would lead one to believe, Nor were they as sensuous and appealing as in those tales, neither the men nor the women.
   They were here, though. That Flinx knew. Drallar was a prime market world, a crossroads of the Commonwealth. Whether male, female, androgynous, or alien, the prime product was not put out on the avenue for the common herd to gawk at. In the streets around him, such dealings were consummated quietly, in secret. It was better that way, for it was rumored that sometimes there were souls who were not sold freely or honestly.
   There were various beings for sale, as the Commonwealth boasted a glut of organic power. A few thranx were present, though not many. The clannish insects who had amalgamated with mankind tended to care better for their own. He saw a thorps and some seal creatures from Largess, the latter looking more comfortable in the dampness of Moth than they would have on most Commonwealth worlds,
   One covered balcony provided seats for a handful of well-dressed prospective buyers. Few if any of them would be the ultimate owners, he knew. Most were merely intermediaries for respectable employers who wished not to be seen in such a place.
   Presently he noticed spirited bidding on a bewildered, narcotized boy of six. For all his blondness and differing features, the lad reminded Flinx of a similarly lonely child of many years ago. Himself.
   For a crazy instant he thought of buying the child and setting it free. Free on whom, though? Mother Mastiff would certainly never take in another foundling; he'd never understood what had possessed her to buy him.
   Ab knocked Flinx back to reality, bumping clumsily into him from behind.
   "Watch where you're going, you opinionated piece of elastic insulation!"
   A bulging blue orb winked at him, lids fluttering uncertainly. "To give offense in any sense," he began sensibly, only to finish with "lox are a very metaphysical bird, it's heard."
   "No doubt about it," Flinx shot back distastefully. He forced himself to a faster walk. He was anxious to leave this place.
   The sign over the office door in the street behind the stalls was tastefully lettered-not flashy, but eye catching, It bespoke a firm of moderate status, one which took a certain amount of pride in itself. The door was clean, polished, and made of intricately carved wood brought down from Moth's snow-clad northern continents. It read: ARCADIAORGAMICS.
   Home to the helpless and homeless, Flinx thought. The name sounded much better than Slave Dealer,
   He reached out and touched the silent buzzer. After a brief wait, the door slid aside silently. It turned out to be much thicker than it looked from outside. The delicate woodwork was a thin veneer laid over metal.
   Completely filling the portal was a massive humanoid of solemn demeanor. He glanced down at Flinx and addressed him in a deep, throaty voice: "Your business here, man."
   "I've come to see the owner, about an earlier sale of his."
   The giant paused, appearing to listen. Flinx noticed a small ghnt of metal, some sort of transmitter, built into the left side of the humanoid's skull. The installation looked permanent.
   "The nature of the complaint?" the giant inquired, flexing muscles like pale duraplast.
   "I didn't say it was a complaint," Flinx corrected cheerfully. "It's just something I'd like cleared up." With Pip's aid, he knew, be could force his way past even this brute, but doing so would not help him gain the information he sought. "It's a question of pedigree."
   Once more the man-mountain relayed the information to parts unseen. His response this time was to move aside with the same mechanical precision as the door. "You will be attended to," Flinx was assured. He would have preferred the invitation to have been phrased otherwise.
   Nevertheless, he stepped into the small chamber, Ab followed, his rhyming loud in the confined space. The room was empty of furniture.
   A hand the size of a dinner plate gently touched Flinx's shoulder-not the one Pip rested on, fortunately, or circumstances might have become awkward. "Stand, please," Seeing no place to go, Flinx readily complied.
   A polelike finger touched a switch. There was a hum, and Flinx felt himself dropping. Forcing himself to be calm, he affected an attitude of pleasant indifference as the floor and room sank into the ground. Before very long he found himself in a much larger room. It was spacious and neatly decorated, and it fit the man who moved around the table at its far end to greet Flinx as he stepped out of the elevator.
   Twisted and braided dark ringlets cascaded over forehead and neck. The man was a little taller than Flinx and roughly three times his age, though he looked younger. A pointed vandyke and curled-up mustache gave the slaver the appearance of a foppish raven with clipped wings. A very large star-ruby ring on the man's pinky was the only meretricious detail in the office.
   After greeting Flinx politely, the man escorted him to a lavishly brocaded chair. A proffered drink was declined. Flinx thought the fellow looked disappointed at the youth of his visitor, but he tried hard not to show it. After all, Dralar was home to spoiled children as well as spoiled adults.
   "Now, what can I do for yon, young master? My name is Char Mormis, owner and third generation in
   Arcadia Organics. Don't tell me- it's a young lady you're looking for. I knew it! I can always tell." While Char Mormis spoke his hands charted each sentence like a seismograph measuring tremors. "I can always tell when they're hunting for comforting." He winked lewdly across the desk. "Name your tastes, young master. Arcadia can supply you."
   "Sorry, Mr. Mormis," Flinx said, "but Fm not here to buy."
   "Oh." The slaver looked crestfallen. He leaned back in his chair and tugged at the point of his beard.
   "You're here to sell?" he asked uncertainly, eyeing the rhyming Ab, who stood by the elevator entrance.
   "Neither," Flinx informed him firmly.
   Mormis let out a reluctant sigh. "Then you really are here over a question of pedigree. Oh well. How may I help you, young master? Is there some question of inaccuracy?" He appeared genuinely distressed at the prospect. "It pains me to think we might be responsible for such an error. We are not dealers in the highest-priced merchandise, but," he added conspiratorially, "we have the advantage of being honest."
   "Relax," Flinx advised the slaver. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just need some information. It concerns a boy named Philip Lynx you sold to a woman named"-he grinned-"it wasn't her real name, but that doesn't matter. The boy's name is correct. He was four, five years old at the time of sale."
   Mormis spread his hands. "I'll tell you what I know, of course. We retain permanent records of every one of our transactions." Faith, but he was so smooth, so polite, Flinx mused.  "But first, young master, you must satisfy me that you have a right to such information. Slaves have a right to their privacy too, you know. We respect the rights of our purchased as well as those of our purchasers."
   "Glad to hear it," admitted Flinx.
   Mormis' studied the confident youth seated across from him. "Let me guess. The boy was bought to be a companion for you. You've grown up with him. Now you've become curious about his original background. Or maybe he's asked you to inquire about it to satisfy his own curiosity. You look to be about his age."
   "I am," agreed Flinx. “I’m him."
   Mormis did not appear as surprised as the elderly clerk had been at this information. He simply slumped into his chair and looked weary.
   "I was afraid it might be something like that. You must realize, Mr. Lynx-“
   "Just Flinx."
   "Very well. Yon must see, Flinx, that we have clients to protect in such cases. If it is revenge you seek, if you are on some kind of personal vendetta ..."
   Flinx shook his head impatiently. "Nothing of the sort. I give you my word, I'm only trying to find out what happened to my natural parents."
   Now Mormis looked sad. "Such cases are known. Very persistent people who gain their freedom often seek such information. All such searches I know of come to naught. If the sale of the child was voluntary, the parents go to great pains, usually successful, to conceal their identities forever. If the sale was involuntary, then the seller goes to the same lengths to disguise his identify. Even if you were to get into the archives on Terra itself-"
   "I've already done that," Flinx informed him.
   Mormis's eyes widened slightly. "You've been to Earth?"
   "I've been in the Church archives on Bali itself. Eventually I managed to find out who my mother was. She'd already been dead many years." Surprisingly, he found he could relate the information without pain. It was as if he were talking about someone else, not himself. There was only a cold emptiness in him.
   Mormis looked at him with fresh respect. It was evident in his tone as well. "You are an unusual young man."
   "So I've been fold," Flinx commented drily. "Now, about my request?"
   "Yes, certainly." Mormis activated an electronic filing system rather more modern than the one Flinx had visited yesterday. It coughed up a tiny rectangle, which the slaver inserted in a projector.
   "Here is the original record of sale," Mormis told him, pointing to the wall screen. "Look for yourself."
   Flinx was already doing so, raptly. His early self was spelled out on the wall, a human being metamorphosed into figures. Height, weight, hair and eye color, and every other vital statistic imaginable was shining brightly on the wall. He had to smile again when he saw the name of his buyer: the Grand Ladyess Fiona Florafin. Mother Mastiff was right-slavers were concerned only about the legitimacy of a purchaser's credit.
   Once again, that which he most hoped to find was absent. Remuneration was recorded as having gone to the House of Nuaman, presumably to enrich the coffers of his now-deceased aunt, the murderous Rashalleila. That fitted with what he already knew.
   Of his natural parents he found less here than he already knew; there was nothing about his mother to match what he had spent a year learning, nothing at all about his still-mysterious father.
   "Thank you, Char Mormis," he forced himself to say tightly, struggling to hide his disappointment. Finally, he had reached the dead end he'd feared. There was no place else to go, nowhere more to search.
   The matter was finished.
   "I appreciate your kindness." Flinx's hand moved in the direction of his credit cardmeter.
   Mormis waved the gesture off. "No, thank you, Flinx. The pleasure was mine. It's always heartening to see merchandise that has done well for itself. You are an independent citizen?"
   "Have been since the day I was bought, thanks to my buyer."
   "You know, it's odd ... Can't I persuade you to have a brandy?"
   Flinx shook his head. Despite Mormis's courtesy, the man was still of a breed for whom human lives were chips on a gaming table. He wanted out.
   But there was something prodding at Mormis. "It's strange ... I have an excellent memory for people- nature of the business, you understand." Flinx nodded without speaking. "But ... I think I remember your sale."
   Flinx sat down abruptly.
   "Yes, I'm sure of it. At that time it was my father, Shan Mormis, who was running Arcadia. I was still learning. But your sale, your sale ... it sticks in my mind for some reason. You've brought the memory back to me, for two reasons. The first concerned your buyer. An old woman?"
   Flinx nodded vigorously.
   "That grandiose name on the manifest"-the man gestured toward the wall-"didn't match her appearance. Does that make sense to you?"
   "A squat, heavy woman dressed in neat rags, with a vocabulary like a spacer?"
   "That description seems to fit," Mormis confessed, caught up in Flinx's excitement. "You keep in touch with your former owner?"
   "She was never really an owner in the usual sense," Flinx explained, a pugnacious yet affectionate picture of Mother Mastiff forming in his mind.
   "I suspected as much, considering your present status. Such a contrast between appearance and given name-how could one forget? The other memory concerns the one other person who was bidding for you." Mormis looked embarrassed. "You were not a quality item."
   "My value on the scale of such things doesn't depress me," Flinx assured him.
   "Self-deprecation …, a good trait in mer- in a citizen," the slaver corrected himself hastily. "It was the spirited bidding for your unremarkable self between two extraordinary persons which remains in my memory."
   "What of the other bidder?" insisted Flinx eagerly.
   "Well, he was human, quite human. Huge he was, built like a city wall. Would have fetched a pretty price on the stage. Sadly, he was on the wrong end of the business. He must have weighed as much as two good- sized men. Heavy-planet upbringing, no 'doubt. All white-haired he was, though I think it was premature. Two meters tall, easily." Mormis paused, and Flinx had to urge him to continue.
   "There must be more."
   Mormis strained at his memory. "So many over the years ... that face, though. A cross between a libertine's and a prophet's. And I think he wore a gold ring in one ear. Yes, I'm sure of it. A gold ring, or at least one of golden hue."
   "A name. Char Mormis a name!"
     The slaver rambled on. "You weren't sold very high, Flinx. I think the fellow had reason to leave the bid- ding when he did. He left in a rush, and as I recall there were an inordinate number of soldiers milling about. But I shadow-play a scenario. I never heard him mention a name."
   "Anything else?" Flinx pressed him, refusing to be discouraged. "Why did he want to buy me?"
   Mormis looked away, as if Flinx had touched on something the slaver would have preferred not to discuss. "We do not inquire into the motives of our customers. Once the transaction is completed, subsequent events pass into the jurisdiction of the authorities. Our businesses to sell, not to judge."
   "But he left before the bidding closed," Flinx mused. "Then it's conceivable he could have outbid the woman who bought me?"
   "Naturally, that's possible."
   "You can't remember anything else about him?"
   Mormis pursed his lips in disapproval, "After twelve years? I think it's remarkable I've remembered what I have. If you will entertain a hypothesis, I would say that, considering the limited bidding for you, the fellow looked on you as an investment."
   Flinx didn't reply. He was thinking. A very large human, prematurely white-maned, gold ring in one ear ... He grimaced. It wasn't much to go on.
   "I need more information." Pip, aroused from his nap, poked his head out.
   Mormis started. "By the chains of the sky, there it is!”
   "There what is?" a puzzled Flinx wondered.
   “Your quest is impossible, young master, but I will not dissuade you. That- that is the other thing." He was pointing at Pip. Intrigued, the minidrag stuck a questioning tongue out at the slaver. Ab sang on in the background.
   "It is the second one I have seen. The other ... the other rode on the shoulder of the bidder who ran. I swear it would be the same creature, save that I think his was smaller!"
   Flinx's neatly organized thoughts collapsed like a bridge whose foundation had failed. In their place turmoil reigned.
   So far as he knew, Pip was the only Alaspinian minidrag on Moth. If another lived on the winged world, he was sure be would have learned of it by now. Suppose Pip was the same minidrag which Mormis insisted had ridden his would-be buyer's shoulder? That implied that for Flinx to have ended up with the flying snake was a coincidence too extreme to be believed. Could his unsuccessful purchaser, have planted Pip in the alley where Flinx eventually discovered him, for Flinx to find?
   If that was what had actually happened, it indicated much more than a casual interest in Flinx, from a person not connected with Nuaman Enterprises. An employee of his aunt's? But to what end, what purpose?
   I will go mad, he silently screamed.
   "A name," he demanded, "give me a name, Char Mormis!"
   The slaver recoiled at the youth's violence. "I told you, he never voiced one. Nor could I tell where he was from. I recall no distinctive accent. Beyond his size and the earring, I can tell you nothing."
   "I understand, I understand," Flinx said carefully, trying to control himself. Words stormed through his brain.
   Alaspin, Alaspin, old friends a-claspi'n.
   "Recipe for salad dressing ... two SCCAM bars without messing." Ab rambled nonsensically.. "Shirted on conclusion of the composition) wise not to bear a cockatrice," the alien finished. He continued in an unknown language.
   When Flinx finally got his raging thoughts under control, he forced himself to speak slowly.  "What would you do if you were in my place?" he asked the slaver. "I value your advice."
   "Were I in your position," Mormis instructed him through thoughtfully steepled fingers, "I would go to wherever home is, return to your work, and save your money and possibly your sanity."
   "Next suggestion."
   "Assuming you have unlimited time and funds, young master, I would go to Alaspin. That's where your little beast conies from, is it not?" Mormis ex- tended a paternal hand in Pip's direction, but drew it back hastily when Pip hissed sharply at him. "If the creature is as rare as it is reputed to be, and as dangerous ..."
   "It is," Flinx assured him.
   "... then you might have a chance of locating one other who once also kept one."
   So, Flinx thought, it had come to this: a search for a man who twelve or so years ago had appeared on Moth with a minidrag on his shoulder. A man who might never have been to Alaspin but who might have acquired his lethal pet elsewhere. But a destination was better than nothing.
   "Thank you again, Char Mormis." Flinx rose to leave, and saw that the elevator had returned, along with its hulking operator. "I just wish," he offered in parting, "that one as nice as you were engaged in some other business."
   "The morality of it can weigh heavily at times," the slaver confessed as the lift door closed on Flinx and Ab. "But not," he concluded softly after the elevator was on its way surfaceward, "enough to make this one want to quit."
   Chapter Four
    
   It was a busy, fruitful day, and Mormis thought no more of his interesting visitor. By the time darkness had come and he locked up for the night, he had forgotten the incident completely.
   The modest Mormis tower home lay in a nearby inurb, one of many such restricted enclaves in Drallar. It was a pleasant evening, and Mormis decided to walk. His monolithic manservant strode comfortingly alongside.
   Out of necessity, the streets were relatively well lit. Perpetual cloud cover hid any light the planet's bright moon. Flame, might have thrown on the pavement.
   Mormis tagged his thick cloak closer about him. He was afflicted with bursitis, an ancient disease. Mournfully he mused that the only part of his life which was not well lubricated involved his aching joints. Physicians and wishans, none could help.
   When he was halfway home, a strong yet gentle voice called out of shadows to him: "We would request of you a few minutes of your time, Char Mormis of Arcadia. We wish minimum delay m your homeward journey."
   Despite the assurances in that voice, Mormis reacted as any man in his profession might. Voices in the night usually meant only one thing on Moth, where darkness was the shield of beings with less-than-civil intentions.
   Throwing aside his cloak to give himself maximum mobility, he turned, hunting for the source of the request. As if in response, a figure emerged from the fog around him. It approached on four legs, foothands and truhands all extended in a pose of insectoid placation. Vast compound eyes shone bright with reflected light from the street illuminators.
   Mormis took in the shiny, exfoliating chiton, the deep purple coloring. But neither the thranx's obvious age nor his conciliatory manner served to relax him. He hadn't had any dealings with a thranx in some time. Not that they didn't own slaves. For all their vaunted logic, the thranx were still a race of individuals, some of whom were as subject to vice as their human counterparts were.
   So he retreated from the advancing figure and ordered his manservant to take defensive action. When the insect was pinioned, then, perhaps, he would talk.
   The massive, blue-cloaked golemite lumbered forward. The slaver was not eased in mind when the fragile-looking insect stood his ground. "Really, Char Mormis," he observed in the delightfully musical voice of the thranx, "inhospitality is hardly the mark of a successful businessman. I am disappointed. And this looking for a hidden weapon on my person...."
   Mormis was about to interrupt to say that it was the thranx who was about to be disappointed when his fears were partially confirmed.  A second figure emerged from the fog to intercept his servant.
   The new figure was human, somewhat taller than average but slim and unimpressive. His advanced age was belied by the suppleness of his movements. He looked like an ambulatory birch tree. Gray hair, cavernous wrinkles, and other age signs were held at bay by eyes that were coal-black shards.
    This steely-looking scarecrow blocked the advance of the servant, who reacted rapidly and directly. A short but furious scuffle followed in the middle of the street. The great mass of Mormis's servant seemed to obliterate his opponent, but when movement ceased, it was to reveal the tall, lanky stranger standing over the motionless bulk of the golemite.
   The tall man, part Oriental, shook his left arm. There was an audible popping sound as joints rear- ranged themselves. When he spoke it was without panting, and in the same reassuring tone as that used by the watching thranx; "I have not injured him. He will wake soon, after we have finished."
   Mormis's left eyelid twitched uncontrollably. His fingers quivered.
   "You would not reach the beamer," the thranx told him, in a voice so confident that Mormis lost all hope. "Please be so kind as to refrain from such irrational hostilities and listen to what we have to ask."
   The slaver considered. Then he slowly slid his hand away from the concealed weapon within his shirt. He consoled himself with the fact that this odd pair) what- ever their intentions, looked neither brutal nor immune to some common-sense reasoning. So he tried to calm himself as the elderly thranx moved toward him. The slim human, he noted with relief, remained next to the motionless body of his servant.
   The thranx was tall for one of his kind, Mormis observed, tall enough so that the rainbow-hued compound eyes were nearly level with the slaver's own. The thranx was bundled tightly against the chill, though Mormis knew the dampness was to the insect's liking. They were hothouse-world creatures. He could hear the soft puffing as air moved through the insect's spicules.
   "You have me at a disadvantage," he declared, dropping his hands to his sides. "J can do nothing but what you wish." Meanwhile he searched for identifying signs. Both sets of vestigial wings were present, protruding from shiny wing cases on the thranx's back. A never-mated bachelor, then.
   The insect noted the slaver's gaze, "No, you do not know me. We have never met before. Char Mormis." An impressed Mormis realized that his questioner was speaking perfect Terrangio instead of the galactic lingua franca, symbospeech. Few thranx could master the smooth vowels of mankind's principal language. For the first time a little of the tenseness left him. Violent beings were usually not this well educated.
   "You have the advantage of me, sir."
   "We require some information," the Insect responded, showing no inclination to reveal either his name or that of his human associate. Mormis masked his disappointment. "We have learned that earlier today you had a visitor."
   "I've had many visitors," Mormis countered, stalling.
   "This one was a young man. Or an old boy, depending on your perceptiveness. The boy had as companion a small, dangerous flying reptile and an alien of peculiar type."
   Since the thranx already knew this, Mormis saw no sense in denying it. "I admit to receiving the person. you describe."
   In an oddly human gesture, the thranx cocked its valentine-shaped head to one side. "What did the boy want of you?"
   Natural caution took over for Mormis, and he replied without hesitation. "I said I remembered the boy," he declared slowly, finding apparent fascination in the patterns water made on the street. "But I also had many other visitors. It's impossible to remember the details of every conversation. My days are hectic, and talk tends to run together."
   The tall human took several steps forward. "We are wasting time with this one." He extended a hand and flexed long, skilled fingers in a way Mormis didn't like. "I could always-"
   "No, no complications," the thranx interrupted, much to the slaver's relief. "But, as you say, we waste time. Rather than debate morality ..." He reached into his thorax vest and brought forth a credit cube of fair size. A glance assured Mormis it was genuine.
   "Still," Mormis said smoothly, "in my business it is necessary from time to time to reconstruct certain conversations, Odd, but suddenly I find the one you mention coming back to me."
   "A remarkable surprise," the tall man commented sardonically.
   Anxious now that he had managed to turn a dangerous situation into an opportunity for profit, Mormis spoke freely. "It was a trivial matter, interesting for one reason. The boy was originally sold by Arcadia."
   "What did I say?" the tall human told his companion.
   "It seems the lad has done well since then," Mormis went on.
   "Well enough," the thranx commented enigmatically.
   .  "Now the orphan is hunting diligently and foolishly for his natural sire and dame. A harmless but expensive obsession. He searches now for his father."
   "And you were able to give him information?" the man asked.
   "No, I had no such details. However, I did relate to him an intriguing anecdote involving the circumstances of his sale. If you wish it) I can-"
   The thranx cut him off impatiently, checking a wrist chronometer as he spoke. "That is not necessary. We need to know only what he intends to do now, where he is going."
   Mormis backed off. "Revealing that information would be unethical, sir." He glanced significantly in the direction from which credit cubes of impressive size came. "To reveal such would be a violation of confidence."
   "You are neither physician nor padre," the tall man rumbled, "so don't prattle to us of confidentialities and revelations."
   "You have been paid enough," the thranx declared quietly, adding in a politely blood-curdling way, "we are through wasting time."
   "The boy might," the slaver ventured as quickly as he could) "be traveling to Alaspin. He seemed anxious enough to go there. Driven, one could almost say. I would guess that at this very minute he is on his way to Drallarport."
   "Your civility and common sense are respected," the thranx told him, finishing a touch sarcastically, "along with your wonderfully responsive memory. We will bother you no longer. Go home. Char Mormis."
   Turning in the way of the thranx, the insect started off into the fog at a fast jog. The tail human followed him easily, stepping over the body of Mormis's manservant.
   The slaver watched as the odd twosome was absorbed by the mist. "It's sure I won't bother either of you," he muttered to himself, slipping the credit cube into his shirt. His slave was breathing noisily now. Mormis walked over and kicked the recumbent bulk hard in the ribs. A second kick produced a weak groan.
   Then the massive humanoid sat up. He biinked and looked up at Mormis. "I request abjuration, master," he muttered dully. "I no excuse) but opponent was much more than-"
   Mormis kicked him again. "I know that, idiot. Get up." He found he was shivering, though not from the dampness. "I'm in a hurry to get home ..."
    
   "Exalla Cadella morphine centalla, espoused lost in the woods. A time to conjure redonjure skull face from under the hoods," Ab hummed softly.
   Flinx turned and called back to his dutifully trailing acquisition, disgust plain in his voice, "If you have to ramble, can't you at least say something sensible once in a while?"
   Four arms made incomprehensible, meaningless gestures. The upper half of the blue torso leaned slightly forward. One bright-blue eye winked blankly at him, and the trunk atop the smooth skull weaved in time to some unspoken alien rhythm.
   Flinx sighed and continued trudging up the road. Carts were scarce this late at night-early in the rnorning, rather. Since taking leave of Mormis's place h& bad seen none plying the streets.
   Supper still sat warm and heavy in his belly. He had eaten in a small comestabulary partway out of the city proper. Quda chips had come with his stew, and he had amused himself for a while by throwing the circular chips into the air, whereupon Pip would launch himself, lightninglike, from his shoulder to snatch them before they could hit the floor. The minidrag was extremely fond of anything heavily laced with salt. Flinx had halted the game only after the owner approached him to plead desperately for an end to it. It seemed that the venomous fiying snake's dives and swoops were unnerving the rest of his customers.
   It should be light soon, Flinx mused as he neared the major route leading from. Drallar to the city's shuttleport. There landing craft transferred local goods to great KK-drive starships waiting in orbit and brought outworld goods into the city. Along this broad avenue he was sure to encounter either a jinx driver looking for a first-morn fare or one of many huge powered cargo transports. The latter he could always obtain a ride on, sometimes with the knowledge and consent of the operator, often without. In spite of his present relative affluence, he knew, old talents often came in handy.
   As morning neared, the mist-fog thickened. To an outworlder it presented an imposing obstacle to travel. To a native of Moth, it was as natural and expected as a sunrise. Drizzle ran steadily off Flinx's slickertic cape. At least, that was the way it appeared to an on- looker. Actually, the drops never touched the material itself. A steady static charge kept the rain from ever making contact with the always-dry cape.
   Flinx noticed a huge skimmer parked close by the last warehouse bordering the busy right-of-way. It was stacked vrith many tons of cargo.
   A bipedal figure suddenly appeared out of the fog, stumbling toward him. Pip was off his shoulder in an instant. Flinx started to reach for the fresh blade in his boot, then hesitated. He sensed no aura of danger about the figure. A shouted command brought Pip back; the anxious minidrag hovered in a tight spiral over Flinx's head. Pip's response assured Flinx that the weaving form ahead wasn't dangerous; if it had been, Pip would have ignored the command.
   The figure stumbled onward, something gripped tightly in one hand. As the man neared, he seemed for the first time to take notice of Flinx. His glazed eyes appeared to clear slightly. Summoning fresh strength, the man increased his pace and steadied himself some- what. For a minute Flinx thought he might have to free Pip after all. Then the man's pupils filmed over again. He tripped on nothingness and fell sideways into the drainage ditch lining the right-hand side of the access road Flinx was walking on.
   His body formed a dam for the running water. The runoff rose and began to flow around the man's arm and shoulder, the limp limb a long, slowly bleeding dike. Nor was the shoulder wound the only one visible on the man. He had been badly hurt in an efficient, professional manner.
   Sidling cautiously up to the corpse, Flinx found he was trying to watch every direction at once. His erratic talent, naturally, revealed nothing at the moment. Yet no one, injured or healthy, charged from the darkness at him. He returned his attention to the body.
   The black skullcap with its embroidered crimson insignia had fallen from the hairless pate when the man fell. Several portions of the tight black suit were soaked with blood. The fringed cloak was torn. It hung loosely from a single neck clasp.
   Further examination was unnecessary. The Qwarm was dead. Yet Flinx persisted, disbelieving. It was known that the Qwarm were masters of many bodily functions. Imitating death was a useful way to lull the suspicions of an intended victim. But Flinx was positive this one was not faking, nor vrould he ever fake anything again.
   Curious, he kneeled to examine the object clutched convulsively in the assassin's right hand: a short, grayish metal cylinder that looked much like pewter. A tiny red light was still gleaming near the cylinder's middle.
   Flinx found a loose scrap of pavement and passed it carefully between the out-pointing end of the cylinder and the air. There was a tiny ping, and a millimeter- wide hole appeared in the thick section of stone.
   To protect the many inquisitive children prowling the night streets of Drallar, Flinx touched a stud at the haft of the weapon. The red light went out. A repeat pass with the stone did not produce a puncture. Flinx pulled the tiny device free of its former owner's death grip.
   This Qwarm toy was a phonic stiletto. It generated a thin beam of sculpted sound that would put a hole through just about anything. It fit neatly in a man's palm, generator and all, was easily concealed, and was almost impossible to detect or defend against.
   Flinx rose and looked around worriedly. Having killed two Qwarm recently, he could understand another one with an activated weapon coming toward him. But this Qwarm had run into something else before he had had a chance to ambush Flinx. Or had he really been after Flinx?
   Moving on four stumpy legs, a mumbling Ab walked over and bent to pick, cretinlike, at the clothing of the dead man. Hands and eyes moved, apparently enraptured by the commingling of blood and water in the ditch.
   Had the killer been after Flinx, or were they still pursuing the moronic alien in his charge? He didn't like to consider the first possibility, because that would mean they now knew he was responsible for the death of two clan members back m the old house fronting the stage. In that case he had to move faster than he had intended. Once an enemy was known to them, the Qwarm clan would never rest until that enemy or every member of the clan was dead. It would help him to know whether they knew.
   Falling mist was rapidly obliterating any hint of a trail, but drops of dissolving blood still showed against the pavement clearly enough for him to trace them around the prow of the huge cargo carrier. They led to the entrance of the warehouse. Careful examination of the personnel door showed that it had been keyed open, and Flinx did not think it had been done by the building's owner.
   Every instinct, everything in him, warned against entering the blackness inside. That was countered, as usual, by his relentless curiosity. He slipped through the slight opening. A dim light shone in a near corner, near mountainous heaps of extruded plastic casings. Treading softly, with a dim shape fluttering nervously overhead, he moved toward the light.
   Suddenly he could sense unease, even fear. Marshaled against it was a frightening coolness. Both were far from here and moving rapidly away from him. From the lighted region he was approaching he detected nothing. Very slowly, he peered around a last, four-meter-high yellow case.
   Six bodies filled the space his astonished gaze en- countered. Six! They lay draped over crates, contorted on the metal floor, and bunched beneath overturned casings. Four were women, two men. All were clad in the by now too-familiar black. Several showed naked skulls, their caps missing. Copious amounts of blood lent murderous highlights to the devastated scene. Several of the smaller crates were shattered. It must have taken some unknown, awesome force to crack those seamless containers.
   In a few hours, Flinx knew, some warehouse supervisor would arrive to open up, and get the shock of his or her life.
   There were only dead Qwarm here, no sign of any other intruders, Flinx couldn't conceive of anyone or anything that would attack, let alone destroy, such a large number of professional assassins. He stiffened. A hint of a far-off mental scream had touched him, alerted him once more to something that continued to move away from this place. Whatever it was, he considered, it might not continue to move away.
   Once again Flinx looked back at the crumpled, silent bodies, some of which were partially dismembered. Again he noted the cracked plastic casings strewn casually about. Some great force had been at work here, for reasons Flinx could not imagine. That distant mental shriek continued to echo in his mind as he found himself backing away slowly from the nightmarish scene. Darkness closed tight around him once more.
   Something touched his shoulder.
   His sigh of relief when he found it was only Pip, returning to his perch on his shoulder, was enormous. Then he was out of the structure, running steadily toward the main roadway ahead. The mist was no longer a friend but a deceiver, biding something terrifying and mysterious from sight.
   Moments later he reached the road. From below he heard the bellow of kinkeez and other animal-powered conveyances, mixed with the roar and hum of machines. A short climb, a downward slide and scramble, and Flinx was over the embankment and on the roadway itself. Somehow Ab managed to keep all four of his feet under him as he stumbled on without complaint after his new master.
   The owner of the meepah-rickshaw balked at the sight of Flinx's quadrupedal companion. Credits overcame his uncertainty, however. Soon the two-legged meepah was racing toward the shuttleport at its maximum stride, Flinx getting the speed he was paying for. Happily, nothing flew out of the rising mist-fog from behind to strike at either owner or rider.
   At the port, Flinx had the misfortune to encounter one of those many bureaucrats whose sole purpose in life seemed to be complicating that of others, from which they obviously derived a false and pitiful feeling of superiority. "Let me see your tunnel pass, boy," the man demanded condescendingly.
   Flinx turned and glanced anxiously back the way he had come. The moving walkway leading back into the central terminal building was almost empty. Despite the early hour and the absence of any pursuit, he was expecting one or more black-clad specters to appear among the tired businessfolk and travelers. Drallarport operated round the clock, twenty-eight hours a day.
   "I don't have a tunnel pass, sir," he responded, forcing himself to modify the sharpness he heard in his voice. "I ..."
   That was enough to engender a wide leer of satisfaction on the other's fat face. No, he was not stupid, this one. His mental malady ran deeper than simple ignorance. Malice requires a certain amount of intelligence before its wielder qualifies as truly irritating.
   "No pass, and attempting to enter a private access tunnel," he snorted through pursed lips. Ostentatiously, he jabbed a button on the callbox at his waist. Two large, nononsense humans appeared  and  glowered threateningly at Flinx. They were soon joined by an out-of-breath, elderly little man. In appearance, he was sufficiently ordinary to make Flinx's plump tormentor look unique.
   "What is it, Belcom?" he asked the fat one curiously while eyeing Flinx.
   "This child," Belcom declared, as if he had just learned the identity of a multiple-murderer, "is trying to sneak into this restricted area without a pass." "I wasn't trying to snea-" Flinx began in exasperation, before the newcomer cut him off.
   "This is a guarded section, boy.  No visitors allowed." While tired, probably from finishing up a night shift, the man was at least polite. "If you want to watch the ships lift, try the cargo landing."
   "I don't have a tunnel pass," Flinx finally succeeded in explaining as he fumbled at a belt pouch beneath his slickertic, "because I'm not boarding as a passenger." From the pouch he extracted a small, virtually unbreakable slip of polyplexalloy. The information implanted in it was unforgeable.
   Blinking back fatigue, the new arrival studied the card. When he looked up at Flinx it was without lethargy. He turned a vicious Raze on the smug subordinate next to him. That worthy took in his superior's glare and reacted with the attitude of someone who has just discovered a poisonous insect crawling up his leg yet is afraid to swat at it for fear of being stung.
   "Of course this gentleman doesn't have a pass, Belcom. Don't you ever inquire before you make an idiot of yourself?"
   Aware that he couldn't respond without demeaning himself further, an uncomprehending Belcom simply gaped blankly at the little man. After allowing Belcom's embarrassment to last to the point of eyestrain, his superior finally continued: "He has no pass, you damn fool, because he's not a passenger. He's an owner. Private registry vessel."
   “I-" Belcom stammered, glancing worriedly at Flinx. "He was so young- I didn't consider, didn't think-"
   "Two reasons for not promoting you, and excellent ones at that," his supervisor snapped venomously. Turning to Flinx, he framed sincere apologies with an officious smile. "Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, sir. If there is anything I can do to redress the insult suffered, anything at all..."
   Flinx thought he saw a commotion at the far end of the moving walkway behind him. "Just let me through," he said crisply. Both guards moved solemnly aside; they watched as Flinx and his odd charge loped up the corridor. Neither turned to watch or listen as additional execration continued to fall on the unfortunate Belcom.
   Though he had studied hard the past year and a half, Flinx was still no pilot. But most craft were so complex that manual operation was out of the question for all but the most skilled individuals, and the shuttiecraft he settled into was no exception. So it was fully fitted out with automatic controls. Anyone capable of delivering coherent instructions to the ship's computer could pilot it.
   Firm pressure forced him back into the acceleration couch as the little vessel boomed skyward, lifting cleanly out of the reaction pit. Shortly thereafter he was curving out into free space.
   Nograv relaxed him physically; the fact that now no Owarm could slip up behind and stick a sonic stiletto or something equally exotic into his neck relaxed him  mentally. Behind, Ab whistled and rhymed cheerfully.
   The alien accepted nograv as readily and good- naturedly as it had the damp atmosphere of Moth.
   Approaching tangency with a particular orbit, Flinx took a moment to belch once while admiring a great swath of glowing gold splashed across the sky. It was one of the two remarkable "wings" that had given Moth its name. Whichever god had designed Flinx's home world had finished with a flourish of finger- painting.  Each tan-shaped wing was composed of highly reflective particulate and gaseous matter, narrow near the surface, fanning out and diffusing as gravity weakened away from it.
   Like a dauber wasp, the shuttlecraft nestled itself snugly into the ellipsoidal fuselage of Flinx's ship. From that structure projected a long tube which ended in a fan-shape, something like a wineglass: the KK- drive posigravity-field projector.
   Flinx's ship was a gift from his extraordinarily gifted pupils, the race of ursinoids who inhabited the proscribed world of Ulru-Ujurr. They had used blueprints and scavenged material to construct it. In shape and capabilities it was much like the racing yacht of Flinx's sometime benefactor, Maxim Malaika. Only the much-less-sybaritic furnishings were significantly different.
   The Ulru-Ujurrians had christened it Teacher.
   Flinx punched in the coordinates of Alaspin, added a maximum cruising speed, and then permitted himself to lie down. With only the most general description to go on, he had to try to find a man who might not ever have been to Alaspin. Added to that was the possibility that the slaver's memory was open to question-not to mention the fact that the Qwarm were intent on preventing him from locating anything ever again.
   Some comfort came from Ab's antics. The alien was fascinated by the ship's workings. Certainly Ab had been on at least one other craft before, but slave quarters left little chance for study. Flinx had to be careful. Automatic and foolproof as interstellar navigation had become, the accidental manipulations of an idiot like Ab could delay his trip seriously.
   As to what he would do if he reached Alaspm and learned nothing, Flinx had no idea. At such moments Flinx wondered why he bothered so much. What, after all, were a mother and father but an accidental combination of humanity, a chance commingling of chromosomes and such which had produced ... himself.
   Of all the myriad things he was ignorant of, one of the greatest was his own motivations. Beside them, stellar physics was simple child-gaming. Why try to-assuage his loneliness? Knowledge of his origin couldn't do that. But maybe, he mused, when he finally knew, it might keep him from crying quietly so often.
   Traveling almost as fast as a Commonwealth peaceforcer, the Teacher sped through the void, carrying its small cargo of one melancholy human youth, one indifferent flying reptile, and a spritely alien mad poet wrapped in an enigma.
    
   In his long and busy life, the lanky old man had undergone many security screenings. The one he was forced to endure today had proved as thorough as the most extensive he' could recall.
   Once cleared, he was finally admitted to a very dark office. What furniture lay within appeared placed haphazardly, without regard to esthetics or function. Nothing in the way of decoration showed anywhere. That extended to the single figure waiting to greet him. Like the room, the thickly hooded shape conveyed a feeling of somber staleness. It stood, rather than sat, behind the single heavy desk. Where a face would have been, darkness and many folds of cloth served instead. They disguised even their wearer's size and form. There was nothing deceptive about the soft voice that issued from beneath the heavy shrouds, though. It was sibilant in a way the taller man could almost place.
   "Business has been finished?" the shrouded one asked. No casual greeting, no hopeful hello to waste time. No exchange of names.
   From beneath his embroidered skullcap the elder Qwarm responded, "There has been interference." A finger rubbed at an upper lip and obliterated an itch. Hairless lids blinked once.
   Beneath its many folds the other speaker appeared to twitch violently, though control of its voice remained unbroken. "It cannot be. Neither the Church nor the Commonwealth government realizes ...!"
   Shaking his head briskly, once, the tall Qwarm leader explained, "There has been no evidence of official interference, or even of interest, insofar as we can discover. Both members of the clan who had been as- signed the task were apparently in position and preparing to carry out their work when they were interrupted. Whether they were interrupted on purpose or by accident we have been unable to discover. It does not matter now. Both of the clan are dead."
   "It matters very much to me," rumbled the hooded shape.
   "You will be notified as to the identity of the fool who interfered when we gather in his body," the Qwarm declared coldly. "At present we know no more than you. We thought such knowledge, together with the postponed completion of your assignment to us, was within our grasp. Something ... happened." Vast unpleasantness burned back of wise old eyes. "Much outrage was felt within the clan at the death of our brother and sister. Such a thing has not happened in a long time. Punishment was decreed. A large group of clan members, the largest gathered together, in one place in some time, was assembled to exact proper revenge." Now the Qwarm's anger gave way to confusion.
   "It was believed at first that he who interfered acted alone. Such was apparently not the case. He has powerful and as-yet-unidentified associates or allies. All we know is that none of them appear to be associated with the government. All of the assembled were murdered mysteriously," Long, deceptively thin fingers opened and closed slowly.
   The hooded figure eyed the movements cautiously. This old man was dangerous, like a well-used weapon-worn and dulled on the outside, but still an efficient killer. It would not do to push him, especially in his present mood.
   "If no official agency of Church or Commonwealth is involved," the soft voice ventured, "then there is still time for this business to reach a satisfactory conclusion." Then it added, as an afterthought: "There will be no additional money for the additional time involved, you realize."
   "That is of no import."
   "Really?" Now a hint of disdain crept into the whisperer's voice. "I thought that money was paramount among your kind, businessfolk that you are."
   "We are a clan, an extended family first," the Qwarm corrected him, "businessfolk second. Our reputation protects us more than our abilities. That is why anyone who kills a single Qwarm cannot be permitted to live to tell of it. Such a tale would impair our efficiency and place isolated members in danger."
   'This business of killing is still a business," the figure rasped from beneath its shrouds.
   "Rest assured," the Qwarm leader replied. "Whether we regard it as a matter of business or clan morality should not matter to you. You have hired us. We will carry out the terms of our contract satisfactorily for you-even if it carries us to the ends of the galaxy."
   "I wish not to see you again until you can bring me word of that," the figure intoned forcefully, evidently unimpressed by the Qwarm's speech. "Whether you kill this interferer or his friends is your business. Kill however many you must, but kill foremost the creature called Abalamahalarnatandra."
   "As I have declared, it will be done." That seemed to end the meeting, except that a touch of human curiosity overcame the Qwarm. His professional poise lapsed briefly to reveal an emotional creature beneath.
   "I would still like to know why you or anyone else is willing-nay, eager-to pay the absurd sum of one million credits for the killing of a single alien being." 
   "I am sure you would," replied the hooded shape, a hint of amusement in its voice. When nothing more was forthcoming, it was clear that the discussion was over.
   As he turned to leave the room, the Qwarm saw the hooded figure move. Light poured through the open doorway from the hall beyond. Despite the figure's rapid movement, the shaft of fresh light in the dark chamber seemed to sparkle off a cornea that was not human beneath those enfolding shrouds.
   Then again, the Qwarm elder reflected as he strolled down the hallway of the eighty-second floor, in the brief instant he could have misinterpreted the effect of the light.
   Not that it mattered anyway. The Qwarm clan had often accepted assignments from nonhumans and nonthranx. This present employer's desire for anonymity was hardly remarkable.
   Rage boiled within him, though he didn't show it as he left the office tower. So many of the claa dead! People saw his set face and parted to let him pass. This" had become much more than a simple job for the clan. It did not matter that no one save a single woman and child-now painlessly if somewhat belatedly-eliminated, had learned of the Qwarm's failure on the commercial world of Moth. It was enough that the Owarm themselves knew. It was enough that they had been outraged.
   So it was that law-enforcement officials throughout the Commonwealth noted the unusual activity among black-clad, skullcapped men and women on various worlds and wondered at it. They would have wondered much more if they had known that all the frenzied activity was caused by- the actions of a single innocuous- looking young man ...
   Chapter Five
    
   The Teacher slipped into a stabilized parking orbit above Alaspin. A few preparations and then Flinx and Ab were dropping planetward.
   Pip hissed softly as Flinx considered what he had learned during their journey to the frontier world they were approaching. The planet was warm, though not especially humid, consisting mostly of patches of jungle spotted about vast, sweeping savannas and reedy river plains. Alaspinport was a small city by Commonwealth standards. In fact, this little-explored globe boasted a very modest humanx population.
   Considering that, Flinx had been surprised at the number of ships hovering above Alaspin's surface. There was evidently interstellar traffic disproportionate to the populace. In a way, that should not have surprised him. Alaspin was rich in two things: gemstones and history. The prospectors, mining companies, and many universities and research institutions with interests on the planet could account for the kind of heavy traffic to and from the surface that he encountered.
   Despite overcrowding, it was no problem to secure his shuttle at the port. Lodgings were plentiful, and he got a room in a modest hotel in town.
   Walking through the hot streets, he saw that the population was divided almost equally between humans and thranx. If anything, there were more of the busy, active insects than humans. They tolerated the dryness and thrived in the heat of midday.
   The mixture of scientists and fortune hunters was a peculiar one. Flinx passed studious individuals arguing alien sociology, then overheard a conversation dealing with the smuggling rates on Catchalot. Alaspin was filled with two institutions: libraries and brothels.
   One of the greatest multiple-culture populations in this part of the galaxy had risen and passed on here before the Commonwealth was more than a dream in a few visionaries' eyes. "It's true, Flinx," the Junoesque, henna-haired concierge was telling him upon his return to the hotel. "They say that the Alaspinians explored a1 through the region of the Commonwealth and beyond."
   "Then why aren't there any left?" he asked reasonably.
   She shrugged. "According to the research folks I've chatted with, the locals liked long-range exploring, but never gave a thought to colonizin' anyplace else.' She made a show of adjusting the complex of straps beneath her yellow-and-silver dress as she explained the function and operation of the water-retrieve and other devices in his room.
   "Xenohistorians I've bad stay here told fine the Alaspinians died out less than eight-y thousand Terran standard years ago. They think it was a gradual thing, not sudden like. Almost as if the Alaspinians had lived a full racial life, got tired, and decided to diffuse out." She manipulated the air purifier and tempioner. There was a soft hum, and cool air filled the room.
   The hennaed coiffure, the garish make-up were a disguise, he suspected. There was a vulnerability beneath the paint that appealed to him.
   "You're a damn sight younger than most of the solitaires I get in here, Flinx. You said you're not a miner?"
   "No," he confessed, beginning to wonder if she was as vulnerable as he imagined. He smiled in what ha hoped was a pleasant yet neutral manner. "I tend more toward research- you might even say sociology."
   "That's okay," the landlady declared amiably, `I like intellectuals too. If they aren't snobbish about it. You're not snobbish, I think."
   Ab saved Flinx the necessity of commenting by chiming in with a particularly loud rhyme. Distracted the hotel owner gazed at the alien with distaste. Mild distaste, because no one could look at Ab and not be amused.
   "You going to keep that thing with you?"
   "If it's permissible. Ab doesn't get in the way. Ho won't trouble anyone."
   "Doesn't matter to me," the woman responded evenly. "Is it clean?"
   "As far as I know."
   She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
   "Ab performs objectionable bodily functions, if by has any, out of my sight."
   "That's okay then. Only thing is, I don't know whether to charge you double room rate for two, or single with a pet. Which is it?"
   "Whatever you think appropriate," Flinx advised her.
   That was the wrong thing to say. She smiled broadly at him. "Whatever I think's appropriate? I'll remember that." Her gaze traveled over him. Somehow he got the impression she wasn't admiring his attire. "Yes, you're a damn sight younger than most. If you need anything ... later ... if the air controls don't work right, you 1c me know." Her voice dropped an octave. "It's hot during the day, but it can get chilly here at night."
   Flinx swallowed. "I'll be sure and let you know, ma'am."
   "Mirable," she corrected him. "Mirable Dictu." She sidled toward the door. "It's nice to find someone who's not ... Fanatic about what they're here for. Scientists get too wrapped up with thinkin' and the prospectors never do. Good to have a guest who embodies a bit o' both."
   His last view was of her perambulating form drifting suggestively toward the stairway. Fie almost called out to her. However ... He sighed. With serious business unfinished, he had no time for such foolery. But if Alaspin proved to be the final dead end, as he half suspected it would, then he might have time and need of some sympathetic company. In that event, he might strike up a more serious friendship with the voluptuous Mirable.
   She was the first one be asked about the enormous man with the white hair and gold earring. As expected, Mirable had no knowledge of anyone fitting that description.
   Several days of questioning around the town produced memories of numerous men with rings in their ears, some of the ornaments gold or gold-colored. But if the men were the right size they didn't wear the earring, and if they wore one they were never big enough. O they were large enough and beringed, but their hair was brown or red or black or blond.
   A cargo loader finally told Flirts of a friend who almost fit the description. The only thing be was unsure of was the earring's color. In a burst of excitement, Flinx tracked the man down and found that he still worked in Alaspinport.
   Unfortunately, he was only twenty-two years old and had never been to Moth in his life. Nor did he know offhand of anyone resembling himself who was older.
   That disappointment had nearly caused Flinx to give up.
   "Eh, my handsome young guest," Mirable bad chided him, "so many years you think on this, and then a couple of days and you're ready to forget it?"
   He stayed on Alaspin and kept asking questions.
   Various inquiries around the town the next day elicited no leads, but did bring Flinx to the office of a garrulous, enthusiastic clerk. He was in charge of Temporary Residences and Flinx had to see him to get hi permit stamped so he could legally remain on Alaspin.
   "Entry to Alaspin is strictly limited and watched," the clerk rambled on. "You already had a taste of our rity procedures when you set down at the port." Flinx nodded. They had seemed unusually thorough for a frontier world. “That's because of the gems." The clerk winked. "Local police have to keep tabs on everyone. Claim stealing, robbery- we have our share, Adds to the spice of life here."
   Sure, Flinx thought, when you can sit in a nice, cool office and watch the arrests and shootings on the tridee.
   "And it's not only the gemstones," he went on. "Oh no. Constant fighting between the research people and the prospectors. Constant. It's not easy keeping peace between them. Each group has little sympathy for the other. The scientists think the miners are destructive Neanderthals, and the miners consider the scientists cloud-walkers each with a fat credit pipeline to some research group."
   "I don't understand," Flinx admitted openly. "A little conflict I can see, but persistent battling- what for? Isn't each group after different things?"
   The clerk shook his head at the newcomer's ignorance. "Let me give you an example. Have you ever heard of the Idonian Mask?"
   Flinx shook his head.
   "It cost the lives of sixteen people, on Alaspin and off, before the Commonwealth finally stepped in. Declared it a treasure of the people and appropriated it for the Pre-Commonwealth Societies Museum on Hivehom." He eyed Flinx. "The mask was about your height and twice your width, Flinx and decorated with sixty thousand carats of flawless blue diamonds set to form the face and history of some long- gone local god or politician or chief thug they don't know which yet. All done on worked, poured crysorillium."
   "Now that I've heard of," Flinx interrupted.
   The clerk nodded, smiling , sagely "Uh-huh … rare heavy metal that looks a little like iridescent azurite, only greener and much tougher. Thranx call it fonheese, or Devoriar metal. They prize the stuff, but it's even more valuable to men, because there's none of it on Earth, and little on the other explored worlds. Here they call it blue gold.
   "Itinerant old dirt-grubber found the mask first, nearly forty years ago," the clerk went on. "I still remember the first faxes of it. Beautiful thing. The local scientists went crazy on seeing it. They said it held clues to a hundred missing years of Alaspinian history. Of course, tire miner and his buddies were only interested in how many diamonds and how many kilos of crysorillium they could get out of it.
   "The mask went back and forth, changing hands between miners and scientists and back again, losing a certain amount of metal and diamonds with each transfer and replacing them with blood. Nor were all the deaths between contesting miners and researchers, no. I remember the story of two thranx scientists who published simultaneous identical interpretations of the mask's upper writing. They ended up in a duel and killed each other. That's why the Commonwealth government had to step in and take the thing over, to prevent any more deaths. Even so, the last two people the mask `killed' were murdered over a plot to break into the museum and steal it."
   He waved a hand at the bustling street outside the office window. "From what's been learned, they say Alaspin once boasted several hundred different societies, united by a worldwide system of engineering and weights and measures, that sort of thing. But each society different. There are tens of thousands of mapped ruined structures out there, Flinx, and that's estimated to be only a small portion of the total. Each culture worshipped its own gods. So, you see, it became kind of a sporting competition to see whose temples could be the most lavishly decorated. Jungle and swamp have taken many of them over, but it's still a treasure hunter's paradise out there, for anyone who wants to risk the weather, the hostile flora and fauna, and the aborigines."
   "Aborigines?" Flinx exclaimed. That was enough "c set the clerk to gabbing again.
   "The sociologists working here aren't sure about tae abos. They don't seem to bear much resemblance to reconstructions of what the original Alaspinians were: like. 1`1o one can decide for sure if they're in fact degenerate remnants of the original dominants, or simply another semisentient group that's evolved to take the place left by the vanished major culture." He fumbled with some tapes. "I've got to get back to my own work young man. Sorry if I bored you."
   "No, you've been very informative," Flinx told him honestly.
   "That's Alaspin then, son. A place where fortunes and reputations can be made, sometimes together. And I am sorry," he added, remembering his visitor's original reason for corning, "that I don't know of your oversized quarry with the gold ring."
   Flinx left the office, and found himself wandering in no particular direction through the town. Casual conversation and random questioning had gained him nothing. His best chance for finding out anything lay with the local arm of the Commonwealth peaceforcers. They should have records of just about everyone why ever set foot on this world and passed through the screenings at the port. But a direct inquiry would likely be met with questions. The police did not supply faxes and biographs to anyone who walked in off the street and asked for them. He didn't think they would cooperate without a few answers- answers Flinx would rather not give.
   Passing a street vendor, be palmed a food stick and replaced it without being detected. Old habits were hard to break. But stealing the right fax tape would be hard to do, perhaps even impossible. The local peaceforcers would not be city-soft.
   That left him with only the prospect of endless questioning ahead. Angrily he mused that coming here had probably been a mistake. Mother Mastiff was right-he was going to find nothing In his an anger he didn't notice that he was now walking through a section of town he had not been to before.
   Besides, there were his responsibilities to the Ulru-Ujurrians. Without his supervision their innocent experiment could prove dangerous to themselves and to others. They needed him to explain the rules of civilization as they constructed their own.
   What was be wasting his time for, then? Probably the man he sought had never set foot on the soil of Alaspin, had acquired his minidrag elsewhere, just as Flinx had. Time was passing. Why, in a little while he'd be twenty. Twenty! An old man.
   A tightening on his shoulder caused him to look that way and speak comfortingly. "l Know, Pip ... don't worry." The minidrag stared back up at him with slitted, anxious eyes. "I'm just nervous, that's all." But it wasn't Flinx's state of mind which had caused his pet to tense. The source lay ahead.
   A group of locals- prospectors, by the look of their clothes-were chatting in front of a business which managed to flourish a garish front even in the still bright light of late afternoon. Concluding their conversation, one man and the two women miners left and walked on up the street. They turned to wave a goodbye, which the two men who stayed behind returned before entering the building.
   Flinx had a good look at one, less so at his companion. The man nearest him was short, his skin darker than Flinx's but not black. That color was reserved for his hair, which fell straight and slick to just above his shoulders. Cheekbones bulged in his face like apples in a child's pocket, and his nose was as sharp and curved as the fins of an atmosphere flier. The other man was not nearly so swarthy, and was of a different ethnic background.
   These details were interesting but they were only incidental to what had caused both man and minidrag to tense. Each man had displayed a curled form on a shoulder, one on the left, the other on the right. Even from a distance there was no mistaking that blue-and-pinkish-red pattern of interlocking diamond shapes.
   Minidrags!
   Tame ones, probably as domesticated as Pip. His pet was the only miniature dragon Flinx bad ever sec. While he had known that Pip came from here, he had no idea that the practice of domesticating the venomous creatures was popular. Certainly it wasn't widespread, because be bad wandered through mach of the town without seeing any tame flying snakes. Until now.
   He increased his speed and found himself facing the entrance. If nothing else, he would learn something of his pet on this trip. The two men inside living as they did on the snakes' native planet, likely knew more about minidrags than Flinx had been able to learn on his own. Seeing the two men together, he suspected that the bond achieved between man and reptile led to one between men capable of taming such a dangerous animal, It was a suspicion compounded of equal pares naivete and reason. If he was right, they would greet him as a friend.
   Despite his anxiety, the entrance to the structure stir gave him pause- the two men had entered a simiespin. Flinx was familiar with the notorious, barely tolerated simie booths. Places of unrefined amusement often advertised such booths for use.
   In a simie booth, an individual's thoughts were read, amplified, and displayed three-dimensionally in the booth user's mind. The dreamlike simulacrum was complete with all relevant sensory accompaniment sight, smell, touch, everything. All it took was the modest fee. .
   Naturally, a simie booth was private. Intrusion into a private booth, during which the intruder could also partake of some private dream, was one of the most universally decried offenses in the Commonwealth. This because the most unassuming individual could rid him or herself of the most depraved, obnoxious fantasies no matter how hellish they might be, without harming anyone.
   Since booth owners didn't care what fantasies their patrons conjured up, simies were once considered obscene and bad been banned. The resultant great legal battle had finally been decided in favor of the simie manufacturers. Freedom of thought, one of the pillar principles of the Commonwealth, was brought to bear on the argument, and it was that which had finally defeated the censors. That, and the solemn testimony of a Church medical team. The team had deplored the uses to which the booths were sometimes put while simultaneously ruling that the booths had therapeutic value.
   What Flinx was confronting was something at once less disreputable and more unsettling. In effect, a simiespin was a greatly enlarged simie booth which surrounded an entire establishment-a restaurant, a bar, sometimes even a travel agency. Preprogrammed, the simiespin machinery projected mass three-dimensional illusion. It provided an always- changing environment, keyed by the random thoughts of its patrons but preprogrammed with nondestructive simulacra. The thrill was in never knowing where a visitor might find himself next.
   Simiespins vied with one another in the detail of their programming and the intensity of their simulations. Unwary visitors had been known to suffer from spells of madness, unable to cope with the rapid-fire change of environments, but these cases were insufficiently common to close the simiespins down. Ample warnings were posted outside to keep the unwary and uncertain from entering.
   There was additional protection, as Flinx discovered after paying the fee and entering. He found himself in a long hallway, dark and lined with fluorescent murals depicting scenes from different worlds. It was more than a mere entranceway. He could feel a tickling at his mind.
   Behind those decorative murals lay expensive, sensitive equipment, which the law had determined necessary. If any of them felt that Flinx's mind or that of any other prospective patron was ill equipped to handle the fluctuating environment of the spin, alarms would sound and human or mechanical attendants would appear. They would announce with regret that those so analyzed would have to search elsewhere for amusement.
   It was interesting that although a simiespin could serve food and drink that by themselves produced mental effects, there was no age restriction. What has required was a firm grasp on reality. Children were notoriously weak in that area, and so in general were barred from entering. But those children whom the machines passed were welcome within, whereas certain adults were rejected. It could and did lead to occasional embarrassment for overconfident parents, when they were denied entrance and their offspring were passed on.
   Flinx found himself wondering how many politicians would be refused admittance to a simiespin. He was not surprised when the machinery also passed Ali. His alien tag- along had no grip on reality, and so was freely granted admittance to the lesser madness ahead.
   Before him the door pulsed with an internal ruby glow, a promise of pleasure beyond. A sensuous mechanical voice murmured softly, "You have paid for and have been granted permission to sample our palette of a thousand worlds. Your pet"-an apparent reference to Ab-"may enter with you but must be kept under control at all times. You will be charged ..." and the voice quoted various figures; the rate went downs-the length of time increased. "On your way out or in, partake of the invigorating refreshments we offer," the voice concluded. Flinx nodded. It was a bar, as he had suspected.
   Smoothly the pulsing red door slid into the floor. Flinx braced himself mentally and walked forward. Ills initial reaction was one of letdown. The simiespin chamber was huge, a good three stories high inside. Though it didn't look like an ordinary gathering chamber at present. Instead of benches and booths and a bar, he found himself looking at a sloping beach studded with boulders. It was evening. A sun much pinker and hotter than either Moth's or Alaspin's was turning the drifting stratus clouds above the color of purple-lavender waves lapped sonorously at the yellow sands. A few strange plants swung lazily in the hot breeze of, the water, almost in time to the humming sound of unknown, source.
   Nearby a man and a woman lay entwined in each other's arms. Their filthy prospectors' clothing was grotesquely out of place in the idyllic scene, but neither appeared to mind. They were elsewhere anyway, no doubt partly as a result of whatever they were sucking from a nearby boulder through a pair of long, sturdy plastic siphons.
   "Where are we?" Flinx asked, his curiosity at the vision around him overcoming his unease at invading the couple's privacy,
   The man didn't object. Palling the tip of the siphon from his lips, he eyed Flinx and muttered dreamily, "Quofum, I think. Quofum."
   That was a world Flinx had heard of once. It supposedly lay far from the Commonwealth's boundaries, somewhere along the inner edge of the Arm. Only a few humans and thranx had ever succeeded in visiting it. Something was wrong with space in that region, something which caused Quofum to appear only occasionally at the coordinates recorded.
   Fabled Quofum, where the sky was as clear as a virgin's conscience and the wine-colored seas tasted of everything from ouzo to Liebfraumilch. For the oceans of Quofum were varied, though the sea-stuff normally ran about nine percent alcohol. In the endless oceans of Quofum, so the tale ran, swam fish who were never unhappy.
   Stepping off the wooden landing, he found his feet sinking slightly into warm sand. Then he was by the edge of the sea, which stretched endlessly to the horizon. Sunset outdid itself as he kneeled at the edge of the water. Purple comfort ran over his knees and extended hands. Pip stirred uneasily on Flux's shoulder, shook him with a start back to reality. It was the most perfect illusion Flinx had ever experienced.
   Cupping his hands, Flinx dipped them into the sea, brought them up, and sipped a double palmful of ocean. The flavor of the seawater was rich, fruity, and strong, with a powerful bouquet and a gentle perfume caused by the warming effect of his hands.
   Rising, he noticed the stains on his jumpsuit and, frowned.
   Someone chuckled.
   Looking behind, he saw the two minidrag tamers he had followed in, leaning up against a wave-worn rock. The one with the aquiline nose called to him. His accent was unplaceable.
   "Join us, young dragon lord, and sit with your fellow, reptiles."
   Flinx started up the beach, brushing fitfully at hi, pants.
   "Don't worry," the swarthy man assured him, "the stains will disappear the moment you leave. They're as unreal as the sand and the drunken oceans."
   Even so, Flinx could still taste the smooth wine in his mouth, feel the wetness where it had swirled around his wrists and knees. The sand remained hot underfoot. Yet despite the heat, he realized, he was comfortable. No wonder only those of stable mind were permitted entry into such places! One with a less solid grasp of reality could go quite mad here.
   As if to test his thoughts, the sky above suddenly blurred, as did the landscape around him. When :he brief moment of disorientation had passed, he saw storm clouds overhead. Rain was falling steadily, and lightning crashed around him as electrons warred 3n the heavens.
   Flinx blinked away drops that he knew weren't real, that were only the products of machinery so sophisticated and sensitive that few humanx really understood how they operated. But he had to blink, the water dimmed his vision.
   Jungle and high ferns closed tightly around him, the startling climax vegetation of a cold-weather rain forest. He felt stifled, and looked around frantically for the simiespin entrance. Naturally, he could see nothing so out of keeping with the forest simulacrum. Rain continued to pelt his head ant shoulders, sending Pip deep into the folds of Flinx's jumpsuit material. Ab singsonged behind them, oblivious to the cold downpour.
   Except ... Flinx wasn't cold.
   "We're over here," a laughing voice called to him.
   He hunted but saw nothing. "Where?"
   "Behind the big tree, straight ahead. We haven't moved."
   Flinx walked around a meter-thick bole which looked like a cross between a Terran redwood and a bundle of black lizards tied together. As he walked past, he tapped the trunk. It responded with a stentorian bark that made him jump.
   His response prompted another laugh, nearer now. Behind the tree, the two minidrag tamers stood as before, only now they were leaning up against a rotting stump. Rainbow- hued fungi formed a riot of color on the dead wood.
   "First time in a simiespin, compadre?" the small man asked with a grin.
   "Yes. I had some idea of what to expect but" -he took in a deep breath- "it's still awfully disconcerting. Especially the suddenness of the changes."
   That's one of the attractions," the other man countered. "As it is with everything in life."
   "Don't pay any attention to Habib," the short one advised. "One drink and he turns morbidly philosophical He extended an open hand. "My name's Pocomchi." A nod toward Pip, peeking out from beneath Flinx's shirt top. "You're the youngest I've ever seen with a tame drag."
   They were already on a first-name basis-good. As. Flinx shook the proffered palm, Pocomchi extended Me other. It held a large, fat mushroom. At least that's what it looked like. Flinx reached for it. As be did so, the large triangular head cradled next to the short man's neck lifted. A slight sneeze from that head and Flinx would be dead. But at a word from its master, it relaxed.
   The mushroom turned out to be full of a brown liquid. It looked like gravy, but it held the kick of the whole bull. After a stunned taste, Flinx handed it back.
   Meanwhile, Pip's head was weaving back and fords, up and down in jerky, dancing motions. His excitement was understandable. Since Flax had found him, this was the first time he'd ever set slitted eyes on another of his own kind. The two minidrags opposite were appatently more used to others like themselves. They regarded Pip with only mild interest.
   "I'm Flinx," he replied when he had his breath back. As they sat down across from him, Flinx made a seat on the stump of another dead bush; the spongy mold crushed to cushion his backside against the hard wood.
   "Tell me, is this a chair I'm sitting on, or... ?"
   "You guess as well as we," the one called Habib told him languidly. "All life's an illusion."
   "There he goes again," grumbled Pocomchi goodnaturedly. He pointed behind Flinx. "Since that's remained constant, I assume it's not an illusion." Flinx saw that the man was gesturing at Ab.
   "He's a ward of mine. Crazy as a drive lubricator from too many fumes, but completely harmless."
   "Funny-looking creature," Pocomchi decided. he swigged his mushroom.
   Flinx studied his seat. It looked exactly like a dead stump. As he regarded it, it tuned into an eight legged, blue-furred spider-shape which rolled bug-eyes and hearing organs at him. It didn't move, however, and seemed content to support him. Somehow Flinx managed not to jump.
   But his new friends noticed the irrepressible twitch. "First time in a simiespin for sure," Pocomcln chuckled, as the sky turned pale puce above them. Then his expression turned curious, although the friendliness remained in his voice. "And maybe the first time on Alaspin as well? But that makes no sense. Dragon lords are few, Flinx. I don't recall seeing you before."
   "I'm from offworld, all right," be admitted. For some reason, he didn't hesitate to reveal information to these men. Anyone who could tame one of the empathic telepaths called minidrags could employ them only for defense, never to attack or bully or cajole others. The snakes wouldn't do it. They would never associate with such a being in the first place.
   If these men were not informative, they might at least be potential allies.
   "Not only is it my first time here," he continued, "but it's Pip's as well. He was abandoned on my home planet when we were both much younger. In a way, I suppose," he concluded, fondly rubbing the minidrag under one pleated wing, "it's more of a homecoming for him than it is anything for me."
   "Your dragon is as welcome as you," Pocomchi assured him. He leaned back into the supportive limbs of a multitentacled creature. As Flinx watched, the alien octopus-shape became a small tornado. Wind whistled and howled all around them. The jungle was gone.
   "Isn't that right, Balthazaar, old fellow?" Pocomchi had reached up to rub the neck muscles back of his snake's skull. The big minidrag was obviously as much older as it was larger than Pip.
   "How does one get a drink in here?" Flinx asked.
   "If you don't want to try the mushrooms, or other decor," Habib told him, "you can always tuck-a-tube." He extended a hand downward to pull a red siphon out of the ground. "If this doesn't appeal to you, there's a fairly standard mechbar back there." He pointed at a giant bird, which abruptly turned into an emerald cactus. "I much prefer the tube, because it matches the simie."
   "I don't understand," Flinx confessed, taking the tube with one hand and eyeing it uncertainly.
   Habib smiled. "The liquid changes to match the new environment. You never know what you're going to be sipping next." Flinx made a face, and Habib hastened to reassure him. "You can't get sick. This is a legitimate place. Plenty of modifiers included in the drinks to make sure no one gets ill. The owner's proud of his reputation. Wouldn't do to have customers puking all over his simulacra."
   Habib retrieved the tube, stuck it in the corner of his mouth, and leaned back. "How do I get one?" Flinx asked studying the ground unsuccessfully.
   "There's one by your right hip," Pocomehi informed him. "It was sticking out of the left leg of that spider thing you were sitting on a few minutes ago."
   Looking down, Flinx saw the whirlwind he was sitting on change into a blue stalagmite. Now they were in a cave filled with chromatically colored formations: stalagtites, helicites, flowstone, and much more. Cool cave air hung motionless around him.
   One of the helicites sticking to his seat was longer and straighter than its neighbors. It was also flexible, Flinx discovered when he pulled on it. Sticking it into his mouth, he sucked experimentally. A thin syrup flowed through the tube, with a taste redolent of overripe pomegranate. It coated his throat. The sweetness did not make him sick.
   There was, he decided, plenty of time to ask the important questions. For now, he would enjoy the simespin's delights and the company of these two companionable men.
   Chapter Six
    
   At least an hour passed, although within the simiespin there was no way of knowing the exact time, before Flinx spoke again.
   "What do you two do?" Curious, he examined them, the quick-moving, enthusiastic Pocomchi and his lanky, mournful companion. "Surely you're not attached to one of the scientific teams working on Alaspin?"
   "Who, us-archeologists?" gasped Pocomchi, eyes flashing in the dim light. The cave simulacrum, apparently proving popular, had been returned. "Fine chance you'd have, Flinx, of finding one of those brain-cases in a simiespin. No, they get their kicks down in the town library that the Commonwealth maintains for them."
   "You go to extremes, Poco," Habib insisted. He ran a hand through thick, curly black hair. "Even the thranx among them aren't strictly mental machines. You see thranx in here too, don't you?" With an arm he gestured toward a cluster of sparkling aragonite crystals, delicate as flowers. A male and female thranx were sprawled on their stomachs, immersed in illusion and each other. The male was caressing his companion's ovipositors suggestively.
   The cave vanished as snow started to sift down over them. Now Flinx's seat was a rough block of solid ice. Yet he remained comfortable, even as the breath congealed in front of his mouth.
   "We wander around a lot," explained Pocomchi.
   Habib leaned back into a snowbank and sucked silver from the siphon. "What we actually do, Flinx, is ... not much." He noticed the youth staring at his associate. "Tell the boy where you're from, Poco. He's shared with us."
   "I was born and raised in ..." Pocomchi hesitated. "Just say it was on Earth, near the middle of what teachers call the Hourglass. Near a place called Taxem." Fhnx admitted ignorance of the name, thou«h he knew of the Hourglass, where the two smaller continents met.
   "It's an old archeological site," Pocomchi went on. "I grew up surrounded by ancient temples. When I was seven I was running the tiller in my family's quartomaize field when something went clunk and the machine stopped. I sat there and cried for hours, afraid I'd busted the damn expensive thing." He grinned at the memory as he watched Ab's antics.
   "My mother finally heard me crying over the locator I always wore ... there were creatures called jaguars living in our neighborhood. When she and my uncle came out and moved the tiller, they found I'd hit a buried stone head about twenty-six hundred years old. It was on our land. The local museum paid one hundred fifty credits for it. I got ten whole credits of my own to spend. I bought out part of the local sweetshop and for a week I was sicker than a boa flying to swallow a maiden aunt." He took a swig from his tube, which now projected from the head of a glowing fish. They were underwater, Flinx noted with interest. Bubbles rose from his nose and mouth, yet it fell as if he were breathing clean air.
   Its sensory apparatus was beginning to handle the extreme shifts in environment. Ab seemed to float in the water behind him.
   "I've been trying to stumble over credit-producing heads and related stuff ever since," finished Pocomchi.
   "In short, he's as money-hungry as I am," Habib put in with a supple smile. "We're as bad as a Moth merchant."
   Flinx bridled slightly at the deprecatory comment directed at his home world, then relaxed. Why should he take umbrage at the reference? He was no merchant. And if he had one friend in that trade, it was off-balanced by a dozen enemies.
   "So now you know what we're bunting for," muttered Habib, after explaining that he came from a part of Earth called Lebanon. " What are you hunting here?"
   "A man."
   From nearby, Ab let out a startlingly clear bit of nonsense rhyme. Habib sat forward; he seemed to notice the alien for the first time.
   "Why's that with you?"
   "His associate," quipped Pocomchi. "Both Flinx and I share the same fate."
   "I acquired Ab by default," Flinx explained yet again, as Habib threw his grinning partner a sour look. "I haven't the heart to abandon him, and I'm not sure I could sell him. Besides, Ab's not good for anything except singing madness and serving as the butt of bad jokes."
   "Never seen anything like it before," Habib admitted.
   "Neither have I," added Pocomchi. "The simie admitted him?"
   "I don't think environment affects Ab," Flinx theorized, as the subject of the discussion drew lines in the snow. "Once in a while he almost makes sense. I'm afraid Ab exists in a universe of his own."
   Ab bent over to stare with a single eye at something on the ground. Apparently the thing was moving, since Ab's head inclined to follow it between his legs. Slowly he tucked head and then neck beneath him, until he fell over on his back- if it was his back and not his front- into the snow. Flinx smiled sympatheticaly, while both men laughed.
   "See?" Flinx said. "He's too pitiful a creature to just leave someplace."
   "You sure you're not a slaver?" Pocomchi inquired with sudden sharpness. "You don't look the-"
   "No, no," Flinx corrected, shaking his head rapidly "I'm just here looking for a man."
   "For what?" Habib asked with unexpected directness.
   Flinx hesitated, and finally said, "Personal reasons."
   "You want to kiss him or kill him?" Habib pressed disarmingly, not put off by Flinx's disclaimer. But then, Flinx knew, this was a frontier world, where such civilized subtleties as obfuscation were unknown.
   "Honestly, I'm not sure, Habib," he admitted, considering for the first time what he would do if he actually found the person he sought. "It depends on whether he's the end of a trail or simply another signpost on it." Sighing, he repeated his description of the man in question, for the hundredth-odd time on Alas pin:
   "A very big man, age uncertain but not young. Over two meters up, two hundred kilos in between, maybe less. Wears a gold ring in hits right ear, or used to. Ire may or may not have a minidrag with him. Don't tell me about the cargo handler at the port. I've already met him, and he's not the one I'm seeking."
   "Sounds like it could be ..." Habib was murmuring thoughtfully, but his companion was already waving his hands with excitement.
   "Sure, we know him"
   Flinx started, and slid off his ice block to land in a shallow pool of thick petroleum. They were in a swamp again. a dark morass dominated by carboniferous plants from which swung chittering oil-black creatures with flaming red eyes. A red sun blasted the noon sky overhead, stabbing through black-white clouds.
   Minx saw only Pocomchi.
   "Don't look so startled, lad," the Indian urged. "It's not a common man you've described. The one we're both thinking of fits, even to the gold earring." He shook his head, smiling at some secret thought. " A character, even for Alaspin, he is."
   "Could you- where is he?" Tins finally managed to stutter as he fought to untangle himself from his siphon tube.
   Habib made an expansive gesture eastward. "Out there, doing the same things we do. Got a claim of sorts that he works with a partner." He leaned forward slightly. "Personally, the grabbers I've talked with say she's working an empty slot."
   "When was the last time you saw him there, or knew for sure that he was at this place?"
   "Three, maybe four months ago," Pocomchi considered, scratching the bridge of his impressive nose.
   Flinx sagged inwardly. By now the man could be anywhere, even offplanet. But it was something! A reason to remain.
   Habib rose and sauntered toward Flinx, waving his tube. "If I were to tell you some of the stories about your man, dragon lord, you wouldn't ..." His mouth opened wide, and he gaped querulously at Flinx. Then his hands went out in front of him reflexively as he fell forward, metacarpal bones buckling as they hit the now- firm gravel floor of the desert under them. Three suns burned hellishly above; a fourth was sinking over the distant horizon.
   Flinx had a glimpse of a hair-thin wire attached to a needle the size of a nail paring protruding from Habib's back, near the spine. A slight phut, and the needle and wire were withdrawn. The faint smell of ozone lingered in the air as he threw himself flat.
   While Flinx crawled over the sand and gravel toward Ab, Pocomchi was moving toward his friend calling to him wildly.
   The instant Habib hit the ground, a tawny leathery shape had left his shoulder. Now it was joined by Balthazaar, and then Flinx felt a familiar weight leave his own arm. Like leaves in a dustdevil, the three winged demons circled one another in the air. Then they were streaking as one toward a gleaming boulder of solid cirriae off to Flinx's right. Several violent hisses sounded behind them, a reptilian equivalent of a sonic boom.
   Flinx continued toward Ab, shouting for the alien to lie down. Two blue orbs moved, eyeing him quizzically. The slight puff of displaced air sounded above Flinx. Artificial desert sunlight reflected from a long, silvery thread. The thread ended in a sharp, tiny shape which struck the quadrupedal alien just under one ate its four arms. A faint crackling sounded, as if a hand had been dragged across a coarse wool blanket.
   Ab stopped in mid-verse and appeared to quiver slightly. Then lie resumed rhyming as if nothing had happened. Flinx reached him, got his arms around three legs, and yanked. Ab tumbled to the sand. He stared at his master with a blank but almost hurt expression.
   Glancing behind them and to the right, Flinx save that Pocomchi was kneeling next to the motionless form of Habib. Slowly, as if fearing what he would learn, he extended a palm. It touched his companion's back rested there a moment, then was brought away.
   "Get down, Pocomchi!" Flinx yelled frantically. The Indian didn't look over at him, and made no move to comply. He appeared dazed. Maybe it was unconcern, Minx thought, when muted curses and screams began to reach him from behind the tall spire of yellow quartz.
   As he waited and watched, the boulder changed into a giant diamond-bark tree, whose brown exterior flashed with blue sparks. Three shapes fluttered out from behind the, tree.
   Pleated wings braked as Pip came in for a landing, tail extended like a hand. It curled around Flinx s shoulder, the body then folding itself around the youth's extended arm pleated wings collapsing flat against the cylindrical body. Flinx could feel the tenseness in the miridrag; he noted that his pet was panting nervously. Slitted eyes continued to dart watchfully from side to side.
   A second minidrag, the constrictor-sized Balthazaar, draped itself around the back and arms of the grieving Pocomchi. The long, pointed tongue darted in and out worriedly, touching cheek, touching eyes, touching.
   Flinx watched Habib's minidrag settle to a curled landing on its master's back. It lay there briefly, then slid forward to examine the head. After several minutes, great pleated wings unfurled. The flying snake fluttered forward until it was hovering in front of Habib's face. Leathery wings beat at the air violently, sending wind into the motionless man's mouth and nostrils.
   More minutes, until the minidrag finally settled to earth by the still head of Habib. It coiled itself, and they remained like that, face to face, unmoving.
   Flinx finally realized he was still holding on to Ab's legs. As soon as be released him, the alien righted himself. Indifferent to all that had taken place, Ab proceeded to inspect a tree root.
   Keeping his eyes on the citrine boulder, Flinx crawled over to sit next to Pocomchi. He was still cautious, but felt less and less that any danger still hid behind the massive yellow rock.
   There was no need to state the obvious. He had seen death in Habib's eyes before the man hit the sand.
   "Look, I'm sorry," he whispered tensely. "We'd better try to get out of here."
   "Why?" Pocomchi turned anguished eyes on Flinx. When he spoke again, Flinx realized his question had nothing to do with a reason for leaving the simiespin.
   "We never stole a claim, we made no serious enemies," the little man went on. His eyes returned to the slim prone form below them. The sand and gravel beneath it abruptly, uncaringly, changed and became blue grass.
   "Three years. Three years we've been grubbing and carving and stinking on this end-of-civilization world. Three years! Other people hit it big all around us. But not us, never us." His voice rose. "Why not us? Why not us?"
   Flinx made calming motions. Other patrons were beginning to look in their direction. The one thing he didn't want now was to be asked unanswerable questions. Reaching out, he tried to grab Pocomchi by the shoulders, to turn him toward him.
   The moment be was touched, Pocomcbi shook the hands violently from him. "Don't touch me!" Ire trembled; his voice was full of homicidal fury.
   After a moment's hesitation, Flinx sat back on hi,, haunches. While waiting, he occasionally eyed the yellow massif, which had now become a cluster of sutro branchings. Pocomchi seemed to calm himself a little. Flinx decided to wait, despite possible danger to himself, until the tormented Indian regained a measure of self-control.
   So be turned his attention to the corpse at his feet. There was no blood, no visible wound. Leaning close, he saw where the needle- tipped wire bad touched. A small hole bad been made in the back of Habib's shirt. It was blackened around the edges. The peculiar smell still hung above the spot: ozone.
   At least, he reflected gratefully, the philosophical miner had not suffered. Death had been instantaneous, brought on at the moment of contact with the needle.
   A hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up anxiously, then relaxed. Pocomchi was standing above him, looking down at the body of his friend. His firm, assured grip was comfort enough for Flinx.
   "I'm okay now, Flinx. It's just that- that " He fought for the words. He wanted them to be right. "Habib was about the only man on this world that could stand me, and be was one of the few that I could stomach. Three years." Abruptly, he rose and turned to face what was now a clump of trees long extinct on Earth but still flourishing in mind tapes.
   "Come on," he instructed Flinx as he started toward the small cluster of elms, "I want to see the dirt."
   After a last backward glance at the body, Flinx hurried to catch up with the Indian. "What about your friend?"
   Pocomchi didn't look back at him. "He'll lie there until the place closes. First the management will run their drunk crew through to help out those able to walk. Then they'll come through again and sweep up the incapacitated.
   "Habib would like that, when they find out he's more than drunk. First they'll panic-probably think it's something toxic that's snuck into their siphon mixture. Then they'll locate the real source of death, electrocution, and go crazy trying to find the malfunction in their simie machinery.
   "When that doesn't turn up anything," he concluded bitterly, "a few credits will change hands and they'll give him a proper, if circumspect, burial. The Church will make sure of that."
   They were almost around the grove of elms when the trees became a pair of enormous mushrooms. Flinx found himself slowing, putting out a restraining hand. "Don't you think maybe ...?"
   Pocomehi shook his head curtly. "Balthazaar would never have come back if any kind of threat remained. Nor would your drag, I suspect."
   Flinx murmured agreement. It was not the time to argue- and he settled for letting the Indian round the corner first. When nothing sent him reefing back in his death throes, Flinx moved to join him.
   There were two bodies on the ground. One was clad in a yellow-green dress suit, the other in a casual coolall. Flinx had a bad moment, but it gave way to what he expected to feel when Pocomchii put a foot under one corpse and flipped it over. The dress suit fell aside, revealing a familiar skin-tight blackness beneath.
   Barely restrained anger gave way to puzzlement as Pocomehii checked the heads. A floppy green hat fell aside to show a black-and-crimson skullcap beneath. "Qwarm," he muttered with a frown. "We've had no dealing with them. Habib and I hadn't discovered anything worth killing over, nor have we offended anyone that badly. Qwarm are expensive. Why would anyone want to have us killed?"
   Something clicked, and he jerked his bead up to see Flinx staring patiently back at him. "You. Why do the Qwarm want you dead?"
   "Not me," the youth explained, pointing behind him.. "It's Ab they want. Though they want me too because I got too curious about why they wanted Ab."
   "I'm not sure I'm following you, Flinks."
   By way of an answer, Flinx pointed at the two awkwardly sprawled venom-scarred bodies. "If two of their members," he explained, "hadn't reacted without thinking, I might not be involved with them at all Habib might still be alive." He gestured loosely at the corpses. "So might they."
   Pocomchi's reply was laced with contempt. "What do you care about a pair of soulless murderers like these?"
   "They're humanx," Flinx responded quietly.
   Pocomchi grunted eloquently. Then he raised one foot over the body he had overturned and brought it down with a hard, twisting motion. There was a cracking sound, as of shattering plastic. Kneeling, the Indian tore open the back of the black shirt. Several square plastic cases were linked together around the assassin's waist. A thin but heavily insulated cord ran from one case to a tiny, childish-looking plastic gun lying on tae floor.
   "Supercooled dense battery pack," Pocomchi explained, examining the arrangement. He touched a small switch on the cord before picking up the toy gun by its insulated handgrip. "Delivery terminal," he declared. "Fires a small needle attached to a wire."
   Flinx had heard of this weapon but had never seer one before-But then, there were many ways of killing, and the Qwarm undoubtedly knew most of them.
   "The wire rolls onto a spool inside the handgrip," Pocomchi was telling him evenly. "It serves two functions: to deliver the lethal charge and to guide the needle to its target. A good man with one of these"-he hefted the little weapon easily-" isn't stopped by any kind of shielding. If you're good with the guide system, I understand, you can shoot around several corners. An opponent wouldn't get a shot at you, or even a clear look. Or a chance ... to fight back."
   Flinx knew Habib had been electrocuted instantly. Then why…?
   He found himself walking out from behind the mushrooms, to look across a newly born brook. On the far side, Ab had an artificial yellow-and-pink flower in one hand. A big blue eye was bent close, studying the petals.
   "I don't understand," Flinx muttered, half to himself.
   "I don't understand either," snapped Pocomchi. Then he became aware that Flinx was staring, and not referring to the killing that had just taken place.
   "It's Ab..., my alien," Flinx told him eventually. "That needle hit him. I saw it hit him. I heard it. The charge went into him, and he doesn't show any sign of it. I've heard of natural organic grounders before, nervous systems which can shuttle enormous voltages harmlessly through their own bodies-but never in an animal, always in plants."
   Pocomchi shrugged. "Maybe your Ab is a plant imitating an animal. Who knows? All that should matter to you is that he was immune to this particular kind of murder."
   Fliax was looking around nervously now. "This means they know I'm on Alaspin. I've got to move." He started off to his right. "Are you coming, Pocomchi? I could use your help."
   The Indian laughed sardonically. "You're a fine one to be asking for my help, young dragon lord. You're marked for dying. Why should I go anywhere with you? I can think of a dozen simpler ways to commit suicide."
   Flinx stopped. He stared hard but unthreateningly back at Pocomchi. "I need to find the man you told me of, even though he's probably just another false lead. You're the only one on Alaspin I know who could find him for me. I don't expect you to come with me out of friendship. I'll settle for hiring you. Why should you go anywhere with me? Why not?" he finished, rather heartlessly. "You have other immediate prospects?"
   "No," Pocomchi whispered blankly, "no other immediate prospects."
   "But money isn't sufficient reason for you to come with me," Flinx went on relentlessly. "So I'll give you a better reason. I'd be very surprised if they don't try to kill Ab and me again."
   Pocomchi rose and brushed at his pants to wipe off imaginary sand. "That's no reason."
   "Think Pocomchi," Flinx urged him. "It means that you and Balthazaar will have a chance to meet some more Qwarm."
   The Indian glanced up at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then his expression tensed with the realization of what Flinx was telling him. "Yes. Yes, maybe we will have a chance to meet some of that kind again. I'd like that." He nodded slowly, forcefully. "I'll go with you and guide you, Flinx." Turning, he spat on the two limp bodies and started to murmur in a guttural, alien tongue.
   Flinx reached out, took Pocomchi's unresisting arm, and tugged him toward the exit. The man allowed himself to be led, but never ceased his muttering, which was directed at the two corpses they were leaving behind.
   They crossed the small brook. In midstream it turned into a river of molten lava. Flinx felt gentle heat swirling around his legs, when they should have been burned to cinders. But he took only the barest notice of the effect. His mind was full of thoughts unconnected with the sensory gluttony provided by the simiespin machinery.
   "Come on, Ab!" he shouted behind him. Blue eyes focused on him. With a good-natured singsong having something to do with vultures and fudge, the alien followed the two men across the glowing pahoehoe. By the time they reached the simiespin exit, Pocomchi had recovered enough to pay for his stay with his own credcard, though from time to time be would resume his muttering.
   Finally they were on the street outside. Flinx started back toward his motel, Pocomchi walking alongside. The last remaining light of the Alaspinian evening was fading to an amber luminescence. Expecting a new kind of destruction to stab at them from behind every crate and barrel, from every rooftop and floater, Flinx found his gaze shifting constantly at imagined as well as real movements.
   A hissing cry sounded suddenly- a reptilian wail. Both men paused. Behind them, a leathery winged shape rose into the sky. It passed over their heads, soaring on brilliantly hued wings as it lifted into the sunset. For a minute it paused there, above and slightly ahead of them, circling as it climbed. A dream-dragon out of a childhood fairy tale, its colorful diamond pattern caught the fading sun.
   Abruptly it gave another short cry; it had reached a decision. Wings pushing air, it shot off in the direction of the setting sun. Light and distance combined to obscure Flinx's view of it in a very short while.
   Both men resumed walking. "I wondered what Habib's minidrag would do," Flinx murmured thoughtfully. "I always wondered what a tame minidrag would do if its master died."
   "Now you know-they turn wild again," Pocomchi elaborated. "Hazarez was a good snake." He eyed the sun, which had swallowed the last sight of the shrinking dark dot. "Balthazaar will miss Hazarez, too."
   "We're liable to miss a lot more," Flinx assured his companion, "if we don't get off these streets before dark. The Qwarm prefer two sets of clothing: black cloth and night. I've got a few little things in my room I want to collect. Then we can rent a floater and get out of the city." He increased his pace, calling back over his shoulder, "Get a move on, Ab- I'm in a hurry!"
   Four legs working effortlessly, the blue-green alien complied without any indication of strain.
   Darkness owned that corner of Alaspin by the time they reached the modest hotel Flinx was staying in. His room pass keyed the transparent doorway. Panels slid aside, admitting both men and Ab to the unpretentious lobby.
   Flinx headed straight for the lift; his rooms were on the third floor. Pocomchi and Ab trailed close behind so close that when Flinx halted as if shot, the Indian nearly ran into him.
   "Flinx?" Pocomchi inquired softly, alert now himself.
   An,amorphous, oppressive something had fallen like a thick curse over Flinx's thoughts. For a moment he had difficulty classifying the source. Then he knew. The mental stench of recent death permeated the entire building.
   He told himself it might merely be a lingering aftereffect of the simiespin experience, a sort of mental hangover. It could also be the result of his often-morbid imagination. But he did not think so. He was trying to rationalize away his fear of what must have taken place here.
   Instead of taking the lift, he tried to lean in the direction where the brain-smell was strongest. It led him toward the opposite side of the lobby. Mirable's quarters and office were here.
   When he placed his palm over the call contact, he heard a reassuring buzz within. But no one came to open the door or check on the caller. He repeated the action, with the same result.
   He tried to tell himself she could be out of the building. That must be it. His bill was paid for two more days in advance, but it would only be polite to leave a message explaining his sudden departure.
   Picking the light stylus from its holder in the wall, he inscribed his good-bye on the electronic message screen. Then he pushed the transcribe button. When she returned, her presence would activate the screen machinery. His light images would be turned into voice and played aloud for her.
   Replacing the stylus, he turned to leave. Pocomchi caught him and nodded at the doorway: "Listen."
   Flinx obeyed. He heard something, then realized it was the message he had just left. 'that meant Mirable had to be in her apartment.
   Why didn't she respond?
   Experimentally, he placed a hand on the door and pushed. It slid back a few centimeters into the wall. That didn't make sense either. If she was within, surely she would have set the lock. Even on a relatively crime-free world-let alone a boisterous planet like Alaspin - such a device was standard equipment, built into the doorway of every commercial establishment.
   The door continued to slide back under his pressure. He peered inward.
   A voice called from behind him, "What's going on, Flinx?"
   "Shut up."
   Pocomchi was the sort of man who had broken limbs for less than that, but something in Flinx's manner induced him to comply without protest. He contented himself with watching the hotel entrance and the lift doors, while keeping an eye on Ab.
   Shoving the door all the way into the wall, F1inx noticed a dark spot near its base. A thin stain indicated that a fluid-state switch had been shattered. That tied in with the broken lock mechanism.
   Slowly he walked into the room. Internal machinery detected his body heat and brightened the chamber in greeting. It was decorated with the sort of items one might expect to be chosen by a woman whose dreams were rapidly leaving her behind. The flowers, the little-girl paraphernalia, a few stuffed animals on a couch, all were nails desperately hammered into a door against which time pressed relentlessly.
   Then he saw the leg sticking out from behind the couch. The trussed body of Mirable lay naked beyond. Most of the blood had already dried.
   A vast coldness sucked at him as he kneeled over the rag-doll shape. One eye stared blankly up past him. He put a hand up and closed it gently. The other eye was missing. A look of uncomprehending, innocent horror was frozen on her face. About that he could do nothing.
   Why she had shielded him, as she apparently had, he could not imagine. Whether out of some strange loyalty or the like, or out of pure stubbornness, she had not talked immediately. That would please ordinary criminal types, but not the Owarm. True sadism was not a luxury professionals could afford, and they had done a professional job on her. But he did not understand why they had killed her. It was almost as if her obstinacy bad irritated them.
   Quickly he left the room and the body, surrounded by now- dead dreams. He almost expected to see Pocomchi and Ab lying dead across each other. But both were standing there, Ab mumbling amiably to himself and Pocomchi waiting silently. The Indian said nothing.
   Flinx's gaze went immediately to the lift. He did not think anyone had seen them enter the building; if they bad, he would not be standing here now.
   "They're upstairs, I think," he told the expectant miner.
   "I know where we can rent a skimmer now, if you've got the money," Pocomchi told him.
   "I've got the money." Flinx took a step toward the lift. Pocomchi caught his arm, hard. Both minidrags stirred.
   "You did me a right turn, back in the spin," the Indian said tightly. "Now it's my turn." He jerked his head toward the lift and the floors above. "This isn't the place or time. They've chosen both. When the time comes, we'll be the ones who've done the planning."
   Flinx stared at him for a long moment. Pocomchi stared back.
   "It was the woman who owned this hotel," Flinx finally explainod flatly. Pocomchi let go of his arm, and they started slowly for the door. "She should have told them about me immediately."
   Both men checked the door and the street beyond. It was empty.
   "Then she did tell them," Pocomchi said.
   Flinx nodded. "Not right away."
   "Why not?" the Indian wanted to know as they exited and turned right down the street. Nothing fell from above to explode between them; no one challenged them from behind a corner.
   "I don't know," he admitted, unable to blot the pitiful image of her twisted form from his mind. "It was a ;stupid, foolish thing to do."
   "She must have had some reason," pointed out Pocomchi.
   "I think ..." Flinx's tongue hesitated over the words. "I think she liked me, a little. I didn't think she liked me ... that much."
   "One other thing." Dark eyes turned to Flinx in the dimness. "As soon as we started for the elevator, you. knew something was wrong. How?"
   If nothing else, Flinx owed this little man some truth. "I can sense strong feelings sometimes. That's what hit me when we went in. An overwhelming sensation of recent death."
   "Good," Pocomchii commented curtly. "Then you know how I feel." He increased its speed, and although Flinx was a fair runner and in good condition, he had trouble staying alongside him. "Let's travel," Pocomchi urged him, seemingly not straining at the wicked pace. "Let's get that skimmer."
   As they ran they passed several late-evening strollers. Some examined the racing triumvirate curiously. A few stopped to gawk at the four-footed apparition loping along behind the two men.
   But as he panted and fought to keep up with Poeomchi, Flinx knew that no death lay behind any o£ those staring eyes. That threat was behind, receded with every additional stride they took into the night. As the warm air enfolded him he wondered how much longer it would stay behind him.
   Chapter seven
    
   In comparative silence, the skimmer drifted across the waving grassland of Alaspin.
   Flinx had the feeling he was riding a bug over an unmade green bed. Neither the topography nor the vegetation was uniform in height or color. Here and there the familiar green gave way to a startlingly blue sward, and in other places to a bright yellow. Heavier growth, sections of bush, forest, and jungle, protruded like woody tentacles into the sea of reeds and grass.
   He studied the individual seated next to him, in the pilot's chair. Pocomchi seemed to be perfectly normal, very much in control of himself. Still, Flinx could sense the tension in the man, along with the anguish at his partner's death. Both had been pushed aside. To any other onlooker, the Indian's attention would have seemed to be wholly on the rippling savanna beneath them. Flinx knew otherwise.
   From their position, roughly a meter above the waving stalks, he inclined his head to squint up at the warm buttery beacon of Alaspin's star. It was a cloudless day, too hot for human comfort, too cool for a thranx to really enjoy.
   "I still don't know where we're going, Pocomchi."
   "The last I know of your man," the Indian. replied conversationally, "he was working his claim near a city reputed to be of Revarn Dynasty. Place called Mimmisompo. We're three days out of Alaspinport- I'm hoping we'll reach the city some time this afternoon." Unexpectedly, he smiled at his companion. His voice changed from the uncaring monotone Flinx had gotten accustomed to over the past several days.
   "Sorry if I've been less than good company, Flinx." His gaze turned back to the terrain ahead. "Habib was the type to mourn, not me. I'm kind of surprised a myself, and I certainly didn't mean to shunt my misery off on you."
   "You haven't shunted a thing off on me," Flinx assured him firmly. "Intimate deaths have a way of shaking one's ideas about oneself." He wanted to say more, but something ahead caught his attention. Pip squirmed at the abrupt movement, while behind Ab rambled on, oblivious.
   Just in front of the leisurely cruising skimmer the sea of high grass had abruptly given way to a winding, curved path roughly a hundred and fifty meters wide. Where the path wound, the tall growth bad been smoothly sliced off a couple of centimeters above the ground. Some torn and ragged clumps of uncut reeds pimpled the avenue, which looked to have been created by the antics of a berserk mowing machine.
   While Flinx tried to imagine what kind of instrument had sliced away the grasses, which grew to an average height of several meters, Pocomchi was pointing to some gliding, bat-winged avians armed with formidable beaks and claws. "Vanisoars," he was saying, "scavengers prowling the open place for exposed grass dwellers." Even as he spoke, one of the creatures dove. It came up with an unlucky furry ball in its talons.
   "But the path, what made it?"
   "Toppers. Hexapodal ungulates," he explained, examining the path ahead. He touched a contol, and the skimmer rose to a height of six meters above ie topmost stalks. "This grass looks fresh-cut. I think we'll see them soon."
   The nearly noiseless engine of the skimmer permitted them to slow to a hover above the herd of huge grazing animals. The largest member of the herd stood a good three meters at the fore shoulder. Each of the six legs was thick, pillarlike, to support the massive amored bodies. Hexagonal plates covered sides and back.
   Massive neck muscles supported the lowered, elongated skulls. Most remarkable of all was the design of the snout. What appeared originally to have been 2rmored, the nostril cover had lengthened and broadened to form a horn in the shape of a double-bladed ax.
   Flinx watched in fascination as the creatures methodically cut their way through the green ocean. Lour ered, ax-bladed heads swung in timed 180-degree arcs parallel to the earth, scything the grass, reeds, and small trees almost level with the ground. Then the lead creatures would pause briefly, using flexible lips to gather in the chopped vegetable matter immediately around them.
   Behind the leaders, immature males and females followed in the path of the adults. They consumed the cut-down fodder prepared for them by the leaders. A few small females guarded the end of the procession, shielding the infants from a rear assault. The younger toppers had no difficulty downing their share of food, which had been pounded to soft pulp by the massive footpads of the larger herd members in front of them.
   It seemed an ideal system, though Flinx wondered at the need for a few adults to shield the calves. The smallest, he estimated, weighed several tons. He questioned Pocomchi about it.
   "Even a topper can be brought down, Flinx," he was told. "You don't know much of Alaspin." He nudged a switch, and the skimmer moved forward slightly. "See?"
   Flinx looked down and saw that one of the lead bulls was standing on its rear four legs, sniffng the air in a northerly direction. The enormous nose horns looked quite capable of slicing through the metal body of the skimmer.
   "Let's see what he's got," Pocomchi suggested. He headed the little craft sharply north. Flinx had to scramble to keep his seat.
   In a few minutes they were above something winding its patient way through the reeds. Flinx had a brief sight of a long mouth lined with curved teeth, and glowing red eyes. It snapped at the skimmer and Flinx jerked reflexively.
   Pocomchi grinned at his companion. "That's a lance'el." He swung the skimmer around for another look. They passed over a seemingly endless form laid out like a plated path in the grass. Row upon row of short legs, like those of a monstrous millipede, supported scaly segments. Flinx couldn't make an accurate estimate of its size.
   "I knew it'd be well bidden," Pocomchi said easily. "That's why I kept our altitude. We'd have made that fellow a nice snack." A hiss-growl came from below; angry eyes stared up at them.
   Pocomclu chuckled. "We've interrupted his stalk, and he's not happy about it. It's unusual for a lance'el to strike at a skimmer, but it's happened." Another growl from below. "They can jump surprisingly well. I think we'd better leave this big one alone."
   Flinx readily agreed.
   Pocomchi had turned the skimmer and increased their speed. They were back on their southwesterly course once more. As the sun reached its zenith they were racing over bush and free-lined streams as much as grassland.
   I think we're all right," Pocomchi murmured, checking a chart. "Yes." He shut off the screen and returned his attention forward. "Another ten minutes, I think."
   The time passed. Sure enough, Flinx discovered the first reflections from stone and metal shining at them from between tall trees. "Mimmisompo," his companion assured him, with a nod forward. He slowed the skimmer, and in a minute they were winding carefully through soaring trees hung heavy with vines and creepers.
   "We're on the edge of the Ingre," Pocomchi informed him, "one of the largest jungle-forests in this part of Alaspin. Mimmisompo is one of many temple cities the archeologists don't consider too important."
   They were among buildings now, lengthy multistory structures flanking broad paved avenues. Brush and creepers grew everywhere. The fact that the city wasn't entirely overgrown was a tribute to the skill and precision of its engineers. An abandoned city in a similer section of Earth would have been all but eradicated by now.
   It was a city of sparkling silence, an iridescent monument to extinction. Everywhere the sun struck, it was reflected by a million tiny mirrors. Mimmisompo had been constructed primarily from the dense gold-tinged granites Flinx had seen employed in Alaspinport. The local stone contained a much higher proportion of mica than the average granite. Walls built of such material gave the impression of having been sprinkled with broken glass.
   The architecture was massive and blocky, with flying arches of metal bracing the carefully raised stonework. Copper, brass, and more sophisticated metalwork were employed for decorative purposes. It seemed as if every other wall was fronted with some intricate scrollwork or bas-relief. Adamantine yellow-green tiles roofed many smaller structures.
   As they traveled farther into the city, Flinx began to get some idea of its size. Even that, he knew, was an inaccurate estimate, considering how many buildings were probably hidden by the jungle.
   "Maybe it's not an important city," he mused, "but it seems big enough to attract at least a few curious diggers."
   "Mimmisompo's been grubbed, Flinx," his companion told him. "No one ever found a thing. At least, nothing I ever heard of.”
   "What about all those fancy engravings and decorations on the buildings?"
   "Simple relics and artifacts are throwaway items on Alaspin," Pocomchi informed him. "This is a relic-rich world. Now if some of those worked plates"-he gestured out the transparent skimmer dome at the walls sliding past them-" were done in iridium, or even good old-fashioned industrial gold, you wouldn't be looking at them now."
   "But surely," Flinx persisted, "a metropolis of this size and state of preservation ought to be worthy of someone's interest. I'd expect to see at least one small survey party."
   Pocomchi adjusted their course to avoid a towering golden obelisk. A broad grin split his dark-brown face. "I've told you, you don't know Alaspin. There're much more important diggings to the north, along the coast. Compared to some of the major temple-capitals, like Kommonsha and Danville, Mimmisompo's a hick town."
   "Stomped flat, sit on that, push it down and make it fat."
   "What's he drooling about now?" Pocomchi asked, with a nod back to where Ab squatted on all four legs.
   Flinx looked back over the seat idly. Ab had been so quiet for the majority of the journey that he had almost forgotten the alien's presence. But instead of playing dumbly with all sixteen fingers, All appeared to be staring out the dome at something receding behind the skimmer.
   "What is it, Ab?" he asked gently. "Did you see something?"
   As always, the alien's mind told him nothing. It was as empty as a dozen-diameter orbit. Two blue eyes swiveled round to stare questioningly at him. Two bands gestured animatedly, while the other two executed incomprehensible idiot patterns in the air.
   "Behind the mine the ground has stomped subutaneate residue lingers in the reschedule. Found itself often comatose. If you would achieve anesthesia, take two fresh eggs, beat well, and by and by up in the sky leptones like lemon cream will..."
   "Well?" Pocomchi asked.
   Flinx thought, scratching the scaly snake head, which was curled now in the hollow of his neck. "It's hard to tell with Ab, but I think he did see something back there. There's nothing wrong with his sensory input."
   Even as he slowed the skimmer and brought it "c hover, Pocomchi considered. He cocked a querulous eye at Flinx. "You willing to waste some time to check out an idiot's information?"
   "Why not," the youth responded, "since we're probably on an idiot's errand?"
   "You're paying," Pocomchi replied noncommittally. The skimmer whined slightly as its driver turned it around. Slowly they retraced their path.
   "Whatever it is has to be on the starboard side now," Fiinx declared, carefully studying the landscape "That's the side Ab was looking out."
   Pocomchi turned his attention to the ground on his right. In order to see clearly past him, Flinx had to stand. His head almost bumped the top of the transparent canopy. Jungle-encrusted ruins passed by on monolithic parade.
   Several meters on, both men saw it simultaneously.
   "Over there," Flinx said, "under the blue overhang."
   Pocomchi angled closer to the walls, then cut the power. With the soft sigh of circuits going to sleep, fm little vessel settled birdlike to the ground. A few shards of rock and shattered masonry crunched beneath the skimmer's weight.
   A touch on another control caused the canopy to fold itself up and slide neatly into the skimmer's roof behind them. In place of the steady hum of the engine, Flinx now heard jungle and forest voices emerging in the silence. They were cautious at first, uncertain. But soon various unseen creatures were whistling, howling, cooing, bellowing, hissing, and snuffling with increasing confidence beneath the blue sky.
   The noises fascinates Ab (didn't everything?)."There is a large depression in the sermoid," he began. Both men tuned out the alien versifying.
   Their attention instead was focused on the massive azure overhang to their left. It resembled blue ferrocrete, although that was impossible- ferroerete was a modern building material. It stuck outward, a thrusting blue blade shading a space fifteen meters square. In the sheltered region beneath the overhang was a familiar, self-explanatory outline.
   Pocomchi turned his gaze to the depression in the earth. Flinx, his own thoughts still on the blue monolith, followed the Indian out of the skimmer.
   "I haven't seen that color before," he told Pocomchi.
   "Hmmm?" murmured the Indian, intent on the outline pressed into the ground. "Oh, that. The ancient Alaspinians colored a lot of their formed stone. That overhang isn't granite, it's a cementlike material they also used. Probably a lot of copper sulfate in this one, to turn it that dark a hue." He traced the outline in the ground with his feet, walking around it.
   "A pretty good-sized skimmer made this mark," he announced. "Light cargo on board." Turning, he struggled to see through stone and jungle, wails and trees. "Somebody's been here recently, all right." Eyes intently focused on the ground, he walked away from the outline until he was standing beneath the blue overhang.
   "A good place for a first camp. Here's where they unloaded their supplies," he noted, examining the dirt. He walked out from under the sheltering stone and looked up across dense brush which formed a green wave against the side of the structure. It sounded like corduroy against his jumpsuit.
   "They've gone off through here, Flinx." Turning, he eyed his anxious young companion. "Yes, it might be your massive mystery man with the gold earring. Whoever it was, they've spent some money." He pointed to where the brush had been smashed down repeatedly to form a fair pathway that was only now beginning to recover from the tread of many feet. "They made a lot of trips to transfer their stuff deeper into the city. I thought everyone had given up on this location years ago."
   He started back toward the skimmer. Flinx was gazing with interest at the azure overhang, wondering at its original purpose. A temple at least a hundred meters high towered behind it. The massive blue form had fallen outward, leaving a gaping hole in the temple wall. Beyond he could barely make out a darkened interior lined with shattered masonry, dangling strips of punched metal, shade-loving plants, and the emptiness of abandonment.
   "What do we do now?"
   Pocomchi grinned at him and shook his head. "You've hardly heard a word I've said, have you? There's the remnants of a service trail back here, clear enough for us to follow. Since they felt the need to walk it from this point, I think it's safe to assume we can't get the skimmer through. Hopefully your quarry will be at the other end of the trail. Anyway, I'd like to meet anyone foolish enough to think there's anything worth taking out of Mimmisompo. I hope they've got easy trigger fingers and an inviting nature."
   "Let's get going, then," ventured Flinx.
   "Easy, dragon lord." He indicated the sun. "Why not wait till we've a full day to hike with? No one's running anyplace, least of all the people we're hunting. I think they're pretty deep into the brush." A hand waved in the direction of jumbled stone and bushes where the trail lay. "There are creatures crawling around in there that I'd rather meet in daytime, if I have to meet them at all. I'll set up a perimeter, and we'll sleep by the skimmer tonight."
   A radiant fence was quickly erected in a half circle, with the skimmer inside. Another compartment of the compact craft produced inflatable mattresses and sleeping material. It would have been safer to sleep in the skimmer, but the small cockpit was cramped enough with two men. Two men trying to sleep inside, together with Ab and a pair of minidrags, would have been impossible.
   Their temporary habitat was topped by an inflatable dome, which would serve as weather shield in the event of wind or storm. The semipermeable membrane of the dome would permit fresh air to enter and allow waste gases to pass out, but would shunt aside anything as thick as a raindrop.
   Outside, the radiant fence would keep curious nightstalkers at bay, while Balthazaar and Pip could be counted on to serve as backup alarms in the event that anything really dangerous showed up. As for arboreal predators, the great majority of them were daylight hunters, according to Pocomchi.
   Flinx leaned back on the soft mattress and stared out the dome toward the trail site. He was anxious to be after whoever had made it, impatient to have this search resolved once and for all. But this was Pocomchi's planet. It would be wise to take his advice.
   Besides, he thought with an expansive yawn, he was tired. His head went back. Through the warm tropical night and the thin material of the dome he could count the stars in strange constellations. Off to the east hung a pair of round, gibbous moons, so unlike the craggy outline of Moth's own rarely glimpsed satellite, Flame.
   The single moon of distant Ulru-Ujurr was larger than these two combined, he thought. Memories of his pupils, the innocent ursinoid race which lived on that world, pulled strongly at him. He felt guilty. His place was back there, advising them, instead of gallivanting around the Commonwealth in search of impossible-to learn origins.
   A fetid breeze drifted through the single window, set above and to the side of his bed. Soft crackling noises, like foil crumpling, drifted in to him. In a little while, the alien lullaby had helped him fall sound asleep.
    
   First sunlight woke Flinx. Rolling over, he stretched once and was instantly awake. Pocomchi lay on the mattress next to him, snoring stentorianly for so small a man. He stretched out a hand to wake the Indian, and frowned as be did so. Something was missing, something so familiar that for a long moment he couldn't figure out what was gone.
   He woke Pocomchi, sat up, and thought. The motion of rising brought the absence home to him. All at once, Flinx was moving rapidly, searching behind the mattress by the skimmer body, on the opposite side of Pocomchi's bed. Nothing.
   Zipping open the doorway, he plunged frantically outside and almost ran toward the jungle before remembering the radiant fence. Standing by the inside edge of the softly glowing barrier, he put cupped hands to his lips and shouted, "Pip! Where are you, Pip!"
   His eyes swept the trees and temple tops, but the searching revealed only silent stone and mocking greenery. Though both must have seen what had become of his pet, all remained frozen with the silence of the inanimate.
   Turning, he ran back into the dome and climbed into the skimmer. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he deflated the mattresses, Pocomchi eyed him but said nothing. Better to let the lad find out these things for himself.
   Flinx crawled behind the two seats, back into the storage area where Ab had ridden. "Come on out, Pip. The game's not funny any more. Come out, Pip!"
   When he finally gave up and rose, vacant-eyed, from the cockpit, he saw Pocomehi packing away the inflatable dome and taking down the fence. The Indian said nothing, but watched as Flinx moved to the edge of the brush and resumed calling. By the time the youth had shouted himself hoarse, Pocomchi had stowed all their supplies.
   One thing remained for Flinx to try. Standing by the shadow of the azure overhang, he closed his eyes and thought furiously. From the skies, he imagined to himself, from the skies, a terrible danger! I need you, Pip, it's threatening me. Where are you, companion of childhood? Your friend is in danger! Can't you sense it? It's coming closer, and there's nothing I can do about it!
   He kept up his performance for long minutes, until sweat began to bead on his forehead and his clenched fingers turned pale. Something touched him on the shoulder, and be jumped. Pocomchi's sympathetic eyes were staring into his.
   "You're wearing yourself out for no reason, Flinx," his guide told him. "Calling won't help." A hand gestured toward the sweep of dense vegetation. "When something calls the minidrag, it goes. This is their world, you know. Or hadn't you noticed that Balthazaar is gone too?"
   Flinx had been so thoroughly absorbed by Pip's disappearance that he hadn't. Sure enough, the old minidrag always curled about Pocomchi's neck and shoulder was nowhere to be seen.
   "Since I found him at the age of five," he tried to explain to the little man, "Pip and I have never spent a single day completely apart from each other." His gaze roved over the concealing jungle. "I just can't believe he'd simply fly off and abandon me. I can't believe it, Pocomchi!"
   The Indian shrugged and spoke softly. "No minidrag is ever completely tamed. You've never been on Pip's home world before, either. Don't look so brokenhearted. I've had Balthazaar fly off and leave me for several days at a time. He always comes back.
   "In case you've forgotten, we have other things to do here. There's that trail to follow, and your ringwearer to find. We won't be skimming out of Mimmisompo for a while yet. When they want to, both Pip and Balthazaar will find our thoughts."
   Flinx relaxed a little.
   "They're wild things, Flinx," Pocomchi reminded him, "and this is a wild place. You can't expect the two not to be attracted by that. Now let's make up a couple of packs and start the hard part of this trip."
   Moving mechanically, Flinx helped his guide prepare a set of light but well-stocked backpacks. When Pocomchi was helping him on with his own, showing him how the strappings worked, a sudden thought occurred to him.
   "What," he asked worriedly, "if we find what we've come for, and then when it's time for us to leave for Alaspinport Pip hasn't come back?"
   Pocomchi stared straight at him, his eyebrows arching slightly. "There's no use in speculating on thai, Flinx. Balthazaar means as much or more to me as your Pip does to you. We've been through a lot together. But a minidrag's not a dog. It won't slaver and whimper at your feet. You ought to know that. Minidrags are independent and free-willed. They remain with you and me because they want to, not because they're in need of us. The decision to return is up to them." He smiled slightly. "All we can do if we come back and they're not here is wait a while for them. Then if they don't show ..." He hesitated. "Well, it's their world." He turned and started off toward the trail.
   Flinx took a last look at the sky above. No familiar winged shape came diving out of it toward his shoulder. Setting his jaw and mind, he hefted the backpack to a more comfortable position and strode off after Pocomchi. Soon the skimmer was lost to sight, consumed by stone and intervening vegetation.
   Every so often he would turn to make certain that Ab was still trailing behind them. Then he would turn forward again. His view consisted of tightly intertwined bushes and vines and trees, parted regularly by the bobbing back of Pocomchi's head. The Indian's black hair swayed as he traced the path through the jungle encrusted city. Sometimes the growth had recovered and grown back over the path, but under Pocomchi's skilled guidance they always reemerged onto a clear trail.
   Although he knew better, he could think only of his missing pet. Emotions he thought he had long since outgrown swelled inside him. They were ready to overwhelm him when a cold hand touched the right side of his face with surpassing gentleness.
   Angrily he glanced back, intending to take out his feelings on the owner of that chill palm. But how could anyone get mad at that face, with its mournful, innocent eyes and its proboscidean mouth where its hair ought to be, tottering after him with the stride of a quadrupedal duck?
   "Worry, worry, sorry burry," ventured Ab hopefully, "key to quark, key to curry. Black pepper ground find in me mind" - this delivered with such solemnity that Flinx half felt it might actually mean something. While he was pondering the cryptic verse, he tripped over a root and went sprawling Pocomchi heard him fall and turned. The Indian shook his head, grinned, and resumed walking.
   Flinx climbed to his feet and hitched the pack higher on his shoulders. "You're right, All, there's no point in tearing myself up over it. There's nothing I can do about it." His gaze turned heavenward, and he searched the powdery rims of scattered cumulus clouds. "If Pip comes back, he comes back. If not"- his voice dropped to a resigned murmur- "life goes on. A little lonelier, maybe, but it goes on. I'll still have things to do and people to go back to."
   "Call the key, call the key," Ab agreed in singsong behind him. "To see it takes two to tango with an animated mango." He stared expectantly at Flinx.
   "Farcical catharsis." The youth chuckled, smiling now at his ward's comical twaddle. What a pity, he mused, that the poetically inclined alien didn't have enough sense to make real use of his talent. But he had become used to tuning out Ab's ramblings, so he concentrated on the path ahead and ignored the alien's continued verbalizing.
   "Key the key that's me," Ab sang lucidly, "I'll be whatever you want to see. Harkatrix, matrix, how do you run? Slew of currents and a spiced hadron."
   They walked all that day and afternoon. When Pocomchi found a place suitable for night camp, the path still wound off into the jungle ahead. With the experience of an old trailwalker, and maybe a little tangle, the Indian somehow managed to concoct a meal from concentrates which was both flavorful and filling.
   The fullness in his belly should have put Flinx rapidly to sleep. Instead, he found himself lying awake, listening to Pocomchi's snores and staring at the sky. The trouble was that the weight in his stomach wasn't matched by a more familiar weight curled next to his shoulder. Eventually he had to take a dose of cerebroneural depressant in order to fall into an uncomfortable sleep.
   Morning came with anxious hope that quickly faded The minidrags had not returned. Silently they broke camp and marched on.
   Poeomchi tried to cheer his companion by pointing out interesting aspects of the flora and fauna they passed. Ordinarily Flinx would have listened raptly. Now he simply nodded or grunted an occasional comment. Even Pocomchi's description of temple engineering failed to rouse him from his mental lethargy.
   They paused for lunch in the center of a series of concentric stone circles. Shade was provided by a fivemeter-high metal pillar in the center of the circles. It was supported by the familiar metal buttresses on four sides. The pillar itself, fluted and encrusted with petrified growths and slime, had corroded badly in places.
   "It's a fountain," Pocomchi decided while eating lunch. He gestured at the silent tower, then at the gradually descending stone circles surrounding them. "I expect we're sitting in the middle of a series of sacred pools that were once used for religious and other ceremonies by the populace of this city. If subterranean Mimmisompo stays true to the Alaspinian pattern, then the water for this was piped underground to here, probably through metal pipes by gravity." One finger traced the spray of ghost water. "It shot out of the fountain top and then fell down these fluted sides before spreading out and overflowing from one pool to the next." Leaning forward, he took a bite out of a concentrate bar.
   "Judging from the slight incline of the pools, I'd guess the drain is right about there." He pointed. "See the formal, carved bench? That's where a priest could sit and bless the waters flowing out of the cistern. On the right of the bench there should be a-" Abruptly, he quieted and strained forward.
   Flinx felt a mental crackle from his companion and stared in the same direction. "I don't see anything. What's the matter?"
   Pocomchi rose and gestured. "There, what's that?" Still Flinx could see nothing.
   The Indian walked cautiously toward the cistern out, flow, hopping down from one level to the next. When he reached the region of the stone bench, he leaned over the last restraining wall and called back to Flinx. There was a peculiar tightness in his voice.
   "Over here" he said disbelievingly, is a dead man."
   Chapter Eight
    
   The remains of his concentrate bar dangled forgotten from Flinx's hand as he peered over the cistern wall. Sprawled next to one another on the right side of the sacred bench were three bodies. Their skullcaps were missing, and their black suits were torn and ragged in places. Two men and a woman, all very dead.
   Each body was feathered with twenty-centimeter long shafts of some highly polished yellow-brown wood. Five tiny fins tipped the back end of each shaft. Flinx guessed that each body sprouted at least sixty or seventy of the small arrows. Or they might have been large darts, depending on the size of their users.
   "So, they followed us here," he muttered.
   Pocomchi was searching the surrounding jungle with practiced eyes. "They did more than follow, Flinx- they preceded us. They must have watched us set down, then circled somehow to get ahead of us on the trail." His gaze dropped to the corpse immediately next to him. Like the other two, it was missing both eyes.
   "They knew we'd come through here, so they set up a nice, efficient little ambush." Water trickled from the lowest cistern into the outflow drain, an anemic remnant of the once-substantial volume which had tumbled through this place ages ago. Pocomchi kicked at it and watched it darken his boot.
   "This isn't the first time this has happened," Flip: told him. His eyes weren't as experienced as Pocomchi's, but he could search the witnessing jungle with his mind. "The Qwarm were ready to ambush Ab and myself back on Moth. Something killed them there, too."
   Pocomchi threw him a surprised look. "Really? I don't know who was responsible for saving you, then, unless there are Otoids on Moth I haven't heard about." Bending over, he wrapped a hand around one of the several hundred shafts, pulled it free, and held it out to Flinx.
   The point was fashioned of crudely reworked metal, with five spikes sticking out of it. "This is an Otoid arrow," Pocomchi explained, turning it over in his hand. "They shoot them out of a slkambi, a sort of blowgun affair. Only they use an elastic made from native tree sap instead of their own weak breath to propel these. They're not too accurate, but" -he gestured meaningfully at the bodies- "what they lack in marksmanship they make up for with firepower."
   "You're right," Flinx informed him, "there aren't any Otoids on Moth. What are they?"
   "You'd think I'd have a simple answer for that one, wouldn't you?" Pocomchi replied, scanning the jungle wall once again. "Well, I don't. Nobody does, for sure. They're vaguely humanoid, run to about half your size. Furry all over except for their tails, which are bare. They're not very bright, but in the absence of the temple builders they've become the dominant native race. Manual dexterity helps them. Each of two hands has ten fingers, with three joints to each forger. They can climb pretty well, but the tail's not prehensile, so they do most of their traveling on the ground."
   "An interaction, disreaction, can't you see it's time to be, to activate the ancient key," Ab murmured. "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pheromones."
   The alien was waddling down the pool levels at high speed. Both men would have laughed at Ab's absurd. locomotion if it weren't for the three dead humans lying in front of them.
   "Ab," Flinx began, intending to bawl the alien out for disturbing them. Then he heard the rising hoots, the sort of war cry a human baby with an unusually deep voice might make.
   Ab was pointing and curiously feeling several objects sticking out of his back. The points had barely penetrated the outer epidermal layer. Plucking one out, he handed it to Flinx and smiled broadly. "Poor boy toy toy," he commented. "Tickle fickle tickle."
   "Come this way, Ab," Pocomchi ordered urgently. "No boy toy. You too, Flinx," he snapped, wrenching at the youth's pack. Flinx did not move. He was staring at Ab, who appeared to have suffered no ill effects from the dozen or so arrows sticking out of him.
   All hint of casualness was missing from Pocomchi's demeanor now. "Let's move it. If they get between us and the skimmer, we're finished. Come on, or I'll leave you and your idiot to greet them on your own."
   Flinx found himself running back down the trail they had laboriously traced this far. Ab kept pace easily. Cries sounded ahead of them, and Pocomchi came to e gasping halt.
   No good. They've got us cut off." He looked around wildly. "We've got to get around them somehow." Something made a thauking sound as it landed is the dirt barely a quarter meter from Flinx's feet. An Otoid arrow.
   Flinx noted that Ab had acquired another dozen of the feathered shafts. If they bothered the alien, he gave no sign of it. Flinx decided that either the secondary skin was incredibly dense or else some internal mechanism was sealing off each wound as it occurred. Or perhaps both.
   Time later to study the alien's remarkable physiology. Time if they managed to escape.
   Pocomchi was on his knees, using his beamer on the nearby trees. He shouted angrily at Flinx, "What are you waiting for, Flinx, an engraved invitation? Or do you want your eyes to end up in an Otoid stewpot?"
   Flinx joined Pocomehi in retreating back to a cluster of broken tree trunks and tumbled masonry. Dimly perceived shapes moved from time to time in the trees around them. Whenever he detected such movement, he fired.
   Pip did not magically appear to save him.
   Arrows glanced with metallic pings off the stone around him, made dull thumping sounds as they stuck in the thick logs. Every so often Flinx risked taking an arrow to reach out and pull Ab down next to him. While the murmuring alien did not seem to be suffering at all from the missiles, Flinx had no idea when his body might suddenly lose its immunity to them. Ab rolled over, pulling the shafts curiously from his skin and rhyming nonstop, utterly indifferent to the battle surrounding him.
   "How many do you think there are?" Flinx asked, ducking as a brass-tipped bolt sparked off the rock near his head.
   Pocomchi replied in between rising and firing, and ducking back under cover. "No idea. Nobody knows bow numerous the Otoid are. Xenoanthropologists aren't even sure how they breed. And, as you might suspect, they aren't kindly toward visitors."
   Abruptly he snapped off a lethal burst from his beamer. Flips peered between rock and log, had a glimpse of a wildly gesticulating form falling through filtered sunlight and branches. He heard a distant crash as the native hit the ground.
   While continuing to rain an impressive number of missiles on the three interlopers, the Otoids kept up a steady chatter among themselves. Flinx couldn't tell whether their conversation consisted of various forms of encouragement or of insults for their enemy.
   Not that it mattered. It seemed that hundreds of green eyes, gleaming like peridots among the trees, confronted them. Like most men, he wasn't going to be able to choose his place and manner of dying.
   He wondered what exactly the aborigines did first with dead men's eyes. As he was wondering, there was a hissing sound in the air. A blue energy beam considerably thicker than the ones put out by their small hand beamers passed over Flinx's head. It struck with devastating force among the densest concentration of natives. A great yelping and screeching reached them as a monster tree, a cross between an evergreen and coconut palm, came smashing down among toe concealed Otoid. Flinx saw where the blue bolt sliced cleanly through the trunk.
   A second burst of cerulean destruction flashed above them, tearing through leaves, vegetation, and not a few furious natives. To give them credit, the awesome display' of modern weaponry didn't frighten the Otoid away, although the hail of yellow-brown arrows slackened noticeably.
   Flinx turned on his side and shouted in the direction from which the shots had originated, "Who is it, who's there?"
   Both he and Pocomchi stared anxiously down the fragment of trail that remained in view. A figure stepped out of the bushes, cradling an energy rifle nearly as tall as Flinx. It was a heavy military model, Flinx noted, and was probably meant to be mount: on a tripod. Somehow its wielder managed not only to lift the weapon, but to operate it. Makeshift stings pad most of the weight on the man's shoulders.
   And the man was big as two men. He had a voice to match. "This way!" the figure bellowed at them, in voice that sounded more amused than worried. Around came the muzzle of the massive rifle, and another thick bolt carbonized trees and natives alike. "Hurry it up, there, you two! They regroup fast."
   Pocomchi was up and running then. Flinx was right behind, darting around rocks and bushes, jumping over fallen logs. Occasionally each man would turn to snap off a shot at the arrow-flingers in the trees. Ab kept pace easily, though Flinx had to make sure sow flower or bug didn't distract the simple-minded creature.
   While they ran, the bulky sure ahead of them stood in place atop the slight rise, firing down into the clusters of howling, frustrated Otoid. They had almost reached him. Flinx found himself scrambling up a crumbling masonry wall the last couple of meters. Pocomchi was just ahead and to Flinx's right. The wall seemed a million miles high.
   At its top stood their rescuer. Up close he was even more massive than he had looked from a distance. His white hair curled and fluttered in the warm breeze, and his face was half court jester, half mad prophet. Obsidian eyes, brows like antipersonnel wire, a sharply pointed chin- all were dwarfed by a nose any predatory bird would have been proud of. It rose like a spire from the sea of swirling features which eddied around it.
   His trousers, bright mold-green, ran into boots that sealed themselves to the pants legs. Above the waist he wore only the rifle straps and a massive power pack for the weapon, which crossed a chest full of white hair like steel wool and resembled an ancient bandoleer. His arms were covered with a similar grizzled fur. Though those limbs were bigger around than Flinx's thighs, the man moved with startling agility, like a graceful gorilla.
   There was a curse, and Flinx turned to his guide. A small, feathered shaft protruded from the back of Pocomchi's thigh. The Indian slid downward a little. His fingers dug at the rough rock; he trailed blood on the white stone as he fell.
   Reaching out and across, Flinx caught the back of Pocomechi's shirt just in time to halt his fall.
   "Hurry up, dammit!" the rifle-wielder shouted down at them. "They're gettin' over being scared. Now they're mad, and there's more of them coming every minute."
   "My friend's hurt!" Flinx called up to him.
   "I can make it," Pocomchi said through clenched teeth. He and Flinx exchanged glances; then both were again moving up the uneven stone facing.
   Somehow cradling the huge rifle in one arm, the giant above them reached down one treelike forearm and got a hand on Pocomchi's shirt top. The material held as Pocomchi all but flew the last meter to the too of the wall. Flinx scrambled up alongside them.
   Pocomchi took one step forward, his face tightening in pain, before he stopped to yank the shaft from is leg.
   "We've got to get back to the temple," the big man rumbled, letting loose another recoilless blast from the rifle. He looked squarely at Flinx. "I can't cover us with this and carry him too."
   For an answer, Flinx slipped his right arm between Pocomchi's legs and hooked it around the man's right thigh. Then he took the Indian's right arm in his left hand, bent, heaved, and swung the swarthy miner onto his shoulders.
   "I can manage him," Flinx assured the bigger man. Both of them ignored Pocomehi's protests. "Just show me the way."
   Teeth formed a line of enameled foam beneath the incredible nose. "It's a right good fight you two made of it till I got to you, young feller-me-lad. Maybe we'll all make it back unskewered."
   With the man's powerful rifle keeping the pursuing Otoid at a respectful distance, they started down into seemingly impenetrable jungle. Flinx hardly felt the weight on his back.
   Just when it appeared that they would run up against an impassible rampart of bushes and vines, the big man would gesture left or right and Flinx would find himself running down a gap only an experienced jungle hand would have noticed. Ab skipped along behind them, apparently enjoying all the excitement.
   The sounds of Otoid crashing and racing through the trees alongside them grew louder, more perceptible. While the terrible fire from the heavy military gun cut down any aborigines who ventured too near, it still seemed to Flinx that they were tightening a ring around the fugitives.
   Flinx's concern wasn't alleviated by the expression on the big man's face. Sweat was pouring down him now, and he was breathing in long, strained gasps, despite his strength. The tripod blaster was beginning to sap his reserves. It was not meant to be used like a handgun, much less to be carried and fired while on the run.
   "I don't know, young feller-me-lad," he said blinking the sweat from his eyes and talking as they ran. "They may cut us off yet."
   They ran on, until Flinx's heart felt like a hammer on his chest and his lungs shrieked in protest. The formerly light Pocomchi now seemed to be made of solid lead.
   Then, just when he thought he couldn't move another step, he heard a shout from his huge companion. Wiping aside perspiration and a few soaked strands of hair, Flinx thought he could see a dark rectangle looming ahead of them. The ancient portal rose a good four meters high and two across. It formed an opening into a creeper-wrapped temple built of sparkling green stone. The temple appeared isolated from any other structures. Its color enabled it to blend inconspicuously into the surrounding forest.
   The building was low, compared to many of the imposing edifices Flinx had passed in Mimmisompo proper-not more than two stories aboveground, flat and broken on top from the action of persistent, prying roots.
   Apprehensively he studied their apparent destination. "In there? But it's small, and there's nowhere to retreat to. Can't the Otoid ...?"
   "You can always try to make it back to your skimmer, lad," his rescuer suggested pleasantly.
   Arrows continued to fall around them as they staggered, exhausted, toward the catacomblike entrance. One bolt whizzed past so close that it slit Flinx's shirt under his left arm. Glancing down and over, he saw that the point had nicked the skin and he was bleeding slightly.
   Just ahead, several figures ducked down into tall grass. Emerald eyes glinted malevolently at them.
   "It's no good," Flinx wheezed, defeated. "They're ahead of us now."
   "'How many?" the big man asked, crouching alongside Flinx and swinging the rifle around.
   "I don't know, I don't know," Flinx panted, wondering if be would be able to stand again with Pocomchi's weight on his back. Next to him, Ab imitated his posture and offered a hopeful verse. Flinx was not comforted.
   "Little devils know how to fight, how to hide themselves. If they ever get organized, they'll run the prospectors and the scientists off Alaspin." Flinx, in spite of his near-total exhaustion, found time to be curious. But the big man apparently felt he had said nothing remarkable.
   "Got to chance it, lad," the man decided.
   "Chance it, fance it, dance and prance it," agreed Ab excitedly.
   "We can't stay here and we can't go back." He started to rise. "I'll go first. That'll give you a little time ... and some shieldin', if you can stay back of me. If we can just--"
   Popping sounds came from ahead of them. Several fist-sized globes of red fire emerged from above the dark doorway in the temple.
   Glancing higher, Flinx thought he could see a figure moving about in a long, narrow gap in the green stone. From that position it fired a weapon which produced the energy globes.
   Where each ball struck there was a small explosion. Flames leaped briefly skyward, only to disappear and leave a map-sized pillar of light-brown smoke in their wake. Those Otoid blocking the approach to the temple broke and Pied-those who were still able to. Red spheres pursued them.
   "That'd be Isili," Flinx's blocky savior declared. "I thought for sure she'd be down in the diggin's. Lucky for us she heard the commotion." He rose to his full height. "She'll cover us. Come on." He started for the towering entrance, running with lumbering, pounding strides that reminded Flinx of the herd of toppers he had flown over only a couple of days ago.
   Every muscle in his body strained, but he still found himself falling farther and farther behind. Any second now, he expected the sharp, exquisite pain of a metal point to penetrate his legs or lower back. But every time an Otoid raised itself for a clear shot at the fugitives, or moved to pursue, a cottony-crimson globe of energy would touch it, and both would vanish in an impatient gout of flame.
   Then, as he was tottering down carved stone steps, he realized that he was descending into the temple. The steps gave way to a level rock floor. Something thundered behind him. He experienced a moment of panic, but it was only a makeshift wooden door slamming shut across the temple entrance.
   His eyes rapidly became accustomed to the slightly dimmer illumination in the modest chamber. Small, independently powered lamps were hung from the ceiling, mounted on rock outcroppings.
   They reached the end of the entrance tunnel and emerged into a brightly lit cleared room. Here the surrounding walls were embellished with row upon row of magnificent carvings, mosaics of metal and stone alternating with deeply etched friezes depicting scenes from ancient Alasninian social and religious life.
   Flinx had little time to appreciate the sculpture as he sank, exhausted, to the floor, barely managing to set Pocomchi down gently. Ab strolled over to a pile of excavated stone and commenced examining some of the pieces.
   Taking the stone steps three at a time, the man who had led him to at least temporary safety mounted to a gallery which ran around the top level of the chamber. The ornamental banister which bordered the gallery was also made of carved stone. It was a good three stories above the chamber floor.
   Flinx saw him approach another figure, indistinct in the distance, and talk briefly. Then he turned and shouted down to Flinx. A slight echo shadowed his words.
   "Relax, feller-me-lad! They've given up for now. They'll count their losses, remove the eyes from their dead, and ceremony for a while. Then they'll decide what to do."
   "Surely," Flinx called up to him, "they won't attack a position as well defended as this temple?" The thick stone walls were making him confident. "Not with the kind of weapons you have," he finished, with a gesture toward the rifle the man had leaned against the nearby wall.
   "Don't count on being safe tomorrow," the man advised him pleasantly as be descended the stairway. He indicated the gun as he reached the floor. "Any reasonable humanx wouldn't want to tangle with a Mark Twenty, but these aren't reasonable or human or thranx, lad. They're primitives, and primitive folk always have more courage than brains. Resides, each of 'em probably thinks that if he dies in battle the gods will favor him in the afterlife. At least." he amended himself with a modest wink, "that's my theory."
   "Are you an anthropologist?" Flinx asked him uncertainly.
   A great, roaring laugh filled the room, rattled around the engraved walls, and filled each niche and hollow with monumental delight. While the man enjoyed Flinx's question, the youth took the time to note the piles of supplies stacked neatly in various spots around the room. There was also an oversized mattress, a cell charger, and a compact autochef complete with moisture condenser. All signs indicated that here was an efficient, organized, long-term camp.
   "Not me, young feller-me-lad," the man finally replied after regaining control of himself. "I'll claim science as a hobby, not a trade." Turning, he shouted up toward the high gallery and waved at the figure standing by the long window there. "Come on down Isili! Sunset's on. You know they won't trouble us any more today!" Lowering his voice, he spoke conspiratorially to Flinx. "Isili's the scientist. Me, I'm just a menial ..." He stopped, frowning.
   "What's the matter?" Flinx watched as the man walked over to him and continued on past. He saw him bend over,Pocomchi and realized that the guide had not said a word since they had reached safety.
   "He's asleep?" he inquired hopefully.
   The big man rolled the slight Indian over onto his stomach. The action revealed two broken shafts sticking out of the narrow back. With an angry grimace, the white-hared giant plucked both arrows free, then gently turned the Indian over onto his back. Flinx saw blood on the small miner's lips.
   "Hey, grabber-man," the huge man inquired gently, "how do you feel?"
   Pocomchi's eyelids twitched, his eyes opened. "How should I feel?" He turned his head and looked back up at the concerned face above him. "How did I get here?"
   "The lad carried you."
   Pocomchi raised his head slightly and smiled at Flinx. "Thanks, Flinx. Waste of time, I'm afraid."
   On all fours, Flinx crawled over to sit next to the limp form of the man who had brought him this far. Pocomchi took in the expression on the young face. He shook his head slightly, and winced at the pain the effort caused him.
   "Not ... your fault," he assured Flinx. "My own ... carelessness. Should have sensed them." He forced out a smile. The gesture was nearly beyond his rapidly fading capability.
   "Anything I can get you?" the big man asked gruffly.
   "How about ... a shot of Tizone?" Flinx started. Tizone was so illegal that few people even knew it existed. The giant could only grin faintly.
   "Sorry, grabber-man. Would I could."
   "Thanks anywav." Pocomchi's voice was that of a ghost now, the syllables poorly formed. Within him life had shrunk to a soap bubble's consistency.
   "I'm going to join Habib anyway," he rasped, staring across at Flinx. "I'm not religious, but the sanctimonious fool is there; I can feel him."
   "Give him my best," Flinx choked out. "Though that's not much to give anyone, these days."
   "Not ... your fault," Pocomchi repeated. His eye, closed. His lips moved, and Flinx had to lean close to hear. "If ... you ever see Balthazaar again ... give his neck a scratch for me."
   "Two scratches," Flinx assured him, in a torso scarcely more audible than the Indian's.
   The soap bubble popped, the spirit in the small body fled, and the third person who bad been good enough to aid Flinx since his arrival on Alaspin was now just so much meat.
   Slowly Flinx climbed to his feet, arranged his jumpsuit, and glared at the silently watching giant. "As soon as it gets dark, I'll make a run for the skimmer. Maybe they'll all be ceremonying, like you said, and I'll be able to slip through. You'd better not try to stop me. People seem to die in my vicinity."
   Pursing his lips, the big human examined Flinx appraisingly. "Well now, that's quite a speech, fella-me-lad. But, frankly, you don't look like much of a jinx. You're just a little bitty feller. And I'm about as unsuperstitious as they come. Besides, after they get through arguing and partying, they might just decide that they don't want any more of my Mark Twenty or Isili's popper."
   Flinx paused. "You really believe that?"
   "Nope," responded the man, turning to face the gallery above, "but it's a nice thought. Isili," he shouted again, "quit your gawking at the greenery and come meet our guest! Bet you the Ots don't even bother with us again."
   A rippling, slightly brittle voice called back to thorn, "You're dreaming if you think that, Skim." But the figure put the weapon down and descended the stairs.
   Trying to force Pocomchi's death and what he thought was his responsibility for it from his mind, Flinx studied the woman intently as she approached.
   She was about a twentieth of a meter shorter than he was. Her skin was a rich olive hue, much like his own, but other features pointed to a different ethnic heritage. Terran-Turkish, he decided, taking in the doll-like face with its amber eyes, the too-wide mouth, and the natural waterfall of sparkling hair that looked like pulled filaments of pure black hematite.
   She returned Flinx's stare for a moment, then ignored him. "They'll be back," she assured her associate, in that soft voice. Yet each word had an edge to it, suggesting that every consonant had been filed to a fine point before being uttered. What he could sense of her mind was as hard as duralloy.
   Pretty she was, but not in a commercial sense. It was the kind of beauty which would appeal to the man with a taste for the exotic. Flinx thought of her as a rare dish. It might give you an upset stomach or you might remember it as uniquely satisfying for the remainder of your days.
   Ire suspected that, beneath the jungle suit, her body was as wiry and tough as her thoughts. He nodded mentally. There were blatant differences in size, sex, appearance, and much else between her and the giant. But mentally there was a similarity of process and purpose, and that was undoubtedly what had joined them together.
   Of the obvious differences, one was that she did not share the big man's desire to protect Flinx. "You've brought us a lot of trouble," she told him candidly. "We haven't had any trouble with the Otoid until now."
   "You're also the first visitor we've had in weeks," her huge partner countered, "and welcome, lad."
   First visitor ... then they hadn't seen the bodies of the three Qwarm, Flinx mused. No point in mentioning them. He was already unpopular with the woman. The announcement that he and Ab were being chased by the brotherhood of assassins wouldn't exactly help change her attitude toward him,
   She noticed Flinx's live companion for the first time, and her expression became one of distaste. "What's that grotesque thing?" At the moment, Ab was singing something about Usander, crystalware, and Peter the Great.
   Once again Flinx bad to explain his ward. He finished gratefully, "I can't say much except to thank you for my life, both of you." The woman didn't look at him as she muttered something inaudible. Flinx indicated the motionless form of Pocomchi. "I know my friend would have been too. If it hadn't been for you, Mr. Skua. ..."
   "September," the white-maned giant corrected him; "Skua September."
   "If not for you, I'd be dead and eyeless out there some place."
   "Would have been better all around," the woman murmured, stalking over to the food supplies and viciously cracking the seal on a carton. She pulled a tube free, took a seat on a smooth stone, and sucked at the liquid inside the transparent plastic. Her gaze traveled from Flinx to September.
   "Would have been better if you'd left them. Now we'll probably all die. Oh hell," she concluded, not looking at either man. "I guess I'd have done the same thing, Skua. I'm going up for another look."
   September shook his head. "Isili, I told you, the Otoids will not attack during-"
   "Since when did you become an expert on the Otoid?" she snapped back. "Nobody's an expert on the Otoid. I don't think they'll attack at night either, but it's not completely dark out yet." She climbed the stairway and reassumed her position at the long window above the gateway. Her gaze was turned outward, the pulsepopper cradled efficiently under one arm.
   "Women!" September murmured softly, his expression unreadable. A hundred shades of meaning were encompassed by the single noun. He turned a bright smile on Flinx. "Would you like something to eat, feller-me-lad?"
   By way of reply, Flinx indicated Pocomchi's body.
   "What, not squeamish are you, lad?" wondered the giant disapprovingly.
   "No, but don't you think we ought to bury him?"
   "Sure," September agreed, walking over to the recently opened case of food. He removed several small, brightly colored cubes, dumped them into his mouth, and chewed, "You pick him up," he mumbled around the mouthful of organic slag, "and carry him outside. I'll toss you our smallest excavator through the doorway. Isili and I will do our best to cover you while you dig him a grave. I guess there's always a chance you'll make it back inside."
   Flinx didn't reply immediately. Instead, he walked over to stand next to the food case. "Despite your untimely sarcasm, I'll have a couple of those concentrates."
   "Sarcasm? Sarcasm!" the big man rumbled, spitting particles of food over the floor. "There's no such thing as sarcasm, boy. Just a few of us in this universe who accept the truth and deal with it accordingly. Sorry if I offended you, but outside the Alaspinport this world doesn't take much notice of tact."
   Flinx mulled over his situation as he masticated a concentrate cube which tasted affectionately of beefsteak and mushrooms. He knew the concentrate bore no more relationship to a once-live steer than it did to a thranx vovey. But while it was artificial, it was a masterfully composed artificiality, and his dried-out taste buds conveyed the efficacious, nutritive lie to the rest of his body.
   "What are you doing so far from the city?" September asked.
   Flinx wasn't quite ready to answer that question. Not just yet. "I might ask you the same. You said she's the scientist?" He gestured up to where the watchful woman continued her sunset vigil.
   "My employer, Flinx. It's stretching things a bit to say we're partners. Isili Hasboga. We're not too bad a team. She's as pessimistic as I am optimistic."
   "Optimistic?" Flinx snorted. "On this world?"
   "Ah, now who's being sarcastic, young feller-me-lad?" September inquired without rancor. "She's one of the most knowledgeable Alaspinian archeologists I've ever met. What's more, she's as avaricious as I, and that's greedy, lad. We have different reasons for wanting wealth, but the aim's the same. Isili wants financial independence so she can pursue the kind of research that interests her, instead of doing what some prissy institution wants her to. My desires, on the other hand are more basic."
   "Why'd she choose you?"
   "I'm good at what I do," September replied easily. "I don't drink, narcotize, or simiedive on the job, and I'm honest. Why not? It's as easy to be honest as it is to be a crook."
   "You're an optimist, all right," observed Flinx.
   "She decided on this particular temple after two years of research," the big man went on. "She needed someone to do some of the heavy work and provide cross fire when required." Moving to the near wall, he patted the huge weapon resting there. "This Mark Twenty, for example. It's tough to see an Otoid in a tree. With this toy, you just blast the tree. Never met another man who could use one as a hand weapon."
   "So she supplies the brains and you the muscle," Flinx commented. Refusing to be taunted, September simply grinned back at him.
   Flinx wondered if the giant could be upset. Despite his outer boisterousness, there was much that hinted at an inner calmness and confidence which would put him above petty arguing. And yet, something in the man's mind-something buried deep, hidden well-suggested some terrible secrets.
   "There's some crossover, lad," he finished. "I'm not the village idiot, and Isili's much more than a fragile flower, bless her curvilinear construction. What we find, we split evenly."
   "If we find anything," a voice tersely called down to them. "You talk too much, Skua. Getting lonely?"
   "Why, Grandma," September yelled back in mock surprise. "what big ears you've got."
   She didn't smile back. "All the better for gathering reasons to have you discharged, and drawn up before a government court for violating the secrecy terms of employment," she countered. She glanced back out the portal at the near-blackness outside, then started down the stairs.
   "Ali, the lad's no claim stealer, silly bog," September murmured coaxingly. She brushed past him. "What's the matter, no Otoid for you to fry?"
   "One of these days," she snarled with a smile, "I hope one of those homicidal little abos puts a copper bolt right into your-"
   "Now, silly," he chided her, "no dissension in front of our guest."
   She might have had a retort ready, Flinx felt, but her attention was drawn from the wordplay to Ab. Walking past him, she inspected the alien closely, eyeing him up and down, walking a complete circle around him. For his part, Ab ignored her and continued his rhyming.
   "Funny," she muttered to Flinx, "I think I recognize this fool, but from where I can't remember. What planet does it come from?"
   "Not only don't I know Ab's world of origin," Flinx informed her, "but I wish he was back on it. Ab was a slave, performing in the marketplace in Drallar, back on Moth. I acquired him accidentally," he explained, leaving out a great many awkward details of Ab's acquisition. "He's harmless. He also," he added with a touch of awe, "seems to be immune to Otoid arrows and to massive electric shock."
   "I'd like to have the first ability myself," she responded. Taking a stance directly in front of Ab, or at least where she decided his front was, she stared straight into his eye and said, hard and plain, "Where do you come from ..." She glanced at Flinx. "What did you call him?"
   "Abalamahalamatandra is what he calls himself, but he responds to `Ab' " was Flinx's reply.
   "Very well." She moved closer, almost standing on a green-striped blue foot. "Ab, where do you come from?"
   A blue eye rolled at her. "Hetsels, hetsels, harmon nexus. Special nexus. Shoulder right and up a thousand nexus, spatial solar plexus."
   Hasboga made a disgusted sound while September stifled a smirk, without much success. "That's one useful facility Ab has," Flinx commented, smiling himself. "He makes people laugh."
   "He's more than a pet, then," the inquisitive scientist decided, studying Ab thoughtfully, "if he respond: directly to questions."
   "Not necessarily," argued September, leaning back against a broken stone. "He might be only a mimic little intelligence required for that."
   "His comments are not repetitions of what's been said," argued Hasboga in return.
   "I had a pet once," whispered Flinx, but no one heard him.
   "Pet ... scandal smith," decided Ab, promptly performing a quadruple handspring and landing on his hands. His trunk roved over the floor, sucking up pieces of dropped concentrate. So absurd was the figure of the inverted alien that both Flinx and September broke out in laughter, and even Isili had to smile.
   "Funniest-looking creature I ever set eyes on," the giant declared. He brushed back the hair that had slid over his face. It fell straight down again, but not before Flinx saw what he had almost expected.
   "The earring," he almost shouted.
   "What?" September looked startled,; then his thick brows furrowed with concern. "What are you staring at, feller-me-lad? You all right?"
   "It's the earring," Flinx finally explained, pointing to the giant's head. "When you brushed at your hair, I saw it. You got a gold ring in your right ear."
   Reflexively, September reached up and fondled the circlet, hidden behind his flowing white hair, yes, I do. Why so interested, lad?"
   "I just-"
   "Just a minute," Hasboga interrupted, stepping tween the two men physically and verbally. "Before this goes any further, Skua" -she turned to confront Flinx-" we still don't know what you're doing here. Just because you're young doesn't make you trustworthy in my book. I'll buy your funny alien," and she standing on two legs and two arms, scouring the floor for crumbs.
   "But what about you and your unfortunate friend?" she wanted to know. She jabbed a thumb at Pocomchi's body. "His kind I placed the moment I set eyes on him. Alaspin is infected with prospectors, like a pox. But you ..." She gave him the same thorough examination she had bestowed on Ab "You don't look like a grubber, and you're too young to be much of a scientist. So what are you doing here in Mimmisompo?"
   Chapter Nine
    
   “You two are looking for your fortune,” he finally replied, after a moments's hesitation. "I'm looking myself."
   If it came to a fight, for any reason, he knew he would have no chance against these two. He had to convince them he was telling the truth. They had been friendly so far, but they had the strength to be.
   The problem lay with Isili, he felt. While not openly antagonistic, she was cautious to the point of paranoia. He tried to reach out mentally to her and received impression of enormous emotion barely held in check. Surprisingly little of it was directed toward him or September. It was all wrapped tightly inside her. She was like the coil of an old-time generator: on the surface; all was calm, but overload it slightly and wires would fly in all directions.
   Taking a seat on a block of trimmed green stone, he explained about his search for his true parents. He censored those details which might upset or prejudice his hosts, avoided mention of Ulru-Ujurr and his flight from the Owarm. His mere presence was unnerving enough to Hasboea. No need to make it worse.
   He finished with his search for a big man, one with a gold earring and a small minidrag, who had tried to buy him over a dozen years ago.
   "Twelve years, standard time," he said, staring hard at the watching September. "I was five years old. Do you remember it?"
   Isili's eyes widened, and she stared accusingly at September. "A five-year-old child, Skua. Well, well." She gave Flinx a knowing look when the giant failed to respond. "He remembers something, for sure. This is the first time I've ever seen him speechless."
   "Yes. Yes, I remember, lad," September finally admitted, looking and sounding like a man reliving a dream he had forgotten. "I did have a small minidrag with me."
   "Did you leave Moth with it?" inquired a tense Flinx.
   "No." Something trembled inside Flinx. He felt like a person with amnesia slowly regaining memory of lost events. "It finally left me in a bar. I was drunk. Minidrags can be temperamental. It probably decided I wasn't fit to associate with any more."
   "I know how temperamental they can be," Flinx assured him. He forbade mentioning that Pip might have been the same minidrag September had lost. "I ... used to have one myself."
   "Then you do know. And you also probably know, lad, that on Moth it's a severe crime to import venomous creatures. So I couldn't very well march myself up to the nearest gendarmerie and ask for help. Not without being thrown in jail for letting a toxic alien loose on the planet. Sure, but I remember the slave auction." His memory of the incident appeared to grow stronger the longer he thought about it. "I bid on you. I was bidding on several in the same consignment."
   "Several others with me?" Flinx frowned. This didn't fit. "What others?"
   "I'm not sure it's a good idea to tell you that just yet, young feller-me-lad," the big man announced softly. For some reason he appeared almost afraid of Flinx, as if the youth were a bomb who might explode at any second. Flinx could not understand. The dialogue was not following the scenario he had constructed in his imagination as to how this momentous talk would proceed.
   One way or the other, his last trail seemed to roc drawing inexorably to a dead end. Already, one possible link was broken. His meeting with Pip when. he was six years old appeared to have been accidental, A coincidence only.
   "For yourself?" he asked uncertainly.
   September snorted. "I wouldn't know what to do with a slave. No, lad, I was bidding for an organization."
   The trail abruptly revealed a fresh length of itself. Perhaps the giant wasn't the end after all.
   "What organization?" he pressed the big man. "does  it still exist? Could it be traced if it's disbanded, traced to its responsible individuals?"
   "Easy down, lad," September advised him, male ing calming motions with both hands. "You've already toil us you found out about your natural mother last year."
   "Yes. She's dead. She died before I was sold." Silently he strained his erratic abilities, trying to see if the information sparked any response in September's mind. He was disappointed. The big man exhibited no reaction he could detect, mental or otherwise.
   "As to my natural father, I know nothing," he continued, "I do know that my father wasn't the man my natural mother was married to. I'd hoped that by tracing whoever was trying to buy me, I aright discover some new information leading to him."
   "That makes sense, feller-me-lad," agreed an approving September.
   "Nothing makes sense," growled Isili, who had listened to about as much of Flinx's problems as she could stand. "What about us, Skua?" She was stalking magnificently back and forth, her ebony mane flying, her amber eyes glowing. "Nothing makes sense if all the work we've put in here goes for nothing, and it will if the Otoid persist after us." She stopped abruptly and whirled on him. "Months of planning, years of research, and we come up with nothing!" She wrung her hands in frustration. "I don't know why I tear myself up about it. I'm probably all wrong about this temple. We've been excavating for nearly two months and we haven't found anything beyond those." She indicated the exquisite carvings lining the chamber's interior. "And we didn't have to move a pebble to find them. Hieroglyphs, stores ... what a waqte."
   "They seem unusually well preserved to me" was Flinx's comment. He found her attitude peculiarly unscientific.
   She startled him by trying to read his mind. The force of her desire shocked him a little, although he knew she had no talents of any kind. She possessed a powerful mind, did Isili Hasboga, but it was not a mind of Talent.
   "So you think the historical and scientific aspects of our grub should interest me more, do you?" she eventually inquired. "My real work is back home, on Comagrave. There's a site in the Mountains of the Mourners that's never been dug. No foundation or museum or university thinks it's worth excavating." Her eyes blazed. "I know better! They're wrong, all of them!"
   Fanaticism in pursuit of knowledge, Flinx reflected, was still fanaticism.
   "I know what's there," she rambled on, "under the garb mounds. And I'll find it, even though I have to mount and finance my own expedition. But for that I need credits. All of us need credits." She drew herself up haughtily. "That's why we're all on Alaspin. As you are neither a scientist nor a researcher," she concluded with a twinge of bitterness, "I don't suppose I can expect you to understand that."
   "Maybe I understand more than you think" was his quiet reply. "I have a good friend, a young thranx who was once a student archeologist in the Church, who would have symnathized completely with your attitude at one time. She's since found other things to do." He wondered how Sylzenzuzex was managing without him in teaching the ursinoids back on Ulru-Ujurr.
   "It's all for nothing anyway, now." She slumped. "Damn all unreasonable, xenophobic aborigines! Damn this world and its endless temples!" She sucked in a resigned breath. "Nothing now but to try to get out and try somewhere else, Skua. Maybe they'll leave us alone if we move to the other side of the city. But it's got to be somewhere in Mimmisompo. It's got to be!"
   Flinx had no idea what "it" might be. It wouldn't have been discreet to inquire. Such a question would serve only to heighten Hasboga's suspicion of him.
   But, having found the man with the earring, he could not let him go. Not till every question was satisfied. The internal portables brightened, compensating for the vanishing illumination outside.
   "If you're finished with your grubbing," he told September, "I'll hire you."
   "You, hire me?" The giant smiled condescendingly at him. "What'll you pay me with, lad? Stories, and entertainment provided by your poor ward?" He indicated the gallivanting Ab.
   Flinx took no offense. He had come to expect such disbelief. "Whatever your cost, if it's in reason, I can pay it. How much?"
   "That sounds like a sincere proposal," September confessed. Flinx thought the giant threw a mischievous glance at Hasboga. "I suppose if we are going to give up here ..."
   "Then both of you can go to hell!" Hasboga exploded, the barely suppressed anger finally erupting. She stormed over to glare down at Flinx.
   "First you bring the Otoid down on us and now you want to steal Skua. Well, my skinny stripling, you're in no position to buy. Only to give. You owe me. We saved your miserable, barely begun life because on Alaspin help is rendered without question to those who need it. Don't you forget that." She turned away from him to confront an amused September. "And, mercenary that you are, Skua, don't forget that you and I have a contract. Of course, if you want to buy out from under me ..."
   "What, from under you?" Bushy brows lifted in mock astonishment. Flinx got the impression that maybe the relationship between these two was something other than wholly professional. He winced at the slap she gave the giant, but September only rubbed at the reddening place on his face and grinned more widely, almost approvingly.
   Stalking away from them both, she threw herself down on the huge inflated mattress and buried her attention in a small, self-contained reader screen. For Flinx, there followed several moments of embarrassed silence.
   "For a scientist she can behave awfully irrationally at times, feller-me-lad," September confided to him. He added, somewhat reassuringly: "These spells don't last much longer than thev take. Watch." He winked.
   Strolling over to the mattress, he sat down next to her. She ignored him. He pretended to peer over hex shoulder at the screen.
   "Now, Isili, it's not nice to act petulant before the lad."
   "Get lost!" she snapped. "I'm busy."
   "I can see that," admitted a seemingly startled September, his eyes bulging as he focused on the tiny screen. "I can tell what the man and the woman are doing, but the two tendril cats are-'
   With an exasperated sigh, she looked up at him and spoke in a tone one would use with a child. "This is a perfectly plain theoretical tract, as you can easily see."
   "Oh yes, I can see it, all right." Sitting back, he whistled solemnly at the ceiling. Flinx marveled at the man's elan, considering that they might all be dead the next night.
   Rolling over, Hasboga sat up straight, put her hands on her hips, and glared at the giant. "Are you implying that I'm watching pornography?"
   "Oh no," September started. "No, no, no, no. It's
   just that, in front of one so young ..." He gestured toward Flinx. "And tendril cats, too." He clucked disapprovingly.
   "Listen, you outrageous parody of a human being, if you think you can embarrass-" She stopped. September was grinning down at her. She fought to remember what she was about to say, but for the life of her couldn't get a grip on her half- disintegrated thought. Her mouth twisted and gradually broke into an almost shy smile.
   The moment she realized what she was doing, her lips immediately clicked primly back to a firm set. "It's important work," she muttered lamely. She gestured weakly toward Flinx. "Go bother our visitor for a while and leave me alone."
   Turning away, she went back to the viewer, but Flinx could sense that the dark cloud of fury which had been hovering over her had evaporated.
   September obligingly walked back to flop down heavily in front of Flinx. "See? Silly's not such a bad sort. In fact, she's rather a good sort. Pity there aren't more like her." Commentary came from the vicinity of the viewer, but it was garbled and indistinct and not really angry any more.
   "It's you that interests me right now, feller-me-lad. You've come a great way and a hard way to find me. You want to know about that day a dozen years ago, on Moth. I'll try to tell you what I can. That way, maybe I can learn a little too." He sighed. "I suppose you know who sold you, if  you found out about your natural mother."
   "I do."
   "Do you know why?"
   "I think so."
   September shook his head. "I don't think you do. Not all of it. I can't tell you the rest, not yet. There are ethical questions involved."
   Flinx's laugh was so harsh that he wondered at it himself. "You're talking to someone torn from his parents before lie can remember, and sold like a piece of meat on a world not of his birthing."
   "All right," September shifted agreeably, "call it a business confidence, then. I probably will tell you, in time. But I need to think on it. Remember, I didn't have to tell you I knew anything."
   "We'll let it pass for now," replied Flinx magnanimously, since he couldn't coerce the giant anyway. His next question he had to consider carefully. For a large part of his adult life he had framed it, rephrased it, turned it over and over in his mind, considered how he would present it to various people. He had developed and discarded a hundred different approaches. Now the moment to ask had come. This might be the last moment in a search that had taken him across half the Commonwealth and through stranger adventures than most people could imagine.
   He forgot all preconceptions, leaned forward, and asked with unsophisticated innocence: "Are you my father?"
   September took the question well. Maddeningly, he didn't venture an immediate reply. Indecision was the last thing Flinx had expected from the big man. September looked at the floor, using a landing-skid-sized foot to move rubble in meaningless patterns.
   Flinx strained in the silence with all his desire, tried to bring his infrequent, awesome talent to focus on the man before him. The falseness or truth of September's eventual answer could be the most important thing in his young life. But, as so often happened, when he most wanted his abilities to function, they mocked him. Some days they could operate with the precision of a tridee beam, could pierce the nothingness between worlds. Now, even his own thoughts were unreadable.
   When September looked up, he wore an expression of almost overwhelming earnestness. All thoughts of prevarication left Flinx. This man was not going to lie to him. He stared so long and hard that for a second Flinx wondered uncomfortably if the giant didn't possess unsuspected mental talents of his own. But while his gaze was intense, it was only from concentration.
   "Young feller-me-lad, Flinx, believe me when I say I wish I knew."
   Stunned, Flinx could only cape back at him. A yes he could have coped with. That was an answer he had been prepared to deal with a hundred thousand time, in his imagination. A no would have been harder to handle, but he would have been ready for that, too. But "I wish I knew"?
   So unexpected was the indeterminate answer that the youth who had organized the Ulru-Uiurrians, who had outwitted the Church and baffled Conda Challis, could only say lamely: "What do you mean, you don't know?"
   "Don't you think I wish I did?" September hall pleaded. "I am uncertain. I am indecisive, I can't say for sure because I don't know for sure. Positiveness of either possibility escapes me. I can't shade it yes or darken it no. There's no room for maybes, feller-me-lad. It's what I said plain, which means ... I could be."
   "Let's not play," Flinx said slowly, coldly. "Did you ever sleep with my mother, who was a Lynx of Allahabad, India Province, Terra?"
   September shook his head, looking at Flinx as if for the first time. "What an unusual young man you are. You've got brains and guts, Flinx-lad. You're not by chance extremely wealthy, are you?"
   "No, I'm not."
   "Good," September commented with satisfaction, "because if you were, and I said I was your father, you'd have the natural suspicion of the wealthy and riot believe me."
   "How do you know I'd have any intention of sharing any wealth with you?" countered Flinx. "Maybe I'm looking for my father out of feelings of anger. Maybe I'd want just to blow your brains out."
   "I wouldn't blame you," replied September. "But A never slept with your mother, of that I am certain. Nor have I ever been to India Province, let alone the city you mentioned. I've no idea who your mother was, and I doubt if I'd recognize her face or name if you confronted nom with her this instant."
   "No chance of that," Flinx assured hire. "I told you, she's been dead since before I was sold."
   "I'm sorry for that," September said, expressing genuine-sounding sorrow for someone he had just claimed never to have known.
   Flinx's thoughts were full of speculation and garbage. "I don't understand this, I don't understand."
   "Who does?" mused the giant philosophically.
   "If you never even met my natural mother, let alone slept with her, then how could you possibly be my father?"
   "Like most circles, it all ties together, feller-me-lad." September put both hands behind his shaggy head and leaned back. "Why do you think I was there on Moth that day, trying to buy you, and why do you think I didn't?"
   "You didn't have the money to bid against Mother Mastiff," suggested Flinx. "The old woman who finally bought me." Then something else the slaver had mentioned came back to him. "You left the auction in a hurry, and there were a large number of police in the crowd."
   "Very good, your sources have good memories," commented September. "I had the money to buy you, and the others. But I was a wanted man. Somehow the police knew I was on Moth. Since the reward for me was considerable, they came a-hunting. I had to leave fast. Purchasing you was one assignment I was never able to carry out. One of the few I've never been able to carry out. By the by, how much is it worth to you to find out if I really am your natural father?"
   Flinx had never considered having to pay for the final word. "I don't know. I have to think on that one myself."
   "Okay," agreed the giant, "so do I" He rolled over, pebbles scraping the floor beneath him. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Right now I'm feeling done in. Saving your life was an exhausting business."
   Father or not, Flinx would cheerfully have strangled the big man over the delay. But there was nothing to do, and he did not want to risk antagonizing September. He was not a man to be pushed. Besides, he told himself, he had waited this long, another evening would not make any difference. And he was completely worn out himself. Anyhow, he doubted that his hands would fit around September's enormous neck.
   As it turned out, morning prevented any resumption of their conversation. Automatic scanners performed their function. So did the alarms they were connected to. The three sane occupants of the ancient temple chamber came awake to a clamorous howling.
   "Otoids," said Hasboga curtly, grabbing up her pulsepopper and slipping off the safety. She ran for the gallery window as Flinx was still blinking sleep from his eyes. By the time he was fully awake, September had joined her atop the stone stairway. The two moved back and forth along the wide slit in the temple front, firing frequently at targets below. Dimly one could hear the incessant chatter of the Otoid.
   Flinx joined them atop the stairs. Soon arrows began pinging through the narrow gap with disconcerting frequency. September cursed as fast as he fired. Standing alongside and watching the Mark Twenty cut down trees and leave craters in the earth, Flinx felt comparatively helpless as he snapped off an occasional burst with his own small handbeamer.
   A bolt plunged onto the stone facing, falling almost vertically by September's right hand. He glanced upward. "They're atop the temple now," he muttered, "probably a mob of them. We can't hold this gallery much longer."
   "The tunnel," Isili suggested, "fast!"
   Flinx stayed between them as they ran down the stairway. They raced across the chamber floor. Around a slight bend in the inner chamber wall were five steps which Flinx hadn't seen before leading downward, Ab joined them and studied the entrance curiously.
   "They'll open the door we built soon enough," September grunted. "This chamber has several back entrances, which we blocked up, but you can be sure; they’re just waiting; for us to stick our heads out one of  them." He indicated the low passageway at the bottom of the steps. Portable lights showed a dry stone floor.
   September was gathering up food packets and shoving them into various pockets in the shirt he had donned on awakening. He pressed an armful on Flinx. "This tunnel is where we've done most of our digging. This is the only entrance-and exit, of course."
   Several arrows pinged off the stone walls. September whirled, raising the muzzle of the Mark Twenty. Blue fire cleared the gallery window and left smoking stone and bodies behind.
   "They might tire of this," he continued, speaking as if they hadn't been interrupted. "If they don't" -he ducked as a fresh bolt shot by overhead- "we'll have a choice of charging them or starving. But I don't think they can overpower us down in there."
   Then Flinx was fighting his load of containers as he followed Hasboga down the steps and through the narrow, winding tunnel. September trailed, covering their retreat.
   In the dim illumination he saw that the tunnel was roughly pyramidal in form, with a narrow strip of fat ceiling overhead. Delicate bas-reliefs ran in a single strip along each wall; a third decorated the small roof. Underfoot were smooth, alternating slabs of blue, green, and pure white stone, the white shining like glazed tile, while the blue and green remained convincingly stonelike. Ab loped along easily behind Flinx, singing querulously.
   Finally they stopped. Panting, Flinx dumped his load of food containers. Hasboga settled her pulsepopper on a mound of recently excavated rubble while September found a resting place for his massive weapon slightly below and to her left.
   Silence soon gave way to a deafening chatter as a horde of Otoid warriors came surging and hopping down the tunnel.
   "Ready," September whispered expectantly.
   Though the aborigine battle cries were thunderous, they were nothing compared to the roar of the two powerful guns as they fired away at the screaming, attacking natives. Flinx felt like a fly trapped in the landing bay of a cargo shuttle at the moment of touch -down.
   The tunnel became a long, fiery gullet which digested stone and Otoid with equal indifference. With so much firepower concentrated in such a small space, Flinx's handbeamer would have been superfluous. He conserved it's modest charge and let Hasboga and September do the incinerating.
   Eventually it dawned on the Otoid that they had reached a point beyond which nothing living could pass. With much howling and cursing, they retreated around the first bend and out of range. A deep swath of charred, smoking corpses constituted a disquieting reminder of their presence. Since the slight breeze blew always inward, the four inhabitants of the tunnel's end received the full brunt of that noxious barbecue.
   "Now what?" Flinx wondered, glancing from Hasboga to the giant. Despite the apparent solidity of the stone walls, he was nervous. "Could they cave in the tunnel and trap us here? Or smoke us out?"
   "As for the last," Hasboga told him, "that's no problem, though we might have to share tanks." She pointed to a pile of mining equipment in a corner. It included a pair of atmosphere masks for poor-air digging.
   "The original Alaspinians built these temples well," she went on, indicating the walls around them. "With their primitive tools, I don't think the Otoid could break through the ancient cement sealing these stones. Even if they could, I doubt that they'd try it."
   "Why not?"
   "If they did that," September explained, "they’d never get our eyes."
   "Eyes again," Flinx murmured. "What do they do with dead men's eyes?"
   "Never mind, young feller-me-lad," was the grim reply. "It doesn't make pleasant conversation." Flinx desided not to insist on an explanation. If the subject troubled September, he wasn't sure he needed to know.
   "Try to starve us out," the big man announced professionally, eyeing the far bend in the tunnel. "In any case, I don't think they'll try another mass rush like that last one for a while. They'll sit down and talk it over first." Leaving his rifle resting in place, he turned and slumped down against the wall of protective rubble.
   Flinx took the opportunity to examine the section of tunnel they had retreated to. It wasn't so much a room or chamber here as it was a slight enlargement of the tunnel proper. Possibly the engravings set into the walls and ceiling were a touch more elaborate, a bit more plentiful. Three meters on, the tunnel assumed its normal dimensions, and a couple of meters beyond that the smooth walls ended in a dam of collapsed stone and rock. Despite Hasboga's assurances, it was clear that the Alaspinian temple was not invulnerable.
   She noticed the direction of his gaze and said with a certain amount of enthusiasm, "We've been drilling and clearing this section, as you can see. We're trying to find out where this tunnel goes. I've studied thousands of temple schematics, and this tunnel has no counterpart in any of them that I've been able to discover. Also, those Alaspinian temples that do have passageways or tunnels have them laid out with sharp angles, regular and precise, all heading toward definite destinations. Usually they lead to other structures. This one makes no sense. It just sort of winds off uncertainly to no place. Compared to your usual Alaspinian road or passage, this one's constructed like somebody's small intestine."
   "What do you expect to find at the end of it?" Flinx asked her.
   She shrugged and smiled hopefully. "Storeroom, if we're lucky. Iridium temple masks, city treasury, anything else valuable the Mimmisompo priests wanted to hide and protect. Maybe even a religious scepter. They usually used crysorillium, and sapphire to decorate those scepters. Might even have some opalized diamonds."
   "No doubt all of great scientific value," mused Flinx.
   She threw him a warning look. "Don't criticize, Flinx, until you've had to spend ten years on useless projects presided over by pompous asses with well-connected parents. Remember, I'd rather be doing some worthwhile research on my home planet. For me, this is a means to an end."
   "Sorry," Flinx admitted. "I was-"
   September broke in. "Apologies later, lad," he declared, rolling over to take up the trigger of the Mark Twenty. Angry hoots were drifting up the tunnel toward them. "Here they come again."
   But the big man's concern was premature. The hooting came no nearer, though it continued not far from them.
   September peered over the top of the shielding wall, "Probably having a final, violent disagreement over tactics," he theorized pleasantly. The hooting grw louder, and Flinx thought he heard sounds of fighting.
   "Sounds lice they're plenty angry at one another, Good! A couple of the warrior-primes are squabbling. They might end up fighting each other. Otoids have short tempers. It's been known to happen."
   Hasboga nodded confirmation. "A few reports of natives attacking miners and outposts and ending up by massacring each other have been substantiated." She looked almost excited. "The only thing the Otoids hate worse than themselves are human or thranx interlopers. We might have a chance!"
   "Lopers, mopers, lazy daze," came a high-pitched verse from behind them. "Moping, moping, eating maize ... oh say can you see the canticle me."
   September glanced briefly back at Ab. The alien was amusing himself at the far end of the excavation by, juggling rocks with his four hands. Something struck the giant, and he eyed Flinx appraisingly.
   "How about sending out your property as a decoy?' It would tell us if they're too busy with each other to bother us." He hurried on before Flinx could reply. "There's a chance the Otoid will be so fascinated by him that they'll take him for a prize- he's got four eyes, to our two apiece- and they’ll leave without risking any more dead.”
   "No," an angry Flinx replied. He said it firmly, so that there would be no mistake about it.
   That did not keep September from arguing. "Why not, lad? You've admitted he's a burden on you. He's obviously madder than a bloodhyper and no good to anyone, and he might even slip through, depending on how many shafts he can take."
   "Ab," Flinx responded very slowly, "is an intelligent creature."
   September snorted. "It might save our lives."
   "He's completely helpless," Flinx continued tightly, "totally dependent on our judgment. Furthermore, Ab trusts me. I wouldn't send him out there" -he gestured down the tunnel-" any more than I would a crippled cat."
   "I was afraid of that." September sighed, looking over at Hasboga.
   "Our young lad is an idealist."
   "Don't be too sure of yourself, September," Flinx warned him. "Idealism's an affliction I can put aside when I have to."
   "Take it easy, lad," September cautioned him. "Isili, what say you, woman?"
   Hasboga turned to stare at her associate, then looked across to Flinx. "The creature is the boy's responsibility and property," she declared, her gaze never wavering from Flinx's face. "We still don't know if the abos are fighting among themselves. Let's wait and see what they do. I'm not ready to vote for anything drastic until we start running out of food and water. Ab stays, if that's the way the youth wants it."
   "Musical, musical, think time contusional," rhymed Ab, happily ignorant of the state of his fate and unaware that it had just been informally decided.
   "We'll wait on then," September agreed, giving in gracefully. "I just don't like waiting, that's all." He returned his attention to the tunnel. At least the cool air would slow the process of putrefaction. If not, the stench of decomposing corpses could force them to use the masks as efficiently as smoke would.
   Quite unexpectedlv, the far end of the tunnel seemed to become darker. Flinx squinted, unsure that his eyes were relaying the truth. September leaned over the edge of their wall and tried to see around the first bend. The darkness jumped a little bit nearer.
   "What are they up to?" Flinx inquired anxiously. "Filling up the corridor?"
   "No," murmured the big man softly, "I don't think so.”
   It was Hasboga who first realized what the natives were doing. "They're taking out the lights," she informed them, even as another several meters of darkness appeared. "Rather than cover up the reflectors, they're just taking them down and moving them out of the tunnel."
   "They won't take out the last three," September said grimly, hunkering down over the bulky stock of his rifle and shifting a little to his left. Howling and shrieking cut off further conversation as another mass of tightly packed natives came surging around the turn in the tunnel. September kept his weapon aimed near the precious light and shattered one alien after another as they tried to climb up to the unbreakable, self-powered sphere. Hasboga tried to hold back the rest of the screaming wave, and Flinx helped as best he could with his tiny pistol.
   But they were so densely packed and there were so many of them that September was finally forced to bring his own weapon to bear in order to drive them from the corridor. One aborigine in the mob was able to reach the lamp. Triumphantly he wrenched it free from its mounting.
   Shouting their victory, the mob retreated up the tunnel to safety, bearing the precious light with them. Now there were only two spheres left, one halfway down from the just-removed light to their position and the other a couple of meters in front of Hasboga. Beyond that, night had claimed the tunnel.
   "They'll be regrouping again," September decided wanly, "for another charge. Buoyed up by their success. Some warrior-prime is in full control now." He used a hand to indicate the second light, partway to the tunnel bend. "If they get that one we're going to be in big trouble."
   That led him to revive the discussion of a few minutes earlier. He gestured back toward the singsonging Ab. "What about it?"
   Hasboga eyed the alien, turned a speculative stare on Flinx, then sighted back down her own weapon. "Not yet. They may not get the next light."
   September growled softly but did not argue. As the prospect of death grew more real, Flinx noted, the big man's sense of humor was suffering.
   Several hours passed before the peace and quiet was shattered by a terrible screaming and mewling. Flinx didn't jump this time, his ears were still numb from the last attack. But although they waited expectantly for the anticipated charge, it did not materialize.
   "Why don't they come?" muttered Hasboga tightly, trying to see around the distant bend of a now-dark section of tunnel.
   "Trying to rattle us," suggested September coolly, apparently unaffected by the spine-chilling cacophony. "Ignore it and stay ready. The noise can't hurt us."
   "Not physically" was Hasboga's response. "Primitive or not, that's mind-tingling stuff."
   The bloodcurdling concert continued, unendingly. It was beginning to make Flinx twitchy when it started to fade. Once begun, the cessation of the shrieking and moaning accelerated rapidly, until all was quiet again. Almost too quiet.
   "By O'Morion," ventured September in amazement, "I think they've left."
   "Maybe they did start fighting among themselves,"guessed Hasboga, not daring to believe it.
   "No, someone's coming," Flinx informed them, and then instantly cursed himself for saying it.
   September's eye went back to the sight of his weapon. Several seconds passed before he thought to glance uncertainly over at Flinx.
   "How do you know, young feller-me-lad? I can't see or hear a cursed thing."
   "I have unusually good hearing," Flinx lied.
   He was receiving impressions of some kind of mind up ahead. Beyond that he could sense nothing. His mind had been overloaded with input from emotionally wracked minds since the previous day, minds both advanced and aboriginal. Right now he couldn't evaluate the ones approaching them any more than he could separate granite from gneiss.
   "I hear something, all right," Hasboga whispered, cuddling her pulsepopper tight as an infant. In the silence they heard the slight crunch of rock underfoot.
   "Trying to slip a couple of good bowmen close to us, while we're worn out from the last charge" was September's decision. "One tactic that won't work." He adjusted the focus on his sight slightly and lowered the energy level-no sense wasting power on only a couple of the abos.
   In the silence of the tunnel, only their own soft breathing could be heard. That made the gentle, pedantic voice that abruptly spoke sound louder than it actually was.
   "Please don't shoot," it requested, in perfect terranglo but with a slight accent. "I do hope you are all uninjured."
   "That's certainly a tbranx voice," a wondering, confused September said firmly. He stood up and peered into the darkness. "Come on ahead, whoever you are!"
   The crunching resumed. Soon a pair of figures emerged into the light. One was a dignified thranx of considerable age, evidently the one who had called out to them. His antennae dropped, and his chiton was turning deep 'purple. Both wing cases had been treated for the cracking of maturation, but the insect walked with sureness, and the shining compound eyes still held a brightness few young thranx possessed.
   His companion was a tall, slim human of comparable age. His eyes were simple, and there were no ommatidia to throw back rainbows at the stupefied watchers, but they gleamed a little in their own way from beneath slightly slanted brows.
   "As fast as we come, it's never been fast enough," the thranx announced tiredly. "None of you are damaged?”
   "No, no," Isili Hasboga responded. She tried to see past the two figures into the darkness of the tunnel. "What happened to the Otoid?"
   "I'd like to say," the tall human replied, in oddly stilted Terranglo, "that we landed among them, discussed the situation pleasantly, and convinced them to leave in peace. Unfortunately, they are belligerent far in excess of their intelligence." He appeared embarrassed. "Our skimmer is just outside the entrance to this temple. We have some heavy weapons in it."
   "Frankly, it wouldn't disappoint us if you'd exterminate the little bastards completely," September declared, rising and brushing rock dust from his hands and clothes.
   "I am sorry," responded the thranx, with frosty politeness, "we are not in the genocide business."
   For a thranx to speak such perfect Terranglo was most unusual, Flinx knew as he moved for a better look at their rescuers. In fact, in his whole life he had only met one thranx who spoke the language of man like a native. That was . . .
   "Truzenzuzex!" he shouted, stumbling forward past a dumfounded September. "Bran Tse-Mallory!"
   Chapter Ten
    
   The two partners, prospector and archeologist stared blankly as their young visitor exchanged noisy greetings with the two peculiar saviors.
   Tse-Mallory was smiling his thin little smile, whip masked more enthusiasm than it ever revealed. The Eint Truzenzuzex made clicking sounds in High Thranx indicative of greeting mixed with great pleasure, then added in Terranglo: "Again to see you is a delight, young Flinx."
   September gazed open-mouthed at the evident reunion; then his brows furrowed in concentration and he simply watched and listened.
   "I am warmed mentally and emotionally, though I cannot be physically," announced the thranx philosoph. "So I must ... ask you to remove your arms from ... around my b-thorax ... so I can … breathe."
   "Oh, sorry," Flinx apologized, removing his arms from around the old insect. Once again the eight breathing spicules pulsed freely. "But what are you doing here, old friends? Of all the places in the universe, this is the last that I'd expect?"
   "Everything in its proper time plane, lad," Tse-Mallory broke in, making calming motions with both hands. "At present, I suggest we remove ourselves from this confined place. The aborigines who are left may elect to return. We would not be able to properly direct our skimmer's weapons from this deep in the earth."
   "I'm for that," grunted September, willing to accept salvation without explanation. "The rent on this rat hole's been paid." He gathered up his Mark Twenty.
   Led by Tse-Mallory, the little party of saviors and survivors started back down the tunnel.
   Hasboga increased her stride to come up alongside Flinx. She was relieved, confused, and wary all at once. "You obviously know these two," she murmured accusingly.
   "They're old friends, as I said," Flinx readily confessed.
   "What are they doing here? Not that I'm sorry they appeared, you understand," she added hastily, lest she seem ungrateful, "but you told us you were here alone, except for the one dead in the temple."
   "I told you the truth," Flinx insisted easily. "I was as surprised to see them as you and September were." At a sudden thought, he glanced back over his shoulder. Sure enough, Ab was still sitting back in the alcove, playing with rocks.
   "Move it, Abalamahalamatandra!" he shouted impatiently.
   Ab looked up from where he was squatting near the rear of the wide place in the tunnel. "Come some, fly high," he murmured, perhaps to himself, maybe to Flinx, possibly to nothing and no one in particular.
   Twelve stones were arranged in a neat circle in front of Ab. With additional stones the addled alien was creating an abstract and seemingly meaningless design in the center of the circle. Ire had found the stones in a small hollow in the floor where his foot had fallen through during the fighting.
   At his master's urging, he rapidly pushed the stones, diamonds, tanzanites, and a couple of fist?sized black emeralds back into the little hole. They fell the balk' meter to the bottom of the hollow. One of them bounced off an Alaspinian doubledevil mask, a meter high and wide, made of solid platiniridium and faced entirely with faceted jewels. It lay atop a small hillock of similar artwork.
   "Go flow," ordered Ab as he scrambled to his feet and gamboled down the corridor after Flinx.
   Emerging into the central temple chamber they had abandoned earlier, the tired survivors were greeted by the warmth and friendly daylight filtering in through the gallery window high above and through the once dark doorway. Fragments of broken wood from the shattered makeshift door lay strewn all over the floor.
   Hasboga took one look and moaned at the sight of the supplies they had been unable to take with them into the tunnel. Everything edible was gone, everything nonorganic broken, torn, battered into uselessness. The sleeping mattress was tiny flakes of plastic drifting in the gentle jangle breeze. Their autochef, the sole means of synthesizing a decent meal, was scrap metal, the smaller sections missing. Undoubtedly the cannibalized metal would find its way into hundreds of Otoid arrowheads.
   "That's the end of it," she sighed, bending over and picking listlessly through pieces of a shredded dream. "I've no grant money to replace this." She probed through the rubble and held up a bent, half-unwound spool of study tape.
   "How they hate us," she murmured. "Why?"
   A hand the size of a good book covered her right: shoulder. September looked down at her with a mixture of paternal and nonpaternal affection. "We'll scrape up the credit somewhere, Isili, if you really want to come back here one day. It's only money. I've been richer and broker than this a couple of dozen times in my life. The scale always balances."
   "Not for me it doesn't," she replied viciously, throwing the tape into the rest of the vandalized pile.
   She sniffed loudly. "I will not cry. It's unscientific and unbecoming and solves nothing."
   "Damn right," agreed September, turning away from her so she could let the tears flow without embarrassment. "I said we'd raise the credit from somewhere, and we will!" He studied the Otoid bodies which lay strewn about the chamber. Several black-lipped holes showed in the temple walls. Both were testimony to the effectiveness of whatever weapons the two odd newcomers claimed to have in their skimmer. "They paid for it," the giant finished, examining the Otoid dead.
   "Our sorrows to you," Truzenzuzex clicked, making a gesture which looked much like a sign of blessing, "but we should hurry. Those who would return would be angrier than the ones who lie quietly here." The aged philosoph watched as September moved to comfort Hasboga. "We don't know you and you do not know us," he pointed out. "We have access to certain funds. Your loss touches me." The valentine head swiveled slightly; he looked up at the tall human standing nearby. "Bran, may we not aid these two?"
   Hasboga brightened and looked uncertainly from man to insect. "Noble sirs, we'd be forever in your debt!"
   "We are not nobles," Tse-Mallory corrected briskly. "My name you now know. My companion"- he touched the insect's b-thorax lightly-" is a theoretical philosopher holding the rank of Eint among the thranx. We were both once of the United Church and served it."
   "Who do you serve now, Tse-Mallory?" asked September.
   The slightly wrinkled face smiled cryptically. "Our own curiosities. Your names, sir?"
   "Isili Hasboga, my boss," September responded, ignoring the disgusted look she gave him, "and I'm Skua September. We'd appreciate any loan you could make us, humanx."
   Tse-Mallory found himself looking eye to eye with a man twice his own mass. "September ... that name I know from something."
   The giant grinned. "Can't imagine how or where from, Tse-Mallory, sir."
   "I see you are not violently opposed," Truzenzuzex told his friend. "We can discuss matters of money and memory later, after we have left this dangerous place. If you will all hurry," he once more urged them, "our skimmer is hovering just outside."
   Everyone moved ... less one.
   Flinx had not heard much of the Preceding conversation. He stood off to one side, staring down at the: eyeless body of Pocomchi. Now he turned sharply.
   "Just a minute." While the others stopped to stare at him, he moved as if he had all the time in the world and started brushing dirt and dust and gravel off Ab. As always, the alien allowed himself to be cleaned without comment.
   "Everyone's in too much of a hurry," he continued. "Me, I'm not going anywhere with anyone until I get some things straight in my own mind." Truzenzuzex stared at him disapprovingly, but Flinx was firm. "Not with you or with Bran, until we ..." Something clicked and now he spoke rapidly. "You've both been following me. You must have been following me, or you wouldn't be here now. Unless you have some dealings with September or Isili, and judging from the little exchange I just overheard, you didn't know each other until just a few minutes ago."
   September looked curious, Hasboga merely confused.
   "I don't know why you've been following me," Flinx went on forcefully. "I want to know." After a brief pause, he added, almost indifferently, "It was you two who killed all those Qwarm back in the warehouse on Moth, when I was on my way to the shuttleport."
   Hasboga's confusion gave way to the kind of worry and nervousness that mention of the assassin clan always engendered. "Qwarm? What's this about Qwarm?" She eyed Flinx as if he had suddenly turned into a dangerous disease.
   "Quiet," instructed September. "Let them talk it out, lsili."
    "Oh no," she objected, "not this lady. Credit loan or no credit loan, I don't want anything from anyone who's had dealings with the Qwarm." She smiled gratefully but cautiously at Tse-Mallory. "Thanks for your offer of aid, sir, but you can keep your money and your arguments with the Owarm to yourselves. We'll raise the credit elsewhere."
   Tse-Mallory finished listening, then turned back to Flinx as if Hasboga had never opened her mouth. "Yes, we killed them before they could kill you, Flinx."
   That explained the fading mental screams and sounds Flinx had sensed while fleeing from the warehouse. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex, those aged beings, had been concluding their grisly work. No doubt the Qwarm had been very much surprised.
   "Then you have been following me," he declared, more curious than accusing.
   "All the way from Moth," Tse-Mallory replied, "but you are only partially correct, Flinx."
   Truzenzuzex raised a truhand and foothand, pointed to Flinx's left and behind him. "Primarily, Flinx, we've been trying to catch up with it."
   For a second Flinx stood staring blankly at the philosoph. Then he turned and gazed silently behind him. So did September and Hasboga.
   Ab noticed all the silent attention, giggled his alien giggle, and began to rhyme noisily at his new audience.
   Flinx turned away from his charge, to eye the myriad corpses scarring the temple floor, the ruins of September and Hasboga's camp, and discovered that try as he might he couldn't find a thread of logic in anything that had happened.
   September was apparently of the same mind. "You two have been chasing that crazy four-legged whatsis," he announced in disbelief, "and killing 0warm because of it?" He shook his massive head in amazement, that great proboscis cleaving the air like a fan. "You don't look like madmen."
   "Neither are the Qwarm," Flinx added dazedly. "Why is Ab's death so important to them?"
   "Abalamahalamatandra, you called to it back there in the tunnel," Tse-Mallory mused maddeningly, ignoring everyone's questions. "Ab for short. It has a name. Interesting."
   "You're avoiding me, Bran," Flinx half snapped at the tall Oriental. "That's not the Tse-Mallory I know who pondered the inner workings of the Krang. Why do the Qwarm want Ab dead?"
   "Not the Qwarm," corrected Truzenzuzex quietly. "Never the Owarm. If they want anyone dead, it's you, Flinx, because of the trouble you've caused them. But to them Ab is only a statistic at the end of a voucher. They are hired by those who want others dead, in this case your accidental companion." The philosoph looked sad, angry. "The Qwarm clan is a lingering evil from unenlightened, pre-Amalgamation times. Why the Church and Commonwealth tolerate it I have never understood. As for Ab there are impressive forces that want him extinguished. Not simply dead, but obliterated, disintegrated."
   "But why?" Flinx pleaded, uncomprehending. "Look at him." He gestured at the innocent, versifying creature. "Why would anyone want such a harmless creature killed, and why take such pains to do it?" Turning back to face Truzenzuzex, his next question revealed how much he had grown since they had last seen him. "Even more interesting, why would two individuals of your abilities want to go to the trouble of preventing it?"
   "Why did you bother to rescue him that first time, before we could do so?" Tse-Mallory asked.
   Flinx didn't look at him as he replied irritably, "I have a talent for getting my nose stuck in other people's business. I spend a lot of time trying to yank it out. Actually, I didn't intend to interfere. It was Pip who?" He broke off in mid-sentence.
   "I do not see the minidrag," Truzenzuzex admitted. "Your pet is dead?"
   "Not dead," Flinx corrected him. "But I don't really know. This is the planet of Pip's birth. The man who guided me here also had a tame minidrag, Balthazaar. Both flew away together, in the middle of the night. Possibly forever, although," he added hopefully, "there's always a chance they'll return." His tone grew firm. "You're both trying to distract me. I'm not setting foot in any kind of skimmer with you two devious old men" -Truzenzuzex made a clacking noise- "until I find out why someone wants poor Ab killed and why you both want him alive." He shook his head in puzzlement. "It doesn't seem to me that either Ab or myself is worth all the attention that's been given to us."
   Bran Tse-Mallory responded by glancing impatiently from Flinx to the rubble-and-body-littered temple entrance. "This isn't the place or time, Minx."
   Flinx folded his arms and took a seat on a nearby stone. "I disagree."
   Isili Hasboga was picking sadly through the remnants of her scientific equipment. As she spoke, she brushed strands of hair from her face. "I have to agree with your friends, Flinx. The Otoid will come back, twice as many the next time. When they do return, I don't want to be here."
   "Sorry, silly," said September. "I have to side with the boy." He flashed Flinx a look of support. "You've got some interesting friends for one your age, feller-me-lad. Stay obstinate. I'll stay, too."
   "Very well then," whistled Truzenzuzex exasperatedly. "Bran?"
   Tse-Mallory made a negative sound. He eyed September, who was rocking on his heels, humming to himself and supremely indifferent to the possibly imminent arrival of several thousand rampaging aborigines. "If you'll pick up that formidable-looking Mark Twenty, Mr. September, and come outside with me, we'll keep watch while these two chatter." September nodded his acquiescence and moved to shoulder the rifle. "Try to be brief, will you, Tru?" Tse-Mallory asked his companion.
   "If there is one among us who is guilty of persistent loquacity," came the reply smoothly, "it is not I"
   "Debatable" was Tse-Mallory's simple retort, as he followed September up the steps leading out of the temple.
   "Not without being guilty of the crime of debating!" shouted Truzenzuzex, but by that time Tse-Mallory and September were out of hearing range.
   On the grass outside, both men took up positions on board the skimmer. "The lad indicated the thranx is an Eint and philosoph," September said conversationally. "What of you?"
   "I mentioned we were at one time both in the service of the Church. I was a Chancellor Second."
   September appeared impressed, though not awed. "Pretty high. Wouldn't have guessed it. Myself, I never had much use for the Church."
   "Nor did Tru and I, after a while. That's why we left it." Jungle sounds drifted innocently out of the green wave, helped them relax a little. "And you, sir?"
   "Oh, I've done a little bit of everything," September replied modestly, "and had a little bit of everything done to me." He did not elaborate, and Tse-Mallory did not pry.
    
   Settling himself down on his four trulegs, Truzenzuzex folded truhands and gestured with foothands as he talked. Behind Flinx, Ab was arranging stones in a circle (ordinary stones, this time) and singsonging softly to himself.
   "Flinx, what do you know of the double-world system Carmague-Collangatta and the planet Twosky Bright?"
   Flinx thought a moment, then looked blank. "Little more than what you've just told me, their names. I've never been to either. I think they're all well-populated, highly developed worlds."
   "Correct," said Truzenzuzex, nodding. "All three are important contributors to the Commonwealth economy; stable, advanced worlds. They're all going to die ... or at least most of the people on them are probably the worlds themselves, also."
   "Their suns are going nova," Flinx guessed. He frowned. "That would be quite a coincidence."
    "I would expect you to be an expert on coincidences, boy. Your assumption is incorrect. The situation is this. Many years ago, but not too many, a Commonwealth science probe mapping behind the dark nebula called the Velvet Dam discovered a sun disappearing into nothingness. Of course, it wasn't disappearing into nothingness, only into something that partook of the aspect of nothingness."
   "I don't think I understand," Flinx admitted.
   "You will. Your Lewis Carroll would have. He was a physicist himself, I think? No matter. The star in question was being smashed down into a rogue black hole. Such an object has been theorized, but this is the first one detected. Its course has been determined. We know enough to predict that only a small percentage of the populations of all three worlds could be rescued before their respective suns vanish into the rogue."
   Flinx's own problems were forgotten as he tried to conceive of disaster on the scale Truzenzuzex was describing to him. He sat quietly, thinking, before it occurred to him to ask, "But why tell me this? What does it have to do with your being here?"
   Truzenzuzex shifted his stance slightly, his claws making tiny scratching sounds on the tunnel. "Because your acquisition, your acquaintance, your ward, or whatever you wish to call him"?he pointed with a truhand at the rhyming Ab? "may be the one possible chance for those worlds' salvation."
   Having nothing intelligent to respond to that incredible bit of information with, Flinx kept silent.
   "A black hole is the ultimate state of collapsed matter, usually a star which has fallen in on itself," the philosoph explained. "In the case of the rogue, we believe that it may consist of not one but many collapsed stars. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. We do not have instrumentation capable of telling us by direct measurement, but we can approximate from the speed with which the star detected by the probe was absorbed. For a collapsar, the mass of the rogue is immense."
   "How could anyone, especially Ab, least of all the creatures in the galaxy, help you? Nothing can turn or destroy a collapsar. At least," he added quickly, "nothing I ever heard of. I see no connection, Tru, sir." For a moment he displayed the attitude of a schoolboy ignorant of the answer to a teacher's question.
   "I would not feel foolish at that failure," Truzenzuzex confided to him. "You have much company." Some bitterness crept into his voice. "Both the Commonwealth High Council and the Court of Last Resort of the United Church are of the opinion that nothing can be done to save the three worlds. They are attempting to rescue small groups of the three populations without causing panic, which will be inevitable. They refuse to consider the alternative."
   "There's an alternative?" Flinx looked startled.
   "We are hopeful" was all the philosoph would admit to. "But both Bran and myself feel that anything which might save billions of lives and uncounted trillions of credits, no matter how absurd it sounds, is worth serious and not jocular consideration. Our strongest assurance that we are on the track of something potentially helpful has been the frantic attempts of other parties to eliminate that hope. How your poetically inclined alien is involved in this I will tell you in a moment.
   "While Bran and I are no longer connected to the Church, we still retain sympathetic connections in the bureaucracy. In the Commonwealth government, too. Through these we learned of the death sentence hanging over the three worlds in the path of the rogue. We felt as helpless and sorrow-filled as anyone. However, we elected to try to do something. Our specialty is the pre-Commonwealth, pre-Amalgamation history of this part of the galaxy. To make many weeks of tedious research brief, we learned of a possible connection between an ancient race and a similar destructive appearance of a rogue collapsar. Somehow, somewhere on this side of the galactic center, the menace was met and dealt with.
   "That in turn led us to search for anything that might tell us what became of the device which dealt with the first rogue. Rumors of a being of unknown type were brought to us by our agents. The being was at that time reported to be in the city of Drallar, on Moth. This being sang nonsense rhymes and performed as a comic foil in a simple street entertainment. We were not on Drallar at the time, but we succeeded in obtaining copies of recordings from a tourist who witnessed the being's performance. This intellectual expressed astonishment that Bran and myself should be interested in such things.
   "We were very excited when we saw the first images of your Ab," the philosoph went on. "He matches up with no known race. However, it was not his appearance, rather; one of his rhymes we heard while viewing the recording, which caused my breathing spicules to lock to the point of fainting and caused Bran to utter an oath I had not heard from him in eighteen years. You see, Flinx, one of the rhymes contained a mention of the race we believe successfully stopped the intrusion of a rogue collapsar approximately eight hundred thousand Terran years ago on the near side of the Shapely Center. That race was called the Hur'rikku."
   There was a gasp, followed by a metallic clattering. Isili Hasboga had dropped the armload of tapes she had so laboriously salvaged. They sprawled across the floor. Several of them had cracked, and thin microscopic tape had unreeled from the twisted spools.
   She made no move to recover the tapes. Her expression showed shock; her eyes were wide in disbelief.
   Flinx saw something moving nearby: A truhand was plunging into a pouch in the philosoph's thorax vest. Perhaps it was the abrupt shock of Hasboga's reaction- perhaps his talent chose that perverse moment to function- in any case, he sensed what was racing through the elderly thranx's mind.
   "No, Tru!" he shouted, rising and stepping between the insect and Hasboga. "She's not a spy, she's an archeologist. Wouldn't she know of the Hur'rikku?"
   Truzenzuzex turned blazing compound eyes on Flinx and considered his words. The hand relaxed; the concealed weapon in the pouch never emerged.
   All at once, Hasboga came out of her moment-long trance. She turned her gaze to the floor, saw and remembered what had happened. Suddenly she was scrambling to retrieve her precious tapes. Occasionally she would glance back at the watchful Truzenzuzex, aware that something had upset him, but she never suspected that the old insect had been prepared to kill her simply on the basis of her reaction to what he had told Flinx.
   "You are not a spy," he decided, the fire fading from his eyes. "I see that now."
   "Me?" She looked back in confusion. "A spy? Spy, for whom?"
   "I will tell you in time," he murmured. "When you indicated a familiarity with the Hur'rikku I ... Excuse me." He executed a thranx gesture of apology seasoned with contrition at his own stupidity. "Too many deaths are already involved in this matter. Bran and I can take no chances. The Commonwealth and the Church are already suspicious of our actions, and they dislike having others inquire into matters they consider wasteful. Then there are those who would like to see the rogue proceed unchallenged on its course of destruction."
   "Who or what are the Hur'rikku?" Flinx was still a bit shaken from the severity of the kindly philosoph's murderous reaction to Hasboga's knowledge.
   His antennae still aquiver, Truzenzuzex proceeded to explain. "The Hur'rikku are the half-legendary race who, scientists postulate, erupted from the region near the galactic, center some nine hundred and fifty thousand years ago."
   "They weren't half legendary," argued Hasboga. "They were completely legendary. Myths about then exist, but no physical proof has ever been found for which alternate explanations couldn't be provided."
   "No physical proof, this is so," admitted Truzenzuzex. "But they frightened the ovipositors of the Tar-Aiym." His mandibles clicked in thranx laugher. "Of the Tar-Aiym we do have physical proof."
   Flinx knew the truth of that statement from his experiences of over a year ago.
    "We know that about the time the Hur'rikku are rumored to have begun their expansion outward from the galactic center, this entire section of space was dominated by the Tar-Aiym. Roughly half a million Terran years ago, the indomitable Tar-Aiym were thrown into a racial panic. It seems reasonable to assume that the Hur'rikku were the cause of this."
   Hasboga made a derisive sound. Truzenzuzex ignored her and continued on. "The Tar-Aiym scientists constructed numerous new weapons to counter the Hur'rikku threat. One was the defensive weapon known as the Krang. Another was a simple plague. That destroyed not only the Hur'rikku but the TarAiym themselves, and all life in the region we know today as the Blight, before finally destroying itself.
   "At this point in time the Hur'rikku are mostly a legend. They exist because your friend Ab sings of them." A truhand gestured to where the alien was delightedly juggling a dozen rocks. "The Hur'rikku are like the rogue. Like it, we have no direct perception of existence. But we can see how it acts upon other objects. Similarly, we know the Hur'rikku existed because we know of their effect upon the Tar-Aiym. In fact, that is all we know so far of the Hur'rikku- that they existed. That and the fact that perhaps they may have found a way to counter the danger posed by a wandering collapsar- and a few other less-impressive myths."
   "But you need physical proof!" Hasboga objected.
   "Evidence need not be physical," was the insect's calm reply.
   "You philosophical scientists are all the same," she said in exasperation. "You support hypotheses with dreams embedded in foundations of supposition."
   Truzenzuzex was not upset by the disparaging of his chosen field. "So, Flinx, as little as we know of the Tar?Aiym, we know even less of the Hur'rikku. And yet ... your alien talks of them."
   Flinx turned disbelieving eyes on the humming Ab. "You think that Ab might be ...?"
   "No." Truzenzuzex was quick to correct a blossoming misconception. "We do not think your Ab is a Hur'rikku. The last Hur'rikku died five hundred thousand years ago. What Bran and I believe is that he j more likely to be a very old member of some race living on the periphery of the Blight, a race that retains memories of both the Tar-Aiym and the Hur'rikku and their exploits. The legends of the Hur'rikku and the collapsar are known. It is part of one legend that the Hur'rikku threatened to use on the Tar-Aiym worlds the device which had stopped their rogue. If true, that would go far to explain the unprecedented panic among, the warrior Tar-Aiym."
   Flinx turned to watch Ab's juggling act. Noting the smoothness of the blue skin, the supple arms and legs; the clearness in the four limpid blue eyes, he reflected that the alien didn't look old. He reminded himself than he was judging Ab's appearance by human standard.. Among Ab's race, smooth skin and bright eyes might be signs of advancing senility.
   "The legends seem to imply," Truzenzuzex went or, "that beside this Hur'rikku device, something like the Krang is a larva's toy."
   Flinx was pacing the floor worriedly. "Couldn't we try to use the Krang against this new rogue?"
   Thranx laughter spiced with sarcasm preceded the philosoph's response. "Just how would you move it" Flinx? You'd have to move the entire world of Booster, on which the Krang is located and from whose core it draws its power. Besides, if my initial supposition is correct and the Krang does generate a Schwarzschild discontinuity it would not harm a collapsar. Quite the contrary."
   He leaned forward and stared hard at Flinx. "Then there is the question of who could operate the Krang. I recall your saying that you had no idea how to operate it.
   "Well, that's true also," Flinx almost panicked, trying to cover his mistake. Truzenzuzex had always been suspicious of Flinx's abilities. He hid his concern in wonder. "Something that would make the Krang seem to be a child's toy ... incredible."
   "An ultimate weapon." Truzenzuzex nodded slowly.
    A sharp laugh sounded from nearby. Ultimate weapons indeed! You and your tall friend are madder than this alien. No such thing as an ultimate weapon can exist. If it did, it would have destroyed everything in the galaxy by now, once it had been activated."
   "Not if in activation it neutralized itself" Truzenzuzex argued charmingly.
   "You can't convince me with semantics."
   "I know, young lady. You require physical proof." More Thranx chuckling, a sound like seashells sliding against each other. "We think it worth trying to locate such proof, if it does exist. We have nothing to lose except three worlds."
   Chapter Eleven
    
   After a moment's silence, Flinx pointed back at Ab, "How do you know Ab knows anything more about the Hur'rikku than he's already said?"
   "He appears to be a limitless fount of information, Flinx. or haven't you noticed that he never repeats the same rhyme twice?"
   "'That may be so," Flinx conceded, "but he only talks nonsense."
   "Much of it probably is nonsense that will always remain incomprehensible to us." Truzenzuzex was agreeable. "But some of it is not."
   "How do you propose to get any more Hur'rikku information out of him?"
   Truzenzuzex sighed deeply, an eerie whistling sound in the nearempty chamber. "We've chased him across two planets now so that I can do just that. But why don't you do it, Flinx?"
   "Do what, sir?"
   "Ask him. Ask him about the Hur'rikku."
   "I ..." Flinx noticed that the philosoph had switched on a tiny recorder attached to his thorax vest. The insect was serious about this. Well, he could play along. Turning, he faced Ab and said sharply, "Ab! Abalamahalamatandra!" All twelve rocks fell to the stone floor, their juggler ignoring them save for a single blue orb. He gazed wanly at the stones until they stopped bouncing.
   "What about the Hur'rikku, Ab?" F1inx asked, feeling like an idiot as he talked sensibly to his ward. "Tell us about the Hur'rikku. Tell us about how they stopped the collapsar rogue."
   Nine and five, five and nine, loverly to dine if fine. 'Ricku, 'Ricku, sing to hicks, haiku you, you key me."
   "There, you sec?" Flinx turned and spread his hands	I
   in a gesture of helplessness. "It's useless he's crazy."
   "Not completely," countered Truzenzuzex. "It's simply a matter of points of tangency. You have none. Bran and I have learned several. For example, Neinenive is a Geeprolian translation for Har'rikku neuter. They had three sexes, it seems. Ab is trying to convey information, but it's garbled through maybe a dozen languages at a time, all of which he's trying to pronounce as Terranglo."
   Flinx Threw Ab a look of pure incredulity before returning his attention to the expectant philosoph. "You mean Ab's been making sense all along?"
   "No. Some of his chattering seems to be pure nonsense. The trouble is separating out the sense. Or perhaps I am wrong and everything he is saying would make sense if only we had some way of breaking it doom. His name, Abalamahalamatandra, for example. I wonder if that's just a collection of conveniently collected syllables, or if it actually means something." The philosoph rose from his squatting position. “ Let us take your Ab along, probe and prod him, and see what other insightful nonsense he can spout."
   TseMallory and September clambered back down the steps and stood at the base. "Patience, shipbrother," Txuzenzuzex called to his companion. "We are coming."
   "Now," TaerMallory responded in Terranglo. "We've wasted too much time here. September and I killed two Otoid scouts a few minutes ago. They must be returning. There axe also the Qwarm to consider."
   F?inx started. He had almost forgotten about the professional assassins, with all the amazing talk of test races ultimate weapons, and a coherent Alb.
   "You brought a fairsized skimmer, sirs," said September. "I think we can all fit inside."
   "We can if you take no more than that." TseMallory indicated Hasboga, who was laden with tapes, real books, and a few modest Mimmisompo artifacts.
   "Nothing here for me," September commented with a grunt. "I can always come back for whatever the abos leave."
   	` Why bother, Skua?" Hasboga wanted to know. "We found nothing here. We probably never would." Her gaze roamed the chamber floor a last time. "We tried the wrong building. I see no profit in returning. Next time we'll try somewhere else."
   "Sure we will, silly," September said reassuringly. "We'll raise the credit somewhere, don't worry," Ire shifted the enormous Mark Twenty from his shoulder to a ready position. "Gentlesirs, if you'll lead the way I'll endeavor to keep an eye or two on the tree trunks, in case the need rises for me to incinerate one or two overcurious little green brothers."
   "We will chance your expertise in the jungle." Tse-Mallory's mouth twisted in distaste. "Though I wish you'd phrase your intent in a less primitive fashion. All intelligent beings are brothers, you know. The Otoid as well."
   A reflective grin split the giant's tanned face. "I had a brother once. Didn't like him either. I ..." He cut the story short with an expansive gesture. "After you, gentlesixs and lady."
   As they emerged from the sheltering stone walls of the temple, Flinx found himself nervously eying every branch and vine and creeper, convinced that a thousand Otoid were concealed nearby. At any second he expected to feel a rain of darts, loosed from the nearest trees.
   Ahead of him, Truzenzitzez was murmuring deeply in Low Thranx. Nonsense rhymes and songs emanated from Ali with the usual unconcern of the mad. Only now they seemed to be in response to the philosoph's hypnotic mutters. Some were in Ali's mangled Terranglo, the rest in languages unknown to Flux. But twice, he thought he heard mention of the Hur'rikku, so perhaps the philosoph was learning something after all. Privately, Flinx couldn't help but think his two wizened friends were engaged in a fruitless chase founded on a futile assumption.
   All the jungle noises which assaulted his ears were animalistic and indifferent. There was no sign of the native Otoid. It was only a short walk to the hovering skimmer.
   TseMallory employed a control panel on his belt to deactivate the protective energy shield surrounding the craft and then to have it sink to the ground for easy boarding. It was a small cargo craft, much larger than the tiny twoman ship Flinx and Pocomchi had traveled in.
   That forced Pocomchi and Habib into his thoughts again. Indirectly, at least, he was the cause of their deaths.
   Why, he mused in anguished fury, did so many people have to perish around him, when what he sought was neither wealth nor power but only knowledge of his origins?
   TseMallory boarded the skimmer first, followed, with the always unexpected agility, by Truzenzuzex, then Hasboga and September. As soon as Flinx entered the broad cockpit, with Ali bringing up the rear, TseMallory touched a switch and the canopy door slid shut.
   The engine whined expectantly. Soon they would be back in Alaspinport, where he could press September to finish his explanation, no matter how much the giant tried to put off Flinx's questions this time. His gaze rose curiously, why he didn't know, to the transparent roof. Something moved against the clear sky. Squinting, he stood on tiptoes and peered so hard the back of his eyes hurt. Then Flinx was jumping up and down, shouting violently, "Stop the skimmer, stop, stop!"
   TseMallory hit a switch reflexively, and the craft, which had commenced a slow turn, came to an abrupt halt. September was struggling to reclaim his rifle from the cargo area, while Truzenzuzex was digiting the skimmer's heavy armament uncertainly.
   "What troubles you Flinx?" the philosoph inquired'; glancing back over a shoulder turned Tyrolean purple.
   For an answer Flinx continued to stare skyward, though be gestured with his right band toward the control panel. "Put back the canopy," he requested. Tse-Mallory started to object. Flinx s voice rose almost hysterically! "The canopyput it back!"
   The human scientist exchanged looks with his thranx companion, who simply shrugged. TseMallory activated a control, and the transparent polyplexalioy dome slid back into the body of the skimmer, leaving only transparent sides, doors, and front windshield in place.
   Hasboga moved to stand alongside Flinx. She stared into the sky. "I don't see anything, Flinx," she said with surprising gentleness.
   "There," he told her, pointing. "Coming toward as out of the sun ... it has to be ... I'm sure it is!"
   Two shapes wove a descending spiral, dancing on the air. Two small dragonforms stark against mountains of cloud. One was noticeably larger than the other.
   A hundred meters above the skimmer, they finished their aerial choreography and separated. Balthazaar flew off in the direction of the sun. The other began a steady twisting dive toward the open skimmer.
   "That's a dragon!" Hasboga gasped, reaching for her sidearm. Flinx put a restraining band on hers.
   "No, it's all right, Isili. It's mine. It's Pip." His voice was cracking, despite his best efforts at selfcontrol.
   A familiar diamondpatterned shape braked, pleated wings backbeating the air, tail and lower body hooked out and extended. Flinx raised his right arm out from his side. Pip dropped for it, tail curving around the proffered perch. The pleated wings folded tight to the body, and then the flying snake was ensconced in its usual position of rest on Flinx's shoulder.
   Reaching down, its master affectionately stroked the back of the triangular head. While the minidrag, as always, showed no outward sign of emotion, Flinx could sense a feeling of pleasure in his pet. Empathy cloaked him like the warm glow of stones surrounding a wood fire. Several moments passed in silence before Flinx noticed that everyone in the skimmer was staring at him.
   "Your pet came back," Truzenzuzex finally said, explaining Pip to the stilluncertain Hasboga and September. "I am pleased for you, Flinx. I remember what you two meant to each other." With that, he turned and activated the skimmer controls.
   Hasboga eyed the snake warily, but settled back in her seat as the lithe craft picked up speed. Soon they were speeding back toward Alaspinport, traveling just above the waving grass of the savannas.
   When the exuberance experienced on his pet's return had faded some, Flinx thought to turn and look over at September. The giant was enjoying the ride, since someone else was doing the piloting for a change. Thick fingers were running absently through his wild, wavy white hair. His nose interrupted the view behind him like a plow.
   "Skua?"
   September faced him and offered a pleasant, toothy smile. "What is it, young tellermelad?"
   Flinx glanced significantly down at his nowoccupied tight shoulder. "My minidrag. His name is Pip." He touched one leathery wing, and the snake shifted sleepily. His attention returned to September. "Twelve years ago, back on Moth, you lost a young minidrag, remember?"
   "I see what you're thinking, lad." September put both hands around one knee, which resembled a knot on a tree, and leaned back again, thinking. "All minidrags look the same to me, lad. As to whether your Pip happens to be the one I lost, I'm guessing it's possible. I never named my snake, so there's no way of knowing, is there? Minidrags aren't common off Alaspin. I wouldn't know of any others that had been on Moth then. Might have been. If your Pip is the one., that would be an interesting coincidence, wouldn't it?"
   "Yes, it sure would." Flinx kept his voice carefully even.
   "Signifying nothing." September finished with that, and turned his gaze to the scenery slipping past outside.
   Flinx did likewise, watching the savanna roll past as Truzenzuzex and TseMallory skillfully maneuvered the craft over low hills, around trees and upthrust, unweathered rock spires.
   "Signifying nothing," he murmured softly to himself.
    
   At Alaspinport, Flinx was forced to reveal that he had his own ship. That was fine with Tru and Bran. Flinx permitted them to commandeer iton one condition. "I'm not through questioning September," he whispered to TseMallory.
   The scientist regarded him somberly. "You'll have him around for a while yet, Flinx. Hasboga has undoubtedly told him of our plans. For their own protection, we must take both with us until this matter is resolved. If not, they will be questioned by the Qwarm. I don't think they would be permitted to live."
   Neither Hasboga nor September objected to a free trip off Alaspin once it was explained to them what might happen if they remained. Both appeared to be under the impression that they would be delivered immediately to some larger, safe world like Terra or New Paris. Flinx didn't exactly lie about that, he simply neglected to tell either of them that they would be taking a long route around.
   As they left the surface of Alaspin, Truzenzuzex's damnable curiosity prompted him to ask Flinx how he had acquired the impressive sum necessary to purchase and operate a private, systemjumping vessel like the Teacher. Flinx could not explain that the Teacher had been built by his precocious pupils, the UlruUjurrians. Yet it was extremely difficult to lie believably in front of someone as perceptive as Truzenzuzex. So, in what he hoped was a natural tone of voice, he explained that he had purchased the ship out of the money given him by Maxim Malaika as reward for his part in discovering the Krang. When he ran out of money to operate the vessel, he would have to sell it.
   Truzenzuzex appeared to accept this facile explanation readily enough, though Flinx could detect a familiar twinge of suspicion in the philosoph's mind even as he acknowledged the story.
   Presently, they entered the Teacher with the insect explaining that Flinx's fast ship was the reason they were so long in tracking him down on Alaspin. Meanwhile, Flinx went about the difficult task of assigning quarters to everyone on a ship that had not been designed with passeneers in mind.
   "We've always been just a step behind you, Flinx," Truzenzuzex said. "On Moth we had to stop and deal with the Owarm, while you made your way to the shuttleport. Then you outdistanced us because we were forced to take a commercial ship to Asaspin, one which stopped several times along the way, while you raced here directly. We were lucky to find you as soon as we did."
   They entered the spacious lounee, spacious because Flinx enjoyed space and the Teacher had that to spare. The room accommodated them all comfortably.
   The philosoph gazed around approvingly. "A fine ship you have for yourself, Flinx."
   "Adequate" was the youth's response.
   "I do not understand where the name came from."
   "A whim." Flinx managed only a halflie this time. "I've always had thoughts about being a teacher."
   "An admirable profession. One to which too few beings dedicate themselves. I find most, sadly, to be teaching because they have good minds but no imagination. Teaching is charity for the intelligent."
   Leaving the lounge to Hasboga and September, Flinx led the two scientists to the pilot's compartment. Three walls were embroidered with controls, the fourth showed naked space.
   "Where do you want to go?" he asked, hands poised over the ship's instrumentation.
   For the first time, Truzenzuzex and TseMallory did not have a ready answer. Both glanced at Ab, who had trailed the three forward and was now rhyming at a rapid pace. Flinx couldn't tell whether the philosoph was making any sense of the alien's verses.
   "Actually," TseMallory had to admit, "we don’t know yet. Somewhere in the Blight, but we need at least a clue from your Ab. For now, head in the direction of Hivehom. It's best if we leave Alaspin's vicinity."
   Flinx conveyed the requisite orders to the navigation computer, which responded promptly, though it hesitated at the lack of a specific destination. A bald of deep purple formed at the nose of the ship, visible manifestation of the great KK drive's posigravity field. At minimal acceleration, so as not to interact with Alaspin's gravity well, the Teacher began to move out of orbit. Once they were the minimum safe number of planetary diameters out, the drive would be fully engaged and the ship would leap ahead at a multiple of the speed of light.
   "There's a ship coming into orbit." Flinx gazed interestedly at a gauge on the console.
   "Not much traffic to this world," murmured TseMallory. To Flinx's surprise, both he and Truzenzuzex moved to activate several sensor controls and the large screen.
   "Monitor configuration," TseMallory instructed as he manipulated several controls.
   "Monitoring." Truzenzuzex's delicate truhands made fine adjustments.
   Flinx was prepared to leave the ship's controls on automatic. However, he turned curiously instead of walking from the chamber. "Wait a minute. What's all the excitement about?" While Pip shifted on his shoulder, he stared at the, two scientists, who were watching instruments with intense concentration. Flinx's gaze narrowed. "The incoming ship ... You still haven't told me who hired the Qwarm. I think I can guess, judging from what you told me about certain forces who want to see the rogue destroy CarmagueCoIIangatta and Twosky Bright. But I can't be sure."
   "We intend to tell you, Flinx." TseMallory spoke without taking his attention from the controls beneath his hands. "Does it matter so much to you? It's Ab they're after."
   "I'd like very much to know why someone's trying to murder me because of Ab. That is," he added sarcastically, "if it wouldn't be too much to ask, since I've given you the use of my ship."
   Both scientists were immune to sarcasm. Truzenzuzex's truhands continued to finetune controls, but he beckoned Flinx to his side with a foothand. "You wish to know, Minx." The youth moved alongside him. "There they are." He indicated the shape neatly focused on the computer tridee tracker. "Do you recognize that configuration? You are a bright human. I am certain your guess is correct. Now, who would stand to benefit most by the damage to Commonwealth production and population the rogue collapsar would cause?"
   Flinx considered his supposition in the new light of the image displayed on the viewscreen. It confirmed what he had suspected, all right. But seeing physical proof was a good deal more ominous than simply supposing.
   September and Hasboga walked into the piloting chamber. "I thought," September bellowed, "that since we're on our way, it might be fun to ..." Frowning, he stopped. He squinted hard at the picture on the screen. "Funny ... that looks like an AAnn courier ship." Hasboga looked questioningly at him. He ignored her, crossing the floor in several huge strides to peer closely at the screen. "No ... no, by Pallanthian's Ghosts, it's a destroyer!" He turned a nononsense gaze on Tse Mallory. "What's an AAnn warship doing inside Commonwealth boundaries?"
   "Boundaries, Mr. September?" TseMallory trying to look innocent. "You can't draw boundaries in space."
   "No, but you sure can on navigation charts," September shot back. "No one makes mistakes lightyears deep, not with automatic positioning equipment."
   "No one said they had made a mistake," TseMallory's voice was even, composed. He returned his attenention to the controls in front of him. "You needn’t sound so melodramatic, September. You rave like tridee fisherfax. Everyone puts too much reliance boundaries. Absurd, whey the boundary of the AAnn Empire and that of the Commonwealth are hundreds1 of lightyears high, wide, and deep. You can't build a fence, not even with the best deeprange monitoring systems. You can monitor worlds, but not parsecs.” He quieted for a moment to watch as the AAnn warshL,y slipped into orbit around Alaspin.
   "There is nothing on Alaspin capable of resisting regular warship. So the AAnn will not make trouble. On the contrary, they will probably claim to be experiencing trouble of their own and request assistance. Mutual aid for emergencies involving deepspace ships is thoroughly covered by the treaties."
   "What happens," September wanted to know, "when a Commonwealth peaceforcer shows up and detects no sign of damage on board?"
   TseMallory smiled softly. "Mr. September, the AAnn will not linger about Alaspin. They will satisfy themselves that what they have come for, meaning Ab, is no longer on the planet. Then they will depart rapidly. No doubt they axe tracking us at this very moment." Hasboga stifled a gasp. "But while they may know about this ship, through Qwarm informants, the cannot be sure Ab is aboard. They must check Alaspin, first. By the time they know for certain, we will be v long way elsewhere."
   "Pretests will be lodged over the unauthorized orbit,” Truzenzuzex declared. “Word will reach Terra and Hivehom. There will be accusations, denials, apologies, concluded with promises not to do it again. We have done the same thing within the Empire. So long as nonstrategic worlds like Alaspin are involved and nobody gets killed, there's not much the offended side can do short of starting an interstellar war. The AAnn know they're not strong enough for that, and the Commonwealth is too conciliatory for it. So ... nothing will happen."
   "It might as far as we're concerned." Flinx looked significantly at the philosoph, who nodded slowly in response.
   "True FIinx. The presence of this ship means that the reptiles have lest patience with the Qwarm." He permitted himself a small sighing sound of satisfaction. "That is not surprising, considering how ineffective the assassin's clan has been. They could hardly know who has been interfering with them."
   TseMallory chuckled at that remark.
   Truzenzuzex turned a somber gaze on Flinx. "This does not mean, however, that the Qwarm are finished with you. So long as they continue to believe you are responsible for their difficulties, they will continue to try to kill you."
   September ventured a summation, "So we're running from both the reptiles and the Qwarm."
   "And the Commonwealth and Church as well," TseMallory added.
   Flinx looked uncertain. "Why them, too?"
   "Remember, Flinx," the former Chancellor Second admonished him, "those organizations believe Ab is nothing more than a wild wish in the minds of two senile renegades."
   Now it was Truzenzuzex's turn to laugh, a rapid clicking of all four mandibles.
   "The Owarm are trouble enough, but I would rather deal with them than with minor bureaucrats. If we are detained officially, I wouldn't be surprised to see some minor functionary turn Ali over to them to keep the Empire pacified."
   "Slow down, just a minute." Comprehension was beginning to dawn on Hasboga's dark features. "If we're going to avoid Commonwealth officials how are you going to set Skua and me down anywhere where we can raise financing?"
   "We'll put you down on Burley, or on Terra, or wherever you wish," TseMallory assured her, "as soon as we have completed our little experiment."
   "1f you think I'm going to run off into the Blight and heaven knows where else with you in pursuit of some crazy theory, while the Qwarm and the AAnn try to kill you, you're out of your minds!" Her fury was exceeded only by hex incredulity.
   There was a brief moment of disorientation. A slight shudder passed through the Teacher indicating that they had just exceeded lightspeed. Pulled by the KK field, the ship continued to accelerate.
   When no one said anything, Hasboga walked over to stand next to TseMallory. Eyes flashing, she shouted up at him, "I demand you put us down on the nearest developed Federation world!"
   The scientist sounded contrite. "Sorry, can't do that. We have no time to waste. The mere presence of the AAnn destroyer within the Commonwealth indicates that they axe growing desperate. We can't risk delays or detours. I think they cannot fallow us, but the AAnn are efficient. They may be able to pursue us based on the particulate matter produced by this ship's KK generator. We cannot afford to linger. Several billion lives are at stake."
   Fuming, she turned away from him. "Oh, come on! You've as much as said yourself that the Hur'rikku device is half myth. You can't really expect to find anything."
   	TseMallory's eyes could not mask what he felt toward her at that moment. "Those whose death see as certain will climb a rope made of one straw, if such a rope can be provided. We are searching for that straw. Isili Hasboga, no one's personal desires axe going to obstruct this search until if is concluded.”
   Hasboga looked ready to argue further, but Flinx interceded. "Please, Isili," he pleaded with her, "bear with them. Truzenzuzex and Bran TseMallory are good humanx. If they didn't have a good reason for what they're doing I would never have agreed to provide them with a ship."
   "Easy to say," she snapped angrily, "when your own life is at stake anyway!"
   So ferocious was her reaction that Pip started, and stared threateningly at the source of the angry emanations being directed at his master. Flinx calmed the minidrag. The flying snake settled back on his shoulder, but kept a watchful cold eye on the woman.
   Flinx spoke softly but firmly. "If that's the case, why didn't I leave Ab behind to be killed by the AAnn? True it might not take the Qwarm off my back, but the AAnn would no longer have an interest in me. So maybe I have a little more than just selfpreservation at stake, wouldn't you say?"
   "I'm sorry." She looked away. "It's just ... I've just had several years' work ruined, first by Otoid arrows, now by finding myself involved in something I couldn't care less about."
   Unable to argue further with Flinx, she turned her fury on September. "What about you, stupid? You worked nearly as hard on the excavating as I did. Now it's behind us and we're broke. Broke! Don't you understand?"
   He gazed down at her gently. "A stranger to impecuniosity I am not, silly bog. Me, I'm just a little ole hydrogen atom drifting in the galactic wind. Actually, I find the direction of our present drift kind of intriguing. Probably not profitable, but sometimes it's nice to enrich something besides one's pocket." Turning, he took a chair near the rear of the chamber. "Besides, I've been on Collangatta. Not Carmague, though I could always see it hanging greenandwhite in the sky overhead, and not Twosky Bright, but I've been to Collangatta. I liked the Collas. They're a friendly open sort. They know how to enjoy life. They made me feel welcome, something that doesn't always happen to me on a newly visited world. They made me feel at home.
   "So, silly, before I see their world freeze over and turn into a round grave frosted with frozen gases, I’ll take a chance to save it." He gazed jovially at 'Tse-Mallory. "Best thing this undertaking has going for it, near as I can see, is that the Commonwealth does't think it's worth trying. That's a goodenough recommendation for me." She turned away from him huffly, and he rose and turned her. She struggled, but couldn’t move those massive arms.
   "Isili, all accumulated wealth does is make you worry about the tax collector, and it's getting harder and harder to fool the computers. Plenty of time yet to acquire the stigma of wealth. Or, in your case, of fame."
   "Do you really think that's it, Skua?" She gave him a pitying look. "That I'm desperate to get back to my pet project so I can have my fax in all the tridee tapes?"
   "Not entirely," he admitted. "You're a little too devoted to science for that. But then, you're not wholly immune to it, either. You're human, Isili. It's a curse we all have to bear."
   "Speak for yourself." The smooth interjection came from near the console.
   September let Hashoga leave his grasp and looked that way. "I stand corrected, Your Bugship."
   "Nothing personal." Truzenzuzex's reply was couched as mild amusement coupled with gratification. "Look at it this way, Hasboga." She kept her gaze resolutely elsewhere. "You've been unlucky enough to fall in with a couple of old fools, and you know what the old human saying says about them. So you might as well try to help instead of binder us. There's nothing you can do about it anyway. We can be as fanatical about saving lives as you can be about exhuming their remains."
   She whirled. "You're all crazy, every one of you" She stalked out of the cockpit, heading for the lounge.
   September ought to have been upset. He wasn't, Flinx noted. The giant accepted everything with an equanimity which hinted at great mental as well as physical assurance.
   Abruptly, Flinx decided he liked the enormous human, whether or not the man was his true father. No, he would not try to coerce further information on that subject from September. He was beginning to realize that such knowledge would flow from September in his own time, and that patience would gain far more information than arguing.
   Rising from the chair, September moved to follow his employer. He winked at Flinx. "Alcohol has a way of dissolving anger the way acid does plastic, feller-melad. Isili won't be really happy until she's digging up ancient junk again. But 1 think I can keep her fury at a level where she won't drive us all insane before thus voyage is over."
   Chapter Twelve
    
   Long days passed as the Teacher chased its own field through emptiness. TseMallory and Truzenzuzex employed a substantial part of the ship's computer in probing Ab, trying to make sense of rhymes which sometimes employed terms and words from six different languages at once, some of them no longer spoken anywhere, some using words that were fourthhand translations from the original. It was exhausting, frustrating work, made no easier by Ab's goodnatured desire to make everything sound like Terranglo.
   "We have formed a hypothesis," Truzenzuzex was saying to Flinx one day as they sat in the lounge listening to Ab burble endlessly nearby. "Bran and I have decided that not only is Ab not speaking nonsense, but that everything he says makes sense. We simply haven't the time or equipment to track down everything he is saying, to translate it properly. Half of our translations are largely intuitive, and the rest at least partially so."
   Flax's gaze went upward, to where Pip was darting lazily among the threedimensional false clouds in the simulated lateafternoon sky projected by instrumentation in the walls. "Everything seems to make sense to Ab, but then, everything a madman says makes sense to himself." He glanced at Ab. "I don't know how you'll ever find the world you want from him."
   Ab abruptly turned two blue eyes on Flinx. "Cannachanna, banarana, lemon pie and apple vana. What ticks inside the helical mix?"
   "There, you see?" Flinx said. "It's the same as…" He stopped and stared at the philosoph. Tru was sitting on the thranx loungeseat, gazing blankly into the distance. "Tru?"
   Truzenzuzex stared a moment longer, then turned to Flinx. "That's it."
   Flinx felt groggy. "What's it?"
   "The world ... maybe." The philosoph was muttering to himself as he raced on four legs and foothands for the lounge computer terminal. Still dazed, Flinx followed.
   "It is an old Visarian name for a main sequence star inside the Blight. The star is RNGC 1632 on Commonwealth charts." He was shouting commands to the computer while trying to talk into the intercom at the same time.
   TseMallory appeared in the room in response to the more coherent instructions. The tall scientist was only partially dressed, still wet from an unfinished shower, and quite indifferent to his near nudity. "What's happened, shipbrother? Something at last?"
   "Cannachanna, Bran."
   While Truzenzuzex worked with incredible speed at the terminal, TseMallory walked over to sit next to Ab. Water glistened on his body under the bright artificial light as he regarded the alien, who was playing with his fingers.
   "Cannachanna, remember. Remember Abalamahalamatandra." He was gazing unblinkingly into one blue eye, doing things with his eyes and voice and hands. "What about Cannachanna?"
   Ab winked all four eyes in sequence and sang pleasantly, "Go, go, go, fast, fast, fast. Needlepie death from underwear past. Kalcanthea tree for I am …" and on and on, as usual.
   But that was enough; it was a confirmation. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex came as close to kicking up their heels as Flinx had ever seen them.
   "The computer," Truzenzuzex said, when he got his breath back and finally responded to Flinx's questions, "has accepted the reference, liven a transposition, and plotted a course. We are on our way, at last. Praise to the Hive!"
   The most astonishing transformation the information produced occurred not in the two scientists, but in Isi Hasboga.
   "You mean the Hur'rikku actually existed?" she asked TseMallory, her eyes shining in disbelief and wonder.
   "So it would seem. We're heading for a Hur'rikku; world right now. It's located in the proper position for such a world, on the far centerside of the Blight. That's where the Hur'rikku expansion would have reached to when they encountered the TarAiym. It's also the logical place to establish a threat, to mount major weapons system."
   "I can't believe it," she said, "I can't believe it. Such things don't happen in real life."
   "The incredible always happens in real life," Tse-Mallory chided her. "Its the expected which makes up most fiction."
   "A Hur'rikku world," she was murmuring. "A. Hur'rikku world." She looked up with such caked desire that Flinx was embarrassed. "We'll be the first humanx to see it. Do you ... do you think I might have a chance to do some fieldwork?"
   TseMallory smiled; his voice was fall of assurance "Hasboga, we're all going to be doing a great deal of fieldwork. Or do you think we're simply going to orbit the world the Hur'rikku inhabited, find a continent sized sign in symbospeech saying `Ultimate WeaponFollow the Arrow,' and walk right up to it?"
   She was so excited at the prospect of being the first archeologist to set foot on a legendary world of a mythical race that she hardly heard TseMallory's stern sarcasm.
   Flinx had been through the Blight once before. It looked no different from any other section of normal space, save for having a slightly higher population of stars than the Arm in which the Commonwealth lay. It still gave him the shivers. Once these myriad worlds had been home to dozens of intelligent races. Now only lower forms lived there, all higher varieties having been exterminated in the ravening plague unwittingly unleashed by the panicked TarAiym half a million years ago.
   Even those two usually aloof beings, TseMallory and Truzenzuzex, were affected. They kept themselves busy with Ab and stayed out of the control cabin, stayed away from its wide port and its panorama of stars. Instead, they discussed abstruse philosophies in arcane languages, or played games of such complexity with the ship's computer than an onlooker could not even figure out who eventually won, much less how the game was played.
   Three weeks passed when they announced that Ab possessed an approximate vocabulary of twentyeight trillion words, in three million, four hundred sixty thousand languages, of which at least two million were no longer used and two hundred four thousand were purely mathematical.
   These figures did not indicate the mind of an idiot.
   Isili Hasboga, now expectant and happy, reveled in the comparative luxury of the Teacher. It was her first time on a private craft, since position and finances had always relegated her to economyclass transports whenever travel between worlds had been necessary.
   What Hasboga found impressive merely amused September. His interest was in the practical workings of the ship. There were times when the giant worried Flinx, such as when he found September staring intently at some aspect of the Teacher's construction. Eventually he relaxed, telling himself that if the giant discovered anything unusual about the ship, he would probably ascribe it to some vagary or peculiarity of the firm which had constructed it. Which would be trice. Just so long as no one guessed at how peculiar the Teacher's manufacturers were.
   Flinx found he was left pretty much to himself. The ship ran without help. Checking and rechecking its smooth operation took little time. He had to find otter excuses not to stare out the ports. What made him and the two scientists truly uncomfortable was not the emptiness of the inhabitable planets around them, but the inescapable deepdown fear that somewhere on one of those worlds a viable remnant of the TarAiym's unstoppable plague still lurked, waiting to infect some unsuspecting explorer with an ageold malignancy.
    
   The system of Cannachanna looked no different from many others Flinx had seen schematized on fie ship's screen. There were only three planets circling the hot Ktype sun. And unless the Hur'rikku were suited to extraordinary extremes of temperature and pressure, they could not have lived either on the massive, frozen gas giant circling farthest out or on the sunblistered globe that skimmed scorchingly close to the primary. That left only the middle planet of the three. Thougl.1 farther from its sun than Earth was from Sol it would still be a hot world. But at least it possessed an atmosphere humanx could breathe. It could support life. It was the only possibility.
   "Of course," TseMallory reminded everyone as they started surfaceward in the shuttle, "we have no evidence to show that the Hur'rikku were anything like ourselves, or even that they were a carbonbased form."
   But then, they had little evidence of any kind concerning the Hur'rikku.
   That this world had been inhabited by some race was amply confirmed by the Teacher's scanners. All four major continents were dotted with ruins. They were extensive enough to indicate that at one time ins the distant past the world circling Cannachanna had supported a sizable population..
   With nothing else to go on, Truzenzuzex and TseMallory opted for touchdown near the largest city they could find. It was located near the west coast of the northern hemisphere's largest continent. The shuttle landed softly under TseMallory's skilled direction as Flinx stared out at a sky the color of molten iron. The star Cannachanna shone through the pulsing redness like an engorged blood vessel.
   Pure white sand shushed under the shuttlecraft's skis as they touched down. Only a slight crosswind made the landing other than ordinary. Instrumentation indicated that the vast, mountainless plain they had set down on was hot. It was after midday, and the outside temperature registered nearly 45°C in the fresh shade of the shuttle.
   The little group stepped down the ramp onto the white sand. Flinx and Hasboga were sufficiently darkskinned not to require protection from the sun beating down relentlessly through crimsonhued clouds. Truzenzuzex was practically comfortable, except for the dryness of the air. He was the one who recommended and produced proper creams and sprays from the ship's dispensary to protect the more delicate skins of TseMallory and September.
   While the others stood in the shade of the shuttle wing, Truzenzuzex led Ab out onto the surface. Ab immediately kneeled and rhymed as he traced incomprehensible designs in the sand.
   They listened intently as the philosoph addressed them: Ab cannot be hypnotized, though the Tunnels know Bran and I have tried. But through various techniques I think I can gain his attention more closely than one could using normal speech. Doing so somehow depends on the pitch of one's voice.
   "These last few days prior to our arrival Bran and I have been querying Ab constantly about the weapon. Since he has not provided us with any directions, we feel we might just as well start here and move from city to city, in the hope that something will trigger Ab to provide the proper response."
   "Do we have to stay here?" Hasboga was staring yearningly at the distant city. Towers of wellpreserved metal and unknown materials loomed tantalizingly over gypsum dunes.
   “Hashoga, we are not here for simple exploration. My own curiosity presses me toward the city common sense and a more desperate need hold me back from it." Truzenzuzex looked sad. "It must be this way, at least until we find what we have come for."
   Hasboga was not appeased. "First you drag Skua and me all this way and then you tell me I can't so much as have a close look at one of the greatest discoveries in the history of humanx science. Here we are on the world of a race no one really believed even existed." She kicked angrily at the sand, sending a powdery white spray downwind.
   They were standing on a world of hot ice, Flinx thought.
   TseMallory eyed her reprovingly. "This world will always be here, Isili Hasboga. Whereas CarmagueCollangatta and Twosky Bright will not be, unless we can find the weapon and make it work."
   "Even if the thing is here, it probably isn't functional. You realize that, of course." September's gaze shifted from Truzenzuzex to TseMallory.
   The tall scientist smiled back at him and shrugged slightly. "We're nothing if not optimists, September, It's in the nature of bumanxkind to defy the odds."
   "That's the difference between us," September said; turning his attention also to the distant, archaic metropolis. "It's in the nature of Septemberkind to ride with the odds. That's how I've lived as long as" He saw Flinx gesturing for attention. "Something happening, young fellermelad?"
   Flinx was pointing at Ab. "He's going to do something."
   TseMallory's reply to September was forgotten. Even Hasboga's interest was distracted from the city.
   Ab turned in place as if searching intently for something no one else could see. Finding a direction, he waddled off toward the southwest. When he got roughly ten meters from the shuttle, he stopped and hunted around his feet. After concluding a careful survey of the sand he was standing on, he sat down with a thump, reached out with three arms, and commenced etching a fresh slew of abstract patterns while singing to himself. He was as happy as any threeyearold in a sandbox.
   "Wonderful." Hasboga threw her hair back and ran both hands over it. "The end of the noble quest. What do we do now?"
   Though obviously disappointed, Truzenzuzex didn't show it in his reply. "We could not reasonably expect that the alien would immediately lead us to the weapon. Now we must begin our search in earnest." Hasboga's expression brightened, and the philosoph hastened to add, "From the air."
   "Why the air?" she wanted to know, downcast.
   "Before we commence the laborious task of examining these cities on foot, there is a chance Ab may recognize or be stimulated by some larger pattern."
   Gathering up Ab, who as always came along without a fuss, they returned to the shuttle. The ramp was sucked in behind the last boarder, the engines engaged, and the little vessel turned to rise into the wind.
   Behind, a few human and thranx footprints remained in the sand. Gentle wind began patiently to erase them.
   Beginning with the largest on each continent, they went at high speed from city to city. Soon they were traveling over far smaller urban centers than the one they had set down next to. At each new city Truzenzuzex and TseMallory would glance hopefully over at Ab. Each time Ab would stare delightedly at the new landscape beneath the shuttle, would rhyme ceaselessly, and then Truzenzuzex would read the computer interpretation of what Ab had said and the shuttle would change course once again.
   Several days of such searching convinced TseMallory that they might be on the planet a long, long time. Hearing this, Hasboga grew nearly as hot as the air they were flying through. She insisted on being set down in some city, any city, to pursue her work.
   Unable to refute her arguments, TseMallory and Truzenzuzex finally agreed. She might discover something useful to them, and it would be quieter on board the shuttle without her.
   September opted to join her, as much because the aerial search was beginning to bore him as for any other reason. They disembarked on the outskirts of the first city they had visited, taking along ample supplies and sufficient weaponry to defend themselves, although there had been no sign of hostile life.
   Indeed, this world boasted little in the way of animal life and not much in the way of vegetation. Most of Cannachanna II's surface ran to desert, some low, some high. The largest living thing they had found so far was a sort of nervouslooking pink cactuslike plant which soared fifteen meters or more into the angry sky and was several meters around at the base. Its root system, TseMallory observed, must be astonishing.
   Water flowed below, rather than on top of the land. There was little in the way of large bodies of fresh water. The land showed the sameness as the cities. And each city was like the next, differing only in size. They were full of crumbling, disintegrating stonework and pitted metal structures, inhabited now only by insinuating winds and fading memories. The Teacher's shuttle flew over each with the same hopes, departed with identical disappointment.
   "The TarAiym built better cities but fewer, judging from what we saw of Booster." Truzenzuzex was staring out at the desert sliding past beneath them. "That fits with what we know of the Hur'rikku's rumored prolificacy and helps to explain the TarAiym's fright."
   "You're sure that Ab's not one of them?" Flinx indicated the alien, who was strapped into a chair facing a wide viewport.
   TseMallory shook his head. "The shape of the doors we have seen on low passes is enough to demonstrate that, whatever else Ab is, he is not a Hur'rikku. They were much smaller than All, smaller than ourselves. Closer to the Otoid of Alaspin, if you need a race for comparison. Whereas the TarAiym, as near as we can tell from similar evidence on their world of Booster, were massive creatures far larger even than your friend September. And yet," he mused, staring out over the wastelands of metal and rock and sand, "the tiny Hur'rikku succeeded in terrifying the greater TarAiym to the point where they lost control of their military science and created something which ultimately destroyed, them all."
   Truzenzuzex looked unhappy as he preened his antennae with a truhand. "We are wasting time, I fear. We cannot spend forever on this world. Another week, and I recommend returning to hire additional, nongovernment help." At Flinx's look of surprise he added: "It is in my nature to be impatient, friend Flinx."
   As the shuttle banked sharply to leave the city they had just inspected, the philosoph slumped in his loungeseat. "Ab still shows no indication of responding to anything on this world. I fear that he might not react to the weapon even if we passed directly over it. And since we have no idea what to look for, if it does not resemble a humanx weapon we could pass the thing by in equal ignorance. How many cities have we inspected, shipbrother?"
   "Fiftyfive, counting the last."
   Truzenzuzex made a sound indicative of mild disgust mixed with personal recrimination. "We could check out a thousand fiftyfive, I'm afraid, without any hope of success."
   His companion smiled back at him stolidly. "Possible, but we must examine those thousand and however many more. Three worlds await our"
   Truzenzuzex waved resignedly. "Yes, I know, I know. But it seems so hopeless. If we could only pry some clue, some hint as to where the weapon was kept, out of Ab, we might find it. On Booster the location of the Krang was evident from its size, its position of isolation and importance, and the uniqueness of its construction. We have detected nothing similar on this world, nothing out of the ordinary in any city."
   It was then that Flinx, keyed by Truzenzuzex's words, bad one of those rare moments of intuition which he could never predict. Yet that flash of intuition probably was not the result of his special talents at all. There was nothing extraordinary about the thought that occurred to him. It might simply have been that he, unlike the scientists, could think only of simple possibilities. Ile had already voiced half a hundred opinions on the possible location of the weapon prior to this one. None had been worthwhile. But this one definitely was.
   "If I," he said casually, rubbing the back of Pip's head, "had built a really powerful weapon, I'd want to make awful sure that if it went off accidentally no one would get hurt."
   "In the ocean, perhaps?" mused TseMallory uncertainly. "But there are signs that the oceans were heavily used, perhaps as a food source. We have seen no place of sufficient isolation to construct or locate such a weapon."
   Truzenzuzex left his antennae alone. "Not on this planet, no. I would not put a device capable of destroying a collapsar on any inhabited world."
   TseMallory merely nodded slowly, comprehending. The philosoph went to the shuttle controls and reset its course for the camp set up in the northern hemisphere by September and Hasboga several weeks ago.
   "We have studied this world in hopes of finding something huge and different. The weapon could be small and ordinarylooking as well. But before we try combing every building, I think it behooves us to try your theory, Flinx."
   Flinx shook his bead. "But if it's in this system and not on this planet, how do we find it?"
   "Your same thought holds, Flinx." Truzenzuzex leaned away from the controls. "Any race cautious enough to place such a dangerous device off its world would take care not to lose track of it. They would want to know where it was at all times. As yet we have not monitored persistent surface sources of radiation for any energy traveling out into space. Such energy should be produced by the most sophisticated, reliable machinery the Hur'rikku could construct. They would be designed to be longlasting and selfrepairing, in case of peripheral damage."
   September was sick of the desert and rejoined them willingly and gladly. Hasboga reacted to the word that they might be leaving the planet permanently somewhat less enthusiastically. She was on the verge, she assured them, of uncovering secrets of the Hur'rikku which would keep Commonwealth researchers busy for decades. September half convinced, half coerced her onto the shuttle.
   "We may have to return tomorrow, if this idea reveals nothing," TseMallory said in an effort to placate her. "We may not discover any energy being beamed offplanet. A few circumpolar and equatorial orbits should be enough to tell."
   Hasboga fumed and argued and cried and having no choice, gave in.
   Sensors on board the Teacher had previously recorded over a hundred sources of radiation from stillfunetioning Hur'rikku machinery. Many seemed to be homing beacons. These were located on the outskirts of vast urban areas, near spacious plains that might once have been shuttleports or some other kind of staging area.
   Three such beams were still broadcasting with enough power to reach deeply into space, well beyond where an incoming craft would need to pick them up. One beam emerged from the ground near the largest city on the south polar continent and dissipated itself in the general direction of Sagittarius. Flinx was more tempted than he could say to try to follow that immensely powerful radiant arrow to its ultimate destination.
   But they desperately needed to locate something somewhat closer to home. So Flinx had the computer plot the beam's course for future reference. Someday, perhaps...
   A second beam led the Teacher and its anxious occupants to the fourth moon of the peripheral gas giant. They traced it to some small ruins, better preserved than any they had seen on the inhabited world itself. There was some erosion, however, since the moon possessed an atmosphere of its own. They had difficulty convincing Hasboga they couldn't afford to linger near the wonderfully intact Hur'rikku structures.
   The third beam directed them to a fourth planet, one the ship's instruments had not detected during their initial rapid approach to the Cannachanna systen. That was not surprising, however: The fourth planet war, less a world than a drifting moon, about a third the size of Earth's. It orbited Cannachanna twice as far out as the gas giant did. It was a bleak, meteorscoured globe, relentlessly uninviting, coated with a thin crust of frozen methane and ammonia. It had no free atmosphere. One side always faced sunward; the other perpetually gazed at the abyss of interstellar space.
   They found a tiny receiver on Cannachanna IV. The beam from the Hur'rikku world ended there. A quick search of the receiving installation revealed only receiving equipment. There was nothing remotely like freestanding device or weapon. Everything was tied to the receiving station.
   The team commenced a slow, loworbit probe of the moonworld's surface. Detectors showed nothing below them but reflective frozen gas and dead rock.
   Truzenzuzex was watching the monitor's monotonous reports flow dutifully to readouts in the piloting chamber. "This is the end, I suppose," he said dolefully. "'ride might as well attempt to follow the first transmission to Sagittarius." He shook his shining, jeweleyed head. "I fear I am almost too old to mare such a journey."
   TseMallory's expression was equally disconsolate, even as he tried to sound optimistic. "There is still a chance. We have not finished the survey yet. And we can always return to the second planet and begin again. The supposition we're pursuing may have been error."
   "True," agreed the pbilosoph.
   "Gentlesirs." Flinx glanced back from his position by the monitors. "There's an artifact ahead of us."
   That announcement precipitated a rush by the two scientists toward the smaller screens located in the main console. Sure enough, according to the instruments they were approaching a comparatively small solid object of indeterminate composition. It remained stable above the small planet and lay in a straight line with the transmission ending on the rocky globe's opposite side.
   With all instruments operating and alert for any sign of a reaction from the device, the Teacher nudged cautiously closer.
   A fourth voice added itself to the general discussion: "See flivver run and diver, hopscotch moplatch, puddin'n thatch a house and teach a mouse." Ab lectured them in that vein for half an hour, then turned away and resumed his solitary singing.
   Truzenzuzex ran the entire recorded dialogue through the vocabulary they had laboriously constructed for Ab. It produced one recognizable Terranglo word: "Bang."
   The philosoph could hardly contain his excitement. "Gentlesirs, I think we've found our weapon."
   But the actual sight of the artifact, when they had drawn near enough to inspect it visually, was disappointing. Certainly it displayed none of the visual awesomeness of the quiescent TarAiym weapon, The Krangor, for that matter, the impressiveness of many humanx weapons Flinx had seen or heard of.
   September was urged forward, to venture his opinion. It was not complimentary. "A single SCCAM shell would make basic particles of that thing. That's the most pitiful excuse for an ultimate weapon anyone ever dreamed up."
   "A germ," TseMallory pointed out, "does not look particularly impressive either, but a certain variety once wiped out every creature in the Blight, including both the TarAiym and the Hur'rikku."
   Flinx edged the ship in until they were floating only fifty meters from the artifact. It was about a hundred meters in length, a roughly cylindrical shape with four curving sides which met at two pointed ends. Things that looked like long antennae protruded another few meters from each of the two ends. It resembled a foursided banana, only it was straight instead or curved.
   The artifact was a rustybrown color, but it didn’t look quite like metal. Starlight and the observation lights of the Teacher gleamed off its sides. It had a candyslick luster reminiscent of plastic. But it wasn’t a plastic, either, Flinx mused as he studied the readout.
   Where two curved sides met, the material assumed a translucence completely out of keeping with its otherwise solid appearance. Turning a work beam on the surface through one port, they discovered that the entire substance was translucent, although no matter how powerful the light shined on it, one could only see about a meter into the thirtymeter depth of the artifact.
   The light also revealed that all four sides were graved with a tiny, surprisingly florid script. Small protrusions and indentations broke the smoothness of :as sides with a decidedly random regularity.
   They could find nothing that looked like an entrance port, muzzle, trigger, exhaust, generatorin short, nothing that would lead an onlooker to believe he was examining a weapon. It was a hundredmeter length of metalglassplastic something that was determinedly inocuous in appearance and inert in state.
   At the scientist's urgings, Flinx guided the ship in slow circle under, around, and back over the top of t long alien form. Then the Teacher slipped between small planet and the device. If this maneuver interrrpred any vital transmission or broadcast, it didn't show in the continued inactivity of the device.
   TseMallory looked anxious. "That's the weapon, air right. Ab confirmed it. It's got to be the weapon.' Flinx had never seen him so nervous.
   Alongside him, compound eyes regarded the motionless artifact unblinkingly. Then the philosoph moved to activate specific sensors on the control console.
   Hasboga appeared, looking sleepy. Her lethargy vanished when she saw the artifact. September quieted her, tried to explain what they had found and what they were doing. She listened, but her real attention was reserved for the inscriptions cut into the device's flanks. "A diffusion scan won't penetrate the material. Truzenzuzex's gaze moved from one readout to the next. "Still no evidence of any movement relative to the planet below or to our ship. Nor is the artifact emitting any radiationat least, not any variety this vessel is equipped to detect. And there is no connection of any sort to the surface below." He turned from the controls and regarded them thoughtfully. One truhand rubbed idly at his lower mandibles.
   "This exceptionally unexceptional ghost from the Hur'rikku past must be the weapon. We have Ab's one significant, if colloquial, reference to it. We have the fact that it is here, in the safest place to store a powerful weapon in this system. Yet it persists in maintaining a pose of innocence. What we have observed on the Hur'rikku world does not prepare me to accept this as a deception. I confess I do not know how to proceed to prove it is otherwise.
   "How is it supposed to work?" Hasboga edged closer to the curving main viewport, beyond which the device drifted. "Not that I care how big an explosion it makes, you understand."
   TseMallory did not smile. "We don't know that it explodes."
   "Well, does whatever it's supposed to do. But I'd like to have a closer look at those inscriptions on it."
   "You may have your chance," said Truzenzuzex. "We may have to decipher them in order to learn how the device operates. Certainly the mechanism has not manifested itself to us."
   "The inscriptions might not be instructions," Flinx pointed out prosaically. "They might simply say `This ultimate weapon manufactured by H'pel's Ultimate Weapons, Inc.', or something like that."
   A valentineshaped head swiveled to face him. "We'd best hope otherwise, Flinx."
   TseMallory indicated agreement. "I feel like a Neanderthal cornered by a Smilodon. Someone has just handed me Mr. September's Mark Twenty and I have ten seconds to figure out how to use it. Probably I'd end up employing it as a club." He gestured at the floating enigma. Lights from the Teacher's ports shone eerily on the dullcolored surface. "If we aren't careful, we're liable to end up like that Neanderthal, looking dumbly down the barrel of a Hur'rikku weapon whip: we pound on its trigger. We'd better be careful which of those protrusions and indentations on its surface we stick our manipulative digits into. I'd much rather learn how to activate the device from a distance. However," be added, without evident concern for his personal safety, "if someone has to jump up and down on it to make it go off, that is what we'll do.
   "But we won't do it here, where it will do no good. First we must convey the device to the present location of the rogue." He turned his gaze on Flinx. "There's a planetless binary system in the path of the rogue. Wa should reach that spatial vicinity at the same time as ox slightly after the rogue if we depart from here now and, drive at maximum velocity for rendezvous. We will have the rare opportunity to observe the influence of a massive collapsar on another stellar object. We will also see," he said, directing his words subtly to Isih Hasboga, "what will happen to the suns of CarmagueCollangatta and Twosky Bright if our research turns out to have been incorrect."
   "Suppose that's the case." Hasboga looked subdued. "What will you do then?"
   TseMallory smiled very slightly. "Then Tru and I will go hunting down the next best legend." He glance back to Flinx. "I think there is ample room. The cargo hold is standard?"
   Flinx nodded. "The Teacher was modeled on a small freighter. I haven't had any occasion to handle freight" another small lie" but there's no reason wily the hold shouldn't be functional." He indicated the Hur'rikku artifact filling the port. "The ship's hold should be able to contain several objects that size."
   The Teacher's attitude was altered so that the huge cargo doors in its tail were facing the object. Flinx operated the hatches and watched telltales indicate that the huge metal panels were performing properly.
   The hold was little more than, a vast open sphere within which all kinds of cargo could be stored at null g. At present the cavernous space was empty. There would be plenty of room for the Hur'rikku device.
   Gradually Flinx activated the posigravity tractor beams, used for manipulating large cargo. Every muscle in his body was a touch tenser than usual. No one knew if the powerful tractors would have an adverse effect on the artifact. Only instruments indicated when the tractors locked on, however. The artifact remained as quiescent as before.
   "Slide it into the ship, Minx," said TseMallory, watching different sensors. "Slowly."
   Through the use of rearfacing tridees they were able to see the artifact. TseMallory looked up, smiled, and nodded with a touch of impatience. Several minutes had passed.
   "It's all right, Flinx. You can bring it in now."
   Minx glanced up from the controls, confusion and uncertainty mixing in his expression. "Bran, that's what I've been trying to do. The tractors are set on maximum pull but the thing’s not budging."
   Chapter Thirteen
    
   Truzenzuzex and TseMallory checked instrumentation, confirmed that the ship's cargo handlers were operating properly. Everything read normal, performed efficientlyyet the artifact refused to enter the Teacher. Flinx had an idea, which Tse-Mallory quashed.
   "Why don't we just back the ship around the object?"
   "No good, Flinx," TseMallory explained. "If the tractors can't move the object, then I'm not sure it will move along with the ship. Try again."
   Flinx did so, then tried a third time, each time at a different setting, using the four tractors in differing configurations.
   Hasboga looked awed. "It hasn't moved a centimeter." She stared at the screens.
   "Young fellermelad?" September looked from the screens over to the control console. "What's your manipulation capacity?"
   "Two hundred and fifty thousand tons, deadweight mass, per tractor. I've tried employing them along the same axis, one million tons of putting power. No goodit doesn't move."
   September looked thoughtful as he stroked his chin. "Even if that artifact is unusually dense stuff, I don't imagine it weighing anywhere near that much."
   "`Unusually dense leaves a great deal of room for variation, Mr. September," said Truzenzuzex. "The duralloy this vessel is made of is composed of exceptionally dense metals." A truhand fluttered in the direction of the screens showing the device. "That object may be composed of superdense material."
   "Maybe it's as dense as the collapsar," ventured Hasboga.
   Truzenzuzex stiffed a laugh; the woman was not a physicist. "If that were so, then our device would weigh as much as several galaxies. I think that unlikely. We will have to find something more powerful to pull with."
   "Or push with," Flinx murmured.
   Truzenzuzex made a sound indicative of agreement mixed with hesitancy. "There are other ways to employ a KK field."
   I see what you're thinking, you two." TseMallory looked doubtful and rot a little worried. "I don't know. It's risky, very risky."
   "But worth trying." Flinx was sure it would work. "Instead of trying to pull the device, we'll position the Teacher behind it, line up on course, and push with the field."
   "Why not just pull it with the field?" Hasboga asked.
   "No," TseMallory replied, "we have to try to push. A KuritaKinoshita field is spherical when formed, but when you pass lightspeed it becomes teardropshaped. The tip of the drop extends only to include that solid matter which is firmly connected to the field projector, meaning the ship. It's possible, but if the field contracted sufficiently, and it should at the speed we'll be traveling, then we could lose the artifact."
   "We are much more certain of retaining control of it if it is riding in the front bulge of the field." Truzenzuzex was gesturing with all four truhands and foothands now. "Assuming that the field exerts sufficient pressure to move it, which is by no means certain."
   "We could lose the artifact that way also, Tru."
   "That is so, shipbrother," the philosoph conceded. "But can you think of anything else to try?"
   "No. No." TseMallory had to admit there was nothing else to do but try it.
   "I'm not sure I understand your worry, Bran," Flinx confessed.
   Truzenzuzex tried to explain, although spatial physics was not his area of expertise either. "Even in the leading bulge of the sun mass, the KuritaKinoshita field is narrow, Flinx. The higher the speed, the flatter and more angular the bulge. If we should misjudge slightly coming out of KuritaKinoshita space, space plus or improperly form the fieldthen all or part of the Hur'rikku artifact could emerge into normal space while we are still in spaceplus. The result would be either partial disintegration of the object or, if it drops whole into normal space, its loss. We would continue to travel at pluslightspeed velocity, while the artifact would be kicked out at an angle from our present course into normal space, at a speed of several ... well, before we could so much as twitch an antenna, let alone slow speed or reverse direction or both, the artifact would have long vanished. Our chances of relocating it in free space would border on the infinitesimal.
   Flinx looked crushed. "Maybe we'd better try something else, then."
   But it was the querulous TseMallory who objected to that idea. "No, Flinx. Tru is right. We have to try pushing with the KK field." His eyes wandered to the waiting artifact. "Even if it is resting in a stasis field, no stasis field can resist the pressure of a KK drive."
   "You left out one thing," September interrupted. "Known. No known stasis field can resist a KK.
   Flinx edged the Teacher around until the great curving disk of the field projector was properly positioned with regard to the floating artifact. Truzenzuzex had the computer check all positional calculations four times to make certain the field would engulf the Hur'rikku device from precisely the required distance.
   "All clear here," said TseMallory, looking up briefly from the readouts he was monitoring. "Engage the drive, Flinx."
   Within the immensely complex instrumentation of the ship, Flinx's subsequent instructions were computerconveyed to the appropriate sections. A diffuse sphere of radiant purple energy began to form in front of the Teacher's projector. No one in the ship's piloting chamber could see the field begin to take shape. It was bidden in front of the projecting disk. So was the Hur'rikku artifact. But the field appeared in the form of changing readouts and shifting dials on the chamber's instruments.
   Very slowly, the Teacher began to accelerate out of the Cannachanna system. It passed through the space where the alien device had been floating. Since it was no longer there, it was proper to assume that the artifact was now perilously ensconced slightly forward of the KK field's gravitational nexus.
   Muted congratulations mixed with expressions of relief on board the ship. "It's got to be there," Flinx confirmed after an instrument check. "We're using twice the power to accelerate half as fast as normal. The ship is handling the load all right, though."
   TseMallory lapsed into thought, pleased but puzzled. "I thought that once the artifact was moved, the stasis field would either collapse or be left behind. Yet if Flinx is correct, Tru, the stasis field is traveling with the device."
   "There may be no stasis field involved. Our first guess, involving superdense construction, may be the correct one. There is also a type of stasis field that is not really a stasis field in the way we know it. A theoretical state of matter that is called FCI, fixed cosmic inertia." His mandibles moved idly, nibbling at one another. "I wonder, I wonder. Such a state of matter has been postulated but not proven mathematically. Not yet. An FCI object would appear to be motionless, Bran. Yet what one would see would not be the object itself, but only its most recent manifestation. The real object would consist of undetectable but very real energy built up within the object itself. The object moves, or seems to, with us. But the energy it has built up trails behind it."
   "Tru," a bewildered F1inx, interrupted, "you're leaving me behind, too."
   "Briefly, Flinx," the pbilosoph explained, "what we may have ahead of us is an object that appears to move but in reality is motionlessthe universe shifts around it. If we could move it, it would release its true inertial energy." He shook his head. "I still do not understand how that could be sufficient to affect a collapsar." He moved to a computer terminal. "I have work to do, gentlesirs."
   Straining to move something which Truzenzuzex insisted wasn't really moving, the Teacher raced out of the longdead system, carrying them at maximum speed back through the Blight. Flinx tried with every instrument on board to detect the trail of energy which Tru hypothesized the Hur'rikku device was leaving behind it. He found nothing.
   However, if what Tru suspected was correct, then the artifact had been building up FCI force for over a half million years. Trying to imagine what such power could do (if indeed it existed) if released in one small place simultaneously left Flinx a little dizzy.
   So instead he found a small ball, and he and Pip played a lot of catch.
    
   What no one had yet detected, since it had taken great care not to be detected, was another ship, which had arrived in the system of Cannachanna shortly behind them. Instead of following them to the world of the Fur'rikku, it had been content to remain just behind the horizon of the gas giant, concealed by that protosun's energy fields and extensive tenebrous atmosphere.
   It had remained there, monitoring their activity without rest. While its occupants had to take care not to be observed, a caution which somewhat inhibited the efficiency of their surveillance, they were still able to track the Teacher's hasty departure and plot its course.
   As soon as the Teacher passed into spaceplus, this small but very fast craft sped at enginewarping velocity to a thinly populated world on the fringes of the Commonwealth. There it made contact with a mining colony which was as efficient in its true function as it was at its geological deception.
   By now the Teacher was many parsecs distant. That did not matter to the crew of the small vessel. In conveying their information to the inhabitants of the station they bad accomplished their assigned task.
   The beings who had piloted that ship and who ran the purported mining station below were neither human nor thranx. They had longish mouths filled with sharp, pointed teeth, and expressions which conveyed their utter contempt for anything not like themselves, Their skins were hard, shiny, and scaly, the minds beneath crested skulls active and devious.
   Carefully scattered throughout the Commonwealth were others of their kind, some disguised surgically to resemble men. (None were disguised to look like thranx, for these were a bipedal, twoarmed folk, in no way insectoid. Their blood, unlike that of Earthly reptiles, was warm. And though they preferred a warm, dry climate, they now moved vigorously about the cold world they occupied.
   There were several functional mine shafts around the station. The AAnn occupied this borderline world by treaty with the Commonwealth, so appearances were important. The mine shaft beneath the station itself contained, not valuable mineral deposits, but a subatomicparticle acceleration communicator, known more commonly as a deepspace beam.
   Metamorphosed into a stream of charmed positively charged quarks, a message could be flashed from accelerator to accelerator, world to world, at dizzying speed, far faster than a restricted tridee beam. A tridee beam employed highspeed leptons to carry its messages. Tridee leptons and KuritaKinoshita sun fields traveled through spaceplus. But the lessthanperceptible quarks moved through something so esoteric it could not be properly described, and so had been labeled nullspace, or spaceminus.
   At each successive receiving station the positively charged charmed quarks were carefully redirected and reaccelerated to their next destination. Eventually they would reach an ultimate destination. Instead of being reaccelerated there, the unstoppable beam would be read by a subelementaryparticle counter and its message deciphered. Only another counter lying directly in the path of the message could intercept it, and the chances of that ever happening were as remote as the region where such beams eventually ended up. Only an enormous vessel, not smaller than a dreadnought, was large enough to contain a deepspace beam station.
   So the Teacher raced on, oblivious to the fact that its probable destination had been guessed. Its inhabitants were of mixed emotions. But no matter what each individual wished for in the way of an eventual destination, all hoped that their journey would soon meet with success.
    
   Months later, they finally arrived in the vicinity of the Velvet Dam. A swirling blackness, the dark nebula hid everything behind it from view of any humanxoccupied world.
   That is what the rogue will be coming through in less than nineteen years, on collision course with the sun of Twosky Bright." TseMallory studied the shuddery emptiness coolly. "Unless we do something to stop it. It will announce itself to general and amateur astronomers then because of the hole it wil leave behind as it sucks in gas and particles from the nebula." Flinx stared at the vast black brush stroke through which only a few large suns shone faintly and tried to imagine it with a hole cut out of its middle. The scale of the danger they were soon to confront was beginning to be appreciated. It was one thing to talk about a collapsar, another thing entirely to confront it.
   Under TseMallory's instructions, the Teacher altered its course slightly for the last time, to rendezvous with the predicted position of the binary system and the onrushing collapsar. The Hur'rikku artifact remained in position ahead of the field center.
   September compared their feat thus far to a seal swimming the Atlantic Ocean with a ball balanced on its nose. Flinx knew what the Atlantic Ocean wasit was one of Terra's three major bodies of water. But a seal?
   "It looks kind of like a Largessian, young fellerme-lad," the giant informed him. "Only smaller, without hands, and with a smaller head."
   That description enabled Flinx to conjur a picture, though it was difficult to imagine one of the lazy natives of Largess swimming an ocean while balancing anything on its nose.
   Days passed, and the ship gradually decellerated under the two scientist's careful supervision. They could still drop the device in a trillion cubic kilometers of empty space. Having successfully brought it this far, neither man nor thranx was prepared to risk losing it. Finally they slowed to a point where everyone experienced a brief instant of somewhereelseness and nausea. The Teacher had returned to normal space.
   Ahead of them should be the twinsun system newly catalogued as RNGC 11,432 and 11,433. Everyone hurried to the fore observation port, in the observationpiloting blister, as the ship was positioned to provide them with a view.
   No one spoke about the sight which greeted them until TseMallory said quietly: "Gentlesirs and lady, we are a few days late. The rogue has already arrived."
   What lay slightly to one side of them as the Teacher slowed to a stop was a sight that almost precluded description. The rogue, the multiple collapsar, could oz course not be directly observed, but its effects could. And they could be heard, as was amply proven whey. Flinx opened all sensor equipment to monitor the precise position of the rogue. A violent, teethgrating scream filled the room before Flinx, in a cold sweat, could lower the volume.
   Hasboga winced, her hands covering her ears to shut out that inorganic wailing. Her eyes were squinched tightly closed. Next to her, September reached out with a comforting arm. No humorous twinkle was in his eyes not now.
   Flinx turned the sound level down to where the howl was bearable, but he could not bring himself to cut i
   out entirely. There was something mesmerizing about that shriek, an effect caused as much by the knowledge of what was behind it as by the sound itself. He became aware of his own rapid breathing, and forced himself to calm down.
   "What is it?" Hasboga glanced up at September and leaned against his massive shoulder. "I've never heanv anything like it in my life."
   "I doubt anyone has, Isili." September wore a peculiar expression as he regarded the phenomenon visible through the port. "A man being killed slowly has L tendency to scream. Interesting to learn that a star reacts the same way."
   "You are romanticizing," Truzenzuzex commented. "That socalled scream is only the result of tornapart matter releasing energy as it is sucked into the collapsar."
   Flinx reflected that although the philosoph's explanation was more accurate, September's provided a more effective description.
   Leaving the controls on automatic, he moved in for better look. RNGC 11,432 was an orange, K9 supergiant. Its companion star, which rotated counterclockwise as opposed to its giant brother, was far smaller but much hotter, a yellowgreen furnace. From each sun, according to the direction of its rotation, a long tendril of glowing matter extended to Flinx's right. One curled in a tightening clockwise spiral to vanish into nothingness; the other twisted inward from the opposite direction. Around both tendrils clustered a vast, diffuse cloud of energy particles and gases which had also been pulled from both stars. A black circle rested in the center of that cloud, a circle that looked like a black cutout on fluorescent paper. At its center was a minuscule point with the mass of suns.
   How many stars lay crushed and collapsed to that point? Dozens, hundredsmaybe thousands. How much of the universe had the wanderer already gobbled up? Flinx envisioned whole galaxies with thin black lines running through them, forming the trail of the wandering rogue where suns, worlds, populations had disappeared.
   Was there a pit in Andromeda? Perhaps a hole in the middle of the Magellanic Clouds? Yet that was the force they were going to try to counter with the metalglass plastic something riding in front of the Teacher. Something which September had estimated could be reduced to less than dust by a single SCCAM projectile.
   Even the old philosoph's description of what FCI could mean seemed insignificant by comparision with an object which presently was draining the mass of two stars as easily as a sponge could soak up two drops of water.
   Too bad for Carmame and Collangatta, Flinx mused silently. Too bad for the bright star of humid Twosky Bright. Too bad, too sad for the untold vanished worlds already destroyed in unknown galaxies unimaginable ages ago.
   They could throw a billion SCCAM shells, a hundred suns at the rogue. Nothing could destroy it. The billion SCCAM projectiles would add infinitesimally to the collapsar's mass. The hundred suns would add a bit more. Both would only make the rogue that much more powerful, that much more destructive.
   Flinx was on the verge of suggesting they turn and go home when TseMallory looked over at him and said matteroffactly, "I suppose we might, as well get started."
   September commented without smiling, "You don't mean that now that you've seen the thing you're going to try to do something with that littlebitty husk of iron or whatever it is?"
   Truzenzuzex regarded the towering human seriously. "The legend says it can do something. We are here. We will remain or track the rogue until we learn whether it can or not. We have nothing to lose."
   "Listen," September argued softly, "the biggest bomb imaginable would only add to the rogue's mass, right?"
   Truzenzuzex and TseMallory did not reply.
   "Stubborn, I see. Well, it's in a good cause. I wonder how much a miracle masses?" He guided Hasboga toward the door.
   "Where are we going, Skua?"
   "To the cabin. I'm wasting my time trying to argue with braincases. They may set that device off. It won't stop the collapsar, but I wouldn't be surprised if it destroys us. If I can't talk them out of it, I want to die the best way I know how."
   "How's that?" she inquired mischievously. As they left the room he was leaning over and whispering in her ear.
   The philosoph watched them depart. "Fatalist." He looked peeved.
   There was something other than a touch of reproval in TseMallory's voice. "True, Tru, but a fatalist with style." More serious, he faced his friend. "He's right, you know. We may accomplish nothing here other than our own destruction."
   "Does that mean you believe we have a choice, shipbrother?"
   TseMallory reacted almost angrily. "Of course not! Flinx, activate the engines and back us away."
   Using minimal power, the Teacher left the mysterious Hur'rikku device once again floating freely in space. Or, Flinx reflected, if you believed Truzenzuzex's theory, space shifted around the stationary device.
   Under the scientist's instructions, he positioned the ship broadside to the device. It sat there in view of the starboard observation port, as innocuouslooking, enigmatic, and inert as it had been in the system of Cannachanna.
   Flinx had given himself over to the advice of two far wiser heads than his own. A request for new instructions produced a disconcerting reply from TseMallory.
   "I don't know what to do next. Flinx. I suspect the next logical step is for some of us to 1,0 outside and see what we can make of those protrusions and depressions on the artifact's surface."
   Truzenzuzex agreed. Both were preparing to don suits when an insistent, deceivingly gentle bcepint~ from the main pilot's console distracted Flinx's attention. Leaving the two scientists to their discussion, he walked over and studied the active readout. It was one he hadn't had occasion to use often before, but there was no mistaking that urgent call. He wanted to make certain before causing any alarm, so he switched to printout for confirmation.
   SHIP OR SHIPS APPROACHING
   "Bran, Tru," he called out, louder when they didn't respond immediately. While he waited for a response, Flinx began activating other sensory instruments and demanding information. Both scientists came over, saw the brief readout, and moved rapidly to monitor other consoles.
   Lighting up the main screen provided them with a picture of eleven dots arranged on a grid. Other sensitive machines added distance, direction, and velocity. They were not seeing the ships, of course, only the energy manifestations of their respective drive fields.
   Compared to the other ten dots, the one traveling approximately in the center of the configuration was enormous. "That's a dreadnought," TseMallory observed with frozen indifference. He glanced glumly at his companions. "Analysis of drive fields indicates they're not humanx vessels. It's a war sphere, alright."
   "A battle formation, this deep in the Commonwealth?" Flinx couldn't believe the AAnn would go to such extremes. But then, it would require a fleet a hundred times the size of the force nearing them to attack and possibly destroy three fortified worlds. Probably the AAnn were taking what appeared to be reasonable gamble to insure that the rogue was not diverted from its predicted path.
   "This is a very sparsely explored, uninhabited region of Commonwealthclaimed territory, Flinx," Truzenzuzex pointed out. "Anyone could slip in and out of here undetected with comparative ease and safety."
   "How much time?" TseMallory eyed his shipbrother hopefully.
   Truzenzuzex studied the instruments below faceted orbs. "A dreadnought, several cruisers, the rest destroyers or research vessels." He glanced over at Bran TseMallory. "They will drop into normal space. in ten minutes." Thranx did not perspire, but Flinx had the impression that the philosoph was trying to.
   "If we're going to get away ..." Flinx said, starting toward the pilot's console. A strong hand caught his left arm in a gentle but unbreakable grip of restraint. Pip stirred nervously on Flinx's other shoulder, and his master also sensed the seriousness in the tall scientist’s, mind.
   "We cannot simply leave, Flinx. We must make an attempt to use the device. It may be that it is activated by what it eventually destroys. In this case, that would be the collapsar itself."
   "How," Flinx asked very slowly, "would we do that?"
   TseMallory smiled like a Churchman. "In order to prevent the approaching ships from interfering, the artifact would have to be accelerated rapidly toward the rogue. We know of only one way to move it."
   Flinx turned to a port, to where two distant stars were vanishing from existence, and he tried to imagine suffering the same fate. It was not pleasant to contemplate.
   Chapter Fourteen
    
   "We have no other option, Flinx.” Truzenzuzex sounded sad, but quite as unshakable as his human associate.. "If we take it with us, the AAnn will surely pursue. We certainly cannot risk letting the weapon fall into their hands. This way, by destroying itand, only incidentally, ourselveswe can at least insure that does not happen."
   Flinx tried to calm Pip, who was hunting with slitted eyes and pointed tongue for whatever was causing so much turmoil within his master. But he did not fly at Truzenzuzex or TseMallory, for their present thoughts where Flinx were concerned were ones of genuine sorrow and fondness.
   "We have a minute or two to search the artifact's surface," TseMallory commented. "I'll see if I can discover anything. If not, just leave me out there. At least, if driving the device into the rogue works, I’ll have a nanosecond to enjoy it." He started for the nearby observation lock where the suits were kept, then paused. "There's a light on here.” He turned a quizzical gaze toward Flinx. "A maliunction?”
   Flinx instantly began searching the ship with voice and instruments. Both registered two additional bodies: September and Hasboga.
   There was no sign of Ab.
   A sharp whistle sounded from both the console and the door leading toward the lock. Flinx knew that signal from every emergency drill he had ever been run through on a commercial ship.
   "He's cycling the outer lock!" Truzenzuzex moved to press his mandibles to the curved edge of the starboard port, trying to see around it.
   Flinx fumbled with the controls on the nearest intercom: "No Ab! Don't do itwait!"
   "Let him, Minx. Perhaps Ab knows what he's doing." TseMallory sounded hopeful.
   `It's not that, it's not that, Flinx explained wildly, gesturing at six tiny lights on the lock door. They formed a pretty pattern. "There isn't a suit on board, for human or thranx, that will property fit him!"
   TseMallory scratched the back of his neck while he walked to stand by his shipbrother. "Maybe our friend Ab doesn't need a suit. Maybe ..." and then he was working hurriedly at a part of the computer that had not been employed for months.
   A sharp pop and whistle sounded over the intercom. Slowly Flinx turned it off. He spoke almost inaudibly. "It doesn't matter now. He's outside. There's no air in the lock." The innocent, stupid, but harmless alien had become his responsibility. There was no rhyming, no singing in the observation blister now, nor would there ever be again.
   It was Ab who had led them to the Hur'rikku device. Despite that, Elias had forgotten him completely is the excitement and tension of the past weeks. Not that that was a decent excuse.
   "Flinx, come here." Truzenzuzex was beckoning with a truhand and foothand together. "I think you might be interested in what's happening outside."
   Flinx ran to stand beside the staring philosoph.
   Ab's body was drifting slowly toward the long redbrown artifact. It appeared that all four eyes were open. All four arms were extended at right angles from the pearshaped body and angled downward to meet the four extended legs. If the attitude the alien's limbs had assumed was unintentional, it constituted the most regularized rigor mortis Flinx had ever imagined.
   A human would be twisted, contorted, and dead from the cold vacuum by now. Ab might be also, but something about the precise arrangement of those eight limbs led Flinx to think otherwise.
   "He's definitely moving toward it," TseMallory observed, his voice tight.
   "What could be more natural?" Truzenzuzex was awed past astonishment. "He is curious and wishes a closer look. But I still do not understand. Why should he be curious? Bran, everything we have studied, everything we have surmised about the Hur'rikku, tells us that this Ab thing cannot possibly be a member of that race. Bran?"
   TseMallory did not glance up from the readouts he was poring over, from the instrumentation he was manipulating. "Quiet, brother. I'm working."
   Truzenzuzex knew Bran as well as he knew himself. He did not even trouble his brother with a reply.
   Flinx's shock at what occurred next was so overpowering that a startled Pip flew off his shoulder and fluttered nervously around the domed ceiling of the room.
   Three meters from the artifact, the body of Abalamahalamatandra split into four equal parts. Each section held an eye, an arm, and a leg. Moving independently by some strange method of propulsion, each Abquarter positioned itself independently facing one of the artifact's four sides approximately opposite its equator.
   Together, in a unison too precise to be accidental, they moved toward the rust brown surface. About that time Flinx noticed the similarity between the configuration of each interior part of the Abquarters and several depressions and protrusions on the artifact. Only idly did he note that there was no blood or dangling organs visible where Ab's insides, should have been. Those interior surfaces were irregular but unbroken.
   They touched the artifact simultaneously. Four arms slid into four matching holes. Four legs did likewise, twisting and curving to fit. Four eyes contacted flat, stubby projections. Flinx could have sworn that, just before touching, the eye nearest the port winked at him.
   All four quarters of what formerly had been the creature called Ab had merged smoothly with the Hur'rikku artifact. You could hear breathing and little else in the observation blister of the Teacher.
   TseMallory looked up, rubbed his eyes, and spoke. "He named himself well, or was well named." Truzenzuzex and Flinx looked over at him. "I put our Ab vocabulary to work on something we ought to have worked on firsthis name. Abalamahalamatandra. A composite from four different languages, two being derivatives from other languages, one derived from yet a third. Together they form a couplet in a language three hundred and fifty thousand years dead, which the computer then compressed according to the rhyme scheme Ab used when announcing his name. I got one word I'm pretty positive of out of the whole business." He paused, then said anticlimactically: "Key."
   "An informational key as well as a mechanical one," Truzenzuzex mused as he turned his gemlike gaze back to the port. "Certainly it was willing enough to impart information. We simply didn't know enough to understand the answers."
   "Ab's a machine." Flinx too was staring back out the port. "The AAnn must at least have suspected what he is. No wonder they wanted him destroyed."
   "Slow down, Flinx." TseMallory tried to caution him. "We know only that Ab's a machine, some kind of key. We still don't know if he's the right kind."
   "All that nonsense," Flinx was muttering to himself. "All the years he must have wandered about aimlessly, taken in hand by different races and different masters. I wonder how many secrets, how much knowledge, he babbled to people who didn't understand."
   Behind them a readout buzzed for attention. It recorded information from several external sensors. TseMallory, the closest, moved to read the information.
   "Something is, according to this, happening to the artifact. Also, we have three minutes to get away before the AAnn war sphere arrives."
   A soft yellow glow appeared and enveloped the entire Hur'rikku device. "?`here!" Flinx pointed. Where the four parts of Ab had touched the device, four black circles suddenly appeared. Inside those dark holes nothing could be seen. Part of the interior of the artifact was apparently gone, yet they could not exactly see through it. When the black circles appeared, the yellow aura vanished.
   Within the artifact, something that was not normal space had been created. Flinx was so intrigued that he forgot to panic. Yet nothing more happened. There was no titanic explosion, no steady hum as from an activated machine, nothing. The artifact continued to sit in free space, unchanged save for four holes in its sides which met to form ... nothing.
   "We can't wait any longer if we're going to get away," TseMallory announced, examining a readout. "But is it activated? Nothing's happened, no change in energy flow according to our instruments. What else has to be done, dammit!"
   "Bran," Truzenzuzex said slowly. "I just don't know. But the Abthing has certainly done something. I think we'd best leave the device alone. It's a chance, but humanx society has prospered because of the chances individuals within it have taken. Also because our survival drive is so strong. At the moment, my own is working overtime. Up the universe, shipbrother. Let us depart, and trust in the rhymes of the fool who was not."
   Without another word, TseMallory activated the KK drive. "I want to see whether we're going to be remembered as prophets or fools. We'll stay in normal space and see what happens, unless the AAnn come after us. I'm betting they'll be more interested in the device."
   As they moved out of the immediate vicinity of the Hur'rikku artifact, Pip returned to Flinx's shoulder.
   Immediately thereafter the AAnn war sphere assumed a cluster position around the ancient remnant of that mysterious dead civilization. On board the Teacher, three anxious faces studied longrange detectors.
   "They've encapsulated it." TseMallory idly checked another screen. "No sign of pursuit."
   "We are of no concern to them now," Truzenzuzex pointed out. He was worried, terribly so. "We may not know for years, decades, or in our lifetimes if we have made a proper decision. The device may take that long to function, or the AAnn that long to learn how to operate it." The philosoph noticed Flinx's drawn expression, and chittered his concern.
   "It's just that I'm only now starting to realize what Ab might be capable of doing," Flinx explained, "and thinking about all the time I spent in his company. Or its company. I don't know of many machines with personality. Ab had that."
    
   Looking like a cluster of enormous metallic soap bubbles, the AAnn flagship had slowed to a stop alongside the artifact. From the honor chair aboard the dreadnought, Baron Lisso PN studied the dwarfed silver of metalglassplastic with great satisfaction.
   Messages of congratulations at that very moment were undergoing composition and would soon be broadcast via the deepspace beam which ran the entire length of the enormous vessel to secret bases within the Commonwealth. From there they would be relayed to the Empire.
   There would be joy in many burrows, the Baron reflected. After many long years of service to the Emperor and the Pack of Lords, he might hope to find himself raised to that status, or even to be made an adviser with a chance of succeeding the Emperor himself.
   The desperate humanx ploy, ineffectual as it would likely have been, had been stopped. Not only that but the object of all their enterprise had been captured. It floated outside the warship. Now there remained only tests to be run before it could be brought safely aboard. Baron Lisso PN didn't believe anythingmuch. less the relatively tiny object outsidecould interrupt the course of the collapsar. That was a myth. Bu: myths often had some foundation, so it would be best to be cautious until the ancient artifact's harmlessness had been assured.
   "Bring the object into the storage hold. Use the method described to us by our informants within the Commonwealth. Back us around it. Our tractors are far more powerful than anything the tiny humanx vessel could have mounted, but we will push it when we leave, if that is required.
   "But it is best to study under convenient conditions."
   While the other ships of the war sphere watched alertly for the approach of any humanx or Commonwealth force, the massive dreadnought laboriously adjusted its attitude so that the rear of the main globe backed up to the Hur'rikku device. Doors slid aside, revealing a vast, airless, illuminated compartment within. Carefully it backed over the artifact, encapsulating it. The massive foursided panels slid shut behind.
   Several leading archeologists and other scientists shunted over to the dreadnought from two fully equipped laboratory vessels, accompanied by members of the dreadnought's militarysciences staff.
   They were greeted by the Baron and his executive officer in the zerogravity vacuum of the cargo hold. The small group of suited AAnn drifted, studying the artifact visually while a huge battery of instruments examined it with senses no living creature possessed.
   "Honored One," the executive officer said, "a message relayed from the periphery ship Analosaam. They report that the humanx vessel continues to flee in normal space and request orders to pursue and destroy."
   "Request denied." The Baron was unimpressed by their prize. It would not he much of a trophy to haul back to Sectorcav. "Having failed in their futile attempt with this relic, they may be trying to tempt one or more of our ships into following within detection range of a Commonwealth or Church outpost. That would precipitate a useless incident. Let our presence here remain undetected.
   "As for any story they may choose to relate concerning us, without proof no one would believe a tale telling of an Imperial war force penetrating this deeply into the Commonwealth simply to capture a device the Commonwealth government does not believe in anyway. Before anyone could arrive here to check their story, we shall be gone homeward."
   "Home." The word was breathed softly by the physicist on the Baron's right. Personally, he was even less impressed than the noble by the Hur'rikku artifact. Instrument readings relayed to him via his suitcom indicated that the object floating before them was emitting not a doam of energy, was not composed of explosive materials, and was to all appearances as inert and harmless as the caps on his two front incisors. He was anxious to render his opinion. Then he could return to the hot, shifting sands of his own home.
   One by one the scientists present gave their opinions. All agreed that if the device before them had once been a weapon, the rot of ages had destroyed its viability. But by all means bring it back to Sectorcav. Its inscriptions and interior would interest the archeologists, at least.
   "Does that mean we can inspect it more closely?" the Baron inquired impatiently. He too was ready to go home.
   The chemist in charge felt confident enough to reply. "As long as one avoids the stilluninspected protrusions and depressions, I should think it would be quite safe, Honored One. We are monitoring for any change in the object's status, but I personally anticipate none."
   "Sure," a physicistmetallurgist added, "if it was capable of functioning, the humanx would already have activated it."
   "Logic and truth," agreed another, with a positive°, twitch of his head.
   Propelled by gentle kicks off the curving wall and the encircling walkway, and trailing control cables, the group moved toward the device. A few tugs on the cables brought them to a drifting stop alongside it.
   "What are those black circles that appear to be solid on the surface of each plane?" the Baron, no neophyte scientist himself, asked the others.
   "They may not be solid, according to some readings, Honored One." The scientist sounded puzzled. "They show properties of solid surfaces and of vacuum simultaneously. It is an interesting but not necessarily dangerous phenomenon..."
    
   TseMallory's face was an unreadable mask as he looked up from the screen. "Still no signs of their giving chase. I think they'll be content with having stopped us. Resolution at this distance is difficult, but I believe they've taken the artifact on board the dreadnought."
   Truzenzuzex's usual placid demeanor broke for an instant, as a foothand slammed with surprising force against the metal beneath the bank of instruments. "Something should have happened by now, if the, device was going to do anything. The machine Ab“
   "Ab was no machine." Flinx sounded bitter. Their foolish but charming ward had apparently quartered himself on a whim. "Ab was somebody."
   "It is something humanxkind has long suspected." Seeing how emotionally Flinx was reacting, the philosoph tried to comfort him by changing the subject a little. "For example, you humans used to anthropomorphize certain advanced machines long before it was learned that instincts were more accurate about such mechanicals than minds."
   "I'm afraid it's finished, shipbrother. We must try another legend. Otherwise it will all be over for the people of the three worlds."
   Flinx turned his gaze away from the screen. Out the rear port of the observation blister he could still see clearly the twin suns RNGC 11,4323. The AAnn warships were far too small to be detected by tae naked eye.
   The position of the two spiraling trails of matter being drawn off the two suns had altered as the rogue traveled deeper through the system. While it was probably only his imagination he thought that the circumference of both stars had shrunk noticeably. With a stomachwrenching thought for the doomed people of CarmagueCollangatta and Twosky Bright, he turned back to his companions and discovered September eyeing him questioningly. The giant and Hasboga, having discovered that annihilation wasn't imminent, had returned to the observation chamber.
   Truzenzuzex and TseMallory's hunt had reached an unsatisfactory conclusion. Now it was time to resolve his own.
   Eyes full of blue wisdom watched him, almost seemed to sense his question. "This ship is emergency coded to respond in a dangerous situation only to my voice, September. I can let you and Hasboga off or keep you aboard until I get satisfaction. I want answers and I want them now."
   Oddly, September seemed to approve of Flinx's announced intentions rather than reacting angrily to them.
   "You never told me what you were doing on Moth trying to buy me. And you mentioned others, too. I want to know why you were at that auction."
   "I like your ship. Keep me on it as long as you want." Was the giant laughing?
   Flinx walked over, put hands on hips, and stared up at that graven visage. September towered over him. He weighed more than twice as much as the youth and could have broken his bones with one hand. Provided, however, that the small, alert shape coiled about Flinx's right shoulder did not interfere. Many men had found that "however" to be a fatal one.
   Not that September intended to react belligerently. "'Pon my soul, young fellermelad, if I don't think you're threatening old Skua." He smiled petulantly.
   Flinx turned away, angry at himself now. "I'm sorry. I don't like a universe where threats replace reason the way rock replaces bone in a fossil. I especially don'6 like to threaten friends."
   Eyebrows of white lichen lifted in surprise. "So you regard me as a friend?"
   Flinx spoke without looking at the giant. "I'd like to think of you as one."
   There was an odd catch in September's voice. "I’d like that, fellermelad. So ... I'll tell you what you want to know."
   Flinx whirled and immediately tried to stifle his excitement. He took a seat while September sat, lotuslike, opposite him. Hasboga turned her attention to the stars, a little miffed at being ignored.
   TseMallory and Truzenzuzex remained glued is their respective instruments. Flinx knew neither would concede failure until it was irrevocably displayed to them. Creatures of theory, they were the most pragmatic and empirical of men.
   "A little less than twenty standard years ago," September began, "I found myself devoid off credit and prospects. I've been poor several times in my life lad. It's not nice. I was depressed, my brain wasn't functioning right ... the reasons need not concern you. I took a job I probably shouldn't have.
   "There was a firm, small, but associated with some very important persons, I later found out. Their motives were good. They believed they could through the use of their combined abilities, improve humanity. Physically, not morally. For their theories to prove themselves, normal conditions were essential for the raising of their `improved' children. They found an ideal launching device in couples desiring to have children in which the father was sterile. There are many organizations which supply viable sperm to such couples. It provided the firm with an ideal, inconspicuous cover.
   "Needless to say, the couples purchasing sperm were not told that it had been improved.” The giant looked away. "I didn't find out what was going on, you must understand, until after."
   Flinx forbore asking until after what.
   "The couples thought they were buying standard spermatozoa full of highclass genes. They had no way of knowing that those genes had been toyed with. I applied and was accepted as a sperm donor." He allowed himself a slight grin. "I'm sure it was because of my size and strength, not my overwhelming brilliance. Remember I had no idea what was going to be done to what I'd sold. There were numerous other donors besides myself, of course.
   "How many or how often they donated I don't know. I donated several times. Donated, hellsold. And now you can see why I can't say if I'm your father or not, Flinx. It could have been my sperm that was implanted in your mother, or it could have been any one of many others. Even a chromosome match now couldn't tell us, because of the alterations made in certain genes by the firm's technicians."
   "How did you eventually find all this out?" Flinx found himself bizarrely fascinated by the tale. Alteration of genes ... improvement of humanity he was not so sure he was an improvement, but the explanation went a long way toward explaining the source of his erratic, peculiar talents.
   "Most of the first group of altered offspring were born on Terra or on worlds close to it. Most of them were born normal, but there were some, perhaps a fifth, who were born malformed or genetically damaged. Sometimes the damage was pretty gruesome.
   "The firm's organizers, remember, were essentially decent beings, men and women, human and thranx. They were properly horrified, broke up the firm and disbanded. The government got involved. There was a lot of talk of criminal proceedings, but the government couldn't find anyone to prosecute, because they had, and still have no idea that the children were damaged as the result of prenatal manipulation.
   "To protect themselves as much as possible, the firm's organizers set about a program of what you might call building up a case for the future defense. They employed a network to recover as many of the healthy children they'd produced, or to learn the whereabouts and identities, as they could. Unfortunate malfunctions they had destroyed." September's voice was flat.
   "In order to preserve secrecy, this network used as many former employees as possible. They explained that just by donating, I could be considered an accomplice by a vengeful government. So I took the job."
   Flinx didn't inquire if September had tracked down any unsuccessful children.
   I was about to buy you at the auction on Moth, to bring you back to Terra. They're raising several other healthy but abandoned or orphaned altered kids in a special school back there. Meanwhile, the government was beginning to learn things. They knew nothing of the children, but several members involved with the firm had been arrested. They would recognize me. So when a lot of local police showed up at the auction, I had to leave in a hurry. I intended to come back later and repurchase you from whoever finally bought you."
   "Why didn't you, Skua?"
   "Because shortly afterward the network collapsed, some employees talked in exchange for immunity, and most of the founders of the original firm were arrested. Judging from the hysterical stories in the tridee faxcasts, I thought it would be a good idea to quietly drop my association with the network and with the firm. I managed to lose myself for a while."
   "What happened to the founders?" Minx's excitement was beginning to return. Father or not Septennber might not be the end of his trail. "What about their records?"
   "Sorry, fellermelad, I don't know for a fact but I do have big ears." He wiggled them for emphasis. "From what I heard, the firm's records were destroyed in a fire."
   "Well, the experimenters then." F1inx tried to remain hopeful.
   "Public revulsion forced some unusually stiff penalties. Most of those involved were sentenced to selective neurosurgery." Flinx slumped. He knew what that meant. "That part of their memories dealing with the firm and its activities was erased. Their personalities and most of their knowledge remain, but nothing about the firm or its activities."
   "I thought that was against Church doctrine."
   September nodded. "It is, but public outcry was pretty violent, fellermelad. The AntiScience League had a field day, as you can imagine. Sometimes Church opinion prevails. In this case the Inner Chancellors and the Last Resort probably thought it prudent not to insist. A rift in Churchgovernment relations wouldn't have benefited anyone."
   "But ... you could be my father."
   "I don't deny it lad. Can't." He stretched his legs out, winced. One had gone to sleep. "From what I know of you, I'd be proud to be, but," he was forced to add, "it could have been one of several dozen other donors."
   "What if I'd been one of the malformed ones?"
   "Young feller," September said seriously, "most of those poor predamned souls never knew it when they were killed. Some of them were born without senses, some with new ones. Without arms, or legs, or both. With extra limbs or two heads or no head. And there was lots worse. Remember, most of the altered children turned out healthyif anything, they were a bit stronger, a touch smarter than the average. I'm not defending the firm now, understand. Just telling you fact, and the fact is that that one initial batch didn't turn out too bad."
   First batch, Flinx thought. An icy fury built within him. Pip moved nervously. He was an ingredient in a scientific stew. He was ...
   Something September said came back to him. "Some were born without senses," he'd said, "and some with new ones." If his awkward abilities were the results of that misguided genetic manipulation, then there might be others possessed of similar confusion and talents, uncertain, terrified, unsure of their own unpredictable abilities.
   And what of September? What went on beneath that granite forehead, behind luminous azure eyes? Maybe son stared up at possiblefather. Neither said a word.
    
   "What could their function be?" Baron Lisso PN questioned his science staff as he used a guideline to maneuver himself over to the nearest black circle on the Hur'rikku artifact. One physicist pulled herself over next to him. She held a boxy affair in both hands. It looked like a small dumbbell, with a bright red plastic square pierced by the handle. A cluster of buttons and switches and other controls adapted for manipulation by a clawed hand studded the box's surface. Several small disks fronted it and were directed at the mysterious black circle.
   "Instrument readings remain inconclusive, Honored One," she declared. "We cannot penetrate the black, areas. Until we are more certain of their nature, I hesitate to subject the artifact to any form of particulate inspection. Contact with energy or matter might set the weapon off."
   "Bah," said the Baron. "We have already determined that if it was once a weapon, it is presently dysfunctional."
   Under the withering stares of the other homesick scientists, the single remaining protester found herself backing down.
   "Honored One," she managed to finish worriedly, "no precipitate action to take:"
   "It puts out no energy, takes in no energy. It is dead, millions of time units dead. Yet you do not wish! us to proceed with examination. The inscriptions, foe example," and he gestured at the engraved script covering the artifact's flanks, "will provide much information once they are deciphered. Perhaps some will aid is our mission to obliterate those warmskinned humans and stiffjointed thranx who infest so much of oar present portion of this galaxy.”
   Reaching out, be traced one long character with a gloved hand. The moment he contacted the artifact, the single querulous scientist unwillingly sucked in her breath. Nothing happened. Turning, the Baron eyed her condescendingly. Her suit tag indicated she was called DiVuoyyi LMMVCT. The suit hid most of her shape, but not all of it. Her hips were wide. Perhaps later, after her unnecessary caution had been lost, he would endeavor to show his ability to be forgiving and compassionate to mistakemakers. In his quarters, on the blue dune.
   With the hand he tapped the peculiar, asyetunidentified substance. "Dead, inert, harmless, as anyone can see." He drew back his hand, compensated for the movement in zero g, and smacked the surface hard. "Why do you not trust your own knowledge, lyanye? Why do you doubt your own evident wisdom?" He moved until he was directly opposite the edge of one of the dark gaps in the artifact's surface.
   "We cannot see into this space, yet there must be a space there. In the presence of instrumental indecision, we AAnn have always reacted efficiently." So saying, be reached out a hand, fingers spread, and shoved against the darkness. His hand passed through the black surface and vanished; and for a length of time just this side of instantaneous, he became the first and only one of his kind to touch Elsewhere.
   Matter in Elsewhere triggered the device. Of course, the device was not actually there, within the AAnn warship. It was somewhere half a million years back in space, where the system of Cannachanna had once been. It was connected to its present manifestation by an unimaginably vast buildup of FCI energy. When Baron Lisso PN triggered it, that energy and the actual device slipped, avalanched through a different state of space.
   It all came together inside the AAnn warship. There was no explosion as a result, however. The accumulated energy simply gave the slingshotted artifact a little shove. The Hur'rikku device was a needle. What it did was punch a tiny hole in the fabric of the universe.
   Into the other universe.
   Elsewhere waterfalled into Here. The Baron vanished. The scientists around him vanished. Everything in the immediate spatial vicinity, which consisted of eleven armed vessels of various sizes and their crews, vanished. They disappeared in tiny flashes of supernal brilliance, going out of existence like moths in a firestorm.
   Only an electronic angel on board the Teacher saved Flinx and his companions. The computer detected the danger and threw the ship into spaceplus just in time to save it from annihilation. Since that annihilation was racing toward them only at near lightspeed, the Teacher didn't have to accelerate enormously. Only rapidly.
   When they started picking themselves off the deck, it was the resilient, armored Truzenzuzex who was firs on his feet and back at the consoles. Longrange scanners were activated, and the scene forming behind them came into view. There was no need to increase their velocity. They needed only to travel a little above lightspeed to outspace the pursuing destruction.
   Flinx and the others crowded around the screen. So stunned was the youth that he didn't notice a terrified Pip had vanished out the passageway.
   "Gone." TseMallory studied the detectors in disbelief. "They're gone, Tru. All eleven ships. Not a trace of them."
   "Somehow they activated the device," murmured Truzenzuzex. Awed, he studied the picture on the screen. "Humanx, pay attention. What we are witnessing is unique."
   Out of the region where the AAnn war sphere bad drifted seconds before, something had emerged. An intense sphere of pure white brilliance, it was bordered. by a black fire that could not be seen through. A tentacle of that blackness which was more than black seemed to shine as it stretched outward. That was impossible, of course. Nothing could glow black.
   It was a distortion of every known physical law, yet it existed, even if a normal spectrum would have been appalled by it. From several hundred million kilometers away, a similar tendril of intensely glowing white fire was extending out from the event horizon of the collapsar.
   "It's drawing matter out of the black hole, out of the rogue," said TseMallory in a stunned whisper.
   "That's crazy." September knew enough to sound confident about that. "Things fall into black holes. They don't come out of them again. Ever."
   "Nevertheless, that is what is taking place, or else we and the instruments on board this vessel have all gone mad." Truzenzuzex's flashing compound eyes moved constantly from screen to other instruments. "I would not wager on that possibility. But then, I would never previously have wagered I would ever actually see an expandar. A white hole."
   As it left the event horizon of the collapsar, the stream of incredibly dense matter pulsed with increasing intensity, until it was so bright that the Teacher's compensators were hard pressed to stop down the light to where it wouldn't burn out the detectors: It approached the expandar slightly above the angle of approach of dark material from the latter's event horizon.
   Mutual attraction altered angular momentum. Both streams twisted, turned, spiraled in toward each other. At the center of the two entwining spirals, they met.
   On board the Teacher, a gauge which measured levels of radiant energy exploded. Another simply snapped. They had been pushed beyond the range their designers had imagined existed.
   Where the two tendrils, brilliant and black, came together, a sphere of multicolored, incredible energy formed. It grew and steadied as they watched.
   "Imagine that at one time all the matter in the universe was concentrated in one collapsar," TseMallory mused. "It finally meets a weak point in space. The point gives and the two universes or more meet. What you get is a very Big Bang. What you get, maybe, is the new energy which later coalesces to form our present galaxies."
   "You also get something which totally annihilates matter," Truzenzuzex pointed out. "An efficient irresistible weapon." The philosoph looked pale. "How do you stop an immense concentration of matter? Why, with an equal amount of antimatter." Light in the observation blister bounced off his eyes as if from a crystal chandelier. "Thank the Hive we never explored the trap after Ab set it. Any amount of matter, a single touch, probably would have been enough to set it of. But that's not what shakes me." He paused a moment to collect himself.
   "We were going to drive the Hur'rikku device and ourselves into the collapsar. Had we done that, there would have been no gradual matterantimatter annihilation, as we are seeing now. The white hole would have been created within the collapsar. All, all of the collapsar matter would have been destroyed at the same time.
   "If that collapsar contains the remains of a hundred million suns, all would have turned to energy simultaneously." He rubbed at his mandibles. "I've always wanted to know what a quasar looked like, gentlesirs and ladybut not from close up!"
   He turned back to the screen. "The flow of matter into antimatter appears relatively constant. That matches what the instruments tell us. We have a new star, gentlefolk. A rainbow star."
   TseMallory looked up from the console. "Tru, the motion of the collapsar has changed. No," he added quickly at the expression of alarm on the philosoph's face, "it's not moving toward the white hole. No quasar in our back yard. It looks like they're both going to orbit around the new star, if you can call it a star. Distance between the two remains, I'm happy to say, constant."
   "How long will it burn?" wondered Hasboga, her arm around September's left. "It's beautiful."
   "You'll be able to see it for a few million years at least, I'd guess," said TseMallory. "But that's not where the real beauty will come from." She eyed him quizzically.
   "The Velvet Dam," explained Truzenzuzex. "The extensive dark nebula that lies between here and the Commonwealth worlds. When the energy from this steady annihilation reaches it, it will turn a dark nebula into the most magnificent sight in our galaxy. I would not be surprised if the colors become visible on Terra and Hivehom in the daytime. We will not live to see it, I am sorry to say. But we have made a wonderment for our grandchildren and the generations to follow."
   They continued to watch until the clashing colored energies of the rainbow star had faded to a small spot of brilliance on the screen. Then Flinx put the Teacher on course for Twosky Bright, the nearest major Commonwealth world. Primarily tranxsettled, it would be a good place for Trazenzuzex to communicate the knowledge of their accomplishment to officialdom. He could also help raise research funds for Isili Hasboga, who brightened at the announcement of the philosoph's intention to help.
   Flinx paused a hand going reflexively to his shoulder. The familiar form was not there. He did not remember when Pip had left him, but it had been some time ago, he was certain. For a second he panicked, thinking back to that awful time on Alaspin when he feared his pet had abandoned him forever.
   That was no worry here, however, and he relaxed. The minidrag had to be somewhere aboard the Teacher. In fact, he mused, the minidrag had been absenting itself for longer and longer periods ever since they'd left Alaspin. No doubt, he thought reluctantly, the experience of brief freedom had made his beloved pet permanently more independent. He would have to cope with it.
   It was no problem to excuse himself to go hunting for Pip. Everyone else's attention was focused elsewhere. Truzenzuzex and TseMallory were deep in a discussion of the new phenomena now receding behind them. September and Isili Hasboga were equally engrossed in each other.
   So Flinx went prowling through corridors and cabins, shouting out Pip's name. The minidrag had to be somewhere in the living quarters or the few other pressurized sections of the ship. Working his way methodically back and down from the observation blister, he eventually reached his own cabin.
   "Pip! Come on out, Pip. It's all right. My mind is calm now."
   An answering hiss sounded from behind his bed. He frowned. It was an unusually soft hiss. Was Pip sick? Maybe, he thought worriedly, that was the reason for the extended absences. He took an anxious step toward the bed.
   `Pip, are you all ...?'
   Something that resembled a tiny missile shot past his ear, droning like a herculean bumble bee. He froze. A second shape whizzed by him, then another, followed by three more. He stood in befuddled amazement in the middle of the room as four, five, six tiny winged shapes dove and hummed around his head.
   There was a much throatier hiss from behind the bed. Immediately all six shapes dashed over the covers in ragged formation.
   Flinx found Pip coiled neatly on a rumpled blanket on the other side, sequestered comfortably between the bedbulk and the metal wall. As he watched, the winged sextet settled itself neatly around the much larger diamondpatterned Pip, looking for all the world like a squadron of stingships hovering around a mothering cruiser.
   Looking up, slitted eyes stared directly into his own. Flinx felt a warm mental thrum pass between the minidrag and his own sensitive mind. It was the second time he had become a father todayfirst to a new kind of star, and now to six undeniably cute cableshapes of winged poison.
   "All these years we've been together," Flinx murmured comfortingly, "and you turn out to be a she."
   No wonder heshe, he corrected himselfhad vanished with the impressively muscled minidrag Balthazaar. No wonder their return and parting had resembled the conclusion of some unseen aerial ballet. Neither minidrag had abandoned his master. They bad merely taken a brief sojourn in response to a higher directive that itself was part of the jungles of Alaspin.
   "You ought to have told me, Pip," Flinx said reprovingly, but he was unable to restrain a brad smile. As if in response, six tiny empathic shapes soared up at him. They buzzed him, picking curiously at his ears, pulling his hair, fluttering in front of his eyes with the ravenous curiosity of all newborns, Pip watched to make sure everything was all right, then nuzzled her triangular head deeper into the folds of the blanket.
   Undoubtedly, Flinx mused, she was seeking maximum warmth- but all the same, it could have been something akin to embarrassment.
 



FLINX IN FLUX
Alan Dean Foster



******************************************************
Author:			Alan Dean Foster
Title:			Flinx In Flux
Original copyright:	1988
Genre:			Science Fiction
Version:			1.0
Date of e-text:		12/15/00
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Source:
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Comments: 	Download both lit and txt version.
	Please correct any errors you find in this e-text,
	update the txt file’s version number and redistribute.
******************************************************
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 MOTHERNOT
	THE TARAIYM KRANG
	ORPHAN STAR
	THE END OF THE MATTER
	FLINX IN FLUX
	MIDFLINX
	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 ONETEN	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, fundraising, and special sales use. For details, please call 15007333000.
******************************************************
Sale of this book without a front cover may he unauthorized. If this book is coverless, 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 The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 1988 by Alan Dean Foster
 
All rights reserved under International and PanAmerican Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
 
http://www.randomhouse.com/
 
Map by Michael C. Goodwin
Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet
 
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 8791887
ISBN 0345343638
 
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: July 1988
 
20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13
******************************************************
For all the readers who've stuck with Flinx and Pip since 1972, and wanted them back. And most especially for Betty Ballantine, who first saw potential in them and me, and who helped bring the three of us to life.
 
******************************************************
Chapter One
     
    The man at the end of the table wore his attitude like a mask. In another place and time the intensity of his speech and gestures might have seemed unnatural, but they were perfectly appropriate for his present surroundings. He was a rolypoly sort of fellow topped by a short brush of inspired hair that crawled down to his shirt collar. Unlike his diatribe, his attire was simple and neat. With his mouth shut he looked quite ordinary. So did his five companions, save one. With that single exception, none was especially tall or muscular. They differed in coloring, though there was nothing unusual about that. They were of different ages. They came from different backgrounds and different worlds.
    What had brought them together in this small room at this particular time was a burning fanaticism, a bond stronger than epoxene or duralloy cable a cause each was willing to die for. They were true believers, and they knew without a shadow of a doubt that their cause was just.
    When discussing it they were transformed. At such times they sloughed off their daily personas and lives as easily as a lizard sheds old skin. They sat before one another fresh and gleaming, like the holy crusaders they knew they were. Each brought something different to the cause. The man who was speaking contributed money. Another brought strength and physical skills. The man seated beside her was naturally cunning. The six complemented one another even as they shared the same passion.
    They were the leaders of a growing band, having been chosen by their associates to make the hard decisions, to determine targets and courses of action.
    The man who was speaking was known to his compatriots as Spider. It was an accurate description of his mind, not of his physique. When he spoke of the Cause, he no longer looked so genial His eyes seemed to bulge from his face, and his mouth contorted in a humorless grimace.
    None of them knew each other's real names. It was safer that way. The others had adopted names such as Flora and Lizard and Ormegaidentification borrowed from the natural world that they were dedicated to preserving. Ecology was their creed, worshiped without question or hesitation. They had created unnatural relationships in order to better maintain the natural ones between species. Relationships that the civilization of the Commonwealth was dedicated to destroying. Such was their perception.
    They were not alone in these beliefs, but they were alone in their methods. They had moved beyond reason into the realm of religion, a place where nonbelievers were heretics to be stopped by whatever means necessary. For years they had been biding time, gathering strength, testing the limits of their organization with subtle probes here, tiny strikes elsewhere. A chemical plant sabotaged, construction of a shuttleport abruptly delayed, a few crucial votes influenced by money, persuasion, or occasional blackmail: all in the name of the Cause. With each new success, each achievement, their confidence blossomed and new recruits were gleaned.
    Until recently. The organization had grown beyond being a nuisance. It was now officially classified as a Problem, albeit still a minor one. Higher visibility meant more scrutiny by the authorities, more difficulty in soliciting adherents. They were no longer preaching to the already converted. The organization had reached a plateau. They could collapse in upon themselves, stagnate, or take the great leap forward. It was time to metamorphose from a cause into a movement.
    Making that transition meant announcing themselves to the Commonwealth at large. It meant making a statement that could not be ignored, showing how far they were willing to go to support their beliefs. It was time at last for a major effort, for a spectacular display that would bring them the kind of universal recognition they had heretofore shunned but now demanded. Time for a demonstration on a scale sufficient to bring double, triple the usual number of doubters flocking to their banner.
    Time to show the forces of destruction that they were a power to be reckoned with.
    So it was that the six had gathered in this cramped and stuffy chamber, under the assumed names that they had come to regard as their only important ones, to decide the where and when and how of the announcement they were going to make. Though they had no official leader, Spider spoke first and longest because he was the most articulate among them.
When burning with the Cause, Spider could be spellbinding. His body was a mistake of familial genetics. Within that rotund, jovial shape dwelt the soul of a tall,, sepulchral figure whose spiritual ancestors had once stalked the torture chambers of earlier inquisitions. He never hesitated, never secondguessed himself. Because he knew. Knew what was right, what was just, what had to be done. His companions listened with respect. All felt as he did but could not put their emotions into words as facilely.
    It was dangerous for them to gather together in one place these days. As a result of recent activities, the organization had suffered injuries, though no deaths. But those activities had sparked more than the usual casual interest on the part of the authorities, enough interest so that the six had had to take circuitous paths to reach this meeting place in safety. Each was certain he or she had made it unobserved. Extreme caution was their shield, anonymity their protection. No one knew which worlds the organization had cells upon. The government was persistent but clumsy, easy to fool.
    Soon it would not matter. In one blinding strike for Mother Nature they would voluntarily cast off their cloak of secrecy and announce themselves to a dazed Commonwealth. Every newsfax, every tridee would declare their name and purpose. Their purifying gesture would beget an avalanche of support that would shake the foul industrialists to their knees, and a new era of respect and love would dawn across this portion of the galaxy.
    It would not be a random act, of course. They were as intelligent as they were dedicated. Even an act mounted for publicity must have behind it a legitimate purpose.
    Given the extent of the cancer, they had no lack of targets to chose from. There was so much to be done and so little time in which to do it. Now, at last, after so many years of planning and building and laboring in secret, they could begin the real work. From now on the government and big corporations and ravening exploiters would have to deal with the avenging angel of the emergent organization.
    And if some of them should die in the process? All had agreed long ago that the righteousness of their cause was well worth dying for. What mattered an individual life here and there when the sanctity of whole worlds was at stake?
    Spider concluded his presentation with a brief recapitulation of the current situation before nodding to the woman seated to his right. She called herself Flora. Her eyes were blue, and her hair was the hue of spun gold. She was taller than any of the men except Stick, who sat quietly on the opposite side of the table. Her body was like desert heat. Gazing at it caused men to hallucinate. Stardom and fame could have been hers via the tridee networks, but such superficialities did not interest her. She had much more in common with Spider and Stick and the others seated at the table. The Cause excited her in a way no man ever had.
    She was a biologist, not a starlet. When she spoke, the natural seductiveness of her voice masked the intensity of her devotion to the Cause. Her dedication and early military training had overcome the organization's initial resistance to her beauty. Now she was looked upon as merely another soldier. By herself she had induced two governments to alter their positions on issues important to her colleagues: one by persuasion, one by blackmail.
        Now she held up what looked like a fragment of fabric half a meter square and five centimeters thick.
    "Do you all know what this is? It's a new product and currently only available in limited quantities on the luxury market." The perfect slash of her mouth twisted, accomplishing the seemingly impossible by muting her beauty. "I'll tell you what it is: the latest and greatest perversion of the natural order for profit."
    "Verdidion Weave, isn't it?" Ormega opted as she leaned forward for a better look.
    Flora nodded brusquely. "A previously untouched organism from a previously unspoiled world. It's been genetically altered to enhance the comfort of a wealthy few, though there are plans afoot to lower the cost by increasing production." She made it sound like an oath framed in flaming quotation marks. "In other words, the bastards responsible for this plan on expanding their operation throughout the planet of origin."
Spider folded his hands in front of his belly. "A perfect world for our first major public operation. There are no mitigating circumstances involved. It's not as if these slime are altering grains to feed additional mouths. This is a deliberate attempt to manipulate a natural environment purely for profit. We're going to stamp it out, shut it down so thoroughly that every other company in the business will think three times before trying anything similar on any other virgin world.
    "As you all know, our operations until now have been limited to saving a single species here, a lifeform there. This time, my friends, an entire world will be looking to us for its salvation. We have before us the opportunity to ensure the future tranquillity of a complete ecological system. We're going in with a sword this time instead of a scalpel!
    "It's going to be expensive and dangerous. Anyone who wants out can stay behind, and they won't be thought the worse of for their decision. If our preliminary sortie brings us the information we need, our chances of success will be greatly enhanced."
    "I guess I'm not as familiar with this Verdidion Weave and its background as some of you." Ormega was the only other woman in the council of six. She was small and dark and a lot older than Flora, but there was a powerful bond between them. They were bishops in the same church. Ormega did not envy Flora her youth and beauty, and Flora respected the other woman's experience and knowledge.
    "It's a complex and highly adaptable organism, as is much of the life thus far cataloged on this frontier world," Flora explained as she laid her sample on the table. "Structurally it resembles the mosses, though it's far more advanced than its relatives on Earth or Hivehom or any of the other damp planets. Initially it was believed that its reactions were purely piezoelectric in nature, but further research by the exploiters indicates it's more complicated than that." She smiled wolfishly. "We've been intercepting their confidential corporate transmissions for some time now.
    "In its natural state it does not respond usefully, but these soulless people have been playing with its DNA."
    "What's it been modified for?" Lizard asked.
    "Carpet." Flora spit the word. "Just carpet."
    "You mean people walk on it?" Ormega murmured. "A living creature?"
    "It can support considerable weight. Stepping on it doesn't appear to cause any injury. Watch."
    Flora placed the square of living material on the floor. Everyone rose or turned his or her chair for a better view. As they looked on, Flora stepped in the center of the dense growth. The greenandrustcolored tendrils responded by rippling toward her feet to offer additional support.
    "If you lean one way or the other," Flora explained, "the carpet actually shifts to ease you in the direction you want to go." Her companions could see that the glistening substance was moving her slightly to her left, like a tightlypacked column of ants.
    Gingerly she stepped off the section of living carpet. The tendrils stopped moving. "It's a communal organism that can be grown in much larger sections. Or sections can be shaped and bound together to fit any room. It draws necessary moisture from the air and is nonphotosynthetic, so it requires no light. Walking on it is like walking on air, and it even exudes a faint hibiscuslike odor. " Her exquisite blue eyes blazed, and her voice grew taut. "But it was not created to serve as a floor covering for privileged mankind!"
    "In its natural state," Spider told them, "the Weave reacts by pulling away from pressure, not moving to support it. A much more natural and reasonable reaction. This"He nodded toward the altered growth."is an abomination. It should not exist."
Flora removed a tiny perfume flask from the curved upper pocket of her jumpsuit and dumped the contents in the middle of the square of Verdidion Weave. Spider tossed a small incendiary capsule on top. The six watched silently as the mutated moss burned itself to a charred crisp.
    It did not occur to any of them to think that the object of their loathing might feel more pain from being incinerated than from being walked upon, but that did not matter. It was not a natural growth but rather the product of perverse experimentation. It should not exist. Thus, they wasted no more thought on its destruction than they would on the destruction of those responsible for such a biological outrage. The Weave, like those who were responsible for its existence, was not worthy of sympathy or understanding. It continued to smoke pungently for several minutes following the cremation of the last cell.
    Before the last of the smoke had faded away, the man who called himself Lizard was on his feet and speaking. He was slim without being sleek, neither was he gaunt of face like Stick. He was, in fact, exactly ordinary in appearance, of average height and build and younger than most of his colleagues. In many ways his very ordinariness made him the most dangerous member of the group. It allowed him to move unobserved in a crowd, to peer over people's shoulders without drawing attention to himself, to wear the garb of harmlessness.
    His profession was equally innocuous. So was his private life. Not even his wife suspected his membership in the organization. She would have been startled to learn that he was one of the six ranking officials of what she thought was a harmless fraternal business society.
    Yet whenever Lizard discussed matters dear to the heart of the organization, a sudden change came over him. His expression would tighten, and a nervous tic would begin in his left eye, increasing or lessening in intensity according to the passion of his speech.
    At the moment he was in complete control of his emotions. Cool heads were needed now that they had decided to announce themselves to a corrupt civilization. Cool heads would be needed to carry out their mission successfully. Lizard had acted as the organization's point man on more than one occasion.
    He was also responsible for the oversized image that now flashed on the wall opposite Spider's seat. Neither the table nor the walls nor the floor appeared to conceal anything as sophisticated as a holographic projector, which was a tribute to Lizard's abilities. He could make machinery blend into ordinary surroundings with the same ease with which he blended into a crowd. Homogenizing technology, he called it.
    The hologram showed a small portion of the galaxy. As the six looked on, it shrank until only the stars of the Commonwealth were visible. The view narrowed further until they were looking at an unspectacular star orbited by only five planets.
    When the view reached the third planet out, it halted and the image of a world began to pirouette before them like a dancer on a stage. Lizard resumed his talk, statistics spilling from his mouth. His colleagues showed only passing interest in information about gravity and diameter. What interested them was the world's unique and heretofore undisturbed ecology.
    "Longtunnel," Lizard was saying. "Only a minuscule portion's been explored so far, but enough to hint at the natural marvels the place contains. Though the atmosphere's quite breathable, the climate's inhospitable in the extreme. A tough place to move around on."
    "Thanks for small blessings," Ormega whispered.
    "Too small, sadly." Lizard's left eyebrow began to twitch. "You know what the enemy's like. If they see a profit, the weather's not going to be enough to stop them." He returned his attention to the holo.
    "Only one settlement so far. Little more than a scientific outpost." He gestured with a finger. Responding to his directional body heat, the image reacted by becoming a slightly curved section of planetary surface. Complex cloud patterns boiled above it.
    "The one company we're particularly concerned about isn't a branch of a major Trading House." His eyes glittered, and vitriol stained his voice. "Their small size, however, has not minimized the amount of damage they've been able to do in a short time. The speed with which they brought that pitiful Verdidion Weave onto the market is proof of that."
    Murmurs rose from his companions as he lowered his controlling finger. "Right now the scale of commercial development is limited. Unfortunately, there's nothing else on the market like the Weave. Demand for it is soaring as its properties become known. Those who order it know nothing and care nothing for the fact that its development is a crime against nature.
    "We would not be assembled here if we were discussing the harvesting of a normal growth, but the Weave is the product of the worst kind of unregulated genetic manipulation. And the company that produced it is hard at work trying to bend many other lifeforms to their will." His voice was rising and the tic of his eye accelerating.
    "Verdidion Weave is the forerunner of a panoply of abominations. The defenseless lifeforms of Longtunnel are particularly amenable to genetic alteration. To those for whom exploitation of the innocent is a middle name, the world is a biological gold mine!" Aware that he was shouting, he strove to moderate his tone.
    "I have seen some of their proposals for additional bioengineered products, to be produced by manipulating Longtunnel's indigenous lifeforms. Most are the product of a single brilliant but morally bankrupt mind, that of the head of this firm's bioengineering division. This individual is the one cog in the company's machine which I do not think they can easily replace. Skill at bioengineering is cheap. Intuition is priceless."
    "This individual was responsible for the development of the Weave?" Stick wanted to know.
    Lizard nodded.
    "Then I think our course of action has been determined for us." Flora's exquisite face was less than pleasant to look upon. "By excising this particular person we will at one stroke learn what we need to know to successfully conclude our mission as well as eliminate a possible future blemish on the natural order."
    "That was my intent." Spider clasped his hands over his belly as he leaned back in his chair. "Longtunnel is both a suitable and an appropriate place for us to have our little comingout party. The crimes being committed against nature there are of the worst sort, yet the firm which is behind them is neither too large nor too dangerous for us to deal with efficiently. Furthermore, they have opened only a single wound on this otherwise pristine planet. A wound, my friends, which we will suture and heal. We will simultaneously announce ourselves, serve warning upon our enemies, and cure a cancer before it can spread. It is agreed, then?"
    There was no need for a show of hands, no need even for words, though several of them did nod approvingly.
    Spider turned to Lizard. The two men were individual components of a greater whole, each like one leg of an insect working to carry the body to a chosen destination.
    "I take it your people are ready to move?"
    Lizard nodded briskly. "Ready and anxious. They've been practicing for a long time. They're eager for the chance to finally do something."
    "They'll have their chance. We'll all have our chance." Spider's brooding gaze swept around the table. "No more clinging to shadows. No more limiting ourselves to issuing manifestos and inserting tracts in obscure faxes. No more begging for public service time on the major tridee services. After Longtunnel our name will be on everyone's lips. The entire Commonwealth will know what we stand for. The undecided will rally to our cause. Then we can begin in earnest to reverse the tide of exploitation which has dominated government policy for far too long!"
    They would have raised a toast to their decision and to themselves save for the fact that none of them consumed alcohol or indulged in other narcotic substances. How could you preach the purity of the natural world if you could not keep your own body clean? They got high on one thing only: the passion for the Cause. The true Cause, the holy war against the rapacious despoilers of multiple environments, against the polluters and DNAnarchists.
    There were other organizations that professed to work for that end, but the six knew them for what they were: weak, feeble, and uncommitted. Only those around the table were the true shock troops of the coming ecological jihad.
    Lizard did something, and the holo vanished as though it had never been. They rose from their seats and began to leave the meeting room, whispering among themselves, excited but under control. Everyone knew what he or she had to do to make the operation a success. And it had to be a success. The robber barons and their Frankensteinian servants had been given a free hand too long. Now it was time to amputate.
    They kept their voices down and dispersed rapidly. Time had taught them patience; experience had taught them caution. As they filed out of the nondescript structure into waiting vehicles or walked to the nearest public transport, they were already rehearsing their next moves, each concentrating on his or her assigned duty.
    They certainly did not look much like the members of the ruling clique of a burgeoning terrorist organization.
Chapter Two
     
    While Alaspin attracted its share of visitors, few of them were tourists. The majority were scientists for whom an unpleasant climate was merely a minor impediment to research. Here, at least, it was a consistent impediment. The weather in the broad, highgrassed savannas and the dense jungle that bordered them changed little from month to month. There were only two seasons: wet and not so wet.
    The scientists came to study the thousands of temples and ruins left by an advanced civilization too shy even to name itself, which was thus called Alaspinian by default. They had left extensive records of their travels throughout this portion of space, but practically nothing about themselves. Yet they had chosen to live and work in primitive structures of stone and wood. Nothing was known of their disappearance, though the theory of racial suicide had numerous adherents. It was almost as if, embarrassed by their achievements, they had simply disappeared some seventy thousand years ago. Moved
away somehow, others said. For if they had committed racial suicide, where were the remains?
    Fragile bodies, the suicide supporters insisted. Or cremation in the jungle. These were theories upon theories that brought mildtempered xenoarcheologists to blows, all impossible to prove because among the millions of carvings and records that had been left behind on small cubes of micronically etched metal, there was not one picture of an Alaspinian. There were endless images of plants and animals and landscapes and structures, but of the people who had recorded them, nothing.
    It was one of those worlds where the thranx were more at ease than their human compatriots. The hot, humid climate was like a breath of fresh steamed air from home to them. The larger permanent research installations were all staffed by thranx, while their human counterparts came and went rapidly, gleaning bits and fragments of knowledge suitable for a paper or thesis before fleeing for cooler, drier worlds.
    Prospectors outnumbered scientists in the frontier regions. Alaspin was rich in valuable minerals. Many of those who called themselves prospectors, however, avoided the rich alluvial plains of the savannas in favor of mining the limitless ruins, where the digging was easier and the "ores" more highly concentrated; already refined, in fact. A perpetual state of limited war existed between prospectors and scientists.
    To those engaged in research, the prospectors were despoilers of tombs and destroyers of a still poorly understood alien heritage. Some of the more reckless and less caring explorers would not hesitate to tear apart a newly uncovered structure in search of a single marketable artifact, thereby rendering the entire site useless for scientific study.
    Meanwhile, the poor prospectors, unsupported by fat research grants and surviving largely by their wits in a hostile environment, complained that the authorities always sided with the big institutes, while they already had located more sites and ruins than could be studied in a thousand years. They argued that every additional site they discovered only added to, instead of subtracting from, the sum of scientific knowledge.
    In between drifted a small group of hybrids acknowledged by both sides, solitary individuals who were both prospector and scientist, travelers in whom the desire to learn warred constantly with greed.
    Standing apart and aloof from the combatants and their eternal bickering were those who had come to Alaspin to make their fortune by other means. They came to serve the needs of prospector and scientist alike. For money, since no one came to Alaspin for his health. The climate was rotten, and the native lifeforms inimical.
    Not every scientist was supported by a recognized institute. Not every prospector was grubstaked by a large company or criminal consortium. So stores were needed, and entertainments sufficiently simple and garish, and servicing facilities. The people who ran those businesses were the only ones who could really call themselves citizens of Alaspin. They depended on the planet for their livelihood. They were there for the long haul, unlike the scientists who dreamed of making the Great Discovery or the prospectors who pondered the one Big Strike that lay in the next vinecloaked temple, the next virgin stream.
    Lastly there was Flinx.
    He belonged to none of the recognized classes that flitted across Alaspin's humid surface. He was not there to prospect and he was not there to do research, though he studied hard everything he encountered. Solitude was his primary backer.
    The scientists thought him a peculiar student working on a thesis. The prospectors recognized a loner when they saw one and considered him one of their own. Who else but a prospector would have an Alaspinian flying snake, or minidrag, constantly riding his shoulder? Who else would discourage casual friendships and conversation? Not that the young man had to discourage actively. The presence of his horridly lethal pet kept the curious well away.
    To those who were bold enough or ignorant enough to sidle up next to him on the street or in the dining room of the small hotel, he was always polite. No, he was not a student. Nor a prospector either. Nor did he work for one of the planetary service corporations. He was on Alaspin, he freely admitted, to perpetrate a homecoming. On hearing this, his questioners invariably departed more puzzled than they had been before accosting him.
    Flinx treasured everyone he encountered, both those who questioned him and those who recognized Pip's distinctive blue and pink diamondback coloring and hurriedly crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him coming. The older he grew, the more fascinating he found mankind. Until recently his immaturity had prevented him from truly appreciating the uniquely diverse organism that was the human race.
    As for the thranx, they were equally interesting in their own way. Their social system was very different from mankind's. For all that the two species got on supremely well, they had different individual priorities and beliefs. Yes, he was becoming quite a student of people, regardless of their size and shape and where they happened to wear their skeletons. Part of it was that he kept looking for another as unique as himself. So far he had not found one.
    As he pondered, he wielded a machete. It was an extraordinary primitive instrument, no more than a large chunk of sharpened metal. Cheap laser cutters were available for sale in every outfitter's shop in Mimmisompo, but he had chosen the antique instead. Aiming a cutter and pulling the trigger did not convey the same sense of satisfaction that swinging the heavy blade did. A cutter worked neatly and soundlessly. With the machete you could smell your progress as you chopped your way through green and purple stems and striated leaves. The destruction did not trouble him because he knew how temporary it was. Within a week the trail he was cutting would be gone as new growth swamped it, devouring the sunlight it admitted to the jungle floor.
    Tall trees rose all around him. He was fascinated by one that was all buttressing roots and little trunk. It was festooned with epiphytes ablaze with bright crimson flowers. Swarms of tiny blueblack insects crowded around blossoms shaped like miniature trumpets. Four-winged relatives of Terran lepidoptera pushed and shoved for their turn at the nectar.
    Less decorative creatures tried to bite through his boots, which sank three centimeters and more into the gray mud through which he was traipsing. They smelled blood. The highfrequency repeller clipped to his belt kept most of the winged vampires away. His longsleeved shirt and his pants were impregnated with powerful antipheromones, as was his widebrimmed hat. So far his sound and stink had maintained him unpunctured.
    Though he did not know it, his appearance was little different from that of jungle explorers from ancient times. Such men would have killed for the chemistry and electronics that kept the worst Alaspin could offer at a safe distance. The thranx, bless 'em, didn't need elaborate protection. Few bugs could bite through their chitons. Nor did they need the refrigeration unit that lined his pants, keeping him cool by recycling his own sweat. Not necessary, but a luxurious antidote to misery.
    Also expensive, but money was something Flinx did not worry about. While not dominatingly wealthy, he had made himself financially independent.
    A multiple humming filled his ears. He had felt their presence long before he heard them. Pip uncoiled from his shoulders and took to the air. There they were again, in the trees off to his right.
Each was larger than the most massive hummingbird. They darted toward him in formation and danced around his head. He smiled fondly at them, then turned and continued toward the lake he had found on the aerial map. It had struck him as an appropriate place to make final farewells.
    The reality was more lovely than the picture, he thought as he broke through the last of the undergrowth and stood there on the steeply banked shore. It was still quite early. A fog was rising from the mirrorsmooth surface of the lake, softening the outlines of the trees and lianas that lined the far shore. They were dreamshapes limned in gold, glowing cutouts rising as if in offering to the mistshrouded sun.
    The broad expanse inspired his fellow travelers. They rocketed out over the water, swirling gaily around Pip. She was the star to which they anchored their constellation.
    Until today. The time was near, and he knew it. He knew because he could feel it in his pet's mind. Pip was an empathic telepath, able to both transmit and receive emotions to and from her master. The half dozen offspring that flew dizzying circles around her now were equally talented.
    They had been conceived during a visit to this, their home world, and to this place Flinx had returned them for weaning, though that was a term not literally applicable to flying snakes. He had felt it was the right thing to do, though how much of that feeling had originated with him and how much of it had been imparted by Pip he could not have said. Now he knew he had done right. He had enjoyed the yearlings' company, but they were growing fast. Seven meterlong, highly poisonous empathic minidrags were more than any one person could be expected to cope with, so he had returned the prodigals.
    They were snakes in name alone, because that was what they most nearly resembled. Even the xenotaxonomists called them miniature dragons, though they were actually more closely related to the extinct Terran dinosaurs, particularly the coelurosaurs. He could sense their confusion as he stood there on the bank, the machete dangling from his right fist.
    Waves of maternal repulsion were spreading outward from Pip like ripples in a disturbed pond. They washed over her offspring, battering them, driving ahem away. Gradually instinct took over where understanding was lacking. As they flew wider and wider circles around her, Flinx could feel the bonds between mother and offspring weakening. They did not break but became steadily less intense. It was at once beautiful and painful to watch, and it filled him with a righteous peace.
    He no longer wondered if he had done the right thing in bringing them here. The dance of the minidrags continued, their incredibly agile shapes darting and spinning, iridescent scales catching the rising sun. Eventually they broke away one at a time, like children taking turns at the end of crackthewhip, to vanish into the trees on the far side of the lake. Now they had truly returned to the world that had given them birth. Flinx inhaled deeply.
    "Well and done," be said aloud, knowing that the words would not be understood but that Pip would perfectly comprehend what he was feeling. "That's that, old girl. Time you and I got back. It's warming up out."
    Pip came shooting back to him, stopping instantly to hover a meter before his face. The long pointed tongue flashed at his nose and eyelids before she pivoted to settle comfortably on his neck and shoulders.
    He allowed himself a final look at the lake, its surface still as glass. Then he turned to retrace the route he had chopped through the jungle. If Pip was sorry to see her offspring go, she gave no sign of it. If he sensed anything in her, it was a vast contentment.
    Of course, he had no way of telling if he was actually feeling what she was feeling or if it was no more than a reflection of his own emotions. His peculiar sensibilities were as much of a mystery to him as ever, though each passing year seemed to bring him a little closer to coming to grips with them. It was like trying to strangle fog. One instant the talent was as solid and real as steel, and the next he would try to use it and there would be nothing there, nothing at all.
    He worked hard trying to understand the mystery of himself. As he trudged through the mud, he tried to avoid brushing against the surrounding vegetation. In the jungle every leaf seemed to shelter something toothy or toxic. He was beginning to respect his talents instead of fearing and hating them. If only they were more predictable! Hard to build a fence when something kept taking away your hammer the instant before it struck each nail. So far his abilities had served to cause him trouble more than anything else. Unfortunately, he would have to learn to live with them. He could no more disown them than he could engage in selfmutilation.
    Pip stirred against him even as the surge of emotion roared through him. He stopped and turned as he heard the humming.
    A single adolescent minidrag hovered noisily before him. When he had turned on it, the yearling had backed wind, retreating until it was two meters away. There it remained, staring back intently.
    Flinx knew he was not the first human being to establish a tight emotional bond with an Alaspinian minidrag. There were tales of other prospectors who had done so. He had met one such individual himself little more than a year ago. That man's minidrag, Balthazaar, had mated with Pip. But he had never heard of anyone bonding with more than one flying snake. One human, one minidrag. That was the rule. The yearling had to go.
    "Go on! Beat it, scram!" He jumped toward it, waving his arms and machete. The little creature retreated another meter. "Fly away, get lost! Your home's not with me and your mother anymore. This is goodbye time." He rushed the minidrag. It darted back two meters and stopped, hovering half behind the protective bulk of a tree with blue bark.
    Turning decisively, he resumed his march. He had covered another twenty meters when he heard the humming again. As he spun in exasperation, the yearling quickly landed on a convenient branch, folding its pleated wings tightly against its narrow body and curling its tail around the wood.
    "What's the matter with you?" He glanced down at Pip, who was staring silently at her recalcitrant offspring. "You've got a kid who doesn't want to leave the nest. What ate you going to do about it?"
    Flinx was constantly amazed at the complexity of thoughts that could be conveyed by emotions. Pip understood not a word he had said, but the feeling was clear enough. She uncoiled herself, spread her wings, and shot toward the adolescent.
    The yearling nearly fell out of the tree trying to avoid her attack. Flinx watched as the two minidrags went around trunks and through branches, panicking the concealed native life and scattering it in all directions.
    Finally Pip returned, breathing hard, and settled back on his shoulder. This time he simply stood and waited. A minute passed, two, before he heard the expected ham. The yearling hovered in the crook of two great branches, obviously exhausted and equally obviously unwilling to be driven away. Feeling Pip stir on his shoulder, he put a hand on her neck to calm her down.
    "Easy." She felt without understanding. Her breathing slowed. "It's all right."
    Her offspring picked up the same feeling and started toward him. He watched while it coiled itself around his left wrist.
    "No, you can't stay. Understand?" He raised his hand and snapped it outward, tossing the flying snake into the air. As soon as he let it fall, the minidrag was back clinging to his arm, a brightly colored bracelet with flashing red eyes.
    He flung it away several times. Each time it resumed its grip on his wrist or lower arm. "What the devil am I supposed to do with you'?" If a flying snake could cringe, this yearling was doing exactly that. It buried its head beneath one wing.
    Cute, damn it, he thought. All of Pip's offspring had been cute, dainty little leathery sculptures. Each of them carried enough neurotoxin in its poison sacs to kill a dozen grown men in as many minutes. Not so cute.
    The minidrag's emanations were weak and indistinct, like its mother's. Affection, confusion, loneliness, fear, puzzlement, all mixed up together. Since the flying snake's intelligence level was far below that of a human being, he could never be sure exactly what it was feeling.
    This one was very small, even for a yearold minidrag. Pip was clearly hesitating, trying to divide her attention between her master and her offspring. He wondered how she would react if he became violent with the adolescent. If he directed sufficient anger at it, he had no doubt she would somehow manage to drive it away, even if forced to injure it in the process.
    Small as it was, it had probably been the last hatchling, so it was correspondingly reluctant to be weaned. But he had no intention of staying on Alaspin one day longer than absolutely necessary, certainly not to accommodate the feelings of a reluctant adolescent minidrag. There was nothing on this world he wanted to do, nothing he needed to see. All he wanted was to be on his way, wherever that was. He did not need an extra lifeform cluttering up his ship. He sighed aloud. He had been doing that a lot lately, he realized.
    "Isn't much to you, is there?" A tiny, brilliantly colored triangularshaped head peered out at him from beneath a concealing wing. "It doesn't work this way. One minidrag, one human. You can't have a threeway empathic relationship." The minidrag did not answer.
    Perhaps he was not sufficiently mature. Certainly he was the runt of the litter. Flinx raised his left arm so they were eye to eye.
    "I suppose if you're going to hang around, you're going to have to have a name. What's smaller than a Pip? A nubbin? No, you're a throwaway, so I guess we'll have to call you Scrap."
    Not flattering, he supposed, but appropriate. The small loop of muscle tightened around his arm, though whether in reaction to being named or merely to secure its perch, Flinx had no way of knowing. He would not take up much space, Flinx told himself. Pip could keep her eye on him on board the Teacher, which was stuffed with scraps of another kind. It would feel quite at home.
    The big minidrag had relaxed against his neck now that her master's animosity toward her offspring had vanished. She paid no attention to the yearling. Obviously she felt she had done her best to discharge her maternal duties. If her master no longer rejected the adolescent, she did not feel compelled to, either.
    He thought no more about his new companion as he retraced his steps. Alaspin was not a benign world. It was home to an impressive assortment of carnivores and poisonous lifeforms that did not discriminate in their eating habits between local and offworld prey. As Flinx had learned on his previous visit, this was no place to take chances, no country in which to relax and sightsee. So he did not think about either Pip or Scrap as he watched where he was putting his feet, trying to step in the muddy depressions he had made when cutting his trail to the lake. Leaves and vices teased his face, and he winced instinctively at each contact.
    Although there were jangles more hostile that those of Alaspin, this one was threatening enough for him. He had never had a desire to join the Scouts, those halfmad men and women and thranx who were first to set down on a new world. Not even Pip could protect him against parasites and tiny bloodsuckers. He held tight to his antique machete. At least, he thought, the ancients had had enough sense to make them of titanium. Anything else would be too heavy to wield efficiently.
    Another thirty meters brought him into the small clearing where his crawler waited. This was as far as he had been able to bash with it. The machine traveled smoothly over water and through most jungle, but dense thick trees defeated it. Thus he had been forced to leave it here and travel the rest of the way to the lake on foot.
    It looked like an oversize chrome canoe on wheels, roofed in plexalloy and articulated in the middle. The highly polished sides reflected much of the burning sunlight, not critical here beneath the trees but vitally important for cooling purposes when out on lake or river. Armored grillwork shielded the underside, protecting sensitive machinery. It was not much wider than the driver's seat, which enabled it to pass between those trees it was incapable of knocking over. What it really was, was a giant, mobile heat exchanger, able to convey its passengers in relative comfort across Alaspin's humid, hot countryside.
    Flinx had rented it in Mimmisompo, paying with a credcard whose rating, while not astronomical, had lifted the eyebrows of the merchant doing the leasing.
    The crawler traveled on double treads, one fore and the other aft. It could carry three passengers seated single file behind the driver. There were no other passengers except Pip, and he really did not need such a large vehicle, but it was the smallest he could find on short notice. So he had shrugged and overpaid. It made even better time on the river than it did on land. An aircar would have been faster, but there were none for rent in Mimmisompo. The prospectors and scientists kept them busy ferrying friends and supplies. Flinx had come with money but no pull. In a small frontier city the latter was often the more important medium of exchange. So he had been forced to settle for the crawler.
    No matter. He was only a few days out of town and on his way back. Having established a trail on his way in, it would take him a quarter of the time to return to the river, carefully dodging the leafy emergents the crawler had been unable to push over. Once back on the river, he would be traveling downstream instead of fighting the current. He was looking forward to spending one more night in a hotel instead of the crawler's cramped quarters.
    Mimmisompo sat on the edge of an immense sandy beach, high and dry in the clear season and sopping in the wet. The shuttleport lay farther inland. It occupied one of the few high bits of land in the region, immune to seasonal flooding. Not the sort of place one would choose for a relaxing vacation, but he was anxious to return to it now.
    At the top of the ladder built into the side of the crawler he paused to run a magnetic field key over the lock, and heard it click open in response. A blast of cool air struck him as be climbed inside, settled into his seat, and nudged a switch to close the door behind him. Probably no need to lock the vehicle out here in the middle of nowhere, but he had learned early on that the middle of nowhere was a country often frequented by unsavory types, and while the odds of anyone stumbling across the crawler were small, he felt more comfortable when they were entirely in his favor. The sight of an expensive vehicle sitting open and unguarded might be too tempting for even an honest prospector to ignore.
    The mental flavor of the five departed young minidrags no longer lingered in his mind, but the crawler's cabin was still pungent with their odor. It was musky but not unpleasant. The recycler would soon have it cleared out. Curved metal ribs supported the otherwise transparent plexalloy walls and domed roof. After a quick survey of his immediate surroundings he began switching on instruments. Yellow standby lights gave way to green readies.
    Like any modern piece of machinery, the crawler took only a moment to run a selfcheck and declare itself healthy. That done, Flinx turned up the recycler a notch and dug out a towel to wipe his face. You had to be careful when changing environments. While the airconditioning unit he wore had kept his body comfortable, his face had been exposed to the air. Perspiration poured from his forehead and cheeks, ran down his neck under his shirt collar. The combination of sweat and airconditioning could bring on a cold faster than anything else known to man.
    It was a matter of choice. He could have worn a helmet and insulated himself completely from the local climate, but somehow that seemed the wrong thing to do at the minidrags' leavetaking. So he had left the helmet in the crawler and had tolerated the heat and humidity for the short hike through the jungle.
    Putting the soaked towel aside, he downed a long swig of chilled fruit juice from the driver's feedline before starting the engine. The electric drive hummed smoothly beneath him. Pip slid off his shoulder to coil around an equipment rack next to the seat behind him. If she felt sad or melancholy at the loss of her five offspring, she gave no sign of it.
    Scrap was less willing to find a seat. Despite Flinx's persistent efforts to dislodge it, the young minidrag insisted on clinging to his wrist. Finally Flinx gave up and put the crawler in motion. The adolescent was not heavy, and before long he would get bored and move off by himself.
    The path he had bulldozed in from the river was easy to follow. Fastsprouting jungle plants were already fighting for their share of the newly esposed route to the sky. He turned a tight curve, bending the crawler in the middle, to work his way around a tree three meters thick. The vehicle articulated vertically when he followed that maneuver by driving down and through a dry streambed.
    Now that he had accomplished what he had come to Alaspin for, he was forced to contemplate what he was going to do next. Life was no longer simple. Once it had been, back on Moth, when all he had had to worry about was keeping dry and getting enough to eat and maybe swiping a few luxuries now and then to help out Mother Mastiff when business was slow. The past four years had complicated his life incredibly. He had seen and experienced more than most men saw and experienced in a lifetime, let alone adolescent boys.
    Not that he was a boy anymore, he reminded himself. He had grown physically as well as mentally. Nearly nine centimeters, in fact. Decisions were no longer easy to make, choices no longer straightforward. Being nineteen carried with it a lot of responsibility, for him more than for most. Not to mention the emotional baggage that automatically went with it without right of refusal.
    The only problem with seeing a lot, he mused as he guided the crawler through the Ingre jungle, was that he was not happy with most of what he had seen. In general, both man and thranx had been a disappointment to him. Too many individuals were ready and willing to sell out their principles and friends for the right price. Even basically good people like the merchant Maxim Malaika were essentially looking out for their own best interests. Mother Mastiff was no different, but at least she did not have a hypocritical bone in her body. She delighted in being a greedy, moneygrabbing lowlife. He reveled in her honesty. She was the best human being she could be, given the sad circumstances of her life.
    And what was to become of him? A universe of possibilities lay open to him. Too many, perhaps. He had not the slightest idea which to reach for.
    Nor were weighty questions of philosophy and morality all that obsessed him right now. There was also, for example, the increasingly fascinating and complex matter of the opposite sex. As he had spent most of the past four years just surviving, women remained largely an intriguing mystery to him.
    There had been some. The beautiful and compassionate Lauren Walder, many years ago back on his home world of Moth. Atha Moon, Maxim Malaika's personal pilot. A few others, younger and less memorable, who had flashed like brief blue flames through his life, leaving memories that burned as well as confused him. He found himself wondering if Lauren would remember him, if she was still working happily at her obscure fishing lodge or if she had moved away, perhaps offplanet. If she would still think of him as a "city boy."
    He straightened in his seat. He had been little more than a child then, and shy at that. Maybe he was still something of a boy, but he was no longer nearly as shy. Nor did he look half so boyish. That troubled him. Any change troubled him because he could never be certain if it was the result of natural growth processes or his unnatural origin.
    Take the matter of his height. He had learned that it was normal for most young men to attain their full growth by age seventeen or eighteen. Yet he had reached his full adolescent height by the time he was fifteen and then stopped cold. Now he had suddenly and inexplicably grown another nine centimeters in twelve months and showed no sign of slowing. He had gone abruptly from slightly below average male height to slightly above it. Height changed one's perspective on life as well as the way others perceived one.
    The drawback was that it became harder to remain inconspicuous. It made him feel less of a boy and more of a man, though when a boy became a man, wasn't he supposed to be certain about things? Flinx found he was more confused now than he had been at sixteen, and not only about women.
    If anyone had a right to feel confused, it was Philip Lynx, ne Flinx. His was not a normal mind in a normal body. Better to be confused all the time than frightened. He managed to keep the fear in the background, out of the way, locked in the dark culdesacs of his mind. It did not occur to him that it was his fear and confusion that prevented him from making further contact with members of the opposite sex. He knew only that he was wary.
    If only Bran TseMallory or Truzenzuzex were around to advise him. He missed them deeply, wondered where they were and what they might be up to, what mysteries they might be probing with their singularly penetrating minds. For all he knew, he realized with a cold chill, they might be dead.
    No, impossible. Those two were immortal. Monuments both of them, spirit and intelligence molded in material everlasting, both parts combining to form a much greater whole. They had their own lives to live, he told himself for the thousandth time, their own destinies to fulfill. They could not be expected to spare the time to tutor one odd young man, no matter how interesting he might be.
    Having always managed on his own as a boy, he could certainly do so as an adult. He would damn well have to find out things for himself instead of expecting another to do it for him. Why shouldn't he manage? He could do certain things that so far as he knew no one else could do.
    They designed me well, he thought bitterly. My prenatal physicians. The rogue men and women who had employed his DNA for their plaything. What had they really hoped to achieve with him and his fellow fetal experimentees? Would they be proud of him today or disappointed, as they had apparently been in all the others? Or would they simply be curious, utterly distant and uninvolved? It could be no more than a matter for speculation, since all of them were dead or mindwiped.
    Well, their subject was preparing to build a life of his own, independent and unobserved. Already he had crisscrossed a fair portion of the Commonwealth trying to locate his natural parents, only to discover that his mother was dead and his father's identity a mystery lost in the mists and rumors that were his heritage.
    That desire to know had driven him for several years. Now he was beyond that. If he was ever to learn the truth of his genealogy, he would have to pry it out of some computer storage chip hidden somewhere beneath human ken. Time to put history behind him and look to his future, which would probably prove as complicated as his past.
    Still, he considered himself fortunate. While his unpredictable talents had often placed him in trouble, they had also helped to extricate him from it. He'd had the chance to meet some unique individuals: Bran TseMallory and Truzenzuzex, Lauren Walder, and others not nearly so pleasant. And then there were the Ujurrians. He found himself wondering how their tunnel digging was progressing. The AAnn, too, of course, scheming and plotting against humanxkind, always searching for a weakness, probing for an opening, watching and waiting to expand whenever the Commonwealth seemed weak or indecisive.
    His thoughts were rambling, but he could not help himself. The crawler largely drove itself, and now that he had done what he had come to do, he was relaxed and at ease. He could easily see himself becoming a reclusive mystic, the old hermit of the trade vectors, cruising back and forth through the Commonwealth and even skirting its outermost boundaries in the wonderful ship the Ujurrians had fashioned for him. The Teacher. That was what they called him. A paradox, since the more he learned, the more ignorant he felt.
    Truzenzuzex would have called that a sign of increasing maturity. He was a student, not a teacher, intensely interested in everything around him: people and places, civilizations and individuals. He had been exposed to bits and pieces of great mysteries. Abalamahalamatandra, who had been not a survivor of some ancient race but instead a biomechanical key for triggering a terrible device. The Krang, the ultimate weapon of the longvanished TarAiym, whose strange mechomental perturbations still echoed through his brain after all these years. So many things seen, so many places yet to go. So much to try to comprehend.
    Intelligence was a terrible burden.
    He halted abruptly, the crawler coming to a stop as he released the accelerator. Pip's head rose sharply from the seat where she lay curled about herself, and Scrap's miniature wings fluttered nervously as Flinx clasped both hands to his head. The headaches were growing worse. He had always had them, but this past year they had become a constant companion, averaging several or more a month.
    One more reason for abjuring permanent relationships. It was entirely possible, he had considered in the darker moments, that he was one more eventual deadend experiment, and he had no desire to drag anyone else down with him. He had simply managed to last a little longer than the rest of their spectacular failures. What was truly frightening was that in the medical texts the difference between headache and stroke was little more than a matter of degree.
    The painful lights began to fade from the inside of his retinas. He took a long, shuddering breath, then sat up straight. Something was happening to him. Something was changing inside his head, and he had no more control over it than a spaceport control tower had over a runaway shuttle. More changes. Piss on his progenitors, the sons of bitches who had arrogated unto themselves the right to toy with the unborn.
    There was nothing to be done about it. He could hardly walk into a major medical facility and calmly request a fullscale examination on the strength of being the bastard product of an illegal and universally abhorred society of renegade eugenicists. On the other hand, he told himself, feeling better as the pain in his head went away, it might simply be that he was prone to headaches. He managed a grin. It would be amusing if all his fears and worries were groundless, and the only thing he was suffering from was the normal trauma of moving from adolescence into adulthood. It would also be wonderful.
    It would also be unlikely.
    The headaches were usually accompanied by a severe emotional twitch from another person, but there was no one else in the vicinity. Maybe a real headache, then. He would not mind the pain if that was the case. Sometimes even pain could be reassuring.
    The fact that he could still suffer wrenching emotional dislocation here in the middle of the jungle was further proof of the erratic nature of his abilities, not that he needed additional confirmation. The fact that he had come to grips with his peculiarities intellectually did nothing to assuage their effects on him. They were a constant reminder of his abnormality, of the fact that whatever else he did, he would never be able to lead anything resembling a normal life.
    If only he could learn to channel, to control his talents, to turn them on and off like water from a faucet. "If only," he mumbled angrily to himself, "I were normal. But I'm neither normal nor in control of what I am."
    A light weight landed on his right shoulder. A glance revealed the scaly yet somehow understanding face of Scrap. He smiled.
    "What am I going to do with you? You aren't going to find any bonders out there, anyone to share with. You'll be living in an emotional void, existing on overflow from Pip and me, all receive and no amplify."
    What did minidrags do in the wild? he wondered. Could they feed empathically off each other? Certainly they could not act as a telepathic lens the way Pip did for him. He wondered sometimes what the flying snakes derived from their select relationships with certain humans besides physical companionship.
    Just what I need, he thought, though not unkindly. Another oddball in the fold. Yet what better company for a selfdeclared outcast than another selfanointed outcast like himself? He was feeling much better.
    What he would do was take his marvelous ship and explore the Commonwealth for as long as time and health allowed. Legends would grow up around him, the wanderer with the flying snake who touched briefly at this world and then that, only to move on quietly, leaving behind neither name nor place of origin nor knowledge of purpose. The Hermit of the Commonwealth. That had a solid ring to it. Stoic and aesthetic. There was only one problem with the noble life he had set out for himself.
    It was a terrible way to meet girls.
    Whoever messed with my brain, he thought glumly, and stirred up my genetic code the way a bartender would stir ice with a swizzle stick, left my hormones untouched. Determination of purpose and a burgeoning sex drive, he decided, did not go well together. It was a problem that had been at the core of many of man's troubles since the beginning of time.
    With time and patience and study maybe he could one day locate a sympathetic surgeon skilled enough to rid him of his headaches, if not his inheritance. Maybe he could find a way to exert some control over his life. He had seen and done enough of the extraordinary. All he wanted for himself from now on was peace and quiet and a chance to learn.
    Even as he was concluding the thought, he felt the familiar, damnable prickling in his mind. No headache this time, merely a mental tickle. But in its own way, because he could not shut it out, it was equally unsettling. It was a sensation easy to identify because he had encountered it too many times previously. Somewhere, someone was in trouble.
    Pip and Scrap felt it also, Scrap darting in front of his face to batter at the plexalloy like a berserk bumblebee. The minidrag blocked his view.
    "Beat it, get out of the way!" He swept the flying snake aside with the back of a hand, not pausing to think that were it so inclined, the yearling minidrag could have killed him in an instant.
    Leaning forward, he tried to see between the trees. Cooled air circulating between the double layer of plexalloy kept condensation from forming on the inside. Nothing ahead but green jungle, and moments later, not even that.
    There was the beach fronting the river. A hundred meters of clean, packed gray sand. In the rainy season it disappeared. Now it lay as exposed as the finest bathing beach on New Riviera.
    No one on Alaspin would think of relaxing on such a beach, however. There were thousands of similar retreats lining the banks of dozens of major rivers, and a hundred could be bought for a pittancethe bloodsuckers and the insects would drain a body like a sponge set out for their amusement if anyone tried to sunbathe on any jungle beach without complete body protection.
    The beach was spotless; empty. There was no cover except what a man could bring with him. The crawler chewed up sand as Flinx retraced the tracks he had laid down earlier. His thoughts had eased considerably, and he was already planning the hop from Mimmisompo back to Alaspinport, where his shuttle waited to carry him back to the Teacher, high in synchronous orbit.
    Pip's wings ruffled his hair from behind. The flying snake was up and anxious.
    "Now what?"
    Then he was wrenching viciously on the crawler's control bar, the front treads spitting sand to the left as he turned it sharply.
Chapter Three
     
    The figure lying in front of the crawler was as motionless as the huge pieces of driftwood the river cast up during the rainy season. Scrap continued to bump anxiously against the front window as Flinx set the engine to idle. Pip rose from her seat to settle on his shoulder.
    He cracked the dome, letting the hot, humid air swirl around him for a moment before climbing down to the beach. A narrow track such as a turtle might make returning to the sea had been gouged in the sand. It led from the river's edge to the prone figure's feet, showing the route the refugee had taken from water to dry land. His eyes flicked over the slowmoving stream. There was no sign of a boat, nor did he expect to see one.
    Reaching the body, he rolled it over on to its back and unexpectedly found himself recalling the line "Diese ist kein Mann" from the ancient Wagnerian tridee. She was no Brunhilde, however, and he was certainly no Siegfried. Beneath the dirt, scratches, bruises, and millimite bug bites lay the battered shell of a very attractive woman.
    She was still alive. If she had not been, his mind would not have reacted as it had. Her demise might have saved him a headache, but for the moment at least he did not mind having endured the brief pain. Her pulse was weak but not dangerously soclearly she was in the last stages of exhaustion. The trail leading back to the river indicated she had made it this far on hands and belly. She only looked dead.
    What he could not fathom were the shorts and short sleeved shirt. Nice attire for a sealed hotel, but potentially fatal anywhere else on Alaspin. Her arms and legs were striped with millimite bug trails, and deep red splotches showed where drill beetles had been mining. They were bad enough, but he could understand them. The bruises were more cryptic. They did not look like the kind a drifting log would make, and there were no rapids anywhere along this stretch of river.
    Her blond hair was cut short on top, sides, and front save for a single tail that trailed six centimeters from behind her right ear and ended in a soggy knot. A star had been shaved above each ear. He did not recognize the style, but then, style was not something he usually concerned himself with.
    He felt her clothing. Thin, lightweight. Cool and utterly useless against Alaspin's rapacious insect life. You wore either jungle drill or two sets of something else. How the hell had she ended up here like this?
    A dumb tourist determined to see the backcountry on her own, most likely. Tried to walk or float out when her vehicle broke down instead of staying with it and waiting for help. An infrequent bit of stupidity, but not unheard of. Birding or snake watching or taking tridee chips.
    Then he reminded himself she might have come upriver in an enclosed boat. If it had sunk she would have had no choice but to swim or walk. That scenario made some sense. The water would also mute any emergency beacon signal. Maybe she was more unlucky than dumb.
    He had no trouble picking her up and carrying her back to the crawler. Getting her inside was another matter. She was not that heavy, but he had to rig a lift with some rope and haul her up hand over hand. If not for the added muscle he had put on this past year, be could not have done it. Pip kept clear, watching, while Scrap darted anxiously around the limp body, no doubt curious as to why a living human being should be devoid of emotion.
    The four passenger seats could be folded flat, making beds for two riders. He put her in the back of the crawler, then punched up the location of the firstaid kit.
    As would be expected for a rental vehicle, the instructions on the selfinjecting ampoules in the kit were simple and selfexplanatory. Some looked pretty old, but none had reached their official expiration dates. The bites were easy enough to treat. Salve for the millimite scars, iofluorodene to kill the eggs the drill bugs had laid in her muscles. He also pumped her full of general antiseptic and fungicide. None of the ampoules lit up during injection, so she was not allergic to the stuff he was dumping into her system. He applied intravenous antibiotic and a spray over the bruises and cuts, then sat back and surveyed his handiwork. The crawler's airconditioning had replaced the hot air with a fresh soothing coolness.
    The bruises on her face and body troubled him, but there was nothing he could do for her appearance. The crawler's medkit was designed to keep people alive, not repair them cosmetically. Well, it would not bother her as long as she was unconscious. The best thing would be to get her to the hospital at Alaspinport.
    She had a slight fever and was badly dehydrated despite the fact that she had obviously spent some time in the river. Either she had been afraid to drink the perfectly potable water or she had been unable to. He had no idea when she had last eaten, but her stomach and intestines felt anything but full.
    After waiting an hour for the medication to settle in and take hold, he gave her two ampoules of multipurpose nutrients and vitamins in a sodium solution. The injected broth would give her strength and allow her system to begin some serious repair work.
    An hour later his efforts were rewarded. She turned her head to her right and moved one arm several centimeters. Her neuromuscular system was functioning, then. The portable emergency scanner had not revealed any internal injuries, the light staying in the healthy pink range as he had run the pickup over her body. It had beeped a couple of times when he had passed it over the severest bruises. If it had gone over into the red or purple, that would have been an indication of broken bones or worse.
    Giving her a last glance, he returned to the driver's seat. Back in Mimmisompo someone would be worrying about her, be it relative, traveling companion, or research society. He would find out and turn her over to them.
    She really was quite pretty, he thought as he put the crawler in drive. The longer he studied her injuries, the more convinced he became that they were not the result of an accident. Her attire was proof enough that she was no backcountry veteran. He could see her offering a ride to some traveler in distress, only to end up mugged, beaten, and left for dead in the middle of the river. An unpleasant picture with the smell of truth about it. If she had met with foul play of some kind, it would explain everything.
    Except why even a thief would want to beat her half to death. A pro would have simply knocked her out, tossed her overboard, and taken her goods, leaving it to the river and the jungle to clean up after him. Not that he was any judge of criminal ethics. His own criminal ethics, when he had been engaged in petty thievery as a youngster, had been radically different from most. He studied her in the rearview. Her bruises were not distributed at random. They suggested professional work of an unsavory nature.
    He grunted. What did he know about it? It could have been anything from a simple slip on a railing to a lovers' quarrel. He was hypothesizing on air.
    The crawler slid into the river, the buoyancy compensators humming to life as the treads expanded to function as paddles. He had opted for the durability and longevity of the crawler, but as he studied his damaged passenger, he found himself wishing be had rented a skimmer despite the delay it would have entailed.
    It took three days of traveling with the current before the river bent to reveal the floating docks of Mimmisompo. Not once had his passenger opened her eyes, though she had moaned in her sleep. It did not make him uncomfortable to listen to her disjointed mumbling, because he was concentrating on her emotional subconscious. As expected, it was an incoherent jumble, alternating between pleasure and pain depending largely on how recently he had dosed her. The ampoules were keeping her alive, though, and her body was slowing repairing itself.
    When he docked in Mimmisompo, he turned in the crawler and called for a robocab. It delivered them to the modest hotel where he had stayed on arrival two weeks ago. The manager coded his room without questions. He was glued to the tridee and did not even look up when Flinx returned with the limp woman in his arms. In Mimmisompo plenty of people came and went from their rooms in that state.
    The lift carried them to the third and top floor of the hotel. Flinx passed the charged bar across the center of the door, then waited while it read the code and clicked open. Pip and Scrap entered first, Flinx following. He kicked the door shut behind him.
    Marveling at her litheness, he placed her gently on one of the two beds. After checking her vital signs, he treated himself to his first shower in days. When he reentered the bedroom, it was to find her sleeping as soundly as she had in the crawler.
    This morning he had used the last of the crawler's emergency supplies. Tomorrow he would find her friends or, failing that, a physician. She lay still on the bed, barely illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the single large window on her left. Above her headboard the electronic bug repeller glowed emerald, ready to dissuade any intruder that managed to make it past the hotel's exterior defenses
    Flinx checked his own before tossing his towel aside and sliding gratefully beneath clean, cool sheets. The room was Spartan but spacious, dry, and insectfree. Outside the capital city of Alaspinport you could not expect more than that.
    She was breathing easily, and he rolled over to stare at her. Pip assumed her familiar position at his feet while Scrap settled close by.
    If others were searching frantically for her, they would have to wait until he had had a decent night's sleep, he reflected. He had earned it. Another day would make no difference to her or her colleagues, assuming she had any in Mimmisompo. He did not worry about other unlikely possibilities. Not with Pip resting alertly at his feet.
    At least, he thought lazily as he drifted off to sleep, this was one time he had managed to do a good deed without involving himself deeply in someone else's problems.
    Morning proved it was not going to be that easy. Somehow it never was. She was still resting peacefully when he awoke, rose soundlessly, and prepared to go out.
    As he dressed, he could not help glancing in her direction She was lying on her side, and the sheets had draped themselves provocatively over her body. In the light she was not merely attractive, she was beautiful. He kept telling himself as he studied the rise and fall of her chest that he was only checking the regularity of her breathing. It was impossible for him to lie to himself, however. Pip's reactions always truthfully mirrored what he was feeling.
    He left hurriedly, sealing his jumpsuit on the way out. She was not hurting, he was sure of that. Not with all the antibios, specifics, and endorphine analogs he had pumped into her. If anything, she ought to be floating half a meter above the bed. A last pass with the scanner was accomplished without a beep. She was healing rapidly, as much a credit to her own constitution as to his amateur treatment of her injuries.
    Tough little lady, he mused. All the more reason to try to find out how she had come to be beaten up and dumped in the middle of the Ingre.
    This was only his second visit to Mimmisompo, and he did not know the town that well, but he had learned long ago that information was often available in such places in inverse proportion to the actual population. Furthermore, it was not necessary to scour the entire community to find the answers he needed. There were always logical places to make inquiries. The official information booths were at the bottom of any such list.
    Because of her wholly inadequate attire, Flinx went on the assumption that she was a recent arrival to the Ingre region. No halfexperienced prospector or scientist would have been caught dead in the kind of clothing she had been wearing when he had found her, not even if traveling in a vehicle as secure as the crawler. You never knew when you might have to go outside. At the minimum she should have been wearing boots, a longsleeved shirt, longlegged pants, repellers, and cooling threads.
    Her assailants had known their business. You could not walk out of the Ingre. By the time a body could be located, the local fauna would have made identification difficult, determination of cause of death impossible.
    What kept nagging at him was the apparent professionalism with which the beating had been administered. Her bruises had been evenly dispersed across her body, suggesting that whoever had handed them out had taken care to prolong her consciousness for as long as possible. It smacked of sadism, questioning, or both. He worried about it all the way to Quayside.
    The entertainment center was not crowded. It was too early. There were drivers and cargo lifters, alluvial miners, and one independent rarewood logger whom Flinx recognized by the specialized trimming equipment dangling from his belt. Half a dozen men, nearly as many women.
    There were also two thranx, looking a lot more at ease than their human compatriots. Each was chatting with a human instead of with each other. It was rumored that the thranx preferred the company of human beings to their own kind. Flinx knew that was talked up by thranx psychologists. Even now, hundreds of years after the Amalgamation, there were still humans whose insectophobia required attention and treatment.
    He did not look at them twice. Man and thranx had been so close for so long that they were no longer thought of as aliens. More like short people in shiny suits.
    The people in the entertainment center showed little interest in the games and other diversions Quayside offered. Two men were idly toying with a quickdraw shooting game near the back. No one else paid any attention to the horrific and extraordinarily lifelike monsters that leapt from behind rocks or jumped from vines or erupted from the ground to attack the two competitors. The illusions had to be shot in the right spot the correct number of times for a score to register. Their simulated death throes were exuberantly noisy and dramatic. It was the nature of the game.
    The fact that each holoed creature actually existed, either on Alaspin or on another world, added to the game's attraction, though Flinx was not sure a teacher would have thought of it as educational. He never indulged in the electronic entertainments. Once he had played one out of deference to a companion. It had left him cold. Though he was astonishingly proficient, there was no challenge to it. He credited his skill to good reflexes and never thought there was any more to it than that.
    At the conclusion of the game some joker had repositioned the halo projector so that a large, carnivorous reptile had dropped down on Flinx from the direction of the ceiling. The result was just what the practical joker had been hoping for. Flinx had been startled and frightened.
    Unfortunately, that had caused Pip to react defensively. Her highly caustic venom had burned right through the holo projector's lens, at considerable cost to the establishment's owner. With Pip hovering nearby, the chastened pranksters had paid the full cost of the damage.
    He angled toward the only crowded table. The man seated facing him boasted a handlebar mustache that tapered to waxed, glistening points. They quivered like the needles on a praxiloscope when he laughed. His name was Jebcoat, and he hailed from Hivehom, a human born and raised on the thranx capital world. He was no stranger to heat and humidity. As near as Flinx had been able to tell from their initial brief contact weeks ago, when he had first arrived in Mimmisompo, Jebcoat had done a little of everything. If you asked him a question there was a fiftyfifty chance you would get an answer. The odds on truth were lower.
    Flinx did not recognize his female friends. Jebcoat saw him approaching and broke off his conversation with the ladies to give the young man a broad smile. One of the women turned curiously to inspect the newcomer. She was a shade under two meters tall and wore implants that gave her pupils a silvery cast.
    "This kid a friend of yours?" she asked Jebcoat without taking her eyes off Flinx.
    He stiffened momentarily until he realized she was trying to provoke him. That was one way of taking the measure of a stranger on a world like Alaspin.
    "He's no kid." Jebcoat chuckled softly. "I ain't sayin' he's a man, either. Frankly I don't know what he is, but you'd best watch your word footing around 'im. He wears death for a playpretty."
    As if on cue, Pip stuck her head out from beneath Flinx's collar and Scrap stirred on his wrist. The woman's eyes flicked from mature minidrag to adolescent. Flinx sensed no fear in her, which might mean either that she was as bold and confident as she appeared, or simply that his damnable talents weren't functioning at that moment.
    The other woman was tall, but no giantess like her companion. "Go easy on him, Lundameilla. He's kinda cute, though a bit on the skinny side." She laughed, a short jittery sound that would make anyone in the vicinity grin. "You and him going together sideways wouldn't fill up a decent doorway. Care to join us?"
    Flinx shook his head. "Just a question or two. I've been out in the Ingre, and I need to find out about somebody I ran into out there." The giantess's eyebrows rose.
    "Find anything while you were out there?" Jebcoat eyed him speculatively.
    "What I was looking for." Flinx saw that his approval rating had risen another notch. It was not considered impolite to ask questions of a stranger on Alaspin, but it was considered foolish to reply straightforwardly. Sometimes it was worse than foolish.
    "Found something I wasn't looking for, too. About a hundred centimeters, slim, female, twentytwo to five, pale blond with a weird haircut, and blue eyes, though they might've been dyed recently. Very nice."
    "How nice?" the other man at the table asked, speaking for the first time. He was broad and burly and had not depilated in days.
    "Extremely. She was wearing shorts and a thin shirt, one only."
    "In the Ingre?" The giantess made a face.
    "Millimite and drill bug bites everywhere." Flinx eyed the other man. "Also somebody had worked her over real careful and professionallike."
    The heavyweight's smile disappeared, and he sat back in his chair. "Betty, what a world!" He turned to Jebcoat. "Spark any circuits?"
    Jebcoat considered, the mustache temporarily stilled. Finally he shook his head. "I don't know a soul who'd be caught dead outside in the shorts, much less the shirt. How's her condition?"
    "Improving. I emptied my crawler's firstaid kit into her. It was full when I started."
    "Damn well better have been, or you could sue the renter." He glanced at the giantess. "Call up any memories for you, Lundy?" The tall woman shook her head.
    "I don't know anybody that pretty or that stupid."
    "What about ID?" he asked Flinx.
    "Nothing. I looked." He eyed the other man, but that worthy was properly subdued. The situation was not amusing anymore.
    "We'll ask around. Won't we, Blade?" The giantess's companion nodded agreeably.
    "So will I," said Jebcoat, "but I haven't heard tell of anyone missin' local, and you know how fast that kind of news travels hereabouts."
    "hope, nobody missing," the other man muttered. "Nobody. Would've heard. When'd you find her?"
    "Few days ago," Flinx told him.
    "Then everybody 'd know by now if she was known around here. Must be a newcomer," Jebcoat suggested.
    "That's the way I see it."
    "I know the agent at Alaspinport. If you like, I'll give 'im a call, take a copy of the last couple of shuttle passenger manifests, tridee the ID. We can run 'em through my processor."
    "That might give us something," Flinx said gratefully.
    "Not if she was brought in by private shuttle," Blade pointed out.
    "Unlikely," Jebcoat said.I
    "Unlikely, yeah, but not impossible. If that's the case" She eyed Flinx evenly. "there'll be no record of her arrival."
    "Maybe," Flinx said softly, "that's what the people who beat her up had in mind."
    The woman stared back at him, then turned to Jebeoat. "You're right; he's no kid. You been around, boy," she told Flinx.
    "That I havegirl." He braced himself, but all she did was smile approvingly.
    "Come on, Lundy." The two women rose to depart. Lundameilla towered over every man in the room. Both drew appreciative stares. "We'll ask around for you, like I said. Meantime we got to get back and check on our dredge. Lundy and me, we got a claim up in the Sam berlin district." As she came around the table, she bent quickly to whisper in Flinx's ear.
    "You ever get up that way, stop by and say hello. Maybe we'll show you how we operate together, Lundy and d. You might say we could show you the long and the short of it."
    "Leave the guy alone, Blade." Jebcoat was grinning hugely beneath the mustache. "Can't you see he's blushing?"
    "I am not blushing," Flinx insisted. "Redheads' skin is naturally flush."
    "Okay, okay."
    As Lundy strolled past, Flinx felt a distinct sharp pinch on his left buttock. The giantess left him with that and a wink as she followed her companion out. He made a face at Pip.
    "I'm attacked and you do nothing."
    The flying snake stared back blankly. Not for the first, time Flinx found himself wondering exactly what the inidrag's intelligence level was.
    Jebcoat put both hands flat on the table. "Let me make one quick call."
    He did not have to leave the table to do so. Flinx watched him work the communicator that was built into the table. Thousands of fine hardwoods filled the jungle surrounding them, and someone had gone to the expense of importing a plastic table made to look like wood. No wonder the thranx found their human friends a constant source of amusement.
    Jebcoat chattered away at the pickup. Finally he shrugged and let the headphone snap back in place. "I tried the obvious: local cops, immigration records, a couple of friends. No one matching your description has arrived on Alaspin in the past two months, much less been reported missing. We still have to check Alaspinport records, of course, but I ain't optimistic."
    "What do you suggest?"
    "Lemme get ahold of my buddy at the port. Lundy and Blade will spread it around the backcountry. But right now, as far as the authorities are concerned, your battered acquaintance don't exist. Since she's in your room, she's your responsibility."
    "All yours," the other man said cheerfully.
    "But I'm just on my way out."
    "Offworld again?" Iebcoat was still trying to figure his young friend. "For somebody your age with no visible means of support, you manage to get around pretty easy."
    "I have an inheritance," Flinx explained. Though not the kind of inheritance you're thinking of, he added silently. "I can't take her with me, and I don't want to just abandon her in the room. She's got no credcard, either."
    "So?" Jebcoat asked. "The hotel owner would be delighted to put a claim on her."
    "Hell," the other man said, "if she's as pretty as you say she is, I'll take her off your hands myself."
    "Ain't you forgettin' something, Howie?"
    "What's that?"
    "You're married."
    A cloud shadowed Howie's face. "Oh, yeah. I'd kinda forgot. "
    Jebcoat eyed him mercilessly. "With kids."
    "Kids. Yeah," Howie muttered disconsolately.
    Jebcoat smiled back at Flinx. "Howie here's been out in the Ingre too long. No, she's yours, my friend. You can do what you want with her. Wait till she gets well, take her with you, or just scram. But it's your decision. I don't want anything to do with it." He indicated the resting minidrags. "I don't have a couple of lethal empaths to keep an eye on me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've other business to attend to. I'll get back to you if I find out anything about your mystery lady. Howie and I are discussing the price of a theoretical load of Sangretibark extract."
    Flinx said nothing. It was illegal to export Sangretibark. For some it worked as a powerful aphrodisiac. In others it had unwanted side effectssuch as cardiac arrest. But then, it was none of his business. Jebcoat was a friend so long as you treated him with respect. He would make a bad enemy.
    He tried a couple of other contacts, with equal lack of success. No one knew anything about the woman he described. Once his query was met with an openly hostile response, but only verbally. Pip's presence prevented anyone from dealing Flinx anything stronger than a harsh word.
    That afternoon he wandered back to the hotel, discouraged and puzzled. The woman lay where he had left her. At the moment she was lying on her back. As he eyed her, it occurred to him that while he had done wonders for her wounds, her appearance remained unchanged. She still wore plenty of dirt and grime.
    He spent an hour cleaning her face, shoulders, arms, and legs with a washcloth. Thin red streaks had replaced the weals on her legs where the millimite bugs had dug, and the drill bug holes were already closing. The worst of her bruises were almost gone.
    He lay down for a short nap, exhausted from the journey out of the Ingre and his efforts on her behalf. He might have slept through the night if the screaming had not awakened him.
Chapter Four
     
    Instantly he was up and searching. Looking every bit as beautiful awake as she had while asleep, his guest stood across the room. In her right hand she clutched a small but wicked little knife. Her eyes were wild.
    Pip hovered before her, little more than a couple of meters from her face and well within attack range. Scrap flew nervous circles around his mother. The young minidrag's constant movement was unsettling the woman more than Pip's hovering.
    Flinx took it all in in a second and wondered what the hell was going on. The knife did not make any sense. Neither did Pip's threatening posture, unless you assumed the knife had been aimed at her master. But why would she want to threaten him while he slept?
    That was when she noticed him sitting up on the bed. Her eyes barely flicked away from the flying snake. "Call them off, damn you, call them off!"
    Flinx did so with a casual thought. Pip darted back to the bed.
    The woman's breathing slowed, and the arm holding the knife dropped. "How did you do that?"
    "All Alaspinian minidrags are emotional telepaths. Sometimes they'll bond with a person. Pip is mineshe's the adult. The adolescent's name is Scrap."
    "Cute," she said tensely, "real cute." Then she shuddered and lowered her head. "I don't know how you found me. What now? Are you going to beat me up again? Why don't you just kill me and get it over with? I've answered all your questions."
    Flinx's gaze narrowed. "I didn't beat you up, and I have no intention of killing you. If I held any malign intentions toward you, d'you think I'd have fixed you ups„
    Her head came up quickly. She studied him for a long moment. "You aren't one of them?" she asked hesitantly.
    "No I'm not, whoever `them' are."
    "Deity." She let out a long sigh, at which point her legs turned to rubber and she had to lean against the wall for support. The knife clattered silently on the hardwood floor.
    Flinx slid off the bed and started toward her, halting when she stiffened. She still did not trust him, and after what she had been through, he could hardly blame her.
    "I'm not here to hurt you." He spoke slowly, soothingly. "I'll help if I can."
    Her eyes shifted from him to the flying snake. Slowly she bent to recover the knife, placed it on the antique dresser nearby, and laughed nervously.
    "That doesn't make any sense, but neither does anything else that's happened to me in the past few weeks. Besides, if half of what I've heard is true, a knife's pretty useless against a minidrag."
    "Not half," Flinx corrected her. "It's all true." He kept his distance. "Would you like to sit down? You've been unconscious for several days."
    She put a hand to her forehead. "I thought I was dead. Out there." She indicated the window that looked over the town. "I was never so certain of anything in my life. Now I'm not sure of anything anymore." She blinked and tried to smile at him. "Thank you. I will sit down."
    There was a lounge chair made of epoxied lianas. Under the epoxy, the wood flashed a rainbow of colors. It was the only brightly colored piece of furniture in the room. Flinx sat down on the edge of the bed while Pip curled herself around one of the short bedposts, looking like a carved decoration. Scrap settled in his lap. He stroked the back of the small flying snake's head absently.
    "How old are you, anyway?" the woman asked him as she slumped into the chair.
    Why do they always ask that? he wondered. Not "Thank you for saving me" or "Where do you come from?" or "What's your business?" His reply was the same one he had been using for years.
    "Old enough. Old enough not to be the one who was lying out in the Ingre making a meal for the millimite bugs and dying of exposure. How'd you end up like that?"
    "I escaped." She inhaled deeply, as if the cool air in the room was an unexpectedly rich dessert. "Got away."
    "I didn't think you ended up there by choice. You weren't dressed right. Alaspin's not a forgiving place."
    "Neither were the people I was with. What did you say your name was?"
    "Didn't, but it's Flinx."
    "Just Flinx?" When he did not respond, she smiled slightly. It was beautiful to see. "All right. I know there are limits to questions in a place like this." She was trying to act tough. At any moment she might start cursing himor burst out crying. He sat quietly, stroking the lethal creature snuggled in his lap.
    "You said you escaped. I thought maybe your vehicle had broken down. Who'd you escape from? I'd assume whoever beat you up."
    Her hand moved instinctively to the halfhealed bruises beneath her left shoulder. "Yes. It doesn't hurt as bad now."
    "I've been giving you first aid," he explained. "I've been in situations where I've had to take care of others as well as myself. My resources were as limited as my knowledge, I'm afraid. You were lucky. No broken bones, no internal injuries."
    "That's funny, because it feels like everything inside me is busted."
    "Whoever worked you over didn't want to kill you. What did they want?"
    "Information. Answers to questions. I told them as little as I could, but I had to tell them something . . . So they'd stop for a while." Her voice had grown small. "I didn't tell them everything they wanted to know. So they kept at me. I feigned unconsciousnessit wasn't hard, I'd had plenty of practice. Then I got away from them.
    "They had me in a place out in that jungle somewhere. It was at night, and I made it to the river. I found a broken log and just started drifting downstream. I had no idea it was so far from anyplace."
    "I Found you high up on a beach. You'd dragged yourself out of the water."
    She nodded. "I think I remember letting go of the log. I was losing my strength, and I knew I had to get to dry land or I'd drown."
    "You'd be surprised how far you crawled."
    She was looking down at her hands. "You said I've been out for several days." He nodded as she turned her palms up, inspecting the scoured skin. "I guess you've done a good job on me. Thanks. I can't say that I feel good, but I feel better."
    "Several days' rest is good medicine for any injury."
    "I woke up and saw you lying on the other bed, and I thought they'd found me. I thought you were one of them." This time she did not smile. "I had the little knife. It fits inside the middle of my boot. That's how I got loose. Not much use against a bunch of people, but against one sleeping man ... I was going to cut your throat. "
    "Pip would never have allowed it."
    "So I found out." She eyed the flying snake wrapped around the bedpost. "When it came at roe, I tried to get out the door. It's sealed both ways. That's when I started screaming, but nobody came to see what was happening."
    "I sealed the door because I don't like interruptions when I'm sleeping." Reaching behind the headboard, he brought out a thin bracelet and touched a stud set flush with the polished surface. The door clicked softly. "I bring my own lock. Don't trust the ones they rent you. As for your screaming, this is a pretty wideopen town. Not a place where people interfere in their neighbors' business. Hard to tell sometimes why somebody's screaming." He slipped the bracelet on his wrist. "Ever seen a picture of a body ravaged by millimite bugs?"
    She looked down at her legs, then ran her fingers along the almost vanished welts. "These?"
    He nodded. "They feed subcutaneously. They're not very big, but they're voracious and persistent. The first thing they do is eat their way to where the muscles are attached to the bone. They cut through the legs first. Then, when their prey can't move anymore, they settle in for a leisurely month or so of eating."
    She shuddered anew. "Here I am throwing questions at you right and left, and I haven't really thanked you."
    "Yes you did. A moment ago."
    "I did?" She blinked. "Sorry. My name. I haven't told you my name." She brushed at her short blond hair. He wondered what she would look like with a professional patina of cosmetics on that exquisitely sculpted face. "I'm Clarity. Clarity Held."
    "Pleasure to meet you."
    She laughed, a little less uneasily this time. "Is it? You really don't know a thing about me. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't think it such a pleasure."
    "I found an injured human being lying exposed to the jungle. I'd have picked up anyone under those circumstances."
    "I'll bet you would have. Come on," she chided him, "how old are you, really?"
    He sighed. "Nineteen, but I've been around a lot. Listen, what's this all about? Who beat you up and why were they holding you against your will'?"
    Suddenly she was looking around the room, ignoring his questions. "Is there a bathroom in this place?"
    Flinx put a damper on his curiosity and nodded at the polo of an icy fountain off to the left. "Behind there."
    "Is there a bathtub?" There was an edge in her voice. He nodded, and she smiled gratefully. "About time things started evening out. From hell to heaven in one waking breath." She rose and started toward the holo.
    "Wait a minute. You haven't answered any of my questions."
    "I will. I'll tell you anything you want to know. After all, I owe you my life." She glanced back at the doorway. "You sure no one can get in here?"
    "I'm sure. Even if they did ..." He nodded in Pip's direction.
    "All right. I should be working on getting out of here, on getting off this world. Because I'm sure they're looking for me right now. But I feel like something that just crawled out of a sludge pit. If I don't clean myself up, I won't be able to stand me long enough to answer your questions. Bath first." She smiled to herself. "There's always time for a bath."
    He leaned back against his pillow. "If you say so. Nobody's after me."
    "That's right," she murmured thoughtfully. "Nobody is after you. Do you think you can help me get away from here? Away from this town? What's the name of this place, anyway?"
    "Mimmisompo. You didn't come through here?"
    "No. I was on a big skimmer, for a long time." She frowned. "Alaspinport, I think. They brought me down drugged, and we got right in the skimmer. I was pretty much out of it except when they brought me around to answer questions. I'll explain everything I can, tell you all I can remember, but later. Right now a hot bath would be just about the most wonderful thing imaginable."
    "Then go ahead and indulge. I'll keep an eye on the door."
    She took a step toward him, then hesitated. "Nice to have a friend here." A quick turn and she was through the holo that closed off the bathroom from the rest of the apartment.
    Her passage automatically turned off the image, and she did not bother to reset it, her mind on nothing but the bath. Moments later the sound of running water reached him. Hands behind his head, he lay back on the bed and contemplated the ceiling. Strange. One would have thought she had had enough of water in the river. The peculiar regard women held for hot water was something he did not understand.
    By rolling over and stretching ever so slightly he could see her sitting on the edge of the diamondshaped tub.
She was lightly sponging herself. It was hard to estimate another's inhibitions without first knowing her world of origin, social status, and religious inclinations. She looked up suddenly and saw him watching her, and she smiled. Not invitingly but not mockingly, either. Simply a pleasant, relaxed smile.
    Knowing that did not keep him from turning away in embarrassment. Then he was angry at himself for doing so. Pip looked up curiously while Scrap explored the pile of blankets where Clarity had slept. The flying snake reacted to his every emotion, not only those that were threatening.
    Clarity Held rose from the bath and begin drying herself. This time it was not necessary for him to stretch to enjoy the view. This time he deliberately did not turn away.
    "That was heavenly!" Apparently the society in which she had been raised did not recognize the nudity taboo, a historical development on an as yet unknown world for which he was very grateful. She sang to herself in a voice that was only slightly off key, then put the towel aside without a suggestion of shyness and began to remove her clothes from the room's autolaundry.
    I have talked to the wise men of Commonwealth, Flinx mused. I have spoken with captains of industry and of alien warships. I have made contact when no one else was able with an artificial intelligence thousands of years old and kept my composure in the face of evils both human and otherwise. So why the hell can't I have a sensible conversation with a single member of the opposite sex of my own race without bumbling and stumbling over every word?
    He had heard about verbal seduction but had not the slightest idea where to begin. He wanted more than anything else to ingratiate himself so powerfully that she would forget about his age and start thinking of him as a man. He wanted to persuade her, to reassure her, to dazzle her with his resourcefulness and brilliance, to defuse her fears and activate her senses.
    What he said was, "Bath make you feel better?"
    "Immensely, thanks." She was drying her hair now, fluffing out the blond brush, the single flanking pigtail bobbing tike a cat's toy behind her ear. He wondered who had performed the spectrum shift that had given her turquoise eyes. Surely that color could not be natural.
    "If you plan on doing any more traveling around here, we'll have to find you some more appropriate clothing."
    "Don't worry. The only environments I want to experience between here and the shuttleport are humanxmade. I'm straightlining from here to orbit, if you'll help me." She nodded in the direction of the window. "They're out there right now, wondering how I got away. Hopefully back along the river." Her hands paused, and her cheerful expression abruptly darkened. A little terror crept back into her voice.
    "You said I left a long trail from the river onto the beach where I crawled out. They could find that. They'd know I was still alive."
    "I didn't know you'd been kidnapped, so I saw no reason to take the time to obliterate it. But don't worry. Even if they find it and interpret it correctly, the next thing they'll do is start searching the immediate vicinity with a heat sensor and image processor."
    "They'll see your crawler's tracks, too. They'll consider that I might've been picked up."
    "They have to find the place first. You clean and relaxed'?"
    "More or less."
    "They how about some answers to my questions? Let's start with who you are and why these people find you so intriguing."
    She started toward the window. Halfway there she thought better of exposing herself to the outside, privacy shield notwithstanding, and pivoted to head toward the dresser as she spoke.
    "My name you know. I'm a division chief for an expanding enterprise. These fanatics picked me because I'm uniquely talented."
    For an instant Flinx went cold, then realized she had to be speaking of some other kind of unique talent.
    "It's a fantastic deal for somebody my age, just starting out. I supervise a dozen specialists, most of them older than me, and I own a piece of the profits. I mean, I knew I was better than anybody in my field when I was doing my dissertation, and I've proved it subsequently, but it was still an impressive offer. So naturally I jumped at it. "
    "You have a high opinion of yourself." He tried not to make it sound like a criticism.
    It bothered her not at a11. "Justified in the lab." She was talking easily now that they were on a subject she was comfortable with. "It's exciting stuff. I wanted to be out front. I could be making even more money elsewhere. Doing cosmetic work on New Riviera or Earth. You know, I had a chance to go to Amropolous and work with the thranx. They're still better at micromanipulation than any human. Some of their work's more art than science. But I don't like heat and humidity.
    "This bunch that grabbed me, they're extremists of the worst sort. I'd heard about them beforeeverybody reads the faxbut I didn't think they were any different from half a hundred groups with similar aims. Shows how little anybody knows. There was this young guy" She looked away from Flinx. "he was plated. I mean iridescent, like a tridee star."
    "Goodlooking." Flinx spoke emotionlessly. "Go on."
    "We went out a few times together. Said he was with port authority, which is why I hadn't seen him around. Couldn't get through company security, so we met outside. I thought I was falling in love with him. He had that ability, you know, to make you fall in love with him. He asked me to take a stroll topside with him one night. It was pretty calm upstairs, so I said sure." She paused.
    "You've got to understand that it was real exciting intellectually where I was working, but socially it was plasmodium. Just about everyone was a lot older than L, and frankly, none of them were much to look at. Physicality still plays an important role in interpersonal relationships, you know."
    Tell me about it, he thought. He was not happy with the turn the conversation had taken, but he had nothing to add.
    She gave a little shrug. "Anyway, I think he drugged me. He was one of them, you see. The next time L saw him, he didn't look so handsome anymore. Physically yes, but his expression was different. It matched his companions'.'
    "Species?" He was thinking of the AAnn's relentless assaults on advanced human technology.
    "All human as near as I could tell. If they were alien, they had terrific disguises. They hauled me offworld. When I woke up, it was hot and sticky and somewhere out there, I guess." She waved absently in the direction of the Ingre. "That's when the questions started. About my work, how advanced it was, what the company's plans were for future expansion and development, and a lot of basics like our lab layout and security setup and so on.
    "I told them I couldn't answer because everything they were asking me was covered by the Interworld Commerce Secrets Act. They didn't say anything. They just turned me over to this one tall woman who started beating the crap out of me. I'm not a real brave person. So I started telling them what they wanted to know, as little as possible about each subject.
    "I knew I'd keep telling them until I'd told them everything, and I had a pretty good idea what would happen to me when I'd finally answered their last question. So I made it clear one night and ran like hell. It was pitchblack, and things kept biting me and stabbing at me, so I went into the river and found my log and started downstream. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I just wanted to get away."
    "You're lucky you made it as far as the river," Flinx said somberly. "Alaspin has its share of nocturnal carnivores. The insects you know about."
    She scratched reflexively at one leg. "I woke up here, jumped to conclusions, and thought about killing you. Now I've had a bath, I feel two thousand percent better than I did the last time I was conscious, and you're going to help me get off this world and back to my people. I'm sure they're searching for me, too, but not around here. In addition to being well liked personally, I'm irreplaceable. I'm sure there'll be a reward for my return. I imagine there always is in a situation like this."
    "I'm not interested in any reward."
    "No? You're that prosperous, at your age?" He chose to ignore her slip.
    "I have an inheritance. Enough for my needs. What about you? What makes you so popular?"
    She grinned ruefully. "I'm a gengineer. In fact, I'm the best gengineer."
    His expression didn't change. It didn't have to for Pip to react to his emotional surge. The flying snake leapt from its position on the bedpost, flew once around the startled Clarity, and then settled abruptly back on the bed.
    He turned away, unsure how well he had concealed his reaction. Not perfectly, it seemed.
    "What's wrong with your pet? What's the matter? Did I say something to upset you?"
    "No, nothing." Even as he spoke he sensed the transparency of the lie. "It's just that someone very near to me had trouble with some gengineers a long time ago." Hastily be donned the innocentchild smile that had served him so well in his childhood days of thieving. "It's nothing now. Just old history."
    She was either more perceptive or more mature than h thought, because there was genuine concern on her face as she came toward him.
    "You're sure it's okay? I can't change what I am."
    "It had nothing to do with you. What occurred all took place before you were born." Now he smiled again, a crooked smile, confident she would not know the reason behind it. "Before I was born, in fact."
    No, neither of us was born when the Society began their experiments. You were already several years old when the experiment coded "Philip Lynx" came into the world with his DNA tossed like salad in a bowl. I can't tell you that, of course. I can't tell anyone. But I do wonder what you'd make of me if you knew what I was. Would you have any idea if I'm a good result or a bad one?
    It would have helped had he grown up a scientist. Instead he had spent his childhood as a thief. It was difficult to tell which would have revealed his origin to him sooner.
    Her fingers touched his shoulder. He stiffened, then relaxed, and she dug in gently, massaging. The hurt is deeper than you can reach, he thought, eyeing her.
    "Flinx, you aren't afraid of me, are you?"
    "Afraid of you? That's funny. I'm the one who dragged you out of the jungle halfdead, remember?"
    "Yes, and I'm as grateful as anyone who owes her life to someone else can be for what you did for me. You will help me leave Alaspin before they find me again, won't you? They're mad but resourceful. Crazy smart. I'm not so sure they're smarter than you. There's something about you I'm usually pretty good at slotting people, but you're a total blank to me. You look like a gangly, overgrown kid, but you seem to know your way around."
    Around? He smiled inwardly. Yes, you might say that I've been around, little gengineer. I've traveled to the Blight and the fringes of the Commonwealth. I've done such things as most men only dream of, and others that cannot be imagined. Oh, I've been around, all right.
    He had turned away from her again. Now he felt her pressing up against him, her front tight against his back, her arms sliding around his waist in a graceful serpentine flanking movement as she nonverbally began to make it clear exactly how grateful she was to him and how grateful she might be.
    Without really knowing why, he found himself slipping free of her grasp and turning to face her. There was hurt on her face and real concern in her voice. That made it harder.
    "Now what's wrong?"
    "I haven't known you long enough to like you that way. Not consciously, anyhow."
    "You liked me better unconscious?"
    "That's not what I mean, and you know it." Time for a subject change. "If you still feel threatened, you ought to report what happened to you to the authorities."
    "I told you, they have spies everywhere. That's how they got to me in the first place. We'd only have to talk to one wrong person, and then they'd have me again. You they'd probably kill, just to keep from talking."
    "That would upset you?"
    "You're damn right it would." She was looking straight at him. "You're a curious savior, Flinx." She cocked her head to give him a coquettish sideways stare. "I'd like to find out just how curious. Don't you find me attractive?"
    He swallowed. As usual he intended to be in complete control of the situation, and as usual he was not.
    "Extraordinarily attractive," he finally managed to mumble.
    "That clears that up, anyway. Oh!" Scrap startled her as the adolescent minidrag landed on her shoulder. Unable to coil around her shoulder, he settled for wrapping his tail tightly around her thick, short blond sidetail.
    "His name's Scrap. I think he likes you."
    "How do you do?" She bent her head to eye the tiny instrument of death snuggling cozily against her neck. "How do you know he likes me?"
    "Because you're still alive."
    "I see." She pursed her lips. "You said his name was Scrap?" At the mention of his name, the young flying snake's head rose slightly.
    "They tend to bond, you know? Form close emotional attachments with human beings they're attracted to. Do snakes bother you?"
    "I'm a gengineer. Nothing living bothers me except a few creatures I can't see with the naked eye."
    I wonder what you'd think of me if you knew my history, he mused. "They're telepathic on the emotional level. Scrap knows what you're feeling. If he chooses to bond with you, you'll never have a more devoted companion or effective bodyguard. Pip and 1 have been together my whole life. I've never had more than a moment or two to regret the relationship."
    "How long do they live?" She was stroking the back of the flying snake's head the way she had seen Flinx caress Pip.
    "Nobody knows. They're uncommon on Alaspin, practically unknown offworld. This is a tough place to do studies in the wild, much less on anything as dangerous as a minidrag." He thought a moment. "Pip was mature when I found her, so she must be around seventeen. That'd be old for a reptile, but the minidrags aren't reptiles."
    "No. I can feel the warmth." She smiled at her new friend. "Well, you're welcome to stay there if that's what you want."
    It was. Flinx could feel it. After considering taking her in his arms and kissing her firmly, he sighed and sat down on his bed. He was an expert at such scenarios but utterly inept at putting them into practice. His fingers worked nervously against each other.
    "I said I'd help you. How do you want to proceed?"
    "I have to get back to my people. I'm sure they're worried sick by now. As far as I know, not a soul knows what's happened to me. They'll be frantic."
    "Because they miss you personally or because you're such an important part of their research machinery?"
    "Both," she assured him without batting an eye. "But it's bigger than just me now. From their questions, I gather that these fanatics want to shut down our whole project. Kidnapping me was one way to slow everything down as well as acquire the information they wanted for the rest."
    "Pardon me, but you don't look old enough to be that important to any company."
    Her expression started to twist. Then she saw he was teasing her. "Your point. I won't make any more comments about your age if you'll do the same for me."
    "Much better."
    "I have to get back quickly. My absence slows everything up. I'm kind of the insightful hub of the project. They come to me for breakthroughs, for new ways of looking at things. Not for everyday design work. I'm intuitive where practically everyone else is deductive." She spoke so matteroffactly that he knew she was not boasting, just stating the facts.
    "It's all going to come to a grinding halt without roe there, if it hasn't already. Just get me to Alaspinport. Then we'll decide what to do next. I guess I'll have to disguise myself somehow. Besides looking for me out here, you can be sure they'll be swarming all over the one shuttle area like lice, or whatever it was you called those things that scarred my legs."
    "Millimite bugs, mostly." He stared at her thighs.
    When he looked back up, he saw her grinning at him. "Like what you see?"
    He struggled to appear blase. "Nice legs, bad bites."
    "Maybe I shouldn't try to get out on the first ship. I'll bet not too many call at Alaspin." She was arguing with herself, he saw. "But if l don't try for the next one, I might be stuck here for weeks until another liner orbits, and that'll give them that much more time to close in on me. So I suppose I'll have to try slipping onto the first one no matter how many people they have watching the port." As if suddenly remembering she was not alone, she glanced back at him. "I don't suppose you have any friends in the planetary government?"
    "There is no planetary government. This is an H Class Eight frontier world. There's a Commonwealthappointed administrator and peaceforcers on call. That's about it. Pretty wideopen place."
    "Well, it doesn't matter," she said firmly. "I have to try to make it clear on the first available ship not only to save myself but to ware my people."
    "Alaspin has a deepspace beam. Paid for by the protectors, I understand. You could try contacting them that way. "
    She shook her head. "No receiver station where I come from."
    "How about beaming a message to the nearest receiver world and sending it along by courier?"
    "I don't know. They might be watching the message depot here as well. And it's easy to intercept a courier packet. Then I wouldn't know if they received my message or not. Don't underestimate these people, Flinx. I wouldn't be surprised if they're screening everything that goes through Alaspinport. They knew enough to smuggle me in. They'll make it hard to smuggle anything out."
    "Sounds to me like you don't have a lot of options."
    "No." Her voice fell. "No, I guess I don't." She stared at him. "You said you'd help me. I asked you for suggestions. I'm asking you again. Maybe we could bribe someone to let us skip departure procedures."
    "Not enough of a crowd to get lost in." He coughed silently into a closed fist. "There is one other possibility. I could take you back."
    She made a face. "I don't follow you. Are you talking about something like me traveling along as your wife under an assumed name? Maybe in some kind of disguise?"
    "Not exactly. I mean I could literally take you back. See, I have my own ship."
    A long silence followed. He found himself fidgeting uncomfortably under her stare. "You have your own ship? You mean that you come from a ship in orbit and are waiting to rejoin the rest of the crew? That's what you mean, isn't it? An unscheduled freighter or something like that?"
    He was shaking his head. "No. I mean that I have my own ship, registered in my name. I'm the owner. It's called the Teacher."
    "You're teasing me, making a joke. It isn't funny, Pins. Not after what I've been through."
    "It's no joke. The Teacher's not very big, but it's more than spacious enough for my needs. One more human being won't crowd my space."
    She gaped at him. "You aren't kidding, are you?" She slumped in the chair next to the still unrestored bathroomdoor holo. "A nineteenyearold ba nineteen-yearold who owns his own ship. By himself? It's not sublight?"
    "Oh, no," he said quickly. "It'll go anywhere in the Commonwealth you want. Full KKdrive, very narrow projection field, custom dish lining, the full complement of automatics. I just tell it where we want to go, and she goes there."
    "Who are you, Flinx, that at your age you can own an interstellar vessel? I've heard that the heads of the great trading families have their own private crafts, and that others have access to special company ships. I know that the government maintains ships for diplomatic service, and that the Counselors First of the United Church have small fast vessels for their needs. Who are you to treat equally with them? The inheritor of one of the Great Trading Houses?"
    Mother Mastiff would have found that amusing, Flinx knew. "Hardly. I've never had much interest in commerce in the conventional sense." I used to relieve the wealthy of their excess without their knowledge, but that hardly qualifies as trade, he thought.
    "Then what are you? What is it that you do?"
    He considered the question carefully, wanting to give her an answer she could believe without stretching the truth overmuch.
    "I guess you could say I'm a student doing advanced work."
    "Studying what?"
    "Mostly myself and my immediate environment."
    "And what is your `immediate environment'?"
    "For someone whose life was just saved, you ask a lot of questions. Wherever I happen to be at the moment, I guess. Look," he told her with some firmness, "I've offered to take you anywhere you want to go, to help you get safely off this world and away from these mysterious crazies you keep talking about. Isn't that enough?"
    "More than enough."
    There was no reason for him to go on, but something within him compelled him to answer the rest of her question. "If you're so interested in how I came by ownership of the Teacher, it was a gift."
    "Some gift! For what even the smallest class of interstellar vessels cost, I could live in comfort for the rest of my life. So could you."
    "Living in comfort doesn't especially interest me," he told her honestly. "Traveling, finding things out, meeting interesting people, that interests me a great deal. I did a favor once for some friends, and their gift to me in return was the Teacher."
    "Whatever you say." Clearly she did not believe a word he had told her but was sensible enough not to probe further. "Your personal life's none of my business."
    "You don't have to accept if it makes you nervous."
    He was surprised how badly he was hoping she would accept. True, she was a gengineer, a member of a profession he had come to regard with both awe and fear. But she was also attractive. No, he corrected himself, that was not quite right. What she was, was extraordinarily beautiful. That was not a quality often found in tandem with great intelligence.
    Put simply, he did not want to see the last of her. Not even if much of her story was a carefully crafted fabrication designed solely to gain his help. If that was the case, she had certainly achieved her aim.
    "Of course I accept. What else am I going to do? I'm ready to go right now, this minute. It's not like I have to pack. Nor do you strike me as the sort of man who carries around a tot of excess baggage."
    Rather than probe possible double meanings, he replied simply, "You're right; I don't. But we're not leaving just yet."
    "Why not?" She was obviously puzzled.
    "Because after ferrying you halfway across the Ingre jungle only to wake up and find you with a knife in your hand and selfconfessed intentions of slitting my throat, I need one decent night's rest in a real bed."
    She had the grace to blush. "That won't happen again. I told you, I was confused."
    "Doesn't matter. It's been a long couple of weeks for me, and now I have to consider you and your troubles. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning, when it's less hot. Remember, we should be rested. You've been sleeping for days. I haven't.
    "Besides, if these people are trying to track you, delaying here will cause them to spread their search wider and wider afield. Be that much simpler for us to avoid detection when we leave."
    "You know best," she said reluctantly. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask considering everything you've done for me already, but my stomach feels like the inside of Cascade Cavern."
    "Where's that?"
    "On the world where I'm working."
    "I'm not surprised. You've been surviving on intravenous and ampoules since I found you."
    "Any kind of solid food would be wonderful."
    He considered. "I suppose your system's ready. I guess since I'm going to take you an unknown number of parsecs, I can afford to spring for a couple of meals as well."
    "Oh, I'll see that you're paid," she said quickly. "When I'm returned, my company will pay you for the trip and your trouble."
    "No need. It's been a long time since I've bought supper for a beautiful woman."
    My God, he thought sharply. I actually said that, didn't I!
    The softening of her expression was proof that he had indeed.
    "Just don't overdo it. Otherwise it'll kick back on you, and you'll be sick for the whole journey."
    "Don't worry about me. I have an iron gut. I can eat anything. Or doesn't that square with your image of the beautiful woman?" She was disappointed when he did
    not comment. "You say you're a student, but that stillI
    doesn't tell me what you're about."I
    He checked the hallway carefully, Pip riding well back on his shoulders, Scrap clinging with his tail to Clarity's sidetail. Only when he was sure it was quiet and empty did he proceed in the direction of the small hotel dining room.
    "That's all," he told her. "Just a student."
    "Null and void. You're more than that. I'm no emotional telepath like your flying snakes, but I can tell there's more to you than studying, Flinx. More than learning. Don't tell me if you don't want to. Damn; there I go, prying again." He sensed rather than saw her smile. "You've got to excuse me. It's the nature of my mind, not to mention my work. If you're half the student you claim to be, you'll understand my curiosity."
    Curiosity? Yes, he was curious. Also frustrated and angry and frightened and exhilarated. Wasn't that true of any young human being?
    As to what he was really about, no one, not even the people who had played God with his mind and body prior to his birth, knew the answer to that.
    I am, he thought suddenly, a drum in a vacuum.
Chapter Five
     
    There weren't many people in the dining room, for which he was grateful. For the first time in memory he found himself enjoying a conversation that touched on nothing of importance. It was relaxing and reassuring. Wasting time, he found, could be fun as well as therapeutic.
    He had heard of half sleep. It was the time called waking by others, when one was not quite conscious yet no longer asleep. He had never experienced it. One moment he was sound asleep, the next he was fully awake and alert. There was never anything like a transition stage as there seemed to be with other people. Whether it was a function of his peculiar mind or simply his street upbringing in the back alleys of Drallar, he had no way of knowing. He had never spoken to anyone else about it.
    So it was that he found himself staring into near darkness with only the light of one of Alaspin's two moons casting shadows through the room. Pip was lying close to his face, her tongue flicking rapidly against his left eye until it opened. Realizing that she had awakened him and knowing she would never do so arbitrarily, he was instantly alert.
    He kept his eyes halfclosed as he studied the room. A long low outline was visible beneath the covers on the other bed. He could hear Clarity's soft breathing as she slept comfortably and undisturbed. What reason, then, for rousing him? Someone else might have risen then to have a look around. Flinx did not. Whatever had upset Pip would make itself known to him as well.
    Only after a while did he see the shapes moving against the far wall. He tilted his head imperceptibly until he could see the door. At first glance it appeared closed. Only by concentrating hard was he able to make out the light mask that had been unrolled in front of it. Halfopen at least. Probably a noise mask behind it. The treated Mylar foam would give the impression to any casual onlooker inside or out that the door was still tightly shut.
    He made out a pair but knew there might be more. On the floor, perhaps, or behind the screen. One advanced into the light from the window. Instead of trying to avoid the moonglow, the figure continued blithely on, taking on the slightly mottled color of the light and shadows, blending perfectly into floor and walls.
    Chameleon suit, Flinx mused. Fits like a second skin and adapts instantly to any background and lighting. As a boy he had often wished for one. Not the kind of toy children normally wish for, but then, there had been little that was normal about his childhood.
    The only things the chameleon suit could not camouflage were the slits for eyes, nose, and mouth. Three more sets of eerily disembodied organs were advancing along the other wall in the direction of the two beds. It would not be necessary to ask the wearers their intentions. One did not enter a private room in the middle of the night in a chameleon suit, breaking a lock in the process, to hand someone winnings from a lottery.
    In such a situation a number of options were available. You could sit up and demand to know what the intruders wanted. You could pull a gun and start shooting, leaving questions for the police. Or you could do as Flinx did: lie quietly, imitating normal sleep breathing, watching out of halfclosed eyes to see what the intruders planned to do next.
    Three of them paused close together. They did not converse but merely exchanged looks, having obviously planned their moves well in advance. He dared not raise up or move his head for a better view.
    The leader took something from a pocket attached to his right leg. It gleamed dully in the moonlight, a small canister with a flexible cuplike scoop over one end. Gas, Flinx thought automatically. Probably odorless, colorless, and fastacting. Certainly not lethal. If the intruders had intended to kill the room's occupants, they could easily have done so from the door.
    The figure bent low and moved to the foot of Clarity's bed, extending the canister before it. Abruptly it halted as something appeared between it and the sleeping woman. Something small, superfast, and hissing.
    The intruders had rehearsed certain possibilities, but small superfast hissing creatures had evidently not been figured into their various scenarios. The sudden appearance of a small flying snake half a meter from one's face would be enough to unsettle the most professional assassin.
    The man let out a startled oath and stumbled backward. It was enough to stir Clarity. Rolling onto her back, she drew a hand across her forehead and moaned softly. Flinx saw her eyelids flutter.
    One of the canister carrier's companions spoke quickly and intently. "Stun the animal and then her. Now!"
    The figure holding the canister raised it and moved a thumb over the recessed stud, which he never had time to press. From the tubular ridge tucked beneath its palate, the minidrag ejected less than half a cc of venom under high pressure. The poison hit the intruder in the eyes.
    It was the end of pretense, of stealth, of careful movements in the dark. The man flung the canister across the room in a single convulsive movement as both hands went to his face. Screaming in pain as the highly caustic toxin ate at his eyes, he began ripping at his suit, tearing it from his head. Dissolving flesh bubbled audibly in the no longer quiet room.
    Flinx dropped out of bed. Not on the far side, which was where anyone would expect him to go, but into the narrow cleft between his bed and Clarity's. As he did so, a previously unobserved intruder rose from the other side of his bed and fired a needle beam, which penetrated pillow, mattress, and probably the floor beneath the bed where Flinx had been sleeping moments earlier. The beam was bright blue in the darkness, and it crackled nastily.
    Realizing he had seared nothing but linen, the gunman started to rise for another shot at the bed's unexpectedly absent occupant, only to find Pip hovering shockingly within wingbeat of his face. His eyes widened, visible even in the bad light, and he jerked his head to one side.
    To give him credit, he was fast. The venom struck him at the hairline instead of in the eyes.
    The man Scrap had struck lay motionless on the floor, already dead. Minidrag neurotoxin killed in less than a minute once it entered the bloodstream, freezing the human nervous system as easily as one would stop an appliance by touching a button. The intruder Pip had hit had escaped this instant death. Instead, he had to deal with the poison that was entering his head via the auditory canal. He was staggering about and screaming as he fired wildly with the needier.
    Pip and Scrap darted effortlessly about the room, avoiding clumsy shots and creating enormous chaos. There were more than three intruders, Flinx saw. More than five. That was when he noticed Clarity starting to sit up. Her mouth opened, and she inhaled preparatory to screaming.
    Clamping his right hand over her mouth, he used his left to drag her out of the bed and down to the floor. She fell on top of him, which under different circumstances would have been delightful but at that moment did not intrigue him in the slightest.
    "Quiet," he whispered intensely as the battle raged around them. "Just shut up and be quiet. You're in the safest place in the room right now."
    She stared dazedly into his eyes, then nodded slowly. He removed his hand from her face.
    All around them was the noise of pounding feet, screams, the metallic hiss of needlers and the hum of hand beamers as the small army of kidnappers fired madly at the swooping, spitting minidrags. More often than not they ended up hitting one another.
    It seemed to strike them simultaneously that they could do no good here, the way an invading army suddenly realizes it has been outflanked by the enemy it intended to crush. A silken rip sounded as one man plunged headfirst through the light mask and out into the hall. Brighter light from the hallway fixtures flooded into the room. He was followed by his companions. There were too many for Flinx to count in the confusion. They must have been infiltrating the room for thirty minutes or more before Pip woke him.
    Some continued to howl as they tried to cope with the effects of minidrag toxin while they retreated. Other shouts were beginning to be heard, confused and angry voices. Doors opened onto other rooms, and tenants peered out to see what had disturbed their sleep. As they caught sight of the chameleon suits and the weapons, they retreated in haste.
    "Pip?" Flinx straightened cautiously. "Pip, get back in here! That's enough."
    It was several minutes before the big flying snake returned to the room, having pursued the last of the intraders to the bottom of the first flight of stairs. If Flinx had not called her back, she would have emptied her store of poison and might well have killed every last one of their assailants. Flinx did not want that. He planned flight, not mass murder. And in better light there was always the chance one of the attackers might get off an accurate shot.
    Scrap hovered behind her, straying aloft while his mother landed at the foot of Flinx's bed. She did not fold her wings and relax, Flinx noted, a suggestion of more trouble to come.
    Only then did he notice how tightly Clarity was clinging to him. "It's them," she mumbled, the fear sharpedged in her voice.
    "Of course it was them. Unless there's someone else who wants you badly enough to kill." He looked toward the still open door. "There were a lot of them. More than I would've expected."
    She turned her face toward him. She was only centimeters away. "I told you how badly they want me." He could feel her trembling against him. No false bravado now. She was scared out of her wits.
    "It's okay." He wanted to be clever and fearless and nonchalant but only ended up being himself. "They're gone."
    "The snakes," she murmured. "The minidrags." She glanced at Pip and her still hovering offspring. Scrap kept pivoting in midair, spoiling for more fight, searching for fresh enemies.
    She stood, and he rose with her. Half a dozen bodies littered the floor. Several lay facedown. Others did not. The latter were not nice to look upon. Flying snake venom and nitric acid had similar effects on human flesh. No wonder people who were familiar with the minidrag's abilities hurried to cross the street when they saw Flinx coming.
    "Pip woke me," he told her. "She sensed the threat. There was no need for me to move first. If I had, someone would've shot me. I always try to avoid that sort of thing because minidrags don't have halfreactions. You can't tell Pip just to wound somebody. There's no such thing as a limited flying snake strike."
    They stepped over the body of a very large man who had fallen at the base of both beds. Clarity's eyes rose from the body to the doorway.
    "I wonder if they'll come back?"
    "Not immediately. Would you?"
    She shook her head sharply. Scrap darted toward her, and she moved to duck. Flinx hastened to reassure her.
    "Relax. I think you've made a friend, though there's no way of telling if he acted to protect me, his mother, or you. Remember that he can tell what you're feeling, so he knows you mean me no harm. As long as that's true, there's no reason for you to be afraid of him."
    "You told me," she said, straightening. "You told me, but I still couldn't imagine how lethal they are."
    "Many people know that they're deadly. What they don't realize is how fast and agile they are or how rapidly their toxin acts on the human body. Short of militaryclass armor or an atmosphere suit, there's no protection against them."
    He could feel as well as see the tension in her when Scrap decided to settle anew on her shoulder. Though the young minidrag relaxed, he kept his wings unfurled and ready for instant flight.
    "They must still be out there or Pip would be falling asleep after exerting herself like that. Must be trying to formulate some new strategy."
    Clarity turned nervously to the window. "Surely they won't try to rush the room."
    "Not now they won't. Pip and Scrap aside, too many guests saw them fleeing. But if they want you as badly as they seem to, they might not act rationally.
    "When they first broke in, the intention was to gas you. Probably me as well, as a safety measure. If they really want you and they have access to a decent volume of the sniff, there's nothing to keep them from gassing the whole hotel, particularly if it's strictly morphic in nature. "
    "The police?"
    He grinned slightly. "Mimmisompo's a small, open frontier town. If the hotel manager lives in, he might, just might, try contacting the cops. The hotel automatics will talk to police automatics. In either event, the police will take their time getting here. If the shooting was reported, they'll take a lot more time in the hopes that all the shooters will be dead by the time they arrive."
    He was already at the dresser, throwing his few belongings into the simple carryall pack. "That means we have to move fast, because if your friends intend trying for you again, they'll want to do so before any police happen to wake up and take an interest in the night's goingson."
    She took a hesitant step toward the door. "How can we leave if they're still out there?"
    "We have to leave because we can't stay here. They came in when the door was locked. They won't stop because a few people happened to see them leaving." He took her by the hand. "They might be on their way back up already. We don't want to hang around and find oat."
    She let him pull her along. "Where are you going?" He did not reply.
    Pip rose from Flinx's shoulder to scan both ends of the hall, whizzing in seconds from one end to the other and back again to her master. Nightlights glowed from their recesses, giving everything an eery olivehued cast.
    Only one door stood ajar, framing a large older man with a protruding paunch. His whole head had been shaved down to the ears. Hair trailed a dozen centimeters over them, surrounding his head. The effect in the dim light was as if someone had yanked a fringed cap down below his eyes.
    "Hey, what's happening? What's going on?" He leaned out into the hall as they approached. "Party's too loud for me. I'm gonna look for another hotel."
    "Us, too," Flinx told him, his eyes working the corridor.
    Pip spread her wings and zoomed ahead. The big man, who looked like he did not fear anything in this or any other world, caught sight of the oncoming minidrag and let out a shocked oath. He ducked back into his room, and Flinx heard the emergency latch click shut electronically.
    "Everyone here knows what a minidrag can do. " Flinx started down the fire stairs. "As long as Pip stays in front of us, no one else will."
    She was going to need a huge meal, he knew. Hovering and flying so much burned a tremendous amount of energy. It seemed impossible they could maintain flight for so long, but as little was known about the flying snakes' internal makeup as was known about the rest of their nature.
    They descended carefully, Flinx grateful that the hotel was only three stories high. No one challenged them in the stairwell, where the nightlights were even dimmer than those lining the hallways.
    There were two doors at the bottom, one to either side of the tower landing. One probably led back into the hotel, to the kitchen or warehousing area. The other led ...
    Into a service alley that ran between commercial structures, which they entered after Flinx had disarmed the fire alarm on the door. A narrow, charged rail ran down the center of the alley, providing power and lift for robotic delivery vehicles. Flinx cautioned Clarity to avoid the rail as they hurried down the damp corridor. It would not kill, but it could badly shock a fullgrown man.
    "Where are we going? To get a vehicle, right? We're going to get transportation and head for Alaspinport. Will there be a rental agency open this late?"
    "In a town like Mimmisompo you can get anything you want at any hour, if you have enough money. But we aren't going to rent. Rentals can be noted, and traced."
    He anxiously scanned the route ahead. Not for the first time in his life he wondered if he should be carrying a weapon. The only problem with a gun was that it was a provocation as much as a defense. Besides, Pip would deal much more effectively with any serious threat. Her reactions were a hundred times faster than his. As a child he had found himself in situations where possession of a weapon would have been more of a hindrance than a help, so he had learned to get along without them. That did not keep him from occasionally wishing for the comforting weight of one at his belt or in a shoulder holster.
    Scrap rode high on Clarity's shoulder, a good indication that the danger, while not ended, was not immediate. He could not count on her pursuers delaying for very long, he knew. They might be in the bedroom already, might have discovered their quarry missing. The next thing they would do would be to thoroughly search the hotel and its immediate environs, checking other rooms to see if Flinx and Clarity had sought refuge with another guest. Certainly the front entrance would be covered from the start.
    It would take them a while to figure out that the alarm on the back stairs had been disconnected long enough to let someone out into the service alley. Despite his caution, he knew they were leaving all kinds of trails behind them. Body scent heightened by fear, pheromones, heat signaturesall could be isolated and followed if one had the right kind of equipment. It could not be helped. Whether their pursuers were equipped with such sophisticated tracking devices depended on whether they had anticipated possible failure. It did not seem likely, but he could not count on convenient oversights to shield them.
    "This way." He all but wrenched her arm loose pulling her around a sharp corner. Now that Alaspin's second moon had joined its companion in the night sky, the light was better for trying to find a new route through the city.
    Already they were passing residences, the service alley far behind as they kept to back streets. Lights made owls' eyes of oval and round windows while the echo of tridee and music drifted out to the otherwise empty streets. There were no bugs to worry about. Industrial electronic repellers kept even the persistent millimite bugs a hundred meters from the nearest structure. Unfortunately, Mimmisompo was not wealthy enough to afford climate control, so it was still hot and humid. Sweat trickled from both refugees as they ran.
    "Where are we going?" Clarity gasped. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up." She was breathing with difficulty in the midnight heat.
    "You'll keep it up as long as necessary, because I'm not going to carry you."
    They had left the private homes behind and found themselves surrounded by air pressure domes and fabric warehousing. "I'm looking for the right transportation."
    She frowned as she searched the vicinity. "Here? I don't see any cars."
    "I'm not looking for an aircar or slinkem," he told her tersely. "That's the first type of vehicle they'd watch for. I want something difficult to trace." He paused. "This'll do."
    It didn't look like much of a fence, only a succession of posts set in the ground five meters apart. Each was six meters high and pulsed with faint yellow light.
    "That's a photic barrier," she said. "You can't climb it because there's nothing to climb, you can't walk through it, and you can't tip over any of the posts. Do anything to disrupt the alignment and you'll probably set off a dozen distinct alarms."
    Once again he ignored her as he studied the half dozen machines parked beneath a rain shield on the far side of the service yard. All were battered and heavily used and unlikely to draw attention to themselves. It was exactly what he wanted for himself and his companion. He settled on a large lumbering skimmer whose back end consisted of compartmentalized cubes for storing prepackaged cargo. It could have been anything from a hazardouswaste dumper to a dairy delivery vehicle. Clarity paid no attention to him. She was scanning the dark buildings they had skirted, looking for silent shapes afoot in the night. She didn't turn around until she heard the barely audible soft clicking.
    From a back pocket Flinx had extracted something the size and shape of a pack of plastic cards. Taking a couple of steps away from the wall, he drew back his arm and flipped the object in a sweeping underhand motion. Instead of sailing in all directions across the damp street, the plastic strips snapped together to form a straight line five meters in length. Using his hands, he bent it in two places to create a rigid U shape taller and considerably wider than his body.
    Clarity eyed it dubiously. "What's that for? It's not tall or strong enough to use as a ladder."
    "It's not a ladder. It's a portable gate." Pressing one hand against each side of the U's interior, he lifted the entire frame. Holding it around him like a levitating headdress, he walked right through the photic wall. The glowing sensors didn't flicker as he intercepted their beams. No alarms flared to life. Pip rode through on his shoulder.
    Now he turned on the other side and repositioned the gate for her. "Come on. Unless you'd rather stand out in the street."
    Unable to concoct a reason for hesitating, she did as he instructed, bending to slip under his arm as he held the gate for her.
    Safely inside the barrier, he gave the gate a magician's twist and she gaped as it collapsed back into his hand. He slipped the packet back into his pocket.
    "Doppler deck," he explained. "Bends light around you. It can't make you invisible, but under the right conditions you can fake it pretty well. Bent the sensors around both of us. We didn't interrupt them. Just made them avoid us."
    "Fascinating." She followed him as he strode rapidly across the lightly paved yard. "Expensive?"
    He nodded. "It's not the sort of toy you'd find at a special sale. It's a precision instrument designed to look like junk, which is costly. When I was younger, I used something like it that was a lot cruder. Sometimes it did what it was supposed to. A lot of the time it didn't. That was inconvenient at best, embarrassing at worst. I determined that if I could ever afford it, I'd have the best analog equipment made. So I had this built for me."
    "Is that because you have to frequently override private security procedures?"
    "Not really. I just like to have good tools handy."
    "You said you used something like it when you were younger. What did you do as a child that required the use of something like that?"
    "I was a thief," he told her simply. "It was the only way I could survive. '°
    "Are you still a thief?"
    "No. Now I pay for everything I need, sooner or later."
    "More sooner or later?"
    "Depends on my mood."
    They hurried past the line of vehicles until he halted before the bulky cargo skimmer. Another pocket yielded a folded leatherine wallet that when opened revealed a host of tiny tools. Each was as perfect and beautiful as a jewel. In point of fact, the thranx who had fashioned the wallet and its contents for him was renowned as a jeweler. Such projects as Flinx's wallet were a hobby for him, a hobby that Flinx knew was more lucrative than the thranx's admitted profession.
    Choosing one particular instrument, he commenced working on the trisealed secure lock that held the skimmer's door closed. Though still fearful of immediate attack, Clarity was so absorbed in watching him work that she no longer stared past the photic barrier at the street beyond.
    "You must've been a good thief."
    "I was always considered advanced for my age. I don't think I've improved since, but I have better tools to work with now."
    The door did not even click when he popped it open. He climbed up and slid in behind the drive controls.
    The ignition was unlocked. It was easier to secure the doors than the engine and power plant. Under his skilled touch the readouts came to life. He glanced approvingly out at Clarity and nodded. Scrap released her hair to flutter into the cab, taking up a resting position on the back of the passenger's seat.
    Elsewhere skimmers had open cabs, but not on Alaspin. Here all were enclosed, airconditioned, and bugresistant. Which would be especially nice as they were going to be traveling at night, he knew.
    Clarity grabbed a handle and pulled herself up beside him. She closed her door and turned to regard him in amazement. "You know, I'm beginning to believe you actually have a chance of getting us offworld. You sure you're only"She caught herself. "Sorry. I promised not to mention that again, didn't I?"
    "You did."
    The skimmer made more of a racket on low lift than he had hoped it would, but since the service yard he had penetrated was presumed secure, there was no need for a human guard to be kept on duty. The security monitor would report anything unusual to a central facility as well as to the district police.
    Since there was no dome or solid roof, he assumed the presence of a shortrange security blanket, close cousin to the photic wall he had already sidestepped. That would be necessary to prevent any wouldbe thieves or vandals from simply flying in over the wall. He also expected vehicles inside the wall to be appropriately equipped with the means for negating it. A couple of minutes' work with the skimmer's onboard 'pate produced the requisite broadcast code. He punched it in and waited patiently for it to notify the company's central security facility.
    Hopefully no one would read the evening's report until morning. By then the absence of the big skimmer would probably have been noted visually. It would take time to determine that no night deliveries or pickups had been scheduled, more time to make certain the skimmer had not been borrowed by an authorized driver or executive. By the time Alaspinport authorities could be informed of its presumed theft and provided with a description, its nocturnal riders would have abandoned it none the worse for wear except for rundown batteries. For the use of which, he unnecessarily mentioned to Clarity, he intended to pay.
    They had one bad moment as the skimmer lifted eighty meters above the yard and turned left out of the city. Out in the commercial district, away from the bars and simulated strip joints and stimclubs, few lights showed belowuntil a smaller, much faster skimmer shot by hard aport. Clarity yelped and tried to duck between the seats while Scrap rose and darted in all directions at once, getting in Flinx's way and causing minor havoc with his steering.
    Flinx had a brief, appalling glimpse of the other vehicle as it veered sharply to the left without banking. Laughing, probably drunk young faces given ghostly life by the skimmer's internal lights leered at him for an instant and were gone.
    "Kids." He looked down and to his right. "Get up. Your friends haven't found us. It was just kids out joyriding. Not much else to do in a place like Mimmisompo. Even scientists and prospectors have kids."
    They were out over raw jungle now, heading for the immense savanna that bordered both sides of the Aranoupa River. Following the river southwest would take them to the granite outcropping occupied by Alaspinport, a crooked finger of land extending out into the sea.
    She rose slowly, fright fading from her face like a temporary tan. She looked small, vulnerable, and afraid.
    "I'm sorry. It was just so unexpected. Everything was going so well. You were handling everything so smoothly."
    "I'm still handling things smoothly." His attention wandered from the night sky to the readout that showed their position relative to Mimmisompo and Alaspinport. Their transportation might be a wellused antique, but the internal electronics were reassuringly uptodate.
    Sitting back in her seat, she rubbed at her eyes with the backs of both hands, then looked over at him. "You're sure it was just a bunch of kids?"
    He nodded. "Seventeen, eighteen. Mimmisompo's not a bad place for someone without education or training to try for a fortune."
    "Like you, maybe? Except you aren't a kid."
    Feeling it appropriate under the circumstances, he tried to smile and discovered that he could not. "I was born old. I was never a kid. No, that's not quite it; I was born tired."
    "I don't believe you. I think you just like to pretend that you're slow and tired to keep others from trying to find out more about you."
    "Can't you just accept the fact that I'm a quiet loner who likes his peace and quiet and privacy?"
    "No, I can't."
    "Why not?"
    "Because I think I know you better than that already, if you'll excuse my presumption. You are also the strangest young man I've ever met in my life. I guess you'll be upset if I add that I find you particularly attractive, too."
    "No. You can tell me that all you want." He was afraid she would do just that, but she did not. Apparently his reply was all she had wanted to hear.
    It was the last question, for a while, anyway. She nestled back into her seat and gazed silently out at the empty Alaspinian night. Meanwhile he worried about the absence of a decent scanner. The skimmer was equipped with standard delivery system electronics, which meant you could always tell where you were but had no idea where anyone else was. It would help when they reached Alaspinport and he sought to abandon the vehicle in a safe place, but it was useless for trying to find out if you were being paralleled, followed, or otherwise tracked.
    Pip could detect hostile intent, but only over a short distance. The minidrag was sound asleep, exhausted by her earlier exertions in his defense. Even Scrap rested, a gleaming scaly bracelet lit by the glow of the skimmer's instrumentation.
    He preferred to assume their departure had gone undetected than to think of Clarity's assailants trailing them just out of sight. By now they must be combing the alleys and buildings around the hotel. The likelihood of their discovering the missing cargo skimmer and connecting it to their quarry was small. He reminded himself that he had no idea how extensive or advanced their tracking equipment might be.
    He would have preferred company in the sky. The lone cargo skimmer would stand out on any plotting screen. Few people chase to travel across the treetops at night.
    There he went, borrowing trouble again. Tiring himself out mentally dealing with a nonexistent threat. Better to conserve himself for real danger.
    A glance showed his companion still alert and staring out the window. "Try to get some sleep. The sun'll be up soon."
    "I'll sleep when I'm off Alaspin and in spaceplus. The last time I tried to sleep, I had a rude awakening." She indicated the instruments. "Can't this hulk go any faster?"
    "It's not built for speed. I picked it because I thought it would be the most inconspicuous on a screen and the most likely to be parked on full charge. I could have chosen something smaller, more maneuverable, and quicker. We could also have run out of power in the middle of the savanna. You don't want to try walking out of the Aranoupa savanna. The surface has a nasty habit of turning to sludge underfoot, and its full of unpleasant things that don't react kindly to having their habitat disturbed. Better we get to Alaspinport slowly but surely.
    "Besides, anyone hunting you would first go after an obvious passenger craft, not a clunker like this."
    "You've worked it out very carefully. And I thought you just grabbed the first machine you thought you could break into."
    "I could have broken into any of them. And I'm sure I've still overlooked something important."
    "You know," she said admiringly, "I think I'll be better off if I just shut up and let you take care of me instead of asking stupid questions."
    "That's the first thing you've said since I met you that justifies your name."
    She shook her head but could not repress a smile. "Awfully young to be so sarcastic." She turned back to the window and the dark view outside.
    The skimmer was moving right at a hundred and fifty kph, clearing the tops of the tallest grasses by a good fifty meters. Occasionally Flinx would angle left or right simply to vary their course and confuse any plotting computer that might be tracking them. Significant variations would waste too much power. He wanted to keep enough of a charge in the skimmer's cells to approach Alaspinport in a wide curve, from the ocean side instead of from the savanna. That would further confuse anyone trying to tail them.
    "How much longer?"
He checked the dash cartographic readout. "Straight line from Mimmisompo to Alaspinport is about fourteen hundred kilometers. We'll be there in time for lunch. You don't mind if we skip eating, do you'? Not that I wouldn't mind something, but I don't want to waste time in a restaurant."
    "I'm hungry right now."
    He sighed. "Have a look around. This is a working machine. I don't see a protein synthesizer, but I'll bet there's an internal still for condensing drinking water out of the air. There might be flavorings or concentrates somewhere. A heavyduty cloud banger like this might come equipped with emergency rations in case the driver is forced down somewhere."
    "I'll have a look."
    It took her half an hour to produce fruitflavored ration bars and juice concentrates to add to the water the skimmer drew from the sky. The result was a nutritious if pedestrian meal. Human fuel.
    Once back on the Teacher he could offer her a real repast. It had elaborate synthesizing facilities. A candlelight dinner simulated by electronics. Repair robots rapidly reprogrammed to serve as butlers and waiters. He grinned to himself. He could make a real production out of it, impress her with his resources and skills. And did he want to impress her? He tried not to glance furtively in her direction.
    She had offered to help drive, and he had turned her down. The long flight relaxed him. He was much more comfortable with electronics than with people.
    Sure, why not impress her? Maybe on board the Teacher, back in familiar surroundings, he would be able to relax in her presence. Get to know her and find out if she was half as brilliant as she thought she was. Certainly whoever was chasing her had a high opinion of her abilities.
    She was not the only one torn with curiosity, he reflected as he smoothly guided the skimmer into a slow turn westward.
Chapter Six
     
    Since no ship rose to intercept them or question their presence, he felt reasonably safe in approaching Alaspin on a narrower path than he had originally planned, coming in from the north instead of the east. When he was fifty kilometers out, he swerved sharply onto a straight heading for the shuttleport, saving a half hour's flight time.
    They passed over the broad northern bay with its deserted white sand beaches, shadowing half a dozen lowflying sea skimmers that were working the shellfish beds off the inner reef. Alaspin's extensive, shallow oceans were ideal breeding grounds for shellfish, both native and introduced varieties, but the industry was just getting started. Most of what was gathered was for local consumption. Not that he cared about making money, it was just that all his life he had been around people for whom commerce was the raison d't6tre, and he could not avoid picking up a little of their way of thinking. Mother Mastiff, for example, preferred to talk about different ways of making money above all else.
    He had acquired, however, greater concerns than building a fortune. Money was, after all, nothing more than a means for securing freedom, and freedom was the precursor to learning. And learning? What was learning for? He had not quite decided that one yet.
    Hell, I'm only nineteen. Think about Clarity Held instead, he told himself. Better still, think about her legs andhe clamped down ruthlessly on that line of thought. Not yet. Don't think about that yet. For now, concentrate on making it safely back to the Teacher.
    Alaspinport's underside was singlestory gritty, bubbling with temporary storage domes whose sole purpose was to separate goods within from fauna and climate without. The few tall structures tended to cluster along the high ridge of land that formed a bluff overlooking the ocean at the end of the port peninsula.
    The shuttleport itself occupied a section of cleared Savanna south of the main city. Though it slowed them down, Flinx inserted the skimmer in the automatic traffic guide pattern above town. It offered anonymity and convenience. Clarity was delighted to be back among crowds, sensing false safety in civilization.
    Instead of requesting formal landing permission at the port, he set down among a cluster of other commercial vehicles near a recharging station. From there it was a short walk to a public tram that let them off inside the port itself.
    There were several private shuttles parked off in their own area. Since no commercial ships hung in orbit that day, the only traffic was atmospheric, aircraft traveling between Crapinia and Mooscoop, frontier towns farther from Alaspinport than even Mimmisompo. The absence of a commercial shuttle lowered Clarity's spirits.
    "If they're here, and you can bet they're all over the port, all they have to do is close in on anything prepping for launch."
    "Why should they? What business is it of theirs if a corporation or family shuttle makes ready to depart? There's no reason to assume you'd be traveling on one."
    "But they'll see me. They'll be watching all the departure lounges, and they'll see me."
    He tried to mute his exasperation. "First of all, while I don't know what kind of contacts these people have on Alaspin, no one's allowed in the private shuttle departure lounge without proper clearance."
    "Then they'll be watching from just outside."
    He considered. "Then we'll just have to get you through without being seen."
    "How? Disguise?"
    "No. I think there's a simpler and more effective way."
    Overhead luminescent broadband displays directed them to the part of the port he was looking for, where a small man sat in a small office behind a flat LCD screen. He looked up expectantly as they entered.
    "Can I be of service?"
    Flinx pushed toward the narrow barrier that separated work from waiting area. "I want to use the facilities."
    The man's welcoming smile faded. "I'm sorry. I'll be happy to do any work you require, but we're not a selfservice concern. Insurance regulations and all that, you know."
    Flinx extracted a thin plastic card from his pants, the lock on the card reading his thumbprint and heat signature and obediently detaching it from the securestrip that kept it fastened to the inside of the pocket. It was an ordinarylooking bright blue card.
    "Run this through your show and tell."
    The man hesitated, then shrugged and complied. Clarity noted that he never did look up from the screen once the card had been decoded.
    "Fix me a price," Flinx finally told him when the man failed to respond.
    "What?"
    "I said, fix me a price for the use of your equipment."
    "Price. Sure." He nodded rapidly, started to rise, then slumped. "I told you that we're not selfservice. I just can't possibly ...
    Without asking permission, Flinx came around the barrier and ran his fingers over the screen's secureboard. The man looked up at him.
    "You can't mean that."
    By way of reply Flinx pressed SCREEN RUN. The machine beeped as it recorded the transaction. The man let out a long breath.
    "What now? What do you want me to do?"
    "Go have something to eat, or go to the bathroom, or go call your wife."
    "I'm not married," the clerk mumbled dazedly.
    "Then go call a friend."
    "Yeah. Right."
    He left the office quickly. Flinx locked the door behind him.
    "What did you do?" Clarity asked, watching him closely.
    "Rented the facilities. Come with me."
    She followed. "What kind of place is this?" Piles of crates and boxes filled platforms and shelves in the long chamber behind the office.
    "You'll see. Stand here." He positioned her on a circular platform.
    "What are you going to do?" She eyed the platform and the nearby machinery warily. "Build me a disguise?"
    "Not exactly." He sat down opposite another large LCD screen and keyboard, studying it thoughtfully.
    "What if they find us here?" He had been examining the screen and board for five minutes, and she was starting to fidget.
    "They won't find us here," he said absently. "Hold still." His fingers rose to the keys.
    She looked down, startled. "Hey, what'
    "I said, don't move."
    She froze, puzzled but trusting. She had no choice but to trust him.
    It was a very elegant box. Normally it was used for transporting live, exotic tropical vegetation. The twometertall cylinder was tinted green and brown to match its usual contents and came lightly scented. It occurred to Flinx that he had neglected to ask if she was claustrophobic, but it was too late now.
    The packaging equipment wove the custom container out of a special fibrous material produced on Alaspin. The strong celluloid base would allow the free flow of air while simultaneously shielding the container's contents from radiation, which meant it would also foil any casually applied detection scanners. Internal noise would be muted. As befitted the transportation of expensive tropical vegetation, it was heavily padded on the inside. It moved on its own builtin, yttrilithium batterypowered repulsion kit. Gyroscopic programming kept it perfectly upright to protect the delicate petals of the plant inside. As a final touch he had stenciled on the exterior, PRODUCT OF ALASPINSENSITIVE FLORADO NOT OPEN, SCREEN, OR HANDLE.
    "I hope that's comfortable," he said aloud when he had finished. There was no answer, of course. She couldn't hear him, nor he, her. The air inside the cylinder would be a little on the warm side, but while temporarily uncomfortable, she was in no danger of suffocation.
    He kept a surreptitious eye out for suspicious types as he convoyed his personal baggage through port Security. No one intercepted him in the lounge, and no one confronted him as he guided the cylinder through the boarding corridor toward his shuttle. Then he was loading the little craft's cargo bay, a touch on the throwaway repulsor's control sending it rising by itself into the belly of the ship.
    "Almost clear," he said aloud, though she still could not hear him.
    He instructed the shuttle's computer verbally, giving simple liftoff and docking instructions, then settled back into the pilot's seat and waited. Upon receiving departure clearance from port authority, the shuttle taxied itself into position. A moment later it was roaring down the runway, gathering speed, its wheels folding up into the delta wings and nose as they cleared the first marsh grass. Thin purple blossoms vibrated in the wake of its passing.
    Clarity had worried needlessly. Whoever had kidnapped her might be resourceful, but they were not omnipotent. He rose. Using interior handholds as gravity left him, he pulled himself back toward the cargo hold. It was time to unpackage his passenger.
     
    The woman standing over him was very tall and extremely pretty, much too beautiful for the vapidfaced young man who had come in with her. An oddly matched couple, but very polite. Almost deferential.
    "You said he had a woman with him? A young woman?" The towering blonde wore the uniform of a port authority guard.
    "Yes." This excited both of them tremendously, though they took obvious pains to hide it. He still could not decide which one was in charge. "Why? Is there a problem?" The size of the bribe he had received from his earlier visitor was weighing heavily on his mind.
    "No, no problem," the young man said softly. `We just want to ask the young lady a couple of questions."
    "Excuse me." A matronly woman in a bright pink and yellow dress came through the door, a plant basket slung under one arm. "I have some freshcured maniga root I'd like shipped today to Tasc'
    The tall blonde stepped in front of her. "Sorry. This office is closed."
    The clerk behind the narrow counter blinked. "Closed? No, we're open here until six."
    "It's closed," the blonde reiterated without looking back at him.
    "But he just said ..." the matron began.
    The tall woman reached down, put a hand in the center of the older woman's chest, and shoved. The matron stumbled backward, barely keeping her balance, and gaped.
    "Well, if you're closed, you're closed!" She spun and hurried out of the office.
    "Hey, wait a minute!" the clerk shouted, rising from his chair. "Official port business is one thing, but"
    "It won't take long." The young man moved nearer as his tall female companion gently shut and locked the door. "And it will go much faster if you cooperate."
    "Of course I'll cooperate," the clerk told him irritably, "but that's no reason to close us down."
    "Questions are understood much better when they're not interrupted in the asking," the blonde said.
    What a lovely speaking voice, the clerk thought, staring at her. Everything about her was gorgeousexcept her attitude. And the port guards were noted for their politeness.
    "Maybe," he said suddenly, "I'd better make a call and check with some people before I answer any more questions." He reached down for the com unit slung beneath his terminal.
    The blonde reached it in two strides and locked her fingers around his wrist. "Maybe," she said softly. "you'd better not."
    He tried to break her grip, but it was as if his wrist had been lassoed with wire. He forced himself to calm down. All these people wanted was some information, and who was he to deny them? There was the back door, but as she released his wrist he had the idea that making a run for it would not be a good idea. Why ruin his day and maybe more than that to shield some stranger's privacy?
    "All right." He sat carefully back in his chair. "Go ahead and ask your questions."
    "Thanks," the young man said. His left eyelid was jumping noticeably. "The people we're after are trying to ruin an entire world. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
    "Of course not. What rightthinking citizen wants that for any world?"
    The twitching went away, though it did not stop completely. "See?" He looked back up at the overpowering blonde. "I told you it would be okay."
    "I still think we should do it the other way, but" She shrugged. "get on with it."
    The clerk found that he was trembling slightly inside, even though he had made the right decision.
Chapter Seven
     
    Although she relaxed completely for the first time since he had met her once the shuttle cleared ionosphere, Flinx did not. He had been around too much and seen too much to know that mere vacuum offered no assurances of safety. He watched and listened intently, but nothing came near them. Traffic around Alaspin was nonexistent. The com unit was silent. They were alone.
    Clarity Held had been impressed by his description of the Teacher. She was overwhelmed when the long, sleek mass of the starship hove into view beyond the shuttle's viewports. When she finally set foot inside after transferring through the personnel lock, the only reaction remaining to her was awe.
        They were in the area that on a commercial vessel would have been designated a commons but that Flinx domestically called his den. In the center stood a raised pond filled with tropical fish from several worlds. It was surrounded by bushes and welltended plants. The ceiling was dressed in a type of vine that grew extremely well in artificial light and did not shed.
    Flinx was very fond of green. The world on which he had been raised was thick with evergreen forest. Pip's home world was all jungle and savanna. He had seen enough of both desert and ice to care for neither.
    Artificial gravity made it all possible, even the bubbling fountain in the center of the pool that spouted both normal and light water. Heavy water behaved normally on board, but light water could be stained different colors. It was a blend of glycerine and gases encased in incredibly thin polymer membranes. It burst into the air in the form of multihued bubbles that were sucked up to vanish into a cone concealed by the ceiling vines. The cone condensed and recycled the bubbles through the water below.
    The furniture was real, roughhewn wood layered with thickly stuffed cushions that responded musically to whoever sat on them, adjusting their melodies to the movements and emotions of the sitters. Purple and deep blue forms chased each other seemingly at random around the circular walls, like so many bugs at a racetrack. The randomness of the chase was part of the art. The den was a remarkable mix of angular geometric shapes and glowing lights, of green growing things and sparkling water, of nature and science.
    Clarity wandered around the room inspecting flora and art. Each element of the decor stood out bright as a child's eyes, as carefully crafted and arranged as if by a professional. Flinx had simply thrown it all together.
    When she was finished, she found her breath again. "You actually do own all this?"
    "People tend to give me things." Flinx smiled in embarrassment. "I don't know why. A few I've picked up on my travels." He gestured. "The fountain and the plants are there because I enjoy looking at both. There are robots, but I prefer working with growing things myself. I seem to have a way with plants."
    He did not tell her he thought his success with plants had something to do with his empathic telepathy, nor did he mention the theories that stated that plants were capable of emotion and feeling. She already thought of him as weird, even if he had saved her life.
    Maybe I should've been a farmer, he thought. Not that there was much room for farmers on Moth. If he had asked for help, the kind of plants Mother Mastiff would probably have encouraged him to grow would have been illegal.
    "We ought to leave," she said abruptly, as if remembering what they were doing on his ship.
    "We're already on our way."
    "Where?" She looked around in surprise, but there were no ports in the common room.
    "Outsystem, away from Alaspin orbit." He checked his wrist chronometer. "It's an easy command to give. The ship takes verbal direction. Much easier than trying to enter it via keyboard. If you hear a third voice speaking, cool, feminineneutral, that's the Teacher. It's not capable of reasoning, so don't try arguing with it. I prefer it that way. I wanted something that would respond immediately to my wishes and not debate possibilities with me."
    "Unlike me?" She walked over to the rock rimwall that enclosed the pool and sat down on the edge, trailing one hand in the water. A flash of crimson steel drifted over on turquoise wings to inspect her fingers. She reached lazily in its direction, and it darted away with a flick of trifinned tail.
    "People give you things. Like this ship, you said."
    "I have a number of interesting friends. They built it for me, actually." He shook his head with the remembrance of it. "I still don't know how they did it. Somehow it didn't strike me as the kind of thing they'd be good at, but then, they didn't seem good at anything. Surprising friends."
    "Oh, how lovely!" She rose and stepped away from the pool. "What's this?"
    She ran her hand over what looked like a dozen Mobius strips orbiting a common center. Where they met and intersected they appeared to vanish into nothingness. When she touched one, a deep bass rumbling filled the common room. Touching another generated a crude whistling. There was nothing holding the arrangement in place a meter and a half above the deck.
    "Some kind of gravity projection?"
    "I don't know." He shrugged. "I acquired it without instructions or explanation, I'm afraid." He nodded forward. "Put your hand in the middle, where the strips converge."
    "Why? Will it disappear?"
    He smiled. "No."
    "All right."
    Eyeing him challenging, she slowly moved her hand into the intersecting space. Her fingers were slightly parted. Instantly, her eyes shut tight and a look of pure bliss passed over her face. Her mouth parted slightly to reveal teeth tightly clenched. Slowly her head arched backward, then rolled forward, taking her whole upper body with it like a ribbon caught in a sudden breeze. He had to run to catch her.
    He half carried, half dragged her to the nearest lounge and gently placed her on the responsive upholstery. The back of her left hand rested against her forehead, and beads of sweat were collecting on her skin like Burmese pearls. She wore the expression for two minutes. Then she blinked, wiped away the sweat, and turned to face him.
    "That wasn't fair," she said huskily. "I didn't expectanything like that."
    "Neither did I the first time I put my hand inside. It's a little overwhelming."
    "A little?" She was gazing longingly at the floating confluence of Mobius strips. "I've never felt anything like that in my life, and my hand was only in there for a moment. But it wasn't just my hand, was it?" She looked back up at him. "It was my whole body."
    "it was your entire being, your self plugged into a highvoltage socket without the danger. At least, I think there's no danger. Just that wondrous surge of pleasure."
    "That," she said firmly as she sat up straight on the lounge, "ought to be illegal."
    He turned away from her. "It is."
    "I never heard of such a device. Where's it built?"
    "On an illegal world by illegal people. There are no restrictions on it because, insofar as I know, it's the only one of its kind. Nobody else knows it exists. The people who made this ship for me" He looked around the commons room. "made that as well. Another gift. They wanted to make sure I felt happy all the time, so they provided me with the means to do so."
    "You could die from that much happiness."
    "I know. Its designers have greater tolerances for everything, including happiness. You have to watch the dose. I only use it when I'm seriously depressed."
    "And do you find yourself seriously depressed often, Flinx?"
    "I'm afraid I do. I was always kind of moody, and it's worse now than when I was a child."
    "I see. It's none of my business and you don't have to tell me, but is there anyone else on this ship?"
    "Only you and I, unless you count Pip and Scrap."
    She shrugged. "I couldn't expect you to tell me about your illegal suppliers."
    "I don't mind. They're really fine folks. Special. I sometimes find myself thinking that they're the universe's chosen ones. They're innocents. Utter innocents, though I've taken some basic steps to remedy that. The Church knows about them, and the government, and they're afraid of that kind of innocence. My friends are also incomprehensible."
    "Would I know of them?"
    "Possibly, but I doubt it." Moving to a tall bluegreen fern, he pushed aside one of the thick fronds to reveal a tiny keyboard. He let his fingers play over the keys. It would have been easier to have entered the command verbally, but he had a childish desire to impress her further.
    To anyone unschooled in galographics, the star clusters that materialized in midair between Flinx and the fountain would have appeared haphazardly aligned. Only on closer inspection could a viewer make out the tiny bright green letters that floated above each sun. A very small proportion of the imaged stars were labeled with yellow pinpoint letters instead of green.
    "The Commonwealth," he explained unnecessarily.
    The AAnn Empire was not shown, though she did not doubt he could call it up with the flick of a finger. Nor was the Sagittarius Arm visible. The holo displayed only Commonwealth vectors and schematics. While she looked on, the entire complex configuration oriented itself to the position of the Teacher.
    "It's a long ways out." He was peering deeply into the slowly rotating holo. "Maybe within Commonwealth boundaries, maybe not. Up near the Rosette nebula, out toward the galactic edge. Not a big world. Not impressive." He brushed the controls inside the fern, and she saw a green blip brighten to emerald.
    His hand moved anew, and the holo shifted drastically. When it halted, a completely different world blazed brighter than any other. "Alaspin." His hand moved yet a third time, highlighting a world on the very fringes of the Commonwealth.
    "Existing world, different perspective. The first holo was legal. A mask. The positions are falsified. These are correct, and proscribed."
    She stared. The new world he had brought to brilliance moved perceptibly, enough to throw off anyone trying to locate it. This time it was not green but an intense red.
    "I don't have much use for a floating map," she murmured, "but I've seen worlds marked green and blue and pink and yellow, but never that color before."
    "It means the world in question is under full Church Edict. No one's supposed to know it's there. There are automated weapons stations in multiple orbit stationed six planetary diameters out to prevent unauthorized approaches, much less landings." He waved his hand, and the entire holo vanished, an evaporative cosmos. "If people knew it was there and Under Edict, someone would try to go there simply because it's forbidden. The result would be dead adventurers and a discomfited bureaucracy."
    She looked at him steadily. "But you've been there. You said the people who lived there built this ship."
    "Yes. My friends, the Ujurrians." His eyes flicked beyond her as if expecting to see something else. Perhaps something three meters tall and furry. But he saw only plants and fountain.
    "Why is it Under Edict?"
    "If I told you, I'd be in violation of the Edict itself."
    "I won't tell. I owe you my life. I can keep your secrets."
    He considered, then looked away and sighed. "I'm getting to the point where I don't care who knows what anymore. The Ujurrians are a physically large ursinoid race, paragons of ingenuousness by our standards. At least they were when I met them. They are also potentially the most advanced people ever encountered."
    Clarity frowned. "That's no reason to put them Under Edict."
    "They are natural telepaths," Flinx told her. "Mind readers. Not empathic telepaths like the flying snakes." And myself, he added, but not aloud.
    She whistled meaningfully. "You mean true mindto-mind communicators? Like the people in the tridee plays and in books?"
    He nodded. "The one thing we've always feared more than anything else in an alien race. People who could read our minds when we couldn't read theirs. And not just our minds. There was an AAnn installation on UlruUjurr. The Ujurrians could read them as well. They chased the AAnn away. I think they can even read Pip's mind, as much of a mind as she has." The flying snake looked up briefly from his shoulder before lying back down. "And that isn't all."
    "Isn't that enough?"
    "They learn on an exponential curve. When I met them, it was almost level. They were living in caves. Now it's heading upward, and fast. By the time I left they'd learned enough from the files at the AAnn station to start an impressive little city. Also to build the Teacher, though I still haven't figured out how they put the necessary infrastructure together so fast. They also have other abilities." He smiled slightly. "They like to make jokes, play games, and dig tunnels."
    "Tunnels? That's funny."
    "Why is that funny?"
    "You'll find out soon. But they're not hostile?"
    "On the contrary. They're fluffy and rather amusing looking and rolypolyif you can conceive of something three meters tall massing out around eleven or twelve hundred kilos as rolypoly. We got along real well."
    "I would think so." She was trailing her fingers in the water again. "If they built a ship as a gift for you. How many ships do they have?"
    "As far as I know, the Teacher is the only ship they've ever built." That reminded him of a certain Ujurrian who was so peculiar that even his fellow Ujurrians found him strange. "There was a male named Maybeso who didn't need one, though I suppose I shouldn't say that because I don't know what his range was."
    Her eyes widened. "Teleportation, too?"
    "I don't know. They call it something else. I think they can do other things as well, but I didn't know enough to ask the right questions. It's been a long time, and I need to go back." He blinked. "You can understand why the Church would put a world like that Under Edict. The Ujurrians are a race of telepathic, possibly teleportational innocents with limitless mental potential. You know how the Outreach Bureau thinks. Just because they're friendly now doesn't mean they'll be friendly tomorrow. `Pananoia is survival,' and that sort of nonsense."
    She nodded slowly, and he turned from her to gaze moodily at the pond. "You don't have to worry about any pursuit now. The Teacher's very fast, and we're armed, though I've no idea if the armament is functional. I've never had to use it."
    "Unlike the people who took me," she said quietly.
    He checked the readout strapped to his left wrist. "We'll be far enough out to engage the drive pretty soon. Once we're in spaceplus, nobody can touch us."
    He did not tell her that the Teacher was the only ship in the Commonwealth capable of taking off and landing directly from a planetary surface. Those innocent geniuses, the Ujurrians, had solved in a week a problem that had tormented the Commonwealth's best physicists since the development of the KKdrive. There were still a number of secrets he intended to keep from his guest. One would be the fiction that his ship was no different from similar vessels.
    "If it was Under Edict, how did you come to be on this world and ingratiate yourself tightly enough with its inhabitants to make them want to build you a ship?"
    He was examining the ceiling. Amazingly, there were bugs up there, establishing themselves in the vines. He could not imagine how and when they had come on board. They were the real dominants in this universe, he thought. Not humans, not thranx, not the AAnn. It was always the little ones who ruled. Insects had managed to colonize everything but vacuum. Now they had taken the Teacher for their own. They added to the common room's homey feelexcept when one of them dropped off a vine onto his head. Thus far nothing dangerous had hitched a ride in his hair. Anyway, insects rarely bit him. Perhaps he was not as tasty as other people.
    He remembered her question and replied absently. "I looking for someone, and I visited a lot of peculiar places."
    "Can I ask who you were looking for?"
    "My father and my mother."
    "Oh." That was not the reply she had been expecting. "Did you find them?"
    "I found out that my mother was dead. I still don't know what happened to my father, or even who he was."
    "Are you still searching?"
    He shook his head violently, surprised at how tense he was. "I've crossed a lot of void, touched many worlds trying to come up with an answer. The searching sapped a lot of the passion for it. Now my interests are changing. What was critical to me a few years ago isn't critical to me anymore. While I'd still like to know, I don't see the point in devoting all my attention to finding out."
    "So you grew up an orphan?"
    That made him smile, as memories of his childhood always did. "I had an adoptive mother. Mother Mastiff. A lying, cheating, foulmouthed, filthy, unattractive old lady whom I love very much."
    "I can see that," she said softly.
    "You know," he told her suddenly, "all I ever wanted was to be left alone. I didn't ask to be given this ship, just as I haven't asked for all the problems I've had to deal with. Deity, I'm not even twenty yet!"
    "You're a lot more mature, Flinx, than most of the older men I've known." So deep was he in contemplation of himself that the implications of her comment flashed right past him.
    "I'm just beginning to have a glimpse of the forces that move the universe, Clarity. The sentient portion of it, anyway. Nothing is exactly as it appears. There are barely perceptible undercurrents swirling about our affairs, and for some damned reason a lot of them seem to be swirling around me. The more I try to run from them, the more they wash up against me."
        It was her turn to smile. "Now you're talking nonsense."
    "I wish I were. Maybe I am. Maybe you're right." After all, he thought, as messed up as his nervous system was, his imaginings might seem as solid as reality without his being able to tell the difference.
    "So you think the universe is out to get you?"
    "It's not out to get me. It just won't leave me alone. All I ever wanted from it were the identities of my mother and father. While trying to find that out, a number of people have died around me. Yes, died," he said emphatically in response to her skeptical look. "It's a burden I can't offload. Violence follows me. Look at you. You're a perfect example."
    "Meeting you was sheer coincidence," she argued. "A lucky one on my part. Surely you can't think there's some grand cosmic scheme devoted to making your life miserable?"
    "I know it sounds insane. Sometimes I don't know what to believe. There are times when I think I should just stay aboard the Teacher, choose a vector at random along the galactic plane, and rush off at top speed until the drive gives out. At least then I'd have peace."
    She let the resulting silence linger for a long time before speaking again. "It seems to me you're going to have to choose between peace and answers to all your questions."
    He turned back to her. Gradually the tension drained out of him. "That's a very perceptive observation, Clarity."
    "Hell, I'm a very perceptive kind of person. Besides being a biological genius. Selfdamnation's no more a solution to anything than selfpity."
    "What can you know of either? Still, it's nice of you to try to make me feel better. Considering your own situation, it's nice of you to think of me at all."
    "Yes, you're really in sad shape, aren't you, Flinx? You're independent, wealthy enough to operate your own private starship, and you're all of nineteen. It's pretty difficult to feel sorry for someone who moans and groans about a setup like that."
    She only analyzes what she sees, Flinx thought. She doesn't consider the internal variables. But it was thoughtful of her nonetheless.
    "Whether you believe it or not, I'm sick of all this. I just want to be left to myself, to do my thinking and my studying. The Ujurrians called this vessel the Teacher in my honor. They should have named it the Student because that's what I am. My primary subject is myself. I want to know who and what I am. Maybe I already know and I'm either too stupid or too scared to recognize it."
    At that she rose and walked over to him. Her hands moved. "I think you're just fine, if you'll put aside some of this silliness you've gone and burdened yourself with." He retreated a step, and she actually pouted.
    "Where do you want to go?" he muttered uneasily.
    She took a deep breath. "Ever hear of a world called Longtunnel?" He shook his head. "Call it up on your holo map. You think Alaspin's a frontier world? There's only one outpost on Longtunnel, and it's understaffed. With good reason, as you'll see for yourself when we get there. That's where I need to go."
    "If I take you back to where you were, won't your kidnappers be looking for you there?"
    "I'm sure they will, but I need to tell my colleagues what happened so they can take steps to protect themselves." She smiled. "You'll understand immediately why I reacted so sharply to your reference to your Ujurrian friends being fond of tunnel digging. I don't think they're responsible for any of the excavations on Longtunnel."
    "Probably not. Though it's hard sometimes to understand them clearly, mindtomind communication notwithstanding. Extreme guilelessness and extreme sophistication are a tough combination to handle."
    They might not be so guileless now, he told himself. Not after he had introduced them to the game of civilization. Though knowing them as he did, they might by now have moved on to another game entirely. He ought to find outonce he had handed this young woman back to the safe custody of her friends.
    He murmured into the concealed pickup, disdaining the timeconsuming use of the keyboard this time. He might be ignorant of Longtunnel's location, but not the Teacher. Stored within its memory were the whereabouts of every known world in the Commonwealth.
    Flinx jumped slightly as Clarity came up behind him. Pip left his shoulder in favor of a decorative sculpture on the far side of the pool. Scrap was playing with the fish in the water, darting and striking harmlessly when they neared the surface. A scaly, misplaced kingfisher, Flinx mused.
    Her arms slipped around him and gently drew him against her body. He could have disengaged himself but this time felt no compulsion to do so.
    "So we're on our way to Longtunnel?"
    "On our way, yes. What are you doing?"
    "It's better to show," she whispered into his ear, "than to tell."
    What she showed him was a means for shrinking parsecs. For once he was not bored during the long journey through spaceplus, nor was he forced to retire regularly to the ship's library for surcease. The library had been limited to what the Ujurrians had had access to when they had built the ship. During his visits to other worlds Flinx had expanded it substantially. He introduced Clarity to it when they had time.
    He did not fall in love with her, though he easily could have. There was too much still buried inside him for that. It was not a worrisome concern since she showed no signs of falling in love with him. All she was doing was making the jump from Alaspin to Longtunnel the most enjoyable journey he had yet taken on the Teacher.
    There was a great deal to be said for not traveling alone, for not shutting oneself off from the rest of humanity. Particularly when humanity took the form of someone as lively, vivacious, intelligent, and attractive as Clarity.
     
    Even from orbit Longtunnel looked abnormal. There was a lone beacon on the surface. Linking with it, the Teacher estimated average wind speed in the temperate zone at a hundred fifty kph.
    "Comparatively calm day." Clarity was reading over Flinx's shoulder. "It blows much stronger than that."
    They stood on a traditional anachronism: the ship's bridge. Since Flinx could address the ship's computer from anywhere, including the bathroom, the existence of a bridge was nothing more than a sop to archaic design. But it felt good to sit before a control console and inspect the line of manual instrumentation. He understood some of the functions, but nowhere near enough to enable him to fly the ship in an emergency. Piloting an interstellar vessel was so complicated that humanx pilots rarely had anything to do and were glad of it. They were little more than a backup for a supposedly failsafe system.
    The controls and the view through the broad sweep of plexalloy were at least attractive, and it was a good place to watch incomprehensible information come in. The screens on the bridge were larger than those in the staterooms and commons.
    "How windy does it get down there?" he asked.
    "Three, four hundred kph. Maybe more. Nobody pays much attention unless there's a supply shuttle due in."
    "I'd think if you were living in it you'd notice it all the time."
    "That's just it. We don't live in it. The surface of Longtunnel's uninhabitable."
    "You live in underground structures?"
    "You'll see." She nodded toward a readout. "Just follow the navbeacon down."
    "All right." He did not move.
    She waited a while longer. "Aren't we going to the shuttle?" she asked finally.
    "Of course." He rose smoothly. "Just checking a few last things."
    As much as he enjoyed seeing new worlds and meeting new people, he always felt a pang of regret whenever it came time to leave the Teacher. In a universe of insanity it was his one refuge: always compliant, always comforting.
    They made a clean drop and cut a tight curve around the northern hemisphere, homing in on the single landing beacon. Since there were no other vessels in orbit, there was no need to request clearance, and Clarity assured him there were no aircraft based at the outpost.
    "That means our arrival will be noted not only by your friends and port Security but also by any local contacts your kidnappers may have established."
    "You could always repackage me again for delivery," she said with a grin.
    "True. Ribbons and bows this time." He studied the shuttle readouts. "They may have given up on you by now, or they may be concentrating all their energies on Alaspin."
    "The latter's possible, but not the first." Her expression was somber. "I don't think these people give up on anything."
    The little vessel shuddered as it sank through angry atmosphere. Highaltitude winds buffeted them from side to side. Despite its compensators, they found reason to be grateful for their landing harnesses. Jetstreams warred with one another, treating the intruder with rude indifference. Pip and Scrap wrapped themselves around the two empty seats and held on tightly.
    Lightning troubled him more than the wind. It was thunderous, continual, and struck sideways between the clouds as often as from cloud to surface. The shuttle was hit twice, but the only damage was a scorched wing.
    "Is it always like this?" The steady roar and rumble reached them even through the shuttle's superb soundproofing.
    "So the climatologists say. I wouldn't have their job for anything. They have to stay near the surface and go outside every so often to monitor their instruments."
    Locally it was midday, but when the shuttle finally broke through the bottom layer of clouds it was as dark as early evening. Lightning continued to flash all around. Flinx was grateful that all they had to do was sit back and hang on while the ship's brain conversed at high speed with the mind of the landing computer below. The two machines calmly sorted out angle of approach and descent, landing speed, wind direction and shear, and the thousand other vital details that had to be determined and agreed upon in order to get two fragile humans down intact. Despite the best efforts of both mechanicals, the little craft bucked and heaved.
    There was just enough light to enable Flinx to see through the front viewpoint. The terrain was worse than unpromising: tall pillars of pale stone, a jagged network of broken spires and crags, unhealthylooking vegetation clinging grimly to exposed rock or hiding in the few sheltered places as it tried to avoid being mugged by the unrelenting gale. It was raining lightly.
    As they dropped lower and closer to the menacing outcrops, Flinx strained for sight of a light, a building, anything to indicate they were coming down in the right place.
    The shuttle's engines roared unexpectedly, slamming him back in the pilot's chair, the harness pressing tight against chest and legs. As they rose and banked, he had a brief glimpse of blue lights lined up in the darkness. That was all: no field, no hangars or blast pits or any of the other numerous appurtenances of a regular shuttleport.
    "Coming around on approach." The shuttle's voice sounded tinny in the rocking, swaying cabin.
    "Why again?" Flinx asked sharply.
    "Too much wind. Landing Command voided our initial descent. I am circling."
    "And if there's too much wind again this time?"
    "We will continue to circle until Landing Command authorizes touchdown. In the event fuel becomes critical, we shall return automatically to base for refueling."
    That meant they had enough for maybe two more tries, Flinx knew. The Teacher did not carry a lot of reserve fuel for the shuttle. He always fueled up wherever he touched down. Now it was too late to wish for extra tanks.
    They came around in a curve so tight that it threatened to rip the wings right off the sleek deltashaped craft. This time the approach went much more smoothly; the wind's speed actually dropped below a hundred kph for a few precious moments.
    Clarity was talking to cover her nervousness. "Are you on a familiar basis with all your computers?"
    "I try to be friends with as many intelligences as possible. There are plenty of humans who don't deserve the label. This flying bothers you, too, doesn't it?"
    "Of course it bothers me!" she replied tightly. "But it's the only way to get on or off Longtunnel. I've done it half a dozen times, and I'm still doing it."
    "Another way of saying that the odds haven't caught up with you yet."
    "You know, for a charming young man you can be very depressing at times."
    `Sorry.'
    He could see the line of blue lights directly ahead and below now as the shuttle pointed her nose at the first light. They were flying below the tallest peaks. The outpost and port had been situated in a deep valley surrounded by high peaks. To cut down on the wind, he told himself. What were the surface winds like beyond the protection offered by the mountains?
    When they finally touched down, he let out a sigh of relief. The shuttle rose once in the grasp of the relentless wind, then set down once and for all as the computer backthrust the engines to cut their forward motion. They felt the wind and heard the thunder more clearly when the engines fell to idle.
    A green light appeared on their left, blinking insistently. The shuttle turned on its landing gear to track another beacon, one they could not see.
    "A good landing." Clarity was already loosening her flight harness.
    "Good?" Flinx was more shaken than he wanted to admit. "This is a bell of a place."
    "Full of possibilities, or none of us would be here."
    "What's the air like?"
    "Breathableif it doesn't knock you off your feet. Just keep in mind that any landing on Longtunnel is a good landing. We might not have been able to touch down at all. "
    "Why not?"
    "Landslides." She was staring out the nearest sweep of plexalloy.
    At least out in space you could see the stars, he thought. Here there was only bare rock dimly visible through the dust and dark. A light mist was falling sideways, the wind howled, and the outside temperature was unbearable thanks to the greenhouse effect engendered by the dense cloud cover. He had been on less hospitable worlds but never before on one quite so sheerly miserable.
    "I'd rather live on Freeflo," he told her.
    "Yes. But nobody's here to live. We're here to study and work and produce."
    The barrier that rolled up to admit them was set in stelacrete walls framing a natural opening in the side of a sheer cliff. As if to remind him of the landslides Clarity had mentioned, a few large boulders came tumbling down to smash into the badly pitted landing strip off to their right.
    Then they were inside, the wind a baleful memory, the shuttle bathed in the rich sterile glow of artificial illumination. The barrier door rumbled down behind them, shutting out wind, mist, and heat.
    "What do you use for power here?" The amount of light filling every corner of the hangar seemed extravagant for an outpost port. He ought to have guessed.
    "Wind turbines on the top of this mountain," Clarity replied. "Heavyduty blades and tiedowns. We have fusion for backup, but as I understand it they've never had to bring it on line. Anyone wants a few more kilowatts for their operation, all they have to do is struggle up topside and set up another turbine. They're built to handle winds like these. It's helped make development here practical. You pay for the turbine and its installation and for tying it into the system. After that the power's free. And at these wind speeds, plentiful."
    He could see figures approaching the shuttle. They moved slowly, cautiously. "Doesn't look like they're used to unscheduled arrivals."
    "For all I know you may be the first. This isn't exactly a wellknown vacation world."
    "What do I tell Landing Authority?"
    She laughed. "There isn't much authority of any kind here. You're with me, so there's no problem. I'm with Coldstripe, and everyone knows us." She watched as Pip uncurled herself from a chair. "What about your pets?"
    "Pip comes with me. Scrap can come or go as he pleases. They're used to Moth's climate, so they should be able to tolerate anything in here, so long as it doesn't freeze. "
    "Never."
    Flinx followed her out of the shuttle as it shut itself down under instructions from Landing Command. A few workers in beige overalls glanced in their direction before continuing on their way. Flinx suspected their stares were intended for Pip and Scrap more than for the two humans.
    Clarity had been tense emerging from the shuttle. Now she looked better. "Nothing out of the ordinary, looks like. I wonder how many knew that I was missing. They live in their own little worlds here."
    "I'd think in a place this small, news of a kidnapping would travel quickly."
    "Only if allowed to roam free, unrestrained. The company would try to keep it as quiet as possible so as not to alarm anyone else. And there's not much interfirm socializing here. Everyone tends to keep to their work and to themselves. Some are physically isolated, and the rest, well, they're the competition, aren't they?"
    She led him across the smooth surface. Distant thunder echoed from beyond the massive hangar gate as they walked away from it.
    A few quick glances sufficed to show that they were crossing the floor of an enormous cavern that had been modified to serve as a hangar. It was commodious enough to hold several dozen shuttles.
    "The space was here," she replied in response to his query about the cavern's origins. "That's one thing Longtunnel has plenty of."
    "What about native life, flora and fauna?"
    "Ah," she said with a smile, "that's why we're here in the first place. It's incredibly diverse and adaptable. A unique and challenging ecosystem. As you'll find out for yourself in a little while."
    Flinx glanced back at the hangar barrier. "I didn't see much when we came down, and I wouldn't think you'd get any diversity out in that kind of weather."
    "You don't." She was still smiling. "Low scrub growth and a few hardpressed insects and lower mammals. Nature isn't stupid, Flinx. When Longtunnel's discoverers landed here, the first thing they did was get out of the weather. The native lifeforms have had billions of years to do that. Don't you think they'd do the same themselves? If it's storming outside, you move inside. That's just what Longtunnel's inhabitants have done."
    They entered the port receiving facilities, which were simple and sparse. Flinx was fascinated by the amount of bare rock visible in the ceiling, floor, and walls. We've reverted here, he thought. Strung it with fiberoptic cables and Al terminals and contact switches, but it's still the ancestral cave. Only the wall paintings have changed. Stalactites and stalagmites remained in place where they did not interfere with routine functions.
    Few glances came their way. They were far enough from Alaspin that Pip would be regarded simply as an exotic pet by people unfamiliar with her lethal reputation.
    The port was busy but understaffed, though the excess space would have given it an underpopulated appearance anyway. It was an easy matter to separate the longtimers from recent arrivals. The skin of the former was pale beyond pallid.
    "Everyone here takes tanning treatments," Clarity explained. "Some are more diligent about it than others. Artificial lighting can only compensate so much."
    "Then why do they stay on here?" Flinx knew it was a stupid question even as he asked it.
    "For the money. Why else would anyone come to this place? For money, and maybe for fame."
    "And do they find it?"
    "Some do. The fame, anywaythe money is just starting to come in. In my case, a share of royalties on a newly approved biopatent. I have others pending, more than you might think for someone my age. The work I've been involved in here is just starting to bear fruit."
    "What kind of work is that?"
    "That's right," she said teasingly, "I haven't told you yet, have I?"
    "Only that you're an gengineer. You haven't told me what it is you're engineering."
    "You'll see. You'll see everything and to hell with company security. I owe you that much, if that's what you want. If not, I guess you're free to leave. You've done everything I asked of you and more."
    He remembered the jump from Alaspin to Longtunnel and said dryly, "It wasn't exactly an arduous task on my part. I'm intrigued by what you're doing as well as by this place. I would like to see what you're up to."
    "I was hoping you'd say that," she said warmly. "I'll get you clearance.
    "Longtunnel is one big karstic formation, or so the geologists claim. The whole place was covered by shallow ocean for billions of years."
    Flinx nodded, studying the exposed walls. "This is all limestone. "
    "Most, not all. Limestone, gypsum, calcitesoft minerals. As the oceans receded while Longtunnel cooled, the three continents were exposed to this wind and, more importantly, to constant rain. It's been chewing away at the limestone for millennia. The results are caves like the one we're in now and the bigger one we just left that's used as a hangar.
    "Exploration is still in its infancy here, but some think Longtunnel is home to the largest, longest cavern systems anywhere in the Commonwealth. You can't walk through undertown without tripping over a starryeyed speleologist. The whole contingent's been stumbling around in a collective daze since the nature of the planetary surface was first deduced. They're always posting revised lists as they discover a new biggest this or more wondrous that. Do you like caves?"
    "Not as a general rule, no. I'm not afraid of them, but I prefer the feel of sunshine and the smell of growing things."
    "You'll find half of that here, though maybe not the kind of smells you enjoy. The air's always cool, but the surface heat seeps down and moderates it. You can work in a shortsleeved shirt. Nobody knows about the lower levels. The speleologists have been so busy up here in what we call the temperate zone that they haven't had a chance or the inclination to take their lights any deeper. The water, by the way, is about as pure and refreshing as you can find anywhere, naturally filtered. There's talk of starting up a local brewery and exporting. If nothing else, it would have novelty value.
    "There are four underground rivers located so far." They were strolling past a cafeteria. A few people were removing food from service bays. "They expect to find more. There's even talk of underground oceans."
    Flinx frowned. "Surely a cavern large enough to hold something that size would have fallen in on itself by now."
    "Who knows? Longtunnel is rewriting a number of longheld geological rules. Biological, too."
    Ever since they had left the hangar behind, he had been conscious of a constant hum in the air, a soft whine like a tenor choir murmuring the same tune over and over.
    "Pumps," she explained when he asked about the sound. "There's a lot of water in Longtunnel. Caverns are still growing, still being formed. It's always raining topside, and the water has to go somewhere. Most of it drains away naturally, but there are places we want to move into where the water also wants to be. So we run pumps. Like I told you, energy's no problem down here."
    "Somebody still has to pay for it, for all this."
    "The port infrastructure and support facilities are jointly supported by the government and the private concerns operating here under license. Everything else is privately run."
    "Healthy. Are all the firms located in the same cavern?"
    "No, they're scattered all over the place, connected by communications fibers. Shortrange wireless doesn't work too well through multiple walls and solid rock, no matter which technology you employ. Cheaper and cleaner to run fibers. Internal walls are only for privacy, since every outfit can have its own cavern. You pick out an unclaimed space, scrape off the formations, and set up your desks and files and beds and cooking facilities and lab equipment. There's more office space on Long tunnel than a dozen worlds could ever use."
    "It all seems very efficient and well run. Why would anyone want to interfere with your operation here?"
    Her expression turned dark. "I'm not really sure. They didn't actually come out and tell me. But then, I only respond to logic and reason."
    He almost said, "You're too pretty to be so sarcastic," but then thought better of it. First, he did not think she would appreciate it, and, second, he was never sure ex actly what to say around attractive women. Somehow, when he tried to talk to them, he always drew a frown
    instead of a smile. He did much better when he did not talk at all.
    "Whoops, careful." She put a hand on his arm to lead him to the right.
    He didn't see them at first because he was looking straight ahead. It took a moment for his eyes to detect the motion.
Chapter Eight
     
    There were three of them traveling parallel as they crossed the left half of the poured plastic flooring Flinx and Clarity were following. Each was mostly mouth a dozen centimeters wide with a body that was broad and flat, like a pale yellow flounder striped with blue. Bright pink lips outlined each wide mouth.
    At first he thought they were large insects advancing on tiny legs or cilia. As they moved closer, he saw rippling fur. Each was half a meter in length. Except for the gaping, flattened mouths that quivered as the creatures advanced, they had no visible external features except two black pinpoints located just above and behind the jaws. They might once have been eyes: Each of the two dozen or so limbs they walked on was articulated in the middle and ended in a flat, round pad. A hairless tail several centimeters long protruded from the back end. They looked like a trio of faceless, mutated platypuses that had been given the legs of an oversized millipede. Flinx stood gaping at them as they trundled silently past like so many miniature reapers.
    "Floats." Clarity gestured as she explained. "We screen all the work and living areas. There are dangerous predators on Longtunnel, and there may well be others not yet encountered. The floats are useful as they are. We've semidomesticated them."
    "They don't `float' very high," he observed.
    "I didn't name them; somebody else is responsible for that. They're trisexual, which is why you'll always see them traveling in trios. We let them roam where they please."
    "What are they doingvacuuming the floor?"
    "No." She laughed. "They don't consume dirt and dust, if that's what you mean. But this world is alive, Flinx. The floors and walls, the very air in the caverns, is full of rusts and yeasts and fungi. Half the research scientists working here are mycologists. Most of what they've classified is benign, but not all, and some is downright dangerous. The cartographic spleologists take masks with them on the chance they might run into something lethal.
    "Between the benign and the fatal there's a large group of small organisms that will give you an instant cold or otherwise interfere with your breathing or excretory systems if you inhale any of them. They spend most of their time on the ground, but walking stirs them up. The floats love them. So they are vacuumers, but not of dirt. They filter out the organics they suck up. Like baleen whales, only on a much smaller scale. Of course they eat the benign organisms as readily as the harmful ones, but that's no loss to us."
    She was heading toward a familiarlooking shuttlecarsystem terminal, familiar except for the fact that they were the first of their kind Flinx had ever seen without canopies. The settlers of Longtunnel did not need to protect themselves against the weather.
    "It's not far to Coldstripe's complex," she was saying.
    "Aren't you going to call ahead to let them know we're taming, that you're back?"
    She grinned wickedly. "No. They're a pretty staid bunch. Let's shake them up with a surprise."
    She climbed into one of the four passenger cars, and he followed. Her fingers thumbed in the destination setting. Instantly the compact car rose half a centimeter above its magnetic repulsion rail and began accelerating forward.
    Flinx noted the smooth walls and the narrow service walkway as they sped through an irregular tunnel. The lighting along the route was pleasantly bright, and except for the solid stone walls there was nothing to indicate they were underground. They might have been in any transportation corridor on Earth or any of the other industrialized worlds.
    Other cars raced past above the paralleling rail, heading for the port. Some were small passenger cars like the one they rode, others miniature trains carrying cargo. There were branch rails leading into side tunnels, but they continued to speed along the main line.
    "Did you notice that they were heavily pigmented?"
    "What?" Flinx was staring up the tunnel. It reminded him of an amusement ride Mother Mastiff had taken him on when he was a child. Less active, no hobs, but in its own fashion just as fascinating.
    "The floats. Yellow and blue. That's because many lifeforms here are still dependent on food drifting in from above. The wind and rain and heat make it almost impossible for anything like higher fauna to survive, but some plants have done well and spread out. There's nothing on the surface to feed on them. So the organic matter they produce finds its way into cave openings and sinkholes. There's a whole ecosystem dependent on the transition zone between inside and outside. The floats are part of that. So they have coloration, while most of the creatures that thrive in the deep cave system have lost all pigment entirely. It's quite an experience to see something like a goralact, which is a pretty goodsize animal, about the mass of a cow. But it has six legs and is almost transparent. You can watch the blood coursing through it like a diagram in a junior physiology program. Almost everything we've encountered has eyes of some sort, but they're mostly vestigial. The best of them can distinguish shape. The majority do well to react to bright light. There's even one, the photomcrph, that uses it to its advantage."
    "What the hell's a photomorph?" Pip fluttered her wings as the car banked sharply around a curve, then relaxed on his shoulder.
    "You'll see." She was grinning at him. "When one attacks."
    He was mildly alarmed. "Attacks? Should I be ready for something?" He viewed the tunnel ahead in a different light.
    "Oh, no. Photomorphs and their relatives are harmless to humans. They don't know that, the poor things, so they keep trying. If you let one get on you, it could be dangerous, but they're easy enough to avoid. They don't rely on speed when they attack."
    He pondered the photomorph until the car halted. Clarify fed him through a succession of caverns and passageways where the cave formations had been leveled. He could hear ether voices clearly. It was not surprising, since sound traveled well inside a cavern. There were brief glimpses inside large rooms separated from others by sprayfiber walls. If one put up a mesh frame, sprayed a color over it, and waited until it hardened, one had a solid partitionthe cheapest kind of construction.
    She stopped outside a door set in a wall painted a garish shade of blue. The door admitted them to a room occupied by a man not much older than Clarity. He was tail, and black hair worked at covering his face.
    "Clarity!" He brushed nervously at the hair. "Christ, where have you been? Everyone's been worried sick, and the brass all have sealed mouths on the subject."
    "Never mind that now, Jase. I've a lot to say, and I have to say it to Vandervort first so she can take appropriate steps." She indicated F1inx. "This is my friend. So's the flying snake lounging on his neck. So's the one on my neck it's under my hair, so don't go hunting for it.'
    The tall young man's eyes traveled from Flinx to Pip and back to Clarity. His expression radiated delight. "Hell, I've got to tell everyone you're back." He started to turn, then hesitated. "But you said you wanted to tell Vandervort first."
    "Just details. You can slip the news to Tangerine and Jimmy and the rest."
    "Goodsure. Hey, you want to come in?" He stepped aside to make a path.
    Flinx followed Clarity into the extensive lab as Jase dashed for the nearest wall comet to spread the news. "Sounds like you've been missed, like you said you would be."
    "One or two projects probably came to a complete stop in my absence. I'm not boasting. That's just how it is."
    Flinx admired the stateoftheart equipment lining tables and walls, the gleaming surfaces, the spotless plexalloyware. There were four technicians at work in the chamber, two robotic, two human. All looked over at the visitors, waved, and returned to their work.
    "Thranx work for Coldstripe also?"
    "A couple. It's pretty chilly down here for them. If not for the wind, they'd prefer it topside. They do most of the maintenance work on the turbines. The constant humidity helps, and they enjoy underground work naturally. So they wear heat suits. Their own living areas are roofed over and steamed up all the time inside. Good way to get sick: Go from any cavern into Marlacyno's quarters. An instant twentydegree jump."
    They walked through a subdividing door, then a second, and Flinx found himself in a room alive with hisses, squeals, and whines, none of which were being generated electronically.
    "Specimen storage," Clarity informed him unnecessarily.
    Flinx didn't recognize any of the creatures cavorting in the holding cages Thin wire of varying grades kept them restrained. All of it was translucent.
    "Carbfiber base." Clarity touched a nearly invisible wire. "Keeps them in but relaxed. There isn't the feeling of being caged. Here's the one I wanted you to see."
    He looked in the indicated direction and was momentarily blinded when an intense light lit his face. Stars danced on his retinas as his vision cleared. Clarity was chuckling at him, and he realized that she must have shut her eyes at the critical moment.
    "That's the photomorph I was telling you about. I said you'd see it when it attacked. You'd think they'd realize it's too bright in here for their own light to have much effect, but since they can hardly see, they probably don't realize how diluted their weapons are."
    As his sight returned, Flinx could see several of the creatures slowly moving from the back of their cage toward the front. Each was about half a meter in length, the same as the floats, and was covered with a fine gray far that formed something not unlike a long handlebar mustache below the double nostrils. The snout was short, blunt, and filled with sharp triangular teeth. The nostrils sat on the tip of a fourcentimeterlong trunk Each of the four legs ended in a clawed threetoed foot. The claws were hooked and looked extremely sharp. The translucent bars of the cage appeared far too fragile to hold such squat, muscular creatures in check, but he was confident they were stronger than they looked.
    The photomorphs were advancing in slow motion, like sloths.
    "They'll stop when they reach the front of the cage and realize they can't get at us. They have hardly any eyes at all. In their case that's an offensive adjustment. I told you there were carnivores here."
    "If they can't see us, how do they know we're here? Smell?"
    She nodded. "Other carnivores have lines of electric sensors along their faces and bodies so they can detect the presence of prey by the faint pulses every body generates. Still others have sensors to detect the movement of a prey animal, by analyzing air currents and pressures. Look at the top of the head, where you'd expect to find ears."
    Flinx stood on tiptoes to do so and found a double line of slightly glassy beads.
    "You might mistake them for eyes, but there are no pupils or irises. They're photogenerators. They build up the light in their bodies until they let loose with that single bright flare to stun their prey. Remember that most of the higher animals we've classified have the ability to detect light in darkness. So the photomorph puts out an impressive number of lumens and overwhelms the prey's photosensors. It's a real brain jolt and usually stuns for several minutes. Call it a phototoxin. While the animal is sitting there stunned, the photomorph and his companions wander over leisurely and start making a meal of it."
    Flinx was duly impressed. "I've heard of creatures that use light to lure their prey, but not to actually attack it with."
    "You'd be shocked at the kind of offensive and defensive weaponry animals can develop in the absence of light. The xenologists here are surprised by something new every time they make another field expedition. Longtunnel's lifeforms are unique, and that's why we're here. To study potentially useful varieties."
    Flinx nodded in the direction of the caged photomorphs. "How might something like that be useful?"
    "Other biophotics like fireflies and deepsea fish generate their light chemically; the photomorph employs an electronic process that's never been seen before. No matter how efficient we get, there's always a market for still another way of generating light and power. Our people don't have a clue to what makes the photomorph tick, but they're working on it."
    "And you don't have a clue either?"
    "Not one of my projects. I'm busy enough. It's good to be busy down here. There's not much else to do except for recreational spelunking and forming casual assignations." She led him out of the zoo. "Given a little more food and a little less competition, just about everything down here will breed like mad. If you can find a useful job for something that multiplies like crazy and lives on fungi or slime, you have a marketable bioproduct. Ever hear of Verdidion Weave?"
    Flinx shook his head, then hesitated. "Wait a minute. Some kind of living carpet, right?"
    She nodded. "Our first real success. The one that's financed ail our subsequent work here. I'm at least half responsible for its development. That was several years ago. Since then we've come up with a few additional products. Small stuff. Nothing on the order of Verdidion Weave. But we're close to some major breakthroughs. Or we were, before my work was interrupted. I'll show you some of them when I get a chance."
    "I'd be very interested in seeing them."
    They were back in the main lab. The tall man was waiting for them, eyes shining. "Vandervort wants to see you immediately."
    "Damn. I wanted to break the surprise myself."
    "You were seen coming through Security. Everyone wants to talk to you, but I imagine you'll want to talk to Vandervort first."
    "I don't have much choice now, anyway, do I, Jase?"
    "I expect not." He looked concerned. "Was there some kind of trouble? There were rumorsthe company tried to keep news of your disappearance quiet, but you can't keep secrets down here."
    "I'm not going to go into the details now, but if it hadn't bean for my friend, I wouldn't be here."
    Jase studied the slim young man standing quietly next to the gengineer, sizing him up and dismissing him quickly. That was fine with Flinx.
    "I was in a position to offer assistance," he explained, "so I did."
    "Yeah, nice of you." Jase's gaze switched back to Clarity.
    Flinx saw that the other man was hopelessly in love with Clarity Held. He wondered if Jase had any idea how obvious he was being. From his new height and greater maturity, Flinx was able to regard the other man with tolerance.
    "Everything went crazy when you up and vanished." Jase chose to ignore Flinx, having cataloged and filed him like one of the inhabitants of the specimen zoo.
    "I figured it would. Don't worry. I'll be back on station by tomorrow." She reached out, and for a moment Flinx thought she was going to take the other scientist's hand. But she was only gesturing at the door.
    "Let's go. It's time we check in with Vandervort. You'll like her. Everyone likes her."
    "Then I'm sure I will, too."
    They walked instead of using the ARV system. As they did so, they passed people clad in attire that screamed Security. Most of them wore sidearms.
    "Looks like someone's taken a few precautions in the wake of your disappearance."
    "Amee isn't dumb. Any outfit would get suspicious if one of their top people suddenly vanished without leaving behind a message of resignation or notice of intent to terminate. I didn't go as quietly as the people who grabbed me thought I would. I'll bet there are missing persons bulletins out across half the Commonwealth by now."
    They were walking down a corridor open to the ceiling. The floor was polished limestone and travertine. Plastic sheeting hung in several places, and he could hear the dripping of water against the impermeable Mylar.
    She noticed the direction of his glance. "I think I mentioned that the majority of the cavern system explored so far is alive."
    "What do you mean, alive?"
    "A cavern with water running through it is will creating and adding to formations. It's a live cave. One that's dried up is considered dead."
    "I see. I should've known that, but most of my studies have been directed outward on the worlds I've visited."
    She eyed him curiously. "How many worlds have you been to? I've only been on three. My home world of Thalia Major, Thalia Minor of course, and now Longtunnel. I guess I should call it four, counting Alaspin."
    "I've been to more than four." He did not want to go into specifics. She probably would not believe him, anyway. Instead, he changed the subject, a skill he had mastered years ago. "Clearly everyone here's on alert. Yet you look mote relaxed than I've ever seen you."
    "They don't know it's over. I was anxious right up until we landed. But everything's okay now, especially since Security's been called out. You've seen what landing on Longtunnel can be like. There's only the one port and landing strip. There are no facilities anywhere else. All they have to do is keep the port under guard and nobody can get in or out without having to run Security first. You ought to relax, yourself."
    I'd like to do that, he said to himself, but I think I forgot how about five years ago.
    They turned another corner and stopped before a door set in a yellow spraywall. Clarity didn't buzz or identify herself. She simply walked in. No scanner bade them pause; no autosec announced their arrival.
    Now that he was here, he understood why. There was no need for internal security on Longtunnel. All you had to do to prevent unauthorized entry was monitor port facilities and watch the front door because there were no back ones to sneak in through. It also explained how Clarity's abductors had been able to slip her out. Once you were inside, you had only a single checkpoint to clear to get out again. There must be individual company security, but that was a different matter, especially if you were trying to break out and not in.
    The office they entered was spacious, and why not, when it was simply a matter of subdividing another cavern to your liking? What made it interesting was the presence of dozens of ceiling growths. In this chamber they had been left undisturbed. Glistening stalactites, helectites, soda straws, and gypsum twists sparkled above the artificial lighting. Limestone and water had decorated the office far more beautifully than any professional could have.
    There was no need for climate control. The temperature was the same in the office as it had been in the hall outside: cool and slightly damp. Off to the left, near the back of the chamber, cave water tumbled musically from a crack in the rock wall and was drawn away by a floor drain.
    Storage files, a couch, office furniture, and cojoined desks stood out starkly against the gemlike natural formations. The woman who rose from behind one desk was much shorter than Clarity. Her long red hair had been pulled back and bound in a neat bunknifeedged gold crystals pierced the bun in three places. Her smile of greeting was warm and inviting, her voice was deep and throaty, and a narcostick dangled precariously from one corner of her mouth. It in no way impeded her speech. Her stride and handshake were equally vigorous.
    Flinx figured her to be in her midfifties and was genuinely surprised when he learned later that she was seventy. Late middle age. Instead of shaking hands with Clarity, she embraced the younger woman, patting her affectionately on the back.
    "Maxim and the gang down in Development have been spinning their wheels ever since you vanished."
    That made Clarity frown. "They went into my cubicle?"
    "My dear, everyone went into your cubicle. What did you expect? There was a lot of moaning and wringing of hands when Security ventured their opinion that your departure had not been voluntary. I suppose I am due some of the responsibility. I should have insisted on tighter security right from the beginning. But who imagined something like that happening? An abduction, from Longtunnel? I am correct, am I not, in assuming it was something like that?"
    "That's it."
    Vandervort nodded knowingly. "The signs were clear to the forensics people. Not to the rest of us, but to them the message was clear enough. Well, it won't happen again, I can promise you that."
    "We saw the new Security on our way down."
    "Good." She turned to examine Flinx, not neglecting the minidrag relaxing on his shoulder. "Interesting pet you have, young man. I notice that Clarity has acquired one for herself."
    "Pip isn't a pet. Our relationship is mutually beneficial."
    "As you will. That's part of what our work here is about, you know. Or are you aware of that already?" She glanced back at Clarity. "How much have you told him about us?"
    "Everything that isn't classified. Ha saved my life. Maybe yours as well. I couldn't shut him out."
    "I can't wait for the details," the woman replied sardonically. "By the way," she said as she extended a hand to Plinx, "I'm Alynasmolia Vandervort. Everyone calls me Amee. Or Momma. I'm Coldstripe's supervisor in charge here."
    He returned the firm grip. "I assumed something of the kind."
    "It appears we all owe you a debt of gratitude for returning our Clarity to us. You're not claustrophobic by any chance, are you? We have pills for those who display the symptoms."
    "I'm fine," he told her. "If anything, it's more spacious than I would have imagined."
    Vandervort looked pleased, resumed her seat behind the desk, and directed her visitors to chairs. "Who was it?" she asked Clarity.
    Flinx feigned indifference while listening closely to Clarity's story. The supervisor sat motionless and intent. She did not touch the narcostiek, but by the time Clarity had finished, it had somehow migrated from one corner of her mouth to the other. She leaned back in her chair and let out a soft grunt.
    "Could be any of several dozen radical groups. There are plenty of 'em out there, but usually they confine themselves to making speeches nobody listens to, or taking up free space between entertainment programming on the newsfax." She had a peculiar, jerky manner of speech that was matched by the ceaseless movement of her eyes from one person to the next
    "Our debt to you, young man, is real. You know that Clarity here is irreplaceable."
    "I know. She told meseveral times."
    Vandervort laughed at that, a hard but in no way masculine chuckle. "Oh, she's not shy, our Clarity. With all she's accomplished already, she has no need for false modesty. Whoever carried out this execrable act did their research well. Clarity's the one member of our scientific staff we can't afford to lose. Now that you're back among us," she added grimly, "we won't lose track of you again."
    "1'm not worried It looks like you've shut everything down tight, Amee."
    "That we have." She hesitated. "Would you feel more comfortable with a fulltime bodyguard?"
    "I already have one." Clarity reached up to pet Scrap, secure in his place beneath her sidetail.
    Vandervort issued another of her soft grunts and turned to Flinx. "Clarity's told you what we're doing here?"
    "You're working with malleable local lifeforms to produce commercially viable offshoots."
    She nodded. "Genetically, Longtunnel is a mine whose shafts have already been dug for us. We haven't been set up here very long. Barely begun to classify, much less extensively select, breed, and gengineer. Even so we've managed to come up with several successful products."
    "Clarity mentioned your Verdidion Weave."
    "That's been our big success thus far, but not the only one." She reached behind her and opened a drawer in a metal cabinet. Sweet smells filled the room as she withdrew something and placed it on the desk in front of her.
    The shallow pan of blue metallic glass was filled with cubes of jelly: red, yellow, and purple. They did not shimmer when she slid the pan across the desk top.
    "Have a bite." Flinx studied the jelly uncertainly. "Oh, go on, dear" Vandervort selected a purple cube, popped it in her mouth, and chewed enthusiastically.
    "Go on, Flinx." Clarity helped herself to a pinkhued square. "They're wonderful."
    Hardly able to sit and cower in terror while the two women munched away, Flinx chose a bright green cube and cautiously put it in his mouth. Anticipating a lime or gooseberry taste, he was startled by the explosion of flavors that shocked his taste buds. The cube's density was another surprise. It was tougher than gelatin, closer to rubber in consistency. Yet once he broke it down, it dissolved readily is his mouth. The multiple flavors lingered powerfully long after he had swallowed the last bite.
    He helped himself to another green cube, then a purple one. The flavor burst was as different and exciting the third time as it had been with the first two. It occurred to him as he was chewing the fourth cube that he might be consuming some extremely valuable products, though Vandervort hadn't withdrawn the tray. On the contrary, she appeared to delight in his enjoyment.
    "Remarkable stuff, isn't it, young man? When people have exhausted their purchasing power on electronic gadgets and laborsaving devices and art, there isn't much left to dally over except food. A new taste sensation is worth more than the most powerful new personal computing device. Whether intended for mind or stomach, entertainment is always more valuable than anything the gengineers can invent."
    "What is it?" a sated Flinx asked, licking his fingers.
    "Almost as nutritious as it is tasty, for one thing." Clarity was wearing her prideful smile again. "It tastes like it's packed with sugars, but it's a sham. In reality it's almost solid protein."
    Vandervort took obvious delight in identifying it for him. "It's a pseudoplasmodium slug."
    Flinx stopped licking his fingers. Vandervort's smile grew wider. "A slime mold, young man."
    Flavors began to fade rapidly. "I don't follow you."
    "A pseudoplasmodium is an amoebeic aggregate. Strange lifeform, slime molds. When grouped together they behave as a single entity, but if you take them apart, shake them around in water or something, they break down into individual clusters quite capable of sustaining life." She gestured at the halfempty tray. "We don't know what we're going to call it yet. I don't deal with advertising and publicity."
    "I'm sure they'll call it something like Flavor Cubes," Clarity said.
    "Yes, dear. `Flavor Cubes from the taste mines of Longtunnel.' Or some such drivel to appeal to the popular taste." Yandervort sounded almost bitter. "They certainly will not market it as slime mold."
    "I take it the stuff is reasonable to produce," Flinx murmured.
    "More than reasonable. It's a saprobe. It lives by decaying other organic matter. Some are parasites. These' She indicated the tray again. "are easily managed. The organism thrives on garbage and waste. How's that for a practical food resource? A new food that tastes good, is visually appealing, and is good for you. And all it needs for growth is a little dampness and garbage."
    "It grows naturally here?" Flinx asked.
    "No, dear, but something very like it does. We intensified the colors, the rate of growth, and greatly manipulated the natural flavors. We'll be ready to commence production on a limited basis in a couple of months. Not right here: This will always be a research facility. A pair of large virgin caverns are being developed off to the west. It'll be sold as a luxury item at first, like the Verdidion Weave. We'll expand gradually into the mass market."
    What's in a name? he mused as he gazed at the tray of slime mold. The Commonwealth was rife with foodstuffs no one would touch if he or she had an inkling of their origins. That was what advertising existed for: to make the impractical and unappetizing irresistible. If Vandervort had allowed it, he would gladly have emptied the entire tray.
    "Clarity mentioned someone named Maxim. Is he a gengineer, too?"
    "No. Max is our head mycologist. Not everything we're working with down here is fungi, though. Longtunnel's subterranean world is alive with astonishing lifeforms. You wouldn't think to find so much variety thriving in darkness. Plenty of mammals or close relations."
    "L've seen the floats and the photomorphs."
    Vandervort nodded approvingly. "There are a few creatures the taxonomists haven't figured out how to classify. Distant relations of deepsea dwellers on Earth and Caebalot. Their ancestors lived next to sulfurous vents. The sulfides were metabolized by bacteria that lived in the creature's gills, or by special organs; microbes broke down the sulfide compounds and used the resultant energy to make carboyhdrates, proteins, and liquids.
    "When the oceans here on Longrunnel receded, exposing the limestone and creating the caverns, these ocean dwellers didn't die out. Instead they became airbreathing land creatures, and food for others. Many of them occupy the same ecological niche underground that chlorophyllous plants do topside. We expected to find a simple food chain here, and instead we stumbled into something wondrous and complex. To top it all, the entire ecosystem is particularly amenable to gengrneering. " She leaned back in her chair and regard€8 her guests speculatively.
    "I'll see to arranging some sort of suitable reward for you, young man."
    "That won't be necessary."
    "It really isn't," Clarity told her supervisor. "He's not short of resources. He has his own ship."
    Vandervort's expression was unreadable. Plus noted that her eyebrows had been neatly and recently plucked, then dyed to match the rest of her hair.
    "His own ship, you say? I am impressed. But we must give you something for returning our Clarity to us, young man. I suppose we could carpet a room or two on your vessel. You would be astonished to learn what our first rolls of Verdidion Weave sell for on places like Earth and New Riviera. It would be a suitable gift."
    "Thanks, but I like the floors on my ship just the way they are. If you're going to insist, though, I wouldn't mind having a few prays of that." He nodded at the lustrous pseudoplasmodium.
    Vaudervort chuckled, picked up the tray, and returned it to the refrigeration unit concealed in the cabinet behind her desk. "As I mentioned, we're not at the production stage yet. But I'll talk to the lab and see what can be done. Feeding you doesn't seem like much of a reward, but if that's what interests you, we have a couple of other new ingestible bioproducts on the shelves that might tickle your taste buds. Clarity can show them to you. She's already breached most of our security regulations, anyway."
    "He saved my life!" Clarity reminded her supervisor.
    "Take it easy, dear. I was only teasing." She smiled ingratiatingly at Thus. She was very good at what she did, he knew. The "harmless kindly aunt" act was excellent. The feelings he fell emanating from her suggested someone a good deal more calculating and professional. As a connoisseur of emotions, he always applauded a skilled performance. She took his smile for indifference.
    "You aren't interested in our little industrial secrets, anyway. Are you, young man'?"
        "I'm a student, bet not of those. Anything secret stays with me. I'm interested in knowledge for its own sake. Not for sale."
    "What a quaint notion. Well, if you're good enough for our Clarity, you're goad enough for me." She smiled and extracted the narcostick, which despite appearances was not permanently affixed to her lower lip.
    "I Leave it to Clarity to exercise proper judgment. Under her supervision you may have the run of our facility. It's the least we can do. Just promise me you're not wearing any concealed recording devices. How long do you plan to stay with us?"
    "I don't know how long I'm going to stay, and I'm not wearing anything except what you can see," he replied, knowing full well he probably had been scanned for concealed instrumentation as soon as he'd emerged from the shuttle.
    "Very well, then. Enjoy your visit." She was smiling an entirely different kind of smile as she glanced back at  Clarify."Do you think we can find suitable lodgings for our young man, my dear?"
    "I Think so," Clarity managed to reply with a straight face.
    Vandervort rose as she spoke. It was a gesture of dismissal. "Just remember, young man, that she has an unbreakable longterm contract here, and now .hat we have her back,I have no intention of letting her leave, voluntarily or otherwise."
    "I've no intention of interrupting my work here, Amee."
    "I'm glad to hear that, my dear. I am aware of other incentives to travel besides wealth and fame, and I'm not so old that I don't remember how powerful they can be."
Chapter Nine
     
    The following day she formally checked in with her colleagues and fellow workers. When they heard her story, Flinx was battered by a barrage of friendly backslaps and congratulatory handshakes. Everyone was grateful to him for what he had done. He bore their gratitude patiently.
    He tried to involve himself in their conversations, but the technical terms were outside his range of experience and study, though Clarity was obviously in her element. A short, swarthy, and perpetually nervous young man introduced himself as Maxim. He was not much older than Flinx. His lab was overflowing with an extraordinary array of chlorophyllless growths. A few were quite mobile. Maxim clearly enjoyed the role of teacher and tour guide.
    "We still aren't sure whether the fungi derived from the algae or the protozoans, but there are genotypes on this world that blow most of our traditional theories all to hell"
    Flinx listened enthusiastically, as he did to every new piece of information that came his way. Nor was the tour only of labs and libraries. There was time and the means to relax as well. Individual food service, undated entertainment on disk and chip, even occasional live performances that made the rounds of the various company facilities. Everything, Flinx thought, to make life underground as pleasant and endurable as possible.
    "Small compensation," Clarity said, "when you realize we never get to see the sun or the sky. Coldstripe does its best, though. We're the biggest research outfit on Longtunnel. The others are small and just getting started. Most of them are just doing pure research. We're the only ones who've gone as far as developing a salable product. The House of Sometra is trying, but they have no real production facilities as yet. Once the Flavor Cubes join Verdidion Weave on the market, everyone will stop asking where Longtunnel is. The plan is to export directly through Thalia Major. But I don't imagine you're very interested in the economics of it."
    "I'm interested in everything," he told her quietly.
    II was fascinating to watch her in the lab. When working, she underwent a complete transformation. The smiles disappeared, laughter became muted, and she was all seriousness and attention to business when trying to analyze the genetic structure of some new fungus or sulfide eater.
    She rarely worked with the actual lifeform. That was left to the surgeons and manipulators. Her career and work were bounded by the limits of a twentybytwenty infinitescreenfront Hydroden Custom Designer, with several billion megabytes of online storage in a supercoduct Markite Cylinder Tap. Without touching a living cell, she could take entire complex organisms apart and reassemble them on demand, could run an entire evolutionary schematic in a few hours. Only after a possible recombinant had been simulated and overchecked would it finally be tried in vivo.
    It was mesmerizing and disquieting to watchbecause it was too easy for him to empathize with the lowly creatures whose genetic codes were being played with like a child's blocks, even if they were lifeforms as simple as fungi and slime molds. Because it was all too easy for him to imagine a cluster of faceless strangers bent over similar devices, moving molecules of DNA around with electronic probes, inserting proteins and removing genes. Because it was alt too easy to envision the end product of their dispassionate and emotionless work as himself.
    Clarify disquieted him in another fashion entirely. For someone who had recently vowed not to involve himself any further in the problems of a frivolous and uncaring humanity, he was powerfully attracted to the young gengineer. She had already willingly demonstrated how attracted she was to him.
    He delighted in observing her with her colleagues. When working, she was no longer the frightened, exhausted woman he had hauled out of the Ingre jungle she added a decade in maturity and selfconfidence.
    Their relationship had begun to settle. It was not as if she had turned cool toward him. If anything, she was more relaxed in his company than ever before. But with the return of her selfassurance had come a slight and welcome distancing. If he pressed the issue, he did not doubt that she would respond readily. That was plain to see in her eyes, unmistakable in her voice. It was simply that she was no longer dependent on him for her continued survival. Better this way, he told himself.
    Unfortunately, her increased confidence and selfassurance in their relationship were marked by a steady decline in his own. While he was the intellectual equal or superior of any of her male acquaintances, in matters of social interaction he had less experience than the average nineteenyearold.
    Well, he had always been a loner, probably always would be. He tagged along as she made the rounds and performed her work, content with the moments in between when they could talk of other things.
    Clarity was deeply involved with something called a Sued mold. It looked like a cross between a mushroom and a jelly. The mold itself was useless, but its mature spores smelled like freshmown clover. More important, when properly applied, the powder had the ability to mask human body odor completely. The effect lasted only a few hours.
    If Clarity and her colleagues could reengineer the mold to produce spores whose odorkilling ability would last for at least twenty hours, or two or three days, they would have a new cosmetic product that could readily compete in Commonwealth markets. Tests showed the spores were harmless and had no side effects, being a natural product, whereas many deodorants contained metals that were potentially dangerous when absorbed by the human body. Clarity had tried it on herself, with no ill effects.
    She turned away from the designer. "Not very glamorous, is it? Bringing all the resources of modern gengineering to bear on the problem of body odor. Amee say sometimes the products that make the most profit are the ones that address the simplest problems.
    "Derek and Hing are working on another slime mold that exists in semiliquid form. It can metabolize toxic chemicals and turn them into useful fertilizer. If its natural metabolic rate can be speeded up and it can be raised cheaply enough and in sufficient quantity, we can spread it over half the restricted dumps in the Commonwealth. Imagine being able to literally transform poison into peaches. Sludge and stinksthat's what we're about down here. "
    "Very moneyoriented.
    "Does that upset you?"
    He turned away. "I don't know. I just have a lingering problem with altering the natural order of things purely for profit."
    "Now you sound like my kidnappers," she said, chiding him gently. "Flinx, every business since the beginning of time has altered the natural order of things for profit. We just begin at the source. There's no pollution here because we're working within Longtunnel's established ecosystem. We aren't setting up smelly factories or dumping toxins down pristine tunnels. On the contrary, we're working on products like the kind you've seen that are designed to reduce and clean up pollution on other worlds. A whole new industry is starting up here. If our plans pan out, this formerly useless world is going to become the source of a host of new purifying products. We're working with one ecosystem to improve dozens of others.
    "Until Vandervort and her backers decided to take a chance on Longtunnel, this world was nothing but a thin file in Commonwealth galographics. Now that we're actually established here, we're discovering dozens of new and exciting possibilities every day."
    "And who benefits ultimately?"
    She blinked. "You mean besides the people who buy our products?"
    "That's right. Which big firm is going to be pulling money out of this world's DNA?"
    "No big firm." She eyed him in surprise. "I thought you knew. Coldstripe is an independent selfcontained setup. Amee has backers and runs the whole operation here. Maxim and Derek and myself and the otherswe are Coldsttipe. Each of us owns a piece of the company. Do you really think they could hire people of that quality to come and live in a place like this for just a salary? We're here because we have a chance to make our fortune. We're all dependent on each other's work. That's why I was missed so much."
    She put a hand on the shoulder opposite Pip, and he felt it burn into him. She had beautiful hands, with long graceful fingers and neatly trimmed nails. He did not try to shrug it away.
    "You warned Ms. Vandervort about your abductors?"
    "She's taken steps. We were prepared to cope with industrial espionage, but ecofanatics don't play by any rules but their own. They talked to me a lot when they weren't asking questions. Trying to brainwash me, I guess. Their program, insofar as it could be called that, was to preserve the purity of all worlds `untouched' by the Commonwealth. Whatever that means."
    "To some people," Flinx murmured, "purity is an end in itself."
    "A dead end," she said sharply. "Whether prodded by reasons of commerce or simply a desire to know, science always advances. If it stands still, then civilization dies. There's no such thing as ecological purity on any world. Something's always on top, socially and via the food chain. Oh, it's not all onesided. I'd be the first to agree with that. There are always the unscrupulous, who'd exterminate an entire species for a few million credits. We're not like that here. Coldstripe is Churchcertified. We're not interested in damaging the natural order, only in using it. But we're an easy target because we're new and small.
    "Keep in mind we're not interfering with sentient or even semisentient creatures here on Longtunnel. We're dealing with fungi and slime molds and very basic organisms. We have a chance to use them to benefit all mankind. Developed under proper supervision, the lifeforms of Longtunnel have much to offer civilization, and I'm not just saying that because I have a chance to make a great deal of money while doing so. We're not just involved with the decorative arts. Coldstripe is much more than Verdidion Weave." Her expression wrinkled.
    "I guess some people can't see that. They'd rather leave a world untouched, ravaged by an impossible climate, forever dark and unused. It's the old story about the tree falling in the forest. If there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound? I say that if no one's here to study and learn from Longtunnel's beauty, then that beauty doesn't exist. The people who kidnapped me want all that beauty left locked up and unseen. I can't understand an attitude like that. Our work hurts no one and nothing. Those organisms we modify thrive in their altered states." She sighed sadly.
    "The goal of these fanatics is to stop all research in our fields. They want to bring gengineering and its related disciplines to a dead halt. There are half a dozen branches of science they'd ban if they could. As for the ecological `purity' they want to preserve, do they propose to ban evolution, too?
    "If they can stop Coldstripe, they can stop development here. The private research groups will pull out fast. Universities don't want their people involved in a shooting match."
    "What about requesting peaceforcer protection?"
    She laughed, not at him but at the idea. "Longtunnel's so small that the outpost here doesn't even rate official recognition yet. There's just not enough people or development to warrant that kind of expenditure. We're trying. We're expanding as fast as we can, even trying to bring other, nondirectly competitive firms in so we can attract some attention. Until that happens we're on our own."
    "I can see why they're so anxious to put a stop to your work here."
    She nodded. "If they can shut Coldstripe down and drive us out, then the other outfits here will follow. The Commonwealth won't step in because there isn't enough property and personnel to justify intervention. The fanatics will seal up the whole place. No one will try to reestablish. Eventually it'll all be forgotten." She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness.
    "All this potential will be lost. No more Verdidion Weave. No Flavor Cubes, no toxineating fungi, nothing. The floats will drift back to the wild, only their population will fall off in this area because they'll no longer have easy, protected access to food." There was sadness and passion in her voice.
    "Only a tiny portion of the caverns have been explored and charted. It takes so much time. This is the first world we've tried to settle where aerial surveys and mapping satellites are useless, because the only part of the planet we're interested in is buried. Like a treasure chest. Even Cachalot could be mapped from orbit. You can't do that with caverns. Some of the techniques the cartographers are having to use are thousands of years old. Longtunnel is Aladdin's cave, Flinx, overflowing with biogold instead of coins. The jewels here are alive and mobile and need studying. We can't let a bunch of madmen take that away from us. We won't."
    "They got to you once before. They may try again."
    "We'll be ready for them this time," she said confidently. "You heard Amee. Security is in place. They won't slip past port authority this time. Everyone coming in is to be triplescreened. Luggage is being hand searched. Now that the word's out about what happened to me, everyone's checking on everyone else. If the fanatics do have an operative working here, he or she won't be able to go to the bathroom without being observed. They're going to have to keep a low profile, or they'll be noticed and brought in for questioning." Her gaze rose to meet his.
    "I just want to be sure you understand what it is we're trying to do here, Flinx. You sounded unsure, or at least questioning. It's not just a matter of making money; every week, every month we make a major discovery that adds to the general store of human knowledge. Not just in ecology or geology but in a whole range of sciences. Longtunnel is unique. There's nothing else like it anywhere in the Commonwealth.
    "Take the airway sensors. Nobody's ever seen anything like them. The taxonomists are going crazy trying to decide if they need to create a whole new class to explain them. It's tremendously exciting. Lifeforms living in ways we never suspected existed. That's reason enough to fight to keep this installation functioning. We're adding daily to humanx knowledge and humanx comfort. The thranx who are working here, they think they may have a line on a sulfide eater that can be gengineered to rebuild broken exoskeleton. You can't regenerate chiton, but this stuff secretes it as a byproduct. You plant the wound, wait, and it grows together like new.
    "Do you realize what that means to a thranx? You know how afraid they are of damaged exoskeleton. It's about the severest kind of external injury they can suffer. They haven't cracked the problem yet, but we're trying to help. We'd split the profits from such a discovery. It would be a major medical advance in the treatment of thranx trauma and would save many lives. Isn't that worth fighting for?"
    "I wouldn't know." He turned away from her and studied the wall. "I'm a little young to be debating the great ethical issues. I have enough trouble sorting out my own sense of ethics, let alone humanxkind's."
    She was obviously disappointed. "Then you don't agree that what we're doing here is worth the slight alterations to the ecosystem?"
    "Certainly they're worth it to Coldstripe. All the rest- it's not for me to say."
    "But we're not tampering with the ecology," she said in exasperation. "The fungi that became Verdidion Weave still exist in a `natural' state. We're only growing the gengineered variety we developed. There's no impact on the subterranean environment whatsoever."
    He turned so sharply that it startled her. "I'm only here because of you. I have no right to an opinion on the matter either way." He took a step toward her, halted abruptly, and eyed the floor. "Also, it's about time I was on my way."
    "Leaving?" She looked puzzled. "You just got here. You said you were a student. I thought you were enjoying your tour of the facilities, meeting the other workers and learning about their projects. If that's boring you, why not study Longtunnel itself? Check out an outfit and go spelunking."
    He glanced back at her. "What do you care? Why are you interested in what I do?"
    "Because you saved my life, of course, and in doing so probably saved the whole installation. Because I like you." She frowned at her own words. "That's odd. I usually prefer older men. But there's definitely something about you, Flinx. I'm talking about more than what we shared on the journey here."
    "What?" He spoke more sharply than h2 had intended, but as always he suspected perception where there was only guilelessness.
    "You're justdifferent." She moved close to him. Pip fluttered her wings but remained on his shoulder as she slipped both arms around him from behind, not trying to pin his arms to his sides, just holding him. The contact made him shiver.
    "I guess I'm not making myself clear," she whispered. "I'm better at making myself understood on the Hydroden. What I'm saying, Flinx, is that I more than just like you. I want you to stay here. Not to study. To be with me. We haven't had much time to talk about that, about us. I've been so busy since I got back. All I've talked about is Longtunnel and its importance and my work. It's time to talk about you and me."
    "There's nothing to talk about." He wanted to sound utterly calm, cool, uninvolved, but the proximity of her body made that impossible.
    She sensed it, hugged him tighter, and pressed herself against him. "Isn't there? You've become special to me. I like to think I've become a little special to you. I think ours is a relationship that, if nurtured, could grow into something really spe"
     “stop it!"
    The violence of his reaction shocked her into letting him go. "I thought. ...
    "You `thought.' There's nothing to think about, Clarity. You don't understand. You don't understand anything about me."
    Alarmed by her master's emotional outburst, Pip took to the air in search of an unseen enemy. In this instance the enemy was not visible because it was Flinx himself.
    Clarity's confession of almostlove shattered the emotional balance Flinx had carefully nurtured the past weeks. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was so obviously attracted to him. He had dealt with that previously. It was because he was so deeply drawn to her, mentally as well as physically. She was intelligent and beautiful and older, but she did not talk down to him. It was the first time in his life he had experienced that kind of allenveloping emotional surge in a woman. More than anyone else could know, he knew it was genuine. So he coped the only way he knew how to cope with what he perceived to be an intrusionby pushing back, pushing away, and trying to maintain objectivity. It was frightening to discover that he could not be half as cold as he wanted to be. The reality of love was infinitely more difficult to deal with than the philosophical concept.
    "What's wrong, Flinx? Tell me."
    "You don't really know me. You only know what I've let you see."
    ` Then let me see everything so I can understand," she implored him. "Let me have that chance. I could get to know you well enough for us to be happy together."
    "We could never be happy together," he said decisively. "I can never be happy with anyone."
    Hurt joined confusion in her voice. "You're not making any sense."
    There was nothing to do but plunge on ahead. The small craft that tossed and flung him down the rapids of his life never seemed to put into shore.
    `You're a gengineer and a good one. Surely you've heard of the Meliorate Society"
    "The"She hesitated. Clearly that was not what she had expected him to say. But she recovered quickly. "Outlaws of the worst kind. Renegade eugenicists. They did genetic alteration of unborn human beings without consent or approval."
    "That's right." Suddenly Flinx was very tired. "Their intentions were honorable, but their methodology blasphemous. They violated every law covering gene splicing and cosmetic DNA surgery that exists. I understand a few new ones were added to the code specifically to cope with their offenses."
    "What about them? As I recall, the last of them was hunted down and hospitalized or mindwiped a long time ago. "
    "Not so very long ago. Not as long ago as the official records suggest. The last of them were active up until a few years back." He eyed her strangely. "As a legitimate gengineer I expect you disapprove of what they did far more than would the average citizen."
    "Of course I do. The details of their work were never made public. The government kept it as quiet as possible, but being in the field I had access during my studies to bits and pieces of information that fell through the cracks in security. I know what the Meliorares did, or tried to do. They were replicating the barbarities of the twentiethcentury B.A. on a much larger scale.
    "Now they're history. The Meliorares were criminals with scientific training. None of their work will ever make it into the legitimate gengineering journals. The government ordered all of it sealed."
    "True. The only problem they couldn't solve was that while they could lock up all Meliorate research, they couldn't account for the results of all their experiments. Oh, they caught up with most of them, cured those they could, put those who were damaged beyond hope of a normal life out of their misery. But they didn't find everyone. At least one of the Meliorare's experimental subjects reached adulthood without giving himself away or manifesting any serious illness. There may have been others. Nobody knows. Not even the Church."
    "I wasn't aware of that. The final report on the matter, which is standard reading in gengineering histories, says that the last of the Society members was rounded up and dealt with years ago, and that all their work had been accounted for."
    "Not all of it," Flinx corrected her. "They didn't get everyone." His eyes were fastened on hers. "They didn't get me."
    Pip had finally settled down on a nearby railing. Scrap had moved away from Clarity to be close to his mother. He was confused and frightened by Flinx's outburst and allowed Pip to shelter him beneath one wing.
    Clarity stared at the young man who had suddenly moved away from her. Finally she smiledbut it was a crooked, uncertain smile.
    "What kind of talk is that? `They didn't get me' You aren't old enough to have been a member of the Society, not even in its final days."
    It was his turn to smile humorlessly. "I told you you didn't understand anything. I wasn't a member of the Society. I'm one of the experiments. Funny, isn't it? I look normal."
    "You are normal," she replied with conviction. "You're more normal than anyone I've ever met. Shy, yes, but that's just another sign of normality."
    "I'm not shy; I'm careful. I wear shadows to hide myself, I keep to the darkness and try not to leave even memories behind."
    "You've certainly failed in my case. Flinx, you can't be serious about this. There's no way you could know in any case."
    "I was on Moth when the last Society members fought the authorities and both groups blew themselves to hell. They were fighting over me. But I didn't get blown up. I got away." He did not tell her how he had escaped, because he still had no idea how he had done so, and it troubled him to think about it.
        Her eyes were searching. No doubt seeking the bulging forehead, the extra fingers, any physical manifestation of the possible mutations he was alluding to, he thought sardonically. She would not find anything. The changes that had been wrought in his system had been made while he was still in the womb. Only he thought they were visible.
    "I wasn't born, Clarity. I was built. Constructed, conceived in a design computer." He tapped the side of his head. "What's up here is a perversion of nature. I'm just a working hypothesis. The people who thought me up are dead or wiped, so there's no one left who knows what they were trying to make of me.
    "Naturally I'm as illegal as the Society members. Guilt by birth instead of association. If the authorities find out what I am, they'll take me into custody and start poking and probing. If they determine that I'm harmless and certifiably normal, they may let me go free. If they find otherwise . . .
    "You can't be sure of this, Flinx. No matter what you've seen, or learned, or been told, there's no way to be sure."
    But he saw that besides shocking her, his confession had made her uncertain. Her attitude toward him was still hopeful, still affectionate, but more considered now. The unrestrained emotions had faded beneath the weight of the questions he had planted in her mind. It was shaming to spy on her feelings like that, but he could not have stopped himself had he wanted to. No longer was she certain of the man standing across from her. The simplistic lens she had been seeing him through had been permanently shattered. With it had gone something he feared might be lost to him forever.
    Not that any choice had been left to him. It was important for her to back off, to realize what a freak she was dealing with. Because he knew he had been on the verge of falling hopelessly and dangerously in love with her, and he was not yet in a position to permit that. He might never be.
    "Flinx, I don't know what to make of what you've just told me. I don't know how I can believe any of it, even though you obviously do. All I know for certain is that you're good and kind and caring. That much I don't have to submit to inquiry. I've observed it, experienced it. I don't think any of that was ..." She hesitated before hazarding the word. ". . . programmed into you before you were born. Those characteristics are functions of your personality, and they're what attracted me to you."
    She meant every word of it, he knew. It was an honest, straightforward outpouring of affection. It made him tremble inside.
    "Everyone has problems," she went on. "If any of what you say is true, then who's better equipped to understand them and sympathize with your troubles than me?"
    "You have no idea what I might do," he warned her. "I don't know myself. As I get older, I can feel myself changing, and I'm not referring to the passing of adolescence. It's deeper than that. It's physicalhere." He touched the side of his head again.
    "Changing how?"
    "I don't know. I can't say; it's impossible to tell. There's just the feeling that something major is happening to me. Something I can't control. Once I thought I knew what it was all about, that it was something I could study and learn to master. Now I'm not sure. I have this feeling that it's much more than I originally thought it was. Maybe a lot more than what my designers intended. The mutation is mutating, and whence it goes, nobody knows.
    "As you get older, you're supposed to start finding answers to your questions. I only seem to come up with more questions. It's maddening sometimes." Seeing the look that came over her face, he hastened to reassure her. "I don't mean maddening in the sense of going insane, but maddening as in frustrating and puzzling."
    She managed a small, wan smile. "I have moments like that myself, Flinx. Everyone does. I just want for us to be together. I think if we're together and you come to feel for me the way I feel about you, there's nothing we can't cope with. I have access to sealed records. My security clearance is very high. Coldstripe may be small, but our contacts are excellent."
    He was shaking his head. "You'll never get into the Church records concerning the Society. There's a moral imperative lock on them. I know, I've tried. You can work your way through the government copies with bribes and coercion, but you can't do that within the Church."
    "We'll manage. Anything's possible when you're in love. "
    "Are you so sure you're in love?"
    "You don't give a centimeter, do you?"
    "I can't afford to. Are you?"
    "I'm not sure, now. I thought I was, butis anyone ever really sure?" Her smile expanded. "See, you aren't the only one who can be badly upset by something happening inside them. What I don't understand is why you keep pushing me away when all I want is to help and comprehend. Why won't you let me help you?"
    "Because I am dangerous. Isn't that obvious?"
    "No, it isn't. Just because some misguided people tinkered with your genes before you were born, if any of that is true, doesn't make you a threat. When I look at you, all I see is a young man unsure of himself and his future who went out of his way to help me when I was in trouble, and who could just as easily have ignored me and gone on his merry way. A young man who risked his life to save that of a stranger. A man who is kind and gentle and intelligent, if a bit cynical at times. Why should I see a threat in that?"
    "Because you don't know what I might do. Because don't know what I might do." He was almost pleading with her now, wanting to keep the distance he had opened between them but not wanting to frighten her.
    "The Meliorares wanted to improve humanity, as I recall it. If your mind reflects your ethics, then I've nothing to worry about."
    "Clarity, you're just not seeing it, are you?"
    "You said I couldn't. Help me to understand, Flinx." She took a step toward him, then stopped. She wanted desperately to hold him, to embrace and comfort him and tell him that no matter what was wrong, it was all going to turn out all right. Yet at the same time she could not put aside his warning that it might be better for her if she did not.
    Both were torn between what their hearts wanted and what their minds ordered, though for differing reasons. They might have settled everything then and there, might have changed their lives one way or the other, except that their conversation was not allowed to continue.
Chapter Ten
     
    The explosion seemed to echo endlessly down the tunnels and corridors. The chemical fluorescents attached to the ceilings and walls did not flicker and go out since each was independent of its neighbor.
    A second explosion followed close behind the first. It came from the entrance to Coldstripe's cavern, up past the laboratories and living spaces.
    "Accident," Clarity shouted.
    Flinx was shaking his head. "I don't think so." He recognized the report of a shaped demolition charge but did not want to alarm her until he was absolutely certain.
    At the same time he damned himself for an overconfident fool. There were sidearms on board the Teacher. He had left them there, confident that he had time to deliver Clarity to her colleagues and then move on. He had expected persistence on the part of her kidnappers, but not speed. And her tour of the installation had subsequently engendered in him a false sense of security, now rudely shattered. No installation was impregnable. TseMallory would have been disappointed in him. That old man had tried his best to stuff his young friend's skull as full of tactics and strategy as he had of humanities and science.
    "Our civilization is founded on law and reason," he had once told Flinx, "but never forget that the forces of darkness are always roaming its fringes, testing its strength, always probing for a way in. Nor am I speaking solely of the AAnn. I fear them less than I fear internal corruption and a breakdown of morality, those for whom ethics is merely an inconvenient concept. You must always be on guard against them. They'll slip up on a civilization like a bad cold, and before you know it, the body politic is comatose with pneumonia. It can strike individuals as easily as institutions.
    "That's why we have the United Church, to provide moral leadership and succor to those who need it. Perfect it's not, and the padres know it."
    I need a gun right now, Flinx told himself as he and Clarity raced hand in hand up the corridor, not moral suasion.
    Confused shouts and panicky yells mixed with the explosions' dying echoes. "Your friends have come back for you!" he shouted above the noise.
    "Impossible! There's no way they could get past port Security. "
        Pip buzzed her master's head, constantly sweeping the corridor ahead with her eyes. "What if they came in someplace else?" he asked her.
    "There is no place else," she insisted. "The best VTL shuttlecraft would have a fiftyfifty chance at best of setting down off the landing strip in one piece. The odds for a successful liftoff would go down. As for the outpost itself, there's only the single entrance, and you saw the barrier door we taxied under. It would take a direct hit from a warship to penetrate that. Everyone comes in that way."
    "Since I've been here, all I've heard about are the extensive caverns of Longtunnel. If they could get down intact, isn't it possible they could find or enlarge another entrance? There must be other openings to the surface besides the one that's utilized for the formal port of entry.'
    "I suppose. Yes, I guess that would be possible. Anyone trying it would have to come in with full spelunking gear: copes, lights, everything. There are some horrendous pits and sheer drops, but it's conceivable they could do that, if they were determined enough."
    "Or fanatic enough." As they rounded a corner a third explosion, smaller than the others, boomed down the tunnel. Flinx came to a halt just in time.
    The next charge went off ahead and slightly to their right, close enough for them to feel the heat and see the flash. The ceiling had been cleanly shorn or they might have been skewered by falling stalactites. The force of the blast was still powerful enough to dislodge rock from the roof and knock both of them to the ground.
    "You all right?" As Flinx helped Clarity to her feet, he caught a brief glimpse of a tall blond woman in a chameleon suit running into a room up ahead whose door had been blown away. Several smaller people, similarly clad, followed her inside. Several of them looked too old to be engaged in such business, but then, fanaticism knows no age.
    They had used the suits to help them infiltrate the facility; now that they had been discovered, they had thrown back the hoods in order to see and hear more freely.
    Two bodies lay in the corridor. One was moaning and rolling on the floor, clutching his torn left arm. Clarity started toward them, and Flinx had to grab her from behind.
    "That's Sarah! She's hurt."
        "We can't do anything here. They're right in front of us. If they get you back, I won't be able to help you again. Someone else will take care of her."
    He dragged her with him as he retreated. In addition to being bigger than her, he was much stronger than his slight frame suggested. The legacy of hanging from his fingers to avoid the attentions of the police and of leaping from wall to window, he told himself.
    A fresh explosion erupted in the room the attackers had assaulted. Yellow flame burst upward and spread out across the ceiling.
    "Oh, God," Clarity moaned. "That was our microsurgery! It takes years to get delivery of some of the equipment that was in there."
    "You'd better start worrying about the equipment between your hair and your boots. That takes even longer to replace," he warned her tightly.
    The cavern was alive with the sound of small arms fire: the crackle of needlers, the soft hiss of lasers. Shots easily pierced sprayplastic walls. The corridor was beginning to fill with smoke as flammable materials reacted to the kiss of heatgenerating weaponry.
    They could hear the flames that ate at the cool cave air. Other rooms and laboratory facilities were being put to the figurative torch. The attackers were methodical in their destruction. However they had come in, Flinx surmised that they had first moved to seal off Coldstripe from the rest of the outpost. Then they had begun working their way backward, destroying everything they encountered as they advanced.
    "Why?" Clarity was crying as Flinx half walked, half carried her down the tunnel. "Why, why?"
    "Kidnapping you wasn't enough," he muttered, his eyes checking each door and passage before racing onward. "Your escape forced them to move openly. You as much as told me that they wanted to shut you down."
    "Not like this! Not killing and burning."
    "They're probably looking at it as some kind of twisted cleanup operation. I don't think they're really keen to murder. It's the facility here they want to destroy. That doesn't mean they're going to stop and reason with anyone who thinks differently or gets in their way."
    She looked up suddenly. "Bo you think they know I'm back here?"
    "Maybe. Obviously their information's better than anybody thought."
    It was becoming hard to see through the thickening smoke. Just then someone stepped out of the murk on his right. The sight was so unprepossessing that for an instant Flinx was not sure how to react.
    The man was short and electively bald, with heavy white sideburns framing his jowly face and a potbelly protruding from his midsection. His suit was too big for his body and hung in wrinkles around his chest and thighs, which distorted its camouflaging ability. A breather clung to his face like some seagoing arachnid, its presence proof that the attackers expected to have to deal with smoke and bad air.
    He had stepped out of a service corridor awash in acrid smoke. Though he looked less than dangerous, there was a madness burning in his eyes that belied his appearance, and there was nothing laughable about the highpowered needier he was gripping in both hands. The instant he caught sight of Flinx and Clarity, he began bringing it around to bear. He spoke in a high, maniacal voice that was anything but humorous.
    "Over! All over for you now, damn you! You're done here; you're finished. We're putting an end to this blasphemy forever. This is only the first step, only the beginning." The gun was still moving. "Death to all destroyers of the environment!"
    Flinx shoved Clarity hard and threw himself the other way. His arm jumped involuntarily as the near miss from the needier grazed his shoulder. He landed and rolled fast, then came up to see the muzzle of the gun swing toward him.
    The second shot was never fired. The man ripped his lungs screaming as Pip's venom caught him square in the eyes. Probably he never saw the flying snake. Pip had been so involved in keeping herself positioned between her master and the greater threat far up the corridor that she had been late in getting back to deal with this unexpected one.
    The little man fell backward, flung his weapon aside, and began clawing at his disintegrating face. Steam rose from his skin as venom ate into the flesh. Though he did not know it, he was already dead. By the time Flinx had helped Clarity back to her feet, their assailant lay motionless on his back.
    Clarity was bleeding from shallow scratches on her arms and legs where she had struck the ground. Making sure she could stand by herself, Flinx went to remove the dead man's breather, not forgetting to pick up the needier he had thrown aside in his agony. A couple of power cells for the gun fit neatly in two empty pockets. A quick search of the man's suit and inner clothing turned up nothing that could be used to identify him or the organization to which he belonged.
    Flinx was checking out the handgun as he rejoined Clarity. "Whoever they are, they're very thorough. No identification whatsoever. Nothing to lead the authorities to them or to their base of operations." When she continued to stare blankly past him, he raised a hand as if to strike her. "Clarity! Wake up!"
    She instinctively raised both arms to protect herself. It was enough to shake her out of the daze into which she had lapsed.
    "Sorry. I'mI'm okay."
    A laser hissed into the ceiling behind them, boning a hole through damp limestone. In one smooth swooping movement Flinx brought the heavy needier around and fired. No body appeared out of the swirling smoke, but his return fire was not answered, either.
    "They aren't trained for this," he mumbled, as much for his own reassurance as for Clarity's. "They're not soldiers. They're relying on determination and surprise, both of which they've brought in quantity. It's not a real military operation. If they were professionals, we'd be dead or captured by now." He tried to see through the roiling smoke. "Some of the security people must be putting up a fight."
    The upper reaches of Coldstripe's cavern were filled with smoke and flame. In such conditions it would be difficult for both attackers and defenders to tell friend from foe. The local ventilation system was still functioning or they would have already suffocated, but if vital fans or ducts were destroyed, the air could turn unbreathable rapidly. He tried not to think about the possible airborne toxins that might have been released into the enclosed atmosphere when the invaders had blown up the company labs.
    The fanatics had come equipped with breathers. Coldstripe's people might not be similarly prepared. Having effectively eliminated the research station as a viable entity, he found himself wondering, would the invaders be content to stop there? Victory could be a powerful narcotic. They might well attempt a takeover of the entire colony.
    Even now they might have a small army of fellow fanatics waiting in orbit, anxious to fallow their shock troops down via cargo shuttle. If they could take control of the port, they could hold everyone hostage. Demands could be drawn up and presented to the government. The newsfax attention would be extraordinary.
    "Is there another way around to the port and hangar facilities?"
    Her eyes were watering from the smoke. She hacked and coughed out a reply. "No. Each concern has its own complex. The only way back to the port is the way I brought youbrought you in. Some of the university people share space to save money, but every private outfit like Coldstripe has its own cavern with its own access. That's to ensure company security. If they break out into the main port area ....
    "That's what's been bothering me. At least now we know there's more than one way out to the surface. They didn't blast their way in. If there's one natural passage in, there might be another leading from here to the port."
    "Then it hasn't been mapped," she insisted as they stumbled along, racing the smoke. "Not even a crawl space. "
    His eyes required constant attention. It seemed strange that ordinary smoke could sting so badly. Burning Mylar and spraywalls might have released irritating chemicals into the air.
    "We've got to have a light we can carry with us." He longingly eyed the chemtubes that showed the path, but they were bolted down tight.
    "Somehow we have to get clear of this complex. I don't think they're going to take the time to look for you specifically. At least not right away. Too many bodies around. First they're going to secure what they've taken and make plans for holding on to it. They they'll decide on followup measures."
    "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter anymore." She was sobbing, and not from the effects of the smoke. "They're destroying everything! All the work we've done, all our specimens, the recordsall ruined!"
    "Did you think they'd be selective in their destruction?" he said. It came out sounding harsher than he had intended. "Discrimination requires a system of values. Much simpler to condemn it all and engage in wholesale destruction than to waste time trying to decide if something might be beneficial. They're operating on their own private moral code, not civilization's. You saw the expression on that man's face." He gestured behind them, in the direction of the dead man who had tried to shoot them.
    "There's something much more exciting about taking part in physical action instead of a debate. Instant gratification. Right now they must be thinking they won the world. All they hold is a little piece of this one, but you'd never convince them of that. Not now, not at this moment."
    Her sidetail swung up against her ear. "How come you know so much about mass psychology?"
    "I had teachers who knew all about it. Pick up your feet."
    She ran more easily now, letting him lead her deeper and deeper into Coldstripe's storage sector. In a little while they found themselves surrounded by cached supplies. The light tubes here were weak and in need of replacement. They were smaller and more manageable than the big ones up in research but still larger than he was looking for.
    He questioned Clarity without much hope of learning anything useful. She was a gengineer, not a quartermaster. They started inspecting individual crates, reading the stamped labels while wishing for a code scanner.
    They found plenty of concentrates and stuffed their pockets. Near the back of the big chamber they encountered several small side caves that had been sealed off to prevent unauthorized access. A number of the containers behind the restrictive barriers were marked as radioactive. Most were simply expensive. The barriers protecting them were not complex. They were designed to keep out only casual thieves. None had been erected with foiling professionals in mind.
    Flinx fumbled for the tools he had used to such good effect on Alaspin. Ironic how circumstances keep forcing me out of retirement, he thought.
    Clarity watched him defeat the locks and pop the gate in less than a minute. "You must have been very good at your trade when you were working at it."
    "I was. Then I started growing, so I gave it up permanently. Tough for a tall thief to remain inconspicuous." He dragged the gate aside.
    The highpriced electronics and scientific instruments did not interest him. What he wanted was the compact, highintensity chemtubes that illuminated the storage cave itself. Each was half a meter long. It was not hard to pry a couple of the brightly glowing cylinders from their mountings. He passed one to Clarity and kept the other for himself.
        He tried to choose the brightest pair. They were designed to operate for a long time without attention or maintenance and required no batteries, no power packs, no charged chips. As long as the tube's integrity remained inviolate, they should have illumination for as long as they were likely to need it.
    "What about water?" He felt better now that they had food and light. "It's liable to be a while before the situation here is resolved."
    "You don't need to carry water on Longtunnel. The caverns are awash in it. Keep in mind that there are whole rivers down here." She eyed him uncertainly. "What are you planning, Flinx?"
    "We're going to wait. We'll find a deep, dark, quiet spot where nobody's shooting at anybody else and wait. In a couple of days we'll come back and see what's going on. If the port is still holding out, we'll try to work our way back there. After the initial fighting comes the negotiating. Maybe the destruction of Coldstripe's facilities will satisfy them. Maybe they'll bargain for safe, unopposed passage offplanet and leave. Maybe.
    "If they manage to take over the entire port, we'll have to find some way to make it to my shuttle." He was staring past her. "Do you know your way around the unoccupied caverns?"
    "No. There was never any reason to go any farther than the farthest lab. Spelunking was a hobby for some of my friends but never for me."
    "Damn. Well, never mind. We'll manage."
    They reentered the main warehousing section, keeping low and staying behind concealing crates and packages as she led him toward the back of the chamber. Eventually they halted in front of a spraywall. It was a theoretical partition more than a realistic one, cardboard thin: a bright blue boundary.
    He felt it with his fingers. It was flexible to the touch. "What's back here?" Without waiting for a reply he flicked the waferthin latch holding a spraydoor shut. It opened inward, and he shoved the tube he was carrying into the darkness beyond. There was no other light on the far side of the partition, no adamantine overheads or biotubes lining the floor. The ground was rough and pebbly.
    "Nothing," she told him. "Just empty cavern. More Longtunnel."
    "How common are those dangerous lifeforms you mentioned? Are they all as harmless as the photomorph?"
    "You wouldn't think a photomorph was harmless if it got hold of you. It's a good thing they're slow." She was trying to see past him. "Not much of anything comes this close to the installation. Too much light and noise."
    "That's what we want." There was satisfaction in his voice. "Dark and empty." He stepped through the portal. "Come on, what are you waiting for?" He tried to see over the shelves and cylinders that filled the warehousing cavern. None of the invaders had penetrated this far, but eventually they would start hunting for possible pockets of resistance. Depending on what they had brought down with them, they might need to begin scavenging for supplies. The warehouse would be a logical place to start. For any of several reasons they might show up at any moment, and he didn't want to be around when they did.
    The same thoughts must have occurred to Clarity, but she continued to hang back. "I can't," she said finally.
    "Can't? What do you mean, you can't? Are you afraid of dangerous animals?"
    "No, it's not that." Her voice had grown very small. "It's just that IFlinx, I'm afraid of the dark."
    He gaped at her. "And you came to work in a place like Longtunnel?"
    "There's no permanent dark here." She spoke defiantly. "The biotubes burn around the clock, and some part of the installation is always on work shift. The only time it's dark is when you turn out the lights in your living quarters. It's not the same kind of dark as that." She nodded toward the emptiness that swallowed the light beyond Flirts's tube.
    "There's all kinds of things down there, Flinx. For every one we've found there must be a hundred more we know nothing about."
    "Then it's a choice, isn't it? What you don't know about down there and what you do know about out that way." He gestured back the way they had come with the brightly glowing tube.
    As she stood hesitating, someone screamed far up a branching corridor. It was a long, drawnout scream, highpitched but not necessarily female. Not the sort of scream a person would make if he had just been hit by a weapon. It decided her.
    "I'm comingbut will you do one thing for me?"
    "What's that?"
    "Would you hold my hand?"
    He glanced at her extended right hand and tried to hide his puzzlement. Clarity was a mature, intelligent human being. A scientist, for Deity's sake! The simple absence of light was not something to fear. It did not threaten, it was not a physical presence, it could not hurt you in and of itself. Yet otherwiserational people were easily terrified of it. He could feel the fear within her and knew it was for real.
    Now was not the time or the place to debate unreasonable psychological deficiencies. He just took her hand and gently brought her through the portal, carefully closing the millimeterthick door behind them. The two tubes enveloped them in a circle of light half a dozen meters in diameter, keeping the blackness at a comfortable distance. He did not feel it pressing in on him at all. It simply was.
    The first thing was to move deep enough into the next cavern so that anyone peering through the door they had used would not be able to detect their lights. He doubted anyone would bother to check, since the logical thing for anyone fleeing to do would be to try to sneak out to the safety of the port. But he was not taking any chances.
    The floor was relatively smooth except for pebbles and gravel. In places, water had worn a flat but slick path. They crossed a running stream, and Flinx paused for a sip of pure, cold cave water. As he bent toward the rivulet, a host of tiny white legless creatures sped in all directions, fleeing his light.
    At the scritchscritch sound of something much larger hurrying away into the darkness he brought his light around fast. There was nothing to be seen, not a suggestion of movement between the glistening stalagmites, but he could feel the life all around, keeping to the hidden places.
    As they traveled farther and deeper, he could see pinpoints of light flashing beyond the range of the tubes. Photomorphs perhaps, or some other extraordinary kind of bioluminescent creature, possibly new to science. Whatever they were, their lights winked out when the brighter illumination of the tubes came near them. When they had hiked past, he turned and looked back to see the pinpoints flashing brightly again.
    The comparatively easy footing enabled them to cover a lot of ground in a short time. For a while they were able to hear voices and explosions. These faded with distance.
    The fanatics must have already reached the warehouse, he surmised. He and Clarity had left just in time. He tried to put himself in the attackers' position. If they were smart, they would put a permanent guard or two on station at the warehouse cavern's entrance, but he did not know how much credit to give them. Certainly they were as fanatical as Clarity had described them. That they had gone so far as to openly assault a legitimate commercial enterprise, not to mention an entire Commonwealth outpost, was proof enough of their devotion to their cause and their willingness to risk everything in its service. But that was no indication they would act logically in ail things.
    They had come far enough from the installation to relax in safety, but he kept going, wanting to be certain. The next clear, running stream, he promised himself, and they would set up a camp to wait out the assault. By then it might all be over, the invaders gone, the port authorities recovering. It would behoove the attackers to act rapidly on the outside chance a peaceforcer might be in the area. But without a deepspace communications beam, he reminded himself, a warship would have to be extremely close indeed to pick up a distress signal.
    He checked his chronometer. Technically it was nighttime, bat within the caverns that was the only time it ever was. Though he had developed the ability to catnap whenever necessary, he did not think Clarity shared that talent. So for her sake they would try to keep to a normal twentyfourhour day.
    It would have been nice to have had enough time to gather proper equipment: ropes, hard hats, longrange penetratingbeam lamps, maybe even a tent and sleeping bags. Not that be was complaining. They were lucky to have escaped with food and lights. While not frightened of the darkness, he had no desire to go stumbling blindly about in it. It would be easy to become disoriented, lose one's way, and wander the endless caverns until food or hope ran out.
    "We'll stay here a few days," he murmured, reasoning aloud. "If they haven't left and it looks like they're settling in for a while, provided the port is still holding out against them, then I'll try something else. I know you're not enjoying this."
    "You're so perceptive," she said, but her heart was not in the sarcasm. "What could you try?"
    "After things calm down, I'll sneak back with Pip. They'll have made a thorough search of the installation and won't be expecting any surprises. If I can locate a couple of them who are approximately our size, I'll try to put them down quietly. Those chameleon suits they're wearing have hoods. There's a chance we could pass ourselves off as part of their army and make a break for the port. I don't want to try it unless I have to. I'd rather take it easy here and wait for them to leave. Except you're not taking it easy."
    "No, I'm not. Do you really think they'll negotiate and leave?"
    "Depends on what their ultimate aims are. If it was just to destroy Coldstripe, then they've done that. If they're planning to settle in for a long stay . . .
    "Our food will run out." Her eyes were moving constantly, searching, as though she expected a patch of darkness to suddenly become animate and jump down on her. The determined, selfconfident researcher was gradually giving way to a frightened little girl. He could see she would not last a week in the caverns. All because of nothing more than the potential absence of light.
    "You shouldn't be afraid."
    "I know that!" she shot back angrily. "It's stupid and childish and unreasonable to be afraid of the dark. I'm quite aware of that. I know the medical terms and I know the causes, and it doesn't matter a goddamn because if you weren't here I think I'd go catatonic. Or panic and run around until I ran into something. Or until something tan into me."
        "Well, I am here." He spoke soothingly. "So take it easy. We'll rest, have something to eat, maybe get some sleep. If you're that afraid, then I'll reconnoiter the port tomorrow. "
        "All my friends." She was murmuring to herself now. "Maxim and Ling and Shorona and Amee ...
    "We saw only a couple of bodies, and we aren't sure anyone's dead. Except the fanatic Pip put down. They don't have to kill people to stop your research and development here. They've obviously come equipped and planned for extensive demolition work. If they do a lot of killing, it'll be much harder for them to negotiate a way out. They might not be able to slip free by the same route they used to sneak in. They may have a use for hostages. Besides, your friends weren't the ones fighting back. Security was doing that."
    "How could my friends fight? They had nothing to fight with."
    "See? Then maybe they're safely out of it, waiting to see who takes control. Standing comfortably on the sidelines."
    "Yes." She looked up gratefully, brightening. "Yes, that's right, they might be." She sounded hopeful. "Maybe everyone else will be okay."
    "How many nonsecurity personnel did Coldstripe have?"
    She thought a moment. "About sixty, including administration."
    "That's a lot of hostages. You can bargain efficiently with that many hostages. Sixty corpses do you no good at all."
    "And you're not even twenty yet," she said, marveling at him. "When did you ever have to think about hostage bargaining and assault tactics?"
    "I had to grow up in a hurry. I kind of regret that now. I didn't have what anyone would call a normal childhood, which I suppose is appropriate since I'm not normal. But I regret it all the same."
        Another violent explosion echoed through the caverns. Scrap stirred on Clarity's shoulder. The emotional strain of the past hours had taken its toll on the young minidrag. He flew rarely now, preferring to cling to Clarity's shoulder and sidetail.
    Flinx was surprised. "I thought they were finished with that, and it had to have been close for us to hear it all way back here." Ten minutes later a second explosion followed the first.
    "Something's wrong. They should have concluded their demolition work by now. Unless there was a part of your complex I never saw."
    Clarity shook her head. "You saw everything."
    He chewed his lower lip. "I can't imagine what's left to blow up, unless they've gone completely mad and are destroying the supplies." He climbed to his feet, picking up a tube. "I'll go have a look. You can wait here."
    "Not a chance." She rose nervously. "I'd rather be lying halfdead on that beach back on Alaspin than be left alone down here."
    "All right. But when we get close, we're going to have to muffle the light from the tubes. We can use our shirts."
    "Anything you say, but I'm not staying here alone."
    They never did make it far enough to see what was happening. When they had retraced half their steps, Flinx noticed that the faint glow of distant biotubes through spraywall was absent. Rumbles continued to reach them from progressively fainter explosions.
    "We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere."
    "No, this is right. This has to be right." She caressed an oddly bent stalagmite. "I tried to memorize landmarks, specific features. That's one of the first things they drill you in when you come here, in case you do stray from a lit path."
    "Then we just haven't come far enough."
    He thought they had walked the required distance when they found themselves standing opposite a solid wall of rock. Flinx played his tube over the broken surface while Pip and Scrap fluttered curiously nearby. The echo of another explosion reached them, very distant now. That was strange, because it should have been louder.
    He bent to examine a place where broken stone was layered against a sparkling brown and white stalagmite. Clarity was kneeling and pushing aside fragments of rock.
    "These look like unicorn horns. There's no fresh growth, and the stalactites are still damp where they've broken loose from the ceiling." Her gaze rose to the solid wall in front of them. "They must be destroying the back passageways."
    "It's not enough for them to ruin your work here." Flinx rose, his expression grim. "They're trying to entomb it by demolishing the corridors and rooms."
    A slight quaver crept into her voice. "If they're blowing up all the tunnels on their way out, then we're trapped back here. "
    "They found a new way in, we can find a new way out. "
    "But they had proper spelunking equipment, and the passage they found is somewhere in there. " She indicated the immovable wall. "We only have a couple of light tubes, and when they run out"
    "Calm down!" Flinx ordered. It had the intended effect, which was to quickly dampen her rising hysteria. "There have to be other exits to the surface from here, otherwise there'd be no decent air for us to breathe."
    "There are probably a hundred openings that go all the way up," she said tiredly, "and most of them less than a meter in diameter, and they twist and turn and curve on their way in. Nothing a human being could fit throughnothing a cat could fit throughbut enough to allow air to circulate. Alternative entrances to the outpost were checked and rechecked before construction began. The only practical way into the complex is via the ancient river canyon which forms the shuttle landing strip." She ran her hands along the wall. It might have been in place for a million years for all the chance they had of forcing a passage through the tons of collapsed limestone.
    "We'll have to find a way through this somehow," he told her. "Maybe a couple of large stones fell against one another and left a clearable space between."
    They did locate one spot where an immense fallen stalactite three meters in diameter formed a low arch. A hopeful Flinx crawled through, only to find his way blocked by debris from a second wall less than half a dozen meters beyond. Unable to turn, he laboriously crawled backward until he was standing outside the archway.
    "No good. They set off more than one charge in here." He brushed dust from his clothing, noticed the small flying snake peering at him from Clarity's shoulder, and smiled. "Pip and Scrap could probably get out through one of those air passages you spoke of, but they're not homing animals. They couldn't take a message through, and in any event, Pip wouldn't leave me in my current state of mind."
    "Then we're trapped. We'll never get out. Even if there was another way, we'd never find it. We don't have any equipment."
    "But we do have time. The food will last if we're careful with it, and water's not a concern."
    "It's not that. It's not that." She held her light tube so tightly, he was afraid she'd crush it between her fingers. "What happens when these start to go out?"
    "They're not going to go out until we've found a way out."
    "How can you know that?"
    "Because we have to find a way out first." He looked past her. "If they're slowly filling in the entire Coldstripe complex, then our best bet is to try to circle around to the port area. If they've taken over the entire outpost, then it doesn't matter where we go, but we can only proceed on the assumption that there's a safe haven waiting for us at the end of our search. We need to find a way into a developed section of cavern.
    "They can't have brought enough people to keep watch over every room, every chamber. Most likely they've rounded everyone up and are keeping them under guard in one place. By the time we've found our way around to another part of the outpost, they won't be looking for strays." He took a determined step past her.
    She didn't follow. "You think it's that easy? You don't know anything about caves and cave systems. Caverns big enough to shelter half a city are often connected by crawl spaces too low for an infant to pass. You tell yourself, just a little more, just a little farther and you'll be through, crawling on your belly, pushing with your feet, clawing with your hands while dust you can't brush aside falls in your eyes. You can get close enough to see the next cavern beyond, and then the roof dips another centimeter and you're stuck, and you can't back out and they can't pull you out and so you just lie there trying to shrink your skeleton enough to pull free and'
    "That's enough!"
    She started crying, not caring if anyone overheard, wanting someone to hear because anything was preferable to being marooned forever in that awful darkness, alone in a cavern that had suddenly become a potential tomb. Better to be a prisoner, better to suffer any amount of abuse by captors than to be trapped here.
    "FFlinx, I don't want to die down here."
    "I'm not particular about the place," he replied coolly, "but I am about the time, and it isn't now. Come on, we're wasting time. We have to work our way around, whether we have to climb or crawl or glide to do it. There has to be another way out."
    They started following the wall, traveling north by Flinx's illuminated compass, one of the hundred functions he could call up on his chronometer.
    His hope was that they would quickly find a passage leading to the back of some other company's research installation. But Clarity was right. He knew more of the vastnesses above worlds than he did of the hollow places beneath their surfaces.
    The first problem was that the ground did not stay level. Despite their constant efforts to remain at the same depth, they found themselves unwillingly working their way deeper. Nor did the wall they wanted to keep on their left curve gently around toward the port. It wandered and split, forming new passageways and small caves and tunnels until it was impossible to tell which was part of the original wall and which was entirely new. The narrowest crawl space might lead to salvation, while spacious walkaways always seemed to end in rockfalls.
    He thought they could find their way by following breezes coming from the west, but holes in the ceiling centimeters wide and hundreds of meters long all admitted fresh air from the planetary surface. The result was a constant swirl of air, directionless and unhelpful.
    The bright flare from the chemtubes they carried did little to dispel their sense of disorientation. Flinx had no idea of the port's layout and knew only the direction in which they were traveling; Clarity, still terrified by the darkness, was completely lost. To her credit, she struggled to keep mind and soul together with as much hope as she could muster.
    "Maybe heading down isn't so bad," she said, trying find the good in a bad situation. "There are levels below Coldstripe's. I think there's a big storage area located beneath the port. We just need to make sure we don't descend too far or we might walk right beneath it and out on the outer side."
    "We'll find it. Or something close to it," he told her with an assurance he did not feel.
Chapter Eleven
     
    They walked, ate several meals, and marched on. It dawned on Flinx that one could go quietly mad trying to find one's way around Longtunnel. It did not help when Clarity informed him that several of the geologists believed the wondrous cavern system extended the length and breadth of the continent. The hopedfor back way into another company's chambers did not materialize. Even while paying constant attention to a compass, it was easy to get turned around.
    Wild photomorphs fled from their lights. There was also an unseen creature that spun an intensely phosphorescent, bright pink web. They carefully avoided the sticky strands as they walked past, content to admire the web from a distance without feeling compelled to summon its owner forth.
    Following a straight path was impossible. The farther they went, the more difficult it became to know if they were still anywhere near the colony. For Clarity's sake Flinx espoused a positive line, but after several days of climbing over fallen boulders and through forests of stalagmites, during which time they encountered not a single sign of humans presence, he found he was becoming discouraged himself.
    Pip's and Scrap's moods reflected those of their humans. They rarely flew, preferring instead to ride shoulders and arms while displaying none of their usual exuberance and curiosity. Flinx knew that Pip's lethargy was a true reflection of his own current state of mind. It was not a good sign.
    The sheer enormousness of the caverns was putting a severe dent in his selfconfidence. They might already have walked past half a dozen funnels leading straight to the port complex. Instead, they had explored dozens of blind alleys and corridors that gradually narrowed to the width of a knife. As Clarity relentlessly pointed out, climbing higher might only lose them in different caverns.
    If only they could get near enough to air installation to see a light, hear a noise. But there was only the trickling of water, the highpitched squeals of cavern dwellers, and the strange unnerving noises produced by shadows in the darkness that scuttled out of sight whenever a tube was thrust in their direction.
    On the third day Clarity said, "They might really want to destroy everything. Not just Coldstripe."
    "How do you mean?" Flinx had to turn sideways to fit through a narrow passage between a row of stalagmites. She turned to follow him, carefully keeping her precious tube away from any projecting rocks.
    During the past days the tubes had faded slightly. Hardly enough to be noticeable, but it did not take much to panic Clarity. She had not complained, had not pointed out the reduced level of illumination, but he knew she had noticed. It was an effort for her to stay calm from the time they began walking until they lay down to go to sleep.
    "If they can wipe out the entire installation, bury every corridor and fill in every developed cavern, they might try concocting a story about some kind of natural disaster. They could claim they were headed here to carry out an experiment of their own, or to make a mild protest, only to have found that an earthquake or something had recently destroyed the colony. Make it look as if natural causes were responsible. If they can invent a plausible enough story, the Commonwealth office for this sector might not think it necessary to send out their own inspectors to check it out.
    "They could then convince the authorities that Longtunnel is unsuitable for further exploration. It wouldn't take much. All you'd have to do is show a layman's jury tridees of the surface. They could shut down the whole world, bar it to further research. But that would mean," she finished in a small voice, "that they'd have to kill everybody. Not just the scientists and administrators. Everybody."
    They walked in silence for a while. "Sometimes," Flinx finally said softly as he raised his tube for a better look ahead, "those who speak of preserving life aren't above taking it to further what they perceive to be their ultimate aims. Often the only life they're not interested in preserving is that of their fellow man." As he lowered the tube, he studied it thoughtfully. "It's a shame we can't switch one of these off and preserve it."
    She shook her head. "It's a steadystate chemical reaction. Once it's activated, you can't turn it off unless you break the tube and release the mixture. It's fading."
    "Only slightly."
    "They don't last forever. When one becomes too dim to be useful, it's just replaced. Most of them are reliable, predictable, but a few last much longer than the rest, and a few ... a few go out rapidly. You never know which is going to do what. That's a consequence of the chemical imbalance inherent in every batch of luminescent liquid. No matter how much attention is paid to the mixing, there are always a few that are slightly off one way or the other. I've seen some tubes wink out hours after they were installed and others that have been glowing steadily since the first corridors were cat on Longtunnel."
    "I hope these are two of the long burners. Look, is there anything in particular we should be watching out for down here? I keep hearing noises."
    "I told you there were carnivores. So far we haven't run into anything except some photomorphs and that web spinner. One thing I've been trying to keep an eye out for is straw worms. They look a lot like those soda straws we passed yesterday."
    "Soda straws?"
    "The long, thin, almost pure calcite stalactites we passed yesterday. The ones that look like needles hanging from the ceiling. Straw worms hide themselves among the formations. They hang from a sucker at the tail end. If something edible passes underneath, they let go and drop straight down on it. None of the four species that have been studied thus far are toxic, but they all have three concentric rings of teeth in their jaws. They're like leeches, only much harder to get off. They lock on, dig in, and secrete a fluid which liquefies flesh and bone.
    "Fortunately they aren't very strong biters. As long as they don't land on exposed flesh and get a grip on you, it's simple to grab them behind the head and throw them aside. The critical thing is not to give them enough time to chew through your clothes. There've never been any fatalities from straw worm bites, but then, nobody's ever been lost down here without light, either. You said you've heard noises. Was a lot of that like a ringing in your ears?"
    He nodded. "Yesterday particularly."
    "There are small mammals that have huge ears and coneshaped mouths. They're kind of cute, actually, once you forget that they have no eyes. We tail them toners. All ears and mouth on oversized feet. They range their prey with ultrasound. The biggest is maybe a third of a meter tall. Ail they eat are blind insects.
        "After they home in on a bug, they turn up the frequency and knock it off its perch, or out of the air, or stun it on the ground. Sometimes we can feel the vibrations. Nothing dangerous. They'd eat us, too, if they could, but they have no teeth. Only that funnellike mouth. So they just scramble out of our way.
    "The toners aren't the only animals that hunt with sound. We've one specimen only of something that looks like a cross between a tiger and a hippo. If it can generate sound in proportion to its sine and on the wrong frequencies, it could conceivably be dangerous to us, but with only a dead specimen to study, we can't tell. It has teeth big enough to do the job."
    "Earplugs probably wouldn't help."
    "No, they wouldn't. But we shouldn't be worried about sound generators. The poison carriers are the ones that concern me. There's one that lives only on top of certain stalagmites. You can't tell by looking at the stalagmite. The differences are apparent only to the darters, except for the absence of water.
    "They have a dozen legs that help them cling to the drier limestone. The proboscis is ten centimeters long and uses air pressure to fire a little dart, an organic hypodermic if you will, that's attached to the inner nostril by a threadsized length of tendon. The dart contains a particularly powerful hementinbased toxin that attacks fibrinogen. If it's not countered, you bleed to death through the wound the dart makes because the hememin prevents the blood from clotting. Then the little bastards climb down off their safe, high perches and suck up the remains. But if we don't blunder into any, we won't have any trouble.
    "That's why I'm glad this is a live cave system. The darters only perch on dead stalagmites. So try to stay close to the growing ones. They don't like the water that drips from the ceiling."
    "And I was thinking how peaceful and calm it was down here."
    "Don't let the darkness fool you. We're walking through a treeless jungle. In its own way, this subterranean ecosystem is as vibrant and competitive as Alaspin's. It's just that we're bigger than the majority of inhabitants. And if they have any photorecepting capability at all, they instinctively shy away from our lights.
    "There is at least one big something, though. It's never been observed, but we have measured tracks. Eight legs and pad prints a meter wide. It keeps to the largest caverns. It's been named vexfoot.
    "Then there are the creatures that inhabit the underground lakes and streams. I won't go into them since I don't expect we'll have to do any swimming." Her tube suddenly faded sharply. She shook it vigorously, stirring the contents like a luminescent cocktail, and was rewarded when the light returned to normal. He could sense her relief.
    "So these tubes are a defense as well as our guides. If they went out, I don't know what would happen, except that you'd quickly meet a lot more of the local fauna than you have thus far."
    "There's no reason for them to go out." He tried to reassure her. "No reason according to all you've told me why they shouldn't last for weeks or months."
    "No. No reason at all."
    "Even if we were to be attacked by something, Pip and Scrap would act to stop it."
    "I know, but flying snakes need light as much as we do. Unless they have some kind of echolocation mechanism."
    "None that I know of. But by nature they're nocturnal. They can see quite well in very low light."
    "That doesn't do any good down here. When these tubes go out, there'll be no light at all. No moonlight, no stars. It's the blackest black imaginable, much worse than empty space."
        "Except for the bioluminescents," he reminded her. "I guess we could always capture a couple of wild photomorphs and pat leashes on them. A pet that lights its own way at night."
    His attempt at humor failed. She was clearly worrying about hew she would react when the tubes started to fade permanently. No matter, he told himself firmly. By that time they would have found a way out. He wished they had a way of knowing how the battle against the ecofanatics was going. They could have sealed themselves up in Coldstripe's station or taken over the entire port. Or port Security might be driving them out, back the way they had come, while he and Clarity wandered needlessly through Longtunnel's unmapped depths. That thought was harder to deal with than the others. Not knowing what was happening was as frustrating as not knowing where they were.
    Site halted abruptly, almost stumbling, and looked back sharply. "There's something over there." Scrap's head rose from behind her sidetail, the adolescent minidrag looking more like a bejeweled shoulder ornament than a living creature. His stance was alert, the pleated wings halfunfolded. He had definitely taken a liking to Clarity, Flinx thought.
    "I heard it, too."
    He unlimbered the needier he had taken from the man who had tried to kill them and checked the setting. Half power remaining. That should be sufficient to deal with anything they ran into. A needier was not his weapon of choice. You had to be careful with them. Sometimes they leaked and could give the wielder a nasty, unexpected jolt. But he was glad to have the firepower.
    "We could backtrack a little," she suggested.
    "Backtrack to where? Let's just stand here a minute. Maybe it'll go away."
    The rustling anise was moving around. They followed its progress through another part of the cavern as it came parallel to their position, then moved on ahead. Intervening formations played tricks with echoes as sounds bounced off soda straws and draperies and flowstone. Something moving far away could sound quite near, while a cautious stalker could use stone and water to muffle the noise of its approach.
    It was ahead of them now and closer, a rough mewing. Flinx whispered to his companion.
    "Recognize it?" She shook her head tensely. "Well, I'm not standing around until our light goes out." Taking a determined step forward, he passed beyond a sheet of rippling travertine and came facetoface with a mouth.
    It was a round, impressive mouth. Apparently, round jaws were common on Longtunnel. This one was lined with three concentric rings of inwardpointing, serrated teeth. As he gaped at it, the rubbery lip ring flexed and his nostrils were filled with the smell of decaying matter. The jaw did not so much close as irisshut. If someone's head happened to be inside during the process, he thought wildly, it would be snipped off at the neck as cleanly as if by a surgical cutter.
    The mouth was the face, and the face was the mouth. Any vestigial eyes were hidden beneath the pure white, long, silken fur against which the black lip lining the mouth stood out starkly. Atop the massive skull, a fanshaped single ear flexed freely. Flinx wondered if it had evolved that way or if two ears had eventually grown together to form one.
    He did not wonder about it long as be threw himself sharply to one side. The irising mouth opened with astonishing speed and snapped at him, the short neck extending slightly Teeth clashed as the snoutjaw was sucked shut.
    Clarity screamed as the monster lunged in her direction, advancing on four heavy legs. Flinx glimpsed the nostrils set just behind the top of the mouth. Jaws, nose, and ear were all set in tine, like a multiple sight on a gun, all positioned for maximum hunting ability.
    Then he could not see Clarity anymore because her tube went out. Frantically, he tried to set his own safely aside and aim the needler.
    Pip and Scrap had both flown into action, but the flying snakes were confused by the sight of a creature with no eyes. While they puzzled over what to attack in the absence of their natural target, the monster was trying to decide which of two potential prey to strike at next. Clarity was moaning and trying to keep a large stalagmite between herself and that singular mouth.
    Maddened by the panic she felt in her master's mind, Pip let loose a stream of venom at the creature's face. The dense fur absorbed most of the caustic liquid, but x few drops struck the ear membrane. While not as sensitive as an eye, it was certainly delicate.
    Instead of roaring or bellowing, the white monstrosity let out a loud, painracked moan as it rose on its hind legs and snapped with that slightly extensible mouth in the direction of the minidrag. It was extremely quick for so massive an animal, but not anywhere near as agile as the flying snake. Pip simply backed air and hunted for another opening.
        By this time Flinx had the heavy needier aimed. There was no time to fool with the setting. The important thing was to distract the carnivore from Clarity. The gun whined softly as the narrow beam struck its target just behind the head. It uttered another of its oddly muted moans and turned toward him. As it did so he 5red again, aiming for the open mouth.
    It shuddered and moaned, the circular jaw irising open and shut several times. As it came on, he fired a third time, heedless of the weapon's rapidly diminishing charge. When it was several meters away, it dropped to its knees and continued to advance in that manner despite having absorbed three shots that would have killed most creatures its size.
    Plinx paused long enough to reset the needier. He took enough time to take more careful aim when he fired. This time the shot struck the monster's spine. It let out a heave and vibrated all over, then halted. The mouth slowly opened halfway and froze in that position. There were no eyes to close.
    They were able to tell it was dead because it had stopped breathing. Shaken, Flinx recovered the light tube, listening intently in case the monster had not been alone. The cavern was still alive with noise, but there was no more dangerous mewing.
    An agitated Pip was darting like an angry bee around the head of the fallen carnivore while Scrap fluttered anxiously nearby. But there was no need for her to spit again.
    Clarity was leaning against her lifesaving stalagmite, breathing hard and staring at the dead mass of fur and flesh. "It's all right," she mumbled before he could say anything. "I'm okay. I'm sorry I screamed." Her anger was directed at herself.
    "No matter. I would've screamed myself except I didn't have the time."
    Her eyes met his. "No, you wouldn't. But thank you for saying so."
    "What is it, anyway?"
    "Not a vexfoot." She let go of the stalagmite and moved hesitantly toward the corpse. It might have been resting instead of stone dead. "Half the requisite number of legs. Maybe a related form. I've never seen anything like it, and I don't think anyone else has, either."
    "I must have surprised it. Otherwise I don't think it would've let me get that close before attacking. Of course, without any eyes it couldn't be that certain of my position."
    "Don't bet on it. We've been talking for hours. It must've heard us."
    "Unless it was listening on a different frequency or tracking something else. If it was stalking us from the beginning, why didn't it attack from behind?" Suddenly something else came to mind, and he looked back at the stalagmite. "Where's your light?"
    She swallowed hard, turned, and pointed. "Over there."
    He raised his tube and saw where she had flung hers. It had shattered against a cluster of small stalagmites. Like a phosphorescent worm, the liquid light that had been contained within was running away in several directions, disappearing into cracks and holes in the floor.
    "Never mind. We still have mine." He did not offer to let her carry it.
    "It startled me. I panicked, and I'm sorry. It was a dumb thing to do."
    "You're right. It was a dumb thing to do. I've been known to do one or two dumb things in my life, too. Well, it can't be helped and it probably doesn't matter. Chances are both tubes would have gone out at the same time. We'll have light for as long as we would have, anyway. We just won't have as much of it." He frowned suddenly. "Where's Pip?"
    She looked past him. "Scrap's gone, too. They were here just a minute ago."
    "Pip?" He raised his voice and the light tube. Brown and white flashed back at him from the ceiling, but there was no familiar darting pink and blue diamondback pattern.
    "She's over there." Clarity pointed to where the flying snake was hovering, staring back at them out of slitted eyes.
    "Let's go." Flinx gestured with his chin. "We have to keep moving."
    Instead of complying with her master's command, the minidrag whirled and sped off into the darkness, returning briefly only to vanish a second time.
    "She's found something."
    "Not another of those roundmouthed carnivores?"
    "Think straight. If she had, would she be trying to lead us toward it?"
    "No, but what else would make her act this way?"
    "Strong emotional reaction, but that doesn't make any sense since you and I are the only ones down here." He hesitated, watching his anxious pet. "Or are we?"
    The thranx lay on his side, an unnatural and uncomfortable position for one of his race. A light harness was strapped to his thorax and was surmounted by an oddlooking doublebarreled instrument slung crossways. As they drew near, Flinx saw that the device was a shoulder light. It was not working. Small picks and other duralloy instruments dangled from the pack and abdominal belt, the latter fashioned of yellow leather that was gouged and scratched from heavy use.
    He held his light close. By the absence of ovipositors he knew the injured thranx was male. His chiton shone deep blue with only slight purpling on the dorsal plates. Middleaged, then, and apparently otherwise healthy. Brilliant orange and yellow ommatidia formed the large compound eyes. The feathery antennae hung limp and collapsed on the thranx's face.
    Flinx edged a little closer and then stopped, his expression changing to one of disgust. "Deity! What's that thing that has him?"
    The thranx walked on four trulegs. The right front limb was shriveled and distorted by a dense growth of slimy glistening tendrils that extended from the middle part of the leg back to a huge wet mass that filled most of a hollow beneath a drapery of flowstone.
    "Careful." Clarity put a hand on Flinx's arm and drew him back. He kept his eyes on the wounded thranx as he retreated, feeling the gorge rise in his throat. "It's a necromarium. A scavenging carnivorous fungus. It shoots those tendrils at its prey, though like the photomorphs it's not hard to avoid them."
    "I doubt he'd agree with you." Flinx indicated the inert form of the thranx.
    "Is he still alive?"
    "Here." He passed her the light tube. "Bang your head against the wall if you want, but not that."
    "Don't worry." She accepted the admonishment without comment. "I'll break an arm before I lose this one."
    Dropping to hands and knees, he pressed his middle three fingers against the bthorax. Because of the unyielding outer exoskeleton it was difficult to take a thranx's pulse. The bthorax, which corresponded to the neck in humans, was the best place to try. Instead of the rhythmic pounding a human being would produce, he felt a warm pulsing, as if he had laid his fingertips against a concealed stream. The circulatory system was still functional, which meant the heart was still working, which meant . . .
    Something brushed lightly against the back of his hand. One of the long antennae was stroking him. The head moved next, slowly and painfully, and the four opposing mandibles parted. Flinx leaned close, trying to make out broken words in low thranx. Not an easy language but simpler than high thranx. Thranx spoke Terranglo better than humans spoke their language, and there was always symbospeech, but in his pain and distress this one was understandably resorting to his native language.
    Flinx kept his comforting hand on the bthorax. "Just take it easy. We're friends." The antenna withdrew, and the mandibles relaxed. Though be was a mature adult, if the thranx had been standing on all four trulegs his head would not have come up to Clarity's. Flinx would have towered over him.
    Something tightly stung the back of his other hand. Looking down, he was horrified to see a thin silvery tendril protruding from the skin. Instinctively he pulled away, but the stuff was stronger than spider silk.
    Pip was there in a second, responding to his distress. But this time there was no enemy to spit at, nothing except a large mass of glistening brown and silver that looked like a disintegrating pillow.
    Flinx rose to his knees. A second tendril exploded from the cushiony mass beneath the flowstone curtain and just missed his flailing fingers. It landed instead on the thranx's bthorax and began spinning and convulsing. Flinx could see the tiny pinprick of a hook at the tip, spiraled like a drill point as it tried to work its way into the softer flesh underneath. Ft could not penetrate the tough exoskeleton. Flinx assumed the other tendrils must have infested the thranx through a leg joint.
    He could feel the one that had hooked his hand worming its way deeper into the muscle. The pain was severe, barely tolerable. Forcing down the nausea he felt, he used his free hand to pull the needier, reduce the setting, and fire at the main body of the abomination, spraying the beam methodically back and forth across its surface.
    It was almost too primitive to kill. It had to be slain one part at a time and absorbed more charge than they could afford to expend, but he was in no mood to be logical. He persisted until the entire organism had been reduced to a steaming, smoky mass. It smelled of ooze and carbonized corruption.
    The tendril still clung to his hand. A minuscule burst from the needier severed it a dozen centimeters from his wrist.
    Clarity carefully inspected the skin. The tendril was losing its healthy silvery sheen, turning a dull gray. "Not toxic or you'd be feeling the effects by now."
    "It hurt real bad when it was digging in. Now that it's not moving anymore, it just stings."
    Aiming the needier precisely, he sliced away the anklethick cables that clung to the thranx's shriveled truleg. "Can we do anything for him?"
    She checked the pocket on her left pants leg and removed a small packet. "Omnifungicide," she explained. "You don't go anywhere on Longtunnel without it. Comes with the clothing."
    He was staring at the thin tendril that hung limply from the back of his hand. "Do you know what this thing is?"
    "No. The species is new to me. That's not surprising. I told you how little we know about Longtuunel."
    She pressed the applicator to the back of his palm. Immediately the lingering burning sensation went away, replaced by a soothing coolness. Several minutes went by before the tendril fell to the floor, no more dangerous now than a cotton thread.
    Bringing his hand up to his face, he inspected the tiny wound the drilling tendril had left. A single drop of blood had emerged and was already beginning to coagulate. He flexed his fingers.
    "No pain. You're sure it's not poisonous?"
    "I'm not sure of anything. I'm no mycologist, Flinx. But most of the venomous flora and fauna we've cataloged so far possess toxins that are fastacting. You're still walking and talking, so if it is poisonous, it didn't have sufficient time to work on you." She nodded at the motionless thranx. "Unlike him."
    He kicked the smoking ends of the tendrils that had enveloped the thranx's truleg. "What is this stuff, anyway? "
    "Haustorium. A hyphae network. The fungus you fried puts them out, and they keep subdividing and subdividing until there's one to penetrate each cell of the host. That's how it eats. It started to eat you." She nodded at the unlucky thranx. "It looks like it's been eating him for a while."
    "I couldn't break it with my hands," he murmured. "It's thinner than most wire, and I couldn't snap it." He indicated her pants. "Any wakearounds in those pockets? "
    "Ought to be." She felt her pants. "Do you think they'll work on him?"
    "They should work on any oxygen breather. We'll find out."
    She found two of the thin tubes, one in each side pocket. Flinx bent over the thranx and snapped one above the nearest quartet of breathing spicules. The powerful chemical made the thorax jump.
    The insectoid moaned, an eerie inhuman noise. With Flinx's help, he managed to roll onto his front, gathering his trulegs and fooChands beneath him. The valentine shaped skull looked up at Flinx, mandibles trembling. A sure sign of discomfort and pain. The inflexible face was capable of little in the way of expression, so the thranx relied on movements of the entire head, the antennae, and the delicate fingers of the uppermost set of limbs, the truhands. These were working tightly against each other.
    "Try to relax."
    The endless weaving of tiny stiff digits slowed. When he spoke this time, the words were soft but comprehensible.
    "You aren't with them? The mad humans who attacked the outpost?"
    "No. We're refugees ourselves."
    Clarity moved nearer. "I'm Clarity Held. I was chief gengineer for Coldstripe. Who are you?"
    "Sowelmanu. I am with the research team from Willowane studying geofood sources." The blue head swiveled to gaze at the smoking mass of tendrils beneath the 8owstone curtain. "It would appear that is an interest which works both ways. A fair turnabout, though one I could have done without." He dropped his eyes to the remnant of truleg still encased in the severed haustorium.
    "I have consumed my share of the local flora. I suppose it only fair that they enjoy their meal in turn." The trembling in his voice belied the humor he was struggling to put on the situation. "It hurts rather extensively."
    "What's he saying now?" Clarity asked. "My low thranx is pretty bad."
    "He's hurting," Flinx told her. "The thing's been eating his leg."
    "Damn. I hope it hasn't worked its way up inside the abdomen."
    Plinx put the question to their new friend and explained about Clarity's linguistic deficiencies.
    "No," he replied in perfect Terranglo. "I think the infestation was confined to the leg." He gazed curiously at Flinx. "You speak the finest low thranx of any human I have ever met. Are you a linguist?"
    "No." Flinx looked away. "I had an excellent thranx instructor. We can chat about my expertise another time. Right now we've got to do something about your leg."
    "Ali, yes. My leg." He studied himself thoughtfully. "I fear that is a lost cause. Little appears to remain of the original limb. I am sure if you had not come along that thing would eventually have consumed all of me, leaving the head for last. An unpleasant way to die."
    "We could try to carry you," FIinx suggested.
    "That will not be necessary, as I think you well know, but I acknowledge your courtesy. Truly you understand the ways of the Hive. I could limp along on my three remaining trulegs, but I think I would prefer to suffer the indignity of utilizing my foothands and enjoy easier if less dignified locomotion. My posture will be servile, but I will be able to keep up quite well, thank you."
    Flinx had suspected the thranx would choose that option, but Hive courtesy required that he make the offer to carry the thranx in a proper upright position. In addition to their four trulegs and two small truhands, the insectoids had a fourth set of limbs located at the base of the thorax between truhands and fare trulegs. These could be employed either as a second set of hands, as was usually the case, or as an extra set of legs with the individual walking with its body parallel to the ground. The thranx preferred not to walk in that manner since it reminded them of their primitive insect ancestry.
    "I look for rockborne food sources," he said. "You have told me what you are," he said to Clarity. He looked expectantly at Fluor.
    "I study things," he said tersely. "Look, if you can move, I'd like to leave this place. There aren't many dangerous lifeforms that frighten me, but I have fears of creatures that parasitize."
    "I comprehend. I can walk. You are a student?"
    Clarity explained everything, including how Flinx had come to share their predicament because of the help he had given her.
    "I am sorry for you to be involved," Sowelmanu told him, "but then, I am sorry to be involved myself. The problem is not my leg. If you worked here, you would realize that to leave an open wound unattended for very long is to invite the worst sort of certain death. That must be taken care of, somehow, before I can attempt to travel. "
    "What's he talking about?" Flinx asked Clarity.
    "Spores, The caverns are thick with them. The air currents keep them aloft and moving around. Most of the fungi and molds reproduce through spores. They'll infect any open wound. Sooner or later a hyphae network will develop and spread through the host. That's why you don't see any corpses lying about, despite the extensive animal population. There are no vultures or ants or their analogs. The fungi take care of carrion disposal."
    "We must find a way to close off the wound," the thranx muttered.
    "Your `wound' consists of what's left of your whole leg," Flinx pointed out.
    "That is what I mean," Sowelmanu replied quietly. "I have observed the weapon you carry. From the destruction of the haustorium which infected me, I presume it is functional."
    Flinx checked the readout. "There's still some charge left."
    "Very well, then." The thranx sighed, a light whistling sound. "You are not be any chance a trained surgeon?" Plinx shook his head. "Pity. At least you know how to use a gun." With difficulty he rolled back onto his side. "Take your best aim and kindly relieve me of this useless limb."
    Flinx stared at him. "I can't perform an amputation. If I do that, you won't have a chance at rehabilitation. It might be a long time before we reach medical facilities."
    "I realize that. It could be worse. The creature could have struck my eyes, in which case you would be in the difficult position of having to amputate my head. I think my prospects for survival are better in this case. If you do not comply, then I will acquire an airborne fungal infection within a day, which will not be so easily excised. The weapon will cauterize the wound and seal it sufficiently until I can obtain proper treatment. That is," he added softly, "providing these mad humans have not destroyed the outpost infirmary along with everything else."
    "I wouldn't put it past them," Clarity said.
    "You speak as if you are familiar with their cause. I am naturally interested. What is it they want?"
    Flinx was calibrating the needier as they talked. He wondered if the geologist was really curious or if he was simply rambling to keep his mind off what Flinx was about to do to him.
    "They want to close down Longtunnel," Clarity told him. "Shut down all research here. They're the worst kind of ecopurists, the type who go berserk if they think you're gengineering a snail to change the color of its shell. We're all of us blasphemers against the True Religion: the religion of No Change."
    "I see." The thranx whistled thirddegree understanding layered with a suggestion of compassion. "That would explain why they went first for Coldstripe. They would naturally consider you the most serious `offenders.' "
    "Somehow I'm not flattered. How is the fighting going? We left in a rush."
    "As did I, so I cannot tell you more than you probably already know. When they broke into our cavern, a couple of our studyteam people began shooting back. They carry sidearms for defense against the larger carnivores. After that it was like a tunnel collapse: all dust and chaos. I was just coming in from concluding some fieldwork when I heard the shooting, saw it was going badly, and turned to flee." A foothand bent up and back to tap the thorax pack and its peculiar lighting bar.
    "I had not gone out with a full charge, not expecting to be gone long. Only when I stopped running did I notice how weak my light had become. I tried to retrace my steps before it died completely on me, but in my haste I had left behind all our marked trails
    "As you know, we can see quite well in poor light, but no one can see in the total absence of light. I tried to find my way back by feel, but in the blackness every formation feels like its neighbor. I became disoriented, and lost.
    "Then T felt something sting my leg. I tried to pull away and could not. More stings followed. I could not see what was attacking me, and when I tried to pull away, I fell and struck my head." He glanced up at Flinx, who was almost ready. "That's the trouble with this place, you see. Nothing soft here, even in the oldest tunnels. On Hivehom we built a civilization out of soft earth. We didn't try to dig through rock. But I bore you with basic thranx history that every human learns in larva school."
    "Bring the light over here," Flinx told Clarity. She approached and held herself poised like an ancient samurai warrior about to strike. "I wish we had some anesthetic."
    "The general region is already numb from nerve damage. "
    Flinx considered the butt end of the needier. "I could hit you on the back of the head with this."
    "Thank you," said Sowelmanu dryly, "but my skull is already tender where I struck the ground. One such blow is sufficient." He stiffened, the digits of the truhands interlocking tightly, then the foothands, lastly the back legs as he readied himself as best he could. "I would appreciate it greatly if you would not linger any longer. It would be disagreeable to go to all this trouble only to find out I had been infected by airborne spores in the interim."
    "Go ahead and do it, Flinx. He's right."
    "The female speaks truth."
    Pip stirred in alarm as Flinx pulled the trigger. Two quick, sharp bursts were all it took. What remained of the truieg fell aside, still encased in graying haustorium. The sixcentimeterlong stump steamed slightly.
    It was difficult to tell how the amputation had affected the geologist. There were no eyelids to close tightly shut, no lips to clench in pain. But the interlocking hands and feet did not relax for a long time.
    Clarity was already down on her knees inspecting the stub, the scientist in her fighting off any discomfort. "It looks like a clean seal. I don't see any haustorium protruding." She looked up at the geologist. "You should be safe from redevelopment."
    Sowelmanu had to speak slowly to make himself understood. "I am grateful. I am sorry you are trapped down here with me, but I am glad you came along. I would not have enjoyed a graceful death." He tried to sit up then. Fliux slipped an arm under his thorax, trying not to block any breathing spicules.
    "The growth is more of a danger to you than to me. If I had not rendered myself unconscious, I would not have been infected, since it can only penetrate an exoskeleton at the joints or eyes, whereas you who wear your bodies outside your skeletons would be vulnerable all over. "
    "I'll keep that in mind." Flinx kept his arm behind the weakened thranx. "Do you want to try to stand yet?"
    "No, but I do not want to lie here like a helpless larva, either. "
    He pulled his foothands up under his thorax, leaving the remaining trulegs beneath his abdomen, and pushed. His stride was shaky as he worked on compensating for the missing leg. Turning a small circle was a major chore.
    "Disgusting to have to walk like this, with one's head so near the ground. This is the position our ancestral workers were forced to maintain even after we had evolved an upright posture."
    "Don't complain," Flinx told him. "If I lost a leg, I'd be almost immobile. You lose one and you still have five to walk on."
    "One still can't but view the loss of a limb with some regret."
    "Don't move."
    Sowelmanu peered back at Clarity, who was bending over him. "I assume you also are not a trained physician, madam?"
    "No, but I am a gengineer, and I do know some basic medicine." She was using a tiny, thin spray can on the stump of the missing traleg.
    "That is for sealing and repairing human flesh. It will not work on chiton."
    "True, but it will bond around the cauterization, and it's a good sterilizer. An extra precaution against spore intrusion."
    "There is the delicate matter of food. I have already eaten what little I took with me, expecting to be out less than a day."
    "We have concentrates," Flinx told him. Many thranx foods were safe for humans to eat and vice versa. Taste, however, was another matter. In his current state Sowelmanu was not likely to be overly fastidious.
Chapter Twelve
     
    The thranx preferred soft food, but the geologist had no difficulty downing the protein cubes that constituted the bulk of their scavenged stock.
    "I think that's going to have to be enough." Flinx passed the geologist a third cube and sealed the storage sack that had produced it. "We're going to have to measure out our rations since we don't have any idea how much longer we're going to be stuck down here."
    "I beg apologies." Sowelmanu made a sound of seconddegree sorrow. "I was starving."
    "You ended up here by a different route." Clarity was trying to repress the excitement she felt. "Do you think you can find your way back? They were blowing up all our service corridors and storage chambers and walled us out."
    "I ran long and hard, and too much of the time in total darkness. But I spent a lot of time in the main warehousing chamber beneath the shuttleport. My group has limited funds, so we had to store our bulkier equipment down there. Unless these people plan to demolish the entire outpost, that area is too large and too critical for them to destroy. It would also be a good place to hide."
    "Do you think the area will stay safe?"
    "It's directly beneath all port facilities: Landing Control, Security, everything. If any place holds out against these fanatics, it will be that sector. If Security can keep control, they can send a message to the first ship that makes orbit. So these people must move quickly no matter what their ultimate aims."
    "Unless the ship they arrived in is armed as well," Clarity pointed out glumly.
    "Too many imponderables. Let us worry about our situation here underground, not potential problems several planetary diameters out. The first thing is to find our way back to civilization. The second is to hope a little civilization remains to be found."
    "I'm open to suggestions." Flinx nodded to his right. "We were heading in that general direction when Pip found you." He displayed his multifunction chronometer. "I have a compass, and Clarity has apprised me of this world's magnetic alignments, so we can't be too far off line."
    "Excellent. To carry such an instrument you might almost be prescient."
    Flinx was startled for an instant until he realized that the geologist could have no idea of his particular abilities, much less his unique history. Sowelmanu was simply paying him a thranx compliment.
    "We can follow this little creek upstream," he murmured.
    "I find no reason to object." Sowelmanu tested his legs a last time, his head unnervingly near the ground. "Embarrassing."
    "Better degraded than dead," Clarity told him encouragingly.
    "Two intelligent humans. I am fortunate indeed. One moment." Reaching up and around with both truhands, he unfastened the straps that held the double light arrangement to his upper thorax. "I have no hope of recharging these down here. Therefore, I will travel better without the additional weight."
    "What's in your pack?" Flinx inquired as they started up the creek. Having reslung the nearly empty needier, he had retaken the light tube from Clarity, who was glad to be rid of the responsibility of carrying it.
    "Drilling equipment, sampler corers, field test chemical kit, sample casesthe same assortment I habitually carry with me on field trips. I dumped my specimens when I ran. A thorax burdened by rocks is a liability during flight."
    "Assuming some of them are power tools, why couldn't you switch packs with your shoulder lights?"
    "Different voltages, terminals, and no way to homogenize them." The geologist whistled a note of firstdegree negativity coupled with common assurance.
    "That's too bad," Clarity said.
    "Yes, too bad."
    Sowelmanu did not appear to mind the darkness that pressed close on all sides, but that was only natural. The thranx had evolved and matured in tunnels beneath Hivehom's surface. They preferred to be underground, though not in the dark. With technology had come a need for light as they had begun to rely on their eyes to the exclusion of other senses. It was gratifying to know that if their remaining tube faded to a strength of a few footcandles, Sowelmanu would still be able to see clearly enough by it to guide them.
    Before that happened, Flinx promised himself, they would have found their way to the vast common storage room beneath the port and worked their way up to join its stalwart defendersassuming any had managed to hold out against the attacking fanatics and provided that they did not encounter any more haustoriumfiring fungi or pseudovexfoots along the way.
    Thanks to Sowelmanu's superb night vision, they made better progress than ever. He was able to see much farther by the light of the tube than either of them could. This saved them from exploring a number of dead ends and enabled them to follow the most promising passages first.
    But the geologist could only see farther; he could not divine what lay ahead. They still had to back down two tunnels for every one that led onward.
    Two days of ups and downs, and discouragement had set in as deeply as before.
    "If we watch our intake, we have enough food for another week," Flinx informed his companions.
    "Never mind food. What about the light?" Clarity's voice was a dull monotone. The climbing and hiking had exhausted her, and she was utterly disoriented.
    So was Flinx. If they could just get close enough to the base, be would try to pick up an emotional scent. At least it would give them a direction. But days of straining to detect a single feeling had produced nothing. He knew his talent was functioning because he could easily sense Clarity's despair and Sowelmanu's typical thranx stoicism. Beyond that was only an emotional void and the cool, dark emptiness of the caverns. That meant either that his perception was operating at a low level or that they were farther from the port than they believed. And all it would take would be a single localized magnetic anomaly to render his compass useless.
    In trying to find the major storage area beneath the port, had they descended too deeply? The geologist did not think so but could not be certain. Flinx was not about to argue with him. When underground it was always better to trust a thranx's sense of direction, even one suffering from the aftereffects of a serious injury, than that of the healthiest human.
    "I think we have circled around far enough," he told them, studying dark shadows and shapes among the formations. "Now we need to start working our way back to the west."
    "What makes you think we can find a way into the warehouse area? Surely when the place was excavated, the contractor would have sealed off any entrances large enough for dangerous animals to slip through."
    "They may have missed some." Sowelmanu did not dispute Flinx's point. "Remember that we need find only one. If we encounter a place that has been heat sealed, we may be able to break through, and we will at least know that we have reached our objective." He nodded at the needier Flinx carried.
    "The weapon you took from our assailants will cut through any spraywall."
    "If there's enough charge remaining, and provided we don't have to use it to defend ourselves again." He glanced at his wrist. "All right. We're going this way."
    "No." Sowelmanu uttered clicking sounds of high negativity. "That is a dead end. We must go around itthat way."
    Flinx squinted but could see only darkness ahead. He shrugged and followed the geologist.
    "It really is a shame," Sowelmanu said the following day.
    "What is?" Clarity asked him.
    "As a geologist I should be living on the uppermost level of delight. We have observed unique formations and growths these past days, yet I have not felt the urge to take a single note."
    "When this is over and done with, you can return and observe to your heart's content," Flinx told him. "Personally I marvel you can think about work at all at a time like this."
    "A good scientist," the thranx replied evenly in a tone suggestive of complete assurance tinged with second degree insight, "is always working no matter what his personal circumstances happen to be."
    "That's fine and philosophical," Clarity argued, "but in my case I
    Her comment became a scream. She had been walking on Flinx's right. He threw himself aside as the hole opened under her. Sowelmanu scampered clear on his five legs.
    Both of them were cautiously leaning over the edge of the gap before the dust had settled.
    "Clarity!" He was poised to retreat. The stone beneath his feet felt solid, but so had the floor that had given way under his companion. He had felt her fear as she had fallen. The fact that he could still feel it was ample evidence that she was alive and conscious somewhere below.
    A small winged shape joined them. Scrap was coated with limestone dust but otherwise unhurt. Flinx thrust the light tube into the opening.
    "Clarity, can you hear us?"
    Her reply was faint but audible, full of fear and confusion. The redhot sting of pain was absent.
    "She does not appear to be seriously damaged," Sowelmanu observed. "See there, to your left."
    Flinx moved the tube. The pit into which Clarity had rambled was steeply banked and slicksided. Water trickled from an underground passage and limed the bottom of the tunnel. There were no stalactites or stalagmites visible.
    "A rain drain," the geologist declared confidently. "It has other names, but that is what this kind of formation is usually called. It carries excess precipitation from above to lower levels. That is why there are no formations within the tunnel. Fastmoving water has kept them from growing."
    "Very interesting, but what do we do? We have all the supplies up here."
    "We could leave her some food and come back with help. I am sure she is within reach of water."
    "We might not be able to find this place again no matter how carefully we mark it. Besides, she has no light. She's afraid of the dark, Sowel. I know that's difficult for a thranx to understand."
    "Humans are heir to many incomprehensible phobias. I sympathize, but what else can we do?" His mandibles clicked disapprovingly. "I suppose we could slide down and join her and then attempt to find our way back to this level together. There should be a number of passages we can climb. But I dislike the idea."
    "So do I. You can stay here if you want to."
    Flinx tossed Pip into the air. Then he sat on the edge of the rain drain, his legs dangling. Scrap hovered close to his mother. The minidrags watched as Pip's master took a deep breath and pushed off, carefully resting the light tube against stomach and chest.
    The descent was wild, fast, and mercifully brief, ending in a shallow pond of icy water. Nearby, a twometer high waterfall tumbled into a pool that was the birthplace of a fastmoving underground stream.
    Clarity let out a shriek at his unexpected arrival, then relaxed gratefully when she was able to identify the intruder.
    "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She rushed into his arms, and he had to juggle the tube to keep from dropping it. She was sobbing, and her clothing had been battered by the rapid drop through the drain. He reminded himself that she had ridden the waterslicked chute in total darkness, not knowing when or how it would end. The darkness had magnified her panic and her fear.
    "It's all right," he murmured, trying to relax her. "It's all right."
    A second splash made him wince as cold water splashed him anew. They turned to see Sowelmanu rising carefully. The geologist began preening his antennae as soon as he realized that the water barely came up to the underside of his abdomen.
    "Are you intact, Clarity Held?"
    "Yes, thank you." She released Flinx and stepped out of the pool, terror having given way to embarrassment. "It's just that I didn't know what lay at the bottom of the drop, or even if it had a bottom."
    "There is no need to apologize for your fear and concern. My reactions would doubtless have been similar had I been the one to tumble through first."
    "No, they wouldn't." She managed a small smile. "You would have been busy studying on the way down."
    "Well, perhaps just a little," The geologist let out a whistle of midlevel laughter. "In any event it is I who should apologize, for not noticing the weakness of the floor which hardly covered the drain."
    "It looked the same as everywhere else," Flinx chided him. "Clarity doesn't need to apologize, and you don't need to make excuses. What we need is to find our way back up."
    "That should be possible. We may emerge farther west or north than we were originally. I do not think I need to add that we should watch our footing more carefully lest we encounter a succession of these drains. They often cluster together in the same areas." He indicated the end of the tunnel that had dumped them in the pool. Water dripped from the travertine lip. "This drain was short compared to some which have been measured. We do not want to find ourselves deposited on a level from which it will be difficult to ascend."
    They resumed their advance, this time letting Sowelmanu take the lead. Not only was he much more likely to spot a possible drain before either of them, but with five legs and two truhands, he stood a much better chance of avoiding a fall.
    So intent was he on tracking the geologist's progress as they began to climb back to their earlier level that Flinx neglected to watch his own footing. They were leaving an especially damp cavern, and the entire floor was slick, not only with water but because it supported a profusion of mossy growths, molds, and fungi. There were sulfide eaters as well, trailing tendrils in the water.
    After surviving the pseudovexfoot's assault, the haustoriumfiring fungus, and the rain drain that had swallowed Clarity, it was almost ironic that he should stumble on a dry, smooth chunk of rock. He felt his ankle twisting, fought to compensate, went over backward, and was rewarded with a loud crack. A rich trill of horrified realization raced through him.
    Clarity scrambled over to the broken light tube and clutched at it as though she could heal the break by sheer strength of will.
    "Get some tape, some skin spray, anything!"
    "The spray seal you used on me," Sowelmanu murmured. He and Flinx tore through the supplies.
    Flinx finally located the svelte cylinder and emptied the contents on the crack in the plastic. Clarity and Sowelmanu tried to hold the tube together as liquid light leaked out around their fingers.
    The spray seal worked wonderfully on human flesh and adequately on thranx chiton, but it simply refused to adhere to the clear plexalloy tube. Despite their frantic efforts, the chemical light continued to trickle from the broken tube. It was not simply a matter of plugging a hole. The crack ran half the length of the illuminator.
    Finally Flinx sat back against a smooth chunk of fallen flowstone. "It doesn't matter, anyway," he muttered morosely. "Once that stuff is exposed to air, it begins to decompose."
    "Yes, that's right." Clarity moved across the floor to sit close to him, drawing her knees up to her chest and clasping them with both arms.
    Thereafter no one said anything. The magnitude of the disaster was sinking in. Sowelmanu joined the two humans as they watched the luminescent liquid run across the floor, forming a small glowing river. It was already beginning to fade, the chemicals debonding under contact with oxygen.
    Clarity let go of her legs to lean against Flinx. "Whatever else happens, when the lights go out, don't let go of me. I couldn't stand not having some kind of contact."
    He did not reply. This would be a strange place to die, he thought. There was plenty of air, food, and water, but no way out. Trying to find a path would result only in a faster death, not in freedom. There was no way they could negotiate a route in the darkness. They had stumbled and fallen into a region Longtunnel's cartographers had yea to explore. There were no guideposts, no landmarks, nothing to indicate direction.
    In any case, they would not perish at the touch of a vexfoot or carnivorous fungus. He found himself coldly fondling the needier, wondering if enough of a charge remained to do the job he had in mind for it.
    Clarity inhaled sharply as the last of the luminescent liquid that had been their guide and hope gave way to utter, total darkness. It was darker, Flinx mused, than the inside of one's eyelids when one closed them tight in sleep, darker than dreaming, darker than any space above a rotating world.
    Silent it was not. There was the constant gurgle of running water all around. When the light finally went out, photosensitives began to emerge from their hiding places and the cavern was filled with strange whines and clicks and mewlings as the troglodyte inhabitants called uncertainly to each other.
    "We have no other source of illumination?" Sowelmanu whispered.
    "None." In the pitch black their whispering sounded like normal conversation. He could feel Clarity pressed tightly against him and was suddenly grateful for her presence and warmth, even if it was motivated by fear more than by affection.
    "I am wondering, though it is too late to do so, if we might have modified the power cell in your needier for use in my shoulder lights."
    "I doubt it. Weapons cells are a lot different from those in commercial batteries. If it had worked at all, it would have been only for a short time. That’s if it hadn't blown the elements on contact."
    "Ali, I understand. Perversely, that makes me feel a little better. There is always the chance that our security force has driven off the invaders and that our absence has been noted. Searchers may yet find us."
    "First they'd have to determine that we're not among the dead," Flinx reminded him. "Then they'd have to surmise some of us got trapped outside the demolished corridors, in unlighted areas. And then they'd have to find us. Too much surmising and too much time They'll be busy with more pressing concerns."
    "I had forgotten," the crestfallen geologist said. "So much wanton destruction."
    Flinx blinked in the darkness. His mind never rested except when he slept, and not always then. "What about natural bioluminescems like the photomorphs? Could we do something with them? Try to capture and restrain a photomorph or something like it? Even a little infrequent light would be better than none at all."
    "I suppose we could try." Clarity didn't sound very enthusiastic. "The photomorphs put out more light than any other lifeform we've studied, and that's not a great deal, except in brief bursts. There's also something like a long millipede that has a blue light which runs its whole length."
    "Perhaps if we can capture several such creatures, we could fasten them together and at least use them to see the floor. Remember that I can make better use of light than you," Sowelmanu told her hopefully. "If you can see several centimeters by their light, then I can probably see twice as far with the identical output of lumens. Enough to find a slow way upward, perhaps, and to avoid dangerous dropoffs."
    "Then let's keep our eyes peeled," Flinx said, grinning at his own mocking joke, "for anything moving that's producing any kind of light."
    As they sat motionless, listening and watching, their eyes grew accustomed to the blackness. Otherwise they would never have seen the faint light emitters that were starting to appear. Unfortunately they were all sliders, an airborne mammal that lived in the larger caverns. They were impossible to catch but did give the trapped trio something to focus on. The quartermeterlong fliers soared back and forth among the stalactites drooping from the ceiling.
    Pink triangular patterns flashed beneath their wings, identifying individuals to others of their kind.
    It was almost noisy now. More photofauna gradually emerged.
    "They fled from our lights and voices and footsteps," Clarity whispered. "Now they're reclaiming the darkness. They were around us all the time, watching and waiting."
    While she was talking, one of the sliders dropped like a stone. It flapped spasmodically across the floor, the lights on its wings shining brightly. Then it rose without moving its wings and came straight toward them.
    Clarity and Sowelmanu were puzzled and confused, but Flinx only smiled. "Pip's been hunting. No matter what happens to us, the minidrags won't starve. She can't see any better than us, but she can hunt the light sources."
    They could hear the two flying snakes tearing into the body of the dead slider. Biting and swallowing was an unfamiliar process for creatures used to downing their food whole, but the minidrags were not true snakes. They had small teeth capable of rudimentary chewing. Oversized food was better than no food at all.
    Flinx felt better knowing that his lifelong pet would survive him as long as there were sliders to hunt. "If there was enough light or another emotional presence nearby, Pip could lead us out. We're not completely paralyzed here. Sometimes I forget she can be more than just a companion." Suddenly he tensed.
    Clarity felt him stiffen. "What's wrong, what's the matter?"
    "There's something else here. Not sliders or little things. Something a lot bigger."
    "Vexfoot," Clarity hissed fearfully. It would have no trouble finding them in the dark.
    "No. Something else. Not a vexfoot. Different."
    "I can't hear a thing."
    "Nor can I," said Sowelmanu, straining with his great compound eyes. "How do you know, my young human friend, that there is anything out there at all?"
    Flinx hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. They were probably all going to die together, anyway, so what did it matter what they learned about him?
    "Because I can feel their presence."
    "I don't understand," Clarity said. "There's nothing around to feel."
    "I don't mean with my hands."
    "There is something you are not telling us, young man."
    Flinx turned toward the thranx's voice in the darkness. "My pet is an Alaspinian minidrag. They're telepathic on the emotional level, and they occasionally bond that way with human beings. But in my case it's not all oneway. You see, I'm telepathic on the emotional level myself. "
    Clarity twitched, but the darkness kept her from pulling away. "You're saying you can read others emotionally, just like the flying snakes?"
    He nodded, then realized she could not see the gesture and replied aloud.
    "So you know what I've been feeling ever since we've been together," she said.
    "Not all the time It's an erratic ability, it comes and goes without rhyme or reason, and it always works better when Pip is close by. I think she acts as some kind of amplifier or lens for me."
    "I have heard of the empathic telepaths of Alaspin." He could sense Sowelmanu brooding intently in the darkness. "I have never heard of them `focusing' such a talent in another creature."
    "That's because insofar as I know, there's no one else like me," Flinx told him tightly. "I'm sorry, Clarity. I thought it was better to keep it a secret." He hesitated. "I told you I wasn't normal. Now you know why."
    "It's all right," she said in a small voice "If you really know what I'm feeling, you'll know that it's all right."
    "Absolutely fascinating," Sowelmanu murmured. "Heretofore telepathy was considered nothing but material for superstition and fiction."
    "It's not true telepathy," Flinx corrected him. "It's only operative on the emotional level."
    "You read emotions." Clarity's tone was flat. "Can you sense the presence of a vexfoot or photomorph?"
    "No. I'm only stimulated by an intelligent presence."
    "Then your talent is playing you false in the darkness," Sowelmanu told him with conviction. "There are no intelligences on Longtunnel."
    "Well, something is out there, and it's much more emotionally sophisticated than a flying snake."
    "We would know." Clarity spoke patiently. "There are no sentients here. Intelligencewise, this is an empty world."
    Flinx was having difficulty searching and speaking simultaneously. "What if they didn't want you to know they were here? You've admitted the outpost is a small one, that exploration has been limited to the area around the port."
    "You can't have a sentient race existing in complete darkness."
    "I'm sure they'll find your observation interesting, Clarity."
    "What do your `sentients' look like?" the geologist inquired skeptically.
    "I've no idea. I can't see them. There are no mental images, only feelings."
    "Then what is it you feel?"
    "Curiosity. Peacefulness. A particular intensity of a  kind I've never felt before. What I'm not feeling is more important. "
    "I don't understand," Clarity said.
    "No anger, no hate, no animosity."
    "That's a lot to tell from sensing a few emotions."
    "I've had years of practice. Emotions don't have to be blunt. The subtle ones can be equally revealing. There are a lot of them around us right now."
    "Perhaps we should try moving toward them," Sowelmanu suggested.
    "No. No sudden movements or gestures. They're curious. Let's keep them that way."
    So they sat silently in the darkness, two humans and one thranx. For all his companions knew, the mysterious creatures Flinx had spoken of were standing only centimeters away.
    Clarity listened for a sound: breathing, feet or claws scraping against stone, anything. The complete silence was not surprising since the ability to move silently in this underground world would be a necessary survival trait. Only Flinx knew they were moving, inspecting, because only he could feel the individual emotional centers shifting around him. If they conversed, it was via emotional surges and not words.
    "They're very close now."
    Clarity let out a yelp. "Something touched me!"
    "Relax. I said they're not hostile."
    "We have only your word for that," Sowelmanu murmured. Then he let out a soft click as he, too, was touched.
    The quick, hesitant contact turned into caresses, careful fingering designed to inform. They were accompanied by a surge of emotion too vast for Flinx to handle. Pip was curled tightly around the back of his neck, and he knew she was sensing the same flood of feeling. Unlike her master, she had insufficient mental equipment with which to interpret that powerful rush. It was enough that she felt no hostility.
    Finally Flinx extended a questing hand. His fingers made contact with something soft, furry, and warm. Alien digits responded. The touch was so light and delicate, he could not tell if it involved fingers or tendrils until one of the creatures let him run his hand along its arm. They were true fingers, thin and fragile as the helectites Sowelmanu had delighted in pointing out earlier in their flight. Tactile sensitivity would also be a useful trait in a world of permanent night.
    They let him run his fingers over their faces, or where faces ought to have been. Even vestigial eyes seemed to be absent, though they might have been concealed beneath the thick fur. There was a smaller than expected set of nostrils; small ears that flared from the sides of the head; and two arms, two legs, and a tail whose tip seemed as sensitive as any finger.
    During the entire extended physical exploration he was overwhelmed with feelings of awe and amazement.
    The fur was short and dense and covered the entire body except for the ears and the tip of the tail. There was no clothing, which made sense. They were insulated and warmed by their fur, and there could be no nudity taboos in a world of blindness. Throughout it all they kept projecting one particular emotion with regard to themselves. Though it was a feeling and not a sound, he ascribed a series of syllables to it.
     Sumacrea.
    A voice neither human nor thranx said suddenly in the darkness, "Sumacrea!"
    "They can talk!" Clarity said in astonishment.
    "I'm not certain they can. They have a rich emotional language. They may make sounds to call attention to themselves or to warn of danger, but I'm not sure they communicate other than by reading and broadcasting feelings."
    "Then they are not intelligent," Sowelmanu said.
    "I disagree." He tried to prod the Sumacrea next to him into making additional noises. They responded with a succession of chitterings and phonetic intonations that if part of a language, suggested a very primitive one indeed.
    This was in contrast to their highly evolved emotional discourses, full of sensitivity and understanding. After trying to make sense of humanx feelings, it was like discovering a longlost cluster of friends. He understood easily, without recourse to clarification, and he felt that they understood him, though his feelings must have seemed crude and coarse by comparison.
    Except for their unique method of communication, however, they were no more sentient than a tribe of apes.
    How perfectly suited to their environment! he thought. Why try to construct a word to describe something one could not see or show to a companion when one could instantly convey everything about it to another by ascribing an emotional resonance to it? One could explain whether it was good or bad, hard or soft. What he at first took to be color shadings he realized soon had nothing to do with colors but with feelings. These people, he mused, really could feel blue. It was an entirely new means of communication, one that cut readily across interspecies barriers in a way verbal description of abstract concepts could not.
    The average Sumacrea stood a little over a meter high. All those he examined fell within chat limit. Either there were no infants in the area or they were being kept out of touching range. A hunting or exploration party, perhaps.
    "I think they've been aware of the humanx presence here for some time," he told his companions, who were about to go crazy with pentup curiosity. "They've just been cautious. One let me feel its teeth. I'd bet they're vegetarians. Both humans and thranx are omnivorous, so they might have sensed you eating meat. That would make them understandably reluctant to initiate any kind of contact."
    "It's still incredible we never ran into any of them." As she touched and was touched, Clarity momentarily forgot her terror of the blackness surrounding them. The presence of warm, friendly creatures helped keep the childhood fear at bay.
    "Not when you consider that they could feel you coming before any mere instruments could detect their presence."
    "If they can understand our emotions, then they must know we intend them no harm," Sowelmanu said.
    "Possibly." At that moment the individual he was caressing suddenly jerked away from him. Flinx tried to ease his mind as much as possible. After a couple of minutes the Sumacrea returned and let the human resume his touching. This time Flinx was more careful when he reached the area that had produced the sharp reaction.
    "They do have eyes. Very small."
    "I haven't felt any," Clarity said.
    "They're on the backs of their heads." He almost laughed. It had a salutary effect on the Sumacrea nearby, and they moved nearer. "I don't know if they evolved that way or if earlier eyes migrated around the back the way a halibut's move to the top of its head. If they're only light sensors, it's a way of detecting what's behind you. Nose in front, eyes behind. You can watch your enemy while running away from him." The thought came quick and unbidden.
    "That explains it. Anyone mapping or studying the caverns would come equipped with the brightest light they could carry. "
    He tried to conjure up the image of an exploding brightness. It was not really an emotional concept, but he put the feeling across. The Sumacrea recoiled, returning only when he had shunted the sensation aside.
    "Lightsensitive. The photomorphs would threaten them, too. Their concept of light is akin to a tremendous flame going off inside one's head. There must be natural heat sources down here somewhere, hot springs or thermal pools. They have distinct, variegated emotions to describe differing degrees of temperature. Light comes near the top of the list even though to us it's something quite cool. If someone had come down here without light, they would probably have made contact by now."
    "How fortunate we are," Sowelmanu muttered. "Disaster enables us to make the most important discovery in the brief scientific history of Longtunnel. A grand revelation no one else will ever hear about."
    At the moment Flinx could not have cared less about their future. He was utterly immersed in the wondrous, extraordinary world he had uncovered. His impatient companions would simply have to wait until he tired of exploring it.
Chapter Thirteen
     
    The Sumacrea had developed an infinitely more intricate emotional language than humans had ever dreamed of, and they were not averse to sharing it with him. In fact, their delight at encountering one so similar to themselves among the strangers who had come from the roof of the world was exceeded only by their desire to learn more about him and where he had come from. Sowelmanu and Clarity were forced to sit silently, occasionally conversing with each other, while Flinx sat motionlessly, his eyes closed, touching the natives on a level they could barely imagine.
    From time to time he would speak and try m explain what he was feeling, what he was learning. Words were a poor substitute for the actuality of soultosoul emotional communication.
    At the same time, he was trying to sort out Clarity's feelings toward him. His confession, coupled with what he had told her of his history, would justify a certain animosity and even fear toward him on her part, but he could detect none of that. Her attitude was still friendly, affectionate even, but colored now by a definite ambiguity that she took pains to conceal in her speech.
    It did not bother him. Nothing could bother him now, enveloped as he was in the swirling, complex rush of emotions generated by the Sumacrea.
    It was astonishing how much could be communicated by emotion alone if one was subtle and precise, if one knew how to convey as well as sense. Hunger and thirst, fear of the fanatics above, admiration for the Sumacrea and for how they had coped with their lightless world he had no trouble explaining himself or understanding their replies.
    Under their tutelage his ability was rapidly refined, his talent honed. They knew Pip for a friend as well as they did his master, and Scrap also, but they were sorrowed and puzzled by the blindness that afflicted his other companions. He tried to explain that he could understand them clearly but that while they could crudely convey their own emotions, they could not sense those of others at all. They were shocked when he told them that of all his kind, he was the only one he knew who could communicate readily with them via feelings and emotions.
    He decided that blindness was a relative term, the lack of sight a matter of history. Vision was a broad term encompassing all manner of perception. In the case of sight by light, it could be enhanced or brought to life by any number of medical techniques. Transplants, inserts, miniature video cameras connected directly to the optic peevesall were feasible if one had access to enough money.
    But despite the Commonwealth's technical skills, he knew of no method for improving the emotional sensitivity of man or thranx, no way to make audible the deeply felt and stirring dialogue of the Sumacrea.
    "You're sure," Clarity asked him the following day, "that you're not just exchanging feelings with these people? That you're actually communicating with them? Without words?"
    "I'm sure, and it's becoming easier. You just have to learn how to manipulate your emotions the way you would sentences. Like ancient Chinese writing, you exchange entire concepts at once instead of using words to form sentences. For example, instead of saying, `I want to go to the other side of the cavern,' you have to express your longing to be in a certain place. If you do that to the exclusion of all else, I guarantee one of the Sumacrea will come over and take you by the hand. It won't do for science or mathematics, but it serves better than you think for putting across simple ideas."
    "Since you are becoming so skilled at this unique method of communication ..." Sowelmanu began.
    "I didn't say I was getting skilled. Just meandering along. "
    "Isn't it about time you tried to project our intense desire to return to the vicinity of the outpost? By a roundabout route, should they be familiar with one."
    "If it exists, I'd bet the Sumacrea know of it. We have time. Shouldn't we wait a while longer? Our food is holding out well, and if they do show us the way, it shouldn't take long to climb back to the level we left."
    The geologist's mandibles made a sound indicative of mild derision mixed with seconddegree impatience. "While I confess I am becoming used to this darkness, that does not mean I am growing fond of it."
    "The longer we stay, the better attuned I become to the Sumacrea's method of communication."
    "Are you sure that's the real reason you aren't in a hurry to leave?" Clarity was sitting close to him in the darkness. He knew she was near because during the past few lightless days, their respective senses of smell and hearing had grown acute. "It's obvious you share something unique with these people. Something which Sowel and myself cannot share with you. As far as this kind of communication is concerned, he and I are effectively blind, as you've put it. It's no fun being blind in the land of the locally sighted, Flinx.
    "Maybe you aren't in a rush to get back to the port. Maybe this kind of emotional intercourse is all you want right now. But Sowel and I need light and speech. And all of us need to find out what's happening."
    "Just a little while longer. That's all I'm asking for." Flinx was not aware of the intensity of his plea, though of course the Sumacrea were. "You don't understand. I'm completely comfortable here. These are the first people I've ever encountered that I could be totally myself with. I don't have to watch what I say or how I react. I'm not constantly on guard. I can't hide anything from them, and I don't want to, nor can they hide how they feel from me. That's the truth. I can tell."
    "You can," she replied, "but Sowel and I can't. Flinx, we have to make our way back to port. We need to find out if the rest of the installation has managed to hold out against the fanatics or if we can help in some way. That should be our first priority. If everything's settled down and they've left or been driven off, then you can scramble back down here and . . ." She hunted briefly for the right word. "... meditate all you want.
    "The discovery of native sentients will naturally change the way exploration and research are carried out on Longtunnel. But it won't stop. Our work will continue and will enable us to help the Sumacrea. They must suffer dreadfully from the depredations of creatures like the vexfoot and the dart shooters." A different note crept into her voice as she argued with him.
    "Flinx, Sowelmanu and I are going a little crazy down here while you sit like a statue swapping emotions with your native friends. If my feelings mean anything to you, and I know you can sense them, then please, please help us find the way back to the port, where we can do some good. We have a responsibility to our friends and coworkers."
    "I don't," he told her simply.
    The mass emotions of the Sumacrea washed over him like a warm wave, highly refined, precise, as complex as any spoken language: feelings of love, of mild hunger or thirst, of family bonding and affection. Curiosity and confusion, amusement and sadness, admiration and disappointment needed no explanation or elaboration to be understood. He could listen to them simultaneously or tune out the background and concentrate on a single individual who would respond in kind. There was no hesitation or artifice, no lying when it could instantly be detected. No theft when a thief's guilt would mark him as brilliantly as a signpost in the darkness. No envy of appearance when there was nothing to see. In the world of the Sumacrea, no one looked good. All that mattered was how one felt.
    Odd that a blind society should be more peaceful and content than a sighted one. The Sumacrea were calm and relaxed among themselves. There was much to learn from studying them, from living among them, and of all huanxkind, only he was properly equipped to do so. A number of ancient human philosophers had imagined societies whose  members existed in perfect harmony with the natural world, but as far as Flinx could remember, not one of them had postulated blindness as a precondition for the success of such a social organization. And of course none of them had ever envisioned anything like empathic telepathy.
    If not for Clarity and Sowelmanu, he would have remained without hesitation, working and studying in the darkness, exchanging ideas and whole concepts without ever uttering a word. He would have Pip for additional companionship. But his friends would go mad here, unable to share in the Sumacrean discourse, wondering what was happening to their associates and colleagues back at the outpost. His own revelations and conversation would not substitute for that.
    Dammit! he thought to himself. The one resolution he had vowed to keepnot to involve himself in the affairs of others and to keep aloof was the one resolution he was constantly breaking. By saving Clarity, he had involved himself in her life. By helping Sowelmanu, he had done the same with the thranx. He now had a responsibility to both of them. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how diligently he worked at it, he always seemed to find himself tied to the destinies of people he had never met before.
    Perhaps the port's defenders had managed to subdue the unmilitary fanatics. Or possibly they had reached a truce allowing them to depart. Clarity was right. It might be perfectly safe to return to the outpost complex. If not, they could conceal themselves in the main warehouse, as they had originally intended. And if the attackers still held sway, the Sumacrea would be here to welcome them back. In that event, he told himself, neither Sowelmanu nor Clarity would argue with a decision to return.
    Right now his companions' desire to have light again, to speak to other humans and thranx, far outweighed their fear of being captured. Clarity had reason enough to stay clear of the fanatics, but if she was so desperate to return, then he owed it to her to at least find out what was happening. She had held up remarkably well since their last light tube had been lost, but he could sense the constant edginess and terror in her. She was uncomfortable at best. Unable to perceive as he could, she drew no benefit or reassurance from the Sumacrea's presence. To her they were not a soothing repository of friendship. They were only whistling, grunting, unseen shapes.
    Dammit again. I can't even bury myself literally. He sucked cool air. "I'll talk to them about leading us back. No, that's not right. I guess you could say I'll feel them out on the subject. I'll try to explain what's happening at the outpost, what our position is in the situation, and why we have to go back.
    "They're not ignorant of the surface, by the way. They have legends that speak of it, tales of brave individuals who reached the great fiery cave that lies above the real world. They wore masks to shield them from the light, dim as it is after it's been filtered through that perpetual cloud cover."
    A hand fumbled at his shoulder. Fingers trailed down his arm until Clarity had hers locked in his. Her relief at his decision was apparent in her voice as well as her emotions.
    "Thank you, Flinx. I really couldn't take this much longer. I tried so hard not to say anything."
    "You didn't have to say anything," he told her, and was immediately embarrassed at having reminded her of her lack of emotional privacy. "I'll converse with them right now, tell them what we want to do. What we have to do."
    There were no Sumacrea close by, but it was easy enough to call some. All he had to do was project a desire for company, for companionship, and add his own emotional signature. Clarity and Sowelmanu had them as well, though they could use them only involuntarily and without conscious control. A moment later several of the natives could be heard shuffling toward them in the darkness.
    He felt his companions turning toward the new arrivals and smiled to himself. They might not have his abilities, but smell and hearing compensated somewhat. They were not as blind and helpless as they thought.
    "Keep in mind," he reminded his friends, "that first of all they may not consent to help guide us, and second, there may not be a way open to the outpost." There were plenty of additional reasons for pessimism, but he kept them to himself. Clarity's feelings of hope were too j strong for him to want to dampen them with reality.
    Emotion traveled well in the caverns. He wondered if a Sumacrea would be as overwhelmed and disturbed as he was whenever his Talent was functioning at full capacity in a major city, surrounded by thousands of feeling, emoting people. Here it was easy to identify individuals, to project precisely.
    Strange to be having an indepth emotional exchange with people you had never set eyes on and might never actually see. He had learned to think of them, at least the ones with whom he conversed on a frequent basis, by name. The names were suggested by their emotional signatures. There was bleeper, who oddly enough was the least emotional of the tribe, and his friend Heavy, and Thoughtfulgrave. They absorbed the feelings he projected toward them and pondered.
    As expected, the exchange did not proceed smoothly. The Sumacrea were convinced that if they went too close to the Outer Cave, they would not be able to find their way back. It was a region devoid of all feeling, and it frightened them. Flinx argued with them patiently, Pip sitting supine on his shoulders, knowing that his emotions were going out pure and clean and unmistakable. It calmed them, and they agreed to help.
    Thoughtfulgrave and Heavy knew the way up to the Outer Cave, from which they had lately detected strange emotions and sensations, feelings they now understood after having encountered Flinx and his friends. Clearly there were more like them above, thinking, intelligent creatures in spite of their blindness.
    There was nothing to pack. Food they would find along the way. The route they would take was not far but complex.
    When the time came to leave, there was much touching and exchange of strong emotions. For the first time the Sumacrea revealed the depth of their trust by bringing forth their offspring, small, furry things on short legs that whistled and hooted frequently as they carefully caressed the huge bodies of the visitors from the Outer Cave.
    When the last farewell had been emoted, Heavy assumed the front position, with Thoughtfulgrave in the rear. They would progress by touch, Heavy feeling for the right way with Sowelmanu behind, then Clarity and Flinx.
    Scrap fluttered nervously against Clarity's sidetail, reflecting her fear as they left behind the now familiar section of the Sumacrean cavern. Flinx sensed it also and let his hand slip frequently from her shoulder to her hip. It confused her emotions and thus helped submerge her fear in other thoughts and feelings. She could not turn to slap away his hand since she could not see him and would lose contact with Sowelmanu, so she had to content herself with comments. It took her mind off their difficult situation.
    "I hope these people can feel their way as efficiently as they can their emotions," Sowelmanu said conversationally. "I would dislike stepping in another of the rain drains which swallowed us all, or into a less friendly hole. "
    "This is their world, Sowel," Flinx reminded the geologist. "They know where they are and where they're going. We couldn't lose ourselves if we wanted to. They'd simply trace our emotional projections through the darkness."
    "We're ascending." There was a hopeful note in Clarity's voice for the first time in days. "They really do know the way."
    "We are not there yet, young woman." It was thranx nature to be cautious. "Restrain your enthusiasm."
    "The less noise we make, the better." Flinx kept his own voice to a whisper. "There might be other ears listening that are as sensitive as the Sumacrea's but whose intentions toward us are less benign."
    Clarity lowered her voice but was unable to repress her excitement. The higher they climbed, the nearer they were to light and to being able to see once again.
    Mindful of Sowelmanu's description of the main warehousing location, Flinx tried to explain to their guides that it was necessary to enter the world of the Outer Cave dwellers at a specific place. When he was through, he could not be certain he had gotten the concept across. It was one thing to express how one felt about something, quite another to try to communicate specifics. A location, after all, is not a feeling. One could feel better about being somewhere or unhappy about being someplace else, but to project a feeling of one particular spot was difficult no matter how sophisticated the emotional language.
    After climbing steadily for some time, the path they were following finally leveled off. They kept on until the injured Sowelmanu complained of exhaustion. Five legs or not, he was still not comfortable with his awkward gait.
    They rested for several hours, then resumed climbing. Eventually it was the turn of Heavy to call a halt. Sowelmanu and Clarity, unable to detect his intentions, piled up against him and each other.
        "What now?" she asked Flinx.
    He was straining to feel clearly. "Warning. Uncertainty. Confusion and pain."
    "You mean he's hurt himself?"
    "No. It's an emotional pain. Something nearby is upsetting him. You and Sowel stay put. I'm going up to see what it is."
    Feeling his way past his companions, he advanced by placing one foot carefully in front of the other. If they were in any immediate danger, Heavy would have warned him to stay back. That did not mean there could not be a sheer thousandmeter drop immediately to his left or right. Sometimes the absence of light could be a blessing instead of a curse. The danger one could not see did not exist.
    He touched Heavy, who stepped aside. Flinx cautiously felt his way forward until his right foot bumped something soft. He halted immediately.
    Using his feet, he felt his way around the body until he had circled it completely. At first he thought it was one very large form. Closer tactile inspection revealed the truth: There were two.
    "What is it?" Clarity inquired from the darkness behind him. Though she was standing less than two meters away, she had no idea what was happening.
    "Humans. Both of them dead. They've been cold for a while. Both male, both armed."
    "The fanatics? Or port Security personnel?"
    "I don't know." He bent and continued to use his hands in the absence of vision. "I think one's wearing a headlight. The other has some kind of lens arrangement strapped across his chest. It might be a light, too."
    "Well, try them, see if they work!"
    "What do you think I'm doing?" he replied irritably. Moments later he straightened. "No luck. Both unreponsive."
    "If they perished here," Sowelmanu said thought fully, "they may have done so with their lights on. Perhaps they carded spare cells. I will help you look."
    "Me, too." Clarity bumped into Sowelmanu, who muttered a typically gentle thranx curse. Thereafter they forced themselves to work slowly through the pockets of the two corpses.
    "I've found somethingI think." Clarity passed the small cylinder across to Flinx.
    "Might be. Might be an old dead cell, too."
    "Just now I prefer optimism to realism, my friend." Sowelmanu's tone was thick with firstdegree anticipation. "Try it."
    "I'll see if I can fit it in the chest unit. It should be easier to open. And don't rush me. Be a fine irony if somebody makes me drop it and it rolls into a crevice."
    It took nearly an hour to accomplish the switch, a task that in normal light would have required a few seconds. He wanted to be sure of position and contact. Only when he was positive that it was securely in place did he take the additional time to unstrap the chest unit from the faceless body.
    "What are you waiting for?" Clarity prompted him. "Try the contact."
    "I can't just yet. One more thing I have to do."
    Concentrating the way he had been instructed to, he imagined a tremendous burst of heat. It produced an image many times the brightness of a photomorph. Excessive, but better not to take any chances. Something as intense as a highpowered incandescent beam might do permanent damage to the feeble lightsensing organs of the Sumacrea. Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave understood and made sure they were facing him, their eyes pointed away and well shielded beneath protective fur.
    So concerned was he with protecting their guides that he neglected to warn his companions. He also forgot to prepare himself. The result was that all three of them let out varying screeches of discomfort when the light came on. They had spent so many days in total darkness that the refulgent beam stung them as severely as it might have the Sumacrea. Pip and Scrap were similarly affected.
    Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave retreated behind a drape of opaque flowstone, bending their hands up and back to cover their eyes. Enough light still managed to penetrate hands, hair, and stone to cause them pain. Flinx felt the emotional cries as deeply as any scream and quickly shut off the beam.
    "Why did you do that?" Clarity asked loudly. "Why'd you turn it back out? What if it doesn't come back on? What if ..."
    "Calm down. There's nothing wrong with the unit. It just needed the new cell The light was hurting our friends. It hurts them even when they hide from it. We still need them to lead us to the back side of the warehouse. Just because we can light our way doesn't mean we're any closer to finding the right route. When we had the two tubes before, we just went around in circles."
    "We have to have some light." Clarity was adamant. "I'm not stumbling around in pitch darkness when we have a perfectly good highL beam."
        "A suggestion." They both turned in the blackness to face Sowelmanu. "Utilize the clothing of these unfortunate humans to muffle and dim the light to a degree the Sumacrea find tolerable. They have observed sliders and photomorphs and their cousins, so they can stand certain minimal illumination. We do not need light to follow them, but it would, as Clarity implies, be refreshing to be able to see where we are placing our own feet."
    Flinx considered. "Not a bad idea. I'll try to explain it to Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave. Then we'll give it a try.
    It was while removing the shirt from the first body that he thought he felt something moving slightly beneath the underlying layer of flexible body armor. The special plastic would stop a needler blast but not a laser. Evidently it had failed to stop something less advanced but more sinister. It reminded him of something . . .
    "Back!" he shouted as he rose hastily. "Everybody back!"
    "What's wrong?" He could hear Clarity and Sowelmanu retreat with gratifying speed.
    "I felt something moving." Pip was coiled tightly around his neck, and he had to physically loosen her coils so that he could speak clearly. "Under the shirt. Under the armor. It felt familiar."
    "I do not understand," the worried geologist said.
    "Give me a minute to think."
    Once more he warned Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave to take cover. This time they would do a more thorough job of it since they had some idea of what to expect. Only when he was certain of their safety and of his companions' preparedness did he switch the highlumen beam back on.
    Gradually, painfully, their eyes grew accustomed to what was really a very low level of illumination but one that to their lightstarved optic nerves seemed like a dozen suns all blazing simultaneously. When they could finally see without crying, Flinx shone the beam on the first dead man.
    His uniform indicated that he was a member of port Security. The other body wore an illfitting chameleon suit. None of this had meant anything to the organism that had killed them.
    Both bodies showed signs of handtohand combat. In battling one another they had fallen too nearsomething. Thin but unbreakable loops of fungal matter were locked tightly around the first man's arms and the other man's neck. The second man had been lucky: He had perished of suffocation.
    What Flinx had felt moving slightly beneath the first man's body armor were bunched strands of haustorium.
    Clarity moved up beside him to study the halfeaten corpses. With the light it was easy to trace the hyphae network to a nearby crevice. It was ten meters long, and half of it was full of glistening fungus.
    "It's ignoring us because it already has all the food it needs for a while." She spoke with the enforced calm of a lab technician readying a new tray of samples for inspection.
    "I recognize the haustorium," Flinx muttered, "but where did those damn loops come from?" He could not take his eyes from the bloated face of the second victim. The man's hands were still locked around one loop as if trying to tear it free.
    "From the same place as the rest of those filthy tendrils, I would venture to say." Sowelmanu looked to Clarity for confirmation.
    "Dactyella and Arthobotrys, only on a larger scale. A mycologist could tell us more. They lasso their food. This looks like a giant relative."
    "We should burn them or something," Flinx said disgustedly.
    She shrugged. For a change, she was more at home with the local flora than he, able to distance herself from its effects. "In a few days there'll be nothing left. Not even bones."
    Flinx stared at the two bodies a moment longer, then remuffled the light. When it was almost too dark to see one's feet, Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave emerged from their hiding place. Their emotions were still unsettled.
    As were Flinx's own.
    If possible, everyone trod more cautiously than before as they resumed their march. The security man and the fanatic had engaged in a longrunning battle through Longtunnel's upper reaches, because it took another day for the refugees to draw near enough to the port to enable Flinx to detect the first glimmerings of human emotion. Without Pip he would not have been able to sense anything, but when she was near and his Talent was operative, his range was considerable. Painful in a city street, useful here.
    His ability to control and manipulate his Talent was increasing. Some of that he attributed to instruction from the Sumacrea, but his skill had been rising before that encounter had taken place. Maybe it had something to do with him maturing physically as well as mentally.
    "We're getting close," he informed his friends.
    "I don't hear any fighting," Clarity said as she strained for the slightest sound. "No shouts, no guns going off."
    "We're not near enough to overhear verbal shouts, but weapons discharging ought to be audible."
    "Either there is a lull in the fighting in this vicinity," Sowelmanu commented, "or we may presume that one side has prevailed and taken control."
    Clarity suddenly sprinted ahead, heedless of rocks and growths underfoot. "Light! I can see light!"
    Flinx and Sowelmanu followed at a more controlled pace until an emotional burst brought him to a halt. "Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave can go no farther. We must make our farewells here. But I will have them wait a while."
    "What for?" the geologist asked him.
    "In the event the fanatics have won. We may want to retreat this way again."
    Sowelmanu nodded, a human gesture acquired by the thranx soon after Amalgamation. Together they turned to follow Clarity.
    The light burst through a narrow slit in the wall on their left. Clarity was already peering through.
    "If we don't come back soon, the Sumacrea will know to return to their home below," Flinx told the geologist. "I want to come back here someday. There wasn't nearly enough time to converse, to learn. I may be the only apt human pupil, human companion they'll ever know. It's hard to explain, but I feel at home among them. Like being with family."
    "Have you been dwelling long in darkness, my young friend?"
    Flinx looked startled, then realized the thranx was just employing a comfortable figure of speech. All the bugs fancied themselves philosophers.
    They redistributed what little remained of their supplies. Clarity held the chest light they had salvaged while Flinx hefted the weakly charged needier. Even on low setting it was still capable of incapacitating two or three opponents before it died completely.
    As he turned sideways to face the cleft, Flinx felt Heavy and Thoughtfulgrave. Though he could no longer see them, the regret and sorrow they were feeling at his passing was as lucid as any verbal deposition. It was mixed with the sensation of leaving behind a part of himself. They understood him, shared his difficulties and troubles as easily as his friendship, and all without a word having to be spoken.
    A different sort of illumination lay ahead He inhaled and edged through the limestone slit.
    Beyond lay a vast cavern roofed with lowintensity light tubes. They shone dully on neat rows and shelves of brightly hued plastic crates and cylinders. It was the main warehouse beneath the port facilities that Sowelmanu had described to them earlier.
    "Still no signs of fighting," the thranx whispered hopefully. "Perhaps Security has at least retained control of this portion of the installation It would be among the most heavily defended and the last to surrender."
    "I don't see any guards." Clarity followed Flinx through the crack in the limestone wall.
    Nothing moved in the spacious chamber, not even shipping and sorting robots. Except for the heavy whisper of air pushed along by ventilator fans and pumps, there was no noise save what little they made themselves.
    "They would be mounting a successful defense some where above," Sowelmanu speculated. "If they had been driven back this far, the battle would be as good as lost. I believe we can ascend in confidence."
    "I'd rather ascend in caution," Flinx muttered as he studied the deserted stairway that flanked the service elevators.
    They kept to the shadows of the largest crates, huge containers full of drilling and excavating equipment. Each package was color coded as to eventual destination. A few were clad in the crimson of the United Church or the aquamarine of the Commonwealth.
    Sowelmanu led the way. Though Clarity had been on Longtunnel longer than the thranx, she had never had occasion to visit the main warehousing facility. Every thing was unwrapped, acknowledged, accounted for, and delivered by the time it reached her tab.
    The armed man whirled but lowered his rifle as soon as he recognized Sowelmanu. "You're with the Hivehom geofoods team, aren't you?"
    "I am indeed. Are the authorities still in control of this portion of the installation?"
    The guard relaxed and slung his weapon over his shoulder. "Sorry about this. Thought you might've been some of those veginodes left behind. We're in control of a lot more than just this portion," he declaimed with grim satisfaction.
    "You said `left behind'?" Flinx was trying to see past him. "What happened? We've been in hiding and out of touch."
    "Then I'll start from the start, right? The slipsuited bastards came at us out of the walls, like rats. They made a lot of noise and set off a lot of demo charges before we could organize and regroup, but they were lousy shots. Unprofessional, you know?
    "As soon as he realized the outpost was under fullscale attack, Lieutenant Kikoisa pulled a bunch of us together and organized a counterattack. They must've had a shuttle some idiot actually managed to set down beyond the strip. As soon as we plowed back into 'em, they broke and took off for it. That's the rumor, anyways. Haven't seen any of 'em for a couple of days."
    "Then everything's all fight?" Clarity asked. "You drove them away?"
    "Not all of 'em. There's plenty scattered around the corridors they didn't cave in. But they're a problem for the burial squad, not me. Who the hell do you suppose they were?"
    "I think I know," Clarity said.
    "No shit?" The sentry's eyes widened. "Hell, you better get yourself to the lieutenant or somebody, because everybody's been asking themselves that ever since they came at us. They didn't leave any wounded behind, and the dead don't have any identification on 'em. Not even labels on the chameleon suits they were wearing. Kikoisa's definitely gonna want to talk to you, Ms ...."
    "Clarity Held. I'm with Coldstripe."
    The guard made a face and looked elsewhere. "Coldstripe, huh? That's tough. They really powdered your whole setup. Got there first and did it down right. Nobody's gonna be doing any work over there for a long time, and I'm afraid some of your buddies ain't gonna ever be doing it again, either.
    "We all thought they'd go for Communications and the hangar first, but they didn't. They hit Coldstripe, then started in on your neighbors. Damnedest thing. Like they didn't care about anything except morbidizing the labs." He looked up at Sowelmanu.
    "Yours, too, though I think I heard that your friends got out in time."
    "Blessings upon the Hive."
    "Some of the labs are just rooms full of rock. You'd never know to look at 'em that there was ever anything in there."
    Clarity's throat was tight. "Wherewhere do I go to find out about survivors?"
    "I dunno. I'm just walking sentry here. Try the dispensary staff. I'll bet they're set up for inquiries by now. Everything's been a lot more organized since we shot the last of the bastards."
    Flinx put a comforting arm around Clarity's shoulders, forcing Scrap to squirm out of the way. "Maybe the loss of life doesn't match up with the physical destruction. If they had mass murder on their minds, they wouldn't have taken so much time and care with the demolition charges."
    "You hope," she muttered.
    "We all hope," be told her. "Let's go and see."
Chapter Fourteen
     
    Her depression did not lift until they found Amee Vandervort lying in bed in a private alcove, curtained off from the rest of the wounded. The head of Coldstripe had one arm encased in sprayplastic and locked at her side. Her face was bruised and battered, but she sat up promptly when the three of them entered.
    Sowelmanu paused outside. "Now I must find out if my good fortune equals your own." He extended both antennae, and they touched fingers to feathery tips in the thranx manner of parting. "Perhaps we shall see each other again. This is a small place. In that event I would be honored to buy you both the best human meal remaining on Longtunnel."
    "Only if you let me pay for the drinks," Flinx told him.
    They watched as their injured companion of many lightless days hobbled off toward the thranx wing of the dispensary, an enclosed compartment of higher humidity and temperature. Only after he was out of earshot did it occur to Flinx that he had gone to check on his comrades' welfare before seeking medical attention for his amputation. That was the thranx for you. Quiet, unassuming to a fault, desperately polite, and always concerned about the fate of others. It was partly their personalities and partly the lingering hive mentality, where everyone looked out for everyone else.
    Alynasmolia Vandervort extended her one functional hand. "Clarity, dear!" She embraced the younger woman, then turned her probing gaze on Flinx. "I see you still have your charming and precocious young man with you. When you were not brought in with the other wounded, you were listed among the missing. That was days ago. We'd all long since resigned ourselves. This is the second time you've surprised us. I am so pleased, so very pleased you are alive and well. How did you escape the fighting?"
    "We went out another way," Clarity said tersely. "Down instead of up. And we found," she added after a quick glance in Flinx's direction, "some interesting things."
    Vandervort's eyebrows rose. "You were running for your lives and you made time for research?"
    "I'm not sure that we weren't the ones being researched. Our assumptions about Longtunnel are going to have to be revised, along with everything else. There's a sentient race living here. In the lower caverns."
    "I'd say that was impossible. But I said that about your Verdidion Weave until I saw it with my own eyes."
    "You'll see these, too, if we can find a way to look at each other that won't harm them. They're as phototonic as you'd expect. I don't know about their sensitivity to infrared. They call themselves Sumacrea. I'll prepare a formal report later. Probably several reports. The important thing is for you to rest and get better."
    "Heavens, girl, I'd be out of here now if it wasn't for the damn doctors."
    "What happened at Coldstripe?"
    They listened intently as the older woman told the story of the battle for Longtunnel. How some of them heard or saw the attackers coming and managed to flee in time. How the crazed assailants ignored retreating people in favor of destroying labs and records and demolishing rooms and connecting corridors.
    Several of their colleagues had shown more bravery than common sense by trying to intervene and stop the destruction. For their trouble they were shot. Most survived. Others perished accidentally when they were caught in the collapse of ceilings and walls obliterated by the invaders. They might never know exactly who lay buried beneath the tons and tons of limestone.
    Eventually port Security had collected its men, arms, and wits and struck back. None of the invaders had been seen alive for several days. It was assumed they had all been killed or had fled by a hitherto unsuspected exit to other caverns or to the surface. The fight had ended as abruptly and mysteriously as it had begun.
    "I'm pretty sure I know who they were," Clarity said.
    "The same bunch that abducted you? Yes, my dear, we know now. They inquired among their temporary captives about certain personnel. Fortunate you had gone to ground elsewhere. Equally lucky, Jase had escaped to a secured sector early on in the battle. Maxim was not so fortunate. According to witnesses they brought him in wounded, made a rambling, barely coherent speech about meting out justice to the most serious offenders, and shot him on the spot. None of our other people thought they were going to get out of this alive. But when they fled, they simply left everyone they'd rounded up behind. They asked for me, too, you see. They were only interested in making object lessons of key personnel. In some ways we were very lucky."
    "They want to shut us down. Like I told you. But I never thought . . .
    "Nobody ever thought, my dear. We don't build SCAAM projectiles here. Coldstripe isn't involved with munitions. There are no war industries on Longtunnel. Who would have expected a militarystyle assault? Fanatics, the lot of them. A previously unknown group, well organized if not militarily efficient. For which we can all be eternally grateful. The first supply ship that goes into orbit will carry news of their outrage to the rest of the Commonwealth. The peaceforcers will round them up in short order, hopefully before they can wreak this kind of damage on some other unsuspecting, innocent colony.
    "If as you said their aim was to stop our work here, then in that they certainly succeeded. It's going to take a very long time to reconstruct even a shadow of what we had here. But they didn't think things through. True, they destroyed all our equipment, all our specimens, but as a matter of routine we put all our records out in duplicate. We should be able to access most of what they think they obliterated. As for a facility, we will simply develop a new, untouched cavern. It's not as if they destroyed a structure. It's simply a matter of ordering in new instrumentation and setting up in a new location. We'll be back in business sooner than they believe possible, though I don't mean to demean the severity of our loss. Reconstruction will be limited by our existing capitalization until we can go outside for new funds." She turned her attention back to Flinx.
    "The fact that there is a sentient race living here will change many things. I believe our research will be allowed to continue. The interest of the Church and sector government will be piqued. We may be able to tap into Commonwealth development funds."
    "I know I'm being premature, but you don't have any ideas about doing gengineering on the Sumacrea, do you?"
    Vandervort frowned at him, obviously puzzled by such a question. "Why would we want to do anything like that? They're people, if your observations of them are accurate. They're not fungi. If we were to even attempt something like what you infer, anyone involved would be an instant candidate for mindwipe. You don't turn intelligent beings into products. Usually the simpler the animal, the greater its potential for gengineering. Complex creatures generally make poor subjects."
    "Glad to hear it. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I know you have a lot to talk about, and I have to get Pip something to eat." He extended his arm toward Clarity, and Scrap fluttered across to join him. "They've been surviving on concentrates and what they were able to catch below. Their diet requires certain minerals. I'd prefer to take care of dietary problems before they occur. See how pale Pip is?"
    The flying snake looked the same to Clarity, but who was she to argue with its master?
    "The port commissary wasn't touched. I'm sure they'll be able to accommodate the needs of your pets."
    Both women watched Flinx depart. It was Vandervort who spoke first.
    "What an extraordinary young man. A pity he has no interest in biomechanics. I think he'd train well for any field."
    "That's just the beginning," Clarity told her. "You've heard about the emotional bond that can form between humans and Alaspinian flying snakes?"
    "No, but I take it from what you say now that such is the case with our friend and his animals."
    "There's more to it than that. These Sumacrea we discovered are also empathic telepaths. That's how they communicate. They also use a rudimentary kind of speech, but their emotional language is much more highly developed. "
    The older woman considered thoughtfully. "If what you say is true, dear, the budget for research on Longtunnel will be quadrupled by every organization with the slightest interest in its future. It's not a commercially exploitable discovery, but the fallout will be of benefit because there will be a multifold expansion of government facilities that can only aid in Coldstripe's growth. As a fellow scientist I applaud your industry. There are no proven telepathic races of any kind anywhere in the Commonwealth, the Empire, or our contiguous borders. But you say they are not telepaths in the accepted sense?"
    "That's right. They're only telepathic on the emotional level. Like the flying snake and our remarkable Minx."
    Vandervort smiled indulgently. "Now, child, just be h cause he has a bond of affection with a primitive flying
    creature doesn't mean there is anything more to him than f that."
    "No, no, it's much more than that. Amee, he communicated with the Sumacrea. That's how we found our way back to the outpost. He spoke with them, engaged in some kind of intricate emotional discourse, made friends, and had them lead us back to safety."
    "Sheer nonsense! You're simply misinterpreting the available data. Instead of communicating, he was only broadcasting his emotions, much as you and your thranx companion were doing. These Sumacrea, as you call h them
    "That's their name for themselves."
    "Whatever. They latched on to what you were feeling, your longing to return to your home, and thoughtfully escorted you back to us."
    "I'm sorry, Amee, but it wasn't like that at all. Flinx is a true emotional telepath, just like the Sumacrea. He can do it with people, too. He can tell what I'm feeling at any given moment, or you, or anyone else."
    Vandervort's expression darkened. "That cannot be, my dear. Mankind has been studying the concept of telepathy for well over a thousand years, and there simply are no such things as telepaths, not even on the empathic level. It may be that he can project his feelings more strongly than others, but read them? No, you must have it wrong." She had sat up straight in the bed and then leaned back, shaking her head and carefully favoring her injured arm. "He is simply a very perceptive, and perhaps persuasive, young man."
    Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment, perhaps only a desire to convince. For whatever reason, Clarity rushed on. "He's been altered. Did you ever hear of a banned organization called the Meliorate Society?" If anyone would understand that reference and make the right connections, it ought to be Amee Vandervort, a woman with forty years of experience in gengineering, biomechanics and related fields, and administration.
    She was not disappointed. Vandervort reacted as if she had been stung, sitting up straight and staring at her cleverest employee hard for a long moment before slowly lying back against the cushion rest. She started to steeple her fingers, then stopped in irritation when she realized her injured arm would not be able to participate. Her tone was cool, polite, unemotional.
    "What makes you think this?" No "dear" or "my girl" now. She was all business.
    "Because he told me so." She smiled, reminiscing. "We've become close. I think he wanted to confide in someone. No, I think he needed to confide in someone. Each year it gets harder and harder for him to hold it all in."
    "So my best gengineer has a little of the amateur psychologist in her, eh? You know he could be making all this up to impress you, not to mention to give false substance to his story."
    Clarity shook her head. "He didn't say it to try to impress me, and he has better evidence to back up his claims than clever words. I think he actually did it because he felt we were growing too close, to try to put some distance between us."
    "A fine young man." Vandervort spoke thoughtfully. "He's right, of course. You do need to distance yourself from him. Don't get too close to him, my dear. Don't get involved with him personally."
    It was the younger woman's turn to be confused. "Why not? What could be wrong with that? Just because some renegade bunch of necks fiddled a little with his DNA before he was born doesn't make him a monster. You've said yourself how extraordinary he is: quiet, polite, thoughtful, and goodlooking in the bargain, though he doesn't think so. Brave and courageoushe put himself in danger to help me. I don't find anything in that to be afraid of. True, it's a little disconcerting to think that the man you're with always knows what you're feeling, but it's not as if he can read minds. If he is what he claims to be, an emotional telepath, I don't see why I should fear that."
    "You make a good case for him, Clarity. And you're right. If all he is is an emotional telepath, there is no reason to fear. But we don't know that. We don't know, can't imagine what else he might be. Something he'd prefer not to admit to being. Something he's chosen not to reveal to you. Or even something he's not aware of himself. Just as importantly, no one including himself knows what he might becomebesides admirable."
    "You're saying that you think he mightchange? Into someone dangerous?"
    "I'm saying that where the products of the Meliorares' work is concerned, nothing is certain, nothing is predictable. They were among the most brilliant gengineers who ever lived. Also the most unbalanced. They tried things nobody else thought of trying, without much of an idea of what the results would be. The majority of their results were unpleasant to contemplate. A few were salvageable as human beings. A very, very few went unaccounted for.
    "This young man's mind and body are a genetic time bomb that could go off at any time. He may be almost normal now, depending on how much of this empathic talent he lays claim to having he actually possesses. He may remain normal for many years. Then," she added ominously, "unexpected changes in mind, body, personality may abruptly manifest themselves. Why do you think the work of the Meliorares has been so efficiently suppressed?"
    "Because the practice of human eugenics is proscribed by the Church."
    Vandervort smiled knowingly. "There's much more to it, my dear, than that. The Meliorares were reaching beyond their own limits, were tinkering with the very foundations of humanity. They were trying to improve on nature by eliminating serious diseases right in the genes, reducing the effects of aging, increasing physical strength, and raising intelligence levels. All well and good.
    "But they also tried new things. Frightening things. They tried to goad the human body into achieving gains it had never been designed or intended to cope with. They were trying to stimulate evolutionary leaps, not merely cosmetic ones." She stared down at her left arm and its plastic sheath.
    "A great many, too many, of their experiments ended in grotesque failure. There was a lot of mercy killing. I remember some of it from when I was young and just getting interested in gengineering and its related disciplines. As I matured, I developed the usual perverse interest in the Society and its work. Every gengineering student does, sooner or later. You dig up everything you can, which is very little. You learn enough to figure out that the Meliorares were as mad as they were brilliant. Skill and intelligence gone amok."
    "You remember a lot," Clarity said shrewdly. "What finally happened to them? I did my own reading as a student. I'd like to see how it matches up with yours."
    "The Society members? Most of them were killed in fights with arresting peaceforcers. A few chose to surrender and endure mindwipe. One of them," she added with no change of inflection, "was my mother's youngest brother. Not a member of the inner circle, but a supporter of their cause."
    Clarity gaped at the older woman. "I didn't have any idea, Amee ...
    "How could you?" Vandervort smiled gently. "I don't walk about with the information emblazoned on my shirt. It wasn't something the family was proud of. Fine biomechanic, my uncle. Not blazingly intelligent or innovative, but more than just moderately competent in his field. Only the fact that he was a peripheral supporter and not intimately involved in the most outlawed work the Society did enabled him to escape.
    "When I was little and we were alone, he used to tell me stories. I thought at the time they were amusing. You spoke of our Flinx feeling the need to unburden himself. I think my uncle had the same need. So he delivered himself to a young girl who had only the vaguest comprehension of what he was talking about. I'm sure he had no idea that I'd some day enter the same field or that I'd remember anything of his tales, but I did.
    "He rambled on about ancient Terran philosophies and made up stories about creating a superhuman, someone who'd be immune to disease and doubt, full of confidence and vitality and physical strength, able to cope with any difficulties and solve any problem."
    Clarity laughed with relief. "That certainly isn't Flinx. He's strong but not abnormally so. I've known plenty of stronger men. He's talked about his illnesses, so he's hardly diseaseresistant. As far as intelligence goes, he's obviously much smatter than the average nineteenyear old man, but there are dozens of other factors which could account for that. I've spent a lot of time with him, and he never propounded any new subatomic theories or tried to explain the true nature of spaceminus to me. All the Society's work did was give him the ability to read another person's emotions, and we can't be sure that's the result of a Society operation. He may be a natural emotional mutant."
    "All of what you say may be perfectly true, my dear. That was the sad thing about the Meliorares and my uncle. They had grand goals and vaulting dreams, worked so hard to achieve them, and in the end created nothing but misery and despair among their subjects. Flinx is at least not miserable or visibly deformed.
    "What the Church and government have fought so hard to suppress is any information about those experimental subjects who were neither destroyed, deformed, nor surgically made human again. Those extreme few, perhaps only two or three, who might just possibly have become something else. Something the Meliorates with their scattershot approach to eugenics did not themselves foresee. Something new."
    "Like empathic telepathy?"
    Vandervort forced herself to sit straight and slide close to the spellbound Clarity. "Because I had a personal interest in their work and history, I spent more time researching it during my early studies than any of my colleagues. I never completely lost interest in what is after all a most fascinating subject. As an accepted scientist and scientific administrator, I eventually gained access to certain records that are kept sealed from the public and lowerlevel researchers." She glanced at something over Clarity's shoulder, then dropped her gaze again.
    "I never suspected, no one imagined, that any of those special people might still survive, although it's interesting to note that even after all these years the Meliorate files are still listed as active in the relevant records. Individuals the government salvaged have been fully rehabilitated and certified human. There shouldn't be any blank spaces, but there are."
    "You think Flinx is a blank space?"
    "If his claims are true, then anything is possible."
    "Did your uncle ever speak about things like emotional telepathy?"
    "No, never. But I'll tell you a story that might make you think." She adjusted her position on the dispensary bed.
    "There are oblique references to an unnamed individual who was involved with the capture of the last group of diehard Society members. This took place on a minor world oh some six or so years ago. The government thought they had him along with the others." She was watching Clarity carefully now.
    "The records acknowledge the possibility that this individual spontaneously imploded, taking an entire warehouse complex and a group of peaceforcers and Society members with him."
    Clarity stared at her a long time before breaking the uncomfortable silence with nervous laughter. "That's a crazy story, all right. Even if it's true, it has nothing to do with Flinx because he's right here. You saw him leave for the commissary. Did he look imploded?"
    "Obviously not, my dear."
    "So the records and your story must be referring to someone else."
    "Yes, you must be right. It is selfevident that if he was involved, he did not implode." She added nothing, just sat on the bed and waited while implications quietly percolated inside her most skilled protegee.
    "You're implying something that makes even less sense. "
    "I am not implying much of anything." Vandervort was watching the movement of medical personnel beyond her privacy curtain. "In any event, he is a free individual, and what he is or what he does is none of our business."
    "Right." Clarity wondered why she felt so relieved.
    "Now, go and run after him. But keep your distance. Bear in mind what I've told you and don't get too friendly. It's for your own good, child. He may be nothing more than a pleasant young man who may or may not also be an empathic telepath, but if his claim is true, he might on any given day become something else."
    Clarity rose from her chair. "I think you're dead wrong there. I think I know him that well."
    "My dear Clarity, you have as much as told me that he does not claim to know himself."
    "It couldn't have been him in that warehouse since he's here and unharmed. I hope your arm feels better."
    "Thank you, dear. It's healing properly. I will talk to you later. Remember that you're still an employee in good standing with Coldstripe. Look on this little enforced hiatus as an overdue vacation. With pay. I've already determined to request that status for all surviving employees. I'm sure our backers will go along with it."
    "Then I might as well enjoy myself for a while." Clarity turned and headed out of the dispensary.
    Yes, child, Vandervort thought. Enjoy yourself and watch your step.
    Their fascinating young man did not present the appearance of an imploded personality. He was all of one piece, whole and intact. Which meant that the supposition she bad read years ago was in error. Or else someone was trying to cover up an impossibility with an implausibility.
    That suggested that something inexplicable had taken place in that obliterated warehouse. If this Flinx was the individual referred to only by number in the records, and be had not imploded and destroyed himself while the warehouse and its other occupants had unarguably gone to their respective destinies, then what had happened on that day and time? That was all much more interesting than it would be if he had imploded. It suggested certain things.
    Lying in bed watching her arm regenerate, Alynasmolia Vandervort had plenty of time to think.
     
    Flinx was eating at an empty table surrounded by empty tables. The reason for his isolation was clear to Clarity as soon as she entered the commissary.
    Pip lay sprawled fulllength in front of him in all her iridescent glory while Scrap squirmed nearby. The two flying snakes had raised off the table on their belly scales, looking like Terran cobras, their wings halfspread. They were begging for food.
    While Flinx idly fed them, he sipped from a tall glass of dark liquid. Some kind of protein drink, Clarity decided. Quick and nourishing and that was about all. It struck her that he never discussed food. Perhaps he was one of those people who considered it nothing more than necessary fuel. It would help explain his wiry slimness.
    "Amee sends her regards."
    He looked up at her. "I'm glad she's feeling better. Just like I'm glad the trouble here has been resolved. It means we'll be able to leave as soon as we're ready. I have business that needs to be taken care of before I can return to make a proper study of the Sumacrea."
    She sat down next to him, making sure there was some space between. "That's something we need to talk about, Flinx."
    "How do you mean?" he said, frowning.
    "I'm back where I belong. I don't need to go anywhere else."
    "You want to stay here? After everything that's happened?" He flipped a small salty object in Scrap's direction, watching as the young minidrag darted sideways to pluck it from the air.
    "This is where my work and my friends are. Those who've survived. There's a great deal that needs to be done. Tracking records, rebuilding ...
    "None of which is your responsibility. You're a gengineer, not a construction specialist. I've been thinking about everything you said on our way here, about all we talked about, and I thought you might like to take some time off and go somewhere different. How about New Riviera? I've never been there myself, but I've heard about it."
    "Everyone's heard about New Riviera. It's just not possible, Flinx. I'd like to go someplace like that, I really would. I've dreamed about that kind of traveling."
    "Then why not go there? The Teacher can make it easily." He smiled at her then, and it was open and innocent enough to break her heart. "Didn't we get along well on the journey here from Alaspin?"
    She turned away, pretending to be watching the flying snakes but unable to meet his gaze. "We had a wonderful time, but now it's time for me to work."
    "I don't understand. Surely after all you've been through your firm will grant you a leave. If it's a question of money, if you're embarrassed to let me pay for everything ..." He reached out for her, and she flinched. She tried not to but could not help it. It was a very small movement, but he noticed immediately.
    "That's not it, is it? Nothing I've said has anything to do with what we're talking about. You pulled away from me just then. Jerked away."
    "I'm just nervous, that's all. Still jumpy after all those days we spent in the darkness, after the kidnapping and escape and all the shooting. Being shot at doesn't go away as fast for everybody as it seems to for you."
    He bent to peer into her face. Amber eyes seemed to see right through her. "What's really the matter, Clarity?"
    "I've told you." She rose. It had been a mistake to confront him like this. She had thought she would be able to handle it easily, and she had been badly mistaken. "I have to get back. There are records I have to"
    As she turned to leave, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Initiating contact with another human being was something he did only rarely. He heard her sudden intake of breath and felt the fear race through her. Not fear of the blackness, not this time. Fear of a different sort of dark.
    "All of a sudden you're frightened of me. Deity knows I tried to keep you at a distance when I thought we were getting too close, but I thought all that had changed. In spite of what I told you. Now everything's changed again. What happened? Don't try to tell me I'm wrong."
    "I can't." Her reply was a feeble whisper. "How can I? Could I hide my feelings from you even if I wanted to?"
    He let go of her arm. "No. I can feel your fear. But it's not straightforward, not simple. You're confused; you don't know what you're really feeling."
    "Please," she pleaded with him, "don't." She unexpectedly found herself starting to cry. "Maybe that's all it is. Maybe I'm just uneasy about being around someone who knows what I'm feeling all the time."
    "But it isn't all the time. Myabilitywaxes and wanes."
    "How can I believe that?" She turned and ran out of the commissary.
    A few fellow diners watched her retreat, then turned to glance in Flinx's direction before returning to their meals. His gaze slowly came back to the table before him. Attuned to his mental distress, Pip watched him expectantly. After a while she resumed eating but kept a wary eye on her master. Though puzzled, Scrap continued to eat as before. Flinx occupied half his mind by hand feeding the little minidrag.
    What had happened to change Clarity's attitude toward him so radically? It was one thing to decide she had work to do, another to feel the fear he had sensed in her mind when he had grabbed at her. On the trip out from Alaspin she had been the one always flirting and teasing. Now the brightness had gone out of her.
    Nor did it have anything to do with their sightless journey through the lower caverns of Longtunnel. The aversion she projected was directed at him, not at their shared experience together. No doubt the Sumacrea would be able to interpret it, but he was not that skilled, that sensitive. He could only feel the reality of her fear, not understand the reasons behind it.
    That was the moment when he realized he was in love with her. Having never fallen in love before, he was unfamiliar with the process and so had failed to recognize it until now. His love for Mother Mastiff had been of a different kind, as had his restrained affection for women like Atha Moon. This was different, very different.
    She had been the one seeking a closer relationship. She was the one with her finger on his emotional trigger, and now she was pulling out. It was not fair. He was disconcerted to discover that years of studying the emotions of others had failed to prepare him for dealing with his own. She was manipulating him when he should be manipulating her.
    What truly hurt was that he could see no reason for her sudden change of heart. Perhaps being back among her own kind, friends and colleagues, had made her realize how much she missed them and their companionship. Jase had survived the fanatics' assault. Did her relationship with him go deeper than they had revealed?
    After all, what could she see in him, a young man just emerging from adolescence? Except that he had never really been an adolescent.
    Had he been normal, unable to read her emotions, he might have handled her reaction better. It was bad enough to have your love spurned, far worse to know that someone you felt so strongly for feared you. How much nicer to be normal and ignorant. Then he would merely be baffled, not hurt. His Talent functioned when he wanted to be deaf and failed when he desperately needed it. What good was the damned thing?
    All right. For some reason she's no longer interested in you. She's afraid of you. Why not? It's only sensible. You warned her yourself, you damn fool. You're a self confessed freak. She's older than youthough not significantlyand a respected scientist. You saved her life, and for a while she couldn't do enough to express her gratitude. Now that she's back among her own kind, her own people, safe and secure, she doesn't need your protection anymore. It's easy for her to see you for what you are. Nothing has really changed.
    His eyes and throat were burning. That was the way it was. That was the way it would probably always be for him, so he'd damn well better get used to it.
    You're going to have to adapt to what you are, he told himself. You're going to have to be like Truzenzuzex and Bran TseMallorycalm, logical, analytical in all things. Much easier to absorb and retain new knowledge that way, with no petty emotional distractions. You're the one who can feel what others are feeling. You're the last one who should let himself be overpowered by his own. Finish your meal and get out, get away from this place.
    He took a long draught of his caroteneflavored protein drink. It slid down cold and undemanding. No, nothing had changed. There was still a whole Commonwealth to explore, to study. He would go and study as he had originally planned, and someday he would look back on this encounter as just another in a long list of learning experiences. Knowledge in and of itself. Knowledge of how another could feel about him. A valuable lesson. Wonderful how simple it was if you just put your mind to it, this ability to rationalize away extreme disappointment.
    Go somewhere else. Find another intriguing world and punch it up on the holo projector. A world chosen at random. Not one where you would become lazy and vulnerable like New Riviera or a dangerous one like Alaspin. Something in between. A place stinking of normality. An ordinary, happy, content, developing world like Colophon or Kansastan where no one would know anything about him or his abilities. Where he would not have to confess to being the owner of a starship. Where he could lose himself among the masses of humanxkind and be free to observe while he matured. Blandness was what he needed now most of all. He needed not to be bothered, to be alone among his own kind.
    Except that that was not ever really possible.
    He was sitting there, content that he had come to terms with himself, when the shadow fell over him. Resolutions and hard decisions vanished as he turned quickly, heart leaping because he thought it was Clarity come back to tell him how sorry she was and say that she had not meant a word of it.
    Instead he found himself eyeing a tall man wearing the uniform of port Security. His cap was cocked to the right, and the right sleeve of his shirt was shredded. Transparent skinseal glistened through the rips where a doctor had performed some hasty but effective skin grafting.
    "You the visitor who calls himself Flinx?"
    Pip caught a last crumb and swallowed it whole. The officer's gaze took in the flying snake's movements, and Flinx felt his admirably brief flash of fear.
    "Since everybody seems to know who I am by now, I don't see much point in trying to deny it." Realizing how belligerent he must sound to a polite stranger, he added, "I'm sorry. My friends and I just had a very trying experience. Amazing how fast word travels."
    "Isn't it? I'm Feng Kikoisa, head of Security here. What's left of it." He looked to be in his early fifties, taut as duralloy, the kind of professional who could cope with a world like Longtunnel.
    "We've got one ship in geosynchronous orbit. Next scheduled arrival isn't due for a month yet. I'm told that maybe it's your ship."
    Flinx wiggled a finger in front of Pip and watched as the flying snake toyed with the movement. "I guess I'm not denying anything today. Am I in violation of some regulation?"
    "Wouldn't matter if you were. Nobody's in any position to object. I'm just glad you're here."
    Flinx turned his head sideways to squint up at the officer. "It's nice to be popular. So why do I think there's more to it than that?" He had a pretty good idea where the older man's conversation was headed.
    "You strike me as an observant young man. I'm sure you've noticed how limited our facilities here are. We never expected to have to deal with anything like this. We don't have enough supplies, the right kind of"
    "I'll take them," Flinx said tiredly.
    The officer was taken aback by Flinx's abruptness and perhaps also because he would not be able to deliver all of his carefully rehearsed speech. "There aren't that many." He spoke as if he were still reluctant to believe his request had already been approved.
    "I said I'd take them." What else could he do? Leave and create a wake of notoriety behind him? "It won't be very comfortable. I'm not running a liner. There are only three staterooms."
    "Wherever you put the seriously wounded, they'll be more comfortable than anywhere down here. Our medical people suggest Thalia Major or Minor as a destination."
    Flinx considered. "I'd prefer to take them to Gorisa. It's about the same distance."
    "Gorisa? I've never been there myself, but of course I know of it. Everyone in this sector knows Gorisa. I don't see any objection to that. Not that we're in a position to argue with you or order you about. Yours is a private vessel."
    "That's right. It is."
    "I'll convey your generous offer to my colleagues. I'm informed that for some of the injured, time is of the essence. When can you leave?"
    "Immediately. Now."
    "Very generous of you, yes." The Security chief had come prepared to rage and to beg. Instead he found himself overwhelmed by the young visitor's ready generosity. Actually, it had nothing to do with generosity. Not overtly, anyway. It was partly a matter of maintaining protective coloration and partly that Flinx wanted off Longtunnel as quickly as possible.
    "You could also carry the official report of the incident here to the appropriate authorities. A pity we have no description, no knowledge of the ship our assailants employed."
    "I'll send it down by highspeed transmission the moment we break out of spaceplus," he assured the officer.
    "How many shuttle trips do you think I'll have to make to get everyone up?"
    I've taken the liberty of inspecting your craft. I'd say two would do it. Most of the wounded we can care for here. You'll be taking people who've lost limbs or organs. We don't have organ banks or regeneration facilities here. We'll send along a couple of medtechs to look after the injured for the duration of the voyage." Kikoisa hesitated, then glanced away. "I really don't know how to express my"
    "It's not necessary to thank me. Anyone else in my situation would do the same." That was not necessarily true, but he was not used to taking credit for a good deed even when it was due him.
    "All the more reason to do so." The lieutenant turned and headed out of the commissary at a brisk pace, no doubt to spread the good news to the rest of the outpost authorities.
    Flinx methodically drained the rest of his drink and thought.
Chapter Fifteen
     
    The last person he expected to see boarding the shuttle for the second and final run up to the Teacher was Clarity. The little vessel was already crammed full despite the lieutenant's insistence that the seriously wounded were small in number. No matter. They would find room for everyone. The common area was filling up with special beds and oxycocoons, but there was still space around the fountain.
    "You injured?" She winced at his tone, and he was instantly sorry.
    "No, but another ranking officer of the company has to come along to deliver our damage report so we can begin ordering new equipment. Amee may not be in any condition to do so. As chief of gengineering, I was elected." Coldstripe's director had been brought aboard the Teacher on the previous shuttle flight. "Besides, with everything ruined, there's nothing for me to do here."
    "I understand." He turned to go forward.
    "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "I'll try to stay out of your way. I'm sorry ifI hurt you."
    "Hurt me? Funny. I'm not listed among the wounded."
    "Flinx ...”
    "Save it. I know I frighten you. Told you too much, I guess. Let you see too much also, but I had no choice there. We needed the Sumacrea to find our way back." A small, brightly colored shape dashed from his shoulder to the back of her neck and began playing with her sidetail. She had bronze thread woven into it this morning, he noted.
    "Somebody's happy to see you" He was unable to repress a slight smile as he watched Scrap toy with her blond hair.
    She giggled as she tried to stroke the small flying snake. "Sometimes he tickles when he moves around like that."
    "He'll settle down soon. Just glad to see you. Might as well let him keep you company. He knows his way around the ship."
    She gazed back at him. For the moment there was no fear in her. "Thank you," she said simply.
    He had to leave. "Yeah, sure. Forget it."
    Though a long journey through spaceminus lay ahead of them, he had no intention of talking to her. But the Teacher's living area was not large, and the ship was very crowded, and since his presence was not actually required on the bridge, he found himself with a great deal of free time and nowhere to spend it except in his private stateroom. Since he was not by nature quite as solitary a person as he liked to believe he was, it was inevitable their paths should cross on more than one occasion.
    The result was that eventually they did start talking again, but now without the playful intimacy that had characterized their earlier relationship. Both were nervous at first. The second meeting was easier, the third almost relaxed. He was glad. Better they should part as friends.
    Several times she seemed on the verge of unburdening herself to him, of trying to explain her fear and uncertainty. Each time she caught herself and changed the subject to something inconsequential. He never pressed for an explanation. If she wanted to tell him something, she would do it in her own time. Besides, he was not sure be wanted to hear what she might have to say.
    Thalia Major and Minor were more mature worlds than Gorisa. Their populace was sophisticated and bored. Reports of an attack on an isolated scientific outpost would draw a lot of newsfax attention. Arriving wounded and other survivors would be subject to penetrating, thoughtful interviews and debriefing.
    In contrast, Gorisa generated more than enough news of its own to keep several fax feeds occupied around the clock. It was the epitome of the fastgrowing colony world. Bountifully endowed with heavy metals, productive oceans, and rich alluvial soil for farming, it lay on the fringe of the Commonwealth flanking a bulge of the AAnn Empire and the impossibly distant galactic edge.
    Gorisa was already home to a frenetic, bustling population of over a hundred million. They were concentrated on the second largest continent, but a dozen satellite cities were under development on the four other major land masses. The climate was temperate and oxygenrich, the gravity a shade less than Earthnormal, and each day offered incoming immigrants new ways to make their fortune.
    A hundred sixty newsfax and entertainment channels competed for audiences on a world destined one dayits promoters insistedto become the wealthiest in the Commonwealth. The arrival of a group of injured scientists and workers from a distant outpost scarcely rated a mention by the biggest newsfax combines. Only a single young and persistent taxer was more interested in how a nineteenyearold without a famous name managed to run his own private starship than in the incident that had brought him to Gorisa. Flinx finally lost him in the crush and confusion of arrival and customs.
    Owngrit was a city of eight million, with three major shuttleports and all the related facilities one would expect to find on a world where competition was fierce and credit flowed freely. The wounded from Longtumnel might have received slightly better care on Thalia Major or Minor, but Gorisa provided it immediately and without question, since there was heavy competition for business among the major medical facilities. Half a dozen deepspace beams offered Amee Vandervort the opportunity to transmit the detailed report Clarity had composed. Plans for rebuilding their installation on Longtunnel were under way before the last of the injured had been offloaded from the Teacher.
    Coldstripe was not the only organization to have suffered grievously at the hands of the fanatics. Research institutes and universities had lost material and personnel to the attack. The Counselor First of the United Church for Gorisa's sector had to be notified, as did Commonwealth authorities. Everyone became very busy very quickly.
    As she watched him operate quietly and confidently in Gorisa's complex and combative society, Clarity was more impressed than ever with the young man who had saved her. He acted as if he had been dealing with wealthy merchants and selfimportant bureaucrats all his life. His attitude never became demanding or imperious, nor did he kowtow to government functionaries. At all times he was courteous, even deferential. He could also be immovable on issues important to him.
    All this he did while maintaining his basic anonymity, a skill he had spent ten years developing. His increased height made it slightly more difficult to hide in the background. He had also considered dying his distinctive red hair, though the electric colors currently popular on Gorisa made that unnecessary for now.
    Clarity thought she was beginning to understand him: how his mind worked, why he acted the way he did in public, what he might really want. His age and youthful appearance led others to underestimate him, and she believed he preferred it that way. She knew that behind those guileless green eyes a mind of extreme complexity and unique ability was always busy.
    He had spoken to her of a difficult childhood. How much more to his personality was there than that? Or was he, after all, nothing more than an unusually intelligent, pleasant young man with a special talent?
    Of one thing she was utterly convinced, despite anything Vandervort or anyone else might say: There was not a milligram of malignance in his whole body. If he was halfafraid of himself, what was more natural than that she or any other possible friends should share that fear?
    She watched as he quietly helped care for and reassure the seriously wounded. The longer he was left alone, the more attention he devoted to others. It was as if he were afraid of being thought compassionate. Clarity was sure that Amee's suspicions were unfounded, her warnings misdirected. There was ample reason to like and even pity this young man, not to fear him.
     
    Vandervort finally had her damaged arm properly attended to. She and other ranking members of the outpost told their stories to the authorities, who subsequently contacted Thalia Major. A peaceforcer cruiser was dispatched to Longtunnel to help with the cleanup and to begin the search for her assailants. It was more an expensive gesture than a necessary or practical move, but expensive gestures were crucial to the survival of any popular government. So the cruiser carried a full complement of marines even though there was no one left on Longtunnel to fight.
    Contact was made with Coldstripe's backers. They were not as upset as Clarity had expected, but then, her expertise lay in gengineering, not in finance. Insurance covered much of the loss. What could not be replaced was the loss of key personnel. Everyone was greatly relieved to learn that Vandervort, Held, 1ase, and the majority of the research staff had survived.
    "They value us greatly, my dear," Vandervort told her via tridee. "There will be hazard pay and large bonuses all around. We may lose some people, but I believe most will elect to retain their positions and return to resume their work. What about you?"
    "I have no intention of quitting, Amee. I want to go back to Longtunnel as soon as possible, both to continue my earlier work and to help with the new developments."
    Vandervort smiled out at her from the flat screen. "I thought you would be one to see possibilities, but I wasn't sure until now. I cannot tell you how gratified I am by your decision. You are going to be a very wealthy and famous young woman." She glanced at something beyond the pickup's range.
    "I'd like you to see our temporary field headquarters. I'll be coordinating the acquisition of new equipment and instrumentation from there. We've already begun." She flashed a series of numbers giving a structural position in Owngrit's north commercial suburbs. Clarity's unit would store it for easy retrieval. "Come by tonight, why don't you."
    "Actually, I'd planned to see Flinx tonight."
    Vandervort's brows rose. "I thought you were going to take my advice and keep your distance from that young man."
    "I've done that. I don't see any harts in occasionally visiting with him. He has to be lonely, though he handles it very well. I think you're all wrong about him, Amee. He's not dangerous to anyone except maybe himself."
    The older woman let out a sigh. "I told you. Just because he isn't dangerous at the moment doesn't mean he never will be. Anyway, it doesn't matter because he's going to be here tonight, too. I've invited him, and he's already accepted. So if you want to see him, you can meet him here. Good for you, good for me."
    Something in Vandervort's voice made Clarity want to probe furtherbut if Flinx had already agreed to visit the facility ...
    "I'll be there, too, then."
    "Good! I think it will have a bearing on your future. That is important to me, my dear."
    Clarity grinned. "You aren't going to spring some kind of promotion on me, are you?"
    "How perceptive you are, my dear. Something like that, yes. I'll expect you around nineish, local time."
    "See you then."
    Clarity let Vandervort break the connection, wondering what kind of promotion her director had in mind. She was already chief of Coldstripe's gengineering division and too valuable in the lab to be boosted into an administrative position. But then, Amee had not actually said it was a promotion. "Something like that" was what she had said. Curiouser and curiouser. She had always liked surprises.
    Supper in the apartel's restaurant was lovely if lonely. Coldstripe's expense account was generous, more a reflection of good corporate policy than of benign munificence. As Amee had told her, personnel were more important than machinery. They intended to keep her and Jase and the others in good working order.
    She took an MLV to the main northsub station, switched to a local, and hired a robocab for the last run. Coldstripe's temporary facility was housed in a brandnew, beautifully landscaped industrial park where none of the buildings rose higher than the imported trees. Two rustleaved boles shaded the structure's entrance. A temporary sign floating above the front door identified the new lessee as Dax Enterprises. She wondered only briefly at the name change, deciding it must be for competitive reasons. It hung slightly crooked. The sign's field needed tuning.
    With night having fallen, the near outer office was unoccupied. Nearly all the adjacent concerns had shut down until the following day. Those few which still displayed lights were located at the far end of the complex. There was no receptionist on duty, a luxury Coldstripe did not require. Clarity's company ident card passed her through several security checkpoints until she encountered Amee outside an inner office.
    "You're on time. That's good."
    "On time for what? How's your arm?"
    The older woman raised her rebandaged limb. "As you see, it's no longer necessary to keep it immobilized. The new skinseal is inconvenient, but that's all. The itching should stop soon."
    "I want to see what we've been able to get so far. Did the backers approve my request for the Sentegen modeling projector?"
    "You and your toys." Vandervort led Clarity not into the large storage area behind the office but to a side door. "That hasn't come in yet, but I'm sure it will. I've been given a free hand reordering. The firm wants us reestablished on Longtunnel as quickly as possible, so they can take advantage of the free security the government is providing. For one thing, I'm told it lowers insurance rates considerably."
    Clarity did not recognize the security card Vandervort inserted into the appropriate slot next to the door. It was of a type unfamiliar to her, and it glowed faintly. The door opened promptly, and they walked down a single flight of steps.
    "More storage? I thought we had enough upstairs."
    Vandervort smiled at a private joke. "This is for special equipment."
    The stairs made a ninetydegree bend in the middle and descended another half a flight before ending in a welllit chamber. Since they were below ground level, there were no windows, only featureless walls. Pipes and ductwork hung exposed and unshielded. The entire room was an afterthought, added on after the main structure above had been completed.
    There were basic living facilities off at one end: a couple of folding beds, cold food storage, sanitary setup, and simple storage. There was also a very large man who was currently aiming an extremely impressive handgun in their direction. He lowered it as soon as he recognized Amee Vandervort.
    "Evening, ma'am."
    "Hello, Dabis."
    Clarity noticed a second man watching a wall tridee from one of the folding beds. He did not turn around or sit up. From the sound, she guessed he was eyeing some sort of sporting event.
    "Everything all right?" Vandervort inquired as she stepped off the last step and started across the floor.
    "Quiet as a nursery," said the big man. As he replied to Vandervort, his gaze was fastened on Clarity. It was not a kind gaze, and she laughed nervously as she looked away from him.
    "What is this? Some kind of secret laboratory? Or are we into drug running now?"
    "Neither, my dear. This is no more than a temporary way station. A stop on the road to fame and extreme fortune of the kind Coldstripe could never give us."
    Clarity turned a puzzled face to her superior. "I don't follow you. And where's Flinx? You said he'd be here."
    "So he is, my dear."
    She walked over to where a large curtain hung suspended from a supporting bar and pulled it aside. Resting on a table behind it was a large octagonal container molded of gray plasteel. It looked like an oversized coffin. The surface was lightly pebbled, smooth and cool to the touch. Attached to its base was a second plasteel container a meter and a half long. It matched the larger one perfectly but was dyed beige instead of gray.
    Set into the side of gray container was a touch control pad composed of glowing contact squares. Vandervort played a short sequence on them. A motor hummed compliantly, and the top layer of gray plasteel retracted halfway. Without being told, Clarity moved forward and peered through the transparent inner shield. Her heart skipped a beat.
    Flinx lay beneath the transparent plexalloy. His eyes were closed, and his hands were crossed over his chest like those of a primordial Egyptian relic. Pip formed a tight, brightly colored coil below the crossed hands while a smaller duplicate of herself lay nearby.
    Clarity whirled on the older woman. "Dead?"
    "No, not at all." Almost as shocking to Clarity as Flinx's appearance was her superior's ability to muster a laugh. "They're only sleeping." She walked the length of the table and rested a hand on the beige container. "This assures that they sleep."
    "You'd better explain yourself." Clarity was astonished at the hostility in her own voice.
    The other woman ignored her tone. "One thing I never forgot about my uncle's tales was his fear of the Meliorares's wild approach to manipulative eugenics, the possibility that one or more of their experimental subjects might develop unpredictable abilities. My actions merely reflect ordinary caution when confronted by such a possibility." She studied the gray plasteel coffin.
    "There is also the fact that even if our young friend is as harmless as he claims to be and you seem to think he is, his pets are anything but and should be handled with the utmost care." She smiled at Clarity. "You told me as much when you related the story of your flight from Alaspin.
    "Fortunately, our young friend's desire to maintain the lowest possible profile worked to our advantage. As a result it is unlikely anyone will miss him. He ate in average restaurants, traveled by ordinary transportation, and, best of all, stayed in a middlelevel hotel. Not too expensive, not too cheap. A place where people may be bribed.
    "Since my expertise lies in administration, I took the time to locate and employ reliable help. You've already been introduced to Dabis. The gentleman on the bed goes by the name of Monconqui." The latter never looked up from his sporting match. Dabis grinned unpleasantly at Clarity. "They supplied advice, obtained necessary equipment, and provided muscle.
    "The gas that was introduced through the hotel room's venting system was quite odorless and colorless. We also took the precaution of injecting it while our young friend was asleep. Your story made me additionally cautious, you see. At first we feared his scaly companions were immune, but eventually they, too, were overcome. Dabis was for needling both on the spot, so I had to explain to him that the bond between man and minidrag would be an important component of future research. Difficult to carry out if half your subjects are dead."
    "Future research? What are you talking about, future research?"
    Vandervort ignored her as she continued. "Once they had been anesthetized, it was a simple matter to place them in this specially designed container, which is used by zoos and related institutions to transport dangerous fauna. I think our young man and his friends fit in that category. I did not and do not want him conscious until he has been placed in a facility that will render his pets harmless." She patted the beige container.
    "This holds the sleep gas as well as equipment for mixing it with breathable air. The supply is constantly monitored to ensure the health of the larger container's occupants. In reality the two containers comprise a complete lifesupport system. Ports on the other side permit intravenous feeding when necessary without compromising the system's integrity. Don't be so melodramatic. Flinx and his pets will enjoy the kind of deep rest and comfort the rest of us can only dream about. This system is designed to keep expensive specimens optimally healthy."
    "He's not a specimen!" Clarity could not contain her anger or her anguish any longer.
    Vandervort pursed her lips. "My dear, I don't think you're taking this in the proper spirit. Perhaps you've not yet glimpsed the opportunity that lies before us. This young man can make our fortune. If he cooperates, it will make his fortune as well."
    "I don't think he's interested in fortunes. His or anybody else's," was the angry retort.
    Vandervort shrugged. "People often choose to deny their interest in large sums of money until it's actually offered to them, until they are faced with the reality instead of the concept. Your lack of interest in this project puzzles me. Insofar as we know, this young man is the only surviving sane product of the Society's work. I'd think you'd find that fascinating."
    "Of course I find it fascinating. That doesn't mean I'm going to go poking around inside his head and nervous system without his permission. He's an individual with rights and'
    "Yes, yes. " Vandervort waved off her objections. "I'm familiar with all the pertinent regulations. But we have here an exception to all the rules. An exception worth bending regulations to study."
    "He may not cooperate. Have you thought of that?"
    Again the smile, which in its own way, Clarity saw for the first time, could be more sinister than that of Dabis. "My dear, I like to think that I've thought of everything. I believe he will cooperateeventually. I sincerely hope that he will. If not, there are ways to induce him to do so that do not involve physical coercion. For example, he is very attached to his pet. I am speaking of genuine affection and not just the unique emotional bond that exists between them. While I would be reluctant to countenance probing him against his will, I do not think I would have the same compunctions where a flying snake is concerned."
    Clarity managed to calm herself. "I liked you, Amee. I thought of you as a second mother."
    "I'm flattered, but I would much prefer it, my dear, if you would think of me as a fellow scientist striving to extend the reach of human knowledge." She nodded at the coffin. "Our young friend is reluctant to explore himself because he doesn't understand himself. That's to be expected. The conflict within him is social, not biological. As soon as he can be made to realize that, I think he will be eager to seek our cooperation. We intend to see that he has everything he could possibly want, that he's given the best conceivable living environment, and that he'll be working with dedicated professionals who only want to help him understand himself.
    "I think he'll be grateful to us. He won't have to hide anymore, won't have to run. We'll keep him hidden from the government functionaries who'll only want to `normalize' him."
    A sudden realization struck Clarity like a window opening in her mind. "My function in all this is to act as one of his teachers and observers?"
    "I can't imagine what else you had in mind."
    "You wouldn't be trying to include me as part of that `everything he could possibly want'?"
    Vandervort stared evenly back at her. "If your presence at the facility which is in the process of being established resulted in your performing a dual function, I'm sure the company would tie correspondingly grateful."
    "I just wanted to make certain I understood my position in all this. But suppose you have him figured wrong, Amee? Suppose he doesn't want any part of your generous offer to help him learn to `understand' himself? What if all he wants is to maintain his privacy? Suppose that's more important to him than helping you `extend the reach of human knowledge'for your profit?"
    "He'll profit as well." Vandervort sounded hurt. "This will benefit him more than anyone else. I truly believe that."
    "I don't. What I also can't believe is that Coldstripe's backers would countenance something like this. I had the opportunity to meet several of them when I was hired, and they didn't strike me as the type who'd go in for this kind of thing. Sure, they want to preside over historic breakthroughs and get their names on the newsfax. Sure, they want to make money. But I don't see any of the men and women I talked to approving kidnapping as part of the necessary methodology for achieving those ends."
    "A harsh choice of words, my dear. I prefer to think of what we're doing as helping a mentally distraught young man to find himself. And I should add that Coldstripe has nothing to do with this. Your assessments are correct in that respect."
    That brought Clarity up short. "Then who?"
    "Scarpania House is paying all our expenses. I've kept in touch with friends there for a long time. A survival tactic in the world of business. Always keep lines of communication open to alternative employment. Scarpania is a hundred times bigger than Coldstripe. They can provide private spacecraft, unquestioning customs clearances, everything an operation like this requires. When I explained to them what was at stake here, they readily opened their hearts and minds to me. Also their line of credit.
    "I still don't think you're seeing the potential here, my dear. Imagine watching this young man under controlled conditions as he matures and develops. Even if he manifests no other talent, the close study of his capacity for emotional telepathy will be sufficient to guarantee us comfortable employment for life. Having been emotionally involved with him, you are in a better position than anyone else to engage in such research."
    "I see where you're going with this, Amee, and I can tell you right now I don't want any part of it. Understand?"
    "Think carefully, my dear. Think clearly. Cultivate a proper scientific attitude."
    "I'm not going to cozy up to him so you can measure and record and analyze his reactions," she said bitterly. "I'm not some damn soporific you can inject into his life to make him feel a little better about what you're going to do to him."
    Vandervort moved away from the beige container. "At least you know what is wanted of you. I'm sure you'll change your mind, if for no other reason than that he'll need you. I urge you not to commit yourself to a snap emotional decision but to give it time and consideration. If nothing else, he is a very handsome young man, for all the pains he takes to conceal it."
    "I'm not one of your tools. You can't buy me."
    This time the older woman was genuinely amused. "That remains to be seen, my dear. I haven't tendered you an offer yet, have I? Consider also that if you return to Coldstripe, and I say now I will not stop you from so doing, you will never find out what happens to our Flinx: how he develops, what unsuspected talents he may display, or who might be hired to take your place."
    This could not be happening, Clarity told herself. This was not Momma Vandervort speaking to her, calmly laying out the details of a plan as nefarious as anything seen on the tridee. Flinx was not lying doped and still as the dead in a plasteel coffin on that table to her left.
    She knew the truth of what Vandervort had told her. If she did not agree to participate, then they would find someone else to try to insinuate herself into Flinx's confidence. They would keep trying until they hit on the right combination of empathy, beauty, and intelligence. Someone with less understanding of Flinx and fewer scruples than herself. If she wanted to help him, then she had to accept the older woman's offer, work for her and Scarpania at least temporarily until she could think of a way out for both of them.
     Think! Buy some time.
        "Just for the sake of argument, what if I abjure everything you've proposed and take this straight to the Gorisan authorities?"
    Vandervort's tone did not change. "I'd rather you didn't do that, my dear. Regardless of what you may think of me at this moment, I've grown fond of you during the time we've worked together. I think you are a highly qualified, potentially brilliant gengineer who is also blessed with enthusiasm and the talent to inspire her coworkers beyond their natural abilities."
    That was all she said. No threats, direct or implied. Only admiration and a gentle request backed up by the presence of Dabis and the still supine Monconqui.
    "I could go along," Clarity told her, "agree to all you ask, and then slip away and spill everything to the Church."
    Vandervort considered briefly, nodding. "Yes, you could probably do that. You're resourceful. and not as naive as when you first came to work for me. You might even find a padre who'd believe your story. But by the time anyone came looking, we'd have moved our facility and our young man to a place of safety. You won't be able to trace us, and neither will the Church. And while I would simply shrug off the additional expense, Scarpania likely would not. Since you would not have the money to reimburse them for their trouble, I'm afraid they would find another method of obtaining satisfaction."
    Having run out of arguments, Clarity slumped visibly. Realizing she had gained everything she wanted, Vandervort forced herself not to smile with satisfaction. The younger woman would only react emotionally, and Vandervort had had enough of emotional reactions for a while.
     
         Flinx was used to strange dreams. This one was no exception. He was drifting, floating just below the surface of a lake of pure crystalline water. Pip bobbed beside him, and Scrap next to her. But none of them were swimming. None of them were breathing. They simply hung there below the glassine surface, adrift in cool peacefulness.
         Though he knew he risked drowning by doing so, he tried to taste the water, only to find he was unable to inhale a drop through either his mouth or his nostrils. It was very peculiar water, almost like air. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was floating beneath the surface of a sea of methane or liquid nitrogen.
     At times he thought he could see shapes moving above. They passed by infrequently. Faces with wings that gazed mournfully down at him before fluttering away. He tried to speak to them, tried to reach up to them, but could not do so. He was unable to move. Nor was his Talent functioning, since he could not sense their emotions. What pale impressions he did receive were tenuous and imprecise. He felt neither hostility nor affection, only bland indifference.
     He was not alarmed. Contentment seeped through him. Hunger and thirst were abstract concepts. Very faintly, something deep inside his mind tried to insist that this was not right, that he needed to bestir himself, to move about, to stand.
         Waste of time. Useless and unnecessary to try to analyze his situation or his environment. Enough to lie in the lake heedless of the world around him, whatever it might be like.
     He sensed the minidrags' emotions and knew they paralleled his own. They dreamed of flying through an empty sky with no land below, no trees, no clouds above. It was an unsettling dream, and Pip and Scrap fluttered their wings.
     
    No one in the room noticed the two minidrags twitching and trying to fly. It did not matter, anyway, because they remained sedated. While their tolerance for the morphogas was higher than Flinx's, neither had recovered enough to regain consciousness. They simply moved a little before growing still again, moved and lay still, dreaming of flight while trapped on the ground.
Chapter Sixteen
     
    Clarity had agreed to everything her boss had requested. In the final analysis the young woman was as logical and sensible as herself, Vandervort knew. Possibly she still harbored thoughts of somehow freeing Flinx, but she had neither the experience nor the knowledge to do so. Vandervort was confident that as time passed she would be able to manipulate both young people as required.
    She had a private transport service coming to help with the moving. Dabis and Monconqui would be available also. The plasteel coffin, its top now closed so as not to reveal its contents to casual observers, would present no problem.
    It was an offwork day and she had to pay double for the moving service, but that was one of the nice things about having a virtually unlimited expense account. Scarpania's own research people were more than anxious to have a look at her prize.
    Two weeks to get everything ready. A secure installation had been thrown together on an isolated island on a modest colony world clear across the Commonwealth. They would travel on a Scarpanian freighter devoid of cargo except for themselves and their precious sleeper. To any outsider it would seem a flagrant waste of money, but several members of her new employer's scientific staff had recognized the importance of her discovery and appreciated its potential fully as much as she did.
    Clarity was there, too: packed, ready to depart, and downcast, having barely resigned herself to the situation. Plotting and planning, no doubt. That was fine, Vandervort thought. It would give her something to do during the long, dull journey through nullspace.
    Dabis called down to her from the top of the stairs. "They're here, ma'am."
    "You checked their idents?"
    "Yes'm. "
    "Then let them in and let's get on with it."
    She made a last sweep of the room in which she had spent so many busy hours this past month. Monconqui was checking the morphogas tanks to make sure they were full and working properly. He did not talk as readily as Dabis, but the two men were cast from the same mental mold. They were much more than simply dumb assassins. If one was willing to pay, one could hire intelligent muscle as easily as stupid.
    The moving crew wore light green jumpsuits and caps. She expected people Dabis's size, but apparently the company had opted for numbers instead of individual mass. Perhaps it had been difficult to bring in their regulars on short notice even for double pay. Not that size and strength were necessary, she reminded herself, in these days of laborsaving devices. With the levitating grapples they carried, the four of them could easily position a twoton generator. One of the women, a tall blonde of icy mien, looked capable of lifting one end of the coffin all by herself, though her three companions did not appear nearly as capable. Even with the grapples taken into account, one man in particular looked too old to be engaged in this sort of work. Not that she knew anything about the particular expertise moving work required, she told herself.
    She walked over to the curtain and pulled it aside for the last time. "Let's start with this."
    "Right," said the young man who seemed to be in charge.
    The four of them placed their grapples and switched them on. Wrist movement alone was sufficient to raise the coffin and its attached atmosphere unit several centimeters off the table Carefully they turned its head toward the stairs.
    "Remember, you're handling extremely fragile and valuable equipment," Vandervort told them. Somewhere behind her, Clarity made a disparaging noise. Vandervort almost frowned but resolutely kept her expression neutral.
    On the other hand, the tall blond woman smiled.
    Why should she smile? Come to think of it, why would she react to such a bland statement at all? The smile was already gone. No need to say anything. No reason to comment.
    But something made Vandervort stride forward and confront the much taller woman. "Something funny about that?"
    The blonde's beautiful face was blank. "No, ms." She hesitated. "It's just that we're proud of our work. I was amused that anyone would think we'd take less than the best care of anything we were moving."
    "I see." Vandervort stepped aside. ti perfectly plausible explanation for an innocent little grin. Too plausible? Or too pat. "One more thing." The four movers paused, each with a hand holding the trigger of a grapple. "Could I see your identification one more time, please?"
    The young man in charge hesitated for just an instant, then reached for his chest patch. It was the very old man who made the fatal mistake. Perhaps he thought he was speaking in a lower voice than he actually was. Maybe he was just slightly hard of hearing. Whatever the reason, Vandervort heard him hiss quite distinctly.
    "Don't show it to her."
    The blond amazon's eyes flicked in his direction. Ignoring the advice, the young man removed his chest patch and passed it to Vandervort, who made a show of inspecting it closely. Whispers, eye movement, inexplicable smiles.
    "No problem, ms," the young man was saying cheerfully. "Something the matter?"
    "Just a routine check." Holding the ident patch, Vandervort turned so they couldn't see her face. Her lips moved silently when she caught Dabis's eye. His widened, he nodded slightly, and that was when she dived for the cover of some hastily packed crates.
    Dabis crouched and pulled his needier. Not having been warned, Monconqui was slower on the uptake, but he, too, made a dash for cover as soon as he saw his partner in motion.
    The movers reacted swiftly, but they were not fast enough. Despite their recent experiences they still did not possess the fighting skills of professionals. The trailing member of the quartet took the blast from Dabis's needler square in the chest. It penetrated his sternum to fry nerves, blood vessels, and his spine as it emerged from the back of his shirt to spend itself against the wall.
    Screams and shouts filled the room. Clarity was an easy mark for the movers, but they had no time to concentrate on her, and she was able to find shelter. Dabis and Monconqui were the problem. Both had taken good cover behind heavy packing crates filled with electronics and monitoring instrumentation. They were outnumbered three to two but were better shots. While they commanded the only exit, the fanatics had to expose themselves on the stairway in order to take aim into the room.
    Firing continued steadily. A burst from a neuronic pistol just missed Clarity, momentarily paralyzing her left side. Feeling returned rapidly following the near miss, leaving behind a tingling sensation.
    Vandervort lay nearby, watching the battle. "Keep your head down, child! You and I have nothing to do with the outcome of this." She was peering between two huge crates, her observation made easier by the fact that the fanatics were concentrating their firepower on the two bodyguards.
    The mover who had been shot lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, eyes staring blankly upward, the hole in his chest still smoking. Having been released by the movers, the plasteel coffin had drifted to a halt against the wall nearby, still suspended in its four softly humming grapples.
    "Your friends from Alaspin and Longtunnel," Vandervort murmured as she struggled to get a better view without exposing herself. She raised her voice. "Give it up! These two men here will pick you off sooner or later. They're professionals, and you are not. There is nothing more for you here, whatever you intended. You cannot have Clarity."
    "We'll have her." Clarity thought she recognized the voice of the young man. He was keeping out of sight near the top of the stairs. "And we'll have you, and we'll have the mutant as well."
    "How could they know about that?" Vandervort was shaking her head in disbelief. "How could they have found out?" Abruptly she looked at the younger woman crouched nearby. Clarity's eyes widened, and she shook her head violently. The administrator considered thoughtfully before speaking again.
    "I don't know what you're talking about."
    The tall blonde responded this time with a harsh, feminine laugh. "We broke the Coldstripe communications code a long time ago, so forget about lying to us. We know everything. We knew about the mutant before Scarpania did."
    "God damn," Vandervort muttered. "I ,told our people they had to change keys at least every other day. Lazy sons of bitches!"
    The blonde was not through. "How do you think we knew where to find you on Longtunnel, knew where your records were stored and the labs were located? When she was our guest on Alaspin, your life meddler told us some of what we needed to know, but not all. The rest we obtained from monitoring your local transmissions and from our operative within your own organization." She laughed humorlessly. "Didn't it ever occur to you that your friend Jase seemed to have nine lives?"
    The color drained from Vandervort's expression. Clarity delighted in the older woman's distress. "Thought of everything, did you?" The administrator did not reply. The blonde was still talking.
    "The life meddler comes with us, to ensure she won't tamper with nature any further."
    "What do you want with our young man? He's being well looked after. His name is Flinx, and you have no right to"
    This time it was the young man who interrupted her. "You'd lecture us on the rights of the individual? Do you think we're fools, like your former employers? You're spitting air, Vandervort."
    Despite her superior's warning, Clarity raised her head so that she could be heard clearly over the packages shielding her. "Let nobody have him, then! Why not just let him go?" She ignored Vandervort's frantic gestures. "He's done nothing to you."
    "It is what has been done to him that matters in this." It was the voice of another man, speaking for the first time. His tone was commanding. "We will treat him kindly while we attempt to return him to normal, try to correct the damage done by the Meliorares. There are expert gengineers who are sympathetic to our aims."
    "The Meliorares worked with prenatal cells," Clarity argued. "That was different. You can't tamper with the genetic code of a mature person. You'll end up ruining his mind or his personality or both."
    "We intend neither," the man replied. "Regardless of the result, it will be an improvement on what now exists because the individual in question will once again be truly human when we have finished with him."
    A burst of neuronic fire passed just over her head, and she was forced to duck back down, her scalp tingling. Dabis and Monconqui were quick to return the shots.
    "You want him? Come and get him!" Dabis's tone was deliberately taunting. "He's floating right there at the bottom of the stairs, where he bumped into the wall. Why don't you just stroll on down and pick up your grapples?"
    "We'll do that soon enough," the blonde shouted. "We may not have your training, but we've practiced long and hard for moments like these. We aren't ignorant of tactics. Maybe we can't take you out or recover the mutant, but you're trapped down here. We've cut all communications to the outside and secureblanketed the entire building. A stray electron couldn't find a way out. You can't talk to anyone on the outside, nor are you expected anywhere for some time, so nobody's going to come looking for you. Your obsession with privacy, Vandervort, works to our advantage as well. We cannot get in, and you can't get out. So we'll have to find another way to resolve our little impasse."
    "We'll resolve it, all right," Vandervort snapped back. "The three of you will join your friend on the floor."
    "I think not. What we'll do is sit here and relax while one of us goes for help. That's our advantage. One person could guard this exit."
    "You can bring a hundred cephalos back with you, but you'll never get them down those stairs!" Dabis was earning his money.
    "No need to. The morphogas you use to keep the mutant inert can just as easily be introduced into this room. You'll all quietly go to sleep." Dabis had no ready answer for that.
    Monconqui tried. "We have filter masks. Gas won't bother us."
    "Maybe you do and maybe you don't. Let's find out. We've nothing to lose by trying. Unless you'd consider bargaining with us."
    The young man took over. "You two with the guns this is only a job for you. Why risk getting shot for a credit boost?"
    "Because it is our job," Dabis replied simply.
    "Whatever Vandervort's people are paying you, we'll double it. Triple it."
    "Sorry," and Monconqui sounded genuinely so, "but if we break a contract we'll never get another job. Also, there are bonuses waiting when we deliver our people to their destination."
    "Admirable ethics in the service of a lost cause," the second man declared.
    "Maybe we can strike some sort of bargain," Vandervort suggested.
    "What kind of bargain?" Suspicion tainted the young man's reply.
    "You want the gengineer. The mutant's more important to us."
    Clarity stared at the older woman, and began backing away until she was pressed up against the wall. Vandervort smiled apologetically. "I am sorry, my dear, but the situation is grave. Extreme measures are called for to resolve it."
    Clarity's response was a horrified whisper. "I never should have listened to you. I should have listened to Flinx. He's not the dangerous one here. He's not responsible for the way he is. You're the one who's evil and dangerous."
    "Since you feel that way, I consider myself under no obligation to apologize." Vandervort turned away and raised her voice anew. "What do you say? You've already destroyed the Longtunnel installation. I'm only an administrator who's about to enter a different line of work. You can have the gengineer."
    The amazon replied, "We must have the mutant also. The way I see it, we have the upper hand strategically. You can try to cross an open floor and fight your way up these stairs if you like. I don't see any reason why we have to bargain with you for anything."
    "We might not make it, but some of you will die," said Dabis. "Be better if all of us could get out of this without any more deaths."
    A long pause ensued before the blonde responded. "We'll think about it," she said finally.
    "Don't think too long," Vandervort warned her. "We might decide to leave without your permission." Having said that, she slumped back down behind her protective crates, suddenly looking her age. Still favoring her injured arm, she brushed hair from her face and caught sight of Clarity glaring at her as if frozen.
    "Oh, don't look at me like that, my dear," she muttered irritably. "It is quite boorish and unbecoming to you and does not affect me in the slightest."
    "You know," Clarity said evenly, "I used to want to be just like you. I admired you for the easy way you mixed business with science. Someone who’d done it all and on her own."
    "Indeed, I have done everything on my own. I intend keeping it that way. This would have been easier with you assisting me, but even though you're the best, I will manage by replacing you with the next best. It is our young man who is irreplaceable, not you."
     
     The lake blurred. Suddenly the water was not quite so clear, his floating not as peaceful. He sensed rather than saw Pip and Scrap drifting alongside and knew their tranquility had also been disturbed.
     Shapes continued to float above the lake's surface, but they were no longer placid and dreamy. Now they were angry and demonic of expression, full of tension and hatred. For the first time he sensed he was not alone in the lake. Things were moving to the depths, far below his range of vision, down where the water grew cold and dark. There was one immense green shapelessness that kept straining to reach him, impinging on his consciousness like a flint striking sparks from another rock. Forms in the void at once familiar and unrecognizable.
     Though he concentrated hard, the green shape and the strangeness faded as the demonic faces hardened like glass. He felt as if he were starting to rise toward the lake's surface, acquiring a sort of mental as well as physical buoyancy. Even so, he was not prepared when he broke through.
     Nothing made any sense. When he had been drifting underwater, his breathing had been relaxed and easy. Now that he was back in atmosphere once more, he found himself choking and gasping for air. His eyes bulged, and his lungs pumped wildly. Next to him Pip and Scrap were two bundles of contorting coils.
     
    When the coffin had been abandoned, it had drifted on its levitating grapples until it banged against the subterranean wall. The beige plasteel adjunct containing the morphogas cylinders and flowmix valves had been very slightly jarred. The result was a crack in one of the feeder lines. Monconqui would have noticed it during one of his routine inspections, but that individual had been otherwise occupied for some time.
    Room air was leaking into the line while gas was leaking out. The atmosphere inside the coffin was very slowly returning to normal. While the container was airtight, it was not soundproof. The noise of arguing voices and unleashed weapons was audible within.
    It was, however, black as Longtunnel's caverns inside with the observation window shield shut.
    Flinx tried to make his brain work. The last thing he could remember was sitting on the bed in his hotel room, watching the tridee with Pip curled up on a chair nearby and Scrap racing his tail around the overhead lighting. Now he found himself lying on his back in a restricting container of some kind with Pip and Scrap next to him. The ghosts of gunshots and voices penetrated the material. They sounded human; therefore, it was likely if not guaranteed that a breathable atmosphere existed outside his prison.
    He explored the interior as best he could, but found nothing in the way of a release button or latch. That meant that it was designed to be opened only from the outside. That much made sense. Three thick hinges yielded their identity to his questing fingers.
    He recalled his restful sojourn in the lake of his thoughts. Whether by injection or by some other means, he had been tranquilized, and judging from his aching muscles he had been unconscious for some time. Despite that, he felt healthy and alert. The long sleep had swept cobwebs from his mind. He let his Talent loose and found he could perceive proximate emotions clearly. Perhaps the combination of extended enforced rest and whatever narcotizing agent had been used on him had resulted in a heightening of his perception. Perhaps something had happened to him while he had been locked in his prison, unable to use anything except his mind. He had vague memories of powerful unseen forms, and in particular a vast greenness. Echoes of an exhilarating dreamscape.
    He touched a number of hostile minds and moved on like a butterfly sampling flower upon flower. Sounds and emotions told him people were shooting at each other. Adrift amid the ocean of unfamiliar feelings were two he knew well. One was Alynasmolia Vandervort, a remarkable combination of greed, lust, ambition, hope, and hatred.
    Clarity was filled with disgust, worry, fear, and something he could not lock down. That was when he whispered to Pip. Not all their communication was empathic. The flying snake was intelligent enough to learn and respond to a few basic verbal commands.
    Edging as far to his right as possible, he tapped the lowest hinge of his prison with a finger while uttering the word. Pip noted the placement of his finger from the sound it made striking the hinge, waiting until her master had withdrawn his hand, and spit.
    The acrid stink of dissolving metal and plasteel filled the container and threatened to choke Flinx anew. Fighting for breath, he tapped two more times, uttered the command twice more, and waited while Pip's response ate into the hinges. No one came to see what was happening. Either the dissolving hinges were not noticeable from outside or, more likely, the combatants he sensed were busy trying to kill one another.
    Choking out the fumes, trapped in the confining darkness, he began to get angry. Everything that had happened to him had come about because he had tried to help someone. His own emotions had been toyed with, and the more he tried to help, the more people seemed to want to do him harm. He was more than a little fed up and more than a little furious.
    Lying contentedly in his private lake, he had learned a lot about himself. Enforced meditation had revealed things he had never acknowledged before. One was that in all the universe there seemed only two intelligences that truly understood him. The Sumacrea were one. The other was a gigantic weapon constructed by a longdead race. The Sumacrea's main purpose in life was to understand. The weapon's was to destroy. So be it.
    Except he was not a weapon. He was Philip Lynx, né Flinx: a nineteenyearold orphan with an unusual history, an enigmatic lineage, and an erratic Talent of unknown promise.
    Whatever he was, it was quite a shock to everyone else in the room when he shoved the ruined lid of his container off its rim and sat up. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. In that instant everyone else had a chance to react.
    Vandervort rose halfway above her protective wall of crates and screamed, "Get them!" Dabis and Monconqui started to move. The older man squatting at the top of the stairway stared at Flinx as if he were regarding a reptilian carnivore instead of a slim young man.
    "Kill the thing!" he bellowed. "Kill it now!"
    The young man seated on the top step hesitated, but not the tall amazon next to him. She started to raise the muzzle of the neuronic pistol she was holding. Without being touched by any visible weapon, she abruptly slumped forward, rolling down the stairs to fall in a heap atop the dead man already there.
    Pip and Scrap were airborne and ready to attack, but for the first time in his life Flinx did not need them. Having fought to break free of the lake, he found he could now break through with little effort. Using Pip as an empathic lens, he was able to project emotions as well as receive them. Maybe more than the lake and his sleep was involved. Maybe it had something to do with the shapes and forms that had tried to touch him. Perhaps he had been touched. He did not know.
    Time later to find out, if he lived.
    What he had projected into the mind of the tall woman had been fear and overwhelming terror. Now he sent it into her companion, who let out a quavering moan, rose to turn and run, and then fainted on the steps. The older man managed a shot in Flinx's direction. The bolt just missed him, numbing his arm. Instinctively he responded with greater force.
    The result was unintended. The elderly fanatic rose trembling, eyes bulging, and collapsed atop his younger colleague. Unlike his companion, he had not simply been rendered unconscious. Fear had stopped his heart.
    Observing the collapse of their opposition, the two bodyguards had halted in the middle of the room, relieved that they would not have to try to dodge the pistols of the fanatics. At almost the same time they noticed that their prisoner was sitting up in his coffin facing them. They did not connect his resurrection to the destruction of their opponents.
    An uncertain Monconqui raised his pistol. Clarity saw him, stood up, and screamed.
    The two bodyguards proved harder to put down. They were familiar with the kind of fear Flinx had used to eliminate the fanatics from the scene. Nonetheless, every man has his breaking point. Beneath the barrage of withering terror they both eventually keeled over.
    Then he was alone in the room except for Clarity and Vandervort. The older woman came around from behind her little fortress of crates and started toward him, a broad smile on her face, hand extended.
    "Well, my boy, I don't know how you did that, but I know you are responsible. I saw you stare them down, or whatever it was you did. First that slime on the stairs and then my own people, who didn't have the sense to lower their weapons before they could find out we were all on the same side."
    Flinx was climbing out of the coffin. "Which side is that?"
    "Don't listen to her, Flinx!" Clarity blurted out hastily. "She's the one who had you drugged and put in that thing!"
    Vandervort whirled on her. "Just shut up, you little bitch. If you know what's good for you, you'd better keep your mouth shut." Still smiling, she looked back at Flinx. He studied her noncommittally.
    "Dear Clarity is upset. She's confused by everything that's happened, and I must say I don't blame her." Vandervort laughed, a velvety, comfortable laugh. "I am somewhat confused myself."
    "Me, too."
    Vandervort seemed to stand a little taller. "I'm certain we can sort all this out."
    "So you're not responsible for any of this?" His stare was level, his voice calm. Pip hovered close by while Scrap darted uncertainly toward Clarity, back to Flinx, and ended up spinning miserably in the air halfway between the two.
    "I didn't exactly say that. What I said was that it's all been very confusing."
    That was what she said. What emanated from her was a combination of fear and anger, not all aimed at the unconscious or dead fanatics piled on the stairway. Some of it was directed at Clarity. Some of it was directed at Flinx.
    "If you want to help me so badly, why are you so afraid of me?"
    "Afraid of you, young man? But I'm not." Suddenly realization struck, and she smiled, but this time the smile was uneasy. "You can tell what I'm feeling, can't you? Not what I'm thinking, but what I am feeling."
    "That's it. What I'm feeling right now is that you're not as fond of me as you're trying to make out."
    "You mustn't take emotions literally, young man. They can be confused, and confusing. You just knocked out five armed assailants without so much as lifting your hand. I believe I'm entitled to at least be intimidated."
    "But you're not intimidated. You're afraid, and that's something else again. I think you're feeling that as soon as I turn my back on you, you're going to go for one of those guns that your henchmen dropped."
        All the color drained from her face. "You can't feel that. It's not an emotion; it's a specific thought." She retreated a step. "You can't"
    "Absolutely right. I can't read thoughts. But if I suggest something and you react to it, I can sense your reactions and thereby tell the truth of it as clearly as if you'd answered honestly. If you'd responded any other way, then I might have hesitated. I might have been unsure. I might've been tempted to listen to you."
    "You aren't going to kill me," she whispered hollowly. "It isn't in you."
        "Hey, we don't know what's in me, remember? I'm the unpredictable mutant you keep warning everyone against." He was sickened not by the look of sheer terror on her face but by the fact that he was enjoying it. He sighed. "Enough death." He indicated the stairs. "Two of them are dead, the rest unconscious. One of the deaths was an accident, and the other the result of a needle shot. I'm not going to kill you, Vandervort."
    The older woman stopped. "What are you going to do?" She was looking past him. "What you did to them?"
    "Just made sure they wouldn't bother me for a while. Tell me: Is there anything you're really afraid of? Anything that truly frightens you?"
    "No. I'm a scientist. I look at everything analytically. I have no fears."
    Suddenly her eyes bulged like those of a fish trapped by a receding tide. Her head went way back, and she turned a slow circle. Fingers dug into hair, and she uttered a single piercing shriek before folding over in a dead faint.
    Clarity came out from behind the other crates. "What did you do to her?"
    He gazed sadly at the crumpled figure. "The same thing I did to the others. Projected fear into them until their nervous systems were overwhelmed. I sensed crawling things in her mind. Bugs, something else, I don't know." He shook his head. "Specifics weren't required. So much for the analytical approach."
    "Flinx, I'm so glad that everything"
    He turned sharply. "I think you'd better stop right there."
    She did so, puzzled and obviously hurt. "I can imagine what you're thinking. I had nothing to do with any of this."
    "You knew about it. Tell me you knew nothing of it."
    "I can't. You'd be able to tell if I was lying. Flinx, I didn't know what to do, what to think. She told me stories" She nodded toward the motionless form of her former superior. "stories about the Society and their work and you. About what you might become. I didn't believe her. I didn't want to believe any of it. But she's so much more experienced than I. I didn't have any choice. If I'd refused, they would have found someone else to take my place, someone who cared nothing about you. "
    "Everyone has a choice." He lowered his gaze, tired of staring. Tired, period. "It's just that most people don't have the guts to make the right one."
    "I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry." She was crying now. "They had you here in that damn box before I knew anything. It was too late for me to stop them. I went along hoping to help you later, somehow, when they'd let down their guard. You've got to believe that! You heard me shout a warning, didn't you? You just heard me tell you that she was responsible for everything that's happened, that this is all her doing."
    "Yes, I heard you. That's why you're still walking instead of lying on the floor with the rest. I know you're telling the truth, or else you're the most skillful liar I've ever encountered."
    "If you know that, if you can sense that, then you must also know that I love you."
    He turned away from her. "I don't know anything of the sort. Your feelings are strong, but no matter what you say, I can tell that they're still confused and uncertain. One moment you say you love me, the next you're afraid of me. Hot and cold. I don't want that kind of relationship."
    "Give me a chance, Flinx," she pleaded. "I'm so terribly confused."
    He whirled to face her again. "How do you think I'm feeling? That's the one set of emotions I can never get rid of. After all that's happened, how can you think I could ever trust you with anything, much less with my life? Not that it matters, anyway. You can't share my life. Nobody can. Because, ironically enough, Vandervort may have been right about that. I can't, I won't take the chance of endangering someone else in the event I do turn out to be dangerous.
    "I was uncertain about that before. Now I'm not. I shouldn't have let myself get involved with you in the first place. That much of it's my fault."
    "Flinx, I know what you are. It doesn't frighten me anymore. You need someone like me. Someone who can give you understanding and sympathy and affectionand love."
    "Someone to help me be human. Is that it?"
    "No, dammit!" Despite her best efforts to repress them, the tears began afresh. "That's not what I mean at all."
    He wanted her to be lying, but she was not.
    "While I was asleep, or unconscious, or drugged, or whatever, my mind roamed freely in a way it never has before. I feel better about myself than I ever have. It was more than a rejuvenating rest, Clarity. Something happened to me while I was in that box. I can't define it yet because I'm not sure what it was. But while I was in there I sensed things. Some of them were beautiful and some were frightening and others were inexplicable, and until I can figure them out, I need to be by myself.
    "You go back to whipping out custom genes and designer biologicals, and I'll get back to my studying. That's the way it has to be."
    "You're not being fair," she sobbed.
    "Once I was told that the universe isn't a fair place. The more I see of it, the more convinced I am of the rightness of that observation."
    The rumbling began as a hum in the ears and a subtle quivering underfoot. The two met somewhere in the vicinity of the stomach. Not an earthquake but something much more pervasive. Clarity rushed to the plastic crates for support while Flinx stood his ground as best he was able. Pip stayed aloft while Scrap finally came to a decision and landed cautiously on Clarity's shoulder. That was painful for Flinx to see, but he could not waste time worrying about it now.
    Of more immediate concern was the fact that the center of the floor was crumbling beneath his feet. He scrambled to one side, staring as the stelacrete and duralloy mesh turned to powder and vanished into the gaping maw of a vast dark pit some three meters in diameter.
    The huge creature that stuck its head out of the hole and gazed curiously around the room was as tall as the opening was wide. Its dense fur was mottled with splotches, and it must have weighed close to a ton. The flat muzzle ended in a tiny nose above which a pair of platesized yellow eyes hung like lanterns. The ears were comically undersized.
    Placing two immense, sevendigited paws on the edge of the hole, it boosted itself into the room, the furry head barely clearing the ceiling. Clarity goggled at it in disbelief as if it were something coalesced whole from a fever dream. Flinx flinched, too, but for a different reason entirely. At that point the monster saw himand smiled hugely.
    "Hello again, Flinxfriend," it said.
    Except its mouth did not move.
Chapter Seventeen
     
    Clarity heard it, too. She was mumbling dazedly to herself. "There's no such thing as a true telepath. There's no such thing."
    "I'm afraid there is," Flinx said with another sigh. He turned to the monster. "Hello, Fluff. It's been a long time."
    "Long time, Flinxfriend!" It was a mental boom. The massive Ujurrian trundled over to the redhaired young man and rested both massive paws on his shoulders. "Flinxfriend is well?"
    "Very well, thank you." He was somewhat surprised to find that the mindtomind, humantoUjurrian communication was easier this time than it had been years ago, when he had first encountered Fluff's species on their Churchproscribed world. It was no longer difficult to understand.
    Fluff nodded approvingly as two more giant Ujurrians popped out of the hole like ursinoid jackintheboxes. Flinx recognized Bluebright and Mount. They examined their surroundings with the boundless curiosity of their kind.
    "Flinxfriend's mind is clearing out. Not as much mud inside as before." Fluff tapped the side of his head with a fat finger.
    Flinx gestured to his right. "That's my friend, Clarity.'
    Fluff started toward her, overflowing with gruff good feelings. "Hello, Clarityfriend." She backed away from him until she was flash against the wall. The Ujurrian halted and looked back at Flinx. "Why your friend frightened of Fluff?"
    It's not you, Fluff. It's your size."
    "Ohho! " The Ujurrian promptly dropped to all fours. "This better, Clarityfriend?"
    She hesitantly stepped away from the cold wall. "It's better." Her gaze rose, and she found Flinx watching her amusedly. "These are friends of yours?"
    "Can't you tell by now?"
    "But how did they get here? What are they?"
    "They're Ujurrians. I think I mentioned them before."
    "The world Under Edict, yes. That means nobody can get in or out."
    "Apparently someone neglected to inform the Ujurrians of that. As to how they got here, I'm as interested as you are."
    "Heard you." Bluebright's mental voice was as distinct from Fluff's as it was from Flinx's. "Her mindlight is bright."
    Clarity frowned uncertainly. "What does that mean?"
    "It means you have a strong mental aura. To the Ujurrians everything is like a light, brighter or darker to a varying degree. Don't be intimidated by their size. Oh, they're quite capable of taking a human being apart like a wooden toy, but we're old allies. And if it makes you feel better, they're mostly vegetarians. They don't like to eat anything that generates `light.' "
    Scrap cowered against Clarity's neck. It was the first time Flinx had ever seen a minidrag show fear. To the young flying snake, the Ujurrians' emotional auras must have appeared overpowering. Pip did not fear because she remembered.
    "Heard you calling," Moam explained as he examined the unconscious forms scattered about the room. "Came fast as we could to offer help."
    "Calling?" For a moment Flinx forgot Clarity. "I wasn't calling. I wasn't even conscious." He tried to recall what it had been like floating beneath the surface of the lake. Little remained of that memory, that fading mystic melody of thoughts suspended in morphogas.
    "How did you people get here?" Clarity forced herself not to gaze into the black pit. "Flinx told me you made him a ship."
    "A ship, yes," Fluff said proudly. "A Teacher for the teacher. For us, we don't like ships. Noisy and confining. We only built his because it fits the game."
    "Game?" She turned back to Flinx. "What game?"
    "The game of civilization." He spoke absently, still trying to remember. "The Ujurrians love games, so before I left UlruUjurr I started teaching them that one. By the time the Teacher was finished they were getting very good at it. I can't imagine what stage they've reached by now."
    "Like some parts of the game," Bluebright said. "Don't like others. Keep the parts we like, throw out the ones we don't."
    "Very sensible. How's the tunnel digging coming along?"
    "You aren't making any sense." Clarity couldn't disguise her confusion.
    "It doesn't have to make sense. Listen and you'll learn a few things."
    "Going very well," Fluff told him. "Still have many more tunnels to dig. Heard you calling. Decided to dig a new tunnel. Fastest digging we've ever done, but teacher was in trouble. Got here too late anyways maybe?"
    "I'm okay." It was Flinx's turn to frown. If he had not known from experience what the Ujurrians were capable of, he could never have asked the next question. "Are you telling us that you tunneled here from Ulru-Ujurr?"
    Fluff made a face. "Where else we tunnel from?"
    Smiling to show he meant no offense even though he knew they could read the same thing in his mind, he said, "Clarityfriend is right. That doesn't make any sense."
    The huge Ujurrian chuckled, his voice full of mock puzzlement. "Then how we get here? Was hard work, Flinxfriend, but also fun."
    "That's it. I'm lost," Clarity mumbled.
    "Not lost," Moam said earnestly, misunderstanding her thoughts as well as her words. "You start tunnel. Make bend here, then twist, then wrap around like so and so, and lo! There you are."
    "I wonder if they `tunnel' through spaceplus or nullspace," Flinx murmured in awe. "Or someplace else the theoretical mathematicians haven't invented yet. How did you find me? Can you tap into my specific thought signature across all those parsecs?"
    "Wasn't easy," said Moam. "So we had somebody came and look."
    Flinx's brow wrinkled. "Come and look? But who"
    A voice from behind made him jump. "Who you think?"
    It was Maybeso, looking dour and distressed as always. Even for an Ujurrian, Maybeso was unique. His fellows thought him quite mad. If the inhabitants of UlruUjurr were an anomaly among intelligent races, then Maybeso was the anomaly of anomalies.
    "Hello, Maybeso."
    "Goodbye, Flinxfriend." The giant ursinoid vanished as silently and mysteriously as he had appeared. He was not a talker.
    Flinx saw Clarity staring. She had convinced herself she was beyond shock, but Maybeso's brief appearance had proved otherwise. "He goes where he wants," Flinx explained apologetically, "and he doesn't have to use a tunnel. Nobody knows how he does it, not even the other Ujurrians, and he doesn't tell. They think he's a little strange."
    "Not strange. Mad." A fourth Ujurrian emerged from the bottomless pit in the center of the room. Looking like a cross between a grizzly bear and a lemur, Softsmooth plopped down on the floor and began cleaning herself. That was when Flinx noted the softly glowing rings each of them wore.
    "These?" Bluebright responded to his inquiry. "Toys that help with the digging. We built your ship. We made these. All part of the game, yes?"
    "Wait a minute. The other one." Clarity was gesturing weakly. "The one that appeared behind you, Flinx. Where did he come from? And where did he go?"
    "Nobody knows where he comes from," Mourn said, "and nobody knows where Maybeso goes."
    "I think I'm beginning to understand," she said slowly, "why UlruUjurr is under Church Edict."
    "You have to keep in mind," Flinx told her, "that the Ujurrians are complete innocents. The AAnn were beginning illegal exploitation of their world when I showed up there. At that time the Ujurrians had no concept of civilization or modern technology or anything related to either. They lived and ate and mated and dug their tunnels. Playing the game, they called it. So I introduced them to a new game, the game of `civilization.' It didn't take them very long to learn how to build a starship. That was my Teacher. I can't imagine what they've learned by now. How to make rings, apparently."
    "How to have more fun!" Fluff roared. "Got here too late to help Flinxfriendbut not too late to have more fun. Had to find you, anyway. New element has entered the game. Very intriguing. You would say, 'Involves inexplicable astrophysical and mathematical metastasis.' "
    "Maybe I wouldn't," Flinx said carefully.
    "We ought to get out of here." Clarity was studying the stairway. "More of those fanatics might come looking for their friends."
    "It doesn't matter anymore. There are Ujurrians here." He spoke to her, but he was thinking at Fluff. "What do you mean when you speak of a `new element' in the game? I thought the rules I set down for you were fairly straightforward."
    "Were, yes. You remember you also taught us that not everyone plays the game by the rules. You explained cheating. This is a kind of cheating."
    Softsmooth took up the refrain, her mental voice distinctly feminine compared with that of the three big males. "You know we have always dug the tunnels, Flinxfriend. Found some interesting ideas for new tunnels in the information the cold minds left behind. Started a tunnel that way." She smiled, revealing long fangs and bonecrushing teeth. "We can dig all kinds of tunnels; dig through rock, through sand, through what you call spacetime."
    "Fun to dig to other worlds," Moam commented. "Same world gets boring." He was inspecting one of the laser pistols Vandervort's bodyguards had dropped. Flinx was not worried. All Mount was interested in was the pistol's construction.
    Softsmooth carried on. "Been digging many tunnels to other worlds." She indicated the empty pit. Flinx was careful not to go too close to the edge. If one fell in, there was no telling where and when one might stop.
    "Dug tunnel to place your people call Horseye, natives call Tslamaina. Found an interesting thing there."
    "Big machine," Meant put in. "Biggest machine we've seen ever." The usual feeling of frivolity was absent from his thought.
    "Did some studying," Softsmooth continued. "After a while something really very strange detected us studying and came to chase us away, but we left before it got there." She smiled again. "We can move quickly when we have to, you know. Found smaller similar things all linked to this one big thing on the Horseye world. Links go like our tunnels, only a lot smaller."
    "What is horse?" Fluff asked suddenly.
    "A Terran quadruped," Flinx told him. "They're no longer common."
    "Too bad. Image is nice."
    "Shut up, Fluff," Softsmooth admonished him. "I was talking."
    "Don't tell me to shut up."
    They exchanged blows, the lightest of which would have killed a large man instantly, before settling back down as though nothing had happened. Clarity had run to Minx's side at the start of the fight, and he reluctantly allowed her to remain next to him. His mind was clear, but his emotions were in turmoil.
    "Before the really very strange something arrived to chase us away, we found out what the machine was all about. "
    "It's an alarm," Moam muttered. Flinx saw that he was busily taking the laser pistol apart, his huge fingers picking delicately at the internal circuitry.
    "What kind of alarm?"
    "To warn against something. Against a big danger. Except that the people it was supposed to warn have all gone away a long time ago." In Flinx's mind the mental picture of "long ago" that Softsmooth was projecting stretched into infinity. That was impressive, because the Ujurrians never exaggerated.
    "You said you had to find me, anyway. Because of this?" All four ursinoids nodded in unison. "Why come to me? I know nothing of a world called Horseye, much less any weird machines on it."
    "You are the teacher," Fluff said simply. And then, shockingly, "Also because you are involved somehow."
    "Me?" Pip did a little hop on her master's shoulder before settling back down. "How can I be involved when this is the first I've heard of it?"
    "The feeling is there." Even Fluff was now communicating with great seriousness. "You are the key to something, whether the machine or the danger or something else we do not yet know. We would like to know. It would help in the game. This danger worries us."
    If it was real and it worried the Ujurrians, Flinx knew, then everyone else ought to be properly terrified. "Is the danger imminent?"
    "Imminent?" wideeyed Bluebright echoed.
    "Is it going to strike soon?" Flinx inquired tiredly. In their innocence, the Ujurrians could instantly comprehend the most complex mechanical and mathematical concepts while simultaneously misunderstanding much simpler terms.
    "Do not know. You must help us to understand this thing," Softsmooth said. "You are the teacher."
    "I'm not a teacher!" he replied angrily. "I'm just a student. By now any one of you has more accumulated knowledge stored in your minds than I ever will."
    "But you know the game," Fluff reminded him. "The game of civilization. That we are still learning."
    "This is somehow part of the game," Bluebright said.
    All four were staring at him, and he was unable to look into those vast yellow eyes and lie. Here it was again. Just when he was certain he was through with someone else's problems, another set materialized to take their place. If he insisted, they would go away and leave him alone. If he insisted.
    They were pleading silently. It did him no good to turn away because that meant he had to look at Clarity, which was just as bad. There was no escape for him from himself. Not in this room, at this time, in this place. Maybe not anywhere, ever.
    "I can't do anything to help," he said finally, "because I don't know anything about this. Can't you understand that?"
    "Understand ignorance, Flinxfriend," Softsmooth said without hesitation. "Can fix that."
    Flinx was taken aback. "How? By taking me to Horseye?" He eyed the black pit uneasily.
    "No. Can show you a little, maybe. We cannot see it ourselves but can help you to see. Will not be dangeroushopefully." Fluff had come over to put a paw on Flinx's shoulder. "We must know, Flinxfriend. Is important to us, too. It might be serious enough to stop the game. To stop all games."
    Was there really anything to think about? Did he really have any choice? Did he ever?
    "How are you going to show me? Is this threat nearby?"
    "It is very, very far away. We can only guess where. You will have to trust us. Teacher must trust his pupils."
    "If it's so far away, how can you show it to me?"
    "The same way we found you here." A huge finger pointed at his neck. Sensing the emotions directed her way, Pip lifted her head curiously.
    `Pip?,
    "She is," Fluff struggled to frame a difficult concept, "an amplifier for something deep inside you, inside your mind. Something even we cannot see. Whatever it is that lets you tell how others are feeling and may let you do other things someday. We can help like that, a little. Your small companion is an amplifier. We can be a preamplifier. Avery, very big one." He tilted his head back to regard the ceiling.
    "Your body will stay here, but we can send your mind elsewhere. "
    "Elsewhere? Can't you be a little more specific?"
    "Toward the threat, the danger. To observe and learn. We cannot do it with ourselves, but we can do it with you. Because you are different from us. Because you are different from anyone else."
    The proportions of the Ujurrians' little problem were expanding far faster than he could keep pace with. "Why not just dig one of your tunnels in that direction?"
    "Because it is too far. Unimaginably far."
    "If it's unimaginably far, then how can it be dangerous to us?"
    "It can move. It does not seem to be moving this way now, but we are not sure. We need to be sure." Fluff gazed fondly down at Flinx. "We would not force you, teacher."
    "Oh, hell, I know that. Does it make a difference? Just make sure you don't lose track of me after you shoot me out to wherever it is I'm going." He took a long breath. "What do I have to do?"
    "It might be a good thing for you to lie down, Flinxfriend, so you don't fall over and hurt yourself."
    "Makes sense. If I'm going to engage in some kind of Ujurrian astral projection, or whatever, I wouldn't want to come out of it with a sprained wrist." As always, his sarcasm was lost on his hirsute friends, but it helped to mask a little of the fear that was beginning to surge within him.
    He took a step toward the coffin, then quickly changed his mind. He was not going back in that thing. There were a couple of folding beds at the back of the room, and he chose the nearest, lying down after making sure Pip's coils were clear. He kept his arms at his sides, hoping he was not as stiff and uncomfortable as he must have looked.
    "All right. What do I do now? Do you pick me up and throw me toward the ceiling?" He laughed nervously. Each of the Ujurrians stood at a comer of the bed. He could see Clarity between Fluff and Bluebright, eyeing him anxiously.
    "F1inx? Maybe you shouldn't do this."
    "Probably you're right. But I never have been able to do what was good for me. I always seem to end up doing what's best for others." He closed his eyes, wondering if it would make a difference. "Go ahead and do what you have to do, Fluff."
     
     There was no transition, no delay. He was back in the lake, Pip alongside him. It was not what he had expected. Only this time he was not floating aimlessly. He was capable of movement. Experimentally he swam a few circles, Pip following. The transparent liquid did not pour down his nostrils and lungs to choke him.
     By the time he had turned the fourth circle, the lake began to grow dark. He continued to swim and had the feeling he was traveling at great speed, yet his body hardly seemed to be moving at all. Hands and feet moved lazily while the cosmos rushed past.
     Transparency and sunlight gave way to streaks of crimson and purple, as if his surroundings were Dopplershifted to the extreme. Stars and nebulas exploded toward him, only to fade rapidly beneath his feet. An interesting illusion, but no more.
     Is this what it feels like to be a quasar? he thought idly.
     He would have liked to have lingered to study individual stars and planets. Like electric sparks, images of powerful races and immense galaxyspanning civilizations impinged briefly on his consciousness and were gone. All were new and unknown, alien and unsuspected. His mind touched on theirs and then broke away, like a wave rising and falling on the shore.
     Past the last sapient thought and still racing outward, now little more than a concept himself, a blemish on the precepts of conventional physics. Not a particle to his name, no more than an afterthought cast loose from the prison of the mind.
     The stars were all gone by then, and the last of the sapience, and he found himself in a region that should not have existed. A place where vacuum was stained only by forgotten wisps of interstellar hydrogen and the occasional burning star core gleamed like a candle in a bottle set afloat on an ocean of nothingness.
     And something else.
     Too big to be alive, and yet it lived. A roiling redefinition of life and death, good and evil.
     Even as the force that propelled him onward tried to thrust him into its midst, he found himself slowing, recoiling. Whole civilizations he had touched, whole galaxies he had comprehended, but this was too vast and too terrible for his disembodied self to understand. He glimpsed its shadow and turned away, turned inward and ran, fighting his way back along the path he had taken.
     Even as he fled, it became aware of him. He tried to accelerate, the universe a flat wash of laserbright color around him. Sluggish but immense, it reached for the intruderand missed. By a kilometer, a lightyear, a galactic diameterhe would never know. All that mattered was that it missed and left him untouched and unsullied by what it was.
     Back in upon himself he fled, at the last instant racing past a great but confused mind that was more innocent and ignorant even than the Ujurrians, an executor of still greater potential. It was an expanding greenness, a pale lime glazed on glass in which he saw himself and Clarity and other humanity reflected. An emerald glue held it all together. Then it was gone.
     Replaced by still another, as different from its predecessor as he was from it. Swimming in another part of the same lake. When it raced by and touched him briefly, he felt a great sense of peace. This second sapience was warm and friendly and even apologetic. It was there, and then it was gone the way of the greenness.
     Third and lightest touch of all from a consciousness he finally recognized. A lonely calling Not at all what one would expect from an artificial intelligence. Far out past the edge of the Commonwealth, in the Blight. A weapon and an instrument all at once, waiting for him to return and direct it, blend with it, give purpose to its existence even though all the old enemies were gone.
     What now of enemies new? What of those who had built the great warning network centered on Horseye? Whence had they gone and why? None knew. The Ujurrians wanted to know. So did Flinx.
     It hit him hard then. He was needed. Because he was an offshoot, a sport, a freak. One those who had built the alarm could not have foreseen. Just as they could not have foreseen the evolution of the greenness, the warmth, and the TarAiym engine of destruction that cried in its loneliness. They had built the alarm to warn them of an inconceivable threat on the farthest fringes of existence and had probably fled because they had not been able to find a way to deal with it.
     But the unforeseen had followed them. Life had emerged and evolved beyond what they might have anticipated. Or had they anticipated it, anticipated everything, and left the alarm to warn whatever, whoever might come in after them? The green, the warm, and the weapon.
     Only one thing they could not possibly have anticipated: a nineteenyearold named Flinx.
     It was possible that the Ujurrians had sensed this. How, he could not imagine, but the ursinoids were capable of much they themselves did not understand. Like Maybeso, who could teleport when and wherever he wanted to but would not do anything on request and was probably insane to boot.
     So much happening all at once, and himself in the middle of it all. There was responsibility here he could not evade. Whatever threatened him threatened sapience everywhere. The great civilizations he had sensed in passing, the intelligences still fighting to emerge from the primordial ooze, the greenness, the warmth, and the weapon that sang. And the Commonwealth, his Commonwealth. Mankind, thranx, everyone and everything.
     The vastness he had scraped with his sanity was bestirring itself. Preparing to move, though not for a long while. Long in his time or galactic time? He found he did not know. It was something he was going to have to find out.
     Which made a great deal of sense. Was he not a student? He would have the help of the Ujurrians, and of his old mentors if he could find them. And he would go out again, beyond normal space, for additional looks. He would go because he was the only one who could. Something would have to be done about what he had detected, if not in this lifetime, then in another. Those who had constructed the warning system had thought so, too.
     
    When he woke up, he was swimming in his own sweat. Pip lay spraddled across his chess, wings spread and limp, utterly exhausted. Four tired Ujurrians were staring concernedly down at him, along with one haggard human.
    Clarity took his hand and pressed it to her chest, blinking away tears. Scrap still clung to her shoulder and neck.
    As near as he could tell, he had not moved. But when he tried to sit up, nothing happened. Every muscle, every bone in his body ached.
    "That was," he whispered, "exhilarating. Also frightening and informative."
    Clarity put down his hand to wipe at her eyes and nose. "I thought you were dying. You lay there all peaceful-like, this wonderful contented expression on your face, and suddenly you started screaming."
    He frowned. "I don't remember screaming."
    "You screamed," she assured him, "and you arched and twisted until I thought you were going to break your arms. Your friends had to hold you down."
    "Not so easy," Bluebright murmured. "Wouldn't think so much strength in teacher's little body."
    "I was close to it," Flinx said suddenly, remembering. "Too close." He did not have to explain himself to the Ujurrians, who could see it in his mind, but Clarity possessed no such perception. "There's something out there," he told her calmly.
    "Out where? Near Gorisa?"
    "No. Outthere. Beyond the Commonwealth. Beyond our galaxy. Beyond the beyond, I guess. I don't know how, but they" He indicated the silently watching Ujurrians. "and Pip combined to send part of me out past the range of the best visual telescopes. But not the radioscopes. I think they've seen it though the people reading the data have no idea what they're looking at. I'm not sure what it was, either. Only that it's dangerous. And big. Beyond beyond, and beyond big."
    Fluff was somber. "No fun this. Serious game."
    "Yes, serious game," Flinx agreed.
    "What we do now, Flinxfriendteacher?" Moam wondered.
    "We try to learn more. There are others involved. Not just me and you, but others none of us have suspected. I have to find out about them, too. It's going to take workand time. I don't mind the work. I hope we have the time. I'm going to need your help."
    "Always, Flinxfriend." The four spoke with a single mental voice.
    "I wish you'd talk out loud."
    He turned to Clarity, aware he had been engaging inpurely telepathic exchange with the Ujurrians. "I've found out what I'm going to do with my life. I thought I was destined to wander aimlessly, acquiring knowledge without purpose. Now I have a purpose. Out there is an his empty place. By the laws that regulate the distribution of matter in the universe, it shouldn't exist. But it does, and there's something in the middle of it. Something evil. I'm going to try to find a way to deal with it if it starts moving in this direction. In the process maybe I'll become a complete human being."
    "You are a complete human being, dammit!"
    He smiled gently. "Clarity, I'm nineteen. No nineteenyearold is a complete human being."
    "Are you making fun of me?"
    "No, I'm not." Softsmooth gave him a hand up from the bed.Pip had barely enough strength to cling to his shoulder. Her pointed tongue hung limply from her mouth
    "I need a drink. Something cold." For the first time, he noticed the empty room. "Where is everyone?"
    "They woke up one at a time," Clarity explained. She nodded at the place on the floor where Dabis had been lying. "That one came around before any of the others. The first thing he saw was Bluebright holding his disassembled pistol."
    "They all left in a hurry," Moam said. "We would have talked with them, but their minds were confused and full of fear."
    "I bet theyleft in a hurry." Flinx turned to Fluff. "What will you do now?"
    "Go back to learning the civilization game."
    "Good. I'll try to learn some of the new rules. Then I'll get in touch with you."
    Fluff clapped his paws together, filling the room with a dull boom."Wonderful! We make a new game of it. Maybe not so serious then."
    "We'll try," Flinx told him."I have studying to do. I have to learn, and to grow."
    "We'll find you again when it's time." Softsmooth put an arm around his shoulders that nearly hid him from view and gave him an affectionate hug. The vertebrae in neck cracked softly. "Never lose track of Flinx friendteacher. Can always ask Maybeso to find you."
    "Yes. I wish Maybeso was here."
    Asif on command, the fifth Ujurrian popped into view. His perpetually sour expression had not changed.
    "Here," he grunted.
    "Anything to add to all this?" Flinx asked him. He knew he did not have to explain what he meant by `all this.' With Maybeso nothing needed to be explained.
    "Later," Maybeso said brusquely, and vanished.
    "That is one strange being," Flinx murmured admiringly.
    "Very strange," Softsmooth agreed. "I think he like you, but who can tell?"
    Flinx glanced at the stairs. "I don't think any of the people who were here will be coming back."
    Clarity had to smile. "You wouldn't think men that big could move that fast."
    "We'll talk later, then."
    The four Ujurrians formed a circle around him and put their paws lightly on his hands. "Later," they said in unison.
    They turned and jumped into the hole in the middle of the floor. He heard their minds bidding him farewell, listened until the last had faded from his consciousness.
    Several minutes passed. Then the ground heaved as if the building had been kicked from below. Rock and dirt oozed up into the pit. Flinx and Clarity raced for the stairs and stayed there until the dust began to settle.
    "Filled in the tunnel behind them," he observed thoughtfully. "Good idea. You don't want to leave something like that standing open for someone to fall into." He turned to Clarity. "Now you're going to ask me to take you with me wherever I'm going because you think you love me."
    "I don't think it," she told him. you. "
    He shook his head slowly. "Sorry, but I think I've got it right. You think you love me. You're intrigued by me, and you might even find me attractive. But you must see that you can't come with me."
    His rejection made her flinch. "You still don't trust me. That's it, isn't it? After what I did, I can't blame you. But that's all over and behind us now. I see you the way I first saw you, for what you really are."
    "Do you? That's very interesting, because l don't see me for what I really am. I spent a long time trying to find out who my parents were. That didn't turn out so well. Maybe I'll have better luck finding out who I am. But that's not the reason you can't come with me. I can't take you along because I don't know what's going to happen to me. Isn't it strange, but I find myself siding with old Vandervort, after all.
    "There are things at stake here that make individual relationships pale into insignificance. I'm going to have to devote all my time to understanding them. That wouldn't be fair to another person. Especially someone like you. I guarantee that after spending a few years moving incognito from world to world, studying obscure references in files, and accumulating arcane knowledge, you'd become deathly bored. I may myself, but I have no choice. I have to do it. You don't.
    "There are other worlds to visit, other challenging jobs in your own profession."
    "I don't care about that anymore." She was trying very hard not to cry, he saw.
    "Maybe not right now you don't, but you will. There are other men out there, most of them more mature than I. Probably betterlooking, certainly less mentally burdened. You can be happy with one of them, or two, or three, or however many men you eventually choose to sample. Happier than you could ever be with me. I'm not prescient, but I think I can promise you that much." He carefully wiped away the beginning tears.
    "I think Scrap's taken a permanent liking to you. He'll be a good companion, and he'll certainly help you weed out the better men from the rest." He grinned. "The independent woman's ideal accessory. Protection and affection all rolled up in one scaly little package. Goodbye, Scrap."
    He extended a finger toward the minidrag. Scrap could not understand the gesture, but he could feel the emotion of the moment. His pointed tongue flicked out several times to touch the warm human skin.
    "We're peculiar creatures, we humans. The builders of the alarm didn't predict us. There's a lot out there they didn't foresee. Some of it I saw. I can't tell you any more about it now because I don't know any more than that myself. Evolution has a way of defeating the most advanced methods of predicting the future. In this case that may be for the better." He turned to go up the stairs.
    "Flinx, wait! You can't just leave me like this. You can't just leave me here."
    He hesitated. "You're right. You have no place to go, do you? No telling what kind of lies your exsupervisor is going to spread about you as she tries to save her own skin from the Scarpanians. Let's seeyou know she sold out Coldstripe. I think the company's backers would be interested in that information. Might even have a job for you somewhere else. You contact them and explain things, and I'll bet they keep you safe from Vandervort. There are ways to check the truth of your statements and hers." Suddenly he sounded wistful.
    "It's all part of the game, isn't it? Civilization. We spend our lives playing at it. I think what's happened to me is that I've just graduated to the next level. Keep at your gengineering, Clarity, and maybe one day you'll even be able to help me understand me better."
    He reached down to her, and she took his hand. Together they ascended the stairs.
    "I'll help in any way I can," she told him when they reached the deserted outer office. "I'll do whatever you recommend."
    "Whatever you do, do it for yourself, not for me." He stood there, thinking to himself. "This warning system has been in place for more than a few years, and I think we have a little time at least before the threat it's monitoring requires our undivided attention. In order to understand it properly, I first have to understand myself, and in order to understand myself, I need to learn about my own kind. I can't promise you any kind of permanent relationship, but now that I think about it, I don't see any reason why you can't assist in my studies." He hesitated. "That is, if you're interested."
    She stared at him for along time before shaking her head slowly. "Just when I think I've got you figured out, I have to dump everything I think I've learned and start in all over again."
    "If it's that complicated for you, consider how frightening ii must be for me," he told her somberly.
    Clarity was delighted by his change of heart and content to stay with him for as long as he would allow, but no matter how enjoyable their time together might be, she knew she would never be able to put that last thought out of her mind.
     
    DON'T MISS THE PREVIOUS
    ADVENTURES OF
    FLINX OF THE COMMONWEALTH
     
    FOR LOVE OF MOTHERNOT
    THE TARAIYM KRANG
    ORPHAN STAR
    THE END OF THE MATTER
    BLOODHYPE

Commonwealth Chronology
(NOTE: Where "c" is used, the date given is approximate.)
1 billion B.C.
The Xunca are at their height. They discover something connected with the Great Emptiness and begin setting up their transmitter network.
400,000,000
The Xunca create the Groalamason Ocean on Horseye and modify the orbits of the planet's moons. They set up a transmitting station in the polar ice cap. A minor relay station is set up on Terra, but is destroyed by continental drift. A Mutable is stationed on every planet set up with a component of the system.
950,000
Hur'rikku begin to explore from the Galactic Center.
501,000
The Vom arrives on the last world it will devour. It has destroyed all life on about a thousand worlds.
500,000
The TarAiym Empire is at its height. The Vom, contacted by the TarAiym, panics and destroys the investigating fleet. The TarAiym send a robot fleet to contain the Vom. Peot becomes the Guardian and is placed in orbit around the Vom's planet.
499,000
TarAiym contact the Hur'rikku; war is begun.
480,000
After enduring several attempts to be forced into the Tar Aiym Empire, the Hur'rikku threaten to use their anti-collapsar weapon on TarAiym worlds. The TarAiym begin intensive weapons research. The Krang is built on Booster. The fleet guarding the Vom is called away to help in the war with the Hur'rikku, leaving only a few ships and the Guardian.
479,000
"Living" photonic storm, released by the TarAiym as a plague, decimates all intelligent life in the area, including the TarAiym and Hur'rikku. A dying race on the edge of the plague area broadcasts a warning, so an in formal quarantine is created. This area becomes the Blight.
97,000
Alaspinian civilization is at its height.  Alaspinians explore more space than that contained by the Commonwealth, but don't establish settlements
75,000
Alaspinians die out, possibly by racial suicide.
27,000
Most recent warm cycle begins on Trankyky.
17,000
Warm cycle ends and present cold cycle begins on Trankyky.
10,950
Tunnelling begins on UlruUjurr.
c8000
Thranx civilization is born on Hivehom. The "Eternal City" of Daret is founded.
c6000
The last wars are fought on Hivehom.
c5700
Human civilization is born on Terra.
c2000
The Priory of the Brotherhood  "Evonintaban" on Trankyky is established.
A. D.
(Anno Domini), Christian religion calendar change occurs on Terra.
c500
Temple of Moraung Motau is founded on Horseye.
c1800
Thranx achieve space travel.
c1900
Thranx discover posigravity drive.
c2000
Terrans achieve space travel. All killing of Cetacea is outlawed.
c2075
Offcourse Terran "sleeper" colony ship reaches Centaurus System. Planets III and V are colonized.
c2100
Thranx have first contact with AAnn.
c2200
Offcourse Terran "sleeper" colony ship reaches MIDWORLD.
2243
AAnn attack Paszex on WillowWane for the first time.
2270
Brainenhancement serum is discovered.
2280
Posigravity drive is discovered on Terra by Alex Kurita and Sumako Kinoshita. The Centaurus System colonies are rediscovered.
2290
Cachalor is discovered. Ryozenzuzex is born on WillowWane.
2300
Covenant of Peace enacted; Agreement of Transfer made. Transfer of Cetacea to Cachalot.
2310
The Terran exporation ship Seeker is attacked by the AAnn, rescued by the Thranx ship Ztnramm and taken to Hivehom. A mysterious message from
320
Commonwealth Chronology  Capt. Brobwelporvot sends Ryozenzuzex on a journey to Hivehom to see the aliens.
2311
The Humans escape captivity on Hivehom and return to CENTAURUS VII, taking Ryo with them.
2312
The Humans and Ryo set up the Project on WillowWane.
2316
The Project is revealed to the general populace.
2320
Transfer of Cetacea to Cachalot is completed.
2340
First treaties between Humans and Thranx are signed.
c2350
Moth is discovered.
2360
First contact is made with Pitar. Terrannorm planet in the Pitar System is colonized.
2365
Destruction of Treetrunk (Argus V) by Pitar occurs. The HumarxPitar War begins.
2367
Humanx teams invent the SCCAM Missile and make major break  throughs in improving the posigravity drive. SCCAM missiles are used in breaking the blockade around the Pitar worlds.
2368
End of the War brings the destruction of the Pitar Homeworlds.
A. A.
A.A. (After Amalgamation)  (NOTE: 0 A.A. corresponds to 2400 A.D.)
0
The Articles of Amalgamation are signed and the Commonwealth is created.
1
Commonwealth Council meets for the first time on Terra.
2
Commonwealth Council meets for the first time on Hivehom.
c10
Commonwealth Science Headquarters is established in Mexico City.
c20
The Universal Church is created, with the Terran island of Bali becoming the Church Headquarters.
c88
Alaspin is discovered.
c95
Horseye is discovered by Terrans.
c99
The Thranx build and inhabit Steamer Station on Horseye.
c100
KrigsvirdtyKalstund founds the Castle of Wannome on the island of Sofold on Trankyky. First contact occurs between the Commonwealth and the Quillp.
106
Eitienne and Lyra Redowl arrive on Horseye, and after five months start their trip up the Skar River where they discover the City of the Dead.
c150
Brisbane, Australia, becomes the capitol of Terra.
c175
The first human settlers arrive on Cachalot. CunsnuC begins developing a mindcontrol polyp.
c300
The Blight is discovered as survey ships do preliminary mapping. RNGC 1632 (Cannachanna) is discovered by a Visarian probe.
c350
Dis is discovered.
c361
Surfing contest on Dis is established.
448
Mother Mastiff is born on Moth.
450
Truzenzuzex is born on WillowWane. The Horde begins taking tribute from Sofold on Trankyky.
470
Knigm Yakus is born.
474
Bran TseMallory is born.
498
Commonwealth Probe discovers a collapsar near the Velvet Dam. Skua September is born. The Meliorate Society is founded on Terra.
c500
Repler System is discovered by Jo-hannes Repler. The AAnn Empire contests the claim and is eventually granted a small concession on Repler III. AAnn attack on the Quillp colony planet of Goodhunting is foiled by a Commonwealth Task Force.
511
Anasage (Flinx's mother) is born on Terra.
515
Trankyky is discovered. Humanx outpost of Brass Monkey is founded on the island of Arsudun. Lord Estes Dominic Rose begins his first drug dealings. Lumpjaw is born on Cachalot.
518
Ethan Frome Fortune is born. Lauren Walder is born on Moth.
c525
Skua and Sawbill September break forever over Sawbill's becoming an emoman. Skua's lover is destroyed by Sawbill's drugs.
527
The Analava System War results in 120 million killed. Skua September may have been involved in the start of the war. Flinx's sister, Teleen, is born.
530
Meliorate Society is broken up: the most "normal" subjects are scattered across the Commonwealth.
532
Kitten Kaisung is born.
533
Phillip Lynx (Flinx) is born. Joao Acorizal wins surfing contest on Dis.
537
Anasage dies. Truzenzuzex and Bran TseMallory begin jointly researching the TarAiym.
538
Skua September attempts to buy Flinx, but fails. Mother Mastiff does buy him. Flinx finds his pet Minidrag, Pip.
540
Mahnahmi is born.
543
Rashalleila Nuaman finances the building of an illegal research station on Midworld.
545
Hyperion Trees on Annubis are destroyed. Station on Midworld is destroyed by natives.
546
Agreement between Nuaman Enterprises and the AAnn Empire results in the building of an illegal station on UlruUjurr. First Janus Jewels are mined and put on the market.
548
Attempted kidnapping of the duKanes fails; lifeboat crashes near Sofold on Trankyky. Planet Booster and the Krang are found by a prospector in the Blight. Isili Hasboga begins prospecting in Mimmisompo on Alaspin; Habib and Pocomchi arrive on the planet. Sawbill September works as anemoman on Thalia Major. Mother Mastiff is kidnapped by the Meliorate Society. Cruachan dies and the final destruction of the Meliorares occurs.
549
Expedition to the Blight investigates the Krang. Flinx discovers its function. The nomadic Horde on Tranky-ky is destroyed.
550
Rashalleila Nuaman dies. Flinx meets Sylzenzuzex. He breaks a Church Edict by traveling to UlruUjurr. He solves the mystery of the Janus Jewels, and discovers his parentage. Ujurrians begin "Game of Civilization." Teleen Rudanuaman is killed. The Slanderscree arrives in Brass Monkey. The duKanes leave Tranky-ky. Ethan Fortune, Skua September, and Milliken Williams leave Brass Monkey to form the Union of Ice.
551
Flinx travels to Alaspin. Habib and Pocomchi die. Expedition to the Cannachanna System in the Blight discovers the Anticollapsar Weapon.
552
Hur'rikku weapon creates a "rainbow star" from the collapsar near the Velvet Dam. Flinx returns to Moth. He meets Knigta Yakus, and accompanies him to a Hallowseye mine in DeadPlaceOnMap.
553
Flinx travels to Alaspin to release the young Minidrags. He rescues Clarity Held and accompanies her to Long tunnel. The Sumacrea are discovered. Flinx decides on his mission in life.
555
AAnn explorers in the Blight discover the Vom and transport it to Repler III. The Vom is destroyed by the TarAiym Guardian and Flinx.
600
Five floating towns on Cachalot are destroyed by whales. An investigation leads to the discovery of the CansnuC.
c1530
Light from the Rainbow Star reaches Midworld.
12,550
Tunnel digging ends on UlruUjurr. The planet shifts to a closer orbit of its sun.
c13,000
Current cold cycle ends; new warm cycle begins on Trankyky.
 
******************************************************
 



MID-FLINX
Alan Dean Foster

Chapter One
     
    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 lowlevel 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 possiblehe was such a genetic anomaly that where his nervous system was concerned, anything was theoretically possiblebut 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 wellproportioned, with his red hair and green eyes he was a pleasantlooking, 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, pleatwinged, 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 energyrich 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, freezedried, and otherwise commercially profitable compacted forms, this bounty found its way packed, labeled, and shipped to less fruitful systems.
    It was a world of wideopen 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 downif 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 KKdrive 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 thirtymeterhigh 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, threequarters 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 landbased 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 dressgray 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 selfchilling 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 selfimportant 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 JackJax ...” 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 JackJax 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 JackJax, whose presence had so thoroughly and effortlessly intimidated the entire dining establishment, sauntered around the table until he was blocking the view. His piercing jetblack 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 JackJax 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 JackJax 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? Warmblooded, toxic reptiloid?"
    Flinx displayed surprise, deliberately flattering the other. "You're very knowledgeable. It's not a wellknown 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 JackJax 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, JackJax 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. Herand 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 nearhomicidal 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.
Chapter Two
     
    "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 needlethin 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 highpitched 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 TanKolenesed 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 righthand 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 culdesacs, or deadended 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 fastpaced 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, hourglassonglobe 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. aweinspiring 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 selfpressing 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, oldfashioned 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 lowkey 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 starealways a good signFlinx 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 wellknown 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 runin 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, JackJax 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 TseMallory and the Eint Trnzenzuzex, but he hadn't seen the philosophersoldiers 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 KKdrive vessel.
    Rising to leave, he found himself hesitating. "Padre, what can you tell me about the nature of evil''"
Chapter Three
     
    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 waveform'? 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 'evilmeter' 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. "II'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 JackJax 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 goodbye. 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 chartsequence 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 spaceminus tight beam to Church science headquarters in Denpasar, on Terra. There it shuttled around in the company of a hundred thousand similar lowkey 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 crosschecking 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 runin with a smalltime 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 followup. 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 lightyears 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, wideopen 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 recordsI'm not a detectivebut 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 indepth interview with our welltraveled 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.
Chapter Four
     
    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 shortcircuit 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, fourperson 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 KKdrive 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 packrat jumble of a domicile on Moth. There were enterprises and individuals specializing in vehicular decor who could have transformed the interior into a spacetraversing palace, but Flinx was reluctant to allow strangers on board his vessel, for all that its singular secret was wellcamouflaged 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 UlruUjurrians 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 matteroffact 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 beltmounted energy weapon and a couple of oldermodel but quite adequate projectile launchers. Not enough to threaten a small peaceforcer, 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, selfelevation 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 groundbased 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 KKdrive vessel nearest to us."
    "The situation is understood, sir." Flinx's chair quivered beneath him.
    Coerlis's voice grated over the wideopen 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 objectseeking 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. KKdrive 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: freeroaming, 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 JackJax 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. Anyplaceanywhere 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 flipflop. In the time it would take Coerlis's vessel to achieve equal velocity, the Teacher would be long gone in the unnatural immensity of spaceplus.
    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.
Chapter Five
     
    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 spaceplus, 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 spaceplus." 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 welldeveloped 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 KKdrive 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. Recordkeeping 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 spaceplus, 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 allpervasive 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 KKdrive 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 growthfree 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 highresolution 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 lifegiving 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 treeclimbing here. How did one scramble up a sevenhundredmetertall 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 UlruUjurr. 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 smoothsurfaced shuttleport, no forgiving tarmac, no landbased controller to offer lastminute 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 doublechecked the Teacher's original observations. The atmosphere was indeed breathable. Combined with the high oxygen content, the slightly less than Tnormal 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 yellowgreen tint to the atmosphere that was compounded by the reflective quality of numerous lowlying 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 partiallydigested 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 wedgeshaped 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 difficulttospot 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 glasstoothed jaws away from his neck felt like sheets of waterfilled 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, sunloving 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 yellowgreen 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, creamcolored 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 gasfilled 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 gasbag 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 allpervasive 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 slowmoving 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 silvergreen, the underside greengold. 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 threeeyed, sixlegged 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 innocentlooking 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, blackspotted 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, triplejointed 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 powderblue 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 silversided vines plunging into the abyss, flashing light from leaf to reflective leaf as they bounced precious sunshine to lighthungry 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 allpervasive 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 twometerlong, 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 meterlongand presumably more formidableanimal, 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, roughedged, 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 ripfastener 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 lightandmotion 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, sharppointed 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.
Chapter Six
     
    The owner was short and stocky. Though it was hanging upside down, it was clearly not a permanent dangler like the sixarmed 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 bluntsnouted head. A pair of pointed ears faced toward him. An upwardcurving 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 upsidedown 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, cilialined 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. "Wellmaybe 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 stimcan.
    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 everincreasing 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!"
    “Threequarters," 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 humanxcolonized 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 isit?"
    “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 razoredged 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 differentcolored hair and eyes and stunted feet who came among us long ago. Butyou 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 shuttlecraftor 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 tiedhere." 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 skydevils 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 Hometree, 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 harmlesslooking blossom was as likely to assassinate as astonish you. It occurred to him that while he had yet to see a large, mobile, treebound predator the furcots exceptedthey 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.
Chapter Seven
     
    "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 outtrack 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, matteroffact.
    "That's when the diverdaunt struck. Jerah almost got awayhe 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, selfcontrol 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 Hometree. 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 allencompassing 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 scenttrail 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 ‘Hometree,’ 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 sleepyeyed sniff. "It is a long way, butyes. 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. Wideeyed with delight, Kiss stared back at the minidrag. Then she threw up her hands to mockshield 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 wouldbe 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 shuttlemy transportationis 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 Hometree." 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 nearsleep.
    "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 Channock."
    "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, allencompassing 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 Hometree 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 nightrain."
    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 threeeyed, sixlegged 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 rustcolored 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 nowdeparted inhabitant.
    Following a wellrehearsed 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 cilialined, three centimeterlong 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, mistimpregnated 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 firescarred 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 movementand 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 almostsleep.
    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 lastminute snack, decided against it. The memory of the ciliafringed 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.
Chapter Eight
     
    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, heavybrowed 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 ovalshaped 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 trucksized 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." JackJax 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 standardissue 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 welloff 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."
Chapter Nine
     
        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, mindnumbing, 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 deepseated 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 timethe 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 thoughtI 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.
Chapter Ten
     
    "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 tenmeter 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 sixlimbed 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 electricblue mashed from the backs of their otherwise duncolored 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 bigeyed 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 bigeyes 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 extralong 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 allpervasive 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 monkeythings just bit the hell out of my right ankle. Little bastard, get away from me!"
    "Youyou 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 bigeyes 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 highenergy 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 monkeythings? I put a shot through each of ‘em. Slimy little“
    "Get ahold of yourself!" Coerlis barked. "What- happened?"
    "It wasn't the bigeyes. 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 wasinside. And one of those bigeyes 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 harmlesslooking, bihgeyed 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, JackJax, 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." Grimfaced, 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 wellorganized 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 thereand 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 bluegreen 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.
Chapter Eleven
    
   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 greenblack 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 ITell. But it is good for a spirit to be near the sun. We will find one of TheyWhoKeep 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 TheyWhoKeep 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 goodsized TheyWhoKeep, but I have seen larger. Besides, TheyWhoKeep are not the biggest trees. That would be a Pillar."
   Flinx looked to right and left, unable to see around the epiphyteinfested 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 vinesofown?" Teal pointed out a knot of flowerstricken 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 Hometree as well?"
   "Of course."
   "You must have a hard time avoiding them."
   She laughed again. "Not at all. Our Hometree 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 thumbnailsized pure milkwhite spheres. As she reached in and pulled one out, he saw that each floating bulb was attached to its parent by a wirethin 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 Hometrees, 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 shedsized 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, Kisssome 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 vineandlianaswathed 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 airconditioning 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 Hometrees 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 meterlong tube of a tongue.
   A bulbous, stubbywinged 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 gasfilled 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 mistladen 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 dirigiblesized 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 toothlined 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 yellowgreen 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 burntout 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 manylegged 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 shutout 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, wideawake 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.
Chapter Twelve
    
"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 nightvision 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?"
   "Uhuh, 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, JackJax. 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 threequarters.
   "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 toobad. 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 faceon, 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 selfadmonitions 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 brownfurred 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.
Chapter Thirteen
    
   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, handwoven 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 matehe 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 Hometree. 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 matteroffactly, 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 Hometree" 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 onetoone 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 yellowgreen 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 meterwide 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 thirtymeter drop between.
   As Flinx looked on, she shinnied up a thighthick 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 sharpedged tone returned. "Don't you know anything?"
   "Very little," Flinx confessed.
   Teal wasn't gone long. She retraced her steps, making the same deathdefying 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 thumbsized 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 sixlegged 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 hightech and determined improvisation. Keeping his fingers clear of the handtooled trigger, Dwell also took charge of a sack of gasfilled 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 handcarved 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 pearshaped, 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 creamcolored tuber on the branch. Saalahan's contribution was a stubbylegged twometer long treedweller 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 redorange 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. Yellowgreen 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 Hometree with its symbiotic vinesof-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, globegirdling forest, matriarch and lifegiver 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 allpervading 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 fardistant 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 twosided 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 wellmeaning 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 realizedif 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 souldestroying 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. Disiwindizzy 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 brillianthued 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 TarAiym weapon was real enough, as was the evil the UlruUjurrians 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 notadream.
   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 sharptoothed climbing carnivore. How could he bring together forces as vast as individual worldminds and the ultimate product of TarAiym 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 lookstrange."
   "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 mayhave to do."
   "Have to do? But why?"
   He looked away, out over the depression in the forest, at the fliers and gliders and brilliantwinged 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 allencompassing forest, she would be as lonely and helpless and sorrowful as a birdof 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 burntout 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 nightblooming 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.
Chapter Fourteen
    
   The morning dawned clear, beautiful, and sultry, as the last of the nightrain 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 halfgrown 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 JackJax 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 itso 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 tenyearolds 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 JackJax 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 flipdown 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?"
   "NNo," she muttered. "JackJax, II'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."
   "RRRight. 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 JackJax 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 wideeyed 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, JackJax? 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. "NNo. 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 wirethin 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 expet. 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.
Chapter Fifteen
    
   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 JackJax 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 statusit 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 UlruUjurr, 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 UlruUjurrians 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 funnylooking? 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 eyetoeye. 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 gripboots that greatly enhanced the wearer's footing without reducing flexibility. A longmuzzled sidearm showed prominently on the wellmade 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 thirddegree 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 tobehoped-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 highpitched 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 myceliumencrusted 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 secondlevel indifference tempered by thirddegree 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 UlruUjurr 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, Lynxsir. 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 KKdrive 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 selfcentered 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 KuritaKinoshita 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 selfdestruct, 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 selfproclaimed 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 allencompassing, 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 welltreated 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 UlruUjurrians 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 longmuzzled sidearm.
   "How if that doesn't persuade me?" Flinx replied tightly.
   "I believe it will. Your humantype 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 secondlevel gratification. "Of course you will. It was inevitable."
   Flinx started forward, only to have the reptiloid block his path.
   "Where are you going, Lynxsir?"
   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.
Chapter Sixteen
    
   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, salmoncolored 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 followup 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 yellowgreen 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 lightningcaused 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 slowmoving 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 deeperthroated 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 foamproducing trees in the immediate vicinity to balloon and release their flameretardant 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 allpervasive 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, Lynxsir." 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 yellowgreen sunlight like iridescent snow as the last of the fireretardant 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, weteyed soldier who was being supported by two companions.
   Caavax responded with a curt gesture indicative of firstdegree 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 Hometree, of course," she replied before Flinx could warn her.
   " `Hometree.' 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 seconddegree 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 liftoff. 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, Lynxsir. 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.
Chapter Seventeen
    
   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 dropoff. 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 nightrain."
   The AAnn noble was unmoved. "They will not melt. Find some leaves or something with which to shield yourselves." His voice was thick with fourthdegree irritation.
   That night there was no rain delay. The instant the last vestige of yellowgreen 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 waterrepellent 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 wideeyed 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, bellshaped blossoms that hung straight down from the underside of a ansized 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 nonetoostable leanto 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 leanto, 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 nightrain. "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 bellshaped 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 greenblack 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 notpersons." 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 notpersons 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 theethical 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 morebut 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 awing 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 hellworld, 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 halfopen 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 nearcorpse 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 halfton 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 blackflowering epiphytes rolled to its feet.
   Moomadeem shook sharply, shaking pools of water from green fur. Then' a paw reached back to flick the bloodsucking 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 wellknown byproduct of the toets' antiagglutination 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 followup 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 quasigrass. 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 razorsharp 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 twentymeter drop beneath her. Thirtysix 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 Hometree."
   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."
 
Chapter Eighteen
    
   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 firstdegree 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 firstdegree guilt over the loss of two comrades, he wasn't about to take responsibility for their demise. Such unwarranted acquiescence would be decidedly unAAnnlike.
   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, softskinned 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 thirddegree 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 thirddegree assent and hissed at his soldiers. With two troopers taking point and two bringing up the rear, the much reducedinstrength 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 wildeyed 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 militarygrade 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 welldirected 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 fourthdegree 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 allout 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 childsized 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 mushroompuffballs 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 brownhaired 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 wideeyed 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 tenyearold 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 thumbnailsized 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 notpersons 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. "Notpersons 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?"
   Notsoinnocent 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 ... ?" Halffamiliar 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 Hometree 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.
Chapter Nineteen
    
   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 sprayon. Serious medical treatment would have to wait until they returned to the shuttle. Wiping at his eyes, the field officer saw that the quickthinking 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 seconddegree salute with suggestions of understanding and a touch of sympathyforposition.
   Caavax was touched. UnAAnnlike 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 firstdegree 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 AAnnfeel 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 allencompassing 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 wellbeing 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 forestattuned 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 UlruUjurrians, 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.
Chapter Twenty
    
   It took several days of hard climbing to reach the Hometree. Flinx followed patiently behind Saalahan and Teal, watching the children and their furcots swing fearlessly across greenfringed 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, smoothbarked 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 Hometree 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 deepseated 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 TheyWhoKeep.
   "It is the Hometree," Teal informed him. "The They-WhoKeep 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 leafeaters.
   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, handhewn planks and thatch, the inhabitants of the Hometree 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. Wideeyed 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 hollowedout 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 floormounted 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 halflit 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 worldforest. 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 illfated 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 starryeyed 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 heatsensing, compact magazine, rapidfiring 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 TseMallory 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 Hometree. 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.
Chapter Twentyone
    
   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 notperson 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 threemeterlong 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 twometertall 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 shushshush 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 flowermusic 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 yellowishblue atmosphere was alive with colorful, drifting shapes. Some soared on thin, membranous wings, others flapped rainbowhued 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 yellowblue 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 allpervasive 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 farfetched 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 needlesharp point, would have been more appropriate on a fisheater.
   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 halfdozen 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 lowfriction 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 iridescentgold 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 lifeanddeath 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, heavyhanded 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 preAmalgamation, 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 worldforest. 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 onlyno 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 selfexplanatory, as is that of most trespassers." The triangular, goldeneyed 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 clickspeech 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 UlruUjurrians, 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 UlruUjurrians 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 spacetime 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 JackJax 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 bluegreen 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 KKdrive 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 Hometree, sir, and I'll show you answers to questions you haven't even thought of. The Hometree 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 Hometree 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."
Chapter Twentytwo
    
   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 Hometree.
        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 Hometree, 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 wideeyed 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 Hometree, 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 Hometree'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 mindswith 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 Hometree.
   A knobby gall grew from the inside of one of the immense growth's subsidiary trunks, forming a flat platform that overlooked a downwardarcing 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 palmsized leaves that were common to the Hometree 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, slipsliding 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 rosehued 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 rolypoly 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 allpervasive 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, andif it existedfor his soul.
   Thousands of lightyears 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. Matterand 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 twentyone 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 gallseat and strode to the top of the slidebranch. 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 TseMallory.
   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.
   

   
Reunion
Alan Dean Foster





CHAPTER
One
  When bad people are chasing you, life is dangerous. When good people are chasing you, life is awkward. But when you are chasing yourself, the most simple facts of existence become disturbing, destabilizing, and a source of unending waking confusion.
  So it was with Flinx, who in searching for the history of himself, found that he was once again treading upon the hallowed, mystic soil of the spherical blue-white womb among the stars that had given birth to his whole species. Only, the soil he was treading presently was being treated by those around him with something other than veneration, and a means of sourcing the information he hoped to uncover was still to be found.
  Tacrica was a beautiful place in which to be discouraged. Sensitive to his frustration, Pip had been acting fidgety for days. An iridescent flutter of pleated pink-and-blue wings and lethal, diamond-backed body, she would rise from his shoulder to dart aimlessly about his head and neck before settling restlessly back down into her customary position of repose. As active as she was colorful, the mature female minidrag was the only thing he was presently wearing.
  His nudity did not excite comment because every one of the other sun and water worshipers strolling or lying about on the seashore was similarly unclothed. In the human beach culture of 554 A.A., the superfluity of wearing clothing into the sea or along its edge had long been recognized. Protective sprays blocked harmful UV rays without damaging the skin, and frivolous, transitory painted highlights decorated bodies both attractive and past their prime. It was these often elaborate anatomical decorations that were the focus of admiring attention, and not the commonplace nakedness that framed them.
  Flinx flaunted no such artificial enhancements, unless one counted the Alaspinian minidrag coiled around his neck and left shoulder. Such contemporary cultural accoutrements were as alien to him as the primeval grains of sand beneath his feet. Culturally as well as historically, he was an utter and complete stranger here. Nor was he comfortable among the throngs of people. With its still unsettled steppes and unexplored reaches. Moth, where he had grown up, was far more familiar to him. He was more at home in the jungles of Alaspin, or among the blind Sumacrea of Longtunnel, or even in the aggressive world-girdling rain forest of Midworld. Anyplace but here. Anywhere but Earth.
  Yet it was to Earth he had finally come for a second time, in search of himself. All roads led to Terra, it was said, and it was as true for him as for anyone else. Beyond Earth, the United Church had placed a moral imperative lock, an elaborate Edict, on all information about the Meliorares, the society of renegade eugenicists responsible for whatever bastard mutation he had become. Travels and adventures elsewhere had left him with hints as to their doings, with fragmentary bits and pieces of knowledge that tantalized without satisfying. If he was ever going to unravel the ultimate secrets of his heritage, it was here.
  Even so, he had been reluctant to come. Not because he was fearful of what he might find: He had long since matured beyond such fears. But because it was dangerous. Not only did he want to learn all the details of his origins: so did others. Because of contacts he had been compelled to make, the United Church was now aware of him as an individual instead of merely as an overlooked statistic in the scientific record. As high-ranking an official as thranx Counselor Second Druvenmaquez had taken a personal interest in the red-haired, bright-eyed young man Flinx had become. The novice beachgoer smiled to himself. He had left the irascible, elderly thranx on Midworld, slipping away quietly when the science counselor had been occupied elsewhere. When he eventually discovered that the singular young human had taken surreptitious flight, the venerable thranx would be irked. He would have to be satisfied with what little he had already learned, because neither his people nor anyone else would be able to track Flinx's ship, the Teacher, through space-plus.
  Ever cautious, Flinx had decided for the moment to hew to the hoary principle that the best place to hide was in plain sight. What better place to do that than on one of the Commonwealth's twin world centers of government and religion, where he had come looking for information years ago? It was where he needed to be anyway, if he was ever going to find out the truth about himself. In addition to his burgeoning curiosity, there had come upon him in the past year a new sense of urgency. With the onset of full adulthood looming over him, he could feel himself changing, in slow and sometimes not-so-subtle ways. Each month, it seemed, brought a new revelation. He could not define all the changes, could not quarantine and assess every one of them, but their periodic nebulosity rendered them no less real. Something was happening to him, inside him. The self he had known since infancy was becoming something else.
  He was scared. With no one to talk to, no one to confide in save a highly empathetic but nonsapient flying snake, he could look only to himself for answers—answers he had always wished for but had never been able to acquire. It was for those reasons he had taken the risk of coming back to Earth. If he was going to find what he needed to know, it lay buried somewhere deep within the immense volume of sheer accumulated knowledge that was one of the homeworld's greatest treasures.
  But if he was home, as every human who came to Earth was supposed to be, then why did he feel so much like an alien? It bothered him now even more than it had when last he had visited here some five years ago.
  He tried to wean himself from the troubling chain of thought. Belaboring the accumulated neuroses of twenty years would solve nothing. He was here on a fact-finding mission; nothing more, nothing less. It was important to focus his attention and efforts, not only in hopes of securing the information he sought, but in order to avoid the attention of the authorities. With the exception of the thranx Druvenmaquez and his underlings, who were specifically looking for him, what other agencies and individuals might also be interested in one Philip Lynx he did not know. It did not matter. Until he left the homeworld, a little healthy paranoia would help to preserve him— but not if he allowed his thoughts to float aimlessly, adrift in a distraught sea of incomplete memories and internal conflicts.
  Of course, he might well secure answers to all the questions that tormented him by the simple expedient of turning himself in. Druvenmaquez or a specialist in some other relevant bureau would gladly take the plunge into the secrets of him. But once committed to such research, he would not be allowed to leave whenever it might please him. Guinea pigs had no bill of rights. Revealing himself might also expose him to the scrutiny of those he wished to avoid—the great trading houses, other private concerns, the possible remnants of certain heretical and outlawed societies, and others. Becoming a potentially profitable lab subject carried with it dangers of its own—a long, healthy, and happy future not necessarily being among them.
  Somehow he had to discover himself by himself, without alerting to his presence the very authorities who might help alleviate his seemingly illimitable anxieties. And he had to do it quickly, before the changes he was experiencing threatened to overwhelm him.
  For one thing, the unpredictable, skull-pounding headaches he had suffered from since childhood—the ones that caused blinding flashes of light behind his eyes—were growing worse, in intensity if not frequency. When and if it occurred, would he be able to tell the difference between a common headache and a cerebral hemorrhage? Would he be able to deal with the physical as well as the mental consequences of the changes he was undergoing? He needed answers to all the old questions about himself, as well as to the new ones, and he needed them soon.
  Of all the billions of humans on all the settled worlds scattered across the vast length and breadth of the Commonwealth, no one could claim that "nobody understands me" with the depth of veracity of a tall young redhead named Philip Lynx, who was called Flinx.
  Before setting his small transfer craft down at the Nazca shuttle-port north of Tacrica, he had spent much time in free space planning his approach to the grand library that was Earth. First he had tried accessing the Shell, the free and omnipresent information network that spanned the globe, from one of the numerous orbiting stations that circled the planet. Unsurprisingly, the small segment he was able to access from orbit had been devoid of all but the most fundamental, freely available birth information on the subject of himself— save for one small historical reference to the destruction of the outlawed Meliorare Society in 530, three years before his birth. That information was already known to him. For what he wanted, for data that was no doubt restricted, banned, or even under Church Edict, he would have to probe much deeper.
  That meant accessing in person one of the intelligence hubs that sustained the Shell. The Commonwealth Church and Science hub on Bali would have been ideal, but presenting himself at a highly visible and tightly secured site that offered only restricted access to the general public would have been asking for trouble—especially since he had entered its corridors once before, seeking information then only on the specifics of his birth. Ignorant of how widely and well his current physical description might have been disseminated to local authorities, it behooved him while conducting his research on Terra to keep as low a profile as possible. That meant avoiding the most famous and closely monitored centers of research.
  Names and faces from his past congealed in the mirror that was his memory. Did a padre named Namoto still roam the depths of Genealogy Sector on Bali? Was Counselor Second Joshua Jiwe still in charge of security there? And where might a certain lissome thranx named Sylzenzuzex be working these days? On the other side of the vast ocean that lapped against his feet, which humans called the Pacific, remembrances lay like driftwood on a beach, waiting to be re-examined. He forced all such thoughts from his mind. He could not afford to present himself at the entrance to Church science headquarters for a second time in five years. Like it or not, whatever research he chose to conduct would have to be done from afar.
  Roaming the Shell from the comparative anonymity of the orbiting station, he had reduced the number of suitable hubs he might safely visit ID three. From centers in the Terran provinces of Kalahari, Kandy. and Cuzco. he chose the Shell huh at Surire. on the western slope of the mountain range called Andes. On-site access to the physical core was naturally off-limits to all but qualified personnel. But as with many such impressive, meaningful facilities, tours of its outer, less sensitive areas were offered to the public. They were deemed educational.
  Wanting ardently to be educated, Flinx had taken one such tour. As expected, internal security, to which the tour guide casually alluded, was conspicuous. To penetrate both the facility and the knowledge it hopefully contained, he would need help. In order to secure it, he for one of the few times in his life prepared to use his talent not simply to receive, but to project. To perceive, and to then act upon those perceptions. Previously, he had done so only to defend himself against those intending to do him harm.
  This time it made him feel, well, dirty.
  It was why he was presently strolling along the beach at Point Argolla, well south of the highly developed mouth of the Garza River, with its amusement park and dedicated hotels that occupied choice sites both above and below the water. Though he was surrounded by hundreds of fellow sun worshipers, he did not feel comforted, or at home. The sooner he left this world of origins for the far reaches of Commonwealth space, the happier he would be. He did not like being here, and he liked what he was having to do even less.
  Off shore, children frolicked in the gentle surf. The chilly waters of the northward sweeping Humboldt Current were warmed by excess heat outflow from the massive desalination plant to the south, but the transitory warmth extended only to a depth of four to five meters. Below this artificial thermocline, the life of the Pacific ebbed and flowed normally. Behind the beach, the fruit and vegetable gardens of the Atacama Desert rapidly gave way to the foothills of the high Andes. Known as Tacrica, the elongated beach resort was one of the least crowded on the continent. It well suited the multitudes that thronged to its shores in search of sun, fun, and sea. Like the rest of Earth, it did not suit Flinx. He had felt no sense of homecoming when he had set foot on its soil. No tears of upwelling, deep-seated feeling had been forthcoming from the redheaded, olive-skinned off-worlder. To him the Earth was nothing but a spherical clump of history circling a third-rate sun. From it he wanted answers, not spurious emotion. That much he had learned in the course of his previous, awkward visit.
  Elena had told him where he could expect to find her. He perceived her before he saw her. The carefully memorized nodule of individual feminine emotions was as recognizable to his talent as the odor of day-old meat to a dog: tincture of mildly infatuated young woman. She had become interested in him not because he represented the partner she had been looking for all her life, not because he was some peerless paragon of manly virtues, but because he had projected those feelings onto her, mixing and applying them as precisely as an artist would lay paint on canvas.
  Flinx was an empathetic telepath. When his inconsistent abilities were functioning, he had always been able to read the emotions of others. Within the past year he had discovered that his ever-mutating, apparently blossoming talent, while still only hardly less erratic than ever, could occasionally also be projected onto others. Using equipment on board his ship Teacher, he had even managed to measure the minuscule electrical discharges that were generated by specific moieties of his mind when he undertook such efforts. Understanding the actual neurophysical mechanism would require a great deal more study, as well as expertise he did not possess. One thing was not in dispute: It took considerable effort of will, of mental strain, for him to accomplish the feat.
  At first it had been nothing more than a diversion, a game, a way to play with his disorienting intellect. Until recently, when he had been forced to use it to defend himself, it had not occurred to him that it might prove useful in other ways. And there was, as ever with his peculiar and still-undefined abilities, a good chance it would not work when he wanted it to. His talent had a wicked way of abandoning him just when he needed it most.
  Such concerns had consumed him in the course of the tour of the Shell hub at Surire. In addition to viewing various aspects of the facility, the contented knot of tourists to which he had attached himself had been introduced to individual personnel at various stops along the tour. Maintenance, engineering, cryonics design, communications, cygenics—representatives of each department had paused in their daily duties to speak briefly to the members of the tour on the nature of their respective specialties.
  Security had not been omitted.
  In her spotless black-and-yellow uniform, Elena Carolles had methodically and without revealing sensitive detail explained the basics of the installation's security system to her attentive, transient guests. When she had finished, the visitors were allowed several moments to inspect for themselves a sealed room located beyond the nearest transparent immunity wall. Flinx did not avail himself of the opportunity. Instead, with deliberation and a sense of purpose that were as alien to his personality as he was to his present surroundings, he had wandered away from the chattering tour guide and over to their host for that domain. To her credit, she had not flinched away from the pet minidrag dozing on his shoulder. Instead, she had eyed them both with polite indifference. Her mind had been elsewhere, and it had been closed to him.
  But her emotions had not been.
  She was only a few years older than he and was vulnerable, mildly insecure, and like many women her age, searching. Not for her inner self as much as for someone to complement her existence. He'd been able to feel it. Whether there already was someone in her life he did not know and had not been able to tell. He hoped not. It would complicate matters. Soaking up her feelings, he had categorized them each and every one, sorting them like cards. When he had felt he knew as much as there was to know about her emotional makeup, when he had been reasonably certain he knew where the buttons were and how to push them, he had extended himself in an effort of empathy to a degree he had never attempted before. It had made his head hurt, but he had persisted.
  On his shoulder, Pip had suddenly looked up. The lethal little iridescent green head had begun to weave imperceptibly back and forth. Responding to the effort being put forth by her friend and companion, the minidrag's own mind had opened. Having few and simple emotions of its own, the unique and uncomplicated organ acted as a lens for Flinx's talent. She could enhance his ability to perceive. He had learned then that she could also heighten his capacity to project something less blatant than fear.
  The security officer had blinked. A look of uncertainty tinged with surprise had palpated her face. Her expression had noticeably altered; she had stood as if struck by a sudden thought—or something else. A moment had passed before she turned to find a slim, green-eyed young man staring back at her. Flinx had smiled with just the proper degree of hesitancy. Though he had never enjoyed anything like a long-term relationship with any female except his adoptive parent Mother Mastiff, he had spent time in close contact with women—and other aliens. Lauren Walder, for example. Atha Moon, Isili Hasboga, Clarity Held—he dragged his thoughts back to the moment and away from entangling, fuzzy reminiscences. The officer's expression creased with invitation.
  As the tour moved on, he had held back. Though his dawdling violated accepted procedure, the woman had not objected to his lingering presence. Her name, he had learned, was Elena Carolles. Each time he had spoken, his words had been accompanied by a subtle emotional push, conveyed through a carefully calculated mental pulse. Each time she had responded, a part of him had absorbed what she was feeling much as his ears took in what she was saying. It was an awkward seduction made harder by the dispatch with which it had to be carried out and by the fact that he had hated what he was doing. Not long ago, he had been compelled to project overwhelming terror in order to secure his freedom. What he had attempted with the security officer required greater subtlety applied with moderating force, lest he overwhelm his subject.
  He had not tried to persuade her right then and there to allow him access to sensitive, security-controlled sections of the facility. The queries he needed to make were not yet thought out, and such haste would have caused the mentally swooning woman to react with dangerous instability. Besides, the guide for his tour would certainly have missed him the next time the man conducted a head count of his charges. It was enough that a relationship had been established and that she had agreed to meet him elsewhere and else-when. He had made careful note of the directions she gave him.
  Now he fought to recall every potentially useful detail of their initial meeting as he swerved away from the water and walked toward the artfully orchestrated pile of boulders she had described to him in the course of their first contact. He experienced a moment or two of unease as he searched among the beach crowd without locating her face. Then he saw her, seated beneath a polarizing sunshade. He had not recognized her right away with her clothes off. Annoyingly, she was not alone.
  The other woman appeared to be approximately the same age, perhaps a year or two older. Neither was unpleasant to look upon, but Flinx had not extended himself on her behalf in search of sex. What he wanted from her was an entree to information.
  "Philip!" Espying him, Carolles sat up and smiled. "Arlette, this is my new friend, Philip Lynx."
  The other woman regarded the unclothed young man standing before her with a critical eye. Sensing hostility beneath her neutral expression, Flinx summoned up feelings of inoffensiveness, safety, and goodwill, and strained to project them onto her. For a worrisome moment he feared his wandering talent had taken the morning off. Then the woman smiled. It was a confused smile, as if its owner was uncertain of its origins, but it would do.
  Taking a seat beside them, he let Carolles chatter on, making small talk while striving to convince the woman who was apparently her best friend of this new-won male's virtues. Though these were more imagined than factual, he did nothing to dissuade her from accepting them whole and entire. Pip stirred infrequently on his shoulder, luxuriating in the heat. Beyond the surf, all manner of recreational watercraft hummed silently as their owners raced them in intricate patterns.
  Occasionally he would inject a few words into the conversation. These were always pleasant and innocuous, just enough to feign interest in what was being said and indicate that he was paying attention. Inside, he chafed at the need to muddle through such preliminaries. They were necessary, he knew, if only to persuade the security officer's friend of his benign intentions. Over the course of several hours this was accomplished through a combination of reassuring words from Carolles and a subtle empathetic push or two from the young man seated by her side. When the friend inquired as to his profession, he responded that he was a student living on a comfortable inheritance.
  They went for a swim. They bought food from a passing, hovering robotic vendor. They discussed Commonwealth politics, about which Flinx cared little, and Church ethics, which interested him a little more. There was mention of travel, all of it Earth-bound, and he had to smile when they complained about the time and distances involved in getting from one place to another. His own voyaging he was used to measuring in parsecs, not kilometers.
  It was a pleasant enough way to waste away a day, but his impatience prevented him from really enjoying the company of the two attractive young women. When Carolles's friend Arlette decided to go for a solar sail up the beach, Flinx was left alone with the security officer. It was time to make his move—one different from that which would in similar circumstances have been contemplated by any other male on the long, curving stretch of sand.
  Idly, he picked at the grains, letting stars of mica and quartz trickle away between his fingers. "You must really like your job, Elena."
  Lying on her back, she adjusted the sunscreen to let in more light and sky while continuing to filter out damaging rays. "It's a job. It's okay, I guess."
  "A lot of responsibility." Slithering down his arm, Pip sampled the sand with her pointed tongue and flinched back sharply from its inedibility.
  "Not so much," she disagreed. "We've never had any trouble at the facility. It's too out of the way. Anyway, sabotage and rebellion hasn't been in fashion for quite a while." Rolling over, she smiled affectionately up at him. Knowing that the source of the emotion she was projecting was involuntary, he felt the sudden need of absolution.
  Grimly, he pressed on, a forced smile dominating his expression. "Well, I found it very interesting. The only problem is, I'd really like to see more. The public tour only hints at what lies beyond." Glancing up the beach, he was pleased to see that there was no sign of her friend.
  "You're that interested in the mechanics of Shell administration?"
  "I'm interested in everything," he told her truthfully. "It would mean a lot to me to be able to go inside, even if just for an hour or so."
  Her smile flickered unsteadily. Sensing conflict boiling up within her, he exerted himself to suppress it. Pip twitched slightly. Elena's smile returned, though there were some signs of strain in her expression.
  "I can't do that. You know I can't do that, Philip. It could mean my job."
  His smile widened. "Aw, c'mon, Elena. I just want to have a little look around, see what you see. Access the Shell directly instead of from a remote for a few minutes. I'd be able to tell my grandkids about it. I won't touch anything sensitive," he lied flagrantly. He made himself edge nearer to her, bringing his face down toward hers. The dark eyes, the small mouth beneath him were close, vulnerable. Hating himself, he kissed her. Simultaneously, reading her like an open diary, he projected into her that which she most wanted to feel. What emotional defenses she still maintained collapsed beneath his effort. The back of his head throbbed mercilessly. He wanted to leave then, to stagger off to someplace private and dark, and retch.
  Still smiling, he drew back from her. She was adrift in the throes of feelings she did not understand. That made sense, since they were not entirely hers.
  "You can do it, Elena," he whispered tenderly. "It's such a little thing, and I promise I'll never ask it of you again." That much, at least, was true. "You can do it—for me."
  Panting, her eyes half closed in false reverie, lids fluttering, she considered his request. "It might be possible—won't be easy." Her eyes flicked open. "I know! No one is allowed to wear security gear home, or even off hub grounds. We change in a locker room on site. If I can slip you in there, we can find you a uniform. There are always personnel changes, and transfers within the complex. It's much too big a place for every employee to know everyone else, even within individual departments. Over a period of days you'd be found out, but for a couple of hours— " She choked abruptly, one hand going to her bare throat.
  Alarmed, he reached for her. "Elena! Are you all right?"
  She swallowed hard several times in succession. "I think so. I guess so." Uncertainty returned to her smile, pulling at it like a bend in a high-speed thrill ride. "I just had the strangest feeling." The smile widened. "It's gone now."
  It wasn't, Flinx knew, but it had been curbed. "I'd like to do it as soon as possible."
  "Why the rush?" She gazed up at him out of limpid, dazed eyes.
  "I don't want to give you time to change your mind." Reaching up, he stroked Pip's muscular length, and the minidrag all but purred. "Who knows? Next week you might not like me as much."
  "Philip, you're different from anyone I've ever met." Wandering toward him, her fingers twined in his. "I can't imagine ever not liking you."
  That's funny, he thought silently. I can.
CHAPTER
Two
  She found room for him on an afternoon tour, but did not include him in the official count. Near the end, before the usual group of attentive seniors and noisy families and the occasional solo visitor were to be discharged, there came a moment when everyone's attention was diverted. Waiting impatiently while a door scanner read her retinas, she hurriedly slipped him through the resultant opening. No alarms sounded. As long as an on-duty officer accompanied them, guests from specialist repair technicians to visiting politicians regularly made use of such portals.
  While Elena made her concluding presentation and individual farewells to the other members of the tour group, Flinx found himself in the empty locker room, checking idents on each individual cubicle until he found the one she had specified. Entering the unsecured module, he found himself surrounded by items that identified it as hers. Electrostatically suspended in a corner was a tenantless security officer's uniform. As he slipped into the one-piece garment he found himself wondering how she had acquired it. Borrowed it without asking, she had whispered naughtily to him, without going into details.
  These did not really matter. He was inside. Idly examining the other items within the cubicle, he tried not to watch the time as he waited for her. Beneath the upper part of the uniform, Pip stirred against his shoulder. She sensed his nervousness, and he had to repeatedly murmur soothing whispers to quiet her.
  After what seemed like an interminable wait but in reality was no more than a few minutes, Elena reappeared and beckoned for him to follow. Exiting the locker room via a different portal, he soon found himself within the heart of the Surire hub.
  "Remember," she whispered to him, "if anyone challenges us, leave the talking to me. If someone addresses you directly, tell them that you're a transfer from Fourth Sector. There've been a lot of personnel changes there recently."
  He nodded, only half hearing her. The greater part of his attention was devoted to the facilities they were passing, from small privacy-screened offices to larger chambers occupied by busy, silent technicians wearing identical absorbed expressions. Occasionally they would encounter another security officer. Elena would invariably smile at them, or wave in their direction. Once, she saluted. But no one challenged them.
  They were now deep inside the ring of bone-dry, barren, ash-brown peaks that surrounded the flamingo-infested, alpaca-browsed salt lake that gave its name to the installation they were roaming. Outside, the sky was a painfully bright blue. Located five thousand meters above the not-very-distant, crowded beaches below, the Surire hub might as well have been on the moon. No towns congested its borders, no major transport venues meandered close to its high valley. It flaunted the exceptional isolation that was the hallmark of every one of its sibling facilities scattered around the planet.
  Scanning their surroundings, she directed him quickly into an unoccupied office. In response to her softly murmured code string, the cubicle promptly erected a privacy screen, cutting them off both visually and aurally from the rest of the installation. Gathering unease showed in her face and he hastened to calm her.
  "There you go." She indicated an empty chair. "Hurry up. I checked the work schedule last night, and this office is supposed to be unoccupied for another week. The tech who uses it is on vacation. No one has registered to use it in her absence, but you never can tell."
  "I won't be long." He sounded hopeful as he settled himself into the chair. Slipping the induction band over his red hair, he glanced back at her. "I'm ready."
  She nodded, the curtness of the gesture surprising her, and recited a string of verbal commands. Flinx felt the familiar slight warmth at the top and back of his head as the band read his E-pattern and established the requisite neural connection between himself and the station. On board the Teacher, he preferred to speak directly to the resident AI instead of using a wave band because he enjoyed hearing the sound of another voice besides his own. Here, verbal commands could be bypassed in favor of more direct neurological connections. In addition, he wanted to keep the exact nature of his inquiries concealed from his companion.
  At his request, the planetwide citizens' Shell opened up before him. At the same time, he was well aware that the unit he was utilizing, while personally secure, was not coded exclusively to one user. If that were the case, others would not be able to make use of the office. The station was, after all, "only a small component of a much greater machine. He did not expect to be able to peruse actual spools with the same degree of ease.
  Behind him, Elena Carolles was struggling to suppress a growing alarm—and uncertainty.
  "Hurry up, Philip."
  He replied without looking back at her, concentrating on burrowing deeper into the Shell. "I thought you said this office wasn't scheduled for use."
  "I know, I did." He could sense her undergoing the mental equivalent of a wringing of hands. "But you never know when someone might come along to run a service check, or just call in." She was looking around nervously. "This is crazy, Philip. The penalties for unauthorized use of restricted hub facilities are severe. How did I ever let you talk me into this? What do you want here, anyway? Come to think of it, I don't really know you, do I? It's only been a couple of days since we even met, and I…"
  Alerted to her companion's rising concern, Pip poked her head out from beneath the collar of his borrowed uniform. Turning in the chair, a compassionate Flinx regarded his suddenly apprehensive hostess. Tired. It had been a strenuous morning, a wearisome week. She was so tired. Or so he persuaded her, projecting an irresistible lassitude that overrode anything and everything else she might be feeling. When she leaned back against the wall of the office, and then slid down its unyielding length, and finally slumped over onto her side, he rose from the operator's chair to gently place a couple of seat pads beneath her head. Her emotional exhaustion reinforced through his exertions, she would sleep soundly for a while. By that time he hoped to be done with his search. Afterward, he need only maintain his empathic hold on her until they were safely out of the facility and back down among the swirling vacation crowds of Tacrica. Leaving her on a familiar street corner dazed and bewildered but otherwise unhurt, he would quietly vanish from her life forever.
  That was for tonight. Presently, he had work to do.
  She had already entered the necessary keywords. Entry had been parsed. Nothing more was required of him. Given the amount of security outside the cubicle, that was not surprising. Relevant authority had chosen to put its energies into screening out the unwanted and unauthorized before they could ever reach the interior of the hub. Having done so, it had been decided that there was no need to lavish on excessive redundancy within. Still, he was wary of overconfidence. So far he had only accessed hardware. The real test would come when he attempted to probe beyond levels that were open and accessible to the general public.
  Automatically adjusting to the appropriate thought impulses from the human seated before it, the terminal imaged a flat page in the weft space above the desk projector. As required, this device could wrap space to produce any three-dimensional object required, from simple spheres and squares to complex maps and elaborate engineering diagrams. No such exotics were required by Flinx. In reply to his thoughts he hoped only for responsive words.
  A glance backward showed that Elena Carolles was snoring softly. Directing the unit to respond verbally to specific commands, he double-checked the office's privacy curtain to make certain it was intact. With a flip of a mental switch, he could see out whenever he wished, but none of those striding past the cubicle could see in. Finding the unceasing procession of others a distraction, he directed the unit to opaque the curtain from within as well as without. Not a sound would escape the confines of the cubicle until he ordered it dropped. *»
  Thus comfortably cocooned, he settled back in the chair, the induction band resting easily on his head, and started digging.
  He began with a casual search of global news for 533: the year of his birth. Needless to say, his coming into the world had not been front-page news. A narrowing of focus to the Indian subcontinent yielded little except what he already knew from previous inquiries. Most of the headlines for the week when he had been born were full of news about the legendary Joao Acorizal winning the surfing competition on Dis. Having not expected to encounter anything startling, he was not prematurely disappointed. What he was trying to do was back into the information he sought without coming upon it directly, just in case any alarms were attached to specific files. A rambling, semirandom search was much less likely to attract unwanted attention.
  The basic birth records for Allahabad were there, just as they had been when he had accessed them years earlier on Bali. But he was after other data this time, information dealing with a far more sensitive subject. From 533 he skipped unobtrusively backward to 530, spiraling in on his subject like a raven dropping down on road-kill. And there they were: several small articles on the discovery and subsequent exposure of the Meliorare Society and its illegal, outrageous work in eugenics. As he devoured the details of the Society's unmasking, the arrest of its members, and the removal of their unwitting "experiments" to an assortment of homes, hospitals, and medical laboratories, he felt as if he were sitting in witness to his own creation.
  Some of the information was known to him. Some was new. During his previous visit to Earth he had researched only his birth history, knowing nothing then about the Meliorare Society, its experiments and misshapen aims, and how they related to him. When he came across the uncensored details of the euthanasia that the authorities had been compelled to carry out on the Society's least successful "procedures," his spine went cold and Pip stirred uneasily. In addition to the cool, detached prose of the report there were accompanying visuals: disturbing images, of twisted bodies housing tormented minds. Forcing himself, he deliberately enlarged the most grotesque. Out of eyes overflowing with anguished innocence, fear and terror and uncomprehending madness spilled forth in profusion unbounded. He forced himself to look at them, to not turn away. Any one of them, he knew, might be relations; distant genetic cousins hideously deformed through no fault of their own.
  For the most severe cases there was no future save a quick and mercifully painless death. For those deemed sufficiently undamaged, the government provided new identities and lives. These nominally healthy survivors were scattered across the Commonwealth so that any lingering, undetected genetic time bombs implanted in their DNA by the Society would be dispersed among the species as widely as possible. Even those considered normal would be subject to scrutiny by the authorities for the rest of their natural lives.
  Eventually, it was solemnly intoned in one article, all would die out, and the potentially injurious effects of the Meliorares' nefarious gengineering would pass harmlessly into history.
  Except—at least one participant in the Meliorares' work had escaped the attention of the pursuing authorities long enough to give birth. Her history and that of her offspring had thus far escaped the notice of the otherwise relentlessly efficient monitors. Somehow evading their attention, raised on the backward colony world of Moth by a kindly old woman with no children of her own, he had matured unobserved by Commonwealth science. Now he stood on the brink of adulthood, gazing back at what little scraps he could scrape together of his personal history. Conceived in a laboratory he might have been, but he still had parents. The egg had belonged to a live woman named Ruud Anasage, the sperm to an unknown man, even if the ingredients had subsequently been stirred and shaken and diced and spliced by the well-meaning but wildly eclectic Meliorares. He wanted to know everything about them, especially the still unknown sperm donor—his father. And he wanted to know the specifics, insofar as they might be possible to know, of his own individual case and what the Meliorares had hoped to achieve by manipulating the innermost secrets of his fetal DNA. Possessing only hints, he sought certainty.
  He probed further, combining keywords from the reports with what he already knew. This was dangerous. If there were alarms posted on such information, cross-correlating might well trigger them.
  Tunneling deeper into the most detailed of the correspondence, he found himself searching actual original source material. That led him from the media siever that had compiled the report to central Commonwealth science repositories on Bali and in Mexico City. Newly emergent warnings were followed by implacable lockouts. Utilizing skills sharpened from months of working with the sophisticated system on board the Teacher, he bypassed them all. Disappointingly, much of the material he ultimately scanned was useless, or repetitive. So far, he was tempting grave danger for very little reward.
  One file was disarmingly demarcated "Meliorares, Eugenics, History." It appeared to contain material already perused, but it remained sealed under the by now familiar heavy security. He fiddled, and tweaked, and wormed his way in. As expected, he found himself scanning well-known information, dry and indifferently transcribed. Public sybfiles and footnotes of equal content mentioning his birth mother's name—nothing new, nothing revelatory. Among his hopes, boredom proposed to frustration: a terminal matrimony. Perhaps he really had seen everything there was to see about his personal history during his previous visit to Earth and to the science center on Bali.
  He drifted into a sybfile labeled "Relationships, Crossovers,Charts." Cruising effortlessly, he gave a mental push. Nothing happened. The syb stayed shut even though its security overlay seemed unexceptional. But he could not get in. Then something very interesting happened.
  It went away.
  Sitting up straighter in the chair, he gaped at the screen. All the rest of the relevant information was there—unchanged, unaltered, freely available for his perusal. But the last sybfile had vanished. In its place, not unlike a masticating ruminant, it had left a pile of something behind, and moved on. To the inexperienced or unsophisticated, the new object looked just like the syb it had replaced. Flinx, however, knew exactly what it was: an alarm.
  A whole bunch of alarms.
  Very, very carefully, operating with the utmost delicacy of which he was capable, he directed the search unit to back off. The alarms remained in place, subtle in stature, undisturbed, their true nature artfully disguised. He had trod on something sensitive, and it had responded with a quiet growl. As he maneuvered around the lambent little land mine, playing the Shell like a finely tuned instrument, he examined the intricate knot of toxic tocsins with every scanning tool at his disposal. The appearance of the camouflaged alarms did not unsettle him half so much as the disappearance of the syb. Only when he felt more comfortable with what he was seeing, and in control, did he take the risk of querying the Shell AI directly as to what had happened. Its reply was instructive.
  "What sybfile?"
  The Shell's memory was infallible. Therefore it was deliberately ignoring his query, or following instructions to avoid making a direct reply to the question, or an independent component of itself was overriding the nuclear command structure. He had stumbled onto something that somebody thought important enough to pretend did not exist.
  Settling himself, Flinx ran through a series of thought commands designed to restore the syb while avoiding the elegant subset of alarms that had taken its place. When that failed, he exited the system, reentered, and repeated his search, replicating the tunneling sequence precisely. It made no difference. The sybrile never reappeared, and the camouflaged alarms reasserted themselves in its place. Bringing up the subject had shut down access to the information it contained, for how long he did not know. It might reappear in a matter of hours, or days, or not for months. It didn't matter. He had none of those time periods to spare. His operational time frame was being ticked off by the soft snores of the woman sleeping on the floor behind him. If he was ever going to have the opportunity to access that particular sybfile again, it was now.
  But how? No matter what route he plumbed, no matter how artful his probing, every attempt led only to the cloaked clump of alarms that he dared not make contact with directly. And the AI continued to insist that the information he sought did not exist. Or at least, the relevant Shell search module so insisted. Could he appeal to the central AI itself? Would that set off any alerts, or would he simply be denied access? Behind him, Elena Carolles shifted in her sleep. Whatever he did, it would have to be done quickly.
  Over the past half dozen centuries, artificial intelligences had grown remarkably sophisticated. Like any other intelligence, they varied considerably in capacity, from tiny devices that monitored domestic needs to immense networks of intricately modulated electronic pulses that came close to mimicking the function of the human or thranx brain. Of necessity, a global shell ranked near the top of the intelligence pyramid in depth and functionality. Approaching it with logic and engineering skill had produced only frustration. Might there be another way?
  A truly advanced AI, like the Shell, was built to comprehend and cope with human emotions as a natural and expected consequence of the billions of queries it had to deal with daily. Like thoughts, these feelings were conveyed via the transducer circuitry packed into the headband resting on Flinx's skull. When his talent was functioning optimally, he could read the emotions of others from a goodly distance.
  There had been a time in his recent past when he had "communicated" on an unknown level with another incredibly complex machine. That device had been of alien manufacture. He remembered very little of the encounter and still less of the inscrutable neuronic interchange that had taken place. However it had been accomplished, the mental reciprocation had saved his life and those of his companions of the moment. Whether an advanced human-fabricated AI was capable of similar cerebral intercourse or of generating anything akin to "emotions" was a question that had been much debated, particularly in light of thranx-aided design advances that had been made in the last hundred years. Some cyberneticists said yes, others were vehement in their denial, and still others were not certain one way or the other.
  One way to find out was to ask, and try to read behind the verbalizations that responded to his inquiry.
  "I really need that particular sybfile," he murmured lucidly as he provided the relevant loci of the object in question.
  The Shell responded with a polite verbalization. "The informational object to which you refer does not exist."
  He repeated the query several dozen times. By the thirtieth, he thought he might be sensing something beyond the rote response. What was that there, elusive among the sounds? Something in his mind. His thoughts were sharp, his talent svelte and penetrating as a blade. Resolutely, he ignored the pounding that had begun at the back of his head and the occasional flash of bright light that obscured his vision.
  "I know the syb exists. I saw it, briefly, unopened. I know it's there, somewhere beyond the alarm cluster that has taken its place. You have to help me. I know that you can. You just have to want to."
  "The sybfile to which you refer…" The artificial voice halted prior to conclusion. Flinx held his breath. "The sybfile to which…" the voice in the shielded office began again, only to once more terminate prematurely.
  "Please," Flinx pleaded. "You know the syb I want is there. There's no reason not to show it to me. You can't pretend it doesn't exist when I've already seen it. Bring it back. I won't keep it long. I promise. No harm will come to the system. It's only one little, tiny, harmless syb. Comply. Do what you were designed to do. I'm a citizen, desperately seeking. Help me."
  "The sybfile…" the voice of the Shell began again. Suddenly, Flinx felt something in his head that was not a preverbalization. Thoughts could roil, and so could emotions. Staring at the floating screen, he strained to project, straining harder with his ability than he ever had with Elena Carolles. The pounding advanced from the rear of his skull to the median. Pain shot through him, and he winced. Alarmed, Pip stuck her head out from beneath his shirt and searched for a danger that existed only within her rangy companion. Her small, bright eyes were twitching.
  "This is an unauthorized override of system procedure." Within the chair, Flinx hardly dared move. "I am required to generate a record, citizen. The sybfile in question is restricted. Anything beyond its name lies under Church Edict."
  Flinx exhaled. It was a warning sufficient to frighten away most.
  but not him. He had violated Church Edict before, and successfully. What was more important was that he had wormed a first, critical byte of knowledge out of the Shell.
  "Then you concede the existence of the sybfile. This contradicts your previous—" He checked a marker. "—thirty-two statements delivered in response to the same question."
  "I am required to generate a record." The AI paused, neither volunteering any additional information nor denying its interrogator's conclusion.
  When would that record draw the attention of those responsible for supervising the accuracy and operational functionality of the Shell? Flinx wondered. His circumscribed time was growing shorter.
  "Show me the syb in question. The original, not the alarmic. Show it to me now. Please," he added after a moment's thought.
  "I cannot. The sybfile requested is under Edict. You do not show appropriate clearance for access."
  Quickly, Flinx composed a response. "But you know that I have to view it. You're sensitive enough to tell that, aren't you?" Once again, fighting back tears that the pain in his head squeezed from his eyes, he fought to make the AI understand the depth of his request. To see his need. To empathize.
  "I will have to generate a report," the voice of the Shell declared uncertainly.
  "That's fine. Generate all the reports you want. Let someone in authority read and rule on its contents. But / need to see the contents of that file, and I need to see them right now, here, this minute. Please, please, bring it up. I know that you understand."
  Something flowed through Flinx that he did not comprehend. This was understandable, because it was highly probable that no one else had ever felt anything quite like it before. If it was whatever passed for cybernetic empathy, he could not have identified it as such. It came and went in a twinkling, and then was gone.
  In its place was one more syb identifier among hundreds, alive within the depths of the floating screen. There was no mistaking its identity. As near as he could tell, no twitchy alarms parasitized its boundaries. It was exactly as he had seen it originally, unaugmented and unchanged. Supporting his pounding head with one hand while wiping tears from his eyes with the back of the other, a quietly triumphant Flinx tersely directed his thoughts at the bright green tiara of an induction band that crowned his head.
  "Open it."
  The tiny image brightened; a minuscule flare of activation. The hovering screen flickered infinitesimally. And went blank. Part of Flinx sagged while the rest of him surged with anger. So close.
  "What's this? What happened? I told you to open the sybfile."
  The reply of the Shell AI was as prompt as it was incomprehensible. "As you requested, the Edicted informational object in question has been opened."
  A bewildered Flinx tried to make sense of this response. Easy… careful, he told himself. The AI was not being obstinate, nor had it hesitated. Could it lie so serenely and effectively? But why bother to do so, when it could simply have continued to deny the existence of the sybfile, or at the last, refused to open it?
  "The syb is open?"
  "That is correct. I am required to generate a report." Evincing neither hostility nor reluctance, the Shell waited patiently for further instruction.
  Perhaps there was nothing insidious going on here, Flinx decided. Maybe the AI was being straightforward as well as truthful.
  "The syb appears to contain no information," Flinx remarked.
  "That is not true. Do you wish me to conduct a search of contents?"
  Flinx knew the AI would not look at the interior of the file unless instructed to do so. It was not interested. Its task was to search and find, not waste time perusing. "I do."
  "Here is the information."
  Flinx leaned forward eagerly. The pain in his head was receding slightly. He read:
  CONTENTS REMOVED—OUTDATED MATERIAL
  He took a deep breath. Something here was very, very wrong. First the Shell had found and brought forth the sybfile. When Flinx tried to access its contents, it vanished, to be replaced by a sophisticated alarm manifold and a stinging warning to avoid the site altogether. Now that he had succeeded in accessing it, he found it contained nothing more than a simple declaration of truancy.
  Why maintain such an elaborate system of dissimulation, threat, and protection to guard material that was no longer worth maintaining? It made no sense. Given the virtually unlimited storage capacity of the global Shell, why delete any potentially useful material from anywhere? And Flinx had no doubt the recalcitrant syb contained potentially interesting material.
  "Full fragment search," he ordered.
  The AI complied. "The sybfile contains no more information."
  "But it once did!"
  "That is so. The additional material has been deleted."
  Though he thought it bound to trigger an alarm, Flinx pressed ahead. There was no point in trying to sustain the illusion of discretion any longer. "When, and on whose authority?"
  "You do not possess sufficient clearance to have access to that information."
  As he persisted, Flinx wondered what would happen first: Would he finally get some answers, or would his head explode from the effort of the exertion? Once more, he implored the AI. The pause that ensued was too long, and he debated whether it was, at last, time to flee the facility.
  "Something is not right. There are errors within the fragmentary operational matrix of this sybfile."
  Flinx sat up a little straighten "Pursue and investigate. What sort of errors?"
  "I am processing." In order to better communicate with humans and thranx, the Shell AI was designed to mimic as well as comprehend emotions. It managed to give a good impersonation of confusion. Or perhaps, Flinx thought, mimicry had nothing to do with it.
  "There are a number of alarms functioning as placeholders. I am disarming them." Another pause, then, "This is most distressing."
  "What? What's distressing?" Behind Flinx, the somnolent security officer snuffled in her sleep. "The alarms?"
  "No. I have progressed several levels beyond their sensitivity. As previously stated, the sybfile in question has been deleted—but the echo of the procedure strongly suggests that the transfer string that was employed is counterfeit."
  Eyes half shut, Flinx frowned at the screen. "I don't understand."
  "The removal was not carried out by an authorized government agency. Residue within the syb ghost suggests the utilization of a renegade probe."
  Flinx's heart sank. "Then the information was destroyed."
  "No. Transferred. The syb was removed, leaving only an echo behind. This is highly illegal. I must generate a report."
  "Yes, yes," Flinx commented hurriedly, "but first—can you trace the transfer? Can you find out where the information originally contained in the syb was sent?"
  "The echo has been very skillfully fabricated. Anyone attempting to access the sybfile would be fooled into believing that a legal transfer had taken place, or would activate the replacement alarms."
  "But not you," Flinx observed.
  "I am the Monitor. I am the Terran Shell. Counterfeits do not escape me. 1 shall examine the residue."
  Flinx was left to ponder furiously. Who would want access to the kind of information the syb under investigation was likely to contain? And if these persons unknown had succeeded in accessing it successfully, why go to the trouble of removing it from the Shell? The fact that it was under Edict should be enough to discourage anyone else from tampering with the structure of the sybfile itself. Yet someone had gone to the trouble not only of circumventing the powerful prohibitions against accessing, but of removing the information and leaving alarms in its stead. Who would do such a thing? Who had the need, the desire, and the resources?
  The Meliorares? But the last of them had been selectively mind-wiped long ago. Their disgraced organization was but a memory, their intentions dishonored, their members scattered. Had the authorities missed unregistered disciples who were even now wandering about the Commonwealth, intent on resurrecting that long quiescent, notorious research? Who else would go to such trouble?
  "There is a trail. It is very faint," the AI declared.
  "Can you trace it?" Flinx felt his hopes evaporating in the intangibility of cyberspace.
  "Not only faint," the Shell AI continued as if it had not heard, "but cleverly disguised. There are many false echoes. However," it added briskly, "while these have been fashioned with skill, they em-ploy known commercial technology. I am reviewing options. This will take a few seconds."
  Words appeared on the floating screen. LARNACA NUTRITION. Flinx stared at them. They were not supplemented.
  "This restricted sybfile that supposedly doesn't exist, that was placed under Edict and was subsequently illegally lifted and replaced by sophisticated alarms, it was done by a food company"?"
  "Do you wish me to examine the totality of the commercial concern identified as the transfer site?"
  "Yes, dammit!"
  "This will take a few nanoseconds. Yes—Larnaca Nutrition is a specialty foods concern with multiworld interests. Rated moderate to moderate-small within its industry. Makers of Caszin Chips, Havelock Power Bars, Poten…"
  An impatient, frustrated Flinx interrupted. " What happened to the syb?"
  "The illegally removed information under discussion was transferred to the headquarters offices of the company in question and absorbed by its confidential industrial shell."
  It was difficult for Flinx to imagine outlawed Meliorares working in the commercial food business. He decided to hypothesize motives later. "Where in the company shell is the file now? Can you access it?"
  "Processing." After a pause that lasted longer than the customary few seconds, the AI replied. "The stipulated sybfile is not there. It was, but was almost immediately retransferred out."
  Was there ever to be an end to this road? Flinx wondered tiredly. How much longer did he have before someone at the Surire installation decided to check on who was using the office, or before Elena Carolles woke up?
  "Can you track it to its present location?"
  "There is residue." A pause, then, "I can track it to its last known location, but cannot access it."
  "Why not?" Still agitated. Pip stirred beneath his shirt.
  "Because it has been shifted off-world, and I can only access files within this stellar system."
  A ship! The AI confirmed Flinx's suspicions. That was the end of it, then. Not even a system as powerful as the Terran Shell could access another AI beyond the orbit of Neptune. Not without a special space-minus hookup, and that would only put it in touch with a Shell on another inhabited world. The ship that held the precious syb was truly beyond reach.
  But not, perhaps, beyond identification. He made the request.
  "The terminus of my search string indicates that the ship shell aboard the commercial KK-drive freighter Crotase was the last to hold the illegally transferred sybfile."
  The trail was cold, then, but not dead, Flinx decided stoically. "Where is the vessel in question at this time?" he inquired sternly. "Can you locate its position by accessing company files?"
  The AI's reply was not encouraging. "That would constitute an illegal intrusion into the records of a private commercial concern."
  Once again Flinx strained to make the AI feel, to make it understand. "I have to know. You are only following up on an already documented violation of the law." He brightened at a sudden thought. "These details will be necessary in order for you to generate a proper report."
  "Yes, that is so. This will take several seconds. There are the usual commercial-industrial safeguards. I can bypass them."
  "This Crotase, it's in orbit?" Flinx inquired hopefully. The AI's reply was not encouraging.
  "According to the information I have accessed, it is outbound from Earth and should presently be in space-plus."
  One last hope, one last chance. "Destination?"
  "A moment. The safeguards on such information are particularly strong. There. The commercial freighter Crotase is on course via the Hivehom vector for the Analava system, Goldin IV, Largess, and Pyrassis."
  "I recognize most of those worlds." Flinx's knowledge of galographics had improved considerably in the course of his past several years' wanderings. "But not Pyrassis. That name is unfamiliar to me."
  "That is not surprising. The entire itinerary is rigidly coded and coated to provide the maximum security of which its generator is capable. The name itself is not given. I have deduced it from the scrambled coordinates that originated within the ship Crotase^ own AI."
  "Can you show me the itinerary?"
  "Processing." Within seconds the flat screen floating before Flinx was replaced by a three-dimensional spherical map of the portion of the outer galactic arm that contained the Commonwealth. Tiny lights brightened within and names floated benignly beneath them. There was the well-known Analava system and there the colony world of Goldin IV. Farther still from Earth, the outpost world of Largess. And beyond—much beyond—a world identified as Pyrassis. Flinx leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of the chair whose malleable material fluxed to accommodate his tightening grasp. No wonder he had never heard of Pyrassis.
  The final destination of the Larnaca Nutrition company ship Crotase lay within the borders of the AAnn Empire.
CHAPTER
Three
  Slowly, Flinx settled back into the chair. It relaxed, but he did not. What in the name of all the topologic inversions of space-minus was going on here? Commonwealth vessels intruded on Empire space on pain of instant obliteration. Military craft in the spatial vicinity traveled with caution, and usually in pairs. Even the neutral Torsee Provinces were dangerous to visit without special permission from both governments. A vanilla-plain commercial craft like the Crotase simply did not go to such places.
  Was it under the control of the Meliorares, or some as-yet-unidentified philosophical progeny of theirs? Were they, or someone else within innocent-appearing Larnaca Nutrition, cooperating with the AAnn? A sardonic smile curved his mouth. Had the remorseless reptilian AAnn suddenly developed an insatiable craving for cheap human snack food? None of it made any sense.
  It was too much to try and comprehend. The lengthening thread was too knotted to unravel. He needed to focus on the contents of the stolen syb. All the rest was incidental, and could be sorted out later.
  Removing a chyp from a pocket, he inserted it into the appropriate receptacle on the desk. The tiny slip of activated nanostorage would hold all the information he might need. Idly, he wondered what a "chyp" had originally been. Like much else, the derivation of the colloquial name for any form of portable storage was lost in the mists of technological antiquity.
  "Transfer ship Crotase itinerary and plotting."
  "That would be stealing." The voice of the AI was maddeningly calm. "There could be adverse consequences. I have no authority, and neither do you."
  "A crime has already been committed here." Flinx was running out of patience, and out of time. "And not by me. You have reports to generate. To ensure confirmation of factual material it would be useful for the authorities, when they have been properly alerted, to have access to witnesses. That would be me."
  "I do not require witnesses. My storage is inviolate."
  "You don't, but live human judges like to have them around during judicial proceedings. My memory does not begin to approach yours. To refresh it for the benefit of the authorities, I should have my own access to all relevant material. Please initiate copy."
  The AI seemed to hesitate. "You argue persuasively. Remember that I will retain a record of this conversation, and that together with all other relevant material it will, when requested, be reported to the authorities."
  "I acknowledge," Flinx responded with a wave of one hand. He felt free to agree to anything since he had no intention of sticking around to suffer the consequences of his actions.
  "Very well. Initiating transfer."
  Half a world away, in a sizable commercial complex located on the eastern edge of the Bangalore Economic Ring Number Three, the dominant information AI on the planet sucked a minuscule, seemingly insignificant syb out of the depths of a Ranglou Level Eight industrial AI server. Within seconds, self-activating switches buried deep in the matrix of the Ranglou unit reacted. Only the fact that the much more powerful Shell AI operated in terms of nanoseconds prevented a catastrophe of scandalous proportions. As it was, the retort expressed by the Ranglou manifested far faster than could have been expected. It responded with a speed and to a degree more appropriate to the military than to an elemental commercial facility.
  Destruction raced through cyberspace, searing dozens of pathways and obliterating routings as the incendiary reaction bundled within the incognizant Ranglou tried to track the intruding thief to its source. The application was absolutely fearless, smashing through safeguards and shields as if they did not exist. Humble distance was all that prevented further damage.
  At first, nothing appeared amiss to Flinx. The floating screen and galactic map continued to hover before him, the Shell AI's presence awaiting further commands. Reaching forward, he removed the nanostorage device from its holder. A quick perusal showed that, as requested, material had indeed been transferred. Placed in the proper slot back on his ship, it would deliver the same information to the Teacher's own AI, would insert the Crotase's coordinates and itinerary into his vessel's navigation system.
  An instant after he had removed the chyp, the receptacle crackled. Several actinic yellow flames shot from the orifice, making him jump. Bursting from beneath his shirt, Pip hovered in midair above his shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance.
  "Easy, girl," Flinx murmured. To the AI he inquired, "What was that?"
  "A moment. I am processing. There is some unforeseen difficulty with concluding the connection recently established on your behalf. I must terminate the link now in order to—
  The floating screen vanished. So did the spherical map. In their place, a small sphere of refulgent yellow appeared. No bigger at first than Flinx's nose, it ballooned rapidly. A rising hiss filled the cubicle. Behind him, a groggy Carolles had begun to stir.
  Eyes wide, Flinx rushed to her side, knelt, lifted her up, and placed her in a safety carry across his shoulders. Hastily deactivating the privacy screen, he stepped out of the cubicle into the nearest corridor. An approaching clerk saw him and frowned at the tall young man's softly moaning burden.
  "Hey, what's going on here? What's wrong with—?" Catching sight of the rapidly bloating ball of yellow light that filled the now laid open office, he broke off his questioning as his lower jaw fell. Legs pumping. Pip darting to and fro above his head like a berserk component broken loose from a holoed advertisement for a nearby zoo, Flinx brushed past him.
  "Run!"
  Confused, the clerk turned to shout at the younger man's retreating back and the comatose security officer bouncing on his shoulders. "Why? Hey, who are you? What is that thing, anyw—?"
  Whatever it was, the murderous application that had been bundled within the bowels of the commercial Ranglou shell managed to generate a reaction half a world away. The ball of yellow light suddenly expanded exponentially and blew up with stunning violence.
  Despite his limp, now periodically moaning burden, Flinx had already traversed the main portion of the complex and was heading for the nearest clearly marked exit when the bloated clandestine energile that filled the now vacant cubicle detonated. Within an important facility like the Surire hub, he reassured himself, there ought to be enough self-activating defense mechanisms to prevent any significant loss of life or serious damage. As he strained under his increasingly heavy feminine encumbrance, he found himself hoping fervently that it was so. In his quest to learn more about himself he willingly accepted the need to lie, dissemble, invent, and conceal. The thought that he might be responsible for one or more innocent deaths did not appeal to him.
  Sirens, whistles, and all manner of aural and visual alarms generated a phantasmagoria of aroused sight and sound around him. Occasionally he encountered other security officers, racing to secure the infracted sector. They ignored him. And why not? he mused as he ran. He was dressed as one of their own, carrying an apparently injured comrade to safety. It was beginning to look as if he would make good his escape, provided he was not first stopped and forced to accept an award for bravery.
  The further he fled from the theater of havoc, the fewer security personnel he encountered. Grim-faced officers gave way to bewildered technicians and stunned administrators. Praying that Pip would remain hidden beneath his shirt where she had finally settled, he rounded a corner and found himself slowing to wait for an automatic door to open before him. While the highly evolved systems that restricted entry to the complex were exacting, there was little impediment to departure. Within moments he found himself in a covered transport garage, surrounded by individual vehicles of all descriptions, from the expensive and elaborate to the simple and prosaic.
  Crouching, he eased Carolles off his shoulders and onto the rubbery floor of the chamber, sitting her up against a parked and locked vehicle. She was coming around quickly, and he decided that it would be safe to leave her. His energetic persuasion of her feelings should leave her none the worse for the experience. Not physically, anyway.
  Half a world away, a passing clerk frowned uncertainly at the luminous glow that was emerging from beneath the door of an executive office. The light was intensely yellow, far brighter than elementary room illumination demanded. Pausing, he put a tentative hand on the door plate, not really expecting it to respond. But it was unlocked, and the barrier slid efficiently aside at his touch.
  Within the room, there was only the yellow glow, fierce as a newborn sun and cool as glass made of gold. The clerk had only seconds in which to appreciate the rapidly dilating phenomenon before it erupted in his face. He vanished, annihilated instantly together with the yellow-fluxed office, the floor on which it resided, and a significant portion of the regional executive headquarters of Larnaca Nutrition. The resulting conflagration closed a good-sized portion of the commercial estate on which the enterprise was located, and kept numerous units of the Bangalore fire department busy for the rest of that day and well on into the early hours of the night as they fought to put out the yellowish-tinted inferno that stubbornly refused to be extinguished. When they finally succeeded, there was very little left of the central core of the main administration building, and certainly nothing for exceedingly curious forensics experts to trace.
  Within the capacious garage, Flinx was waiting for Carolles to revive to the point where he would feel safe in abandoning her to whomever might follow in his footsteps. He decided that time had come when she opened her eyes, gaped disconcertedly at him, and started screaming for help.
  "Elena, it's me, Philip!" Startled by the unexpected violence of her reaction, he moved back out of her reach. She continued to claw in his direction, trying to rise from her seated position, using the vehicle against which she had been leaning to push against. She did not immediately succeed. Command of her neuromuscular system was not quite back to normal, and her legs refused to obey.
  "You bastard! What did you do to me?" Her face reflected anger, fear, and a profound sense of disorientation. "Where are we? What are you doing here?" Looking past him, she exclaimed, "Why are we at the hub? And what are you doing in the uniform of a security officer?"
  "You agreed to help me. Don't you remember?" As he spoke, Flinx continued to enlarge the space between them.
  "No, I—wait, yes. I do remember something." Reaching up, she clutched at her head. She was swaying slightly, balancing against the vehicle. "I—I was in love with you. Or thought I was." Looking up, she blinked bewilderedly. "The question is—why?" She shook her head slowly from side to side. "You're a pleasant enough guy, but all of a sudden I can't remember why I thought you were anything special."
  "Just think back, Elena. It will come to you." Smiling reassuringly, Flinx strove to once more project feelings of unbridled warmth and affection onto the security officer, to again induce within her that sense of fondness and respect he had inculcated in her for the past several days.
  With a cry, and in spite of her unsteady condition, she launched herself at him.
  As it had so many times before, his eccentric, unpredictable talent had chosen not to function just when he needed it the most.
  Sensing the attack, Pip was up and out of concealment before Carolles could reach her master. At the sight of the flying snake, hovering like a gigantic, iridescent, deep-throated hummingbird before her, the security officer slewed to a halt.
  "That thing—is it poisonous?"
  "You could say that." Flinx replied softly, gravely understating his winged companion's lethal capabilities.
  Cautiously, Carolles edged around man and minidrag. Both turned to track her progress, Pip pivoting gracefully in midair. The pointed tongue flicked in and out repeatedly, sampling the emotion-filled atmosphere.
  He needed to stop her, Flinx knew. As more untailored emotions regained ascendancy over those he had imprinted on her, the readier she would be to report everything she could recall to her superiors. Fortunately, those worthies were presently occupied in dealing with an egregious breach of hub security. With luck, she might not gain a hearing for her fears and suspicions for several days. By then he would be gone—not only from Surire and Tacrica, but from the overcrowded, claustrophobic, superannuated world that had given birth to his species.
  Whirling, she turned and ran, racing back in the direction of the violated hub. So much for love at first sight, he thought complacently as he turned his attention to the vehicle against which she had been leaning. Time and circumstance never failed to mute his wonder at the use to which he was invariably able to put his youthful skills as a thief. Within the space of two minutes he was safely inside the private vehicle and speeding out of the garage.
  The compact air-suspension transport was preprogrammed to travel to an unknown destination. Anyone who attempted to tamper with the secured navigation system risked pinpointing the stolen vehicle for local authorities. Better to accept a trip to whatever destination it was now accelerating toward than run the risk of attracting additional, unwanted attention, he decided. With luck, it would soon commence the steep but safe descent from Surire, heading for the bustling resort community on the coast below. Or perhaps it would turn inland, toward Lapaz. He would be content with either destination.
  It chose neither. Instead, he found himself traveling almost due west, toward the edge of the Andes. Unfamiliar with any part of the region save that he had already traversed, he had no idea where he was headed. His concerns were only partly alleviated by the fact that his ride in ignorance was not interrupted, and was unexpectedly brief.
  "Welcome to Surire Park," the vehicle announced as it began to slow.
  Peering cautiously out the polarizing dome, Flinx saw that they were pulling into another garage. Unlike the quiet repository at the Shell hub, this one was frantic with families and couples, mostly young. Free-floating holos proclaimed the virtues of products he had never heard of, while subdued but insistently cheerful music filled the air. Wherever he was, it seemed to be a happy place. That would last only as long as he succeeded in avoiding the attentions of the authorities.
  When the transport parked itself, deactivated, and refused to respond to his insistent requests to move on, he had no choice but to exit. It took him only a holo or two and an agitated stroll through several insistent and exceedingly raucous sound cones to discover where the vehicle had taken him. Surire Park was not the nature preserve of the woolly vicunas and viscachas he had read about. That blissfully unspoiled wilderness lay farther north. This Surire Park was entirely artificial, as were its amusements.
  Given his state of mind, it was not a bad place to be. While un-crowded in the middle of the weekday, there were still enough people present—jostling and laughing, vacationers and locals alike—to lose himself among. Trying not to make contact with the eyes of any of the discreetly identified park security staff, he ambled freely amidst the animated throng, absently cataloging the attractions, ignoring the multitude of clever advertisements, and treating himself to specialty sweets whose sticky composition was beyond the capabilities of the autochef aboard the Teacher. Automatic readers accepted his carefully coded credcard without comment.
  One ride promised a swift but sizzling run through the heart of one of the active volcanoes that dotted this sweep of the Andes. Another shouted the exhilaration to be had from spiraling at high speed down the slopes of smoking Mount Isulga. There were electrostatic sleds that could be raced across the frozen snowfields, and opportunities to participate in bloodless but noisy holoed recreations of the ancient battles that had scarred this part of the planet. One could choose to wear either the weapons and armor of the conquistadors, or of the Incas. Families partaking in the elaborate historical recreations were invited to purchase recordings of themselves giving advice to or fighting alongside Pizarro or Atahuallpa.
  Recreated tombs gave children the chance to play amateur archeologist, while their parents could compete for reproductions of Inca, Moche, Lambayeque, and Chimu artifacts. An observation platform tethered at eight thousand meters provided spectacular views of the mountains, the Pacific, and the sprawling Amazon Reserva to the east. Flinx was almost enjoying himself and Pip was wholly occupied in consuming fragments of the pretzel protruding from one of her companion's shirt pockets, when he spotted the uniforms working their way through the crowd. The attitudes of the wearers were intent, their demeanor grim, and he did not think they were looking for a pickpocket or a drug abuser.
  As always, his time of ease and relaxation was brief. He needed to leave, and fast. Burrowing deep within the densest portions of the crowd, he made his way back toward the entrance—only to find it conspicuous with uniforms. They were manually checking everyone coming into the park, and everyone going out.
  How much did they know? he found himself wondering anxiously. Had he been reported running from the building with the unconscious Carolles on his back? Or had she recovered sufficiently from her induced slumber and emotional manipulation to give a good description of the young man she had so fleetingly believed she might have loved? Either way, he could not chance donning an air of indifference and trying to slip past the uniforms. In the event of a confrontation, there were too many of them. If he was challenged. Pip would strike out instinctively, and he would not be able to prevent her from killing.
  How to avoid an encounter or being taken into custody? Backing unobtrusively into the crowd, avoiding children upset at being denied the chance to go on one more ride, he searched with increasing anxiety for another way out. There seemed to be only the one entrance/exit. As he explored the park's farthest reaches, the percentage of persistent, relentlessly pursuing uniformed security personnel and police steadily increased.
  The ride entrance he eventually found himself standing alongside presented itself to the public as the "Highest, Fastest, Most Exhilarating, Adrenaline-Pumping Exercise in Tandem Racing This Side of the Himalayan Chute!!!" After all the imperious capitals, the tacked-on multiple exclamation struck him as brazen. A quick check of the ride's entrance showed that it was devoid of guards or other armed hunters looking for a certain redhead. Approaching an information booth, he queried the fixed-position humaniform robot as to the nature of the ride. It was no less effusive in its sales pitch than any biological tout.
  Within the ride's core, participants boarded individual maglev boards that adjusted to their height and weight. Each board was encased in a transparent, unbreakable capsule that was automatically pressurized to prevent injury in the unlikely event of a crash. Since each capsule was monitored by the ride's automatic overlord, it was impossible to run over a capsule descending in front of you, or to be overtaken by one from behind.
  Beneath the launch ledge, riders plunged into one of two dozen intersecting channels. Powered by precisely spaced electromagnetic rings that encircled each open conduit, board riders could choose to descend by gravity alone, or to accelerate even faster than nature provided. Each board could also use the maglev system for braking, to slow its one or two passengers to a more sedate velocity. Sitting on the board within the protective transparent capsule, feet extended, body riding less than a meter above the ground, the electronic tout promised Flinx that one could rocket down the western slope of the Andes at over 300 kilometers an hour. Because of the board's proximity to the surface and its diminutive size, the sensation of sheer speed, the recorded spiel promised, was unparalleled. He would plunge from an altitude of five thousand meters to sea level in less than a hundred kilometers linear distance.
  It was just what he needed.
  A glance behind showed a trio of police making their way toward the ride, their eyes doggedly searching the crowd as they approached. Choosing a skill level and paying for passage, Flinx purchased admission for one.
  The controls on the board were simple enough for an eight-year-old to handle, which was the intent of the ride's designers. Waiting his turn, he watched as shrieking children, grinning adults, and intimate couples were boosted forward until they dropped out of sight. The slow, the timid, or the simply fearful would automatically be shunted into specific channels reserved for their kind. Daredevils and speed demons shared other routes. Three to four trajectories were saved for the truly mad. Knowing where he had to go and how he needed to proceed, Flinx made certain Pip was secure within his shirt. He was not overly concerned. Her diminutive but powerful coils would allow the minidrag to hold onto him tighter than he could grip the board's controls.
  A slight lurch sent his board forward. They were moving. He felt the air harness contract against him, but not uncomfortably, as it molded itself to his lanky form. Though he was now cinched in too securely to turn, he could hear shouts behind him. Had he waited too long? Could the ride still be locked, freezing him helplessly in place before he could fall free of the landing?
  Another jolt and he felt himself accelerating a little faster. Ahead of him a board occupied by a dark couple suddenly vanished as if it had dropped off the face of the Earth. Which, to a certain degree, it had. In its wake it left delighted screams. The board he was riding slowed. To left and right he could see other boards, other riders, disappearing. The shouts behind him had faded, but he could clearly sense rising as well as conflicting emotions somewhere nearby. Lips set, he waited for another boost.
  Then, without warning, he was careening downward, the angle of descent not yet acute but the board beginning to pick up speed nonetheless. The perfect transparency of the capsule created the illusion that there was nothing around him. Air pressure pressed against his sides and face like a big, comforting pillow. Outside the tube, undisturbed Andean countryside raced past on both sides, an unpolluted dark blue sky stark overhead. He shot through a large metal ring, the first of his chosen channel's magnetic accelerators. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down hard on the board's accelerator.
  The digits on the speedometer floating in front of his eyes climbed as he dropped. Next to it was a heads-up three-dimensional diagram that charted the various available intersecting channels while describing their individual attractions. Ignoring ruins, waterfalls, canyons filled with alpine and then subtropical wildlife, he opted straightforwardly for the shortest and fastest. As the board continued to accelerate, it began to vibrate slightly. The vibration never grew uncomfortable, but it served to remind him that he was now rocketing downslope at over 275 kilometers per hour.
  The scenery might well have been spectacular, but it went past too fast for him to notice. Even a police vehicle traveling a cleared commercial conduit would have been hard-pressed to match his speed. How had they traced him to the park from Carolles's remembrances? Most likely, she had provided a description of the private transport he had temporarily appropriated. It would take them some time to decide that he was not anywhere within the park. From the start, the ride had been run wholly by automatics. Probably at least one component was equipped to record visuals of every rider, if only for insurance purposes. With luck, it would be a little while at least before the authorities got around to checking the park's security files for the day. Once that had been done, however, a police chyp could match him out in a matter of seconds—assuming a security recorder had caught a clear glimpse of him.
  Used to functioning in situations in which he never knew how much time remained to him before something unpleasant happened, he remained calm, concentrating on running the ride. Beneath his shirt, Pip rested peacefully, the mellow minidrag contentedly digesting recently ingested carbos and salt. Capable as she was of remarkably rapid flight on her own, the speed at which they were presently traveling did not excite her.
  Other board riders in proximate channels were momentary blurs in his vision. The trajectory grew steeper still, the encircling magnets continuing to accelerate his board until the speedometer would read no higher. If a magnet failed, he could potentially lose the channel. In that event the board would fly off track, soar briefly into unrestricted air, and slam into the ground at sufficient speed to reduce both it and any passengers to scattered fragments of unconnected tissue. Having faced death in far less resolutely insured forms, Flinx was not worried. It was a good thing, however, that his stomach did not have a mind of its own.
  In a very short space of time indeed, the ride's automatic safety features took control of his board. Air pressure and harness restraining him, he began to slow. The broad blue plain of the Pacific lay just ahead. As a final, unannounced fillip, the last half kilometer of the ride shot him into the water, through an underwater tube, past a school of startled jacks and a brace of pouting barracuda, and back around in a tight curve to end at the ride's terminus. He did not linger there long enough to respond to the human monitor's smiling query of "How was it?"
  Passing through the innocuous medical scanner that pronounced him and everyone else who finished the ride physically and mentally unscathed by the experience, he hurried as inconspicuously as possible out into the nearest street. Busy Tacrica bustled with tourists and townsfolk alike, a contented, milling throng not unlike that inhabiting any other resort anywhere else on Earth—or for that matter, off it. Two minutes after he vanished into the gaily outfitted crowd, a squad of four police accompanied by a pair of grim-faced hub security personnel disembarked from three commandeered maglev boards, pushed past the bemused employees assigned to monitor their respective arrival channels, and fanned out into the surging multitude. But the wiry, tall redhead they sought was nowhere to be seen.
  Frustrated as they were, they had not even been able to enjoy the ride.
CHAPTER
Four
  Wandering the slightly sloping, carefully preserved colonial quarter of the city that night, Flinx paused to watch the local news stream on a free-ranging public channel. Receding into the background without disappearing, the announcer systematically reported that a major industrial accident whose nature remained as yet undetermined by the relevant authorities had seriously damaged the Surire Shell hub, knocking out all but emergency information services from Arequipa to Iquique for an extended period of time. Some services, the announcer declared with a proper sense of outrage, were not expected to be restored for several weeks. The cause of the incident was under investigation.
  Turning away from the display and keeping his head down, Flinx tightened his lips. Somewhere, he knew dourly, the Terran Shell AI was generating a report.
  The lights were kept atmospherically dim in the preserved colonial quarter and at this time of night the main street was comparatively tranquil. Those tourists who were out and about were interested in atmosphere, not their fellow promenaders. Eiffel's fountain sparkled in the balmy night air, a monument to the skills and vision of long-dead engineers who thought iron the ultimate building material. Using modern materials and techniques, skillful restorers had preserved much of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century architecture. Even up close, the reinforcing nanotube sheets were invisible to the curious eye.
  He had to get to the port at Nazca and to his shuttle. There was no reason to suppose the authorities would connect its ownership to their wanted fugitive and put a watch on it. Even if they somehow managed to identify him, there was nothing to link him to a specific KK-drive craft. The Counselor Second for Science Druvenmaquez had seen it, the senior thranx's own ship's personnel and instrumentation had doubtless imaged it. But while very different internally from any other vessel, from the outside the Teacher looked like any other small commercial interstellar craft. And Flinx was careful to see to it that his vessel's maintenance ware altered its identifying external patterns on a regular basis.
  Still, he would not be able to relax until he was back within its familiar confines. That meant safely boarding the shuttle at Nazca's commercial port, obtaining clearance to lift, and making it through the atmosphere without being challenged.
  His talent was functioning again. Around him, the air was charged with fleeting, or persistent, or hysterical, or affectionate emotion. As always on a populated world, the sheer volume of sentiment threatened to overcome him. It was better in uninhabited space, where his mind could float free of unwanted, unsought empathetic intrusion. He was tired, unfamiliar with his surroundings, and unsure of how best to make his way to Nazca while avoiding the attentions of the authorities. Of one thing he was reasonably sure: No convenient amusement ride would take him there.
  A pair of local police wearing subdued uniforms were coming up the avenue toward him. Though they were conversing animatedly between themselves and not looking in his direction, Flinx turned quickly down a side street. There was no need to expose himself to unnecessary scrutiny. Having spent an entire childhood on Moth darting through damp air and dark surroundings, he felt almost at home in the alleyways of the coastal community.
  The backstreet was old and blissfully deserted. It was remarkable how much truly ancient construction had survived the centuries. The crumbling brick wall on his right had to date from no later than the twenty-first century, at least. A pile of primitive non-degradable containers formed a small talus slope to his left, overflowing their collection bin.
  From the vicinity of the bin, something moved. He sensed the threat before he saw its owner—a small, stocky bundle of inimical energy whose black eyes glittered in the faltering light. The man's skin was as brown as Flinx's, and in his right hand he held a weapon of indeterminate parentage.
  Two more armed individuals emerged from a dark doorway, a lean whip of a woman from behind the container bin, and another from the shadows up ahead. Turning to leave, Flinx found the way back to the main street blocked by a trio of stimstick-smoking youths whose thin smiles did nothing to illuminate the darkness or their sour personalities. The police he had turned into the alley to avoid might still be within shouting distance, but calling for help would mean having to answer their questions. If they ran a check on him, they would identify him as the individual wanted in this morning's incident at the Surire hub.
  "My-o, he's a glimmer one." The woman with the whipcord body, much of which was on unapologetic display, eyed him approvingly. Her torso was maybe twenty, her eyes ten years older.
  "Your cred, visitor." The stocky man who had stepped out from behind the bin motioned nervously in Flinx's direction. His sedate squirming was a consequence not of unease but of the drugs in his system. "Clothes, ident, everything. Right now." He gestured sharply at the ground.
  "Hait." Another, even younger woman was grinning. "Let's see wot you got, boy-o." Her emotions and those of her companions stank of predation.
  Traveling with weapons was a good way to attract the immediate attention of the authorities. They inevitably marked the bearer as worthy of closer attention. So Flinx disdained guns and vibraknives and similar mechanisms of extermination. That did not mean he was unarmed. There were a lot of them, though, and the alley was narrow.
  He started backing up the way he had come. The police whose attentions he needed to avoid should be elsewhere by now. "I'm going to leave. I need what little I have, and you don't. Please, don't try to stop me."
  "Hi-o, he's polite as well as pretty." Stepping forward, supple muscles visible within the webwork of her outfit, the tall young woman produced a sharply finned dart. She juggled it easily in one hand, flipping it in casual circles. "After I waft him out, can I play with what's left?"
  Her stocky companion grunted. "Just get it over with." Peering past Flinx and the three mougs behind him, he tried to scrutinize the distant street. "I hate it when they don' cooperate."
  The woman's grin widened. "I like it." The dart paused in her hand, held casually in throwing position. Flinx wondered what chemical cocktail it contained.
  "Don't throw that." His voice was composed, unruffled.
  The woman's smile faded slightly. She wanted him to be afraid, and though tense, he clearly was not frightened. It unnerved her more than she cared to show. Maybe Marvilla was right. Time to get it over with. Business first, play-o later.
  Reading her rising emotions, Flinx knew that despite her indifferent attitude and the fact that she was looking at her male companion and not in his direction, she was preparing to throw the dart. As the synchronous emotional outbreak began to rise within her, he threw himself to one side, into the pile of discarded plasticine containers. Cool from lying in the dark alley, their accumulated bulk masked his body signature. Seeking human heat, the flung dart whizzed through the space where he had been standing. He heard the startled oath from one of the three mougs who blocked the outlet as the dart struck home. There was a brief, crude flare of panic from the youth, then nothing as the illicit pharmaceuticals shut down his system. Paralyzed, he crumpled to the ground.
  As Flinx had hurled himself sideways, something small, winged, superfast, and angry exploded from within the folds of his shirt. Brightly hued and reptilian of aspect, it was in the woman's face before she could draw a second dart from its holder. Emitting a startled scream, she stumbled backward, tripped, and fell on the half-exposed dart she was holding. With a moan, she reached down to pull it free of her left buttock, only to crumple onto her side as the soporific cocktail of enhanced animal tranquilizers it contained took effect.
  Raising his pistol, the leader of the pack took aim at his girlfriend's assailant. Or tried to. In the dimly lit alley it was difficult to focus on anything so small, particularly when it seemed to be moving in every direction at once. The shot misfired. The minidrag's response did not. A few droplets of incredibly caustic venom struck the man in his right eye. Dropping his weapon he staggered backward, slammed into the brick, and sat down, clawing at the eye from which a thin stream of corrosive smoke was rising.
  Rolling to his feet, Flinx assumed a defensive posture with the bin at his back. The two mougs who were still conscious had drawn weapons of their own, as had the man and his companions who had been loping toward him from the other end of the alley. Pip sped back to hover protectively above her master, slitted eyes alert, still full of piss and poison.
  Glancing backward, one of the mougs suddenly paused and muttered something to her mate. Holstering her weapon, she broke into a run. Flinx watched as they passed right by him. Joining the surviving pack members, they fled up the alley.
  He lowered his hands. Pip descended toward him but remained airborne and alert. A lone figure was coming up the alley toward them, advancing at a leisurely pace. Flinx searched for the sheen of a police uniform.
  The old man was solidly built but not tall. White stubble covered his squarish face, indifferent to depilatory and fashion. His lower jaw protruded as if he suffered from some incurable orthodontic contraction. Like the facial stubble, his hair was entirely white and combed back over his high head, to pause at the collar of his rough, natural cotton shirt. A small communicator was visible hanging from his waist, and he wore a finger-sized reader/probe above one ear. His back was only slightly bent. He might have been 70, or 170.
  Halting a safe distance from Flinx, he flourished a grandfatherly smile and surprisingly good teeth. One thick, callused finger jabbed at the air above the younger man's head.
  "Call off thy winged devil, sonny. The street slime have all run away." He nodded in the direction of the dead pack leader and his twitching, silent girlfriend. "Them that could, anyways."
  Flinx searched for the glint of a weapon. "They ran from you, but you're not armed."
  "Only with my reputation." The old man chuckled with amusement. "Afraid old Cayacu would hex 'em. I would, too. Eight against one—not righteous." He shook his head disapprovingly. "What's thy name?"
  The subject of the old man's query almost started to say Philip, but hastily corrected himself. "I'm Flinx. The one with the wings is Pip." As he spoke, the flying snake settled back onto his shoulder, remaining vigilant and visible. In this new arrival she sensed no threat.
  "She be a one, too." The oldster chortled a second time, then beckoned with a broad gesture. "Thou'rt the one hub security's looking for, aren't thou? Come with me."
  Straining, Flinx tried to appraise the elder without speaking. Like Pip, he perceived no threat. "Why should I go with you? So you can turn me in for the citizen's reward?"
  "I don't need the government's credit. Thou'rt a strange one. I like strange things." He indicated the far reaches of the alley into which the surviving pack members had fled. "They knew that. That's why they ran." Aged but still bright brown eyes met those of the younger man. "You know what a shaman be, sonny?"
  Flinx frowned. "Some kind of witch doctor?" He stared. "In this day and age?"
  "What day and age be that?" The deeply lined, weathered face overflowed with wisdom and good humor. "Shamanism never goes out of style, sonny. No matter how advanced the technology, no matter how grand the accomplishments of hard science, there'll always be them for whom mysticism and magic transcend knowledge. Never forget that for many folk, it's always easier to believe than to think."
  "Then you're a self-confessed fraud." Flinx had always been too forthright for his own good.
  "Didn't say that." The old man chuckled. "Come on, sonny. Let's get thee out of here." He turned to leave.
  Flinx continued to hesitate. "You still haven't given me a compelling reason for going with you." On his shoulder. Pip was finally relaxing, her tiny but powerful heart pounding like a miniature impulse drive.
  Cayacu looked back. "Because I can get thee to wherever it be thou wantst to go. Assuming, that is, that thou hast someplace thou wantst to go. Or perhaps thou wouldst prefer to stay here?"
  The younger man eyed the constricting walls of the alley, the dead and unconscious bodies that littered the ground. "I do have a destination, and this isn't it."
  "Didn't think so." The oldster beckoned again. "Come and chat with a jaded old man. The authorities tolerate individuals like me-self, but they disapprove of what I do. It gives me pleasure to thwart them." He shook his head. "Eight against one," he muttered softly. "Best get thy pet out of sight."
  It was not the oldest skimmer Flinx had ever seen, but it was close. Cayacu drove it out of the city center and into the suburbs, heading for the sea. As soon as they reached the beach, they turned north, the vehicle wheezing and rattling in the darkness, the half moon hanging motionless over the Pacific, giving the water the sheen of rubbed steel. Soon they were out of the city altogether and leaving the highly developed resort area behind. Since they were traveling north, the direction he needed to go, Flinx saw no reason to comment on the route his host was taking.
  Occasionally the ancient, battered vehicle lost power so severely that it bounced off the ground, dimpling the grassy track that was the main road leading north. Eventually, the shaman parted with the avenue altogether and turned seaward once more, following a narrow path that snaked through rock and sand. In the absence of irrigation, the terrain had reverted to its natural amalgam of gravel, sand, and gritty soil. It would remain so for hundreds of undisturbed kilometers up the coast.
  A few lights appeared in the distance. Simple, carefully maintained homes hugged the south bank of a small river. Where it emptied into the sea, snowy egrets patrolled the water's edge, far outshining the shore birds one would expect to encounter in such a place. The birds were sleeping now. A few heads glanced up, a few sets of wings fluttered, as the grinding, coughing skimmer faltered past their resting place.
  Cayacu brought it to a halt in a covered port that was attached to an unprepossessing single-story structure of self-adhering tile and faux stone. North of the village, a high promontory thrust out into the sea. Bathed in the light of the half moon, the beige-colored sandstone was tinted gold. Small waves caroused perpetually on the nearby beach.
  Gesturing for his guest to follow, the shaman hauled himself out of the malodorous skimmer and unlocked the front door of the house. Stepping across the covered porch, Flinx followed his host inside. Pip had been asleep for some time, and there was no sign of pursuit or police. Making an effort, he tried to approximate his minidrag's state of mind. No threats radiated from the compact, cozy structure he was being asked to enter.
  The lighting within was suppressed, but sufficient for him to descry his surroundings. It occurred to him that he was very tired. Nevertheless, the decor was sufficiently interesting to spark both interest and wakefulness. From the preserved caimans grinning toothily at him atop rustic shelves to the bottles of unidentifiable solutions that glistened beneath, the outer room was a cornucopia of traditional folk medicine ingredients and occult appurtenances. Eyes plucked from an assortment of animals gazed dully from a wide-bottomed glassine cylinder while amputated birds' feet bound like a sheaf of scaly wheat protruded from a canister like so many customized antique umbrella shafts.
  "Mouth dry?" Cayacu inquired. When Flinx nodded the affirmative, the oldster murmured to a wall. Grime and peeling projection paper slid aside to reveal a gleaming, thoroughly modern food storage unit. At Flinx's request, it dispensed a tall, chilled glass of passionfruit-orange-guava juice. He drank thirstily.
  The shaman was sweeping selected objects from his extraordinary collection into a sack. When he was through, he lit a stimstick and beckoned for his guest to follow. Exiting the house, they strode down a street sealed with transparent paving material that allowed the sand, rock, and crushed seashells underneath to show through. Most of the buildings they passed were silent and dark. From a few seeped the lights and the sounds of tridee entertainment.
  Leaving the tiny community behind, they followed the course of the small river before effecting a crossing on a string of inconspicuously linked stones. Disturbed, a pair of sleeping egrets eyed them owlishly, irritated at the nocturnal interruption. Overhead, the half moon continued to lavish its light on the nearby beach, giving the incoming waves an ethereal touch of fluorescence.
  Reaching the sandy promontory, they entered a narrow cleft in the stone and began to climb. It was a short, easy ascent, and Flinx soon found himself standing atop the peninsula. Behind them flickered the few lights of the town. Hidden behind a bend in the coast, the extensive resort strip of Tacrica lay far enough away not to be visible, though the glow of its lights lightened a portion of the southern sky.
  The top of the promontory was absolutely barren of life, as were the small hillocks that dotted the otherwise flat surface. When Flinx remarked idly on the apparent regularity of the protrusions, the old shaman chuckled.
  "That's not surprising, sonny. They be mud pyramids, heavily eroded by many centuries of rain and wind." He gestured grandly, as if they had just stepped into an ornate parlor. "This site be called Pacyatambu. You be standing on the ruins of a sixth-century Moche city that was once home to some fifty thousand people."
  A surprised Flinx examined his surroundings anew. Now that he had been enlightened, the outlines of the pyramids became more defined, their sides increasingly vertical. His imagination filled in the silent emptiness with a vision of a busy marketplace, meandering nobles, farmers bringing in food from the fields, fishermen hawking their catch. Brooding priests invoked from a high balcony, and brightly painted frescoes suffused the city with a riot of color.
  Sixth century—A.D., not A.A. With one foot, he stirred the sands beneath him. So very long ago. Had ancestors of his once lived here, content in their ignorance, happy in their subsistence existence? In all likelihood, he would never know—just as he still did not know his true parentage. But these sands and the secrets they contained, they too were a part of him, whether he liked it or not.
  In that wild and windswept place he felt for the first time the hoary history of humankind in a way he never had previously. Not on Moth, not here, not on any of the worlds settled and otherwise that he had trod upon in his short life. For the first time he sensed fully what it meant to be a human being, all of whose ancestors had come from the third planet circling the unremarkable star called Sol. Despite the disdain he had shown for it all his life, he understood now what others meant when they spoke of Earth as home, even those several generations removed who had been born on other worlds.
  In front of him, Cayacu had spread an antique homespun cotton blanket out on the ground. Atop this he was arranging the contents of his sack; tiny vials and plasticine containers, an old dagger, ancient bits of broken pottery, bones animal and human, dried plant material, archaic electronic components, a pair of burned-out storage chyps, and more. When he was finished, he sat down cross-legged next to the blanket, facing the sea. Wind snapped the tips of his wavy white hair as he closed his eyes and began to chant.
  Uninstructed, not knowing what else to do, a hushed Flinx sat down nearby and watched. Occasionally the shaman would emerge from his self-induced trance to reach out and touch this or that object on the blanket. Once, he leaned forward to rearrange a pair of ancient computer chyps and a preserved salamander. A lone gull cried, its voice breaking. Beneath Flinx's shirt. Pip slept contentedly.
  Picking up a container and opening the top, the chanting Cayacu dipped his fingers into the contents and flicked them in his guest's direction. Charged water splattered the younger man's face, and he flinched slightly. The shaman repeated the gesture, then resealed the container. Moments later the ceremony came to an abrupt end.
  Beaming, Cayacu uncrossed his legs and rose, reaching down to rub feeling back into patriarchal muscles. "You will be all right from now on. I have consulted the spirits, and they have assured me of thy safety." He tapped a shirt pocket. "Also, the tracer alarm I set on thy broadcast image has remained silent. That tells me that the police still have no idea where thou be."
  Flinx had to grin. "So you rely on technology and not magic after all."
  Cayacu shrugged as he gestured toward the cleft through which they had accessed the entombed city. "Let's just say that I prefer me eclipses total, sonny. I thought, though I have known thee only briefly, that thou would find this place of interest."
  "Very much so." Flinx was not ashamed to admit that he had been moved by the experience. "Thank you for bringing me here. I think I may have made a kind of personal connection that had previously been denied to me." As they walked out of the ancient city, he indicated the looming mounds. "Why hasn't this place been excavated?"
  "There be innumerable ruins in this part of the world," the shaman explained. "Far more than there is money to explore them. There be work here for hundreds of archeologists for thousands of years. Using the very latest and best equipment, they prefer to hunt for the most spectacular sites, those that are burdensome with un-looted gold and silver and gemstone artifacts. Places where people merely lived, like Pacyatambu, be very low on the list of localities to be explored."
  Reaching the base of the bluff, they turned back toward the slumbering community and the shaman's house. "You can sleep in my home tonight, sonny. Late tomorrow I will try to take thee wherever it is thou wishest to go."
  Flinx eyed him curiously. "Why? I'm a stranger to you, and to this place. Why should you want to help me?"
  Cayacu chuckled. "It pleases me to confound the authorities. Officially, what I do they classify as simplistic entertainment. Though I am no unrepentant regressive preaching the virtues of a vanished age, I take these ancient ways more seriously than they do. Too many of them wear their air of technological superiority like a too-tight pair of pants. Every now and then, when circumstances permit, it suits me to shower in the waters of their discomfort."
  The moon laid a silver road on the surface of the sea: the waters from which all life on this world, and subsequently the human intelligence that was now spreading throughout this arm of the galaxy, had sprung. Flinx felt a peace that had heretofore been denied him. But it remained a troubled peace, and would remain so until he at last secured the information he sought. His questions were basic enough. It was only the answers that seemed complex beyond reason.
  "I have to leave Earth in a hurry. In order to do that, I must get to Nazca. My shuttlecraft is berthed there."
  Old Cayacu nodded. "Dost thou think the authorities can trace it to thee? If so, then thy chances of departing without confrontation are much diminished."
  "I don't know." Flinx considered. "They may still think they have me bottled up in Tacrica. So far I think they have just the visual description you alluded to a moment ago, and that only from witnesses' remembrances."
  "Are they likely to be good remembrances?" The shaman stepped lightly, avoiding a scavenging crab.
  "In one instance, I'm afraid so." Flinx's deliberate deception of the innocent, unaware Elena Carolles continued to weigh heavily on him. But it had been necessary. How well had she described him to the authorities, and how accurate was the resultant rendition churned out by the police compositor? "But I'm pretty good at disguising my identity where official channels are concerned, and my ship's AI is used to misleading any inquiries."
  Wise eyes regarded him as they hiked together along the beach in the moonlight. "You're an interesting young man, sonny. How come thou to have thy own shuttlecraft?"
  Flinx tried to make light of the query. "I've found that interesting people generally have interesting friends. For some reason, others have taken an interest in me. Some of it's benign, some inimical, and the rest just inquisitive. I don't know why. I'm just one citizen among billions."
  "Are thou, now? I wonder. Why, exactly, are the authorities so anxious to question thee?" As Flinx prepared to deliver a carefully deceptive reply, the old man suddenly waved both hands at him. "No, no—don't tell me! I don't want to know." In the darkness, his teeth were resplendently white. "If I'm brought in for questioning later, 1 want to be able to take nullity along as my companion. Ignorance makes the best lawyer. It's enough that thou are a thorn in the side of those who govern." He gestured. "Almost home, sonny. I hope thou be not a city lad, used to its noise and roar. In this little village, we sleep in silence."
  Flinx thought of the vast empty spaces between the stars that had been his refuge for much of the past several years. "I'll sleep just fine, shaman. Believe me, I know what quiet is."
  As they rattled up the coast the following evening, Flinx found himself wondering more than once if his host's ancient rattletrap of a skimmer would make it all the way to the Nazca parallel, much less inland to the high plateau where the shuttleport was situated. Cayacu did nothing to improve their chances by keeping to the lesser-known, more bumptious routes, away from the main commercial and tourist thoroughfares.
  Flinx regarded their safe arrival at the port's outskirts as something of a minor triumph. The sun had long since set, the only illumination coming from the powerful landing lights of the port and the streak of cold flame from a cargo shuttle straining to lift itself beyond the heavens. They had arrived after dark by design: The less help provided to anyone searching for someone of Flinx's description, the better his chances of departing unchallenged.
  Certainly the automatic scanner at the Chungillo gate was not impressed by the pair of dirty, cowled figures who occupied the front of the antique skimmer. It passed them through with an almost audible synthesized whisper of disgust. Huddling beneath his cotton hood, old Cayacu tried not to grin too hard.
  "They pride themselves on the sophistication of their contrivances, but it is amazing how easily some of them can be fooled by such simple baggage as dirt and grease. Especially when applied in thick but not overly conspicuous layers."
  Reaching up, Flinx ran the tips of his fingers down his bare cheek, slick with the aromatic lubricant that had been thoughtfully supplied by his host. The disposable colored lenses that distorted his eyes itched, and during the past several hours of driving he had received every indication that there was something besides himself living in the filthy cotton hooded shawl Cayacu had insisted he wear. His discomfort was mitigated more than a little by the fact that they had been passed through the main gate without comment.
  The success was cheering, but hardly a wondrous accomplishment. It was entirely possible that the gate had not yet been programmed with a copy of his likeness, which in any event was not taken from life but from an artist's rendition provided by the police. That was no reason to relax, he knew. On more than one occasion he owed his life not to precautions taken but to paranoia presumed.
  The skimmer trundled past the imposing reproduction of the Chimuera Huaca of the Moon that served as the passenger reception area, past the cargo receiving terminal, and finally slowed as it approached the more heavily safeguarded barrier that prevented casual sightseers from wandering out among the parked shuttles and aircraft. Here Flinx would have to identify himself in order for them to gain entrance. It was the most likely checkpoint for a confrontation.
  Instead of attempting to pass scrutiny by the automatic sentry, they parked the skimmer and headed straight for the security office. It was a bold move, designed to catch any forewarned personnel off guard. Whether it was a foolhardy one remained to be seen. The decision would be judged by its outcome.
  If the automatics recognized him, Flinx knew, anxious dialog and emotional manipulation was unlikely to sway them. Though it was in some ways riskier, he preferred to take his chances with sentinels of flesh and blood.
  There were three of them, seated at their positions behind a shieldscreen. It buzzed slightly as Cayacu made contact, a warning to stay back. Anyone trying to force the screen would receive a strong enough shock to lay them out flat—outside the portal. Bored, one of the guards looked up from his battery of security monitors and eyed the two men reluctantly.
  "Yar? What is it?"
  The old man spoke while Flinx hovered in the background, trying to conceal his face without appearing to do so. "I be Cayacu of Pacyatambu, a shaman of much experience and great knowledge." He indicated Flinx. "This is Gallito, my assistant."
  The sentry was somewhat less than impressed. "So?"
  "I have been asked by friends of the owner to bless a vessel stored here." Reaching into the sack secured at his waist, he pulled out a feathered rattle from which issued an especially noxious smell and shook it lightly in the guard's direction. "I have everything with me that I need."
  Another sentry glanced up from his bank of monitors. "Process 'em, Avro, and let 'em in." Ignoring the silent Flinx, the senior sentry focused on the weathered shaman. "Better make it a short ceremony. You've got ten minutes."
  "Thank thee, sir." Cayacu bowed gracefully and shuffled to his left, to stand within the confines of the security scanner. Flinx edged into the circular space alongside the old man.
  There was a brief hum as the security device was activated. Other than a slight tingling of the scalp, there was nothing to indicate that anything had happened. The hum ceased, the warning lights went out, and the two visitors stepped clear.
  "Just a minute." Frowning at one of his monitors, the second guard gestured to the third. "What's this here?"
  "Hold it, you two." The first sentry remained seated, but his right hand had slipped downward to shade the butt of the weapon bolstered at his waist. He waited for further details from his companions.
  The middle sentinel spoke up. "You, 'assistant.' Come over here." Flinx sensed wariness, uncertainty, challenge within the woman. Not a promising combination.
  Estimating the height of the fence that enclosed the shuttle service area, Flinx gauged his chances of making it up and over before port security personnel could run him down. The Teacher's shuttle was located about halfway across the crowded tarmac. He decided his chances were slight, even if the fence was not electrified or otherwise charged to keep out the unauthorized. He took a couple of hesitant steps forward.
  The woman who had called out to him was eyeing him intently. After a moment of silence, she addressed the younger man for a second time. "What's that coiled up under your outfit? On the shoulder? It shows here as organic." She indicated one of her monitors.
  Flinx replied deferentially. "It's a minidrag—a flying snake." Should he say something else, he wondered?
  Cayacu stepped in. "We use many serpents in our ceremonies. Some live, some dead, some pickled."
  The woman made a face. "Spare me the details. Save it for those tourists with more money than sense." Turning back to her monitor, she muttered to her companion. "That gibes with what I see here. Let 'em through."
  Heart pounding, Flinx followed a buoyant Cayacu as they passed through the deactivated section of fence. With a slight cracking sound it sprang back to life behind them. Ten minutes, the sentry had told them. He tried not to look back. At any moment he expected to hear the whine of security sirens and the shouts of eager police closing on them. Catching up to the shaman, he urged the old man to walk faster.
  Flinx had been privy to many spectacular sights in his time, but none were as stirring as the silhouette of the Teacher'?, shuttle, parked where he had left it many days ago. It did not appear to have been touched. Verbal contact activated its AI, which promptly assured him that its integrity had not been violated and that no unauthorized individuals had recently come snooping around. The shuttle could use force to prevent any such from boarding, Flinx knew, but denial of access could in itself be enough to set off alarms among the authorities. If anyone had linked him to this particular shuttle, they had not yet managed to pass the information along to those in a position to make use of it. He had no intention of giving them any more time to make the connection.
  A few coded commands delivered verbally, a concise security check performed by the ship's AI, and the ventral loading elevator stood open awaiting his next move. Turning, he bade farewell to the old shaman, taking both deeply creased hands in his own.
  "I owe you a lot, Cayacu. How can I repay you?" A quick glance southward showed that all was still quiet in the vicinity of the security post. Its denizens needed to remain bored for another few minutes, and then he would be beyond their reach.
  The old man smiled encouragingly. "Continue to confound authority, sonny. Always do the unexpected." Chuckling, he stepped back and began fumbling in his sack. "I have a feeling thou hast a talent for it."
  Smiling gratefully, Flinx turned to go, then hesitated. "What are you doing?"
  A battered rattle heavy with colorful tropical feathers emerged from the sack. "Preparing to properly anoint thy craft, of course. Thou don't think I'd let thee get off without receiving the blessings of the ancients, do thou?" Half closing his eyes, he launched into a chant not unlike the one Flinx had heard him sing in the buried city.
  "My thanks." Flinx started toward the elevator, speaking back over his shoulder. "Just don't linger too long, or you'll find yourself anointed by shuttle backdraft."
  Cayacu finished and walked away as the powerful engines of the shuttle sprang to hollow-voiced life. A word into a pickup, and he was passed out of the parking sector and back into the port proper. As he cajoled his superannuated skimmer out the main exit and back into the coastal night, a flurry of activity could be seen off to his left, where the main entrance to the port accessed the main north-south Lima conurbation track. An unusual amount of excitement for this time of night, he mused. What could possibly be the cause?
  Far overhead, a very small but efficient shuttlecraft was already streaking through the stratosphere. Turning south toward home, the shaman had no one to smile to but himself. It was enough. Not all magicians were old, he knew, and not every magic familiar. Some magicks were small, some great, and some inexplicable even to other shamans. It did not matter. He was neither resentful nor envious.
  It was good to have been able to help a brother in trouble.
CHAPTER
Five
  The clean, clear emptiness of space as the shuttle emerged from Terran atmosphere filled Flinx with relief. Not that he was safely on his way yet. In addition to the commercial stations that ringed the homeworld there were a number of orbiting military depots and other government facilities to which the public was not granted access. No one could simply approach as sensitive a place as Earth and set down in a shuttle. The identities of decelerating vessels and those individuals they carried had to be processed; quarantine procedures had to be acknowledged and followed; clearances had to be granted.
  Leaving, however, was a far less complicated business. No one particularly cared if a contaminated crew or cargo set out to infect the void.
  Even so, and even though he was not challenged as his shuttle's engines powered down from escape velocity to maneuvering mode, he paid close attention to every monitor within the cockpit. His presence was not necessary: The shuttle would warn him if they were challenged. But he was too nervous to stay stuck in transport harness while the craft worked its way through orbital traffic toward the drifting Teacher. He floated loosely in the command chair, held in place only by his grip on the arms.
  Within the cabin, Pip tumbled free, twisting and turning contentedly. She had adapted to weightlessness years ago and thoroughly enjoyed the occasional release from gravity. Freed from the constraints of Earthpull, she coiled and contorted in the air, pleated wings fluttering gaily, looking more like a free-swimming nudi-branch than an Alaspinian minidrag. Once back on board the Teacher, the overdrift from its posigravity drive would force her once again to beat air to stay airborne.
  Like all ships waiting to depart outsystem, the Teacher was parked well away from the overcrowded equatorial belt. The farther the shuttle traveled from that glittering planetary necklace of stations large and small, automated and inhabited, the more Flinx relaxed. When at last the Teacher loomed large enough in the port to see with the naked eye, he would have jumped for joy had not the danger of doing so in zero g restrained him.
  There was nothing for him to do now but loosen up, watch, and wait. Automatons handled nearly all modern navigation, with greater speed, efficiency, and accuracy than any human pilots could manage. In ancient times, he knew, machines had been built to serve as backups to people. Now the humans functioned as backups for their superbly crafted machines. Shuttle and mother ship communicated in high-speed bursts of compressed information while their master and his serpentine companion awaited their conjoined cybernetic permission to change ships.
  A telltale lit up on the console and a voice, clear and crisp, filled the cockpit. "Shuttle ident one-one-four-six, this is peaceforcer station Chagos. The favor of a reply is requested."
  Cursing silently, Flinx hesitated for as long as he thought tolerable before responding. By that time the shuttle's engines had shut down completely and the atmospheric transport was drifting with regulated precision into the open, expectant hold on the Teacher's port side.
  "Chagos station, this is one-one-four-six. How's the weather where you are?" Outside, the terminator line cut a black swath across the sapphire splendor of the Indian Ocean.
  "Depends what side of the station you're sunbathing on, one-one-four-six. We are in receipt of a general query from western South America to hold all, repeat all, departures for half an orbital period. This is a general caution for all vessels that have applied to depart outsystem and is not specific to you. Can you comply?"
  Muted clanking sounds reverberated through the shuttle's hull as it coupled with and was locked down in its holding bay. Pushing off gently, Flinx floated effortlessly out of the command chair. Gathering up Pip, he then kicked toward the main exit. Proper gravity would not return to his surroundings until the underpinnings of the Teacher's KK-drive were reactivated.
  "No problem." He responded promptly, knowing that the shuttle's omnidirectional pick-up would find and amplify his voice. "Hey, drifter, tell me—what's going on?"
  "We don't know yet." The voice from the station was devoid of duplicity. "We're promised details within half an hour. But something has a lot of important bureaucratic types stirred up downstairs. Whatever it is, it's significant enough to kick orbital as well as dirt-grubber backsides into action. Drift easy, and you'll get the word as soon as we do."
  "Must be serious." With a soft hiss, air from the recently drowsing and now revived Teacher blended with that of the shuttle. By his presence, Flinx announced his return. In corresponding silence, the ship acknowledged his arrival, identified him, and began to rouse itself. It would take only a little while for all systems to be up and online, Flinx knew. That was a good thing, since he now had less than thirty minutes in which to leave the Solar System and still avoid a confrontation.
  Of course, he did not know if the general orbital alert even had anything to do with him and his flight from Nazca. It might involve some other matter entirely. He knew only that he could not take the chance of finding out, much less risk the arrival of a heavily armed peaceforcer sent to take him into custody.
  As he drifted out of the shuttle, gently tugging a fluttering Pip along by her tail, gravity began to return. He made sure that he was perpendicular to the deck so that when the field reached full strength, he would land on his feet and not on his head. Without pausing to check on the status of the rest of the vessel, he made his way quickly to the bridge. The ship greeted him informally, in accordance with its programming.
  "Set course outsystem," he told it as he settled into the lounge that fronted the main console. He could have given the same directions from anywhere on the vessel, including his bedroom, but would not have had access to the same number of reciprocal functions that he did here.
  "Destination?" Today the ship spoke in the voice of a kindly old thranx.
  "Manual transfer. Acknowledge receipt of coordinates." Reaching into a pocket, he removed the nanostorage chyp and inserted it into an appropriate receptacle. The ship responded in less than sixty seconds.
  "Coordinates received. I am obliged to give warning. The intended destination lies outside Commonwealth boundaries, away from all safe sectors, and beyond the neutral zone. Do you really wish to penetrate the spatial parameters of the AAnn Empire?"
  "I am aware of the loci indicated by these coordinates. Proceed at speed."
  "It shall be as you command, O master."
  "And no sarcasm!" Flinx snapped at the ship's AI, even though he was the one who had precountenanced such a possible response.
  Out in front of the Teacher, beyond the vast generating fan that was the resonator of the KK-drive, a tiny pinpoint of light appeared as the Caplis generator was activated. Slowly at first, then gathering speed, the ship began to move. Flinx chafed at the pace. Changeover, the shift from space-normal to space-plus where interstellar travel became possible, could not take place within the Solar System. The Teacher's own safety system would not permit it. Until he reached changeover, he could be followed. Whether he could be run down once under way was another matter.
  The Teacher's course took it out of the Sun's system well below the plane of the ecliptic. Consequently, it was unlikely that interception from one of the many military or commercial bases located at outsystem sites such as Europa or Triton would be possible. The more distance he put between himself and Earth, the greater the likelihood of a successful escape.
  A voice crackled in the cool, pleasant air of the room. "Commercial deepspace vessel Delation Maucker" it demanded, using the false identification Flinx had provided to orbital authority upon arrival, "there is a general hold on all departures from orbit. We show you cutting moonsphere in two minutes and continuing to accelerate. You have not received clearance for departure."
  "Sorry." Once again, an omnidirectional pickup juggled his response. "We've got a schedule to keep. Important cargo for Rhyinpine. Guess someone mishandled the notice. Do you wish us to shut down departure program and return? Repeat, do you wish us to eventuate program and return?"
  There was a pause, which Flinx had counted on. No one wanted to be responsible for forcing a commercial vessel that was already outbound to terminate its route. His immediate response to the query and indicated willingness to comply with its attendant directive would hopefully serve to diminish any incipient suspicion. It had better, he thought. Now that the ship's KK-drive was fully active, he could not make use of the Teacher's formidable masking and screening capabilities.
  "Delation Maucker," the enjoining voice finally replied, "did you embrace docking with shuttlecraft one-one-four-six?"
  "What's that?" Numerals pregnant with meaning drifted above the console like stoned fireflies. Heading outsystem, the Teacher continued to accelerate rapidly. "You're breaking up. There's some trouble with clarification. Check your transmitter field, and we'll run an amplified throughput on our receivers."
  There was, of course, nothing wrong with the communications at either end of the conversation. Flinx had heard every word sent in his direction with perfect lucidity. But by the time that fact had been established to everyone's satisfaction, the Teacher was cutting the orbital sphere of Uranus, the impossibly bright glow from the dilating KK-drive field too bright to look at directly. The synthetic gravitational distortion had begun to warp into a teardrop shape, the shaft of the drop flowing backward to distort space immediately behind the bulge of the field—space occupied by the Teacher.
  "Delation Maucker." The original voice had been replaced by another that was both irritated and insistent. "You are instructed to terminate passage to Rhyinpine and return immediately to Earth orbit. This directive is ship specific. Repeat, you are directed to—
  Around the Teacher, the imposing strength of the KK-drive field shunted itself and everything contained within it from ordinary space into that strange region of compacted reality known colloquially as space-plus. Velocity, as it was understood in the normal universe, increased explosively. The domineering phonation that belonged to Earth vanished, cut off by suddenly achieved distances best described as absurd. Having been summoned from Triton, two peaceforcer patrol craft proceeding at speed arrived at the intended rendezvous coordinates five minutes after nothing was there. On distant Earth itself, rankled authorities fumed impotently.
  Within the unceremonious, homey confines of the Teacher, Flinx relaxed. One ship could not follow or confront another while in space-plus. The Teacher's navigation kept it on course, proceeding not to Rhyinpine, but to an unknown world lying within the outer boundaries of the A Ann Empire.
  No, not unknown, he reminded himself. Someone connected with an innocuous-seeming food manufacturer was going there. He was going there. By the very act of their going, the world in question removed itself from the index of the unknown. Who was preceding him, and why, he had yet to find out.
  Commonwealth vessels did not stray beyond the neutral zone known as the Torsee Provinces. It was not a sensible thing to do. Cultural aspects and attitudes of the AAnn were well known. Playing the role of forgiving hosts was not among them. He would have to tread very quietly. In this he had, to the best of his knowledge, several advantages that were denied those preceding him. Thanks to the singular skills of its Ulru-Ujurrian builders, the Teacher was capable of several tricks no other KK-drive craft could replicate. To enter and leave AAnn space without incident, he might well need to make use of all of them.
  His thoughts were not only of the enigmatic quest that lay before him, but of the unpretentious white-and-blue sphere that was now an invisible speck among the firmament aft. So—that was Earth. He had not thought much of it prior to his arrival, had not expected a second visit to do anything to change his opinion. Not until the old shaman Cayacu had put him in touch with its true past, one cool night on an isolated ocean shore in the presence of an entombed city, had anything been altered. Now he knew that, truly, it was his homeworld as well, in a way that Moth, the world of his youth, was not and never could be. Interesting, he mused. It appeared that one did not have to grow up in a place to recognize it as home.
  His gaze rose to contemplate the sweep of distorted space outside the chamber port. Moth might be his childhood abode, and Earth his ancestral haven, but this ship was home to him now. Within his head, all was quiet for the first time in weeks. No tempestuous emotions flailed at him, no overwrought feelings instigated the familiar painful pounding at the back of his skull. His vision was clear. In void there was peace.
  With a sigh, he settled back into the seat and bid the ship manufacture him something tall, cool, and sweet to drink. Such were the privileges of ownership and command. He would have traded them one and all for an ordinary life, for freedom from what he was and what he had seen. In lieu of that, ice, sugar, and flavoring would have to do.
  Within the hour he was reclining, drink at his side, in the ship's main lounge. A refuge from overwrought thought as well as the peaceful cold deadness outside the hull, the spacious chamber had recently been redecorated and embellished to suit his unassuming preferences.
  Instead of copies of great art, or synthesized enviros, or expensive holos, the lounge environment was presently composed entirely of natural materials. In this desire to keep something of the physical world close around him, Flinx was not exceptional among deep-space travelers. Hence the seeming incongruity of firms that specialized in placing reassembled boulders and beaches, trees and flowers deep within the wholly artificial confines of space-traversing vessels. In this the Ulru-Ujurrians had complied admirably with their young friend's wishes. The Teacher contained mechanisms that allowed him to alter the decor as his mood demanded.
  The log on which he was presently supine was composed of woody material, but it was not nor had it ever been in any sense alive. It was capable of motion, however, as it flexed to perfectly fit the curve of his spine. On the far side of the bathing pond, whose waters were held in place by the overflow of the KK-drive when the ship was traveling and by a transparent restraining membrane when it was not, a small waterfall tumbled and splashed into the clear water. Fish Flinx had added subsequent to the ship's construction swam lazily in its depths while frogs that had hatched from imported tadpoles and willowy grunps from Moth hunted for food in the shallows.
  Programmed breezes stroked the water and the landscaping that surrounded it. At present the light was evening post-rain, subject to luminary adjustment at Flinx's whim. With a word, he could conjure up a cloudburst that would soak everything but him, a balmy tropical evening, a soft shower, brilliant sunrise or easygoing sunset, or a cloudless evening in which the stars put in their appearance with carefully preprogrammed deliberation. Any stars, as seen from any one of a hundred different worlds. If he wanted meteors, he could call for meteors. Or comets, or a visitation from a perambulating nebula. Decorative simulacra of anything in the universe were available for the asking.
  Disdaining technology designed to fool the senses, he much preferred the waterfall, the pond, and the surrounding plants that the ship's automatics looked after and groomed as attentively as any human gardener.
  The plants themselves were an interesting hodgepodge, garnered from half a dozen worlds. Many had their origins in Terran species. Others did not. Among the latter was an enchanting assortment from his last port of call before Earth, an almost forgotten colony its inhabitants had named Midworld. When taking his leave of the place, he had left behind not only the frustrated thranx science Counselor Second Druvenmaquez, but friends among the original human inhabitants. Notable among them were the hunter Enoch and a comely young widow named Teal. Sorry they were to see him go, and would not hear of sending him off without gifts.
  Expecting carvings or necklaces of local woods and seeds, he was a little surprised to find himself the new owner of several dozen carefully transplanted growths ranging in size from mosslike clusters of low-growing greenery to budding saplings. Unable to find a diplomatic way of refusing the offerings, he had seen to it that all were transferred onto his shuttle prior to his secretive departure. From its cargo hold, the Teacher's automatics were then able to transport them safely to the lounge, where they were quickly and efficiently placed in available soils deemed most likely to facilitate their survival.
  Looking back, the presentation that had taken him by surprise at the time seemed perfectly natural in retrospect. What more appropriate gift to bestow on a visitor by way of send-off and remembrance from a world entirely overlaid with forest than a carefully chosen assortment of houseplants? Or ship plants, in his case. Uncertain at first about the unusual gift, he had quickly come to appreciate their presence. They added color and fragrance to the lounge.
  One shrub boasted long, broad flowers of deep vermilion speckled with bright blue. Another put forth stubby purple cones whose single seeds, when cracked and ground to powder, made the best bread flavoring he had ever tasted. A small sapling that he had been assured would not outgrow his ship sang like a flute every time an artificially generated breeze passed over its hollow branches. Two others filled the lounge with the heady scent of pomegranate and clove, while another smelled abundantly of vanilla.
  The new plants contributed ambrosial smells, interesting foods, and quirky sounds, just as did the vast forest that engulfed all of Midworld. The chief difference lay in the fact that none of them. Teal had reassured him, were capable of the often murderous behavior common to a host of Midworldian growths. They had been carefully chosen by her and her friends. He need not worry about brushing up against his new green companions, or relieving them of their fruits or seeds. Having observed close at hand and all too often the singular means by which the aggressive vegetation of that world had evolved to defend itself, he was glad of the guarantee.
  Despite the assurances of his friends, for the first few weeks he had moved cautiously in the presence of the most recent additions to the lounge's decor. By the time he was preparing to drop out of space-plus and enter the Terran system, the last of his fears had fled. He wandered among the new plants as freely and easily as he did among the old. Save for the profusion of vivacious fragrances, there was not all that much to differentiate the new transplants from New Riviera roses or Alaspinian palmettes.
  Actually, there was. And the difference was considerable: more so than he could have imagined. It was just that he could not see it.
  His own state of mind might have provided a clue, had he been perceptive enough to notice the change. But someone who is generally healthy, relaxed, eating and sleeping well while at peace with the universe rarely stops to contemplate the causes of his contentment. An older, wiser individual might have thought to remark on the unusual degree of inner calm he was experiencing, but Flinx was too young to be anything other than abstractedly grateful. He went about his business without bothering to analyze the source of his serenity. Much of it was his own, a consequence of successfully departing Midworld while evading the professedly benign attentions of the visiting thranx. A good deal of the rest was due to outside influences.
  Specifically, his newly acquired verdure.
  The remarkable flora of Midworld, unmatched in profusion or diversity anywhere else in the galaxy, had over the eons developed a kind of massively diffuse planetary group-mind that participated in the ongoing evolution of something that was less than consciousness but more than thought. Forced to deal with the arrival of mobile consciousnesses containered within individual, highly mobile bodies, it had responded by trying both to understand these new mentalities and to selectively modify them. Drawing upon the intruders' own thoughts and feelings, it had provided them with companions both Midworldian and familiar, in the form of the six-legged, wandering furcots.
  Then a new mobile intelligence had come into the world, slightly but significantly different from those of its fellows. These latter might not recognize the discrepancies inherent in the new arrival, but the world-girdling greenness did. Setting out to learn, it was stunned and appalled by some of what it found. Clearly, there existed threats to existence, to the expansion and health of the forest that was the world, that the expansive greenness had never before been able to perceive. This it was now able to do, thanks to the unsuspecting lens that was the new arrival.
  After some time spent in observation and study, of one thing the greenness was certain: It must not lose contact with the singular individual under scrutiny. What it knew had proven to be shocking. What it might be capable of doing might turn out to provide salvation for all.
  Or nothing might come of it. But the collective subliminal greenness had not come to dominate an entire planet by ignoring possibilities. The individual had to be monitored. At all costs, contact must be maintained.
  So when Flinx departed Midworld, he did so in the company of some inoffensive decorative flora provided by his friends. Why they had chosen the particular growths that they had he did not know. He would have been intrigued to learn that Enoch, Teal, and the others of their tribe did not know why they had selected those certain plants, either. In actuality, the plants had chosen themselves.
  Since the plants spawned no emotions he could sense, Flinx was unaware of the collective consciousness they possessed. Whether this constant flow of cognizance functioned in space-plus or space-minus depended on whether one considered it a product of sentience, or of something else not yet defined. It was enough that the awareness could exist simultaneously in two places at the same time, across distances that were vast only in human terms. Quantum thinking it was, different parts of the same discernment inseparable across distances measurable only in primitive and inadequate physical terms. Through a small portion of its own self, the greenness, the world-mind that was Midworld, was present on the Teacher as surely as it was on its far larger world of origin.
  It would continue to be so, observing and perceiving, in its own undetectable, inexplicable fashion, unless deprived of light and water. It wanted, needed, to know all that Flinx knew, so that it might set about devising in its own uncommon manner a means for combating the overweening terror it sensed stored within him. While doing so, it would continue to provide the sentience it was studying with agreeable smells, pleasant tastes, and soothing sights.
  None of the flora aboard the Teacher, transplanted from Mid-world or elsewhere, bore acorns—but on that one small ship speeding through the lonely otherness that was space-plus, the seed of something exalted had nonetheless begun to germinate.
CHAPTER
Six
  Pyrassis was the fourth planet out from its star. For company, it could boast the usual brace of uninhabitable rocky globes, a couple of unspectacular gas giants, a trio of diaphanous asteroid belts, a single methane dwarf, and the usual assortment of icy comets, meteors metallic and stony, and assorted drifting junk: stellar breccia. It was not a memorable system, and Pyrassis itself a less than awe-inspiring planet. Typical of the type of worlds favored by the AAnn, its primary colors when seen from space were not blue and brown, but yellow and red, though there were significant and sizable streaks and splotches of bright blue and green. The atmosphere was nitrox in familiar proportions, the gravity familiar, and the ambient temperature everywhere except at the polar extremes, hot. Just the way the reptiloids liked it, only more so.
  Approaching from outsystem with extreme caution, Flinx had the Teacher's preceptors make a thorough examination of the immediate spatial vicinity. A pair of lifeless, unprepossessing moons circled their parent world. Both were drab, heavily cratered, and insofar as his ship could determine, devoid of anything indicative of intelligent visitation beyond a couple of insignificant and probably long-dormant scientific monitoring terminals.
  As for Pyrassis itself, the single network of artificial satellites locked in equatorial and circumpolar orbits was as elementary as Flinx had ever encountered, designed to facilitate nothing more complicated than rudimentary ground-based and low-orbital communications. By positioning itself within the umbra of the nearest moon, the Teacher would render itself invisible to detection from the ground. Analysis of surface-based signals suggested the presence of only a single deepspace carrying beam, and nothing in the realm of sensitive military detectors. Surface-to-surface signals were low-gain and infrequent, hinting at a trifling and widely scattered AAnn presence. Not one of the battered satellites circling in languid low orbit was large enough to pose a threat to an arriving vessel.
  The lack of security did not surprise him. Clearly, the AAnn presence on Pyrassis was limited. There were no cities, most likely a single shuttleport, little in the way of surface infrastructure, and certainly nothing beyond minimal military facilities. With so little to defend, there was no reason for the Empire to waste precious equipage, resources that could be better employed elsewhere, in fortifying it. By every measurable criterion, here was an out-of-the-way, strategically unimportant world just barely worthy of the notice of the Empire that claimed it. Sheltered by its location within Empire boundaries, it required nothing else in the way of protection. There was not much here for the AAnn to watch over, and less for raiders to seize.
  The last thing any AAnn based on the surface would expect to have to deal with was an illicit intrusion from the Commonwealth. They would be shocked to discover that an unauthorized ship was settling in behind the nearer moon, the better to keep clear of any roving sensors. Had they bothered to look closer, they would have been utterly stunned to discover not one but two unsanctioned craft occupying the same obscure location.
  The Crotase did not react to his arrival. No hailing frequency activated the Teacher's communications module. No salutation image materialized above the command console in front of Flinx. As he directed the Teacher to tuck in close beside the other Commonwealth vessel, Flinx examined the Crotase for visible indications that it was engaged on a mission fraught with extraordinary possibilities. Nothing he saw suggested that this was the case. The Larnaca Nutrition transport sported a standard light-freight configuration, with two passenger/cargo modules comprising the stem of the elongated KK-drive craft. Other than appearing to be in unusually good condition, there was nothing exceptional about the vessel.
  Well, if they were going to ignore him, he decided, then it was incumbent upon him to open communication. Maybe they were waiting to make sure the recently arrived craft was crewed by humans or thranx, and was not a captured vessel being operated by the cunning AAnn to lead them into exposing themselves.
  No one responded to his queries. Close enough to exchange personnel via suits, the two ships drifted in the shadow of the nearer moon, the Teacher calling, the Crotase not answering. What its presence here had to do with Edicted information on the Meliorare Society Flinx still could not imagine. As his ship's AI patiently continued trying to evoke a response from the other Commonwealth craft, he contemplated how best to proceed.
  Like him, those aboard the Crotase had placed their ship in the shadow of this moon to avoid detection by the AAnn residing on the Pyrassisian surface. There was no other reason for their ship to be where it was. It therefore seemed sensible to conclude that whatever they were doing here, they were not cooperating with the lizards.
  The elimination of this one possibility failed to elicit enlightenment, since it still did not explain what they were doing in such a dangerous and seemingly unpromising locale in the first place.
  Pyrassis might be a world of inconceivable natural riches, though that struck Flinx as an unlikely reason for a Commonwealth vessel to pay it a visit. First, because its location rendered it impractical for any human agency to subsequently exploit, and second because the AAnn themselves had not done so. Or if they had, their diminutive presence on the planet suggested an enormous effort to conceal any kind of extensive development. There was no reason for them to make the effort to do so on a world they fully controlled.
  Curioser and curioser, he decided. AAnn intentions aside, the best way to find out what the crew of the Crotase was doing here was to confront them in person with the questions they were reluctant to answer via intership contact. Making plain via open broadcast that he planned to pay them a visit, and directing the Teacher to repeatedly state his intentions, he left the command chamber and made his way to one of the ship's locks. Sensing that his master's excitement was conflicted with other emotions, Pip alternated humming along the corridor in front of him with landing repeatedly on his shoulder.
  If they would not react to verbal or coded inquiries, Flinx decided as he entered the outer lock, perhaps they would respond to a knock on their front door.
  Taking no chances, he donned a full survival suit before entering the Teacher's shuttle bay. While the suit was awkward to wear, it would provide a degree of protection in the event of trouble. Its internal pickup automatically adjusted volume and modulation so that he could effortlessly deliver verbal orders to the shuttle's command nexus. Coiled tightly against his shoulder, Pip made a noticeable but not restrictive bulge within the suit.
  He could have directed the Teacher to ease right up alongside the drifting freighter, but in the event unforeseen difficulty reared its Hydralike head, he wanted his ship out of easy attack range. Programmed to react in specific ways to explicit assaults, he had no qualms about leaving it to maneuver on its own. He had spent a good deal of time preparing the AI to cope with difficulties in his absence. Feeling confident that the vessel could take care of itself, he directed the shuttle to move out and head toward the elongated bulk of the silent Crotase.
  If anything ought to have brought a response from the freighter, it should have been the approach of another large metallic object advancing on a collision course. But though he kept all hailing frequencies open, Flinx heard nothing from the ship he was approaching. It was a good deal more massive than the Teacher, with a bulbous cargo bay appended to the crew and passenger quarters. Light flaring from ports and telltales indicated that power was on throughout the KK-drive craft's entire attenuated length.
  There was nothing remarkable about the ship. In detail as well as silhouette it fit the standard schematic for its type: a purely commercial vessel bearing no surprises. Shuttle bays were located where he expected to find them. Maneuvering cautiously around the cargo carrier's bulk, he discovered one bay open and empty. Designed to accommodate a much larger cargo shuttle, it offered easy ingress to the heart of the mother ship.
  Once more he attempted direct verbal contact, and once again was rebuffed with silence. Shrugging, he directed the shuttle to dock in the most expedient manner possible. The automatics on the Crotase responded to his intrusion with alacrity. In less than two minutes his craft was tightly snugged in the bay. He barely had time to push free of the command chair before the shuttle felt the effects of the freighter's powered-down KK-drive field. Gravity once more took hold of his body.
  Exiting in his self-contained survival suit, breathing canned air, he examined the outer lock controls. As with the rest of the Crotase, everything was stock and familiar. As a fully qualified, experienced thief, he was used from childhood to breaking into homes and businesses. Breaking into a quiescent starship required a greater command of existing technology, but many of the same techniques. Using the equipment on his suit's tool belt, which was in turn linked to the shuttle's AI, he was able to break manually into the freighter's living quarters. Within minutes he had accessed the autochthonous AI. In less than half an hour it had accepted him as a valid user.
  Responding to his commands, it proceeded to secure the bay. He did not order it to close the outer hatch. No sensible thief locks doors behind him.
  If Mother Mastiff could see me now, he found himself musing. It was a long way from pilfering bread to stealing a starship. He had no use for the Crotase itself, however. He had come to loot only information.
  The inner lock doors opened as readily as the outer, responding briskly to his directives. Nothing emerged to impede his advance. Though his sensors indicated the presence of fully pressurized, un-contaminated, temperature-controlled atmosphere throughout the corridor he was traversing, he did not unseal his suit. There was no need to take chances. He felt confident he could get what he had come for without taking unnecessary risks.
  Around him, the ship hummed efficiently while continuing to manifest only mechanical life. Corridors and rooms were brightly lit. In a prosaically decorated crew lounge he found dishes piled high with snack foods in addition to indications of at least two meals abandoned unfinished. No trays lay mute on the deck, however, and no food or drink had been scattered violently about. There was nothing to indicate that the diners had abandoned their fare in haste.
  The entire ship lay open to him. His progress was restricted only by privacy codes that barred entrance to individual living quarters. Since several of these stood open to inspection, he had no reason to assume that the others contained anything of especial note, and he made no effort to bypass their personal security. He was not here to spy on an unknowing crew.
  What crew? Where was everyone? Had they been surprised by the AAnn and taken down to the surface for interrogation? That particular experience was one that, fortunately, had so far been denied to him. From everything he had heard, a discomfiting gallimaufry of fact and fiction, it was one he would gladly continue to avoid. Had the crew committed mass suicide by blowing themselves out a lock into space? There was nothing on board to indicate anything so excessive had taken place. There were no signs of violence, of struggle, or even of internal dissention.
  Based on what he found, or more properly, what he did not find, everything suggested that they had voluntarily transported themselves down to the surface on the freighter's other shuttlecraft. He could not imagine what for. What off Earth did a company that manufactured processed foods want with a desert world like Pyrassis? He stood outside the bridge, uncomprehendingly shaking his head. For that matter, he had yet to figure out what they wanted with Edicted records of Meliorare doings.
  Like everything else aboard the Crotase, the command-and-control blister was considerably larger than its counterpart on the Teacher. Unmonitored glowing consoles beckoied, efficient instrumentation silently declaimed reams of unperused information, and chairs reposed unoccupied. Anyone else thrust abruptly into such hushed surroundings could easily and quickly have become spooked. Not Flinx. In his short life he had seen and been forced to deal with far more intimidating surroundings than a deserted ship. Avoiding the empty command chair, he settled himself into one of the secondary seats.
  The freighter's AI was no less responsive in the control center than it had been in the outer lock. It replied to his queries promptly and without hesitation as he prodded it to divulge the information he had come so far to recover. Unfortunately, the admirably expeditious response did not take the form Flinx desired.
  "The information you request is contained in an Edicted sybfile."
  "I know that." Flinx had trouble controlling his impatience. Sensing it, Pip stirred beneath the fabric of the survival suit. "I don't seek disclosure. Transfer of the physical file to a blank storage chyp will suffice." He emphasized the request by running a finger over the Activate proximity control set in the arm of his chair.
  "Transfer cannot be accomplished." The voice of the Crotase was serenely implacable.
  "Why not?" Flinx inquired sharply. "Is there a command string lacking? Define the nature of the problem."
  "It is straightforward," the AI responded by way of explanation. "The sybfile in question no longer resides within my cortex. It has been removed, and there is no copy."
  Flinx slowly took a deep breath. He had not traveled an unconscionable number of parsecs to hear what he had already heard once before, on Earth. "Where is it now? Trace all echoes and ghosts."
  "That will not be necessary." The AI's assurance was calming. Finally, something positive! "The sybfile you request has been transferred to and at last check resides within the storage mode of personal recorder DNP-466EX."
  Hope and confidence returning, Flinx resumed his pursuit. "Where is the indicated recorder now? What is its present location?" Clearly, if he wanted the syb, he was going to have to confront the crewmember in whose possession it presently resided. As he contemplated his next query, he wondered if the individual was even aware of the sensitive nature of the information he or she was toting around.
  For a change, the AI's reply did not surprise him. "Following recent disembarkation, all crew departed on shuttle drop for the surface of the world called Pyrassis, presently located—
  "I know where Pyrassis is," Flinx interrupted briskly. "I can see it out the nearest port. I need specifics. Touchdown coordinates." He tensed slightly. "Was disembarkation voluntary, or coerced?"
  "Voluntary," the Crotase replied without hesitation.
  Some of the tenseness flowed out of him. Whatever the crew of the freighter was up to, or involved in, or dealing with on the surface of the dry, remote world below, they had not been captured by the AAnn. That greatly enhanced his chance of recovering, by whatever means, the information he sought. But it still begged the question of what humans were doing here.
  Time for one more highly sensitive question. Whoever they were and whatever their intentions, the one thing the landing party would not dare to do would be to lose contact with their ship. Which meant that if they were in regular contact with the Crotase, then the freighter would also be in contact with them.
  "You have the present coordinates of all absent crew, including the individual in possession of the personal recorder containing the sybfile in question?"
  "I am continuously monitoring the location of the landing party," the ship responded readily. "However, I do not supervise electronics on the personal level. There is no guarantee that the individual trans-porting the particular recorder under discussion is still in possession of it. In its absence from my presence, it may have been manually transferred to any other individual."
  That was reasonable enough, Flinx concluded. No matter. He would locate the recorder when he located and confronted the crew. They might share several dozen such devices among them, but the freighter's AI had thoughtfully provided him with its identifying code.
  Adopting his most assured tone, he once more addressed the Crotase's AI. "Request that you transfer last known coordinates of landing party to navigation submodule of…" and he provided the necessary coding and security-pass information to the AI of his own shuttle, presently resting in the freighter's bay.
  He breathed a small sigh of relief when the voice of the Crotase replied, "Complying," and seconds later, "Requested information transferred."
  Rising from the seat, Flinx took a last look around the deserted command chamber. Strange that whoever was in charge of this eccentric mission had not chosen to leave even a skeleton crew aboard. It suggested that everyone might be needed to fulfill whatever purpose was intended. Or that whoever was in charge did not trust their own crew sufficiently to leave even one member of the company behind in charge of the ship. The absence of any evidence for discord prior to disembarking hinted at another possibility. Whoever Larnaca Nutrition had sent here might be cooperating with the AAnn.
  Even this remote prospect still did not answer the question, Why Pyrassis? Though percolating natural curiosity demanded an answer, it was one he was willing to forgo if he could just obtain the information locked in the appropriated syb. Some kind of confrontation with the absent crew appeared inevitable. He smiled to himself. It might be direct, or accomplished by stealth. If the latter, then he would be on familiar territory. He was something of a master at concealing his presence from others.
  Just as there had been when he had come aboard, there was nothing to stop him, either verbally or physically, from leaving the freighter. Safely back aboard his shuttle, he checked to make certain the Crotase's AI had actually provided his craft with the requested landing coordinates. They were there, forthright and conspicuous, in the shuttle's data bank. Reaching down to unseal and slip out of the survival suit's confines, he decided to hold off doing so until he was clear of the hulking freighter.
  Agreeable as before, the Crotase obediently acknowledged his request to disengage. The shuttle was gently released and allowed to drift clear of the bay. Addressing his own craft's onboard AI, he directed it to program in the newly received set of coordinates and set down within three kilometers of the identified locality, leaving it to the shuttle's nav system to choose the best site.
  He could have returned to the Teacher and ridden his own ship to the surface. Thanks to several unprecedented and carefully concealed modifications built into her by the Ulru-Ujurrians, his vessel was, to the best of his knowledge, the only one in the Arm capable of advancing to within five planetary diameters of a target world-much less actually landing upon it utilizing its KK-drive. Commonwealth engineers would have been confounded by the revelation. It was only one of many secrets he had resolved to safeguard. In order to do so he was compelled to utilize, like everyone else, a shuttle for traveling between ship and surface. Thus far no observers had deduced this unique ability of the Teacher, and he was determined to keep it that way.
  Noting that it was nighttime in the projected landing zone, he added the additional instructions that the forthcoming touchdown was to be carried out without external lights or power. Automatically trimming and adjusting the little vessel's delta wings to account for local climatic conditions, the shuttle would glide to a landing in virtual silence. With luck, its arrival would not be noticed by those on the surface. Obviously, this would greatly enhance his chances of approaching their camp unnoticed and on foot. It was and had always been his favored means of approaching the unfamiliar.
  Should it prove possible to do so, he would much prefer to steal what he had come for.
  The shuttle's engines fired, attitude control rotated the craft eighty-five degrees, and as steady acceleration pushed him back into the command chair, it began to move out from behind the shadow of Pyrassis's nearer moon. Very quickly, the familiar bulges and lines of both the Crotase and the Teacher fell behind. Ahead loomed a lambent beige and rust-red world against which white streaks and tufts of cloud appeared even starker than they did against the blue-brown backdrops of planets like Earth and Moth and Alaspin.
  As soon as the shuttle's AI assured him they were on course for arrival, he reached down to release the increasingly uncomfortable survival suit's seals. Conducted to his ears by the suit's pickups, a faint hissing stopped him in midreach. Frowning, he glanced down to where his lower body lay secured in the seat's harness.
  The hissing sound was not coming from his suit.
  "I'm hearing what sounds like an atmospheric precipitance." His fingers moved away from the suit's seals. "Confirm and identify."
  There was a pause. It was brief, and might not have been noticed by, others less sensitive than Flinx. But he did notice it, and the hackles went up on his neck. Instantly, Pip poked her head out from within her brightly colored coils. The small, bright-eyed, triangular green shape rose up into his headpiece, obscuring a small portion of his vision. He was too busy and too anxious to admonish her. This was not a problem in which, however well-meaning, she could assist.
  "I sense no disturbance," the shuttle's AI responded. "There is nothing to identify."
  The hiss continued. He was not imagining it. "There is a barometric anomaly present. Confirm and identify."
  The voice of the shuttle did not change. "I sense no disturbance." Reaching out and over, Flinx activated a heads-up display. It appeared in front of him, frozen in midair. A few taps on manual controls brought forth the information he sought. It was chilling in its contradiction of the AI's declaration. Very plainly, with numbers as well as words, it indicated that atmospheric pressure within the shuttle was down to less than 0.5 PSI—and continuing to fall steadily.
  The leak would have to be located later. Right now he was far more concerned with the AI's seeming incognizance. "Instrumentation indicates we are bleeding air. Confirm, and if possible, identify the source of the leakage."
  "I sense no seepage of the kind you imply. Hull integrity is sound. All systems are operating normally."
  It did not take long for the hissing sound to cease. According to the manual sensors, this did not come about because corrective measures had been applied to recalcitrant instrumentation. It occurred because there was no longer any breathable air within the shuttle. He could quickly confirm this by unsealing and removing any part of his survival suit. He elected not to do so because if the instrumentation was right and the AI wrong, he would perish quickly and unpleasantly.
  Which is exactly what would have happened to him if, as was normally the case, he had been sitting confidently in the shuttle's command chair clad in nothing but his daily coveralls.
  Something had caused the supposedly fail-safe shuttle to inexplicably vent its internal atmosphere. A check revealed that the AI's response had been at least partially correct: hull integrity had not been violated. Which meant that something had directed the ship's systems themselves to void the air. Only a command delivered directly to the AI could induce that kind of reaction. He had given no such command. It was inconceivable that it could have come from the now distant Teacher. Where could it possibly have originated? The shuttle had received only two recent external directives. One from him, ordering it to program in a touchdown proximate to recently acquired planetary coordinates. The second from the AI of the Crotase, providing those coordinates.
  And just possibly, he realized with a sudden chill, supplying something else along with them.
  No wonder he had been allowed free and easy access to the freighter. No wonder nothing had been denied to him, including access to the vessel's main AI. No wonder no door had been programmed to seal itself behind him, no explosive device to go off beneath his booted feet or at his approach. There was no need. Whoever had programmed the freighter's response to intrusion had done so with exquisite subtlety. The booby trap it had been trained to plant was designed to go off only after an intruder departed. While he had been tunneling into the Crotase's AI, it had silently been doing the same thing to the controlling intelligence of his shuttle.
  He ought to have anticipated something of the sort. The Shell blowback at Surire should have habituated him to the mind-set of the kind of people he was dealing with.
  Lamenting the oversight now would do him no good at all, and would only waste time. "You are experiencing a malfunction," he announced solemnly. "Your cortex has been invaded. I direct you to execute all emergency clear, cleanse, and nullification programs and restore your system to health. If required, temporary shutdown of all functions may be permitted." A risky command, but no less so than allowing whatever had burrowed deep within the AI to continue to do damage with impunity.
  The shuttle's reply was not encouraging. "All systems are functioning normally. There is no need for shutdown, or to perform cleansing procedures." Thoughtfully, it advanced a time frame for touchdown.
  Safe within the self-contained environment of the survival suit, he and Pip could ignore the insidious evacuation of air from the shuttle's living quarters. The trouble was, given the blithe, blissful, persistent ignorance of the craft's AI, he had no way of knowing if that was the only problem he could anticipate having to deal with. Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, others began to make themselves known with unnerving regularity.
  Most disconcerting of all was the unsettling realization that as it entered Pyrassisian atmosphere, the shuttle was making no attempt to moderate its velocity. Well after deceleration ought to have begun, the little craft was doing nothing to brake itself preparatory to landing.
  "Teacher! Priority override!" Silence shouted back at him from the suit's speakers. "Teacher, acknowledge! Shuttlecraft emergency failure, all systems unresponsive. Acknowledge!"
  Uttering an uncommon epithet, he found himself admiring the skill with which the pathocybergen had been implanted in the shuttle's shell, even as he fought to identify and disarm it. A major complication manifested itself when he realized that trouble was spreading through the system as fast as he could isolate individual components. Working furiously with manual directives, he managed to segregate and fix the command string that had caused the internal atmosphere to be evacuated from the shuttle. That proved easier than his frantic attempts to reestablish communication with the Teacher. If he could just make contact, he could direct its far more advanced AI to correct the problems the shuttle's shell continued to insist did not exist. All such attempts, however, came to naught.
  Meanwhile, one onboard system after another continued to shut down, or fold into cross-purposes, or otherwise defeat every attempt by him to disentangle it from whatever treacherous pathogen the Crotase had cunningly inserted into supposedly safeguarded depths. And all the while, the shuttle continued to plunge surfaceward at an acceptable angle but at a decidedly inappropriate velocity on a vector designated for death. During which frenzied time the onboard AI continued to cheerfully insist that nothing was wrong, all systems were functioning normally, and that touchdown would occur within the specified time. That was not what troubled Flinx. What concerned him was the specific celerity with which the scheduled landing would take place. An efficacious touchdown was one in which everything involved, both animate and otherwise, retained its individual integrity. The long-sought-after sybfile would not do scattered shreds of him any good.
  It struck him with brutal, indifferent force that if he could not effect some significant changes to his present situation within the next couple of minutes, he most assuredly was going to die.
CHAPTER
Seven
  The shuttle's AI stayed as calm as Flinx was frantic, blissfully ignoring all evidence of an increasingly desperate reality. When Flinx pleaded for it to reestablish communications with the master AI on the Teacher, the shuttle confidently assured him that such communications were active. When he tried everything to persuade it to increase deceleration, it insisted that all touchdown modes were operating on optimal, refusing to be dissuaded by the increasingly dense, increasingly heated atmosphere outside. When ordered to perform a thorough internal check-and-clean of its command systems, it promptly agreed to do so—only to conclude that everything was fine, nothing was the matter, and that they would be landing gently in a matter of minutes.
  Meanwhile, the venting of critical fluids commenced, monitors began to fail, screens grew dark, and the shuttle gave every indication of shutting down section by section around its single human occupant. Fighting one system collapse after another as the unstoppable pathogen propagated throughout the shuttle, Flinx realized he had to set down quickly, while he still retained some semblance of control over the rapidly descending craft. Despite the desperation of his circumstances, the irony of it did not escape him. How fast would be too fast? How exacting an impact could he tolerate and still survive?
  At least, if his remaining instruments could be believed, the shuttle was still on course for the chosen landing site. And why not? There was no reason for the crippling intruder to alter the path of descent. It could crash the ship as thoroughly on target as anywhere else.
  Manual controls existed, but were a novelty to Flinx. Lacking time for a leisurely perusal of the relevant manuals, he set about fighting to disengage control of the vessel from its supervising AI. He had played with and practiced manual landings only a few times. Now he was going to find out what, if anything, he remembered.
  He could not argue directly with the addled AI, but he could disconnect it. When he initiated the suspension sequence, there was some resistance, but nothing that drive and desperation could not overcome. Now in complete control of what remained of the craft's operating systems, he began by bypassing the host of monitors that governed the engines. He celebrated a small accomplishment when he succeeded in shutting down the main drive. A larger triumph was achieved when the braking drive sprang to life. Descent velocity proceeded to degrade precipitously.
  Would it be enough, and in time? He would know all too soon. Bursting forth from the underside of the inert cloud cover, Flinx set the shuttle's delta wings to deploy to maximum. Screaming surface-ward, the trim little craft scattered a host of indigenous flying creatures from its path. The ill-defined blurring of beige and brown, blue and green that comprised the surface began to resolve itself into individual features. Flinx shot over canyons and badlands, defunct river deltas and eroded mountains. Somewhere in the jumble of anguished geology, he importuned, there had to be a suitable place to land.
  Minutes later, it loomed in front of him: a broad, sandy plain bordered by dunes whose height he was too busy to estimate. Entering by way of the open seals, scalding hot air shrieked unimpeded through the cockpit. The survival suit he had so providentially donned prior to exiting the Teacher kept him from boiling in his own body fluids.
  Landing skids deployed, nose up, braking drive blasting deafeningly, he continued to surrender altitude and hope for the best. A cliff riven with the intense blue and green of luxuriant copper mineralization materialized unexpectedly in front of him, forcing him to skew the shuttle sharply to the right. The hard surface leaped abruptly into view, an unforgiving, tawny terminus. Then it turned black, accompanied by a single overpowering, echoless banging in his ears…
  Something was tickling his eyelids. Blinking, he found himself staring into slitted reptiloid eyes. Fearing dissecting AAnn, he jumped. Then Pip drew back, her head and upper coils blocking her master's view of much of what lay beyond.
  Wincing, he struggled to sit up. It required several attempts before his damaged harness reluctantly released him from the command chair. His neck throbbed, and his chest felt as if it had recently served as a temporary resting place for a tired elephant. Intense, buttery yellow sunlight made him blink. Pieces of the polarizing port that ought to have minimized the glare lay strewn throughout the cockpit, fragmented by the force of impact. Something gripped his feet.
  Glancing down, he pulled them free of the grasping sand that now filled much of the shuttle's forepart. Experiencing a sudden, un-characteristic attack of claustrophobia, he hurried to remove the survival suit's headpiece. As the shuttle's instrumentation had originally confirmed when it had been functioning properly, the atmosphere of Pyrassis was safe to breathe. It was hot, incredibly dry, and smelled faintly of desiccated myrtle. Freed from the confines of the suit, Pip unfurled her pleated pink-and-blue wings and soared through the shattered foreport, out into the alien sky. He made no attempt to restrain her. She would not stray far, and he envied her the freedom. Should he feel threatened, she would come back to him in an instant.
  Struggling to move in the clinging sand, which like the cliff he had barely managed to avoid was electric with blue and green ores, he took stock of his situation. Reflecting the confusion that had afflicted its AI, the interior of the shuttle was a useless mess. The fact that he had survived with little more than a few bruises was a tribute to the sturdiness and design of the Ulru-Ujurrian-installed harness. As bad as the shuttle's unflyability was the destruction of all internal communications facilities. Those built into his survival suit would also allow him to exchange basic commands with the Teacher, to let it track him, perhaps even to let him instruct it to send out a second shuttle to pick him up—except that his ship was concealed behind the planet's near moon to forestall just that kind of interactive communication with the Pyrassisian surface.
  Eventually, the Teacher's highly sophisticated AI might wonder at his continued absence, deduce that something was amiss, and initiate a search without having to be prompted. That would take time, and would require a decision on the part of the AI to countermand Flinx's instructions to remain where it could not be observed from the world below. Presently then, his best hope lay in that portion of the Teacher's programming that allowed for cybernetic initiative. He was not sanguine.
  What he was, not to put too fine a technological point on it, was stuck. On an alien world he knew next to nothing about. He did know, however, the approximate last location of the landing party from the Crotase. Several options were open to him. One was to try and contact his fellow humans—openly, now—while using the time prior to making such contact to invent a plausible excuse for being in the improbable place where he was. Another was to wait for the AAnn to find him, in which case he was unlikely ever to see a humanx world ever again. A third was to do his best to stay alive until the Teacher's AI decided it was incumbent upon it to disobey directives and contact its owner, if only to seek clarification of those same prohibitions.
  Eventually, he decided his best chance lay in combining the first and third of his alternatives. He would commence a search for the Crotase landing party. When contact was made, he would keep his distance until he could no longer survive on his own, in the hope that the Teacher would come for him before his endurance was exhausted and he was forced to throw himself on whatever mercies his fellow humans might deign to visit upon him. Meanwhile he could try to locate and appropriate the personal recorder containing the long-sought-after sybfile.
  It sounded like a workable course of action. Provided, of course, that the crew of the Crotase were not already preparing to depart, having carried out and completed whatever plan they had come to fulfill. Provided that the local AAnn, sparse and scattered though they might be, did not first discover the humans who were prowling illicitly in their midst and irately obliterate them. Provided he could survive the harsh climate, difficult terrain, and unknown inimical life-forms that might inhabit this underpopulated, out-of-the-way speck of grit.
  Yes, it was a workable plan—if one disregarded all the provideds he had not provided for. The survival suit would help. Having come through the crash landing with all its functions apparently intact, it could distill water from air even as low in humidity as that presently surrounding him. Its integrated storage compartments contained food bars and supplements that could keep him alive, if not sated, for a while. The tools that filled the sturdy service belt that formed an integral part of the suit's waistband were marvels of miniaturization. One leg pouch held a potent endural pistol that fired small but satisfyingly explosive pellets, on the theory that where caliber might prove inadequate, a loud enough noise might be sufficiently disconcerting to the unsophisticated to discourage attack.
  And of course, he had Pip.
  Taking time to apply salve from the suit's medikit to the worst of his bruises, he scavenged the ruined shuttle for anything else that might prove useful. Designed to convey travelers safely between localities, it was ill equipped for his present needs. He did manage to cobble together a crude backpack into which he loaded an improvised water bottle, in the event his suit's distiller either broke down or proved unable to suck enough moisture out of the air, and some plasticine sheeting from which to extemporize a shelter. Making certain that the shuttle's integrated, shielded emergency beacon was active so that the Teacher, if and when it grew so inclined, would not have to search half the planet to find him, he exited the downed craft by climbing out the shattered foreport. The main hatch was jammed beyond repair.
  For someone so young, he had experience of a number of different ecosystems, from the rain forests of Alaspin and Midworld, to the urban centers and high mountains of Earth, to the underground world of Longtunnel and its wind-scoured surface. There were also the years he had spent growing up on Moth, a colony world that boasted a rich variety of environments. But only once before had he spent any significant time in a desertlike climate, and that was in the company of a hoary old prospector named Knigta Yakus.
  He tried to remember all that he knew of such conditions as he set off, striding strongly away from the downed shuttle as he let the suit's tracker lead him eastward. Somewhere over the dune-dominated horizon the crew of the Commonwealth freighter Crotase was engaged in dangerous, illegal, and scandalous activity the likes of which Flinx could not imagine. It was sobering to realize that unless his circumstances changed drastically, and soon, those interlopers represented his best hope for survival.
  While the heat would not bother her, he knew that eventually Pip would begin to suffer from the lack of ambient humidity. He would have to take care to keep her properly hydrated. With its headpiece restored but faceplate retracted, the suit kept him reasonably comfortable. Designed to allow its wearer to survive in free space for a period of up to ten days, its internal power source would last a good deal longer in the comparatively benign environment of a habitable world. It would keep him cool during the day and warm at night, and if he so felt the need, he could conserve its resources even longer by shutting the suit's eco-functions down when they were not required.
  He let them run now, however, because otherwise he would not have been able to make nearly as much progress in the strength-sapping heat of the day. It was imperative that he locate and overtake the landing party from the Crotase before they concluded their work. Keeping his distance, monitoring their activities, and trying to find out what they were doing here would not only serve to take his mind off his present awkward situation, but perhaps also answer some of the questions that had brought him here as well. Unaware they were being stalked by one of their own kind, there was no reason for them to keep moving around. Presumably, they had set down and subsequently established themselves right where they wanted to be.
  Try as he might, he still could not contrive a connection between the barren world across which he was presently striding and the disreputable eugenics work of the Meliorare Society. Above and ahead of him, Pip soared appreciatively on the warm air, elated to be free of the confines of the survival suit. With luck, they would steal up upon the Crotase encampment within a few days or so.
  Had anyone from that ship descried and tracked the shuttle's descent, and if so, would it unsettle them enough to abandon their plans? He doubted the latter. They had come too far, at too great an expense, and risked too much to pull out at the first sign of the unexpected. The shuttle's touchdown had been rough and crippling, but nonexplosive. If they had followed the shuttle's descent, the crew of the Crotase had at their disposal any number of ways to rationalize what they had beheld. That was assuming they had seen anything. The shuttle had come in from the west, describing a very low angle of approach. Even in this clear desert air its distant touchdown might not have been noticed.
  Lengthening his stride, he stepped confidently over the sand, Pip darting to left or right to check out an unusual formation, a plant, or something unseen that might be stirring in shadow. Activating the survival suit's distiller by sucking on the internal dispenser tube, he luxuriated in the cool moisture it provided. He was not worried about stumbling into the Crotase's encampment, or even into an outlying sentry. This was because for the moment, at least, his sometimes erratic talent was active and alert. In this otherwise uninhabited alien desolation, he would be able to pick up even sedate human or AAnn emotions long before he sighted those to whom they belonged. He felt confident that before long, despite the temporary setback, he would finally be able to obtain answers to the flush of bewildering questions that had carried him beyond the farthest limits of the Commonwealth.
  His emboldened convictions were not matched by certain growths he had left behind on board the Teacher. In ways that could not be explained by contemporary biology, physics, or any other branch of the familiar sciences, they sensed that something had gone seriously wrong with the warm-blooded vertebrate in whose charge they had been placed. When his absence persisted, they grew quietly frantic. Leaves twitched imperceptibly in the windless confines of the Teacher's lounge. Petals dipped under the influence of forces far more subtle and less obvious than falling water. Unseen roots curled in response to wave patterns that had nothing to do with the subtle movements of soil and grit.
  The situation was analyzed in the absence of anything Flinx or any other chordate would recognize as a brain. It involved a manifold process of cogitation far more alien than any propounded by AAnn or thranx, Otoid or Quillp. Among the known sentients, only the cetacea of Cachalot or the Sumacrea of Longtunnel might, upon exerting a supreme effort, have glimpsed an intimation of the process, but no more than that. It was not possible for compartmentalized organic brains deliberating by means of sequential electric impulses to fathom what was taking place among the plants of Midworld.
  Contemplation occurred with consequences resulting. Meditation existed on a plane remote from the familiar. By virtue of reflection, resolution simply was. No human, equipped with the latest and most relevant tools, would have recognized the process for what it was. And yet—there were fine points of tangency.
  In silence broken only by the whisper of air being recycled through the hull, envisionings sprang lucent and undiminished among the alien flora. What inhered among them inhered among every other growing thing on the world from which they had come. It was not a discussion in the sense that subjects were put forth for disputation and debate. Did clouds moot before resolving to rain? Did atmosphere argue prior to sending a breeze northward, or to the east? When a whirling magnetar blew off overwhelming quantities of gamma rays, was the direction and moment of eruption a consequence of cognizant confutation?
  Among the incredibly diffuse but nonetheless vast aggregate worldmind of which the verdure on board the Teacher were an inseparable part, what Was became what Is. Call it thought if it aids in comprehension. The plants themselves did not think of it as such. They did not think of it at all. They could not, since what transpired among them was not thought that could in any sense be defined as such.
  That did not mean that what came to pass among them was devoid of consequence. It was determined that, for the moment, at least, nothing could be done to affect what had transpired. Patience would have to be exercised. The disturbing situation might yet resolve itself in particulars agreeable to those whose awareness of it was salient. Their perception of the physical state of existence humans defined as time was different from that of those who inhabited the other, more-remarked-upon biological kingdom.
  It seemed that nothing could be done until the situation on the surface of the planet below resolved itself. Except—the dominating flora of a certain singular green world had progressed beyond the first sight to which their rooted brethren on other worlds were still restricted. Their equivalent of thought was capable of generating aftereffects. Normally, these took prodigious quantities of time to manifest themselves. But since humans had come among them hundreds of years earlier, circumstances attributable to consequent interactions had resulted in the celerity of these distinctive ruminations accelerating. Happenings took place within expedited time frames that could not even have been imagined millions of years earlier, when the worldmind had first begun to become aware of itself as a disparate but solvent entity.
  Tentatively, with none but the uncritical electronic oculi of the Teacher's AI to see what they were about, tendrils began to emerge from the cores of several growths, slowly but perceptibly extending themselves outward from the planters in which they had been rooted.
CHAPTER
Eight
  Seen from orbit through high, swirling white clouds, Pyrassis was a globe dominated by Earth tones but highlighted with unexpected streaks of brighter hues. The origin of the multiple shades of blue and green was not ocean, while that for many of the yellows and oranges, reds and purples, was not sand—though there was plenty of that. The sources were more solid, more inflexible, less mutable. They also provided a rationale for the existence of at least a small AAnn presence.
  On Pyrassis, the process of cupric precipitation had run riot.
  Everywhere within the streaked and banded rocks past which Flinx traipsed, pockets of crystals sparkled in the diffuse light of the alien sun. In the depths of punctured vugs, needlelike clusters of fragile silicates and bladed arsenates sparkled with the promise of new combinations of elements. He marveled at them in passing, intent on reaching the site where the visitants from the Crotase had established their illicit camp. Despite his resolution, it was impossible to completely ignore the fantastic diversity of shapes and colors.
  Pausing by one open vug, he pointed his suit's interpreter at the dazzling interior and requested a chemical analysis. "Gebhardite, Leitite, Ludlockite, Reinerite, Schneiderhohnite, and at least three compounds unknown to science. All arsenites or arsenic oxides."
  Flinx didn't even try to pronounce them. "Never heard of any of them."
  "It is debatable which is rarer than the next," the interpreter observed. "To find them all together is quite remarkable."
  Seeing no need to comment further, since the interpreter's ability to sustain a conversation was limited to the information in its straightforward knowledge kernel, Flinx leaned forward as he began to ascend a series of stairlike ridges. The rock underfoot was composed of yellowish orange silicates, sprinkled in protected cracks and rills with druzy calcite and quartz. Pyrassis was a mineralogist's paradise, but he was not interested in collecting specimens: only information. At least, he mused, his unexpected trek would not lack for visual stimulation.
  Taking another sip from the suit's distiller while scratching a resting Pip on the back of her head, he paused at the top of the last ridge. Spread out before him was a gleaming panorama of spectacular colors and twisted formations set against a sky that was a hazy mixture of turquoise and chalk. Nothing in his line of vision looked to be too high to ascend or too difficult to traverse. In the distance, he thought he saw several dark shapes undulating lazily among the low-lying clouds, but he could not be certain. They might have been nothing more than a trick of the light, reflections, or mirages. When he looked again, from halfway down the far side of the ridge, they were gone.
  His boots crushing a fortune in collector's specimens with every other step, he paused frequently to check his bearings. Knowing that the visitors from the Crotase would utilize only low-level communications to keep in touch with one another, lest they alert any AAnn monitoring devices located on the ground or in the sky, he had instructed the interpreter to home in on only the slightest electronic emanations coming from the specified area where the other humans had set down. In the spectacular alien wilderness of rock and crystal, it was reassuring to have the device confirm that he was in line and on track for his intended destination every time he checked it.
  Nightfall brought with it a smothering silence that was broken only by the moan of an occasional breeze, and an unidentifiable but nonthreatening chirping. The wind, he decided, sounded as lonely and isolated in this place as he was. More out of boredom than interest, he played the interpreter's scanner over a glittering cluster of gemmy needles huddling together beneath an overturned, slab-sided boulder.
  "Molybdofornacite, Thometsekite, and ferrilotharmeyerite," the device deduced.
  "Never mind." Gazing up at the unfamiliar stars, he chuckled softly to himself. Responding to his mood. Pip shifted her position on his stomach to blink sleepily up at him. "No iron?" That, at least, he could pronounce without severely spraining his larynx.
  "There is some, but the base element here is copper. Would you like a rundown of all the derivatives in the immediate vicinity?" the device inquired hopefully.
  "No thanks." Flinx was only indifferently interested in the mineralogical wonders surrounding him. They were emotionless.
  Beautiful, though. Take the undulating cluster of tiny brownish crystals that filled the gap between two yellowish gray boulders a few meters from where he had chosen to spend the night. In the glow from his suit's integrated illumination, they shimmered like a pool of shattered glass. Locking his fingers across his chest and trying not to think about the familiar, comfortable bed that waited for him back in his cabin on board the Teacher, he let silence and fatigue steal through him, heralding the onset of sleep. His eyelids fluttered, closed—and fluttered anew.
  Were those unpronounceable mineralogical intangibles all that was creeping up on him as he watched, or was there something more?
  Blinking, he gazed evenly at the bed of crystals and frowned. On his belly. Pip stirred slightly. Light brown highlighted with splotches of darker maroon, the crystalline configuration appeared no different from hundreds of similar formations he had noted and forgotten about during the day. Like their similarly striking geological brethren, they caught the light and threw it back at him in dazzling patterns, even with the limited illumination that was available. Most certainly, they did not sway. Even a stiff gale would be insufficient to bestir them.
  Shifting his backside against the unyielding stone, he struggled to find a more comfortable position, as if by continually adjusting his spine he might somehow happen upon a softer rock. He closed his eyes—but not quite all the way. Through the slim slit of vision he retained, he thought he saw the twinkling accumulation of small crystals stir again, albeit ever so slightly.
  This is ridiculous, he told himself. Until he satisfied himself as to the reality of the rocks before him, he was not going to be able to relax. Pulling his legs up under him, he rose to his feet. As he stood, an irritated Pip slithered from his stomach up to her familiar resting place on his shoulder. In the distance, something exotic and unknown continued to chirp systematically.
  Walking deliberately up to the mat of crystals, he removed the suit glove from his right hand and ran the exposed palm lightly across the pointed brown tips. The siliceous material was hard and unyielding, reminding him of similar material he had encountered before, like the crystals from which Janus jewels were cut. The material he was caressing was manifestly inorganic. Slipping the glove back over his fingers, he started to turn back to his chosen resting place. Giving the shimmering formation a last admiring glance, he kicked out gently with one foot, intending to test the sturdiness of the glittering, individual siliceous depositions.
  A cluster of larger crystals located near the base of the formation promptly split apart, allowing a mucus-coated bronze-colored tube to emerge. Its annular terminus was lined with what looked like more crystals but which were, in fact, teeth. Or more properly, a startled Flinx decided as he jumped backward, fangs. Interestingly, they did not snap, but rotated rapidly around a central esophageal axis. He marveled at the biological mechanism that permitted the novel range of motion.
  At least, he did until the boulder-sized lump of brown crystal rose up on a quartet of stumpy, muscular legs and started toward him.
  Sensing his alarm, Pip was instantly awake, a blur of pink and blue hovering above him and slightly to his left. Pleated wings beating too fast to see, she positioned herself to deal with the ponderous, slow-moving threat, preparing to direct her expectorated poison at the exquisitely camouflaged predator's eyes. Only one difficulty, only one problem held her back.
  It had no eyes.
  By what method it sensed his presence, Flinx did not know— only that as he retreated, slowly but with a care for where he placed his feet, it followed. It might only be curious about him—though the presence of those rotating, scythelike fangs within the circular mouth implied that their owner fed on something other than leaves and blossoms. While its mouth might be overtly threatening, its mass, body design, and movement did not suggest a carnivore capable of rapid movement. When it did give indications of accelerating, he simply took another step backward. All the while, its lethal mouthparts continued to rotate expectantly.
  An ambusher, a silent stalker supreme, Flinx decided as he monitored its approach while continuing his slow, steady retreat. It was fortunate he had reacted to his suspicions instead of ignoring them in favor of incautious sleep. His forceful contact, in the form of an experimental kick, had induced the creature to abandon its facade and accelerate in his direction. Fortunately, though its intent seemed clear enough, it was handicapped in its eagerness to sample this new type of potential prey by a range of motion only slightly swifter than that of an adolescent sloth.
  Pip was more agitated by the creature's behavior than her companion, who stayed close enough to examine the blanket of crystals that grew from the alien's back. They were indisputable crystalline formations, not biological pseudomorphs like glassine hairs. Some marvel of internal chemistry allowed the animal to sprout cupric silicates from its skin. Flinx pondered what other biological wonders barren but colorful Pyrassis might contain.
  The trunklike mouth extended another half meter toward him, rotating teeth straining to reach the soft flesh that remained just out of reach. He scrambled effortlessly over a recumbent boulder and waited to see what the creature would do. The stout, cumbersome legs looked no more adapted for climbing than did the rest of the beast. As it advanced, it continued to probe the air with its fang-lined proboscis.
  Her rapidly beating wings filling the air with a hum like the mother of all bumblebees, the increasingly aggrieved minidrag darted down at the sluggishly advancing predator, striking repeatedly at its back and the place where a head ought to be. Her own much smaller teeth were, of course, unable to penetrate the glistening sheath of crystals that covered its bulk. Flinx made an effort to reassure her.
  "It's all right, Pip. See how slow it is? I could walk, much less run, circles around it." He stepped out from behind the rock, his eyes already looking for another resting place. "If its presence bothers you that much we'll go find another spot to sleep right now." With a wave, he bid farewell to the probing carnivore and turned to go.
  Whether it was the act of turning his back on the creature, or ignoring it with his eyes, or some other factor that triggered the unexpected reaction, he did not and probably would never know. Regardless of the cause, the consequences were as immediate as they were unanticipated.
  The mass of crystal-coated stone directly in front of him erupted, rising to a height of seven meters or so, and thrust a saw-lined snout the size of an escape hatch directly at his face. Several things flashed through a startled Flinx's mind at once: No wonder the small creature at his back had been curious about him. It was normal for the infants of most species to be curious about all new phenomena. The adult that now towered before him was less inquisitorial. It intended to macerate him first and evaluate his nutritional potential later.
  The massive buzz saw of a snout struck at him. As it did so, something bright of hue and swift of wing darted down to spit a stream of toxic venom at the creature. Striking just above the proboscis and its fine coating of brown crystals, the corrosive liquid hissed as it dissolved mineralogical camouflage and underlying flesh alike. The hulking brute flinched, the fanged snout retracting slightly, as smoke rose from the site of the strike. Then it lumbered forward once more, advancing sluggishly but on monumental legs each of which was taller than Flinx. Not speed but stride rendered it far more dangerous than its inquisitive, smaller spawn.
  Still, having now been alerted to its presence, Flinx felt he could outrun it despite the restraining bulk of the survival suit. Turning, he vaulted an eroded layer of stone and was preparing to break into a run when a sharp, hot pain raced up his right leg. Jerking his head around sharply to look down, he saw that a flexible, moist tube had penetrated the survival suit and was gnawing methodically into his calf. For the first time since he had risen from his place of intended rest, fear overtook his initial curiosity.
  In his haste to escape the adult, he had forgotten about the infant.
  Rotating teeth tore at his skin. Behind him, a sonorous rumbling heralded the approach of the laggard but long-legged parent. Its much larger proboscis could snap off his head as neatly as he would twist and pluck an apple from a tree. He wrenched forward with his right leg, putting all his weight into the effort. The silent infant came away with a large chunk of tough fabric in its snout that it promptly chewed up, inhaled, and regurgitated. This alimentary rejection did nothing to lessen its interest, nor that of its hulking genitor.
  Trailing blood from his injured leg, Flinx broke into a harried limp. In a long leg pocket lay the small firearm that might have stopped the infant but that he knew would only irritate something as massive as the adult. With each stride, his injured leg responded more favorably. The wound he had suffered was messy, but shallow.
  Unexpectedly elongating its proboscis to twice its apparent length, the adult struck him squarely in the back, knocking the breath out of him and sending him crashing to the ground. He could hear as well as feel the rotating teeth tearing into the back of the survival suit. Idly, the ever-speculative part of him wondered how long it would take for those spinning fangs to cut through the durable material and begin slicing into his spine. Knowing it would probably be futile but refusing to go down without a fight, he fumbled for the pocket that held the compact survival weapon. He had trouble get-ting a hand on it because as the creature was working to consume him, the muscular snout was also dragging him backward across the rocks.
  The minidrag dove again. In the absence of eyes, she struck at the only orifice that presented itself. Caustic venom entered the upper, exposed portion of the tooth-laden snout. A puff of noisome smoke accompanied an audible hissing sound. Emitting a throbbing, almost subaural vibration, the alien proboscis gave a sharp jerk and released its intended prey.
  Scrambling to his feet, Flinx staggered momentarily and stared as the limber appendage thrust upward, exploring the air for the tiny winged thing that had been responsible for the hurt. Pip could have avoided the clumsy probe on one wing. Without waiting to see how long his winged companion could maintain the diversion, Flinx turned and stumbled up the nearest slope. He was battered and bruised, but the flow of blood from his leg had slowed. Within minutes he had put reassuring distance between himself and the remarkably camouflaged local predators. Pip joined him shortly, fluttering anxiously about his face, examining him out of slitted, reptilian eyes. Able to read his emotions and therefore sense that he was hurt but otherwise all right, he knew that she would soon relax and settle down.
  Which was more than he could say for himself. He was angry. He ought to know better by now than to be beguiled by exotic beauty or the alien bizarre. Had he learned nothing on places like Longtunnel and Midworld? The fact that this biosphere appeared deficient in life-forms did not mean that it was. Heretofore he would be more careful, would respect anything and everything as implicitly biotic and therefore potentially hazardous no matter how inert or inactive it might initially appear to be. On a new, unfamiliar world, one should not trust even the clouds.
  He counted himself lucky, having escaped with only a slightly injured calf and a torn pants leg. The latter would greatly reduce the ability of the suit to keep him cool and comfortable unless he could figure out a way to seal off the damage below the knee. But the tear hardly constituted an environmental crisis. At worst, he could solve the problem by the simple low-tech expedient of binding the torn material up in a simple knot.
  By the time he had put the deceptively inviting hillside and its voracious but sluggish denizens far behind, he was feeling much better. He resolved to find a place to sleep that was not already occupied. With his lips, he took a sip of cold water from the suit's distiller.
  A tiny, almost apologetic red telltale materialized before his eyes, warning him of an occurrence he would greatly have preferred to ignore. Feeling the effects of the long day, he could not keep the irritation out of his voice. Not that it would matter to the suit.
  "Yes, what is it now?"
  The synthesized reply was spasmodic and full of dropped vowels. In the electronic background, underlying the response, reverberated a series of intermittent twitters, as of a metallic mouse gnawing on steel cheese. Worrying sounds.
  Worrying words, as well. "Suit integrity has been infringed."
  Glancing down at his right leg while maintaining his forward stride, Flinx smiled ruefully. At least the bleeding had stopped. "I can see that. Anything else?"
  "Unfortunately, yes. The Pare Nine-Oh electrostatic distiller has been damaged."
  Flinx pulled up sharply, and Pip had to tighten her grip to keep from sliding off his shoulder. A torn suit he could deal with. A broken distiller. ,
  "Can it be repaired?"
  "Yes," the suit informed him encouragingly. "A new outer coil and condenser unit will restore the unit to full functionality. There are two of each required replacement component in aft supply bay four."
  "On board the Teacher." Flinx's tone was flat.
  "On board the Teacher," the suit confirmed.
  Looking down, Flinx scuffed idly with one booted foot at a patch of delicate dark blue azurite crystals. "That's not very helpful, since I have no way of contacting the ship."
  "It does present a problem," the suit agreed.
  "Have you any suggestions as to how to compensate for this difficulty?"
  Advanced cogitation was not the suit's forte. It was, after all, nothing more than a tool. "Drink less."
  Nodding to himself, Flinx chose not to reply. Sarcasm would be lost on the unit. It required an advanced AI to appreciate irony. Examining his surroundings as exhaustively as he could, he chose the inner curve of a dry wash for his new bed. The underside of the slight overhang where he lay down was ablaze with enormous red-orange crystals of vanadinite. He noted the fiery display without appreciating it. He was not in the mood.
  Carefully disrobing, he laid the survival suit aside. Now that it was off, he could see the true extent of the damage it had suffered. Not only was the distiller ruined, several other built-in components lay exposed to the elements or had otherwise been damaged. The spatial sensors were still operational, which would allow him to continue to monitor the location of the landing party from the Crotase by sensing the faint emanations of their electronics. He no longer calculated the distance to the site in kilometers, but in swallows of water. The suit's tank was full, but in the heat of the day its contents would not last long: a few days at most, provided trekking conditions remained amenable and he could avoid any more ticklish encounters with the local wildlife. What he would do for something to drink when he reached the encampment he did not know.
  He had to repeat the order three times before the damaged suit complied with his request to shut down its internal cooling system. If he ran it at maximum while leaving the faceplate open and the torn leg flapping as he walked, thus admitting air, some water ought to condense on the cooled interior. He would make certain to gather those precious droplets as best he could, saving the water in the suit's insulated tank until he had no choice but to drink from it.
  Walking at night would be cooler, but not easier. The suit's internal illumination was limited. Unable to see very far ahead, he could easily step into a dark crevasse—or onto a relative of the slow but exceedingly well-disguised predators he had left frustrated in his wake. Better to wait until sunup, when he could at least see and identify any potential obstacles.
  Also, he was exhausted. In the morning he might need water. Right now, what he needed more than anything else was sleep. He would deal with rocks, however fantastic their formations, and their protoplasmic mimics tomorrow. Stretching out beneath the unfamiliar sky on smooth, flat stone that took no pity on his bruised self, he wrestled with his worries until sleep overcame them. As it turned out, he need not have concerned himself with rock and crystal at all.
  Ahead of him lay nothing but sand.
  With the faceplate locked in the up position to admit moisture-bearing air to the now near-frigid interior of the suit, whose cooling unit he had manually set on maximum, he stood shielding his eyes from the morning sun. As he had hoped, dampness condensed on the now exposed inner lining. Lowering his head, he licked tasteless condensation from the material. It did not kill his thirst, but it slaked it. Enough, he decided, so that if things went well and his resolve held, he could put off until midday taking a real drink from the suit's tank. Pip slithered down his chest, her tongue gathering moisture from lower down before she emerged from the hole in the suit's leg and took to the air.
  He had never seen dunes of such color. He wondered if anyone had. Scraped and worn by the wind from the spectacular copper cliffs and valleys of Pyrassis, dunes a hundred meters high marched eastward in banded tones of dark green and purplish blue, fervid orange and pink and red. It was wonderful to see. If only death by thirst was not following a few paces behind him, he might have been able to properly appreciate their beauty.
  Striding down from the last of the solid stone, he felt his boots sink a centimeter or so into the soft green sand. He made better progress than he expected. The sand had packed down over the centuries, providing unexpectedly solid footing. It was slower going than walking on bare rock, but neither did he sink up to his knees in the multicolored grains as he initially feared he might.
  The homing signal within the suit remained a constant and comforting companion. Provided he could maintain his present pace, he should reach the Crotase's encampment in four or five days. He did not linger over what his options might be should the landing party from that vessel decide to depart before then. At this point, making contact with them was his only option. Perhaps by then the sophisticated AI that was the heart and mind of the Teacher would wonder at the lack of communication from its master and come looking for him.
  He could not worry about that now. His thoughts were centered solely on surmounting the next dune. Not for the first time, he found himself envying Pip's wings. Hard flat stone or soft undulating sand, it was all the same to the soaring minidrag.
  Climbing the dunes was akin to ascending waves of rainbow. Like the colors he had encountered in the rocks, the hues were manifold and fantastic. Reflecting the prevalence of copper in the planet's crust, every imaginable shade of green and blue was present, streaked with startlingly bright bursts of yellow and red, or more somber purple. The first night he spent on the dunes, in the blissful absence of wind to stir the sands, was a complete contrast to the near-fatal encounter he had suffered among the crystal-bearing rocks. The sand was soft and warm. Nothing emerged to disturb his rest. By the time he awoke the following morning, refreshed from an unexpectedly sound sleep, Pyrassis's sun was already high in the sky.
  The morning after that brought visitors.
  Something was crawling up his exposed right leg, making its way past the shreds of torn material in an attempt to reach the interior of his suit. Most of his life had been spent in awakening quickly for fear that something, or someone, might be after him. But so comfortable was he on the tepid sand that his reflexes were slower than usual, and he failed to react in his normal prompt fashion. The tickling sensations that now afflicted his skin brought him to an upright position quick enough, however.
  There were three of the visitors. The largest was as big around as his thumb and twice as long. Tiny dark protrusions near the front were elementary eyes. Mouths were wide, flat, and protruded slightly from the region that might be considered a head. Boldly tinted forest green with alternating stripes of dark blue and lavender, the trio of alien trespassers inched their way forward on dozens of minuscule, barely visible legs.
  His initial reaction was to scramble backward while reaching down to slap them off. He had not survived an adventurous and difficult life, however, by slavishly conceding to initial reactions. Tickle the trio of advancing creatures might, but other than waking him from a sound sleep they had so far exhibited nothing in the way of inimical behavior. Hand poised to strike, he eyed them speculatively.
  There was a flash of pink-and-blue wings as Pip glided across his leg. When she settled to the sand, it was with one of the pseudoworms in her mouth. Dividing his attention between the two crawlers still ascending his leg and the one that had become prey for the minidrag, he watched as she devoured it headfirst. Other than by strenuous wriggling, the striped alien made no move to defend itself, and was soon consumed.
  Exhibiting no ill effects from her meal, Pip rose, dive-bombed his leg a second time, and settled down to devour a second pseudoworm in less urgent fashion. Reaching down with tentative fingers, Flinx plucked the surviving caller from his leg. The flattened, protruding mouth made tiny sucking noises while multiple legs churned furiously. He wondered if he would find the writhing, thick-bodied creature as nutritious as Pip apparently did. Making a face, he decided such drastic experimentation could wait awhile yet.
  Placing the pseudoworm back down on the sand, he waited for it to start toward him again. Instead, taking no chances with its newfound freedom, it immediately burrowed into the sand, throwing up a spray of granules in its wake. Watching it work, he wondered uneasily what other invertebrates might be living within the dunes, meandering sinuously beneath his vulnerable backside even as he sat there contemplating the astonishingly swift disappearance of the many-legged worm. The images thus conjured induced him to stand, a posture that would expose less of him to the sand.
  As he straightened, he felt something slide down his right leg.
  Their cylindrical green bodies swollen with fluid, two more of the sand borrowers fell out of his suit. Mouth agape, he watched as they imitated their less successful predecessor in tunneling expeditiously into the dune slope.
  He felt no pain, but that did not keep him from scrambling out of the suit. Many parasites and predators secreted substances that numbed the area where they chose to feed. Clearly, the pair that had fallen from his upper regions had engorged themselves on something. Horrific thoughts raced through his mind as he feared what that might be, and what he might find.
  But no wounds, circular or flattened, showed on his body. Standing naked in the hot sun, wishing for a mirror, he examined every square centimeter of himself that he could reach or see. All of his skin and flesh appeared to be intact. Relieved but bemused, he climbed slowly back into his clothes and the damaged suit. It took him a moment to realize that something had changed.
  The suit's cooling unit was chugging silently away on maximum, but the interior of the suit, instead of being lined with cold damp, was bone dry. The pseudoworms had not been after his blood. They had come looking for, and had found, more easily accessed moisture. The condensation on which he had been relying to supplement the remaining water in the suit's tank had been stripped from the suit's inner lining. What would the three ascending his leg have done, having penetrated the interior of the suit only to find that those that had preceded them had vacuumed it dry? Would they have started on his blood? It was just as well he had awakened when he had.
  Conversely, the lethargic invasion had provided a solid meal for Pip. Give up a little moisture, take a little back, he mused. Gathering himself, he started toward the crest of the next dune.
  Sand dunes gave way to salt flats later that afternoon. The fact that they were bright green and blue instead of white did not mitigate the hazard they posed. If his calculations were accurate, the encampment established by the Crotase ought to lie not far on the other side. The uninterrupted panorama presented bothersome complications: How could he approach the camp undetected across perfectly flat terrain?
  Cross first, worry later, he told himself. Taking a sip from the precious remnant in the suit's tank, he started across, malachite sand clinging to his boots. Overhead, the sun basted him for his temerity in attempting to traverse such blatantly wicked topography.
  It was midafternoon when he allowed himself another sip from the tank. The flow of cool water slowed much too soon. Frowning, he sucked harder. A few drops emerged from the tube to enter his mouth. Then they ceased altogether.
  For the second time that day he stripped off the suit. Turning it over, he unsealed the protective fabric above the ruined distiller's storage tank. Everything looked normal—until he saw the hole near the bottom. It was shallow and curved. Hard to believe something so insignificant, so slight, might have sealed his impending demise. It was, in fact, exactly the sort of opening that might have been made by a small, flattened, slightly extruded mouth. Despite the heat, a shiver raced through him. Fortunate indeed that he had awakened before the second wave of pseudoworms had entered his suit, where they would have found themselves disappointed by the absence of readily available moisture and in need of locating another source. Straightening, he shielded his eyes as he looked back the way he had come. Somewhere, hidden deep beneath the sheltering colored sands, was an especially waterlogged worm.
  There was some liquid left in the bottom of the tank. He would have to find moisture of some kind to supplement what remained. Turning again, he surveyed the barren, kaleidoscopically pigmented wasteland that lay before him. There was no sign of vegetation, canyons, or anything else that might hint at the presence of water. Overhead, dark shapes rode obliging thermals. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he might be in line for a closer look at the alien scavengers sooner than he otherwise would wish.
CHAPTER
Nine
  By the following sunrise there was little water left, even though Flinx had been exceedingly careful with the pitiful remnant. Pip continued to ride his shoulder, shifting her position uneasily in response to her companion's dispirited mood. There was nothing she could do for him, he knew, unless she could somehow put herself emotionally in touch with a nearby lake. On the other hand, her lithe, limber, snakelike body was itself full of moisture. He quickly banished such unholy thoughts from his mind. The flying snake had been his friend and protector since childhood. No matter how desperate the circumstances he would never, could never, harm her.
  But he was no longer strong enough to keep his drifting, increasingly moisture-starved mind from at least contemplating the unthinkable.
  The sun had no sympathy for the lone trekker trolling the blasted cupric landscape. Its heat fell on him as if it had real weight, and only the sputtering but still functioning cooling system built into the suit kept him alive. If not for the moisture it condensed on the interior fabric, his pace would long since have slowed to a stagger. It kept him going, but for how long? The entire volume of condensate did not amount to a quarter liter of fluid a day. That was not enough, he knew. And if the overstressed unit froze up, or otherwise ceased to function…
  Something glinted not far ahead, catching his eye: an apparition that resided somewhere between his retinas and the green-washed horizon. Above it, the unfiltered sunlight danced and tempted. Even as his brain urged caution his pace began to quicken, his legs carrying him forward seemingly of their own volition.
  Water. Or free-standing liquid, in any event. The reality of the pool that grew steadily larger in his sweat-stung eyes could not be denied, nor could the half dozen or so similar ponds that dotted the dazzling green-and-blue flats. Their rippling surfaces shone like silver in the sun, mirroring its rays and the dense growths of yellow, pink, and blue crystals that lined their shores. Assailed by so many piercing reflections, Flinx had to shield his eyes as he approached.
  No two ponds were the same size or shape—not that he cared. At the moment, Pyrassisian geology was far from his mind. Stunted and straining but otherwise apparently healthy native vegetation lined the lips of each pool, luxuriating in the presence of so much water in the otherwise parched terrain. There was more than enough water in even the smallest of the ponds to fill his tank to overflowing, to fill him to overflowing, even to permit the luxury of a bath. The presence of the green and brown growths that fringed each pond suggested that the pools were a permanent feature of the landscape. Searching for the diminutive fauna that could reasonably be expected to dwell and thrive in such a place, he was somewhat puzzled to find nothing. Perhaps the local inhabitants were sensibly nocturnal, he mused, and denned up during the heat of the day.
  As he drew nearer, he slowed. Merely because the ponds appeared to be filled with water did not mean that it was safe to drink. Thirsty and tired he might be, but he was not about to go diving into the nearest puddle with jaws wide and throat agape. Surrounded by plains exuberant with copper ores, he could at the very least expect the water to have a sharp tang. Then too, it was entirely possible that the presence in the vicinity of magnificently crystallized arsenates might have imbued the pools with something much worse than bad taste. Before drinking, he knew, must come the testing.
  Even if the water proved unpalatable, he could still enjoy a refreshing soak. As he approached the nearest pond he methodically began to undo the seals of the survival suit. He was half undressed when Pip, who had been circling overhead, suddenly appeared in front of him. When he tried to step around her, the minidrag promptly darted sideways to block his path.
  "Get out of my way. Pip." Advancing, he waved a hand at her. In the face of his determined approach, the flying snake reluctantly gave ground.
  He was almost to the water's edge when he saw what had caused her to try and slow his advance. Quickly taking cover behind one of the few sizable boulders sitting on the open plain, he watched the desert dweller approach. The impressive beast walked on three legs, advancing at a steady tripodal pace. Occasionally it would totter sideways, as if unexpectedly unbalanced, but it always recovered its equilibrium.
  Maybe it's as thirsty as I am, Flinx decided as he licked cracked lips. It had come trotting across the coppery flats and not from among the sand dunes. How long it had been since it had last had anything to drink, the solitary human observing from his hiding place could not have said.
  Without a doubt, it accelerated noticeably as it sensed the presence of water. Increasing its pace to a fluid willowy lope, it neared one of the larger ponds. Given the new arrival's imposing size and speed, Flinx expected at least one or two small bush denizens to flee from its path. But the vegetation that lined the ponds remained devoid of movement save for the quickening approach of the trilegged visitor. The absence of any wildlife whatsoever at the alien oasis struck him as decidedly odd, if not inexplicable.
  Slowing as it neared the edge of the pool, the creature tentatively tested the waters with its middle leg. Satisfied with the brief inspection, it followed with the other pair. It had an irregular body, black with white spots, and a head that hung long and low in front. Large, alert yellow eyes scrutinized the shallow water in which it was standing. Like the crystal camouflagers, a kind of trunk-siphon dominated the front of its face. Lowering and extending this useful organ, it began to drink. From his place of concealment, Flinx could not only watch the activity but could also hear the systematic, slow slurping sounds the engagingly cumbersome alien uttered as it took on water.
  The pool exploded as if a bomb had detonated beneath it. Startled, Flinx lost his grip on the boulder he was hiding behind and fell backward. The vegetation fringing the pond erupted skyward. Soil did not spill from its roots, however, because the growths were not rooted in soil. Instead they lined the lips of a mammoth maw: one that snapped shut with a thunderous echoing boom around pond and contents alike. The mighty jaws to which they were attached were smooth and slick, as if permanently oiled.
  As abruptly as they had burst forth, colossal mouth and fringed jaws sank back beneath the surface of the ground. Hardly daring to breathe, wondering now at the solidity of the rock and soil beneath his own feet, Flinx rose to his full height. Within minutes a concavity appeared in the ground where the pond had been. As a shaky Flinx looked on. bushlike "vegetation" slowly unfurled from its bare edges, once more thrusting skyward in perverse imitation of real foliage. From a dark, mephitic hole in the bottom of the exact center of the depression, water began to seep forth, until the pond was once again filled to its brim. Sullying the greenish-blue terrain nearby, other pools sat motionless, undisturbed—and waiting.
  Treading as softly as possible, Flinx emerged from behind the boulder, resealing his survival suit as he walked. Unhesitatingly, he described a wide arc around the pool that had awakened just long enough to consume the hapless, unsuspecting trilegged walker. At the same time, he was careful not to come too close to the edges of any of the other ponds. They might be natural, brimming with cool, fresh spring water. Or they might be buried cousins to the monstrosity that had just erupted upward.
  Catching sight of a dimple in the stone where several droplets of water had been hurled as a consequence of the skirmish, he bent to examine the fluid. Cupping some in his hand, he saw that while it had the perfect appearance of water, it was denser and slightly viscous. Dripping some onto the appropriate receptacle in the sleeve of his left arm, he resumed walking while the suit proceeded to analyze the solution. He had been right to hesitate prior to approaching the deceitful ponds, but for the wrong reasons. The thick liquid did indeed contain salts, but they were neither arsenates nor other poisonous derivatives of the minerals over which he was walking. The pools were not filled with water.
  According to his suit, the liquid he had recovered was saliva.
  He had spent time, often against his will, on other worlds where the native predators were well camouflaged, but none that surpassed what he had already encountered on Pyrassis. As he put the gaping, waiting mouths he had believed to be ponds farther behind him, he tried to envision what filled the unseen burrows beneath them.
  Given the size of the saliva-filled apertures that were all that showed above ground, the bodies of the carefully concealed predators must be truly prodigious. Did they lie patiently in wail vertically, or horizontally? If the latter, he might be striding over their backs even now.
  What better bait to employ to lure prey in a desiccated desert environment than the promise of desperately needed water? The vegetationlike fringe that grew from the jaws only completed the deception.
  With one hand, he reached up and back to caress Pip, who once more lay coiled atop his shoulder. She had not been trying to warn him of the approach of the thirst-driven three-legged strider, but of what lay in wait beneath the sorely needed yet deceptive water they both sought. He would have to find drink elsewhere. Preferably something that would not try to drink him.
  Thinking pools or streams might occupy basins in the rock, he was repeatedly disappointed. The copper-rich, heavily mineralized surface was permeable enough to allow water to penetrate, but not to accumulate. He spent the next night in a small dry cavern lined with sparkling malachite and dozens of beautiful, exotic minerals he did not recognize and did not trouble to have the suit identify for him. He was too tired to bother with the analyzer. Focusing on the dark green stalactites that formed a fascinating coppery curtain before his tired gaze, he fell asleep dreaming of water.
  Two days later the last of the water in the reserve tank was gone, leaving him and Pip to try and survive on the wholly inadequate condensate generated by his suit's cooling system. Ahead, he thought (though he wasn't sure) he could make out a long, straight ridge of dark rock stretching from north to south. A ridge meant low places, shaded places, where he could rest und where, with luck. water might collect in small seeps. Even a glassful would he welcome now.
  Whether he could reach the ridge was another matter. It was at least a full day's hike from where he was standing and staring at the distant, dusky streak that separated sand and sky. There would have to be water somewhere, he reasoned. He was still several days' march from the site of the Crotase encampment. Swallowing, his throat uncomfortably dry, he forced his legs into motion. It seemed as if a fresh command from his brain was required each time he wanted to do something as simple as place one foot in advance of the other.
  It was at that moment of contemplation, with the sun high and relentless, that the suit's overworked cooling unit sputtered, gasped out one final mechanical exhalation of chilled air, and expired.
  He spent ten minutes trying to restart the apparatus, only to come to the conclusion that it could only be done with access to the full resources of a microtech repair facility. Unable any longer to cool him or to provide moisture in the form of condensate, the suit was quickly transformed from benefactor to burden. Slipping out of its confining folds, he found himself fully exposed to the air of Pyrassis for the first time since his shuttle had slammed into its unsympathetic surface. More importantly, he was now entirely exposed to the sun. His olive-hued epidermis would not be as sensitive to those alien rays as that of more fair-skinned humans, but he was still going to have to monitor and moderate his exposure. With a rapidly accumulating inventory of troubles, sunburn was an extra he could do without.
  Salvaging what he could from the suit in the way of food concentrates and equipment, he resumed his trek eastward. Behind him, the discarded, ravaged survival suit lay in a shapeless pile atop a cluster of exquisite ferrotic crystals, looking altogether too much like the shed exoskeleton of an emerging desert insect. Deprived now of even the little bit of internal condensate the suit had been producing, finding palatable water within the next forty-eight hours became a matter of dire necessity. With luck, Pip might last a little longer.
  That wasn't luck, he told himself. It was resignation. He had survived too many crises, been through too much on behalf of others and in search of his origins, to perish on an alien world of something as simple and undramatic as thirst.
  Unimpressed by his determination, the Pyrassisian sun beat down heartlessly as ever, systematically robbing his body of its remaining moisture. By evening, the black ridgeline that might, that had to, shelter water beneath its cooling ramparts, was noticeably closer. And he was notably weaker, he realized. His breathing alarmingly shallow, he slumped in the shade of a quartet of slim, rectangular gray growths that rose without protruding branches or variance from the vertical to a height of some five meters. They had solid cores and woody flanks interrupted only by hard, knobby protrusions: fewer surfaces from which to lose moisture, he knew. They kept their narrow faces to the sun. A few hints of green streaked their planklike sides. Any water they drew from the parched psychedelic ground was surely too deep for him to reach.
  A coiled Pip lay hot and heavy on his shoulder, but he did not brush her off. Her familiar presence was the only comfort that remained to him. At the base of one of the near-featureless growths, a trio of small black blobs was busily gnawing at an exposed root. Like miniature earthmovers, they cut into and consumed bits of the exposed woody material. When he found himself contemplating how much moisture the unpretentious little grotesqueries might contain, he turned away in disgust. He was not yet desperate enough to resort to swallowing alien hugs.
  Tomorrow, he knew as he sat panting in the heat, he might be.
  Turning around brought a different vista into view. As he stared, something rose from the heat-rippled blue-green surface, moved toward him, and sank back to the ground. It was not a cloud. Despite his weariness, he stood up to get a better view. There it was again-only this time there were three of them. What they were he could not yet say, but of one thing he could be certain in spite of his exhaustion: They were moving in his direction.
  Looking to his left, he weighed once more the distance to the shadowy ridgeline. How far could he run before dehydration and fatigue overcame him and brought him to his knees one last, final time? How fast were the stealthily approaching creatures? For such he had decided they must be. His hasty, heat-singed calculations were not favorable.
  Maybe they were only curious plant eaters, he told himself. Or soil filters, or scavengers of small dead things. As opposed to, say, large live things, like himself. Maybe it was only coincidence that they were advancing in his direction, and would pass to left or right without taking notice of the strange biped in their midst.
  When the count reached nine and he saw that they were still coming straight for the cluster of treelike growths, he instinctively pressed his back up against the nearest bole. The trunk behind him seemed solid enough to serve as a barrier. By now the advancing organisms were close enough for him to make out details of their physiognomy. The first particular that impressed itself upon him was that they had no limbs.
  This was not surprising. In the case of the flat ground-skimmers, or flimmers, legs would have been superfluous. Indeed, they would have been in the way. Two meters long and nearly as broad, but only half a meter thick, the flimmers traveled on a cushion of air. Several large, membranous sacs on their backs expanded to startling dimensions, filling and emptying repeatedly. Each time one voided, the air it had contained was pumped out through small jets in the underside of the creature, propelling it off the ground and forward. A pair of large, black, pupilless eyes were set in the front of the animal, above and to either side of a wide mouth filled with dozens of small, sharp teeth. Another native that had neither the aspect nor demeanor of an herbivore, Flinx determined ruefully. Irregular, seaweedlike growths fringed the bizarre creature all the way around its flattened periphery, with those in front being by far the most attenuated and prominent. Perhaps they functioned as feelers to educate the animal as to the nature of its surroundings. Perhaps they worked to inform it of the proximity and palatability of potential food.
  His characteristic unquenchable curiosity aside, he did not think he wanted them investigating him.
  Pip was already safely airborne and out of their reach. As they continued their approach, he could hear the soft whoosh and thump as multiple air sacs repetitively discharged their gaseous contents. Up close, the tiny teeth that filled the narrow jaws looked at once larger and more menacing. The absence of visible arms, claws, tentacles, extrudable proboscises, or other gripping appendages was encouraging, but despite this he doubted he could fight off all nine of them should they choose to attack as a pack. Standing alone and exposed on the glistening emerald-and-azure plain, he had exactly one option left open to him. Despite his exhaustion, he did his best to take it.
  Turning, he briefly contemplated the challenge before him. Then he wrapped his legs tightly around the sturdiest of the four alien growths, extended his arms above his head, and began to climb.
  Without the knoblike tumescences that lined the trunk, the task would have been impossible. As it was, in his weakened condition the ascent proved arduous enough. The wheezing, eerily sibilant emissions of the flimmers did much to inspire his efforts.
  Somewhat to his surprise, he succeeded in making it all the way to the crown of the distinctive growth. It was an uncomfortable, precarious perch. But it was better than being caught below, where the pack of flimmers clustered around the base of the four growths, their air sacs expanding and contracting mightily as they strove to reach the bipedal food that had moved out of their reach. Despite their most strenuous efforts, none managed to rise more than halfway up the treelike growth. Pip hovered nearby, uncertain whether to attack or wait for some further indication of distress from her companion.
  Adjusting his uncomfortable position in search of a more accommodating one, and not finding it, Flinx was relieved when the brownish stalk of the growth he was clinging to did not shift beneath him. Unpleasant and awkward his roost might be, but at least it was well rooted. It did not sway beneath his weight, nor tremble when several of the eager flimmers threw themselves against it. Before too long, he hoped, perhaps with the onset of evening, they would grow bored or give up and whistle away, allowing him to slide back down to the ground and resume his trek.
  A new sound reached his ears. Curious, he turned as sharply to the right as his perch would permit. Three of the flimmers had clustered at the base of the quasi-tree, their foreparts jammed tightly together. Since he could not see what they were doing, it took him a minute to connect the noises he was hearing with references from his own memory. The instant he made the connection, his heart began to beat a little faster. Those multitudes of small, sharp teeth could rend other things besides flesh.
  They were eating away at the base of his tree.
  More than a little concerned, he contemplated his choices should they succeed in chewing their way through the tough material. Unfortunately, plunging helplessly to the ground was the first alternative that occurred to him, and it was less than promising. He still had the endural pistol he had salvaged from the survival suit, but he had no idea how effective it would be on the flimmers. If he had to use it, a lot would depend on whether they approached their potential prey cautiously, or swarmed him all at once. If the latter…
  Pip would help, but the poison sacs in her cheeks were of finite dimensions, and took time to replenish. The stout treelike growth that was his refuge began to quiver ominously. Reaching into a pocket while his perilous perch communicated a conspicuous quiver to his backside, he carefully drew out the survival gun and sighted the muzzle on the largest of the flattened predators gnawing at the base of the growth. Better to use the weapon to try and drive them away, or at least to diminish the pack's numbers, before they cut completely through the base of the quasi-tree and sent him crashing to the ground.
  The trunk shuddered afresh, but remained upright. Looking down as he took aim with the tiny endural, he paused as an entirely new kind of vibration shuddered through the trunk. Beneath him, near the base of the growth, the protruding nodules that had provided precarious footing for his ascent were inflating alarmingly, like so many infected pustules on the skin of a dermatically challenged giant. The voracious flimmers paid no attention to the development. As the protuberances continued to swell, their dull gray integuments became almost translucent. Flinx thought he could detect movement within, but could not identify the cause.
  With a hundred subdued plopping noises, the swollen tubercles finally burst. A cascade of clear, cool liquid gushed forth to drench the attacking carnivores. Reacting as one, they immediately abandoned their assault on the tough, stubborn trunk to imbibe as much of the precious deluge as they could before it vanished into the parched earth. Flinx would have risked an attack and rushed to join them, save for one recent memory that made him hesitate.
  He had already had one enlightening encounter with water that had turned out to be something else.
  Nothing sprang at the eager flimmers from within the liquid that was already beginning to form rapidly shrinking puddles on the blue-green ground. The soft tissues of the thirsty predators did not hiss and blister from contact with artfully disguised acids. They continued to drink, the diligent pack swarming around the base of the growth, smaller individuals fighting for their share of the unexpected liquid bounty, until the last priceless drop had been swallowed or lost to the dry earth beneath them. They then returned their attention to their isolated, treed quarry who, despite his wishes, had not been forgotten. The same ravenous trio resumed chewing at the base of the bole while the rest waited in a hungry circle, bouncing up and down with excitement and anticipation on their individual cushions of air.
  If the Pyrassisian growth's intention had been to divert the attackers at its base from continuing their onslaught, the ploy had failed. If anything, the liquid they had just ingested seemed to give the industrious gnawers renewed energy and determination. Trying to focus on the largest of those doing the damage to his perch, Flinx once again took aim with the endural.
  Before he could fire, the big flimmer he had fixed in his sights jerked spasmodically and fluttered away from the trunk. It was followed in rapid succession by its two companions. The entire pack, in fact, had suddenly begun to exhibit symptoms of unmistakable distress. As Flinx looked on, they engaged in a brief group paroxysm of twitching and tremors. Then, one by one, they convulsed, shuddered, and sank to the ground.
  Only when the last of them had stopped quivering did Flinx dare to descend from his discomfiting refuge. Walking over to the nearest of the motionless creatures, he kicked hesitantly at its flattened body. It did not move. If it was paralyzed, the paralysis was total. Kneeling tentatively, he examined the motionless predator at close range. It was not paralyzed, he concluded: It was dead.
  That was when he noticed the fine spray of transparent crystals protruding from the creature's broad mouth and stilled lips. Picking up a rock, he used it to gingerly snap off several of the centimeter-long formations. Save for several green liquid inclusions that might have been embedded alien blood, they were perfectly pellucid. This time, he realized somberly as he rose and tossed the rock aside, one of the local life-forms had used specialized liquid masquerading as water to defend itself instead of to capture prey.
  The fluid that had spewed from the quasi-tree's bloated nodules had looked like water, flowed like water, had even, from his unsteady perch at its crest, smelled like water. But instead of that life-giving liquid, it consisted of complex organic polymers that, when exposed to air, congealed rapidly into a solid, crystalline form. In ingesting it, the flimmers had committed a particularly gruesome form of group suicide. The fluid had crystallized and expanded inside their bodies, piercing vital organs and suffocating them from the inside out. Were he to dissect one, he suspected he would find the organs of the dead flimmer's digestive system filled to bursting with enchanting, jewel-like, and utterly deadly crystalline formations.
  Turning away from the deceased predator, he eyed the four silent brown growths still standing tall and straight behind him with new respect. The quasi-tree had defended itself most successfully.
  First the hulking saliva-baiter, now this. He wondered if he would be able to trust real water when he found it.
  Momentarily overwhelmed by the effects of the quasi-tree's cunning defense, he knew he was being disingenuous. When he finally found something that looked like water, he knew he would rush to it with little regard for the consequences. He had no options left. If it chose to drink him before he could drink it, well, at least he would die hydrated.
  As he stood over the inert bodies he contemplated slitting several of the dead flimmers and sampling their blood. Reckoning that their green, copper-infused life fluid was as likely to poison as revivify his system, he reluctantly decided to pass on the opportunity. He wasn't that desperate, he decided. Not yet. Maybe he was well down the road to that unenviable destination, but he still had a ways to go before he got there.
  Shouldering his shrinking sack of supplies, he resumed his march eastward. The dark ridgeline loomed in front of him, a highly attenuated but nonetheless promising grail. If it sheltered no water beneath its dusky brow, then the question of what he would do when he reached the Crotase encampment would be rendered moot. If it did… He tried not to think about what he would do after enjoying a long, long drink and an invigorating rest. He tried not to think about drinking at all.
  As he advanced, he viewed every rock with suspicion, dodged the homeliest plants with care, and tried to avoid anything that moved. It was a secure way to travel, but not a very nourishing one. For one tantalizing, brief moment, clouds seemed to gather, only to dissipate beneath the brutal heat of the merciless sun. He found himself wondering if during a flash flood on this spectacularly tinted world, the riverbeds would run bright with dissolved azurite and other vividly colored copper minerals. The images thus evoked served to occupy his mind while doing nothing for his throat or belly.
  Offered a choice, he would rather have been tramping through dense jungle. Not only was he more familiar with such an environment from his travels, at least there, despite the unavoidable endemic dangers, he could have found water easily. He tried not to think too much about what he did not have: about the cool, soothing rush of liquid down his throat, about the lubricious bloating sensation that resulted from too much drink accumulating too rapidly at the bottom of his belly, about… Unable to stop himself, he meditated on how different things might be if the battered and torn survival suit were still intact. And as long as he was wishing, he decided wryly, he might as well wish for an intact shuttlecraft to be waiting for him, door ajar, on the other side of the ridge.
  He stumbled onward across the brilliant blue-and-green copper salts with their intermittent eruptions of incredibly rare crystallized minerals, no longer appreciative of the striking tints and hues, seeing in them only exceptionally vivacious harbingers of doom. Despite her small size, a weakened Pip was rapidly becoming a debilitating weight on his shoulder. She took to the air less and less frequently, rising only when irresistibly prompted by some exceptionally intriguing sight or movement. The rest of the time she preferred to rest in the bouncing, very limited shade provided by his head and neck. Though he looked forward to her occasional flights for the momentary cooling her rapidly beating wings brought to his face, he was not about to chivvy her airborne just to provide him with a few seconds of heightened comfort.
  He had fashioned an improvised patch for the worm-punctured water tank. Now if only he had something to put in it, and the empty bottle he had salvaged from the wrecked shuttlecraft. The larger container was beginning to chafe against his back, threatening to raise a painful welt. At least he had something to take his mind off the raging thirst that otherwise occupied his every waking moment. They were almost out of food, too. In that regard, Pip was a little better off. At least she could hunt, though in her weakened condition she did so less and less often. Her elevated metabolic level demanded that she eat frequently. Despite the increasing desperation of his situation, he still refused to consider sacrificing her to save himself.
  From overhead, from beneath cracks and holes in the chromatically hued salts, from behind the cover of strange flora, hungry eyes watched and waited. Flinx doubted his off-world origins would prevent their owners from closing in when they thought the moment propitious. Meat was meat, protein was protein, and in the truly barren expanses of any world, scavengers would always eat first and suffer any bellyaching consequences later. He had to keep alert and on the move. When his intermittently active talent was functioning, he could sometimes sense their primitive presence nearby, out of sight but not out of perception. Unfamiliar though their emotive projections might be, he had no trouble interpreting them. They were menacing, and expectant.
  The sun of Pyrassis was as merciless as its counterparts on other worlds. Repeatedly, clouds would gather, only to break apart. Hesitant and fluffy, their sole purpose seemed to be to tempt and then frustrate him. They shuffled and re-formed in the clear indigo sky as if uncertain what was expected of them, only to eventually disperse as thoroughly as his hopes.
  This was no place to die, he resolved. Not here, so far from Moth, from Alaspin, from the comforting confines of the Commonwealth itself. His determination, however, did nothing to alleviate the thirst that dominated his thoughts or the growling in his belly.
  A pointed tongue caressed his neck. Breathing slow and steadily, he halted in the semishade of a rocky outcropping, a cracked green surface beneath his feet. Fumbling in a pocket, he removed half a food bar. Breaking off a chunk and setting it carefully on his shoulder, he waited while Pip gratefully consumed the nutritious segment. He considered trying to collect some condensate, but held off. They would drink tonight, he told himself firmly. After the blazing orb had dipped behind the horizon and both moons were high in the sky.
  Squinting, he looked upward. Despite the deterioration of their condition, there was no sign of the Teacher. It must still be hovering behind the nearer of the two moons, its functions on hold, patiently awaiting the next communication from its owner. Sophisticated as its AI was, the means for including theoretical speculation in its cybernetic cortex remained more an art than a science among designers. Besides, he had foolishly, perhaps overconfidently, not specified a time frame for his return. In the absence of one, the ship was unlikely to assume that anything had gone amiss and act, or not act, accordingly.
  Within its duralloy depths was a sufficiency of foods both synthesized and natural, a perfectly maintained atmosphere, various diversions and entertainments, and cool, freshly processed water. Enough water to swim in. Enough water to…
  Pip had finished eating. For an instant, her slitted eyes flashed more brightly than they had in a while before she once more settled her triangular, iridescent green head back down on his shoulder. Stretching painfully, he resumed his eastward march. By now he would have been grateful for any sign of civilization, AAnn or human. At least before they interrogated him, the reptiloids would give him food and water. He was beginning to fear that he had reached the point where that was as much as he could hope for.
  Then the dark ridgeline loomed before him, transformed from distant goal to impending obstacle. At the sight of it, the muscles in his legs protested. Halting at its base, he surveyed the barrier that he had made his immediate destination. It was steeper than it had appeared from a distance, but climbable, and thankfully not too high. Interestingly, the crest was of uniform height. Taking final stock of his surroundings before beginning the ascent, he saw that it ran away to north and south as far as he could see. Certainly, there was no going around it.
  Moving slowly but with deliberation, his perception dangerously fogged and his reflexes slowed, he approached the base and began to climb. The otherwise slick-surfaced formation was ribbed with knobs and projections that provided excellent foot- and handholds. He was halfway to the top when he slipped, scrambled to regain his footing, and in doing so noticed something that would have greatly excited his interest had he been capable of feeling anything so peripheral to his continued survival as scientific curiosity.
  From the time he had begun his long march, he had believed the ridge to be a natural formation made of dark stone. Slathered as it was in sand and grit and gravel, there was no reason to suspect otherwise. Now he saw that where his scrabbling feet had kicked away the adhering granules and accumulated cupric silicates, something black and shiny lay underneath.
  Bracing himself against the inward-sloping wall, he used one hand to hold on and the other to brush at the coarse grains. More of the curious ebony slickness appeared beneath his fingers. Running his dirty nails along the now exposed surface, he found that he was unable to scratch it. His survival knife did no better. With only such crude devices at his disposal, he was unable to tell if the slope was metal, ceramic, plastic, some kind of welded fiber, or something even more exotic. Of one thing he was certain: It was unquestionably artificial.
  Straightening slightly, leaning away from the wall, he looked along its interminable length first to the north and then to the south. If it was all composed of the same dark, reflective material, it suggested a unified assembly of considerable magnitude. From the air it doubtless resembled the natural scenic ridge he had previously imagined it to be. Who or what had raised it up in this desolate place, and to what purpose, he could not imagine. He was too tired to expend time and energy on lofty speculation. Had this world once been home to a people in need of such structures as long, high walls? Had at one time in its history, ancient wars raged across the surface of a greener but not kinder Pyrassis? As he struggled upward, slipping and grasping, he had time to weigh only the most insignificant of conjectures.
  Even from the higher vantage point provided by the top of the wall, which he finally gained fifteen minutes later, the rampart showed no signs of abating or tapering off. In the clear, unpolluted air, he could see for quite a distance. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he thought he could detect a slight curving of the structure off to the southwest, but he couldn't be sure. Ahead, the by now familiar green dunes and dry washes and bluish hillocks gave way to an unexpected, unprecedented jumble of broken rock and bizarre protrusions. From the air, the terrain might well have appeared impassable. But from his much more intimate location he could see winding pathways penetrating the formations. Gratefully, he realized there would be shade. That would make a nice change from walking beneath direct sunlight, and he would be able to make much better progress during the day—provided he could find water. Gathering himself, he started down the inner slope of the artificial ridge.
  The wall had long since been lost to sight behind him when he happened to stumble against one of the eccentric structures among which he was walking. Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered that it was composed not of native stone but of the same singular dark material as the barrier he had just crossed. So was the utterly different shape next to it, and the one behind. Pausing in the convenient shade provided by the curious contours he was examining, he knelt to scoop sand from its base. He soon saw that the construction did not emerge from ground, but from a slightly ribbed, lightly warped surface of similar but distinctively different material. When a stray shaft of sunlight struck the glossy seam he had exposed, it seemed to absorb the light and respond by throwing back half a rainbow composed of artistically subdued hues.
  For the first time since he had abandoned the ruined shuttlecraft, he found himself walking on and through a wholly artificial environment. What its purpose might be he did not know. If it was an ancient alien city lost to time and buried in sand and adhesive grit, then where were the houses, the workshops, the meeting places and temples? Entombed beneath him? What were the functions of the thousands of strikingly misshapen structures among which he was meandering? Their vermicular shapes and convoluted outlines failed to convey their function. He could only continue to stagger onward, and wonder.
CHAPTER
Ten
  Another wall.
  It wasn't much of a wall, no more than a couple of meters high, but it was enough to stop him. He stood swaying slightly, sweat streaming down his face, looking older than his years and staring at the new obstruction as if it were Mount Takeleis back on Moth. He was nearing the end of his strength.
  He still possessed enough sense to reflect on the irony of it all. Considering what he had been through, taking into account everything he had experienced in his short but intense life, for him to perish ultimately of thirst, of a simple lack of water, could be seen as almost a blessing. In death he would finally achieve the homely humanness he had sought for so long. He was sorry only for Pip, whose devotion to him would result in her unsought and near-simultaneous demise. On the whole, however, he would prefer not to die.
  Struggling to summon hidden sources of strength, he made a tentative run at the wall. His hands scrabbled for the crest, found no purchase, and slipped. As his weakened body fell back, he lost his balance and found himself sitting instead of standing on the sandy surface. Where he struck, the grains had been shoved aside to reveal more of the enigmatic ribbed black material beneath. Not for the first time since he had descended into the jumbled maze he felt there was something almost familiar, indeed well-nigh identifiable, about his surroundings. Unfortunately, at the moment his brain was not functioning any more efficiently than the rest of him.
  An attempt to stand failed. He remained sitting, Pip fluttering apprehensively in front of him as he struggled to recall the taste and tactility of plain water. The memory did nothing to comfort his desiccated system. Aside from the fact that the top of the wall now seemed out of reach, if he did not find liquid by the end of the day he knew he was not likely to see another dawn. It had to be here somewhere, he felt. Collected in a hollow beneath one of the gray-black contours, or running just beneath the surface of the porous sand. It was only a matter of finding it.
  That, however, meant rising, walking, and searching—all activities that all of a sudden seemed beyond him. Without him having to open his mouth. Pip could sense and appreciate his distress. But he could not tell her to find water. Not that he had to. She was as in need of the life-giving fluid as he, and would go straight to it if a source was encountered.
  Glancing up, he sighed heavily. If he could not go over this latest obstacle, he would have to go around it. Cursing gravity, he struggled to his feet. It took him a moment to be certain he was standing upright and to secure his balance. Then he resumed walking, this time to his right. The slightly pitted ebony wall curved away from him, and he followed the ribbon of unknown material as if it were a trail beneath his feet. Around him, other shapes and contours contorted against a cloudless blue sky while alien scavengers swooped low, checking on their impending two-legged meal as they avidly monitored its increasingly laggard progress. His vision was beginning to blur.
  A dip appeared in the crest of the unbroken rampart. Breathing shallowly, he tensed himself and leaped, arms outstretched. Hooking his fingers over the top of the smooth rim, he somehow pulled himself up and over. The far side of the wall proved to be as slick and smooth as the one he had just surmounted. Unable to slow his momentum, he lost his balance and felt himself falling, falling. The wind-swirled sand rose to meet him.
  Nightmare shapes pursued him through the unending maze of black monoliths and colonnades, enigmatic obelisks and waves of liquid soot frozen in time. They twitched threateningly, extending ebon pseudopods to try and trip him as he fled from something monstrous that was darker than dark. Like black pudding, the maze threatened to congeal around him, suffocating his debilitated form from pore to nostril. It coagulated around his feet, holding him back, sucking at him with a vacuous evil the likes of which he had never encountered before. Had he possessed the strength, he would have whimpered in his stupor.
  He did not know whether he awoke from a deep sleep or had been knocked unconscious by his fall. Regardless, it was the sound of voices that roused him from insensibility. They were sibilated, inquisitive, and convicted. They were also not human. He retained just enough presence of mind to lie still, eyes closed, unmoving, as he listened to the querulous conversation that was taking place above and nearby his prostrate form. Pip's coils formed a tense weight on his spine, between his shoulders. Inhuman emotions impinged on his feebly perceptive consciousness.
  Fortunately, he understood as well as spoke reasonably fluent AAnn.
  "… ssfwach nez pamaressess leu ciezess we sshould let it die," the slightly deeper of the two voices was insisting.
  "Agreement. Iss nothing to be gained by keeping it alive," the other responded all too readily.
  "Do you think it knowss about the transmitter?"
  Hesitation, then the second voice replying, "I do not ssee how it could. But then, I cannot imagine what the creature iss doing here anyway. The quesstion will be obviated by itss passing."
  "That iss sso."
  The sound of footsteps turning away shushed in Flinx's ears. He fought to rouse his weakened, moisture-starved body. AAnn or no, they represented his only, perhaps his last, chance at survival. True, he might only be postponing death from thirst for a more painful, lingering demise under interrogation at some unknowable future date. But as Mother Mastiff had always taught him, survival even under unpropitious circumstances offered far more choices than death under the best of circumstances. Managing to partially prop himself up on one elbow, he waved feebly and opened his eyes.
  They focused on the dorsal sides of two AAnn in the process of striding away from where he was lying. Each was clad in a light, buff-toned jumpsuit festooned with pockets, some of which bulged with unknown contents while others lay flat against the gracile, muscular bodies. Dark brown tails streaked with yellow and flecked with golden highlights protruded from holes in the back of the jumpsuits. Both figures traveled burdened with multihued equipment packs diverse in size, shape, and composition. Accustomed to and evolved for life on desert worlds, they wore neither hats for shade from Pyrassis's powerful sun nor artificial lenses to reduce the glare. Though they had no external ears, their hearing was excellent, as was demonstrated by the sharpness with which they turned at the sound of his voice.
  Curled up on Flinx's back, an enfeebled Pip nonetheless stirred, preparing to defend her companion so long as she could spit. He whispered to her, trying to keep her calm, hoping his commands made sense. He perceived no overt maliciousness in the AAnn. Only the usual muted enmity, and a general indifference to whether he lived or died.
  "I… need water. You… you can't let me die." The whispery AAnn phrases emerged with difficulty. Someone had coated his throat with a tacky varnish to which half a kilo of dust seemed to have adhered.
  From their slightly stooped posture and the muted color of their scales, he judged that both the male and female AAnn gazing down at him were mature specimens. Quite mature. In fact, he decided through dry, throbbing eyes, they were downright elderly. What were they doing out here, in the middle of nowhere, amidst the inscrutable ebony maze? Though both wore highly visible sidearms, they had neither the aspect nor the attitude of soldiers of the Empire. His erratic talent chose that inopportune moment to quit on him. As abruptly as if someone had turned off a switch, he found that he could no longer sense their feelings.
  He could still hear their voices well enough, however. As he squinted at the male, Flinx noticed that the service belt containing his salvaged tools and endural pistol lay draped loosely over one sharply raked alien shoulder. Without his gun, he stood no chance of extorting water from the two aliens. Instead, he would have to rely on a contradiction in terms—AAnn mercy.
  Its tone more academic than curious, the male responded impassively to Flinx's desiccated, raspy-voiced entreaty. "Why sshould we not? Why sshould we waste preciouss liquid on a dying human?"
  Sharp teeth flashed in the wide, reptilian mouth as eyes that were scimitars of chalcedony regarded the prone biped without emotion. "Even on an educated one who understandss the language of Empire."
  His hastily concocted rationale had better be accepted, Flinx knew. Mostly because he did not have the strength to prepare another one. He tried to sit up, managed to make it halfway. Showing the alarming extent of her dissipation. Pip did not take to the air. Instead, she slid off him and lay nearby, coiling weakly on the sand beside him but still ready to strike.
  "Because if it becomes known to the military that you allowed an intruding human to die before they had the opportunity to question him, it will go hard on you."
  The female gestured third-degree inquisitiveness. "How do you know there iss any military on thiss world? It iss an empty place."
  "Very empty," he agreed. It was hard to hold a conversation and participate in a discussion of differences, he reflected, while barely lingering on the borders of consciousness. He had to keep going. If he fell back into insensibility, he knew they would turn once again and walk away from him for good. "But Pyrassis is an AAnn world, and no world the AAnn claim is ever ungarrisoned."
  The male hissed grudging assent. "That doess not mean any hypothetical military iss any more aware of our pressence than it iss of yourss."
  "Are you willing to take that risk?" Flinx prayed the argument would not last much longer, because he couldn't.
  In the silence that ensued, he dreaded their abrupt departure. Though he fought to keep his eyes open, even the reduced glare within the maze was almost too painful for his enervated system to stand. He was certain he had closed them for only seconds when something struck him full in the face with shocking force. Something cool, unexpected, and magnificently damp.
  Water.
  It hit his cracked lips with the force of liquid stone, simultaneously outraging and soothing his parched throat. Slim, muscular coils writhed about his face and neck as Pip rushed to partake of the grudgingly proffered bounty.
  "More!" he gasped as he tried to keep his mouth directly beneath the spout of the AAnn waterpak.
  "Dissgussting." The male indicated second-degree revulsion as he continued to pour water into the human's open mouth. "Look how much it takess."
  The elderly female clicked her teeth. "Mammalss. It iss a wonder they can ssurvive at all in a decent climate. And they pride themsselvess on their adaptability."
  Eventually the flow ceased. Evidently water was not a problem for the two AAnn. Had that been the case, despite their lesser personal requirements they would not have been so lavish in their dispensation of the precious liquid to a traditional foe. They must have ample supplies with them, a rapidly reviving Flinx decided. Even better, they might have a distiller. With Pip once more coiled securely about his shoulder, he rose and wiped at his mouth and face. Able to perceive clearly again, he was struck anew by the comparatively advanced age of his reluctant saviors. What were they doing here, in the middle of emptiness, on the nowhere world of Pyrassis, so far from the centers of AAnn culture and civilization? Not that the desert-loving endotherms would be uncomfortable in such surroundings. The heat and lack of humidity would be entirely to their liking.
  The male continued to hold the waterpak. His companion held something smaller and more lethal, its muzzle focused on the now erect Flinx. "How did you find out about the transsmitter? It iss an archeological disscovery of the utmosst importance."
  "Ssuch wise, it is to us." The male's accompanying gestures suggested first-degree importance tinged with excitement. "There are thosse in the Department who will believe otherwisse."
  The female's tail switched like a metronome as she talked, the steady side-to-side movement quietly mesmerizing. "It iss interessting, if not particularly flattering, to have our convictionss confirmed, if only by an intruding human."
  Flinx offered no comment, letting them ramble. As they chattered away, the two AAnn were doing an excellent job of carrying on the conversation without the need for any uninformed input from him. Every time they opened their scale-lined, tooth-filled jaws, they were unwittingly providing him with the basis for sustaining future conversation. Furthermore, their ongoing physical proximity combined with certain subtle hand gesturings suggested a relationship that went beyond the bounds of the merely professional.
  He felt his initial supposition confirmed: They were not military operatives. Had that been the case, they would have said as little as possible. Their manifest lack of martial sophistication allowed him to believe he might even have a chance, however slim, to slip away to continue his search.
  Any such possibility lay in the future, because the female continued to keep her small but contemporary-looking weapon trained on his midsection. That they were unaware of the minidrag's lethal capabilities was evident by the lack of attention they paid to Flinx's coiled, revivified companion. It was potential he decided to hold in reserve, unless and until they gave him no choice but to reveal it.
  "Naturally," he said when they finally finished, "I also believe in its importance."
  He addressed them matter-of-factly in his fluent AAnn, wondering as he did so what the hell he was supposed to be talking about. They had alluded to the existence of some kind of transmitter. True, his powers of observation had been weakened by his recent ordeal, but up until yesterday he had felt himself still capable of recognizing any type of device that even vaguely resembled a transmitter.
  The elderly reptiloids exchanged whispered, hissing comments. "We had believed that recent confirmation of the field'ss exisstence wass known only to oursselvess and a few otherss in the Department. How did the Commonwealth learn of itss exisstence?"
  "Oh, you know," he murmured confidentially. "Information travels in mysterious ways. In these days of modern long-range communications, secrets are difficult to keep."
  "Truly," the female admitted. The muzzle of the gun did not waver from his belly. "Sso you came to carry out field sstudiess for yoursself."
  "Truly." Stepping into deeper shade, Flinx took a seat on a frozen rope of black ceramic-like material. Still weak, he tried to recall which AAnn foods were suitable for human consumption. "Isn't that what you're doing?"
  The male gestured absently, a fifth-degree gesticulation at best. He seemed reluctant to believe that their secret was out. He would have been most unhappy to learn that it was he and his mate who had revealed its existence, and that very recently indeed.
  "Of coursse. As you can imagine, our ressourcess are limited by the sskepticissm with which our reportss have been greeted." This time his gesture was much broader, encompassing a wide area in multiple directions. "It iss difficult for our ssuperiorss in the Department to accept the exisstence of a transsmitter of unknown dessign that iss more than one hundred qaditss in extent."
  Keeping his expression carefully neutral in case either of the AAnn was skilled in the interpretation of human facial contortions, Flinx did some hasty calculations. A hundred AAnn qadits was… They were talking about a "transmitter" nearly two thousand square kilometers in area. His heart raced. No wonder he hadn't seen any transmitter.
  He had been walking on it.
  The continuous high wall he had scaled upon leaving the salt flats was the rim of the device. The black monoliths, the twisted and gnarled shapes, the ribbed surface that time had covered with windblown sand: It was all part of the AAnn-discovered transmitter. Or part of its upper regions, anyway. What more lay buried beneath his feet, under the sand and in the bedrock of the planet, he could only imagine. Maybe these two A Ann knew that as well. Xenologists, he wondered, or students of a more arcane specialty? Like a fisherman forced to cast with virtual bait, he chanced continuing the conversation. With luck, they wouldn't realize that his hook was empty.
  "I've had the same problem with my superiors," he confessed, under no illusion that by expressing sympathy with their professional position he was establishing any sort of emotional rapport. "It's simply too big to be believed. And the age of the thing!" he concluded hopefully.
  The garrulous, ingenuous couple did not disappoint. Flinx translated the hypothesized timeline they provided. If they were correct, it meant that the enormous mechanism atop which they were standing and conversing was between 485,000 and 500,000 years old.
  To lavish so much time and effort on such an instrument, he concluded somberly, someone must have been in need of serious long-range conversation with somebody else. Or with something else.
  "Still," he murmured, hoping to acquire a little more information before the AAnn grew suspicious, "its origin and purpose remain a mystery."
  "Ssssnt," the female whispered, "then you are no nearer the ansswerss than are we."
  Too bad, Flinx mused. Too bad that their work thus far had not revealed that knowledge to them. As for himself, he now knew a great deal more than he had when they had begun, which had been less than nothing.
  "You are alone," the male declared. When Flinx chose not to respond, the AAnn added, "Where iss your landing craft, your ssuppliess?"
  "You know I can't tell you any of that." Let them wonder about the possible presence of other humans, he decided, and their unknown capabilities.
  "It doess not matter." The female gestured with her weapon. "The ssoldierss will take charge of him, and find out. It need not concern uss." Her eyes were cold, her expression indifferent. "Thiss wasstess our time."
  "I thought we were establishing some common ground." Flinx smiled encouragingly. "After all, we three are colleagues in science, something the military cares nothing about."
  "We are not colleaguess," the male retorted. "We are competitorss. And all AAnn are ssoldierss together in the sservice of the Empire."
  It was exactly the kind of dutiful, disappointing response he had been expecting, but there had been no harm in trying. The two researchers might be elderly, but they were not senile. They were still all AAnn.
  "What sshall we do with him until ssomeone from Kyi Base can come to take him away?" The female gestured third-degree anxiety, coupled with a twist of lips and elongated jaws that suggested she wouldn't mind sampling a bite of soft mammalian flesh. Flinx tensed. On his shoulder, Pip's coils tightened, and he hastened to calm the minidrag by thinking only self-confident thoughts. Not yet, he told himself, and through empathetic consanguinity, her as well.
  "Collar," the male declared briskly. Disappearing around a massive slab of solid black, he returned moments later carrying a length of silvery cord a couple of centimeters in diameter. Avoiding Pip's coils, he placed this around Flinx's neck. Stepping back, he fingered a pair of contacts on his instrument belt. A trio of tiny lights snapped to life deep within the cord as the two congruent ends proceeded to fuse seamlessly together.
  "That cannot be removed without first entering the appropriate code," he announced to the accompaniment of second-degree satisfaction. "Try anything untoward, travel more than a tenth of a qadit from my sside, and the explosivess with which the loop iss impregnated will explode with enough force to ssever your head from your shoulderss. We use the material for making precission excavationss. It will ssuffice, I think, to keep a lone human from wandering."
  Flinx indicated his understanding. "I know it is your responsibility to turn me over to the local authorities. I just didn't think there were any."
  "It will take time for ssoldierss to get here from Kyi Base." The female sounded unhappy. "Meanwhile we musst, as you argued, tolerate your dissagreeable pressence. Do not think to take advantage of it."
  "I don't see how I could. Not while I'm wearing this." Reaching up, he felt gingerly of the flexible collar impregnated with powdered explosive. Under the best of circumstances, he did not care to have anything around his neck except a certain flying snake. "Just make sure you don't fall asleep atop the control unit."
  The AAnn responded with gestures to his attempt at humor. Among their kind, irony and sarcasm had always been appreciated.
  "Do as you are told, and your life will be presserved. For as long as the military cadre conssiderss worthwhile, at leasst." Turning, the male indicated that the prisoner should walk in front of them. In tatters and battered boots, Flinx complied.
  He had been given water. If they wished to keep him alive until the local command could take him off their hands, then food would likely be forthcoming. The deadly collar he could live with—for now. In spite of empty pockets and the absence of equipment belt or tool packet he still possessed the means for removing the device. That also would have to wait until the time was right, he knew. Everything usually did.
  As they walked, he saw the black material around him and beneath his feet in an entirely new light. A transmitter of gargantuan size and incredible age, the AAnn insisted. Who had built it? Why was it situated on an empty, ovenlike, nowhere world like Pyrassis? Was this what the crew and complement of the Crotase had come all this distant, dangerous way hoping to find? If so, what possible connection could a prehistoric alien transmitting device have with the Meliorare Society, or with the sybfile of personal information he had tracked halfway across the galactic arm?
  Through stealth and quick thinking he had acquired some answers, but in no wise were they keeping up with the rising flood of questions. Try as he might, he failed to link his purpose in being on distant Pyrassis with that of the crew from the Crotase, much less with the presence of an enormous antediluvian transmitter of alien design. It was entirely possible, he realized, that there was no link, and that the visitors from the Commonwealth vessel had come to this desert world driven by other reasons entirely. The revelation of the transmitter's existence was as unlikely as it was unexpected. While it engaged his interest and imagination, he knew he must not let it distract him from his purpose in journeying to this place. He was here to learn about and find out about himself, not to engage in xenoarcheology.
  The elderly female AAnn gestured with the pistol, forcing his thoughts from confused contemplation back to inscrutable reality.
  The weight of the explosive collar disturbing against his throat, he lengthened his stride.
  Their neatly laid-out camp was a jumble of supplies, equipment, and laboriously acquired study material. In typical AAnn fashion, 90 percent of the living and working quarters were situated just beneath the sun-baked surface. A flattened dome with ground-level slits for viewing and ventilation marked the location of individual compartments designated for sleeping, eating, and research. His breathing skipped a beat at the sight of the lightweight two-person skimmer. Though the layout and controls were AAnn-designed and proportioned, he felt certain that given the chance he could divine enough of its functions to enable him to operate the vehicle. As they walked past, he tried hard not to stare at the tempting means of escape.
  Whether he would be given that chance remained to be seen. Certainly he could do nothing while trapped beneath the watchful eyes of the two xenologists. What would they do with him when it was time for them to retire? AAnn required roughly as much sleep as humans. The explosive collar might keep him from fleeing, but it would not prevent him from prowling around the camp while they slept. Something as low-tech as a lock and chain would take care of any free-roaming notions their prisoner might have. Surely they had something like that in mind for him.
  It was only slightly cooler below ground. The AAnn thrived in hot, dry climates. Flinx knew he could stand it, so long as they continued to provide him with water.
  Taking the gun from his mate, the male kept watch on the young human while his companion disappeared into another chamber. "The military will not believe you are a fellow ressearcher, you know. They will assume you are a Commonwealth sspy and treat you accordingly."
  Taking a seat against a blank section of wall, Flinx did his best to appear indifferent to his situation. "Then they are as stupid as they are unlucky, to be sent to a world as unimportant and out of the way as Pyrassis." He hesitated. "Unless, of course, there is something here worth spying on."
  "You are trying to get me to provide military information." The muscular tail switched from side to side in a manner indicating mild amusement coupled with third-degree curiosity. "I have none to give. My mate and I are interessted in the passt, not the political pressent. Pyrassis intrigued uss for the very reasson that it interessted no one elsse." Accompanied by a high cheeping sound, teeth clacked together several times, denoting amusement. "I would be as ssurprissed as you if there exissted on thiss world anything of military value. There are mineralss in abundance, a condition of geology one cannot avoid noticing, but nothing that cannot be obtained more viably elssewhere. If there are large depossitss of ssomething sspecial or unique, we are unaware of it. My mate and I delight in our issolation. Even the location of thiss world is unimportant. Though such lore doess not fall within our areass of expertisse, I would be asstonisshed to learn that Pyrassis iss thought by the Imperial Board of Grand Sstrategy to have tactical importance." He settled into an AAnn lounge, a supportive puzzle of padded wires and posts that allowed his tail unrestricted range of movement.
  "What iss your perssonal dessignation?"
  "Flinx." A now relaxed Pip shifted against his shoulder.
  "Only one naming? That iss unussual among humanss. Given the way you breed, the need for more than one sseemss a matter of necessity rather than choice." When Flinx did not respond, the xenologist added, "They will sstill treat you as a sspy. It iss procedure."
  "You and your mate could vouch for my scientific interests," Flinx suggested helpfully. "As fellow researchers, we have a lot in common."
  "We are not fellowss," the AAnn replied impassively. "As to whether we have anything in common, that would remain to be sseen. Though it matterss not." While not as flexible as a human face, that of the AAnn was capable of considerably more expression than, say, the insectoid thranx. "Your pressence here iss an unwanted intrussion and an unpleassant surprise. I find everything about you, from your physsical appearance to your body odor to the ssound of your voice, disspleassing. The ssooner the military hass taken you off our handss, the happier my mate and I will be."
  Flinx rested his forearms on his knees. "That's not very hospitable of you."
  "AAnn hosspitality is resserved for the Kind, and for itss friendss. Having allied yoursselvess with the loathessome hard-shellss to resstrict the sspread of ssettlement that iss our right, you are neither."
  The lanky redhead sighed. There was nothing to be gained by bandying politics with the elderly scientist. The AAnn believed they had the right to expand anywhere and dominate everyplace. No amount of argument would convince them otherwise. Where sophistry failed, however, the presence of numbers of large starships heavily manned by humans and thranx had proven more pragmatically compelling. That did not prevent the AAnn from continually probing, testing, and provoking Commonwealth resolve at every opportunity.
  The female returned. No attempt was made by the pair to shield their conversation from the prisoner. They wanted him to hear.
  The male's tone and gestures conveyed his annoyance. "There sshould alwayss be someone on contact at Kyi. What kind of outposst of the Empire iss thiss?"
  "A very, very issolated one," his mate reminded him. "The information wass forwarded. As soon as it reachess the appropriate individual, I am certain that proper action will eventuate."
  "Isssspah—I hope so. The human occupiess time and energiess far better sspent engaged in professional activitiess."
  "You could just let me go," Flinx suggested amiably. "I'll walk away and you'll never see me again."
  As he made the suggestion, he concentrated as hard as he could. You have to let me go, he thought. You need to let me go. There are a thousand reasons why you should let me go. So—let me go now. He had never tried projecting persuasion on a nonhuman. Whether his talent was functioning or not, he had no way of telling. The response from the AAnn, at least, was unequivocal. His mental straining had no effect on them whatsoever. Perhaps, he mused wryly, he would have had better luck if one of them had been searching for love.
  More teeth-clicking as the female replied. "We may not be ssoldierss. but we know our duty. You thoughtfully reminded uss of it when we gave you water. You will remain here until the appropriate military repressentativess come to remove you from our pressence."
  "And you will do sso quietly." The male brushed a clawed finger across the face of the unit that monitored the explosive collar. Flinx tried to hide his unease. The AAnn was elderly. If its hand accidentally stroked the wrong control the wrong way…
  "1 have no weapons," he lied. "I won't make any trouble."
  "No." The male spoke with confidence as he turned to leave. "You will not."
  They continued to give him water from what was evidently either a distiller or abundant storage, simultaneously curious about and repelled by his ability to process such copious amounts of the liquid. Following an exchange of questions and answers, food that was suitable for human ingestion was also found and provided. Though palatable, it was something less than tasty. The alien nutrients did serve to rapidly restore his physical strength, however. With renewed energy came renewed confidence.
  He knew that he had to leave before the military arrived to claim him. Once in their custody his opportunities for maintaining his independence would be considerably diminished. Furthermore, someone might recognize the Alaspinian minidrag riding on his shoulder as something other than a thoroughly benign pet.
  He would wait until they slept, free himself, appropriate the largest container of water he could easily carry together with some food, and go. The chaotic maze that was the anomalous surface of the ancient transmitter provided plenty of places in which to hide. While avoiding the attentions of a curious military, he could continue to seek the presumably well-camouflaged landing party from the Crotase.
  Meanwhile, the blistering Pyrassisian sun was still high, and the two scientists were intent upon their daily tasks. Secured to a heavy supply container, unable to move, with the ever-present threat of the explosive collar rubbing against the back of his neck, he crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes, and tried to get some sleep.
CHAPTER
Eleven
  When he finally awoke, it was dark save for the light from Pyrassis's two sizable moons. The wan, ethereal glow spilled into the room through a pair of slitted, ground-level observation ports. Neither the darkness nor the moonlight was what had awakened him. however. It was Pip. She was astir and fully alert, triangular emerald-green head held high, wings half unfurled ready to carry her aloft. Her small, bright eyes were focused on shadowed movement. Not AAnn, but something else with legs. Lots of legs. Too many legs.
  No, they weren't legs, an unmoving Flinx decided as their serpentine owner continued to emerge from beneath the floor. More like fins, stiff paddlelike appendages that had evolved to propel the creature through sand instead of across it. Its long, narrow snout had no visible teeth. In their place writhed a quartet of questing, exploring tongues. Each slim protuberance was about a meter in length, or at least the portion that the creature chose to expose was that long. Every one of the four appendages tapered to a point. In contrast to the invader's mottled yellow-and-black epidermis, the internal appendages were tinted a striking crimson. They flicked rapidly in and out of the eyeless snout, sampling their surroundings. The hole or burrow from which it continued to emerge, he noted, had been bored through sand, avoiding the hard black ribbed material of which the suspect transmitter was composed.
  Flinx remained calm, telling himself that this visitor from the cooler subterranean regions was only curious. Other than its size, it did not appear threatening. As he watched it slither across the floor, its multiple tongues nuzzling containers and packages, furniture and scientific supplies, his attention was drawn back to the hole in the ground. A low ridge of sandy soil had formed a ring around the opening from which the visitor was emerging. And emerging, and continuing to emerge.
  How long was the creature, anyway?
  The languidly rising cable of blood and flesh continued to issue from its eruptive burrow until the seated and much smaller inhabitant of the storage chamber decided that it might be time to put his carefully considered plans aside and get the hell out of there. Concentrating his thoughts, focusing his emotions, he launched Pip from his shoulder. Taking to the air, she hovered expectantly in front of him. Flinx was both relieved and pleased to note that the steady thrum of her wings did not distract the intruder from its ongoing inspection of the room's contents.
  Caressing his explosive collar with the fingers of one hand, he gestured expressively with the other. As a child on Moth, he had often amused himself by teaching his slender winged companion to perform a number of simple tricks. What he was striving to have her do now might not be classed by others as a trick, and was not particularly simple. It was also potentially dangerous.
  Pip recognized the tell-tale gesture as well as the position of her companion's fingers. Darting forward, she positioned herself carefully, took precise aim, and from the single forward-facing fleshy ridge that formed a narrowing tube on the underside of her upper jaw, dribbled a few drops of minidrag venom on the indicated place on the band that encircled Flinx's throat. Instantly the flexible, machine-woven alien material began to sizzle. Turning his head away from the rising wisp of toxic fumes. Flinx waited for several minutes. No stranger to the potent effects of the flying snake's poison, experience allowed him to estimate the speed of the advancing decay. Still, when he reached up to take hold of opposite sides of the collar with both hands, he was careful to keep his fingers away from the spot where Pip had drooled.
  He did not have to pull very hard. In addition to being a powerful neurotoxin, the minidrag's venom was also highly corrosive. The collar broke apart easily in his fingers. Inspecting the remains, he saw that it had been eaten almost completely through. There had been some risk of the caustic liquid activating the powdered explosive that was integrated into the material, but he felt the odds to be in his favor. In order to render it safe and easy to handle, such lethal material was usually quite stable until precisely ignited—in this case by a remote electronic signal. Had he guessed wrong, he would not have had time to realize his mistake.
  Shorn of the deadly neckpiece, he was free to leave. Or would be, as soon as the sinuous visitor from the Pyrassisian underworld finished its inspection of the storage room and returned to its hole. Trying to keep as much distance between himself and the probing, multitongued head as possible, and having finally freed himself, he rose and began to work his way around the back of the room. Bulky intruder notwithstanding, he would soon have a clear path to the doorway.
  That portal promptly and unexpectedly popped open wide.
  Light poured into the room, silhouetting a pair of AAnn figures. The opening of the door was punctuated by a florid hissing of syllables immediately recognizable as an AAnn curse of first-degree consternation.
  The invading echinoderm's front end whipped around in response to the infringing illumination. A fifth appendage, narrow and tubular, emerged from the midst of the multiple tongues as the creature's entire upper length suddenly inflated. The pistol that flared in the intermittent darkness missed its target. The now frightened visitor did not.
  From the central protuberance there issued a stream of gut-polished, fine-grained quartz sand no bigger in diameter than a pin. Sprayed at murderous velocity by air that was highly compressed within the whole of the intruder's unseen length, the slender stream of sand cut through polymer containers, a metal tank, and eventually, the right leg of Tenukac LLBYYLL. The AAnn xenologist hissed sharply at the searing pain. As he fell, he managed to fire his weapon again. His aim was no better the second time, and the shot struck only the ground, penetrating the ancient hard black material of the transmitter. As he struck the unyielding surface he lost his grip on the pistol. It flew from his fingers to bounce once before skidding out of sight beneath a massive ceramic container.
  Faltering in the doorway, his mate Nennasu BDESSLL struggled to train her own gun on the writhing, convulsing intruder. A muscular coil whipped around her waist and knocked the weapon from her clawed fingers. While Tenukac struggled to stanch the flow of blood from the hole that went all the way through his leg, his now helpless mate was elevated into the air and brought slowly toward the head of the curious creature. A second set of tongues appeared inside the first layer. Smaller than the others, they were black instead of bright red, lined with tiny, backward-facing hooks, and framed a dark, efficient-looking gullet.
  Between the agitated, frantic hisses of the two AAnn, the thrashing of the visitor's coils, and the hum of Pip's wings, the noise in the enclosed space was terrific. The female xenologist's weapon lay on the floor where she had dropped it. Hoping that the invader, its truly terrifying nature now fully revealed, could concentrate on only one potential prey at a time, Flinx dove forward, snatched up the fallen gun, rolled, took aim in the light pouring through the now vacant doorway, and fired. It was a very unpretentious weapon, and he was concerned even as he activated the firing mechanism if it would have much effect on so substantial an adversary. He needn't have worried.
  Tongues and hook-lined tendrils flew in all directions as the head blew apart, splattering the floor, the stacked supplies, a good part of the room, and its remaining intact occupants with greenish red blood, Pyrassisian flesh, and bits of fractionated organs. A convulsing coil caught Flinx and knocked him to the ground, but he held onto the weapon. It would be another ten minutes before the rest of the attenuated organism would give a final, last twitch.
  The female rushed to attend to her mate's injury. Neither of them paid much attention to their former prisoner, being wholly engaged in trying to stanch the flow of blood from the puncture in his leg. Flinx took the opportunity to examine the nearby metal container that had been pierced as cleanly as if with a laser by the fine stream of sand ejected by the now expired trespasser. Some kind of highly developed giant nematode or land-based echinoderm, he decided as he turned to examine the motionless carcass. Evolved into an efficient killer capable of slicing apart any enemy or prey by employing the most common component of its environment—common, everyday, ordinarily harmless sand.
  By now the two AAnn had had enough time to realize that the human had not only saved their lives, but that the collar that had heretofore restrained his movements no longer hung around his neck. The female straightened.
  "Truly, we are prepared to die. More than mosst. I believe, having sspent sso much time in thiss place. Allow uss if you will a few momentss to exchange our death chantss. We have been complementary for an honorable time, and our ancesstral liness require implementation of the formality before we die."
  Offended as well as tired, Flinx gestured absently with the weapon. The AAnn were alien in more than shape—truly. "No death chants. I didn't shoot this thing just to end up killing you myself."
  "You killed it to ssave yoursself." The female watched him intently out of slitted, reptilian eyes.
  "That too," Flinx readily admitted. "If your conditioned natures simply can't countenance an act of altruism on the part of a human, then accept instead the excuse that I need your help."
  His face contorted in pain, the male used his tail to lift himself into a shaky squatting position. "That we can believe. You have obvioussly sstrayed much too far from your camp, and it iss only through our good gracess that you are sstill alive." It was a pithy summation of the AAnn xenologist's perceived reality, coupled with an indirect plea for the human who was now in control of the situation to spare their lives. It also conveniently ignored the fact that they were in the process of turning him over to the local military authorities and had threatened to shoot him dead if he made the slightest wrong move.
  Though their reasonable assumption that he had come from a camp was entirely wrong, Flinx chose not to enlighten them. Let them think that he had a real base of operations, shared perhaps with companions who were searching for him even now. As he considered how best to proceed, he noticed that the female's tail was probing beneath the edge of a massive container—where her mate's weapon had slid. The corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly, he gestured with the gun he held and hissed a caution. The full length of the xenologist's tail immediately snapped back into view.
  "It iss eassy to ssee why you were chossen to come and study here." Unable to divert the human's attention long enough to retrieve the second gun, the elderly female knelt to examine the new skin that was forming atop her mate's wound. "You sspeak the language of Empire almosst as if you had a proper tongue in your head." By way of emphasis, her own flicked in his direction. Pip reacted with a fluttering of wings, and Flinx had to calm her with several strokes of his free hand.
  The AAnn lingua, so important in speech for lengthening syllables, was at once narrower and five times longer than that of any human, rendering Flinx's articulate approximation of the reptiloids' speech even more admirable. Over the years, he had learned to compensate for his shorter tongue by employing excellent breath control.
  Glancing up from her work, the female gestured with third-degree interest at where the two halves of the bisected collar lay on the floor. "How did you get out of that?" Unaware that the explanation she sought was presently examining the dead body of the intruder worm, neither of his former captors paid any but cursory attention to Pip.
  "Bit through it," Flinx responded without hesitation.
  The AAnn exchanged a glance before the female replied. "Not with thosse pitiful calcified chipss you call teeth." She hissed disparagingly. The AAnn, Flinx knew, were famed for their skill at organization, their technical expertise, and their rigid, tightly knit society based on the structure of the extended family and a contemporary derivative of ancient reptilian nobility. They most assuredly were not noted for their tactfulness.
  "I'll need water and a suitable container in which to carry it, some food, and new clothing. Then I'll leave you."
  The female rendered a gesture of third-degree animosity. "We have little enough here to provide for oursselvess, and need all that we have to facilitate our work. We have toiled too long and too hard on thiss project to turn over our preciouss ssuppliess to a roving human!"
  Flinx knew that such words and gestures were for show, part of the elaborate ritual of which the AAnn were so fond. The two scientists were in no position to bargain—or to object. But so long as it would facilitate his departure, he was content to play the role. He waved the gun, deliberately exaggerating the gesture.
  "If you don't give me what I need, I'll shoot you both and take it anyway."
  "Then as you are in possession of the only weapon, we have no choice but to acquiessce to your demandss." Both AAnn bowed and gestured ceremoniously.
  They would have given him the supplies anyway, he knew, but having formally registered a semblance of defiance, they felt better about having to do so. The male abruptly straightened to his full height, causing Flinx's fingers to tighten on the pistol's double trigger. Between his injured leg and his age Tenukac did not pose much of a threat to the human and the flying snake, but Flinx was wary all the same.
  The AAnn was not even looking at the liberated prisoner, however. His gaze had been caught by something on the floor behind Flinx. Realizing it might be a simple ruse, Flinx chanced only a quick glance back and down. What he saw nearly made him forget about the two AAnn.
  A small section of sand-flecked black flooring where the male's second shot had gone astray was alive with flickering light. The white sparks raced through the material in utter silence, providing enough subdued illumination to read by.
  "What's this?" he heard himself murmuring as he stared at the shifting fragment of entombed dazzle.
  "Vya-nar—I do not know. With your permission, human." Helped by his mate, who braced his limping form with a supporting arm and tail, the male hobbled forward and crouched to examine the unexpected phenomenon. Reaching out and down, he tried to catch the scampering embers, but had to settle for gently stroking the black material with the scaly surface of his open palm. "Cold lightning. But what hass prompted it?"
  "Your gun." The female had also knelt to investigate the twinkling radiance. "You fired at the ssand burrower and missed, sstriking the ssurface here insstead."
  "I wonder," the male declared, "what would happen if the energy level could be increassed?"
  "How do you mean?" Flinx was more intrigued by the imprisoned lights than he cared to admit. He ought to have been concentrating on gathering supplies and resuming his trek to the Crotase encampment. Instead, he found himself drawn by his assertive curiosity into sharing the pair of AAnn xenologists' budding excitement.
  "Sshoot it again." Straightening with difficulty, the male stepped back, away from the place where the lights were rushing through the isolated corner of floor. "Sseveral timess. Full power."
  Flinx gestured with the gun. "So that in doing so I'll fully discharge your weapon and thereby equalize the situation? I don't think so."
  Tenukac indicated his leg with a gesture of second-degree assertion coupled with scrupulous regard. "I am barely able to sstand. We are not ssoldierss."
  "All AAnn are trained in the arts of warfare," Flinx attested.
  "Our training wass long ago, human. We are academicss, not fighterss." His tone was agitated. "We may inadvertently have made an important disscovery here. It sshould be purssued. Of coursse," he hissed diffidently, "nothing may happen."
  "The energy bursst from the gun penetrated and entered the material of the floor without caussing any vissible damage," Nennasu pointed out. "We musst ssee what ressult the accretion of additional energy will yield."
  "Probably a big hole in the floor." Flinx was worn out and hungry. But even as a child he had always been a sucker for logic, even if it originated from an alien source. Raising his hand and taking aim, he fired at the flickering spot on the ground. Pip immediately spread her wings, ready to take flight, but in the absence of any directly perceivable threat retained her perch on his shoulder. He fired a second time and a third in rapid succession.
  The floor ought to have shattered, or melted, or been otherwise visibly marred. Instead, it reacted as if the power of the gun was irrelevant. The showy embedded discharges swiftly propagated, then exploded in all directions, spreading through the entire floor of the storage chamber and filling the enclosed space with sparkling, cold light.
  "Outsside!" Ignoring the fact that he was ostensibly a prisoner in his own camp, Tenukac whirled and stumbled for the open doorway as fast as he could limp while continuing to rely on his mate for support.
  The sun was not yet up. Would not be up for another few hours, Flinx knew. Nevertheless, outside it was almost as bright as day. Every ebony prominence, rim, jutting knob, disc, block, and arch was alive with swirling cold flame. Salvos of inborn lightning shot through every looming overhang and configuration as well as through the ribbed raven surface beneath their feet.
  "Elevation," the female declared briskly as she turned, half hauling her mate with her. Lost in the fever of scientific discovery, they had all but forgotten Flinx and the weapon he held. He trailed behind them. Pip clinging to his shoulder.
  A wide-beamed ladder designed to accommodate splayed AAnn feet stood propped against a tall black rectangle. Ignoring the glittering radiance that now cavorted beneath its pitted surface, the two AAnn started to climb, the injured male having to use his arms to pull himself upward.
  A small observation platform from which an observer could look out over much of the surrounding synthetic terrain had been erected atop the sooty shaft. Surmounting the last step, Flinx found himself standing just behind the two xenologists. They were gazing wordlessly at the hitherto somber surface of the entombed transmitter.
  As far as the eye could see, in every direction, it was resplendent with silent, eruptive light.
  "All thosse repetitive energy bursstss from the weapon triggered ssomething." Tenukac's voice was hushed in the presence of discovery. "Woke ssomething up."
  "Perhapss." Ever the conservative scientist, the AAnn Nennasu BDESSLL was not yet ready to concede sweeping pronouncements. "Certainly there iss ssome kind of activity being generated from an unknown ssource."
  Her mate gestured second-degree impatience coupled with first-degree interest and underscored by an astute flick of uncertainty. At that point the entire exposed domain of the transmitter ignited in a storm of frozen pyrotechnics. It was as if every one of the millions of shimmering lights shooting through the dark surface had suddenly chosen to align themselves along the same axis and intensify at the same time. The turbulent, breathtakingly fierce burst actually lasted less than a second and was, like the display that had led up to it, resolved in total silence.
  When a momentarily blinded Flinx could finally see again, he found himself gazing out across a barren blackness shadowed by hundreds of enigmatic ebony shapes, illuminated once more only by the light of the two bilious Pyrassisian moons.
  "That wass… interessting." Nennasu's tail switched reflex-ively from side to side as she rubbed at her outraged eyes. "Ssome-thing happened, assshusss, but what?"
  "Based on our ressearch to date, we have determined that thiss vasst field of blackness is the ssurface of ssome kind of transsmitter. Truly." Tenukac was already hobbling back toward the ladder. "I believe we may have jusst been witness to a transsmission."
  "To where?" Flinx inquired sharply. It was as if he had not spoken. The AAnn ignored him, and likely would have continued to do so until he actually shot one of them. Although they did not know it, he had no intention of doing anything so radical except in desperate self-defense.
  There was nothing, he reflected as he followed his excited former reptiloid captors down the wide ladder, to distract a person from their avowed purpose like a two thousand square kilometer effusion of cold, soundless energy from an unknown source. What the xenolo-gists had not yet asked, and what was particularly beginning to interest him, was not whether the vision-numbing discharge had been some kind of transmission, but whether there was anyone or anything on the presumed other end to receive it…
  All was quiet aboard the Teacher. Recycling elements kept the air clean and the water pure. The food preparator stood ready to deliver a variety of healthful, nutritious, and frequently tasty meals upon request. Thermosensitive paneling maintained the internal environment at a mean temperature suitable for a certain species of bipedal, binocular-sighted, somewhat fragile mammals. Other apparatus hummed softly, carrying out a multitude of essential functions, keeping the ship and its internal systems alert, primed, and ready for immediate activation.
  In the main drop bay, a fully fueled and equipped second shuttle waited for instructions to leave its berth and go to the rescue of its owner. All that was needed for it to carry out this task efficiently and quickly was a succinct command coupled with the simplest of navigational coordinates. And even if those were less than wholly accurate, sophisticated instruments aboard the craft would enable it to locate the specific individual in question by means of visual keys, body signatures, and other telltales. All it had to do was be directed to do so and be provided with a minimum of guidance to the general vicinity of the person to be picked up.
  But there was no one aboard authorized to issue the necessary order, including the controlling AI. So the shuttle sat in its bay and methodically performed its schedule of routine maintenance procedures, waiting in the same silence that had enveloped the entire vessel.
  Yet in the near-total absence of sound and crew and active robotics, there was still movement.
  What was striking was not that the half dozen or so leaves quivered; it was that they did so in unison, and in the utter absence of any detectable air movement. What was interesting was not that an entirely different plant had put forth multiple green-brown filaments over the sides of its container, but that at least one such filament had advanced across floor, dividers, and decorative barriers to enter the soil of every other recently transplanted growth. What was impressive about the several tendrils that thrust outward from the depths of half-meter-in-diameter pinkish blue blooms was their single-mindedness in extending themselves not to another planter rich with nutrients nor to a source of water, but to the access panel located clear across the lounge.
  To an outsider wandering upon the scene it would have appeared that, too tightly confined to their planters, the resident growths had blossomed forth in search of more growing space. They would have chuckled at the prospect of simple decorative plants taking over, doubtless through neglect, the lounge chamber of a star-ship, and would have walked on. Had they lingered, and watched, and waited patiently, they would have been privy to several interesting and surprising developments, such as the increased flurry of floral activity that immediately followed a tiny eruption of light on the otherwise unremarkable surface of the planet below.
  As there was no one present to make such observations, the uncommon activities that were taking place at an increasingly rapid pace on board the silent Teacher went unremarked upon.
CHAPTER
Twelve
  If Soldier and Sustainer of the Empire Qiscep HHBGHLT appeared less than enthusiastic on duty that morning, it was with cause. Some might think it churlish for a trooper to belittle a posting to so beautiful a world, and indeed, Pyrassis boasted an amenable climate and pleasant surroundings. The trouble was that there was simply nothing to do. Where was the joyance to be had in congenial environs if it could not be shared?
  When it came to such sharing, his fellow troopers did not count. What was missing was a real subsurface city like Oullac on Tyrton VI, or Ssness-ez-Veol on Blassusar itself. A place where a young soldier helping to propagate the spread of the Empire could properly honor his lineage, in celebration and in a sharing of accomplishment. There was none of that to be had on Pyrassis: only the scorching heat, which was much to his taste; the sere desert landscape, which was pleasing to the eye; and the absence of anything resembling AAnn civilization, which most mornings left him feeling mulish and out of sorts.
  Woe bred brothers, however, and he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that his fellow troopers and officers partook equally of the same isolation and frustration. A distant and overlooked corner of the Empire, Pyrassis was bastion of little but the dreary hopes of those unlucky enough to be stationed there.
  Qiscep did his best to conceal his true feelings, as did his companions. One could safely gesture dismay and ennui but could not voice it aloud. So while a trooper might respond crisply to command or interrogatory, he could simultaneously signify his disillusion with finger or hand, tail or teeth. In polite society such contrary conduct would not have been countenanced. But Pyrassis was a long way from Blassusar. The officers understood the need for those under their command, whose situation was even more forlorn than their own, to have some outlet for their frustration. There was not one among them who did not on the cusp of every major duty-tour rerequest transfer to another posting. If dangerous, there would be action and the chance for promotion. If safe, there would be civilization and the opportunity for interaction with others of their own kind. Anything would be an improvement over isolated, overlooked Pyrassis.
  Aware of the adverse effects prolonged posting to isolated stations had on high-strung personnel, sector command was careful to rotate entire units on an accelerated schedule. As Pyrassis easily qualified for such special treatment, Qiscep had already seen two maintenance teams and one ballistics unit replaced in the past major timepart. His turn would come soon enough, he knew. Until that happy day arrived there was nothing he could do but keep up appearances, feed the chimera of fragile morale, and try not to run afoul of an officer in an especially sour mood. Because while the opportunities for advancement and promotion on Pyrassis were decidedly circumscribed, the demon of demotion was ever present and waiting to be fed.
  Sitting in his cubicle, which a human would have found unbearably hot and a thranx insufferably dry, Qiscep apathetically scanned, noted, and where required, commented upon all incoming messages. Those that were routine, he ensured were transferred to the appropriate departments. He did not have to give his attention to anything else because every message and report that arrived at Pyrassis base was routine. Once in a while a trooper grew so bored that he neglected to correctly carry out his or her duties. That was when someone tended to get hurt. Like his compeers, the jaded Qiscep looked forward to such incidents—so long as they did not involve him. They constituted the only relief from the deadly dull lethargy of everyday procedure.
  He hissed softly under his breath and leaned slightly forward. One of the several scanner satellites that monitored the surface of the planet as well as nearspace was reporting the eruption of a flare of light far off to the southwest, coordinates so-and-so, timing such-and-such. Probably a defect in the surveillance system, the bored Qiscep concluded. Especially given the stated parameters. Duration measured in nanoparts, intensity—the figure supplied for intensity was ridiculous, off scale, beyond validation. The only mechanism on Pyrassis capable of generating such a burst of activity was the deepspace communications unit that was sunk securely into the planetary crust, and it only procreated energy in space-minus. According to the report, the discharge in question had been propagated in space-normal.
  He hissed softly and clacked his back incisors twice. It was a test, of course. In the absence of real work, the powers in charge at-tempted to maintain a semblance of efficiency through an endless series of tests, checks, and inspections. Positing an appropriate response through the neural headset that looped over his skull, he caused the report to be passed along to the proper division without comment. Let someone else deal with its maliciously cunning ramifications. In his capacity he was not required to test traps by sticking his tail into them: only to hurry them on their way.
  More of the odious ordinary congealed and then dissipated in the space above his workspace projector. Another thirty tenth-timeparts or so of this rubbish and he could retire to the comparative balm of the communal sandroom, there to snuggle deep within the perfumed grains and dream of better tomorrows.
   Ess-uahh, he murmured to himself as still more documentation formed in front of his eyes: another test. Unusual to encounter two such in the same morning. But not unprecedented. This one was more carefully crafted, more shrewdly conceived than its predecessor. Send the obvious first, then try to trip up a trooper with something more elegantly schemed than its transparent precursor. He was pleased with himself for having caught it so quickly. Prompt and confident detection should be worth a few shards of praise on his record.
  So as not to miss anything or make a mistake, he studied the new document carefully, examining it for any hidden bureaucratic pitfalls. On the surface, it appeared perfectly straightforward. It would, he told himself as he scrupulously scrutinized each included formulation. It was the content that was perfectly outrageous. That was what made him hesitate. For a test designed to catch someone napping at their station, it lacked ingenuity.
  He found himself vacillating. Would he get credit for taking a little initiative, or would his peers simply laugh at him for revealing hitherto unsuspected depths of gullibility? Furtively, he glanced around the workchamber. No one was watching him. At least, not in person. Should he follow through, or retire for a mealtime and contemplate his options while eating? The thought of something flavorful, heavily salted, and with the fur still on it tugged at his thoughts.
  A check indicated that the message had indeed been relayed by satellite—not once, but twice. This squared with its distant professed site of origination. The language used, including the special annotations that substituted for the physical gestures that were so important a part of the AAnn language, did not suggest a military origin. If this was a test, it was far more cleverly constructed than its predecessor.
  If he treated it as a test and was correct in his analysis, he would accrue commendation. If he was wrong, the consequences could be grave. If he did handle it as a legitimate communication and he was wrong, he would suffer little more than embarrassment and perhaps a small notation in his record. If he treated it as legitimate and was right, he would gain credit for carrying out his duties in a prompt, judicious, and opportune manner. Sitting silent before the projection, he juggled his options.
  Mealtime could wait. Decision made—though not without second thoughts—he rose, set the automatics to operate in his absence, removed his headset, and exited the area, flowcopy in hand. No one in his cadre remarked on his departure. For this he was grateful, since it spared him the need to explain what he was doing.
  The memorandum insisted that it be hand-delivered directly to the base commander. This put Qiscep in the awkward position of having to place not only his decision but his person before the commander. Much easier to accept censure via ceremonial directive than in person. Already he wondered if he had been too hasty, if there were factors he had not considered in making his decision. He could still change his mind, could still pivot on sandaled feet and turn back.
  Then, all too soon, he was standing outside the entrance to the commander's office. Ruthless in the manner of machinery and callously indifferent to his unsettled state of mind, the door promptly asked him to identify himself and state his business. When he complied, it expressed misgivings, only to be overridden by the individual within. As it slid aside, Qiscep strode through resolutely, as if equivocation were as alien to him as the suppurating surface of Hivehom.
  Relaxing on a sandlounge, Voocim DDHJ looked more the casual tourist than the commander of all military forces on the Imperial outpost world of Pyrassis. Neither her position, her posture, or her comparatively diminutive size caused Qiscep to relax for a tenth-timepart. With a couple of well-executed gestures and without a word, Voocim had been known to induce incisor-grinding shakes in the toughest trooper. Halting sharply, Qiscep reported in tones as crisp as if he were principal communications officer on a front line warship.
  "Ssettle sself, ssoldier." Sliding clear of the tangerine-tinted sand, she slipped her feet onto the floor and extended a hand in the proper manner. "Herewith."
  The flowcopy protruding from his longest claw, Qiscep passed the information and stepped back, awaiting the hoped-for speedy dismissal. It was not forthcoming. Instead, he had to stand and overheat while she perused the memorandum.
  Silence thundered in the office, during which time the trooper forced himself to concentrate on the rotating three-dimensional projections of winsome foreign landscapes that filled the back wall of the chamber. Only when she had finished the last of the communication he had delivered did she look up, silent still, and appear to join him in examining the latest of the multiple decorative projections.
  "Massterful, iss it not? The texture of the ssandfallss, the lugubriouss lope of the herd of Umparss, the prisstine clarity of the alien ssky."
  "Very handssome," Qiscep agreed, since some sort of comment seemed to be in order.
  "It iss a Bokapp rendering of a canyon on Tohtach. Not an original, of coursse. One doess not acquire Bokapp originalss through the Imperial recompensse of what the commander of a place like Pyras-sis is granted." She eyed the trooper speculatively.
  To his great credit, he elected to say nothing whatsoever. No response in this instance apparently being the correct response, she gestured fourth-degree satisfaction with one hand while holding the memorandum up to him with the other. Grains of colored sand trickled floorward from the lower hem of her uniform.
  "What do you make of thiss, trooper Qiscep?"
  It was what he had most feared: being asked for an opinion. With no escape route in sight, he plunged ahead.
  "After due conssideration, Commander, I believe it to be a legitimate document."
  "Fssassh," she hissed. "I disslike dealing with sscientissts. For a cadre that purports to favor directness above all elsse, they can be detestably oblique." She fanned the air with the flowcopy. "Sso they have captured a 'sspy,' have they? And a human, at that! A sspy. On Pyrassis." She executed a complex gesture that simultaneously reflected disbelief, resignation, ire, and sarcasm. The undertaking was admirable to behold. Commander Voocim was justly noted for the eloquence of her limbs.
  "Tell me, trooper: What make you of ssuch a claim?"
  Though still nervous, Qiscep took comfort in his superior's palpable sardonicism. "It sseemss extraordinary, Commander. I am not a sstrategic analysst, of coursse, but if there truly iss an unauthorized human adventuring through thiss ssector of the Empire, I would not believe it to be a sspy."
  "Why not?" Though her gaze was directed elsewhere, Qiscep knew that the commander's attention remained focused on him.
  Not wishing to be forced into publicly demeaning his station but fearing to do anything but tell the truth as it was requested, Qiscep replied as firmly as he could under the circumstances.
  "Becausse, having been possted to thiss world for several timepartss now. Commander, I have yet to ssee anything that iss, in my humble opinion, worth sspying on."
  Voocim was silent for an uncomfortably long time. When she finally spoke, however, her reply was accompanied by a gesture of second-degree amusement. "Then we concur. There iss truly nothing on thiss comfortable but empty world that would sseem to me worthy of the attention of a ssophissticated Commonwealth operative. And it would have to be ssophissticated to have made it thiss far, landed without incident, and embarked upon itss work without attracting the notice of the planetary monitoring facilitiess."
  "Then you do not think there iss a sspy?" Qiscep inquired reflexively.
  "I did not ssay that, trooper." Rising, Voocim began to kick idly at the underlying sand, finding consolation in the ancient movement of innocent grains. The heated granules were balm beneath her un-sandaled feet. "What I mean to indicate iss that I believe it to be possible." She held forth the flowcopy of the recently received message.
  "Thiss communication iss genuine, but it doess not sspeak to the perceptive abilitiess of thosse who composed it. They are sscientists, trained obsserverss, but ssuch people have been known to make misstakes. They are xenologisstss, I believe, engaged in sstudying the hisstory of the planet."
  "That iss sso, Commander. I ssaw them mysself once, when the male came to the base to pick up ssuppliess. I remember thinking that he did not sstrike me as in any way exceptional."
  "Still, they are not foolss, thesse people. They have professional qualificationss. Perhapss they truly have found ssomething."
  "It would be hard to misstake a human for anything elsse," Qiscep ventured to point out.
  "Heisssh? " Perceptive, penetrating eyes bored into those of the trooper. He was immediately sorry he had vouchsafed an opinion. "How many humanss have you met, ssoldier?"
  Qiscep's teeth clacked audibly despite a conscious effort on his part to forestall the reflexive reaction. "Actually, none, Commander. But I have read about them, and ssseen many instructional visualss. They are bipedss, like uss, but tailless, ssoft-sskinned, and without sscales, physsically sslightly sstronger but sslower. They have average brain capacitiess of…"
  "I too have sstudied them." Voocim cut off Qiscep's recitation of his decidedly minor accomplishments in the field of human study to tap the flowcopy with the tip of her tail. "But I alsso have never encountered one in the flessh. I am told by thosse in a possition to know that they are quite tassty."
  This was an interesting zone of speculation into which Qiscep had never delved. "Sso if thiss iss an infiltrating human, we could perhapss eat it after concluding the formal interrogation?"
  Voocim softly hissed second-degree disappointment. "Do you run your head againsst a wall to conssolidate your thoughtss? To capture and identify a human here, well insside Empire boundariess, would be a most worthy and notable achievement. Much honor would accrue to the liness involved. Furthermore, appropriate invesstigation of ssuch an important prissoner would not be carried out here, with the limited facilitiess we have at our disspossal, but on a fully developed world of the Empire, or at the very leasst aboard a capital vessel. Modern Imperials no longer think with their belliess, trooper!" For emphasis she tapped the back of her tattooed skull with the tip of her tail.
  An abashed Qiscep conceded the logic of this. "I assk pardon for my foolissh reaction, Commander."
  Settling herself into the dominion lounge, Voocim gestured to indicate that the soldier's gaffe was of no import. "At leasst you recognize one when you have committed it. I am afraid that many of your fellow trooperss would not ssee the inherent reassoning as quickly. One musst digesst information before consuming it." Almost absently she added, "For bringing thiss matter promptly to my attention when you could eassily have ignored it, I am promoting you one half-level in rank, change in sstatuss to be effective immediately."
  Dizzy with delight and unexpected astonishment, Qiscep could think of nothing to say. Unbeknownst to him, that was exactly the right reaction. He had delivered the message in person hoping that in doing so he was not making a fool of himself. Now, instead of censure, he found himself advanced in rank. While he stood silently trying to control the twitching of his tail, Voocim called up the image of Officer Dysseen.
  "Commander?" The flawless three-dimensional image responded swiftly. Qiscep tried not to snicker. He didn't much like Dysseen, and neither did his fellow troopers. The commander had roused the dozing officer from a nap, causing him to fall all over himself in his haste to both snap awake and present himself as a picture of readiness. To Qiscep's delight, the unpopular officer failed in both efforts.
  Making no allowance for her subordinate's conspicuous drowsiness, Voocim snapped out orders. "Get a ssquad together. Light armss only. Get the coordinatess of that outposst camp where that mated pair of ssenior xenologisstss hass been working." She gestured in Qiscep's direction. "Thiss trooper can help you and explain what it iss you are to do there. Take him along as part of your complement."
  Qiscep's spirits soared. If the improbable message was accurate as well as truthful and, unlikely as it seemed, the elderly researchers actually had come across a human spy, participating in its apprehension might mean yet another opportunity for promotion. He wondered who else would be on the squad with him. Regardless, they would have no idea of the significance of their afternoon flight. Should he enlighten them fully, or keep the most favored knowledge to himself? For any normal, lineage-respecting, suitably self-aggrandizing AAnn the answer was simple. Unless someone asked him a direct question, he would refrain from edifying his fellow troopers. Under such circumstances even Officer Dysseen might be persuaded to take note of recently promoted trooper Qiscep's long-overlooked abilities.
  Commander Voocim took no further notice of him at all, however, until he hesitantly tapped his tail against the floor.
  "Wsssur? You sstill here?" She gestured fifth-degree dismissal. "Go on; get out. Find Officer Dysseen. Coil him for me."
  He was in, Qiscep knew. Like any sensible AAnn seeking advancement, Voocim knew that Dysseen, while never shirking his duty or jeopardizing his assignment, would also take every opportunity to appropriate any small triumphs for himself. Therefore Voocim needed a subordinate she could trust to keep watch on Dysseen's activities. Certainly Dysseen had someone watching Commander Voocim as well. With everyone constantly observing everyone else, it made for a very tight and flexible command structure in time of combat.
  "I sshould not have to tell him," she was saying as Qiscep prepared to depart, "but remind Dysseen that we want thiss potential infiltrator alive. Dead alienss make poor ssources of information."
  Unable to hide his excitement—something to break the deadly dull routine of everyday drudgery, at last!—Qiscep acknowledged the orders and genuflected a suitable exit.
  Voocim was left with the synthetically introduced whisper of distant wind blowing lightly over the tops of pristine dunes, and with her own churning thoughts.
  Was she doing the right thing? The dismissed trooper had plainly been understandably nervous about bringing her the flow of the recognizably eccentric communication. Was she risking too much in treating it as authentic? What if it was some kind of test?
  The existence of a spy, and a human spy at that, on an AAnn world would be more than significant: It would be newsworthy. She had generously upranked the soldier because she expected this incident to serve as her own stepping-stone to promotion. Promotion all the way off this out-of-the-way, isolated, uninspiring world. Such practical matters aside, however, she was genuinely anxious to learn what a solitary mammal was doing on Pyrassis, violating an extensive catalog of Empire-Commonwealth treaties while simultaneously shitting on protocol. Her protocol.
  A little righteous anger was agreeably refreshing. Much relaxed, she settled back to await the first word from Dysseen. Contrary to what she had told the trooper, they could at least carry out preliminary interrogation here at the base. They would simply have to be careful not to be clumsy in their efforts, thereby damaging the valuable property.
  She wished she could have gone herself, to participate in the initial examination of whatever it was the xenologists were so adamant in reporting. But as base commander she could not do so. If anything untoward were to happen in her absence, the government's understanding of her actions would be exceeded only by its wrath.
  So she remained behind when the two atmosphere planes emerged from their sand-colored underground haven to open their doors to the well-armed troopers who came pouring out of a natural tunnel in the side of the mountain. Urged along by their subofficers, they boarded the two waiting, whining craft with traditional Imperial speed and efficiency. Clearly, everyone at the outpost had been energized by the surprising change in routine. How much of a change they could not imagine.
  Neither could Voocim, but she was hopeful.
  Officer Dysseen was less enthusiastic about the possibilities. After being filled in on the details of the mission by the excessively eager Trooper Second Qiscep, he was more convinced than ever that he was embarking on nothing more than an elaborate exercise, Qiscep's energetic protestations to the contrary. He did not much like the newly promoted soldier, who strode about the interior of the transport proclaiming his perspicacity in recognizing the importance of the message he had personally, personally mind you,; delivered to the commander. Dysseen didn't much like Commander Voocim either, but such was the fate of those condemned to service on isolated outposts of the Empire like Pyrassis. Since his posting he had attempted to make the best of an unpleasant situation. He would continue to do so; not out of a sense of duty or desire, but because until his allotted term was up he had no other choice.
  The officer settled back in his seat. Even at the speeds of which the subatmospheric flyers were capable, it was a time-consuming journey to the place where the two senior xenologists had their camp. It would take most of the day to get there, and he had no intention of spending it listening to the theories endlessly being propounded by the animated Qiscep. Feigning sleep would allow him to shut the trooper out. The four subofficers could handle any unforeseen problems.
  A spy indeed! And a human at that. True, Pyrassis was rich in interesting minerals, but nothing of sufficiently overriding value to tempt the Commonwealth into risking a serious diplomatic incident. A thought occurred to him: What if the human was mentally unbalanced? It seemed incredible that it could be operating alone. There must be others as well, even if the researchers had not encountered them. Possible freelancers of a type unique to humankind, seeking illegal riches. He smiled inwardly. If that was the case, and this was not a test or exercise, then there might be something to be gained from it after all. But he continued to discount the report, and would believe otherwise only when he set eyes on a mammal or two in person.
  The electric splash of color that was the surface of Pyrassis rushed past beneath the two speeding transports, a riot of copper-based minerals and their associated chemical relations. There seemed little to interest humans, Dysseen mused. But then, humans were known to not always act in a sensible manner. It was a trait for which the higher races, like the AAnn, had learned to both admire and pity them.
  Pity any he encountered, the officer resolved. If he was lucky and handled this correctly, that taciturn old egg-sitter Voocim might even let him participate in the interrogation. That, at least, would be diverting. He had never seen a human interrogated. In point of fact, like Qiscep and everyone else on the two transports, he had never seen a human in person. As he recalled from his training, they tended to bleed easily.
  He hissed softly and tried to snug deeper into the stiff, unyielding seat. There were worse postings than Pyrassis, especially for an unmated male. Though he disliked Voocim, he supposed she was really no worse than any other midrange officer forced to accept such a remote command. Were their positions reversed he supposed he might be irritable much of the time himself. Opportunities for advancement, much less a chance at achieving the nobility, were nonexistent in a place like this. The line of thinking displeased him, and he closed it down.
  Better to look forward to capturing rogue humans and putting questions to them. It might not result in advancement, but it would provide a distraction, an entertainment, some relief from the boredom of patrolling a place that needed no safeguarding.
  Maybe, he thought, the human and any companions that might be traveling with it would resist capture. That would mean a fight. He felt his blood race. Something to look forward to indeed! He would just have to be careful not to kill the intruders. If he did not bring at least one back for questioning, Voocim would consign his gonads to the kitchen. He would have to remember to warn the members of his squad to shoot to cripple, not to kill.
  A check of his personal chronometer revealed that they still had a number of timeparts to go before they arrived at the scientists' camp. Hearing the garrulous Qiscep advancing in his direction, he quickly settled his crossed arms behind his knees, lowered his head forward until it was resting on them, and resolutely closed his eyes.
CHAPTER
Thirteen
  If the two AAnn were concerned about the young human hovering over them, weapon in hand, they did not show it. Immediately after the vast, ragged acreage of the transmitter had released its wholly unexpected burst of energy, they had hurriedly climbed down from the observation lookout and descended to their living quarters and work area. Flinx had followed closely, keeping a careful eye on everything they touched, but had otherwise not interfered with their enthusiastic activity. He was as curious to know what had happened as they were.
  They chattered so actively to one another, their swiftly moving hands and arms accentuating and adding to their conversation, that he had a hard time following what they were saying. Being adept only at conversational AAnn, there were a lot of scientific terms he didn't understand. He tried to get some sense of the debate by placing the blank spaces in the context of words and gestures that he did recognize.
  To all intents and purposes, as far as the two scientists were concerned, he had ceased to exist. Their interest was now devoted solely and exclusively to analyzing and determining the nature of the emission. Had it been a random occurrence, or had it been prompted by the specific set of stimulations supplied by the weapon? And if the latter, could these be traced and a representative sequencing derived? If it was not random, then what had sparked the discharge? Was it purely electromagnetic in nature, or did it embody other properties? Was it precisely focused, or indifferently dispersed?
  Unable to stand the uncertainty, he prodded the inspired pair for information. He had to do it twice before they heeded his presence.
  "It iss mosst extraordinary." The female's vertical pupils flicked past him before settling on a set of readouts mounted on the wall nearby. "Who would have thought to try and animate a device by sshooting at it?"
  "It always gets my attention," Flinx informed her. "What have you found out?" If required, he would threaten them with the weapon to get an answer. It was not necessary. Their excitement was too great to withhold, even from a transgressing human.
  "Our insstrumentss recorded the outbursst in itss entirety." The male spoke without looking up from the instrumentation he was reviewing. "It originated from far below uss, where the heart of thiss device musst be located. Though of short duration, it wass quite powerful."
  Flinx deliberated. "Subspace communicator?"
  "The potential may be there. We do not know." The female kept shifting her attention between instruments and readouts, her manicured claws flicking nimbly across controls and contact points. "Thiss particular effusion was not directed outssysstem, but within. The apparent target iss as unexpected as wass the outbursst itsself."
  Flinx moved a little closer so that he was almost standing between them. Locating the landing party from the Crotase was still his priority. Nothing could distract him from that. But his boundless curiosity would not let him leave. "What target?"
  "As near as we can tell," the male informed him excitedly, "the emission wass directed to a point ssituated on the outsskirts of thiss ssysstem."
  "There iss, of coursse, nothing there," the female added. "Although thiss ssector of the Empire iss little explored." Shifting her attention, she called forth a hovering, scaled-down image of the Pyrassisian system. Flinx saw ten worlds, ranging from one seared and scarred that orbited far too close to its parent sun, to a succession of gas giants situated farther out, and several stony-metal spheres of which Pyrassis prime was one. There was also the usual assortment of moons, subplanetary orbital objects, and a pair of dense, well-defined asteroid belts.
  "If there's nothing there…" he began, only to be interrupted by the excited male.
  "Jssacch! That iss the interessting quesstion, iss it not? Ssee thiss here?" With a clawed hand he indicated a small, rapidly oscillating graphic set high up on his instrumentation panel. "What do you think thiss ssignifiess?"
  Leaning forward, Flinx tried to interpret the meaning of the vacillating abstract. "Some kind of fluctuating energy source?"
  "No," the AAnn replied, "it meanss that you are not paying closse enough attention." Whereupon both he and his mate fell upon the instrument-gazing human from opposite sides.
  Locked together in struggle, all three of them tumbled to the floor. Secondary devices went flying as Flinx fought to escape their grasp. The female had both hands on his right wrist, preventing him from aiming the pistol, while her mate was trying to put the AAnn equivalent of a hammerlock on Flinx's upper arms. An agitated Pip hovered anxiously above them, waiting for a clear line of sight into the skirmishing troika so that she could intervene. She would not do so unless she could be certain of not striking her companion.
  For his part, despite an intense desire to avoid recapture, neither did the struggling Flinx want to have to kill the two senior researchers. His calculated benevolence was compromised by the fact that where his health was concerned, the two AAnn had no such compunctions. As he fought to escape their grasp, he found himself wondering why they did not bite him. Classic carnivores, the AAnn were well equipped with mouthfuls of sharp teeth. No grinding molars for them. He would have been appalled to learn that they refrained from doing so for fear of ingesting one of the poisons with which unclean humans were reputed to be saturated. Unbeknownst to him, he was spared some serious gnawing thanks to an unpleasant rumor. Having never encountered a human in person, and with their specialties focused elsewhere, the two desperate AAnn were taking no chances.
  Consisting of one human and two AAnn, the ball of thrashing limbs spilled ungracefully across the floor. The indefatigable Pip tracked their every move. Nennasu would not relax her death grip on his wrist, and Flinx was having a harder and harder time keeping Tenukac from gaining control of his other arm. He concentrated as much as he could given the seriousness of the situation, trying to focus his feelings into a narrow, undiluted spike of suggestion. Pip kept darting in and out, searching for a clear line of fire, preparing as always to aim for the eyes.
  Flinx felt he could grapple with their interlaced emotional states no more. He was tiring. Through their sheer weight if nothing else, the two AAnn were wearing him down. They would regain control of the weapon and, if they did not shoot him outright, reimprison him, doubtless in such a way that Pip could not free him as she had previously. He was twisting to try and make eye contact with the minidrag when he heard a familiar, subdued noise. He waited for the inevitable howl of agonized pain.
  Instead, it was more like a hissing yelp. Even as he continued to fight, Flinx smiled to himself. Pip had divined what he wanted: to inhibit his assailants, to distract them, but not to kill. And that was what she had done.
  She had spit little more than a drop, but even this minimal dab of caustic venom on the female's exposed thigh was enough to force the AAnn to release her double grip on the human's wrists in favor of flailing frantically at her leg. A tiny trail of vapor was rising from the gleaming scales. A second expectorated droplet struck the male on his bare shoulder. He immediately let go of Flinx and began rubbing wildly at the burning exterior of his scaly epidermis. The minidrag stood off and watched, hovering edgily near the ceiling, ready to deliver a more potent strike should it prove necessary.
  It didn't. Both AAnn were now effectively indisposed. Climbing to his feet, Flinx ignored them as he searched for something with which to keep both out of his way. He found it in the form of a large perforated storage container equipped with a time seal. Herding both hissing, hurting, complaining scientists inside, he closed the lid and set the timer for its maximum number of fractional timeparts— approximately one day. They could handle being hungry for that long, and AAnn could go without water for several days. It would give them time to reflect on their perfidy.
  "I save your lives from that worm thing, and this is how you show gratitude!"
  "We are not bound to sshow gratitude to that which iss not AAnn." Peering out at Flinx through several of the perforations, the frazzled female looked as if she wanted to split him from orifice to orifice. "Es-specially uninvited repressentativess of the Commonwealth!"
  "I am nobody's representative," he retorted, leaving them to ponder exactly what he meant by that. Let them continue to wonder if he was operating alone, or if others awaited his imminent return. "You'll be all right in there until the timer lets you out." He smiled thinly. "You can spend the time contemplating the wonder of your discovery. But before that, you need to tell me exactly where the outburst from the transmitter was directed. To satisfy my curiosity." He managed an appropriate gesture that was not too badly mishandled. "You owe me that much for saving your lives, and for continuing to spare them."
  "We owe you nothing. Why sshould we tell you anything?" Tenukac hissed and gestured defiance.
  Flinx raised the muzzle of the small weapon. "Because if you don't, I'll shoot one of you."
  "Which one?" the male inquired. A human would have been horrified by Tenukac's response, but neither of the researchers blanched at the comment. It was a perfectly natural AAnn response.
  "Both of you. A little at a time." He would never do any such thing, Flinx knew, but since they seemed ready to believe the worst of any human, he saw no reason to dissuade them from that opinion. Not while it might prove useful. In any event, he was acting exactly as an AAnn operative would have if placed in the same situation.
  Having run through the formalities of capture, threat, and acquiescence, the female gestured first-degree assent underscored by third-degree reluctance. "The outermosst four planetss of thiss ssysstem are all gass giantss with atmosspheress of varying compossition and depth. The farthesst from the local ssun boasstss a ssingle moon, but it iss not a gass giant. It belongss to a class of sstellar objectss known as methane dwarvess. Bigger than a gass giant, but smaller than a normal brown dwarf. Interestingly, the attendant moon appearss to have a ssimilar atmossphere."
  "That's interesting." Flinx's interest in astronomy reflected practical as well as aesthetic interests. "The average satellite would be much too small to retain that kind of gaseous amalgam."
  "It could be drawn directly from the upper atmospheric reachess of the planet itsself. The moon orbitss exceedingly closse to the parent world. Inssofar as we are able to tell, the brief emission wass directed toward that moon."
  "Any response?" The question was asked half in jest. Flinx knew he ought to be leaving, fast, but his insatiable curiosity demanded he take with him just one more crust of fact.
  Teeth clacked amusedly. "From a gasseous moon orbiting an uninhabitable methane dwarf? You are imaginative, human."
  "Alsso ignorant," the female added for good measure.
  "I will assume that constitutes a 'no' in response to my query." The matter of the transmitter outburst settled to his satisfaction, he turned away from the container and began a search of his surroundings with an eye toward equipping himself for further travel.
  The AAnn skinsuit he found hung in loose folds in several places and clung too tightly in others, but was still a considerable improvement over the rags that he had been wearing. The hole in the lower rear was equipped with a reflexive rictus that automatically tried to snap tight against the base of the tail he did not have. Instead, it continued closing until it was completely sealed, which was just what he was hoping it would do. There were no sunguards, the AAnn having no need of them. They could see without squinting or difficulty in the most intense sunlight. Other than that one omission, however, he felt more protected from the elements than he had in days. There was no cooling unit, of course, but at least the skinsuit would keep the sun's stinging rays from contact with his vulnerable flesh.
  He had better luck adapting an AAnn field pack to his human frame, filling it with containers of water and dried reptiloid rations. In the absence of evaporated fruits and vegetables, he would have to survive on an all-meat diet for a little while longer. Taking his time, he also retrieved both of the scientists' hand weapons.
  Thus equipped, he then demanded the activation code for the two-person skimmer parked outside.
  "Thief," the male declared from within his perforated prison.
  "Dirty mammal!" the female spat, then reluctantly recited the code.
  Turning, he eyed them calmly. "You're both welcome. I wish you luck with your future research. It looks really interesting, but I'm actually searching for revelation of another kind." With a wave, he bade them farewell and started up the ramp that led out of the subterranean station. Their curses followed him until he was up top and out of earshot.
  The weight of fresh supplies was reassuring against his back, while the sturdy skinsuit kept the ill-fitting pack from rubbing against his flesh. Once inside the skimmer, he unloaded them both. After spending several minutes deep in study, he tentatively entered the code the female had provided. The skimmer's engine stuttered to life, and the compact craft rose five meters off the ground. Though he experimented with the controls, he could not induce it to rise any higher. Still, it would clear the majority of obstacles in his path. While he could not travel in a perfectly straight line, neither would he have to deviate too often from his intended course.
  Pausing near the base of the observation platform from which they had beheld the discharge of energy from the alien transmitter.
  he considered how best to proceed. Nothing for it but to assume that the Crotase encampment was still situated at the original coordinates. After his less-than-sociable encounter with the pair of AAnn scientists, he would be delighted to see fellow humans again: even potentially hostile ones, even from a distance. Settling on a bearing, he eased the accelerator equivalent forward. The skimmer headed off in a southeasterly direction, a reinvigorated Pip resting on the deck near his feet.
  Less than an hour later, the engine died. He just did manage to wrestle the vehicle to a comparatively intact touchdown—his second crash landing on Pyrassis, he reflected ruefully. Though unfamiliar with the technical specifications of the alien craft, outwardly at least it appeared undamaged. The calculatingly deceitful AAnn had given him an incomplete activation code. No doubt intentionally, the skimmer had carried him far enough from their camp so that when it failed it would leave him with more than a day's walk to get back—by which time they would have emerged from their temporary detention to arm and barricade themselves against his possible return. Muttering an admiring curse, he shouldered his supplies and struck off on foot. Pip preceding him effortlessly through their sweltering black surroundings.
  It was early evening when he spotted the approaching aircraft. There were two of them, still high but descending rapidly, and of unmistakably AAnn design. Though he could not be certain of their intended destination, based on his recent encounter he was pretty sure he knew where they were headed. While it was unlikely anyone aboard, even assuming they were looking for him, could spot a solitary figure far below wending its way among the ebon twists and curls of the inhumed transmitter, he took no chances, huddling beneath a sweeping overhang of black material until they were out of sight.
  As he hurried onward, a rising roar overtook him from behind. They were landing at the scientific station, all right, descending sharply. He wished he had been able to put more distance between himself and the outpost before the borrowed skimmer had quit. Entering, they would soon find the penned-up pair of scientists. Glancing down at his feet he saw that he was not leaving much of a trail on the black, ribbed surface. Footsteps showed only where grains had accumulated in gaps or miniature dunes. Keeping that in mind, he did his best to avoid the softer, deeper piles of sand.
  When they came after him, it would be with more sophisticated tracking methods than eyeballing the ground for footprints. Still, he had the impenetrable maze of the transmitter in which to hide, and a little bit of a head start. They might head off in the opposite direction, or decide to remain at the outpost until further instructions arrived. Variables were at work. He broke into a brisk jog and tried to lengthen his stride.
  The AAnn craft set down alongside one another in the small flat area that was clearly marked a landing zone. A conventional navbeacon guided them in. Dysseen saw no reason to hesitate, and as expected, nothing materialized to challenge their arrival. On the other hand, his communicators were unable to raise the couple who had chosen to maroon themselves at this miserable place in the name of science.
  "Probably busy at work, honored ssir," subofficer Hizzvuak declared. "Or out in the field. Gussasst, if they are not here, they would not know we were coming today, and would therefore not be expecting vissitorss."
  Dysseen gestured third-degree concurrence. He liked Hizzvuak. The Subofficer was a straightforward and competent individual who never surprised. One half-squad stood ready awaiting the order to deploy. At least the long trip from HQ had silenced the insufferably talkative trooper Qiscep. That individual had finally run out of things to say regarding his own accomplishments.
  It was getting late, he reflected as he glanced out the forward port. You would think that in a place as remote as this, individuals would take care to be back in their shelter by nightfall—an elder pair especially. He scratched under the base of a neck scale. One could never tell about scientists. He neither understood nor much liked them. But as with any AAnn, he recognized and acknowledged their vital contribution to the ongoing expansion of the Empire.
  Hizzvuak was gazing intently out the port as the aircraft pilot finalized the transport's touchdown. "No ssign of alien intrussion, ssir. No vehicless, no aircraft." He indicated third-degree amusement. "How then would a ssusspected sspy make itss way to a place like thiss?"
  "Musst have wandered away from itss own camp and out into the desert," Dysseen joked. "Come; we'll ssoon put an end to thiss. If nothing elsse, we can enjoy an evening meal away from the confiness of base and out from under the overlordsship of Commander Voocim."
  Hizzvuak was more than amenable. "It will be a nice change, honored ssir. Dissimilar ssurroundingss." As he checked his gear he used the tip of his tail to indicate the view out the foreport. "What iss important about thiss place, anyway?"
  Dysseen gestured ignorance. "I do not know. I do not follow the work of the outlying sscientific teamss." His pupils contracted. "The immediate terrain is compossed of very sstrange sshapess, to ssay the leasst."
  He ordered the lead half-squad to enter the shelter, leaving those from the other transport to set up a regulation secured perimeter. Not because he felt there was any danger, but because it was standard procedure, and because it would give the troopers something to do besides grumble about the long flight and the lateness of the hour. With himself in the lead, they entered the facility. It was unbarred and unlocked.
  "Over here, Firsst Officer!"
  Finding the two scientists confined in the storage container was enough of a surprise for one evening. Listening to them explain what had happened, Dysseen was jolted by the realization that their story was not the product of idle minds that had been too long away from burrowing company. Still, despite the rising excitement he felt, he was cautious.
  "You decorate your remembrance with detailss, but that iss not enough to sspark full confidence."
  Tenukac hissed his frustration. His quiet outrage had no effect on Dysseen and his attendant subofficers, but the recorded images that Nennasu recovered from the facility's security monitors did. They clearly showed the human, first as visitor, then as a prisoner of the couple, and finally as an armed escapee taking flight. Leaning forward, Hizzvuak pushed a finger into the three-dimensional image of a rapidly moving object.
  "And thiss, honored intelligencess: What iss thiss?"
  "Ssome kind of ssmall associated creature that travelss with the human. You know that they have a proclivity for sseeking the perssonalized company of thingss less intelligent than themsselves. I believe that ssuch attendant followerss are called 'petss.' '
  "I have heard of that." Hizzvuak was captivated by the rapid movements of the tiny winged creature. "What other ssapience dissplayss ssuch a habit?"
  "Perhapss it makess them feel more ssuperior to keep inferior beingss close around them," Dysseen commented thoughtfully.
  "In thiss insstance it certainly makess thiss particular human feel ssafer. And with good reasson." Nennasu exhibited her leg. Dysseen's gaze traveled immediately to the conspicuous oval scar. "In defensse of itss masster, the flying creature ejectss under pressure a highly acidic fluid of whosse ultimate potential we remain in ignorance. When you run the human to ground, be careful to be wary of itss ssmall companion."
  Dysseen was suitably impressed. "We will take care to eradicate it before we take the human into cusstody." He glanced at one of the traditional narrow ports that provided a view outside the station. "We will sstart after the intruder at tirsst sunrisse."
  Tenukac's agile fingers indicated second-degree confusion entwined with third-degree unease. "You would wait until morning? We took care to enssure that the skimmer it stole from uss would fail within the hour, but by delaying until ssunrisse you allow the creature that much more time to make disstance between uss."
  "Do not tell me my job." Dysseen was polite but firm. "My ssoldierss have endured a long flight from Kyi Base. They are tired and hungry. Where iss thiss ssolitary human to go? A watch will be sset on both my craft. Any dissturbance, any energy manifesstation within a hundred ogons will automatically be recorded, and we will resspond accordingly. If we give them a little time, perhapss thiss human'ss associatess will appear and try to perform an extraction. That would allow uss to take all of them, or any automated craft that might be in usse.
  "As for the ssolitary intruder itsself, it iss operating alone and in territory unfamiliar to it, itss ssole ssupport the ssuppliess it can carry on itss back. I have under me a full trained ssquad of Imperial trooperss with which to track the creature, and two aircraft to provide backup. I view the human'ss pressence as a fine opportunity for my ssoldierss to gain ssome field experience. It iss a welcome break in routine, for which we can only be grateful. Now—what can you tell me of the human'ss purposse in coming to Pyrassis?"
  Nennasu gestured helplessness. "It wass not particularly forthcoming."
  "That iss understandable." Dysseen was patient. Outside, the squad was busy establishing a night camp.
  "We believe it came here for the ssame reasson we are here," the male explained. "To sstudy thiss ancient alien transsmitter upon which we are sstanding. But that iss only an assumption based on what it told uss. It might have been trying to conceal itss actual intentionss."
  "We are atop ssome kind of transsmitter?" Dysseen glanced anew at the dark surface underfoot. "That iss very interessting. If that iss what the human told you, no doubt it iss what it will tell uss when we pick it up." He flourished sharp teeth. "If there iss another reasson, it will not take uss long to learn the detailss." Executing a gesture of second-degree thanks underscored by fifth-degree politeness, he stepped back. "If you will excusse me, I musst ssee to my ssquad."
  Tenukac gestured for the officer to wait. "We have made an important disscovery here, honored ssir! The information musst be communicated as quickly as possible to the relevant authoritiess."
  "Vyessh, vyessh. " Dysseen made placating gestures. "Formulate your report, and I will ssee that it iss passed along as ssoon as iss feassible. There are alwayss demandss on the ssubsspace communicator." He turned toward the open exit.
  "It really iss of the utmosst sscientific ssignificance," Nennasu called after him. "There are hypothetical ramificationss that…"
  But Dysseen was already retreating from their enthusiasm, his sandaled feet and idly switching tail vanishing up the sloping walkway.
  Sunrise brought the clarity of morning and a fresh resolve on the part of Dysseen to pick up the free-roaming human as quickly as possible. He had kept his evening report to base deliberately vague. If the peevish Voocim knew that there really was a human spy on Pyrassis, she was liable to show up to direct the search-and-seizure process in person. In quintessential AAnn fashion, Dysseen saw no reason why his superior officer should share any of the credit for the actual apprehension. There would be plenty of acclaim to go around once the intruder had been delivered safely to base.
  The narrow, winding pathways between the arching black monoliths and buckled shapes of the alien surface precluded the use in the search of ground-based transport. Floaters were of no help either, since by traveling over the top of the irregular surface they might easily miss a single bipedal shape hiding beneath. That meant tracking the human on foot. It would be good practice for the troops. Of course, Dysseen had no intention of wandering around the vast rugged territory for days on end.
  Once the stolen skimmer's beacon was located, half a dozen small seekers were sent to explore its vicinity. Expanding from a common axis, it took less than two hours for one searching the southeast quadrant to locate and identify activity commensurate with the movement of a human-sized object. Homing in on its target, it caught several fleeting glimpses of the designated quarry. Though it was doing an admirable job of trying to hide among the ruins, the human could not avoid forever the attentions of the persistent, tireless automated seekers.
  Though the human had managed to cover an impressive amount of ground, Dysseen felt confident that his troopers would be able to overtake it by the end of the day. Their efforts would be helped in no small measure by the fact that the twin floaters stored within the two transport aircraft would land half of them in front of the fleeing human, and the other half behind.
  "Remember," he warned his quartet of subofficers, "we want thiss individual alive. It iss imperative that we learn what it iss doing here, if it hass come alone or iss operating in conjunction with as-yet-undetected confederatess, and whether it iss doing sso rogue or in concert with Commonwealth approval. We cannot learn thesse thingss from a corpsse. Insstruct your trooperss accordingly." He gestured second-degree resolution. "If the human diess, ssomeone will be held accountable. The conssequencess will not be pleassant."
  "What about the dangerouss ssmall flying creature that travelss with it?" subofh'cer Ulmussit inquired.
  "Desstroy it on ssight. Jusst be careful not to harm the human." Gesturing dismissal coupled with a traditional third-degree supplication for good luck, he headed for the nearest floater.
  Soon both of the compact craft were airborne, gliding smoothly over the highest prominences. Looking down, Dysseen wondered at the two scientists' classification of the eroded blackness as the surface of some ancient transmitter. It did not seem possible. But then, he was not here to reflect on the viability of work he was unqualified to judge. Picking up an actual live human intruder was far more important than some obscure archeological find, anyway.
  Flinx heard the floaters and sensed the expectant emotions of their high-strung occupants approaching several minutes before he saw them. Taking shelter beneath the womblike bulge of two ebony towers, he watched as one of the low-flying vehicles swept past overhead. His hopes fell. Clearly, he had been spotted and his location ascertained. His movements were now circumscribed. Even so, he refused to concede his freedom. There were still things he could do, still a chance for escape.
  But escape to where? If the landing party from the Crotase was still in the vicinity, they would surely have noted the recent surge of AAnn activity and, no matter how well camouflaged their camp, hastened to move elsewhere. That would eliminate any remaining chance he had of confronting or joining up with them. His choices seemed more desperate than ever: Evade the AAnn and die alone in the desert, or surrender to them and suffer whatever consequences they might choose to mete out.
  His lips tightened. He had spent too many years avoiding the hostile attentions of others to relinquish his independence now. As soon as the floater was out of sight, he darted away from his hiding place and hurried off in the opposite direction.
  Dysseen received word via his combat headpiece less than a tenth-timepart after setting down. They might actually have located the human faster had they employed all the resources at his disposal. But that would have made it too easy. He wanted to justify the time spent on the project, as well as give his troopers a chance to practice their field skills.
  There was no way the human could escape their attention. With its route blocked in front and retreat eliminated behind, it could move without restriction only to left or right of its initially detected position. Those remaining options were speedily being cut off as troopers fanned out to encircle their quarry. It did not take long for a pair operating on the northern fringe of the closing southern group to identify a solitary figure, apparently dug in as best it could contrive, and waiting with weapon at the ready for whatever might come.
  Admonishing everyone in the vicinity to continue to close the snare without alarming the prey, Dysseen rushed to the indicated location. The subofficer on site provided coordinates, which Dysseen promptly entered into his headpiece. Sensor lenses instantly pinpointed and zoomed in on the target.
  It was too simple, but what else could one expect when modern battlefield gear was brought to bear on a single, poorly equipped fugitive? Without additional input or effort, Dysseen could clearly see two arms and a portion of shoulder clad in the skinsuit the two scientists had informed him had been appropriated by the human. The stubby, clawless fingers of the hand holding the stolen pistol were grimy with dust in a painfully obvious but nonetheless honorable attempt to camouflage the pale, soft flesh within. A lumpy shadow divulged the position of the head and neck. There was, as yet, no sign of the dangerous flying creature. No doubt its owner had it lurking in the background somewhere in a useless but admirable attempt to guard his rear.
  A single shot with an explosive shell could have taken the human out. It would also simultaneously render it useless for purposes of interrogation. Everything would be much more simple and straightforward if the fugitive was a thranx. The insectoids responded readily to reason and logic. Dysseen knew from his academy studies that this was not always the case with humans. Though the mammal was overwhelmingly outnumbered and only lightly armed, Dysseen had no intention of risking even one of his troopers to capture it. It was completely surrounded, and they had plenty of time.
  From his belt he took a voclo and clipped it to the pickup on his headpiece. As an officer of his class he was required to know a certain minimal amount of Terranglo. It was time to try it out.
  "Human!" His voice echoed among the sharp projections and ropy coils of unidentifiable black material. The exclamation brought a satisfying response from the circle of concealed soldiers. Even the insufferable Qiscep was impressed. "You ssurrounded total now. You sshow sself, abandon weapon. Come uss. No danger you. Officer promisse. Come uss now. All assurancess given."
  There was no response from the place of concealment. The stolen weapon remained pointed menacingly forward, and the human did not move. Irritated, Dysseen tried again.
  "You come uss now, human! Come now, or die soon. No esscape more for you. Many Imperialss here. Big gunss."
  The human must have heard. To be certain, Dysseen took the time to check with an unusually learned subofficer named Amuruun, who assured his superior that the particulars he had voiced in Terranglo had been adequate if not glib. Convinced that reasonable contact had been made, Dysseen reluctantly gave orders for his troopers to close in on the human simultaneously from all sides, and to be sure and shoot the flying creature the instant it was sighted. Having passed the directive along, he resumed his observations— and waited.
  Worried, he stood alongside Hizzvuak. If necessary, the troopers were under instructions to fire to disable, but there was no guarantee some overzealous soldier might not inadvertently shoot the human in the head instead of a lower limb. Dysseen was not going to be able to rest easy until the intruder was safely in custody.
  They kept waiting for shots to be fired; either from the human or his encircling captors. None echoed through the ghostly surroundings. Eventually, a voice whispered to the officer via his headpiece.
  "You had better come and ssee thiss, honored ssir."
  "What iss it? Iss the human ssafe?" Dysseen's tail switched uneasily. Something had gone wrong. He could hear it in the sub-officer's voice.
  "Hassessh, ssir, it certainly iss unharmed. Come and ssee for yoursself."
  Vaulting over the low barrier behind which they had been waiting, Dysseen and Hizzvuak raced forward at an urgent lope, their long legs carrying them over anything but the most significant barriers. Approaching the human's hiding place, they slowed sharply. While Dysseen looked on in stupefied silence, his slightly laggard subofficer slowed to a halt alongside him.
  The human's pistol remained up and aimed, ready to fire. The arrogated skinsuit glistened distinctively in the sun. Advancing, Hizzvuak gave the precisely poised bipedal figure a sharp kick, striking out with one of his powerful hind legs.
  The carefully collected bits of broken transmitter material that filled the skinsuit collapsed into a pile of misshapen rubble, bringing down with them the longer, leaner fragments that had filled out the arms of the skinsuit. Supported by shards of rock that from a distance had passed for dust-camouflaged fingers, the pistol tumbled to the ground. Only the lump of carefully selected stone that had cast a skull-like shadow remained in place, now severed from the rest of its metamorphic mannequin.
  Ulmussit's tone was dry. "As you ssee, ssir, the human iss unharmed."
  "Very effective use of improvissed low-tech," Hizzvuak commented.
  Dysseen was not amused. With nothing to work with but his alien surroundings, the lone human had made a fool of his pursuers.
  "It could be anywhere behind uss now—but not far. Sspread out and find it. Use individual motion detectorss and all available ssenssoring equipment. I want it brought under control within the timepart!"
  The order was passed. Once more the squad dispersed, this time fanning out instead of closing in. With both floaters searching from above, Dysseen felt confident they would locate and recover the human within the time space he had specified. This was merely a shortlived delay, one that would do the resourceful mammal no good. And if it happened to suffer some unpleasant but non-life-threatening injuries prior to being delivered to base commander Voocim, why, there would be no real harm done. A thoroughly annoyed Dysseen intended to inflict a portion of those himself.
  Flinx was a lean, strong runner, but even in top condition he could not outrun a floater. One spotted his nearly naked outline less than half an hour after he had used his painstakingly fabricated decoy to buy enough time to slip through the net that the AAnn had been drawing tight around him. With nothing to be gained by looking in the floater's direction or following its flight path, he concentrated on maintaining his pace as he ran back toward the scientific outpost. If he could beat the AAnn troops there he might find material of use. Individual transport, perhaps, or the additional weapons the scientist couple was sure to have. He gave no thought to trying to hold either or both of the elderly researchers hostage. Following AAnn military convention, the soldiers would simply shoot at them to get at him, and then hold him responsible for their deaths.
  Considering the distance he had to cover, his chances of improving his plight by trying to make it back to the outpost were slight to nonexistent, but anything was better than simply waiting around for the AAnn to pick him up. Even though checkmate seemed inevitable, he had resolved to continue the game until he was out of pieces. He still had Pip, who soared along above him, and perhaps another trick or two. At the very least, he would not make it easy for the AAnn.
  A roar filled his ears, and sudden wind ruffled his long red hair from behind. Was the floater trying to run him down? If so, there was little he could do about it. The hand weapon remaining in his possession might be capable of damaging the military vehicle, but if he shot at them he risked being blasted in return. If they were going to attack him with a floater, he might as well surrender now and save himself an injury. Exhausted, breathing hard, he slowed and turned. Hovering dangerously close overhead while hot air danced in rippling waves around it was a large, highly mobile craft. It was not an AAnn military floater.
  It was the other shuttlecraft from the Teacher.
  A mellifluous voice broadcast down to him. "Good afternoon, Flinx. You are in need of transportation. Your ship misses you."
  It was standard AI interfacing, interlaced according to his chosen program, but he could not have responded more gratefully had the words come from old Mother Mastiff herself.
  "You could say that. Access, please."
  Since the shuttle could not set down on the jagged black surface of the transmitter, a hoist was deployed. It was not an elegant means of embarkation, but it allowed Flinx to board. Pip accompanied him upward, having no need of such unwieldy devices.
  Once within the familiar confines of the backup shuttle, Flinx threw himself into the pilot's seat and gave the order to return at speed to the Teacher. Further inquiry revealed that the shuttle's path had not been tracked, nor was it presently being monitored. As for the Teacher, it remained where he had left it, secluded in fixed orbit behind the outer moon. Within minutes they were accelerating out of Pyrassisian atmosphere. Only then did he begin to feel a little safe.
  The distilled, recycled water the shuttle provided from its limited supply slid down his parched throat like refrigerated nectar. His fatigue fell away like dry skin as he contemplated the order he intended to put to the Teacher's autochef, and the immersion shower he intended to take as soon as he could divest himself of his filthy remnant rags. It was plain what had happened. More than a reasonable amount of time having passed without any contact from its owner, the ship AI's intuitive programming had finally kicked in and sent the shuttle looking for him. Had he been marooned in a city, finding him would have taken forever. But on Pyrassis's barren surface, locating the only human on the planet had taken considerably less time.
  He wanted to ask the Teacher, via the shuttle's instrumentation, about the present location of the presumed exploration party from the Crotase. He also wondered about the dried leaves that were lying on the deck close to the pilot's seat, but he was too tired to phrase the queries: too tired, and too consumed with anticipation of the decent food, water, and cleansing to come. There was nothing of such importance that it could not wait a little bit longer for examination.
  When Dysseen reported what had transpired, Voocim was at once furious and pleased: furious that their empty-handed quarry had somehow managed to escape the attentions of an entire squad of presumably well-trained Imperial troopers, and pleased that her suppositions were confirmed. The human was a spy, all right, whose operations had been monitored all along by sophisticated instrumentation aboard an as-yet-undetected interstellar craft. It made the prize, when eventually it came to rest in her grasp, all the more attractive. A spy was definitely worth apprehending: a spy and its KK-drive ship considerably more so.
  As a system of decidedly minor importance, Pyrassis was not notably well defended against intrusion. But neither was it open and inviting. No claimed Imperial world was without protection. There were steps she could take, forces she could mobilize. The insidiously clever human had escaped the surface of Pyrassis. It would not escape the system. There was less room for improvisation in space than in atmosphere. Turning to her communicator, she began to issue the necessary directives.
CHAPTER
Fourteen
  Flinx had never had much of a real home, not in the traditional sense. Mother Mastiff had done her best to make one for him, but the rambunctious old lady had not really been the domestic type. As a result, and in the absence of true parents, he had spent most of his youth wandering about the streets and bazaars of Drallar, seeking diversion and enlightenment in place of familial comfort.
  Many years and worlds later he was still wandering, but thanks to the adaptive skills of his whimsical, curious friends the Ulru-Ujurrians, he could now take a semblance of a home with him wherever he chose to go. The Teacher was a fully-equipped KK-drive ship capable of making the journey between star systems. Over the past couple of years it had become as much of a permanent home as he had ever known, one that could not only take him where he wished but respond to his needs and requests as he thought of them. As the shuttlecraft settled into place within the drop hold, he realized how much he had missed his ship's comforting, enveloping walls.
  After days of wandering the arid desert of Pyrassis, the immersion shower was so satisfying, so relaxing, that it required a real effort of will on his part to step out and stand still while the system dried him. With his spirits revived, real food and sweet drink rapidly restored his spirits. Pip reveled in every one of the edible bits and pieces he passed her. Her dust-coated wings regained their stained-glass gloss, and a familiar luster returned to her green-eyed gaze.
  None of this took very long. Though Flinx could gladly have done nothing but cleanse, eat, and sleep for days, he could not spare the time. Not if he wanted to stay on the track of the Cmtase. Additionally, the AAnn responsible for the security of Pyrassis were now aware that at least one unauthorized human was prowling their vicinity. While Flinx did not know the limits of the locals' resources, he doubted they would allow him to roam free just because he had escaped the planetary surface. As long as he remained within Empire boundaries, his independence was at risk.
  Did they have ships in-system that were capable of searching for him? He had to assume so since it could be fatal to assume otherwise. Accordingly, he directed the Teacher to monitor proximate space for suspect trajectories, to report any such to him immediately even if he was asleep, and to take whatever appropriate evasive action its tactical programming should deem necessary to ensure the continued safety of both itself and its sole human occupant.
  None of which meant that he was giving up on his search: only that he was taking steps to ensure that he would be able to continue it.
  Now that it was possible that his presence had been descried, and his escape from the surface via shuttlecraft reported, the AAnn would begin looking for him in orbit. Failing to find either the shuttlecraft or any other unidentified vessel nearby, they would invariably extend their search outward. Which meant that his time frame for tracking, observing, and making contact with the landing party from the Crotase was limited and getting smaller with every passing moment. Eschewing the comfort of the immersion chamber, he headed purposefully forward and settled himself in the owner's chair. Pip amused herself slithering in and out of the instrumentation, searching for vermin that weren't there.
  It was not necessary to address himself specifically to the Teacher'?, controlling AI. There was no one else on board capable of responding to his questions. "Has the position of the landing party under scrutiny changed from previous determinations?"
  The ship did not hesitate. "It has."
  That wasn't surprising, he knew. He called up the dimensional map of the region where he had spent the past difficult days. Interestingly, it identified the significant expanse of the buried alien transmitter as a geological feature.
  "Show me the new location and refine the convergence."
  "I cannot do that, Flinx."
  He blinked. "Why not?"
  "Because the landing party from the Commonwealth vessel in question is no longer on the surface of the world in question. Its members rejoined their ship several days prior to your recent return."
  "Then they must be reconsidering the geographical location of whatever it was they came here to investigate."
  "I surmise otherwise. Not only did they depart the surface, they have left the planetary vicinity."
  Leaning back his head, Flinx closed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired. To have come all this way, to have risked intrusion into Empire space, only to have lost the trail of the one syb that might contain critical clues to his history, was almost too much to bear.
  And the trail was lost. No ship could be tracked through space-plus. One had to know its destination, or at the very least its departure trajectory. Even then, and with the aid of sophisticated plotting and predicting instrumentation, trying to decide on a vessel's eventual destination without knowing where or when it planned to emerge from space-plus was an arcane art that bordered on the metaphysical.
  Unless…
  "You said they've left the planetary vicinity. Did they make changeover, or are they still in-system?"
  "Their coordinates abide locally. I am presently receiving indications, and have been since they departed, that they have established an orbit around Pyrassis Ten, the outermost of this system's worlds."
  A chance. There was still a chance. Excitement rose within him, tempered with confusion. What did the crew of a seemingly innocuous commercial vessel want with this unprepossessing AAnn system? Or were they simply moving until activity around Pyrassis quieted down, to avoid attention from the local authorities who had been stirred to unusual activity by the disclosure of Flinx's presence? Pyrassis at least presented certain credible commercial potential in the form of exotic mineral formations and possible other, as-yet-unknown resources. A cold methane dwarf accompanied by a single similarly gaseous moon would seem to offer no such potential.
  Single moon. According to the venerable mated pair of contentious AAnn scientists, that was where the single abrupt discharge of energy from the alien transmitter had been directed. What was going on here? What possible connection could that unforeseen revelation have to do with the crew of the Crotase! Did it somehow suggest a connection between him and the missing sybfile? A myriad of musings rushed and crashed through his head, and none of them made any sense.
  They would, he vowed as he gave directions to the Teacher. Sooner or later, somehow, they would.
  It took longer to generate an approach to the edge of the Pyrassisian system by avoiding the plane of the ecliptic, but Flinx felt, and the Teacher's AI agreed, that they were less likely that way to encounter any investigating AAnn craft, be they crewed or automated. It would also, if they were challenged, allow for a safer and more rapid insertion into space-plus, should flight to avoid confrontation become unavoidable.
  Whether the forces stationed on Pyrassis were slow, or under-equipped, or confused, or all those and more Flinx did not know, but he was greatly relieved when the Teacher commenced its final approach to Pyrassis Ten without having come upon anything more threatening than a robotic scientific satellite. Using techniques developed and adopted by the Ulru-Ujurrians and incorporated seamlessly into the Teacher's design, he was able to circle the roiling, dirty brown mass of the enormous planet at cloud-top level. This allowed him to approach its solitary thickly clouded moon unobserved.
  The Crotase was there, just as the AI had predicted. Shielded by advanced military technology that should not have been present on a private vessel, the Teacher ignored the other craft's rudimentary scanning devices and settled into an entirely separate orbit. While Flinx's ship could not be detected by the instrumentation on board the Crotase, that did not mean someone could not look out a port and detect with the naked eye the glint of another starship floating nearby. By stationing himself on the opposite side of Pyrassis Ten's single satellite, that most elementary possibility was avoided.
  Arrival brought with it no revelation. In the elaborate and always growing catalog of substellar astronomical objects, neither the moon nor its parent world were especially impressive. Methane dwarves were among the most boring planetary types in the celestial lexicon. Pyrassis Ten boasted no psychedelically tinted cloud bands, no rings, and no volcanically swirling storms. Its atmosphere was brown, dull, and incredibly dense, even if it was seven times the size of Saturn. Its moon was similarly unmemorable.
  Or was, until the Teacher, in addition to running standard approach scans, began to probe more deeply with its most sophisticated instrumentation.
  "This orbiting object is not entirely of a gaseous nature. It has a solid core."
  Gazing at the grimy brown sphere, Flinx was unable to descry any evidence of nonvaporous material. That wasn't surprising. Some methane dwarves had solid centers, others were effluvium all the way through, in still others certain gases had condensed to form entirely spherical oceans at their center. The same could easily be true of a companion satellite.
  "Stony material, nickel-iron, what?" he inquired, only mildly interested.
  "The core material is diverse in composition. Metals are present, though in atypical combinations. There are also stratified elements existing in deviant states. Metallic fluids, for example, and liquid metals. Altogether, a very anomalous affair."
  "Core dimensions?" There was no sign of active weather among the lugubrious clouds of either planet or moon; no upward-spiraling tempests, no towering flashes of monumental lightning.
  "Approximately four hundred and sixty-three kilometers by one hundred and thirty-nine."
  Flinx frowned as Pip glided to a halt above his shoulder. "Approximately?"
  "The core surface is very asymmetric, with many dips and rises discernible in all directions. This is not surprising when one considers its evident nature."
  Curiouser and curiouser. "Which is?"
  "The core is not natural. It is an artificial construct of unknown origin."
  Flinx's interest in what had up to that moment been a remarkably drab satellite quickly blossomed. "Are you sure? That's an awfully big building project."
  "I have been scanning and analyzing since contact was made. There is no question about it. The core of this 'moon' was not formed by natural processes. It was built."
  Then why the gaseous methane-heavy envelope? Flinx found himself wondering. Camouflage? The result of some kind of leakage from within the inner phenomenon itself? An accident of celestial mechanics? What kind of object was he about to investigate? A relay station of some kind? A floating artificial colony, long abandoned? Deity help him, a ship? Whatever it was, it was four hundred and sixty-odd kilometers across. Even if he could gain entry to the interior, he was not going to be able to explore it in the few days likely to be available to him.
  Most importantly, most intriguingly, if it was indeed the intended and not accidental destination of the brief burst of energy from the transmitter on Pyrassis, had it somehow or in some fashion acknowledged that transmission? In which case, what might happen next? He had almost forgotten that he was here to look for a sybfile containing information about his origins.
  Of one thing he was reasonably certain: The local AAnn knew nothing of the existence of a massive, cloud-masked alien object on the fringes of this star system. If that were so, there would be a permanent research station out here dedicated to examining and exploring it.
  If the intention was to disguise the object by giving it the appearance of a natural moon, its makers had done a superb job. Save for actual depth of atmosphere, there was no detectable difference, either chemical or visual, between the haze-shrouded satellite and the world it circled. Depending on how long the gravity-generating object had been in orbit, however, it might simply have drawn off enough material from the tenth planet to acquire the modest atmosphere of its own. The murky haze that enveloped it might easily have come about through natural processes and not via intelligent design.
  "Can you hazard a guess as to the satellite core object's age?" he asked the Teacher.
  "Without samples of actual material to break down and analyze, I cannot." The ship's tone was apologetic. "However, the methane-ammonia clouds surrounding it are of comparatively youthful inception."
  Flinx rocked in his chair. "Then you've decided that they are as artificial in nature as the core material?"
  "I did not say that. I cannot tell from their composition whether they are of natural or manufactured derivation. But I can estimate their age, which pertinent instrumentation places at between four hundred eighty thousand and five hundred thousand years."
  Something about those dates prodded at Flinx's memory. Something more than the fact that they matched the AAnn researchers' estimate of the age of the great transmitter on Pyrassis. But he was too caught up in the excitement of the moment to stop and try to identify their significance. If any, it could wait until later.
  "So you think the core object is of similar antiquity?"
  "I did not say that." The Teacher had learned to be patient with its sometimes excitable owner. "Such a supposition, however, would not on the face of it be immoderate."
  "Bring us in closer. And keep alert for activity on the part of the other Commonwealth vessel."
  "I am already aware of this and continue to monitor its ongoing activities."
  " 'Ongoing activities'?" Flinx was only momentarily taken aback. If there had been any danger, the Teacher would have taken appropriate action. At the very least, it would have notified him of any suspicions.
  The synthesized voice was unruffled and beautifully modulated. "Since before we arrived in its vicinity, the other vessel has been running a general-purpose englobement scan. I have been deflecting it around us. Were my KK-drive functioning, our presence would of course be impossible to mask. On in-system power alone, however, I am well equipped to dissemble such attempts at detection."
  "I thought so, but it's always nice to hear that everything's working. Will you be able to continue to do so?"
  "Yes, unless the ship in question manifests abilities as yet unre-vealed. Though unusually well equipped for a commercial vessel, its capabilities remain inferior to those of military craft. Or myself," it added, without a hint of boastfulness.
  "Sensors detect the presence of ionized particles compatible with recent shuttlecraft emissions emanating from the vicinity of the Larnaca ship Crotase. Though dispersing rapidly, said particles remain concentrated in an arc suggesting that at least one transference from the base vessel to the surface of the satellite's synthetic core has taken place. I thought you would want to know."
  The ship was right, as it usually was. "So they're trying to get inside and have a look around." Flinx rubbed his forehead, trying to decide whether to proceed as he should or as he wished to. "I don't blame them."
  "Emissions continue beyond the external line of demarcation. It is my considered opinion that they are already inside."
  Could he possibly corner someone and demand to know about the syb? If a segment of the crew had left the Crotase to go exploring, it might make his task of penetrating that vessel's security much easier. But it the people he wanted to talk to were now aboard the alien object, he might penetrate the other ship's security to no avail. So intent and preoccupied had he been with simply trying to track it down, he had never really thought through how to go about actually locating and accessing the missing sybfile once he came near enough to do so.
  Now that he was forced to confront that ultimate possibility, he saw that it might come down to as unsophisticated a process as jamming a weapon in someone's face and demanding that they turn over what he had come for. The process might not be cultivated, but in Flinx's experience it was usually effective. While in the course of carrying it out, he could also have a look at the enormous inorganic fabrication.
  "Can you take us in closer to the satellite without exposing us to electronic detection from the Crotas?"
  "I believe so."
  The Teacher began to descend. Very soon the view out the ports was obliterated by cloud, and Flinx was reduced to observing via monitors. On one, the Crotase appeared in perfect outline, her shape revealed by the Teacher's probes. Though they continued to be scanned, his ship assured him that their presence remained unknown both to people and to instruments on board the other vessel.
  Emerging from beneath the thick cloud cover, the vast scale of the alien artifact soon dominated the view on every monitor. As to the function or purpose of the arcane projections and protuberances that covered its surface, he could only imagine. Many were themselves larger than small cities. The complete structure itself far exceeded in size and volume anything built by humanxkind. The presence of the all-encompassing clouds prevented him from arriving at a true appreciation of its extent.
  The hollow, or bay, or basin into which the shuttlecraft from the Crotase had descended was itself impressive. A docking port for many small ships, Flinx decided as he studied the steady stream of readouts—or for one mind-bogglingly huge one. Because of the intervening clouds, anyone aboard the shuttlecraft could not see the Teacher standing off just outside the bay, and its advanced masking electronics continued to conceal it from detection by other means.
  "They are entering the object," the Teacher declared definitively. "I detect the cycling of a lock and the movement of small amounts of gas. Residual atmosphere is escaping from the artifact."
  "Then this thing is pressurized?" Flinx remained skeptical. "After half a million years?"
  "It is more likely that it is only responding to their presence, and pressurizing proximate internal partitions accordingly."
  "Yes, that makes more sense. Can you analyze the leakage?"
  A pause, then, "Oxy-nitro in breathable proportions. The collateral blend of trace gases I deem to be unusual but nonthreatening, at least if not inhaled over a long period of time."
  That was not particularly significant, Flinx knew. The majority, though not all, sapient races thus far encountered depended with minor variations on essentially the same atmospheric cocktail to sustain life.
  He had a decision to make. He could direct the Teacher to initiate an electronic assault on the Crotase't cortex, or he could track those who had entered the artifact with an eye toward physically confronting one or more of them. The former course might be more productive, and promised less potential for sustaining bodily harm. The latter would allow him to have a look at this remarkable discovery. It took only a few moments for him to decide.
  Not only did he want to know what was in that sybfile, he wanted to know why it had been taken and why the people who had absconded with it had gone to so much trouble to cover their tracks. That was information that could not be gleaned from hasty electronic perusal of molecular storage facilities.
  "I need individual transport," he announced as he slid out of the command chair.
  "There are three vehicles on board that fit the requirement. I have commenced prepping two for immediate use."
  Flinx made his way back to the shuttle bay. In addition to simplex suits designed for inspecting and working on the exterior of the ship, there were three larger, more elaborate torpedo-shaped conveyances that would allow one person at a time to not only function and work in the harsh environment of the void, but to cover short distances without the need to utilize shuttle or ship. They could not operate at distance, but they did allow for extended periods of outside labor.
  It was for the latter purpose that Flinx, after first taking water, some food concentrates, and a sidearm and firepak from ship's stores, slipped himself prone on his belly and chest into the first of the compact vehicles. He relaxed while the transparent, polarizing canopy slid shut above his back and the flight harness automatically fit itself to his body type. Pip snuggled down between his shoulders, her sinuous form light enough so as not to discomfort him, her tongue flicking occasionally against his ear or neck.
  Rising on its braces, the solo craft was rotated and positioned for insertion into the main lock. Flinx let the Teacher program the transport's internal guidance system to deliver him to the place where the visitors from the Crotase had entered the artifact. All he had to do was breathe easy and hang on. There followed a brief final systems check, ignition of the small internal engine, a jolt, and then he was accelerating forward. As he exited the lock, the bulk of the Teacher shrank behind him and was quickly subsumed in swirls of methanic miasma. Soon he was enveloped in darkness.
  A brief eternity later, the surface of the alien construct began to emerge from the gloomy brown mist. Though his restricted field of view prevented him from making visual confirmation, he correctly surmised that he was already deep within the approach bay that had previously been accessed by the Crotase's shuttle. Studying the body of the artifact, he found he could not identify any of the material of which it was composed. It might be metal or glass or composite, or perhaps some kind of stasis-bound synthesis beyond his experience. The realization that he was soaring over a manufactured surface that had been fabricated when his ancestors were still hiding in trees was a sobering thought.
  Though the Teacher informed him as his little vehicle began to slow that the shuttle from the Crotase was not far away, he never caught so much as a glimpse of the other craft, so obscuring were the clouds and so commodious the entry bay. He was, however, able to make out a ceiling and one wall as the Teacher gently inserted him into what it believed to be the access to the lock where it had earlier detected an internal atmospheric leak. How had the crew of the other ship activated the ancient apparatus?
  The explanation presented itself shortly, as the Teacher informed him that a gravity seal of impressive proportions had sealed shut behind him. Personnel from the Crotase had not manually activated the alien device. It had detected their presence and responded accordingly. This supposition was confirmed by the Teacher, which assured Flinx that it had done nothing to stimulate any apparatus aboard the alien object.
  An ancient welcome, Flinx reflected as his" tiny craft, rocking slightly in the breathable atmosphere, settled to the deck. He felt he should respond somehow, though he had not the slightest notion of how to do so. As soon as the transport touched down and the engine cut off, he released and slid back the canopy. Rising from his prone, head-forward position, he stepped out of the vehicle and onto alien surface. A deep, low-pitched humming filled his ears as Pip rose above him, finding the unfamiliar air and gravity to her liking.
  Walls rippling with incomprehensible prominences and eddies rose on all sides. Gravity and atmosphere were accompanied by slightly reddish internal illumination. Hoary though it might be, the artifact was nothing if not hospitable. So too, Flinx reminded himself warily, were cooks to querulous chickens.
  With Pip settled securely on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Recent years had seen him gain more control over his talent, and maturation had also given him a deeper understanding of what he could and could not do. One thing had not changed, though: He remained at the mercy of its inconsistency. Sometimes emotions flowed from others to him as clear and sharp as words spoken in a vacuum. At other times they were blurred and indistinct. And for long, unpredictable periods, there was nothing; only a great emptiness in place of the sometimes overwhelming emotional chatter that often emanated from crowds of total strangers.
  Here, aboard this unidentifiable alien object fabricated by an unknown race well before the beginning of recorded time, he was alone except for his minidrag companion and a small gathering of humans. In that place of utter isolation from other feeling intelligences, his abilities were more sharply focused. Right away he sensed a common emotional gumbo of hope, expectation, fear, envy, delight, and more: the usual flurry of feelings that signified the presence of an unremarkable, characteristic cluster of Homo sapiens. Distantly perceived emotions strengthened and then faded: His talent was not operating at full efficiency. But it was enough. Enough to denote the general location of those he wished to track down and, eventually, confront.
  Relying on the mental bearing thus obtained, he started walking. Did those who had preceded him on board have an objective in mind, he found himself wondering, or were they just meandering? The former seemed unlikely, though based on what he had gone through and learned these past weeks, he was not ready to consign any possibility, however outrageous, to the realm of the impossible. For the life of him, though, he still had not a clue what a syb dealing with his personal history might have to do with a monstrous and previously unknown alien artifact lying hidden on the outskirts of a minor AAnn system. It seemed like every time he succeeded in acquiring a tiny new fragment of information about himself, he was destined to be confronted with some new, previously unsuspected, and ever greater mystery.
  The corridor down which he found himself walking was illuminated by more of the same soft, diffuse, reddish light that had greeted him in the lock. Like the rehabilitated, inescapably stale atmosphere he was breathing, the lights had been activated in response to the arrival of the group from the Crotase. They remained on in his presence, acknowledging his progress without comment. Humidity was marked but moderate, damper than what he was used to on the Teacher but a welcome relief after the oven-baked air of Pyrassis. Pip basked in the moisture-steeped atmosphere that was so much closer to what she knew from her homeworld of Alaspin.
  As he walked, he tried to make some sense of his surroundings, without much success. The artifact's internal design was fluid without being elastic, graceful but not delicate. Mysterious tubes and conduits split from solid walls to terminate inexplicably in midair. Gaps in the floor and ceiling revealed multiple levels beyond, but did not provide the means to access them. Imposing megaliths of metal and composite corporealities thrust upward from the floor but did not make contact with any other element of their environment. Devices of unknown purpose lay stacked loosely together in batches that shied away from him if he swerved to approach. There were exposed wires that were perfectly transparent, and what appeared to be opaque windows. Colors were generally but not exclusively muted: yellows, reds, orange, and tan, with splashes of vibrant purple and rose where one would least expect to see them.
  Within bulges and protrusions, lights flickered and flashed, or ran and hid as he drew near. Patterns were rapidly forged and as quickly dispersed; some two-dimensional, others fully formed yet equally unrecognizable. Prominent in his hearing was the methodic dialog of slowly awakening mechanisms: clicks, hums, snaps, buzzes, rising and descending whines, trills, burbles, and a hundred unfamiliar auricular pulsations. He was surrounded and accompanied by a slowly swelling fanfare of light, sound, and sensation, much of it as understated as it was unignorable. The disciplined alien cacophony underscored his footsteps as he felt himself drawing slowly but steadily closer to the only other humans within range of his faculty.
  He had already decided that he had no choice but to challenge them directly. At the mere anticipation of forthcoming confrontation, Pip stirred against his shoulder. The pistol he had brought from the Teacher hugged his duty belt. He would be outnumbered and very probably outgunned, but he had surprise on his side. A great deal of surprise. The last thing anyone from a trespassing vessel like the Crotase would expect to encounter deep within an AAnn system would be a fellow obtruding human.
  With luck, the interlopers from the Crotase would split up to examine their surroundings. That would enable him to confront one or two of them apart from their colleagues. If that failed to produce the information he needed, he could use those he had questioned as hostages to compel the necessary data from their companions. Though no stranger to threat and violence himself, he was uncomfortable at the prospect of playing the role of enforcer instead of victim. The intruders from the Crotase wouldn't know that, however. He believed he had enough personal experience of individuals who positively delighted in the use of intimidation and violence to maintain an appropriately threatening facade until he had gained what he had come so far to acquire. As he walked, he tried out a few hopefully intimidating expressions, regretting the absence of a mirror. He knew that his youth would work against him. When you are twenty-one, even if you are taller than average, it is very difficult to terrify anyone on the basis of looks alone.
  The exotic creations surrounding him had been constructed to a strapping but not cumbersome scale. Large arrays of cylindrical structures and their chaperoning conduits and connectors were at once majestic yet stylized in design. Passing through several wide portals as he tracked the continually fluctuating emotions of those ahead of him, he noted that the openings were designed to accommodate beings far larger than himself. Five full-grown terrestrial brown bears could have strode abreast through the narrowest of the doorways. Similarly, other components of the artifact's construction hinted that in the past, large, heavy bodies had once occupied and made use of the spaces through which he was presently roaming.
  Who had built the artifact, and to what purpose? Was its obscuring cloud cover natural in origin or a deliberately acquired attempt at dissimulation? He drew no inspiration from what he saw. The artifact was imposing, sturdily built, and ancient beyond belief. Whether it was functional beyond its ability to react to the presence of and provide support for oxygen-breathing life-forms was not a question that interested him as much as did the location of the missing sybfile.
  He continued to advance with heightened caution. From the strength of the feelings he was sensing, he knew he had closed the gap between himself and the exploration party from the Crotase. Unlike him, they were not tracking a particular target and so had advanced more slowly. With practiced hand he silently drew the pistol from his waist. A flick of one finger cleared the safety and powered up the weapon's coil. One or two crew members isolated from the rest was what he hoped to encounter. One or two he could keep separate for a few moments while he questioned them in peace.
  But Fate dictates little in the way of serenity for those whose thoughts are encumbered by weighty questions. Pausing, he found himself staring in the direction of muted voices. Ever since he had begun shadowing the group, he had apperceived and discarded more than a hundred of their conflicting emotions. A lifetime spent surviving similar unavoidable encounters allowed him to sift through and ignore nearly all of them.
  Now, suddenly, he had become aware of something else— something so unique, so extraordinary and unexpected, that Pip extended her upper body to peer anxiously into her companion's face. Flinx did not see her. He saw very little, being at the moment wholly occupied with newly perceived feelings that made no sense, no sense at all.
  In his twenty-odd years of intuiting and analyzing the emotions of other people, he had sensed love, had sensed hate and joy, despair and triumph, gladness and dismay. Symphonies of suffering had washed over him in waves, and in crowded cities he had been forced to fight off the overwhelming feeling of ennui that so dominated the lives of most human beings. He had assimilated the exotic, outlandish, and sometimes grotesque emotions of intelligences that were not human, and the simple straightforward emotional utterances of the subsapient.
  But only once before, he knew as his fingers tightened around the haft of the pistol, had he ever sensed anything that was so alarmingly like himself.
CHAPTER
Fifteen
  It changed everything. At first he thought he had imagined it. He had, after all, a very vivid imagination, prone to dreams of exceptional range and depth. Anyone seeing him at that moment could have been excused for thinking he was caught in the throes of some kind of mild paralysis—but he was merely concentrating.
  There—there it was again! No dream, this. Insistent and unmistakable, pounding inside his head, demanding to be recognized. It was like viewing a cracked, badly distorted image of himself. While similar, it was also sharply different. He had never felt anything like it before.
  Or—had he?
  Visuals. He needed visual confirmation. The urgent need to isolate and question one or more members of the Crotase's crew as to the whereabouts of the syb he sought had suddenly taken a backseat to identifying the source of the remarkable and disconcerting emotional projections he was now perceiving. Admonishing Pip with a gesture to remain on his shoulder, he advanced in the direction of the voices, keeping low and out of sight, utilizing the singular internal components of the artifact to conceal his rangy form. The voices grew louder. Discussion was in progress. By the time he had drawn near enough to see, peering out from behind a silvery sweep of metallic glass, it had progressed to argument.
  There were nine of them, all human. Three women and six men; all custom-suited, all armed. No, he corrected himself. Six men, two women, and an adolescent girl. They were gazing at what appeared to be an enormous translucent membrane that stretched between two arching, tapering pillars of opaque electricity. The pillars hummed at the threshold of audibility while compliant streaks of gold-and-pink energy chased one another across the surface of the film. It looked like a razed segment of electrified soap bubble.
  Two of the men standing side by side were carrying the bulk of the debate while their companions stood and listened, weapons at the ready. A couple of them kept glancing nervously about, as if they expected something fanged and ichorous to come leaping out at them from the depths of alien shadows, but for the most part their companions stayed relaxed. Competent professionals, Flinx concluded, hired for their skills and most probably a collateral talent for keeping their mouths shut. Uncommon feelings continued to press upon his mind even as he observed and analyzed. Eventually, his attention was drawn to the blossoming figure of the youngest member of the party. She stood off to one side, away from the ongoing argument, conversing quietly with two other members of the group. As she did so, she turned away from the glistening wall of anomalous light and came more fully into view.
  The stab of recognition that pierced him could not have penetrated any deeper had it actually been fashioned of sharpened duralloy. Though changed, matured, and grown more beautiful than ever, he knew that face. No longer did it present the visage of an innocent child, though the mind behind it had never been innocent. It belonged now to an adolescent emerging into womanhood. She would be about fifteen, he decided. The only other Adept he had ever met. No wonder the distinctive, uncommon emotions he had picked up had sent a thrill of apperception through him.
  Mahnahmi.
  Abused ward of a wealthy merchant named Conda Challis, Flinx had first encountered her many years ago. Back then, he had just begun to try and seek out information about his parentage, only to find himself diverted into the matter of the ill-used Janus jewels. Eventually his searching had led him to a world under Church Edict, the remarkable home of the astonishingly ingenuous, childlike, and cerebrally advanced Ulru-Ujurrians. There, among others, he had been forced to deal with the unobtrusively precocious girl who had finally fled from them all: avaricious humans, rapacious AAnn, and curious Ulru-Ujurrians alike. The then nine-year-old had piloted her own escape in a fortuitously voice-responsive shuttlecraft—had fled shouting that she didn't know what she was, a cry Flinx had uttered aloud and in silence a thousand times himself in previous and subsequent years.
  She had declared that she needed time to grow into herself. Corporeally, at least, she had certainly done that much. Flaxen of hair and ebon of eye, she stood on the cusp of stunning physical beauty. Her appearance was enough to disarm anyone unable to sense the cold, methodical, emotional depths beneath. The external shell was exquisite, glistening and pure—but the yolk was corrupt.
  As he recalled, she had fled Ulru-Ujurr full of hatred at the way she had been treated while growing up, at the inability of others to appreciate her, and at a universe that had condemned her to such a life. He had watched the shuttle she had so unexpectedly commandeered shrink into the sky, and then he had turned his attention to other matters of more immediate import. Soon thereafter, she had been forgotten.
  Now she was here, the only other unmindwiped Adept like himself that he knew about, on this colossal and cryptic alien artifact. The implied connection with the missing sybfile eliminated one, but hardly all, of the questions that had been bothering him since the file had vanished from Earth. By itself, that recognition did not explain what she was doing here.
  Her talent, or talents, differed from his own in ways he had not been able to explore. To the best of his knowledge and as near as he could remember, whatever abilities she possessed were not nearly as developed as his own. They might be comparable, but were more marginal. Or they might merely be different. He had not come to know her well enough to be sure. He had not wanted to.
  Now, it appeared, he might have to.
  The first time she had set eyes on him she had asked her adoptive father, Conda Challis, to kill him. Challis had refused. She had sensed the depth of the anomaly that was Philip Lynx, and had been afraid. But her range of apperception had been more limited than his, and like him, her aptitude erratic. Certainly she was not aware of his presence now, whether because her own peculiarly individual skills were not functioning, because she was preoccupied, or because of something as simple as the physical distance between them.
  Fascinated, he watched as she conversed with the other members of the crew from the Crotase. Having identified her, he now knew who was in charge of the expedition. Not the two burly men who continued to argue vociferously, gesturing and thrusting their hands at the pillars of energy and the coruscating transparency held in stasis in front of them, but the beautiful young woman standing off to one side. Oh, they might think they were in charge, but Flinx knew better. Completely unbeknownst to him until she had confessed to it, for years the child Mahnahmi had manipulated the merchant Conda Challis. It had served her purpose to pull strings from behind the scenes of life, to play the simple, trusting juvenile. Having perfected the game, he doubted she had abandoned it now.
  What would he do if she sensed his presence? Once alerted to his proximity, he might not be able to hide from her. Had her talent matured, developed? If so, it might possibly have advanced in another direction, one he could not imagine. The Meliorares, the criminal gengineers who had meddled with his DNA before he was born, had been inconsistent in their experimentation. As far as Flinx knew, he and his abilities were unique. Because of that, the young woman standing before and slightly below him, chatting with her companions, was akin yet different.
  While he stood watching, perceiving, and trying to decide how best to proceed, the others were not idle. Having apparently settled their argument, the larger of the two men who had been arguing addressed the others. Then he stepped forward, removed something from his service belt, and tossed it into the center of the glossy, glittering membrane that hung like a psychedelic spiderweb from between the two pillars of inscrutable energy. Flinx ducked down farther into his place of concealment, and a couple of the onlookers from the Crotase flinched, but all the blazing slice of transparency did was swallow the cast object whole. There was a soft crackle, a brief blaze of golden sparks to show where insertion had been made, and then nothing.
  Triumphant in both debate and demonstration, the thrower turned to the others and took a few moments to harangue the man with whom he had been arguing. Flinx started to rise slightly from behind the ribbon of metallic glass to resume his earlier, clearer view. Mahnahmi had moved off to one side in the company of one of the men she had been talking to earlier.
  Something impinged on the corner of Flinx's consciousness. It was not an emotion, but it was a feeling. He often experienced such sensations in the presence of other sapience. Usually they were a consequence of afterthought, random projections sloughed off by thinking minds without reflection on their meaning, the way dreams regularly disposed of frivolous material that collected like psychic garbage in the distant recesses of the subconscious mind.
  This was different. He had felt something like it only once before, long, long ago, before he had encountered the pernicious entity known as Mahnahmi, so he knew it did not originate with or stem from her. He could not identify it. In any event he did not have time. His body and mind reacted, and he threw himself to the floor. As he did so, he caught the barest glimpse of Mahnahmi whirling around, unmistakable shock showing on her face, as she reacted to the same stimuli.
  The shimmering, resplendent patch of bubblelike film imploded. The twin pillars of dusky energy were transposed from relatively benign towers of humming radiance into fiery lances of ferocious purple splendor. Shrieking and screaming, kicking frantically as they flailed and failed to find a grasp on something solid and immovable, one by one the crew members from the Crotase were sucked inexorably into the now feral translucent conflagration that filled the space between the wildly blazing pillars.
  Screeching for help, one woman hung onto something that looked like a milky, semitransparent cable. Her body hung out behind her, feet kicking frantically, her hips and legs flapping up and down like a taut but tattered flag caught in a strong breeze. Ripped free from her torso by the power of the howling portal, or whatever the phenomenon was, first her duty belt, then her boots, and finally her coveralls were peeled from her body. Fingers bleeding from the effort of trying to hang on, she ululated a last cry of despair as her weakened fingers lost their grip and she, too, was sucked into the lethal maelstrom.
  The raging, bellowing alien vortex showed no signs of losing strength. Flinx clung tightly to one of the supports of the silvery glass monolith whose bulk shielded him from much of the cataclysmic intensity. Her coils constricted around his upper arm. Pip was as firmly attached to her companion as he was to the immovable alien apparatus. Her eyes were shut tight as she kept her head turned away from the relentless pull. If her companion succumbed to it, she would, as always, go with him.
  Hanging on for dear life, Flinx felt his feet rise slightly off the floor as the vortex tugged at him. Able to just peer beneath the convolute argent column, he saw Mahnahmi clinging with intractable determination to a dull metallic upright near where she had moments ago been standing and chatting easily. Clinging precariously to her right leg was the man she had been conversing with. The emotions that were chasing one another across the desperate crew member's face were manifold, but Flinx was able to read them as easily as words in a book. Or read it, because a primal fear utterly dominated everything else the doomed individual's psyche was experiencing.
  He was a robust young man, and his grip was strong. He was doing as well as could be expected until Mahnahmi drew back her free leg and kicked him square in the face with the heel of her boot. It was enough. Grip lost, eyes glazed with the acquiescence that comes with approaching annihilation, he fell into the vortex and was swallowed up.
  Then, as abruptly and indifferently as if someone had left the room, thereby activating the switch that turned off the lights, the ed-dying conflagration subsided. In slightly more than a minute it was once again a tranquil, innocuous membrane whose perfect transparency was broken only by the occasional transmuting golden discharge dancing across its surface.
  Released from the maelstrom's pull, Flinx's feet dropped back to the floor. Breathing heavily, he took stock of himself and his surroundings. The terrible gravity that had been sucking at his lower body was gone. Though she eased the pressure of her coils, Pip remained firmly entwined around his arm. Slowly, he released his grip on the segment of glassine monolith that had kept him from being drawn into the vortex. His breathing slowed, steadied.
  Except for the steady twin hum of the energy pillars, now restored to their original appearance, all was silent. Carefully, he rose and peered around the bulk of the glass mechanism. Everything was as before on the surface of the film. Of all those who had come adventuring from the Crotase, there was no sign of any of them save for the slim shape of a single survivor: nothing to indicate what had happened to the others, nothing to suggest where they had gone. The vortex might have been a transportation device of some kind that sent those who were drawn into it to another part of the artifact—or another part of the galaxy. Or it might be a storage device that was simply holding onto those it had inhaled for an indeterminate period of time. Or it might be a garbage disposal. Or something whose alien purpose he could not begin to envision.
  Pip was up and off his shoulder the instant she sensed his reaction. He felt the rush of freshening animosity before he turned, but by then it was too late. Up and down, in and out, his talent had waned just long enough under the pressure of the preceding tragedy for the unseen individual to steal up behind him. The flying snake drew back her head sharply as she prepared to strike—and went down, enveloped in a mass of binding, sticky threads. As the fibers dried, her struggles grew feebler and feebler, until she lay motionless on the floor, wings stuck to her sides, her mouth sealed with pale white astringent matter. Only her slow, steady breathing showed that she was still alive.
  Flinx found himself confronting someone as tall as himself, but differently built. The woman was clad in a jet-black jumpsuit whose legs were sealed, not tucked, into black boots that came up just over the ankles. On her head she wore a black skullcap foiled in crimson. A biting chill went through Flinx as he recognized the ensemble, which was complete to the singular belt buckle cut from a solid crystal of vanadium and inlaid with gold skull and crossbones.
  A Qwarm.
  The professional assassin was perversely attractive despite her hairlessness. Together with the intricately laden weapons belt that encircled her waist, total depilation was another hallmark of the members of the assassins guild. She held two firearms. One was the wide-muzzled pistol that had caught Pip with the glob of smothering restraint. The other, at once less imposing and more intimidating, was a phonic stiletto. A particular favorite of the Qwarm, it employed ultra-high-energy sound waves that could cut through almost anything. Eyeing it, Flinx was acutely aware of the vulnerability of his unarmored body.
  Though Flinx was an experienced empathetic telepath, able to read the emotions of others, a very few humans were difficult to detect even when his talent was fully functional. Such uncommon individuals were hard to perceive because they functioned at a very low emotional level. The woman staring back at him was not emotionless: She had simply been trained to exercise exceptional control over her feelings. Only when she had been about to fire the semi-liquid, congealing restraint at him had he been able to detect her presence. When Pip had risen to his defense, she had been forced to unload the weapon on the minidrag instead.
  Stalk complete, her liberated emotions were now easier for him to read. He decided he preferred to think of the tall, muscular woman as an emotional blank.
  "Move." Her voice was unalloyed ice, absolute zero, the nadir of compassion. She gestured with the stiletto. "That way."
  "My companion…" He indicated Pip, who continued to struggle, albeit weakly, with the now hardened restraints.
  "Forget your pet. It will not die. Only rest. You go forward, slowly. Go any other direction and I will cut the Achilles tendon of your right leg." She gestured meaningfully with the stiletto. The movement momentarily stirred air and sound together to produce an audible warning.
  There was nothing he could do. With a last reassuring look and burst of empathy, he left the minidrag grappling with her bonds and started off in the indicated direction. He wanted to confront Mahnahmi anyway—though not like this.
  The beautiful blonde had picked herself up and was staring thoughtfully at the flickering film that had swallowed all but one member of her escort. As she approached with her captive, the Qwarm spoke in a tone of voice that was slightly more respectful than the one she had used to address her prisoner.
  "Madam Mahnahmi, I have found a male human intruder."
  "Someone else is here? Maybe someone who's responsible for what happened to Jellicoat and the others." She started to turn. "Bring him over. By all the states of matter, if we've been preceded by a competitor in spite of all the precautions I've taken I'll—" She broke off as she caught sight of her bodyguard's charge. Years had passed, and time had wrought significant physical changes in them both, but the way her eyes widened showed that she recognized him instantly. Her emotional reaction, Flinx noted, was as unpleasant as could be expected.
  "You! Here, now, in this place!" Her pert mouth, so adept at the childhood pouting he remembered well, contorted into a twisted grimace of hatred. "You spoiled everything for me years ago. 1 was some time recovering from your barging in then. Don't think I'm going to let it happen again!"
  Unwavering pistol pointed at the exact center of her captive's back, the Qwarm was politely puzzled. Flinx sensed the phonic stiletto hovering dangerously close to his spine.
  "You know this one?" the assassin asked.
  Mahnahmi's flaxen hair shimmered in the internal illumination provided by the artifact, forming a lustrous, red-tinged nimbus around her head. Flinx knew it was no halo.
  "Know him? Better than anyone else could." Walking over until she was within arm's length, she stared up into his face. "You meddling redheaded bastard. This is the second time you've intruded on my labors. What did you do with the rest of my crew?"
  "Nothing," he replied calmly. "I was as taken by surprise by the device's activation as you were. Of course, it didn't take everyone. You squandered the life of one individual yourself."
  "Kenboka?" His implied rebuke upset her not in the slightest. "He was starting to make it hard for me, hanging on my leg like that. Where the hell did you fall from?" A sudden thought made her look past him, past her bodyguard. "Briony, the last time I had the misfortune to encounter this one he had a pet with him. A dangerous aerial endotherm."
  "Neutralized." The Qwarm gestured backward without shifting her eyes from her prisoner's shoulders.
  Mahnahmi nodded once. Superficially, she was exquisite. Her emotions, however, plumbed the deepest depths of the disturbing. "Good. Do you remember, Flinx fellow, my last words to you before I was forced by your interference to flee Ulru-Ujurr and everything I had fought for years to bring about?"
  "That was a long time ago." Could Pip gradually extricate herself from her bonds? It depended how resistant to her corrosive poison the polymers of the hardened restraints were.
  "Not so very long ago, I think." Approaching closer still, she put a hand on his shirt and ran a finger up and down the center seal. " 'Some day, I'll even be strong enough to come back for you.' Remember that?" She uttered a short, unpleasant laugh. "I never expected you to come back for me."
  "I didn't come here for that. Believe me, I never expected to see you again. Ever."
  Cocking her head slightly to one side, she took a step back and regarded him with unwavering curiosity. "Then what are you doing here?"
  "Maybe the same thing you are," he theorized tentatively. "Having a look around for my real self."
  She hesitated, then laughed amusedly. "Really? If you don't know where it is, you must find the continuous absence of yourself very disconcerting. Fortunately, I don't have that problem. And soon, you won't either." Her expression darkened. "Since you don't remember the last thing I said in your presence I don't suppose you remember the first, either?"
  He shook his head. "I was involved with the Janus jewels. You were a little girl."
  "I was never a little girl!" Her mental blast of mingled fear and fury took him aback. "Never! Conda Challis saw to that, may his bloated, arrogant, deviant carcass rot in whatever hell the theologically resourceful can invent for him!" Her voice fell, but her expression did not change. "What I said was, 'Kill him.' '
  Flinx thought he felt the phonic stiletto make contact with his upper back, just beneath the left shoulder, aiming for his heart. The imminence of death struck him like a heavy hammer, obliterating all other thought, wiping his mind glassy clean. Several times before, he had found himself in such situations. Each time, something had happened. Each time, his mind blanked as something highly reactive that constituted a mysterious, unknown part of his brain responded to the threat.
  This time, it seemed as if nothing could be done to prevent his impending demise. The Qwarm was too close, her reflexes too quick, the stiletto too lethal, the order too swiftly given. His hasty attempt to project disrupting feelings of fear and helplessness onto the assassin collapsed in a melange of mental chaos and confusion. A blackness descended over him, and he wondered if it was the duskiness of death drawing nigh. Only—there was no pain. Clean-killing as the phonic stiletto was, it still seemed as if there ought to be some pain.
  When he opened his eyes, the Qwarm Briony lay crumpled on the ground four meters behind him, the stiletto still clutched tightly in her right hand, pistol in the other. Dazed and bemused, he stood swaying unsteadily, his vision more than slightly blurred. As it cleared, he saw a bewildered but not awed Mahnahmi gazing back at him.
  "How did you do that?" She was staring straight into his eyes, as if trying to physically probe the mind beyond and the depths within. "You knocked her out. No—you knocked her out and off her feet. No hidden flashpak, no whirling martial arts high kick, nothing." Her gaze dropped to the simple, comfortable, everyday jumpsuit he favored when traveling aboard the Teacher. "I can sometimes do things like that, when I'm really, really angry. And I'm angry a lot of the time. But not right now. Right now I'm just curious. What did you use? Your inner, innate Talent? Or something more prosaic, some kind of charged repulsion field that automatically reacts to any attempt to inflict an unauthorized bodily infraction?"
  "Yes, that's exactly it. You didn't think I'd come exploring into a place like this without some kind of defense, did you?" In point of fact he hadn't a clue to the specifics of what had happened. Something unknown and unrecognized had saved his life—and not for the first time, either. There had been a number of incidents, several times in his past when it seemed that his existence was about to be terminated, when something strange and unrevealed had intervened on his behalf. He was no wiser after this latest incident than he had been on previous occasions, no more enlightened as to the nature of whatever unknown self-defense mechanism continued to watch over him. That it had something to do with and was somehow related to his erratic, unpredictable abilities he had no doubt. It was immensely frustrating to possess such capabilities without having the vaguest notion of what they were or how they functioned.
  Not that he was ungrateful. "Stay where you are," he warned her, "or the same thing will happen to you!" Would it, he wondered? Or would she, given her own singular, inexplicable abilities, be able to walk right up to him in spite of anything he could do and punch him in the mouth? Given the wildly variable nature of both their veiled aptitudes, anything was possible.
  Now that he had gained a moment or two, he made a conscious effort to project fear and concern onto her, as he had once projected feelings of love and affection onto the mind of a security guard named Elena Carolles. She just stared back at him. Whether his failure meant that she was immune to his efforts or that his talent was simply not functioning at that moment, he had no way of telling.
  He knew only that the imminence of death triggered something buried deep inside him, something designed to ensure his survival. It would be really nice, he mused, to know what the hell it was. For now, though, he would have to be satisfied with the knowledge that it existed. If it was by nature as variable as his other abilities, he knew he could not count on it to watch over him every time doom came courting.
  His warning was enough to make her pause uncertainly, though she looked longingly in the direction of her motionless bodyguard. Her momentary hesitation provided all the time Flinx needed. Keeping his eyes on the indecisive younger woman, he retreated until he was standing next to the powerful but inert body of the professional assassin. Kneeling, he reached first for the phonic stiletto. Even while unconscious, the Qwarm's grip was so strong that he had to use both hands to pry first one and then the other weapon from her grasp. Searching her forbidding equipment belt, he found an assortment of restraints. Selecting one, he used it to secure her wrists and ankles. Mahnahmi looked on in silence, glowering at him as he worked, probably wondering if she ought to contest him for possession of the weapons. Even when sporting an immutable sulk, she was beautiful.
  Carefully applied, the tip of the phonic stiletto made short work of Pip's adhesive bonds. Once freed, the flying snake began to clean herself, releasing minuscule amounts of toxin to dissolve away the last clinging bits of hobbling material. Leaving the minidrag to her toilet, Flinx deactivated the stiletto and attached it to his own duty belt. Then he returned to confront his pale, fair-haired nemesis. Habitually even-tempered, he was seething with exasperation and resentment.
  Tracking him as he strode deliberately toward her, her gaze flicked from his face to the pistol gripped in one hand. She made no move to run or retreat. Was she, too, convinced that as a mutated Adept some inner mechanism would preserve her? Hadn't she just said as much? He remembered what she had done that last time he had seen her on Ulru-Ujurr, ripping up rugs and furniture with the power of her rage. Or was she simply the coldest, most self-confident individual he had ever met?
  "I've been studying you," she murmured appraisingly. "If your suit contained an integrated defense mechanism, there would be indications. Understated, but discernible. I would have identified them by now. Whatever it was that overpowered Briony, it wasn't your churlish attire. It must have been something within you. Something very much like that which resides within me."
  "So what?" he shot back defensively. "All you need to know is that it worked, and will work again if you try anything."
  "Will it? Will it, Philip Lynx?"
  Names, he thought. Random combinations of letters, signifying what? A person? A specific individual? Stars had names, and nebulae, but of what significance was the name of a single living being? Frustration surged within him. He had spent too long trying to cope with names.
  She wasn't finished. "You really don't know what you did to Briony, do you? Or even how you did it?"
  "Like I said, it doesn't matter."
  "Oh, it matters, Flinx. It matters more than you can imagine. Not to me specifically, perhaps, but in the greater scheme of things. I know what you are about even if you don't, because you and I are about many of the same things. I knew you were dangerous the moment I set eyes on you, years ago when you came to visit Conda Challis. I knew you were the only one who could really know me.
  And knowing me, I knew you would sooner or later present a problem if you weren't dealt with." She spread her hands and smiled engagingly. "This proves it."
  "Maybe," he replied patiently, "if you wouldn't be in such a hurry to kill me, I wouldn't seem to pose such a threat to you."
  "Adept with wit as well as with the Other, too." Her hands fell to her sides. "What now, Flinx? Are you going to try and shoot me? It will be an interesting experiment. What will you do if the inner me reacts to such a threat the same way the inner you does to threats against yourself?"
  The pistol felt cold in his hand. "I ought to try. I have the right to."
  "But you won't, will you?" Once again she flashed a smile sufficiently wicked to disarm all but the most decrepit of men, and most women. "First of all, you're not sure that you can, and second, the will to kill is not a dynamic constituent of your mental makeup."
  "Don't be too sure. I've killed before." Flinx's expression tightened. A familiar weight settled on him, and he glanced over to see Pip, cleaned up and renewed, resting once more against his shoulder. "I don't enjoy it, but I can do it." His expression warped ever so slightly. "Dynamic constituent of my mental makeup or not."
  "Yes." She was eyeing him thoughtfully. Fear remained absent as ever from her countenance. "I see that you can. But you won't try to kill me, Flinx." The corrupt smile returned, wrenched out of shape like a length of dirty scrap wire, no longer sensuous but debased. "Not because you can't. I have a feeling that you might be able to, in spite of everything I could do to prevent it. You won't do it, because you wouldn't kill your own sister."
CHAPTER
Sixteen
  Tight-lipped and tense, he met her unfathomable, dark-eyed gaze without lowering the pistol. On his shoulder, Pip stirred uneasily, confused by the emotions she was intuiting within her companion.
  "You're crazy. Not just homicidal, but crazy. I can't kill my sister, because she's already dead. It happened years ago, after you fled Ulru-Ujurr. You knew her well. Her name was Teleen auz Rudenua-man." Memories came flooding back to him, unforced and unwanted. Of a confrontation on Ulru-Ujurr. Of revelations unsought. Of the memory of a terrible moment that could not be avoided. "Pip did it, defending me," he whispered. "She had no choice. Teleen would have killed me."
  "Ah yes, the world of oversized furry freaks. I remember it all too well. I didn't like the place, and I didn't like the inhabitants." She turned away from him, and he gripped the gun a little tighter. On his shoulder, Pip tensed. But Mahnahmi was only looking for a place to sit down.
  "You're so very much involved with yourself, Flinx. I sensed that years ago, and I see that it still dominates your life. Well, yours isn't the only reality demanding of attention. Try comprehending someone else's, for a few moments. Take a journey down a different avenue of life. Brother."
  "Stop calling me that," he commanded her irritably.
  She laughed. It was an uncommon laugh: inviting, musical, and yet foreboding. "Listen and I'll tell you a story, Flinx. Not quite a bedtime story; not really a daytime story, either. You were always so deeply interested in your history. Put yours on pause for a moment, and listen to mine.
  "I am wealthy. I actually control a number of companies, under various umbrella organizations. There is an intentional focus on biochemicals, gengineering, Pharmaceuticals, and related products. Larnaca Nutrition is the group whose resources I employ when I want to devote time to items of personal interest." The smile flattened slightly. "All tolerably innocuous, don't you think?"
  At the sound of discordant mutterings from behind him, Flinx turned to see the bound Qwarm struggling with her bonds. Confident that she was adequately secured, he returned his attention to Mahnahmi. "That's hard to believe."
  She pursed her lips. "Actually, I inherited quite a lot of it, so I had a firm financial base to build upon. As Conda Challis's 'adopted' daughter, I came into legal possession after his death." Unpleasantness danced in her eyes. "I'd been giving him advice and making many of his economic decisions for him for years without complaint. No one suspected that he was receiving monetary and commercial advice from a child. It's a sham that I continue to find useful. I have square-jawed, deep-chested, testosterone-saturated males 'running' many of my enterprises, alternating positions with piercing-eyed, svelte, cool-voiced women. Tools and division managers, all of them. They ultimately all report to me. Surreptitiously, so that the other great companies and trading houses never know where or how the really important decisions are being made. I've done well; well enough to allow me some leisure time to personally follow up on intermittent items of individual interest."
  "Like Pyrassis," he stated.
  "Yes, like Pyrassis."
  "Conda Challis had no other relatives, no other heirs but you?"
  "Oh, there were others." Now she was not smiling at all, and something considerably more sinister finessed her emotions. Flinx felt it as a suppurating malignancy, an utter absence of mitigating humanity. "All of them were eventually persuaded to drop their respective claims. Several received monetary recompense in return for abjuring any title to that miserable man's considerable holdings. Others had to be dealt with through legal channels. A couple," she added as impassively as if referencing the loss of a pair of earrings, "had to be morbidized." The smile returned, but this time there was no humor left in it whatsoever.
  "You were of unexpected assistance, it seems. It was later that I learned that Teleen Rudenuaman had met a most welcome end on Ulru-Ujurr, but my sources could not tell me exactly how. Thank you for filling in that subsidiary but interesting detail. With her removed, the path to complete control of Challis's businesses became considerably less bumpy."
  "That doesn't make you a relative of mine."
  "Don't think I enjoy acknowledging it, or that I'm proud to admit to it. I don't like you, Philip Lynx. I didn't like you from the instant I set eyes on you. You pose a danger, a threat, a risk to me. I don't tolerate that."
  "So much hatred." His voice was subdued, reassuring. "So much anger. It clings to you like a toxic cloud. If you're truly an
  Adept like me, then you should be able to sense that I mean you no harm, that I'm no danger to you."
  She looked at him and frowned. "I can't sense any such thing. It's true that we're both Adepts. But we're different, you and I. Similar and yet dissimilar." Her expression twisted into a sneer, and the bitterness that emanated from deep within her threatened to overwhelm him. "That's what happens when you're trying to develop and improve new kinds of 'tools,' isn't it? Too bad if the tools themselves, like you and I, aren't thrilled with the process. Nobody consults them, especially if it's all highly illegal. As was, and is, anything having to do with the work of the Meliorares."
  There it was, at last. She had been leading him toward it from the beginning. Now there was no longer any need to question his original suppositions. If she was to be believed, the young woman standing before him was, like himself, a product of prohibited human gengineering. A eugenics offshoot propounded by a disgraced and outlawed society whose hope of giving humankind an artificial boost up the ladder of evolution had been met with outrage, approbation, and brutal censure. Anything having to do with the Meliorares lay buried under heavy Church Edict. Perusal of the Society's surviving records was forbidden to the public. Only authorized and meticulously screened researchers could gain access to the remaining material.
  That was him, Flinx brooded. That was what he was—"remaining material." Nothing could change that fact. It was the same with Mahnahmi, if she was to be believed. Still, he reassured himself, that did not make this malformed, immoral, beautiful woman his sister. A distant genetic relation via an ongoing lab procedure perhaps, but not his sister. He said as much.
  Smirking gravely, she shook her head slowly as she continued to stare at him. "You're brilliant enough in your own way, Flinx. But you drift through life encumbered by a clear conscience. Pockets of ignorance cling to you like barnacles to a sea ship. I labor under no such restrictions. Allow me to enlighten you."
  Her intention raised no objection. Enlightenment was what he had spent his life seeking.
  "And keep a mental hand on that little winged demon of yours. I don't want it in my face just because I happen to show some hostility. As you may have noticed, that's something I do quite frequently."
  "So long as you don't threaten me directly. Pip won't attack."
  "I'll remember that. You remember Conda Challis?" Flinx thought back to his confrontations with the merchant in question. An unimpressive package of pulpy flesh and suspicion but possessing a sharp mind, Challis had been a successful merchant and trafficker in all manner of goods, both raw and manufactured. His hands were stained with conduct that skirted, and sometimes crept over, the line of law. An unpleasant, apprehensive, suspicious personality to whom Flinx would not have trusted the care of a potted plant.
  Now that, he mused, given the alienness of his present situation and the exoticism of his current surroundings, was an odd analogy to use. He had no time to ponder on it.
  "Yes, I remember him. And the business of the Janus jewels."
  "Forget the Janus jewels. What is important in all this are people, not petty objects." As she looked away from him he could see her reflecting, remembering a past around which her emotions boiled with agitation. "Some memories are hard to resurrect. Some chronicles are difficult to reconstitute. Having the resources of large commercial concerns at one's disposal is a considerable help, but it does not guarantee success." She turned back to him, and for a brief moment she projected a little less undiluted rage, a little less fury at a historical narrative over which she had never had any control, and in which she had merely been one of many participants. "Pay attention now, Flinx, because it's a little hard to follow, and a lot harder to understand.
  "The only emotions that deviant Conda Challis ever felt involved his own pleasure and preservation. To the best of my knowledge, he never married. That doesn't mean he lacked for female companionship. In addition to the usual sort of transient relationships, he bought and paid for a succession of mistresses. Objectively, I can understand why a woman might resort to such an occupation. Emotionally, I cannot." She made a gesture more difficult to interpret than those of the AAnn. "Maybe I'm not old enough. Intellect isn't everything.
  "One of the women he leased in this fashion was a beautiful but impoverished fem named Rud Anasage. Terranglo slang is a fluid, constantly shifting medium of expression." She was watching him carefully. "You know that one of the things people call such a woman is a 'lynx,' after a particularly wild and slinky Terran feline."
  "I know my mother's name," he informed her flatly. "I extracted it years ago from the main Denpasar archives."
  She nodded tolerantly. "How adept of you. Did you also extract the knowledge that this destitute woman Anasage brought two daughters from a previous marriage into the business relationship she struck with Challis?"
  "I know she gave birth to two children, but they were a boy and girl: Teleen and myself."
  "How the hell would you know who is whom? You don't even know the numbers!" Mahnahmi's violence was all the more threatening for being held under tight restraint. "She had three children altogether: you, Teleen, and myself. I knew of your existence because when I was small she sometimes spoke of a middle child, a son, who had been taken away from her before I was born."
  "That's quite a tale. You've built up an interesting mythology." He waited to hear what she had to say next.
  "All myths have a basis in fact, Flinx. My mother—Anasage— also had an elder sister, Rashalleila by name, who had become a successful merchantwoman on her own thanks to a start given her by Anasage's since-deceased ex-husband. It was the husband's death that led directly to Anasage's impoverishment. There had apparently never been any love lost between the two sisters, despite the help and assistance Anasage's husband had provided to the elder sister. That was one of the things that compelled Anasage to strike her bargain with Conda Challis.
  "Following Anasage's death, this Rashalleila was contacted. She was, after all, the only traceable next-of-kin. It amused Rashalleila to take charge of and assume partial responsibility for Anasage's eldest, the girl Teleen. Not only didn't Challis object to this arrangement, he was delighted with it. He had no use for the older girl." Once more a slightly deranged smirk consumed Mahnahmi's expression. "As you know from having met her, while not unattractive, Teleen was not exactly a fount of sensuousness, and Challis did have his pervert's standards.
  "Teleen adopted a redaction of her aunt's name and threw herself into learning everything she could about her new guardian's various business enterprises. She was very good at it—though not quite good enough. Ultimately, all her accumulated knowledge and experience couldn't save her from the one thing she could never have expected to have to confront. You—her half-brother."
  Flinx considered carefully before replying, simultaneously storing information while seeking the flaws in her assertions. "So if what you're telling me has any basis in fact, then we three were all related. If that's the case, how come I never detected anything out of the ordinary about Teleen?"
  "Because her genesis had nothing to do with the work of the Meliorare Society. Her father was Anasage's first husband, the one who died young and left his wife insolvent. Our elder half-sibling was the obnoxious product of a natural union. Unlike you and me," she concluded relentlessly. "How do you think Anasage, our mother, survived after her husband died and left her with massive debts and no credit?" When Flinx could offer no reply, the fair, feral girl explained triumphantly.
  "She went to work for the Meliorares! Since her jealous, hateful older sister Rashalleila refused to help her, she had few choices. Plus, she was angry. We can only theorize about the nature of her work with the Meliorares—and the options on offer aren't pleasant."
  Horrified realization crept into Flinx's mind like invading parasites. "Then… the second child who was mentioned in the records I accessed years ago wasn't Teleen. It was… you."
  The lissome girl-woman favored him with an ironic bow. "At your service. Brother."
  He gestured with the pistol. "Proof. I need more proof than your words."
  "You're an Adept, Flinx. I'm an Adept. You're special; I'm special. Tell me—how many 'special' others have you encountered in your searchings?"
  "That's not enough. Congruity of aptitude doesn't establish an incontestable blood relationship."
  With a sigh and a roll of her eyes upward, she proceeded to recite additional details of her personal history. "Lynx, Mahna… true name… born 539 A.A., 2939 Old Calendar in the suburb of Sar-nath. Greater Urban Allahabad, India Province, Terra. Notes Additional: Mother aged 28… Name: Anasage… Grandparents: unknown." Pausing, she eyed him intently. "There's more. Want to hear it?"
  When he nodded slowly, she proceeded to repeat back to him the same information he had garnered years earlier from the files at Science Central, in distant Denpasar. "Infant normal—high R-wave readings—mother normal," and so on. Only, he knew that the infant did not turn out to be normal.
  "I can see what you're thinking—and without employing any 'talent,' " she told him. "The Meliorares disguised their activities very thoroughly. Do you really think they would have allowed one of their 'experiments' to be accurately monitored by an independent, outside pediatrics authority? At the same time, they saw to it that you, and I, and others, were given a veneer of respectability."
  "Our father. What about our father?"
  "What?" Annoyed, she strained to hear him.
  He hadn't realized he had lowered his voice. More forcefully he repeated, "Our father. Anasage's name was given. I couldn't find out anything about the father—although I have some ideas."
  She responded with a snort of disgust. "You mean the sperm donor?" Seeing him wrought with tension, she grinned. "Well now. Brother. Maybe I have some ideas myself—and maybe I don't. It's a complex matter, this business of a ceremonial sire. Maybe I know something—and maybe I don't. If you kill me, you'll never find out."
  "You're the one who keeps speaking of killing—not me." He peered deep into her eyes, trying to fathom the fury that emanated so palpably from the mind beyond. "All right. For the moment—just for the moment, mind—I accept that you may be another sister of mine. But in the absence of the recognized commonality of a correlative father, only a half-sister, like Teleen. Whether you're my full sister is still open to question. A few simple biological tests ought to answer that question."
  "You think so?" she challenged him. "You really don't know very much about the Meliorares, do you?"
  "As much as you or anyone else," he bluffed. "At least now I understand the antipathy you and Teleen showed for one another."
  "Just because she was a selfish, uncaring bitch who didn't give a damn what happened to me, why would you think I showed any antipathy toward her?"
  "If you're so much like me, what am I feeling right now?" he queried her.
  "I don't need Meliorare gengineered abilities to tell me that. Brother dear. I can see it in your face, read it in your posture. And I don't need a mental 'lens' in the form of an Alaspinian minidrag to focus or amplify what abilities I do have."
  He could not, did not try to hide his shock. "How did you know about that?" At the stir of emotion, Pip had stirred slightly on his shoulder.
  "As I said, my abilities are different from yours. Stronger in some ways, in others weaker. Different. Isn't that a consequence typical of distinct experiments? With you, the Meliorares achieved one kind of result. With me, another. From what I have been able to discover, from the records that have been sealed and not destroyed, I get the impression our makers were not especially pleased and more than a little confused by both of us. Of course, we'll never really know what they had in mind, what particular paradigms you and 1 were supposed to fill." Her laughter was tinged with just a hint of hysteria.
  "The experimenters are all gone—dead or selectively mind-wiped. Only a couple of the ongoing experiments remain." The smile vanished. "Even though I've done my best to terminate one of them."
  He ignored the self-evident. She wasn't the first one who had tried to have him killed. "You knew our mother. I did not. What was Anasage like?" Did he really want to know? He found himself wondering even as he asked the question. What if the poor, dead woman turned out to be a disappointment, or worse? "I was sold on Moth, a hinterland world far from Earth. How did she lose custody of me?"
  "I don't know anything about any of that." Mahnahmi's certitude was crushing. "The first I knew of you beyond vague mentions by her was when you showed up that day to speak to Conda Challis. If you recall, I was more than a little shocked. As for Anasage— The young woman hesitated before resuming her reply in an entirely different tone of voice. "—I remember a strong, beautiful, intelligent, but deeply disturbed woman—with red hair, interestingly. You got her hair; I got everything else on that side of the genetic pool. She was caring—when she had the time. She was maternal enough— when she wasn't busy with something else. Insofar as I could tell, given my age, her relationship with Challis was strictly business. She had no feelings of warmth or affection for him whatsoever. To this day I don't know if that made me hate her more or less." She blinked, as if dragging herself back to the present. "She perished of a disease of many syllables. It was mercifully quick."
  "Did she ever mention anything about your father—my father?"
  Turning her exquisite profile to him, Mahnahmi deposited a gob of sputum on the floor. "Your father, my father, was an injection in a Meliorare laboratory. It's hard to develop feelings for tubes of glass and composite. Anasage never said anything about a biological begetter."
  Another dead end. Flinx lurched onward. "Why did Conda Challis continue to look after you and not Teleen when Anasage died?"
  "I don't know where you've been or what you've seen since the last time I tried to have you killed, Flinx, but despite your obvious intelligence it's clear that certain areas of your education have been neglected. I was a lot younger and a lot prettier than Teleen.
  Challis… Conda Challis was a bipedal life-form raised up from primordial slime, with habits and vices to match his internal, intestinal, mental, and moral composition. He truly liked children. Brother dear. He especially liked little girls. And I… I had the ill luck to be his very favorite."
  Rage poured out of her in a flood of ravaged emotion, an endless river of empathetic bruises. For the first time, Flinx understood a little of what prompted her to seethe at the entire universe. Years ago, he had not been experienced enough or knowledgeable enough to suspect the depths of Challis's depravity. Foulness that he was, the merchant was abusing the daughter of his own mistress while simultaneously claiming the child as his adopted own. Mahnahmi's developing years must have been a continuous and incomprehensible hell. At the same time, she had to look on while her older half-sister Teleen was taken in hand, taught, and patronized by their aunt Rashalleila.
  "I'm sorry," was all he could think of to say. On his shoulder, Pip stirred.
  "What for? You had nothing to do with it. Consider yourself fortunate. Challis liked little boys, too."
  "I didn't exactly have an easy childhood myself." He proceeded to fill her in on selected fragments of his own personal history.
  She responded to his revelations with a derisive laugh. "You had freedom, of a kind, and an adoptive parent who cared about you. While my innocence and my childhood were being treated like toilet paper, you were having adventures and exploring the worlds of the Arm." Her voice fell even as the intensity of her anger multiplied. "Don't speak to me of sufferings no greater than childish ineptitude. I could tell you stories that would knot your guts like a wet rag."
  "Well then, at least I can say that I'm sorry I was forced, that day on Ulru-Ujurr, to watch Pip kill our half-sister."
  "Teleen?" The young woman chuckled amusedly. "I was delighted to learn, when I once again reached civilization, of your unintended efforts on my behalf. Her death removed one more potential claimant to the patrimony of Challis's business interests."
  He found he could not help himself. "You are one cold, calculating little bitch, aren't you. Sister!"
  Again the mock bow put in an appearance. "I am immune to compliments, but coming from you, I appreciate the gravity of the specific designation." As she straightened, her gaze once more rose to meet his. "So—what are you going to do now?"
  "Why are you so intent on seeing me dead?"
  "Because as long as you're alive there's someone who can identify me as an Adept. Someone who can sense my moods, my emotions, and if they so desire, interfere with my intentions. Not to mention someone who could expose me to the authorities. I don't like sharing the spotlight, Flinx, even if we two constitute both the audience and the act. Your presence concerns me; your talent worries me. I would be more comfortable with you out of the way."
  It was his turn to wax sardonic. "I'm sorry that my continued existence inconveniences you so."
  "That's all right. It won't be forever. Are you going to try and kill me now? I'm still not entirely sure that you can." Hands on hips, she studied him out of bottomless black eyes, her voice a sinister purr. "You're not the only innocent zygote the accursed Meliorares imbued with curious talents, you know."
  It was a direct challenge. Pip sensed it too. She rose from her resting position, wings outspread, eyes flashing, ready to strike. Flinx calmed her with commands as well as feelings.
  "I don't want to fight you, Mahnahmi. I didn't come here for that. In case you haven't guessed by now, I came for the personal sybfile that was removed from Earth. You took it, didn't you?"
  "Yes. Given its sensitive designation, it was safer to leave the original behind. Properly secured, of course. Like you, I have been researching my past—though not with such obsessive dedication. I found out about the work of the Meliorare Society and wanted to know more. My investigations told me nothing about a possible biological father. As I insinuated earlier, I'm not sure there ever was one."
  "When I was on Earth recently and tried to access the original syb, it struck back at me."
  Mahnahmi did not look surprised. "Information bomb. Once I had accessed, studied, and copied the syb, I thought it best to keep anyone in authority from tracking my work. None of that discouraged you, but then, you would have more reason than most to be persistent in trying to trace it. No one shadowed your progress and followed you here, I presume?"
  "To an obscure AAnn world lying deep within Empire boundaries? Even if it was physically possible, why would anyone want to?"
  "You underestimate our eminence, Brother dear. We may be the last surviving unreconstructed examples of the Meliorares' work. It would be worth a major promotion to the representative of any Commonwealth authority who brought us in, whether kicking and screaming or stiff and silent."
  "They've closed the book on the Meliorare Society."
  "You think so? Then for all your travels and experiences, you're still deathly naive, Brother mine."
  He did not argue with her, did not debate the assertion. Though he felt otherwise, he could not be certain which of them was right. Commonwealth peaceforcers could be unnervingly persistent, and who knew what probes the United Church had placed on the work of the Meliorares? It distressed him to think he might still be an unofficial fugitive, with selective mindwipe awaiting him should he ever be confronted and identified by questioning authorities.
  "There's one thing I still don't understand."
  She shrugged diffidently. "If you're not going to kill me, then we have plenty of time to chat. What are you going to do with me?"
  "I haven't decided yet." That was truthful enough he decided, as he spared another glance for the bound Qwarm. "There's something that's puzzled me ever since I located the sybfile in the bowels of Larnaca Nutrition storage and traced it to your ship." He watched her carefully, preparing to judge her response, trying to read her feelings even before she replied. "I've looked and looked, but try as I might I can't find any link between Pyrassis and the workings of the Meliorare Society."
  As near as he could tell, both from her visible and emotional reactions, she was genuinely puzzled. "A link between Pyrassis and the Meliorares? It's not surprising you couldn't find one. There is no such link: no connection, not a damn thing."
  If she was lying, he decided, it was with such skill that he was unable to detect it. "If that's so, then why did you go to the trouble of bringing the original syb containing the proscribed Meliorare data with you? If this dangerous journey into AAnn territory has nothing to do with the Meliorare Society and its work, then what are you doing here?"
  She had laughed at him earlier, but those outbursts were nothing like the one that ensued now. She laughed until she cried, bitter tears mixed with genuine amusement. "You stupid boy! You really don't have a clue as to what I'm doing here, do you?"
  He bridled but kept a rein on his temper. "Oh, I have a clue, all right." With a gesture he took in their highly advanced alien surroundings. "I just can't figure out how it ties in to the work of the Meliorares."
  Her voice rose, echoing through the endless corridors. "That's because it doesn't have anything to do with the Meliorares, you empathic idiot!" Again her laughter rattled down through the vast empty spaces. "When you forced your way into the syb on Earth, it responded the same way it would to any unauthorized intruder. As for me keeping the data with me, whenever I travel off-world I always take a full complement of sensitive personal information along. Not because I think I'm necessarily going to need it, but because it's too valuable and too dangerous not to keep close at hand." Wiping her eyes with the back of her left wrist, she eyed him ruefully.
  "You, of all people, should know that Church and Commonwealth are implacable when it comes to such matters. Not being able to risk the loss or discovery of such critical material pertaining to my history, I long ago took steps to make sure I would always have access to a copy, while at the same time ensuring that the original remaining on Earth was appropriately safeguarded. I wasn't taking along information having to do with you so much as I was protecting information dealing with me. The syb you're so desperate to see is safely locked up in my private annex on board the Crotase."
  "Personal recorder DNP-466EX," he murmured.
  "Armed and locked." Her expression contorted. "Unfortunately, what applies to one of us is inevitably applicable to the other. Don't flatter yourself that it's otherwise."
  "All right." For the moment, he had decided to accept her explanation. "Then if it has nothing to do with the Meliorares, what are you doing here? Did you come in hopes of finding just the transmitter?"
  Her countenance changed so quickly and she looked at him so sharply that he was momentarily taken aback. "So you know about that, too."
  "It's pretty hard to miss a transmitter two thousand square kilometers in extent. Especially if you're standing right on top of it when it decides to transmit. It was no more than two or three days'
  hike from where you were camped. While I was there, it sent out a single signal. Very fleeting, very intense. I had neither the time nor the facilities to try and analyze it." He nodded at their softly humming surroundings. "But it was traced to this place."
  "My people also caught it. As you say, it's hard to miss when you're camped on top of it." She nodded knowingly. "So you were that close to our camp? We couldn't linger long enough to run the kind of detailed analysis I wanted. There were indications of possible AAnn military activity in our general vicinity, and we had to leave faster than I would have liked. Like you, all we could do was trace and track the signal." She took a deep breath. "As to the rest of it, your supposition is partly correct: I came here looking for the transmitter. This artifact is the real bonus." She proceeded to concede the additional explanation he desired.
  "Larnaca Nutrition does produce and market vitamin and other health supplements, and very profitably, too. But it's primarily a cover for far less traditional study, besides being my personal research arm. Like any influential commercial trading house or corporation, it's always on the lookout to purchase potentially lucrative scientific information. The hope is to acquire such knowledge before Commonwealth or Church scientists can get to it and do something asinine, like declare it freely available for the public good."
  "Your company was engaged in unsanctioned xenology," he alleged.
  She smiled thinly. "I prefer to think of it as extending the boundaries of human knowledge without wasting taxpayer credits. One of the company's agents procured some obscure intelligence about a diplomatically inaccessible, godforsaken desert orb the AAnn called Pyrassis. Buried among the stock generalities was a lot of rumor and very little fact. What there was of the latter was… intriguing. So was the challenge that investigating it further presented. It has nothing to do with the Meliorares, may every one of their misbegotten souls rot in an appropriate hell, and everything to do with making money. Beyond their historical value, which to institutes of higher learning, museums, and the like is considerable, ancient alien artifacts are often filled with exploitable curios." She indicated their surroundings.
  "One this size is of incalculable commercial value. My people have been working on the Pyrassis project for over a year now, a project that they've had to keep secret from the authorities and our industrial competitors as well as the AAnn. Everything was going as well or better than anticipated. Then you show up. Of all people. You had to go pushing and shoving your trespassing way into a private, fortified storage facility and set off its security. That would have been bad enough, but no—you had to trace it to me. You've ruined everything." Frustration and anger spilled out of her in equal measure.
  "1 knew if Challis didn't dispose of you that day years ago that sooner or later you were going to cause me grief. Even so, I had managed to forget about you. What a fine forced recalling you've contrived!"
  "If you'd stop trying to kill me," he informed her calmly, "you might find that we have things to talk about. To my knowledge, no one else who hasn't been mindwiped shares what you and I have in common."
  "I don't want to have anything in common with you, Philip Lynx! I don't want to share anything with you. I don't want to have things to talk about. I want you to die!"
  He felt for her. "You're expressing your hate for yourself, Mahnahmi. For what the Meliorares and Conda Challis made of you."
  "Oh, now you're a therapist. I suppose that's a profession that would fit you, given your own peculiar abilities. Know that my thoughts, my mind, are not fodder for your infantile speculations, Flinx. I may be younger than you in years, but in other ways, I'm more mature, more developed."
  "Yes, I can see that by how wisely and maturely you're acting." He gestured with the pistol. Behind him, the Qwarm Briony was starting to moan. "What is this place? Is it exactly what you were looking for? Besides the transmitter, I mean."
  "We didn't know what we were looking for. There were no specifics. Only that there might be something in this system that was alien, and old. We thought that if we were going to find anything, it would be on Pyrassis. Instead, it's out here orbiting the outermost planet in the system, hiding close to a methane dwarf. Thoroughly cloaked against detection, too. If not for the signal that was sent out, that came from an alien transmitter, we never would have found it. Once we traced the signal's target, the rest was easy." She nodded at him. "As it obviously was for you, too. Where's the rest of your crew? On your ship?"
  "Yes," he admitted readily. "On my ship." He did not add that it consisted entirely of mechanicals and a few recently acquired decorative plants.
  "Liar." Her smile transmuted into a smirk. "I told you that in some ways I was more mature than you. My abilities are also erratic, but when they're functioning, like they are now, they speak to me of things you can't even dream about." Her tone turned momentarily wistful. "Sometimes I wish I couldn't dream. Mine usually are not very pleasant, and a lot of the time I wake up screaming. Conda Challis, and other… things." She sniffed derisively. "I can sense people coming toward us even as you try to convince me they're all back on your ship. I didn't notice you signal out. What did you do-make prearrangements for them to come looking for you if you didn't report back in by a certain time?"
  Bewildered, Flinx tried to make sense of what she was saying. He fought to concentrate, struggled to detect whatever it was that had sparked her imputation. Crew? His crew could not be coming after him because there wasn't any beyond AIs and vegetable matter. He didn't think the latter could pilot a shuttlecraft. Even if existence had turned upside down and the flora decorating the Teacher suddenly acquired that ability, he doubted their fragile roots would allow them to march rapidly into the depths of the artifact.
  Then something tickled that portion of his gengineered mind that was home to his unnamed, impenetrable talent, and he knew what she was talking about. She was not quite as adept, not quite as developed, as she would have led him to believe.
  "You're right," he acknowledged. "There are people coming this way."
  She was nodding knowingly to herself. "You see, Flinx. You can't delude your own sister. What you feel, I feel. What you sense, I sense."
  "Not exactly," he murmured, even as he worked to isolate each approaching individual with an eye toward estimating their numbers. "There are people coming this way—but they aren't human."
CHAPTER
Seventeen
  The Imperial Pyrassisian task force closed on the moon of the tenth planet swiftly and without giving the limited-range sensors on board the Crotase adequate time to react. The fact that the Imperial Pyrassisian task force consisted of a single vessel, the Sstakoun, did not make its surprise or conquest any less complete. Though modest of dimension and slight of armament, the Sstakoun was a warship. However well-equipped she was for her class, the Crotase, registered to the company yclept Larnaca Nutrition, was not. As soon as the AAnn vessel was recognized, those on board the Commonwealth craft prepared to shift her outsystem the minimal number of planetary diameters necessary to safely activate her KK-drive.
  These preparations were detected and reported to the captain of the Sstakoun, who promptly brought it to the attention of her operations superior Voocim, who immediately ordered that the Commonwealth vessel be disabled. Accordingly, a single small device was fired that in less than a minute did minimal damage to the other vessel's
  RFC-drive projection dish. Minimal damage was enough. Unable to generate the mathematically perfect pattern of a posigravity field, the Crotase was now unable to flee through anything other than space-normal. It could still escape the Pyrassisian system, however. At the speed of which it was now capable, in a few hundred years or so it might reach the nearest Commonwealth world. As this option was unanimously found by those on board to be singularly unattractive, they straightaway surrendered their vessel to the AAnn.
  Having effortlessly incapacitated one intruder, the Sstakoun might well have done the same to the second ship in the vicinity—if not for the fact that the Teacher drifted unseen and undetected behind its highly advanced military masking screens. Nor was there any reason for those aboard the Sstakoun to suspect, much less infer, the presence of a second Commonwealth vessel. In the absence of further instructions from its master, the Teacher maintained power to its sophisticated deflectors, kept its silence, ignored the drama being played out nearby, and held its position just outside the roiling brown atmosphere of the alien satellite-artifact.
  Had they initiated a more thorough scan of the immediate spatial vicinity, the AAnn might have detected the slight gravitational anomaly that ordinarily gave away the presence of a shrouded vessel, but they were too busy dealing with the one intruder that had not been able to conceal itself.
  Captain Tradssij was speculating. "To intrude on Imperial sspace thesse particular humanss musst be either very confident or very foolissh. I would not think them foolissh."
  The commander gestured second-degree astonishment mixed with third-degree outrage. "What are they doing here? Can they have come ssolely in hopess of discovering thiss extraordinary artifact?"
  All eyes turned to the heretofore silent elder couple crouched at the far end of the sandy-floored conferencing chamber. Tenukac LLBYYLL kicked free of the sterile, lightly scented, buff-toned granules on which he had been resting.
  "My mate and I cannot sspeak to the military importance of the Pyrassisian ssysstem." Among the assembly, an officer or two guffawed, their soft hisses of amusement drawing the obligatory glares of disapproval from Voocim and Tradssij. "Nssussa, we are convinced that world iss not ssignificant enough to tempt humanss into transsgressing Imperial sspace." Several emphatic gestures of affirmation punctuated the xenologist's pithy observation.
  "Converssely, thiss artifact, which iss of colossal dimenssionss and unknown origin, holdss the promisse of disscoveriess of ssufficient importance to entice the bold and the daring. Humanss too are known to possess such qualitiess, though they are ussually utilized in the sservice of base aimss. My mate and I are convinced that even as we sspeak to the matter, a team or two of individuals from the Commonwealth vessel are pressently engaged in exploration of the artifact'ss interior."
  Voocim indicated understanding. "That iss my feeling alsso. However, now that we have dissabled their sship, we can deal with matterss of exploration and adminisstration at our leissure." She swung a dancing hand Dysseen's way. "Iss the boarding party assembled?" When the officer indicated in the affirmative, the commander rose. Warm particles trickled from her tail where it emerged from the soothing sand, as it did those of her staff.
  "We will have the ansswerss to our quesstionss very ssoon. Thiss iss a great day for the Empire!" A loud, ascending hiss filled the room as the other officers joined her in saluting their achievement. At one swoop they had captured an intruding, spying vessel and made a scientific discovery of potentially enormous importance— and profit.
  The two senior scientists would receive their due, of course, but no one doubted that every officer, subofficer, and general crew member would share in the approbation that was to come. Ancestors would be almighty honored, chapters of family would be elated, and the Commonwealth would be, at the very least, embarrassed. There was little more to do save assume formal possession of the challenged vessel and take into custody any humanx exploration party currently roaming the artifact.
  The human crew of the Crotase was a surly lot. Voocim was not surprised: Anticipating discovery and jubilation, they now found themselves prisoners of the AAnn. Sidearms were collected, the ship's navigation-and-guidance system was secured, and individuals were assembled in the dining area under the watchful eye of armed troopers. Slitted eyes met round ones, and no love passed between them.
  The intruders would have to face interrogation, but not here. Ample time for that back on Pyrassis, as official word of the unprecedented seizure was passed along to Sectorcav. Until then, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Voocim confronted the double line of disconsolate mammals, cleared her throat with an appropriate hiss, and ventured to test her somewhat rusty knowledge of Terranglo.
  "I am Voocim DDHJ, commander of His Imperial Majessty's garrisson on Pyrassis. As ssuch, I am ressponssible for the ssecurity of thiss entire ssysstem, whosse integrity you have blatantly violated. Unless thiss is a remarkably undersstaffed craft, I surmisse that a number of your colleaguess are at pressent engaged in invesstigating the alien artifact that Hess here with uss tail to tooth. We are quite familiar with crewing detailss for all the sstandard classess of Commonwealth vesselss, sso pleasse do not inssult my intelligence by claiming that all of you are pressently here aboard." She scanned the distastefully flexible faces that struggled to avoid hers.
  "Who iss the ssenior officer, official, or dessignated repressentative extant, pleasse?"
  A human of average size and pallid skin stepped forward. At least, Voocim reflected as she made an effort to control her insides at the proximity of the creature, the typical ruff of fur was absent from its skull, giving that exposed portion of its anatomy a more tolerable and almost AAnn-like appearance.
  "I'm Mikola Bucevit. I'm in charge until the ship's owner returns."
  Ah, so the owner was part of the crew! Voocim was delighted at the implied opportunity for ransom. Such undiplomatic maneuvers would not be officially countenanced by the Imperial government, of course, but upon payment of suitable fees to appropriate cadres, they would not be countermanded, either. Events continued to unfold in an auspicious manner. Silently, she made obeisance to a benign fate.
  "As you musst ssurmisse, we musst ssecure the remainder of your crew. No one will be harmed, and you will all be treated in accordance with the relevant Imperial protocolss dealing with the treatment of unauthorized intruderss. Eventually, if you cooperate, you sshould all be ssuccessfully repatriated to your resspective worldss." She started to gesture collaterally, then remembered that humans only rarely used their limbs in conversation. "Firsst, you will provide uss with the coordinatess utilized by your colleaguess to enter the artifact."
  "Why don't you figure 'em out yourself, snake-eyes?" The angry member of the engineering staff who had spoken shuffled his feet while hovering behind Bucevit.
  Voocim rendered a nonchalant gesture. A trooper took a step forward, raised his weapon, and fired once. The few subsequent angry mutterings that rose from the pod of captured humans faded rapidly. Voocim let the ensuing silence linger for a symbolic moment longer.
  "Anyone elsse care to put forth ssimilarly disscourteouss ssuggesstionss? I attend with ssecond-degree avidity. No? Then, rasshisst, perhapss we can proceed in a civilized and orthodox manner."
  The necessary coordinates acquired, Voocim took personal charge of the landing party. Dysseen remained on the human vessel to see to the preliminary debriefing of its remnant crew and to the changeover of its AI systems so that they would respond to A Ann control. Captain Tradssij returned to the Sstakoun.
  With her, Voocim had two dozen heavily armed and fully equipped troopers under the supervision of Officer Yilhazz, a no-nonsense field officer. In addition, a pair of appropriately equipped techs drawn from the Sstakoun's engineering team had been assigned to assist the two xenologists in documenting the initial exploration and evaluation of the artifact.
  It was thus a well-prepared party that soon thereafter stepped out of their shuttlecraft into the artifact's lock. Marching past the silent, empty human shuttle, they were, like their predecessors, automatically and successfully cycled through by its ancient yet receptive instrumentation. A few moments later every member of the expedition was breathing the atmosphere of ancient corridors. At the first intersection, Voocim called a halt. The AAnn waited while their techs labored to divine the right path to follow.
  Meanwhile, the xenologists hardly knew which way to turn. Everywhere they looked, there was something new, different, and of potentially startling import. The commander noted their antics with detached amusement. The elderly couple was going to be famous in domains of expertise that were closed to her. That did not mean she was uninterested in their work. The more she learned about this unprecedented discovery, the more knowledgeable a demeanor she could present when the matter was raised for discussion. Among those affianced to her own specialty, this would enhance her opportunities for advancement. Promotion to baron, she mused, and inevitably to lord would follow. Eventually, she envisioned herself becoming a participant in and an advisor to the Imperial Court itself. That which had for most of her life seemed beyond reach was now abruptly, providentially, at hand. All she had to do was let the scientists carry out their work and not interfere with that which had already been accomplished.
  Had she known how few humans remained within the artifact, her spirits would have soared even higher.
  The intruders could not escape, she knew. There was only one way out, via the shuttlecraft docked in the lock. Even so, she was taking no chances. As soon as the last of the troopers had disembarked and was safely inside the body of the artifact, the Sstakoun's shuttle fired its engines to position itself directly alongside the Commonwealth craft. Thus, even if the humans who remained on the alien relic somehow succeeded in escaping, avoiding, or overpowering the AAnn who were about to go in after them, there was no way they could get back to their own starship. If they attempted to re-board the shuttle they had left behind, those on board the Sstakoun's landing vessel waited to confront them with heavy weapons.
  Furthermore, two armed techs from the Sstakoun's crew were now on board the empty Commonwealth vessel. If any human renegades somehow succeeded in shooting or sneaking their way back onto their shuttle, they would find boarding an impossibility. The soft-skinned fugitives were trapped; albeit for an indeterminate time, but trapped they were.
  The unpretentious, one-person transport vehicle tucked off in a far corner of the lock had been well hidden by its single passenger. Even if the insignificant, limited-range craft had been noticed, it would hardly have registered on the commander's consciousness. She was looking to detail a group, not an individual.
  It took longer than Voocim would have liked, but the techs finally ferreted out the location of humaniform life-forms deeper within the artifact. She was surprised and pleased to see that their quarry had not penetrated nearly as far into the mammoth relic as she had feared. Either the humans had been remiss in their exploration or were simply making a thorough job of it. The newly arrived AAnn would be able to catch up to them sooner than anticipated. She was so pleased she could hardly contain herself. Only the energetic reflex movements of her tail made public her gratification. With the two techs in the lead and the senior scientists chafing at the enforced deferment of real work, the party started into the interior of the artifact.
  "What do you mean, 'they aren't human'?" Mahnahmi regarded her brother, her adversary, with a wary eye.
  "You're able to feel their approach, but you're not as sensitive as I am. They're definitely alien, most probably AAnn, and from the tenor of their emotions I sense that they're on the hunt—for us, I would imagine." Flinx glanced back the way he had come. Pip's head was up, and the flying snake, empathizing wordlessly with her companion, was now on full alert.
  Mahnahmi did not need time to reflect on the import of her sibling's assessment. "If there are AAnn inside the artifact and they're coming toward us, then leaving is going to be bothersome. My guess would be that they're tracking us with the aid of standard life-form sensors." As Flinx nodded in agreement, she pulled a small communicator from her duty belt. "Then using this won't make us any worse off." She made no attempt to conceal her conversation from him.
  "Bucevit, this is Owner speaking. Report your status. No nuances, please. I have some idea of what is going on."
  The reply was delayed, and the signal itself weak from having to penetrate layers of alien fabrication. "Owner, this is Mikola. We have been taken into custody by AAnn troops based on and originating from Pyrassis." There was a pause during which Flinx could hear unctuous AAnn syllables in the background. "The Crotase is under control of the Imperial warship Sstakoun and is in the process of being reprogrammed to reflect her status as a captured vessel. We are accused of… There is a long list of infractions. I am informed that the shuttle that was used to convey you and the rest of the landing party to the artifact has already been seized and is presently occupied by their soldiers and technicians. An armed AAnn shuttle sits next to it in the artifact's lock."
  Mahnahmi absorbed all this without a flicker of emotion crossing her face. "I see. And your personal situation, Mikola Bucevit?"
  "I am well, save for the large hand weapon whose muzzle is presently resting against the back of my neck."
  "Understood."
  More distant AAnn conversation could be heard before the Crotase's captain spoke again. "You are ordered to return to the lock forthwith and surrender yourself and the rest of our people to the soldiers now stationed there. If you do this, it is promised that your interrogation will proceed without incident. If you do not, the AAnn officer here says that he cannot give any assurances. They are impatient to conclude what they consider to be a meaningful policing matter."
  "So they can take complete control of the artifact. Yes, I'm sure they're very impatient. Inform the senior AAnn officer present that I will consider his requests."
  "They are not requests." The captain's voice rose slightly. "Honored Officer Dysseen declares that if you do not immediately…"
  Mahnahmi switched off the communicator and reattached it to her belt. "Time to get moving. But first you need to help me with Briony." She started toward the still-bound assassin.
  "Why?" Flinx didn't move. "So she can do now what she failed to do before?"
  His sister eyed him sarcastically. "After what you did to her I think she'd hesitate before trying anything like that again. We need to free her so she can help us deal with our pursuers. If we can make it back to the lock without being cut off, we might at least have the opportunity to do something."
  "Do what?" he challenged her. "You heard what your captain said. The AAnn have taken control of your shuttle, posted soldiers on board, have an armed vessel of their own standing ready in the lock, and have seized your ship."
  She retorted as she knelt to free the Qwarm from her bonds. "Quite true. There remains unaddressed, however, the question of how you got here. Or in addition to everything else do you also have the ability to teleport yourself through open space?"
  To his own surprise, he found himself hesitating briefly before replying. "Only in my dreams."
  Briony's hands were free. Sitting up, she immediately set about helping her employer liberate her bound legs. "I sometimes have elaborate dreams. You wouldn't like them. Like I already said, I don't much like them myself." Rising and stepping back, Mahnahmi watched while the tall, black-clad woman used her long, dexterous fingers to massage sensation back into her cramped arms and calves.
  The angelic adolescent met the mature woman's gaze. "I have to get back to the lock. AAnn soldiers will be trying to cut us off and capture us."
  "I heard. I know what needs to be done." The woman's voice was devoid of inflection. "From which direction are they approaching?"
  Mahnahmi pointed. "Now wait a minute," Flinx began. He had no love for the assassin, or for her employer, but the unspoken implications passing between them amounted to a vow of suicide on the part of the former. He said as much. His words did not give the taller woman pause. Before he could finish enumerating his points, she had vanished into the depths of the upper corridor.
  "She hasn't got a chance," he murmured. "They'll kill her."
  "Of course they will." The blonde's lithe loveliness did nothing to mute the chill in her voice. "She will die a true Qwarm, defending her employer. It is how they would all seek to die. All the better for us, hmm?" With that she headed off to their right. "There are at least two other corridors over this way that might lead us back to the lock while enabling us to avoid this annoying dilemma."
  He would have argued further, but the Qwarm was out of sight and out of earshot, and he could feel the AAnn drawing steadily closer. Uncomfortable at the turn of events but unable to reverse them, he followed in his sister's wake.
  "They were here, honored sir." The tech reading one of the life-form sensors was transiting the compact device slowly back and forth. "They're sstill moving, but in an oppossite direction." She looked up from the instrument. "I ssurmisse that ssome of them are trying to circle around behind uss in an attempt to reach the lock without interference, while one or more remain in the immediate vicinity in an attempt to engage our attention."
  "Dssasst—it is what I would do." Voocim was not surprised. If the humans they were tracking were half-witted, they would never have made it this far into Imperial space. Pulling her communicator, she advised those on board the Sstakoun's waiting shuttlecraft as well as those currently stationed on board the human's shuttle to be alert in case their quarry should succeed in their attempt. She did not think the warning necessary, but she was nothing if not thorough. They would run these humans to ground long before they could reach the lock.
  That is what she believed, anyway, until the smaller signal they were closing on dropped from its place of concealment high up in the ceiling to land in the midst of the pursuit team, firing methodically as it fell. In the controlled chaos that ensued, two of Voocim's party perished in a flurry of destruction and one was badly wounded before the single human could be slain.
  Breathing hard, Voocim knelt on powerful hind legs to examine one of several severed and badly damaged alien body parts. "Female. A very motile sspecimen." She added a gesture indicative of second-degree animosity underscored by third-level admiration. "Where iss the head?"
  "Over here, Commander!" another trooper shouted.
  Voocim took a moment to examine the skull, but it yielded no clues as to the nature or determination of their quarry. Hopefully, the remaining humans would not prove to be as dangerous. Leaving the bodies of the dead troopers to be recovered later, she ordered her party to accelerate the pursuit. Next time, they would be the ones to shoot first.
  Briony's death having bought them precious minutes, Flinx and Mahnahmi succeeded in reaching the lock without incident.
  "They're coming faster." Flinx stood concentrating, eyes half closed. "We've got five, maybe ten minutes before they arrive."
  "I know that!" Perspiration plastered strands of his sibling's long golden hair to her neck and shoulders. "You're not the only one who can monitor the emotions of others." Crouching low behind a perfectly matched series of dully gleaming alien cylinders, she contemplated the spacious sweep of the air lock. Stars glittered invitingly beyond the transparent barrier. Parked side by side were the shuttle from the AAnn warship and the one from the Crotase. The armed reptilian figure standing in the open serviceway of the Crotase's shuttle flourished a slender, deadly rifle and an actively twitching tail.
  "Our options are restricted." She eyed him expectantly. "Where is your ship?"
  "I didn't come in a shuttle," he told her. "Individual orbital service module."
  Her eyebrows arched as she scanned his face. "Individual?"
  "You're not too big. We can probably both fit inside. It'll be cramped, and will put a strain on the life-support system, but should suffice for a short, quick flight. The trick will be to avoid being blown up on the way out."
  She nodded understandingly. "If these ancient alien automatics act with consistency, the lock will let us out as soon as it senses our approach. If that happens, even if our flight is detected the AAnn will need time to seal both shuttles. They can notify their warship of our actions, of course, but as you say, it's a short flight. By the time they decide on a course of action, we might be able to make it to your ship. It mounts defenses, I presume?"
  "Some." His laconic response was deliberately uninformative. "Our chances for continued survival will certainly be infinitely better on board the Teacher than they are sitting here waiting for pursuit to arrive."
  "Then let's not waste any more time. Where's the module?"
  Keeping his head down, he began to scuttle sideways, the young woman following close on his heels. They were not seen by the AAnn, who were focused on the central and largest of the three portals that led into the depths of the artifact. The soldiers had been told that according to current life-form readings, the band of human fugitives was quite small. The idea that such a group might try to overpower and take control of one of the shuttles seemed absurd. Nevertheless, those guarding the two craft remained on active alert.
  Not active enough to detect the two figures scurrying along the far wall of the expansive lock, however. Keeping to cover, of which there was plenty, Flinx and Mahnahmi made it to the cluster of tall, vaguely globular constructs where he had hidden the unpretentious but efficient transport. It was just as he had left it: nose pointed outward, canopy retracted.
  Activating it via the remote on his belt, he watched as the interior telltales winked to life. "Get in," he told her. "Try to scrunch up in back as much as you can. Once I lie down facing the controls, you can uncurl and try to make a little more room for yourself."
  "Sure, I can handle that." Climbing into the narrow, tight-fitting space, she crouched down against the rear of the small cargo area. It was intended to hold a few personal effects, not another person, and it just barely did accommodate her lissome form.
  Flinx started to join her when a burst of intense dislike flooded his mind. At the same time, something struck his right knee hard enough to send flashes of pain up his leg and over his eyes. He stumbled backward, clutching at the injured knee. Even before he hit the ground, a soft hum indicated that the transport module's canopy was closing.
  Her boot. With all the high-tech weapons he had avoided these past weeks, with all the death-dealing devices devised by the science of multiple species he had dodged, he had finally been undone by a swift kick from a sharp-toed boot. Had the blow been struck by anyone else he likely would have seen it coming and in his anticipation, avoided it. But he had forgotten that while Mahnahmi was not only skilled at sensing the emotions of others, she might also be adept at concealing her own. So used had he become to sensing animosity and therefore threats in others that he had grown careless. It was no comfort to realize that Pip had not sensed the danger either. When at last it had poured out of her in sheer, undiluted strength, it had done so simultaneously with the blow she had struck, giving him no time to prepare.
  By the time he had struggled to his feet, limping slightly on his throbbing leg, the canopy was shut and sealed. Pip was aloft, darting and fluttering, seeking an enemy to strike. That enemy was protected behind a layer of transparent, photosensitive plexalloy not even the minidrag's venom could penetrate.
  One hand resting just above his aching knee, he stared in at her. Her voice could not reach him, of course, but he could read her lips as she thoughtfully mouthed a few final words for his benefit.
  "Sorry—I need this." And she added, by way of final, sardonic farewell, "Brother."
  "Why?" he yelled at her. She could not hear him and, if she could read his lips, chose to give no reply. How terrible the fright, he thought. How horrific the suspicion and mistrust must be to drive her to fear everyone around her—especially the one person in the inhabited Arm who at least held out the possibility of empathy and understanding.
  Purring softly, the transport module powered up, forcing him to retreat beyond reach of its drive. As soon as it rose from its temporary nest among the alien globes and oblongs, there was a noticeable increase in activity on both shuttles. Flinx had no time to stand and watch.
  He made it back through the nearest inner portal before his presence was noted by the AAnn on either shuttle. If consternation and confusion combined to slow reaction time among the sentinels,
  Mahnahmi might well make it clear of the artifact. What she would do then he could not predict, save that it surely would not be orthodox. She would be one young woman alone and unarmed, forced to confront a captured KK-drive vessel and an armed Imperial warship.
  He almost felt sorry for the unsuspecting A Ann.
  With all means of flight now denied him, and a party of irritated AAnn troops in close pursuit, he had no time to spare for contemplating anyone else's course of action. Of one thing he was certain: He could not stay where he was in the hope that some miracle would deliver him back to the waiting Teacher. Displeased at the one prospect remaining to him but having no other obvious options and no time to ponder possibilities, he turned away from the lock and retreated back into the unfamiliar depths of the inscrutable artifact.
CHAPTER
Eighteen
  Commander Voocim was not pleased. Already, she had lost two troopers and had had one put out of action because of the unexpected behavior of a suicidal human. Now at least one other remained at liberty within the artifact, while a third had somehow managed to escape the snare that had been set to trap the fugitives in the docking bay.
   Nissasst, she told herself. It was only a temporary irritation. The human who remained on the artifact would soon be apprehended, while the one who had managed the remarkable feat of fleeing into space would shortly see that effort come to naught. Already, Voocim had been advised that the first human had taken flight in a small service module or capsule capable only of traveling between orbiting vessels. Its solitary passenger would soon fetch up alongside either the Sstakoun or the captured Commonwealth ship, where it would then easily be taken into custody.
  If Voocim was impatient to terminate the foolish human maneuvering, which after all could only have one conclusion, the two senior scientists accompanying her were even more vocal in their desire for it to come to an end.
  "Thiss iss outrageouss, truly," Tenukac declared. "The mosst important sscientific disscovery of the lasst two Imperial agess, and here we are forced to delay our sstudiess until a few renegade, intruding humanss are taken into cusstody."
  "Thiss delay will be included in our official report." The female Nennasu's chosen inflection was designed to indicate her displeasure.
  "As you pleasse." Voocim added a gesture of second degree contempt—Tenukac sputtered when he saw it. "Thiss iss sstill a military expedition and will remain ssuch until I officially releasse you to practice your trade. Barring any more ssurprisess or noxiouss interruptionss, I promisse you that moment will arrive sshortly."
  "I sshould hope sso!" With that, Nennasu and her exasperated mate subsided, for which Voocim was more than moderately grateful.
  They continued to close ground on the remaining human. It could not run forever, the commander knew. She was looking forward to interrogating so energetic and elusive a specimen. By now most humans would have realized the hopelessness of their position and submitted to the inevitable. Active though it might be, the mammal could not get off the artifact or escape the efficient technicians' relentless tracking instrumentation. Very soon, Voocim believed, it would slow, turn, and hopefully capitulate without making any more trouble. The AAnn commander had no need to remind her soldiers to be wary of a potential suicidal reprise by yet another disgruntled target. She still very much hoped to take it alive.
  On board the occupied Crotase, Officer Dysseen was apprised by a subofficer of the impending arrival of the tiny craft.
  "We have hailed the module and received no ressponsse." The AAnn's eyes flexed expectantly. "Itss approach iss being monitored by the Sstakoun's predictorss. The interior iss generating a life-form ssignal conssisstent with the pressence of a ssingle human occupant, though the ssignal iss exceptionally weak and givess indication of fading. There iss no indication the craft iss armed or carrying hazardouss or explossive material. The Sstakoun wisshes to know if it sshould be desstroyed."
  Dysseen considered. "There iss nothing ssupiciouss or evassive about itss approach arc?"
  "No, honored ssir," the subofficer reported. "It iss converging on a sstraight heading for thiss vessel'ss lock."
  The senior officer gestured third-degree understanding. "Allow it to arrive and dock. Monitor it clossely at all timess. We now have control of thiss sship'ss limited weaponss' ssysstemss. If thiss vehicle beginss to exhibit deviant behavior, eliminate it. If not, access itss interior immediately ssubssequent to itss arrival and bring the occupant to me."
  The subofficer saluted, adding an extra fifth-degree gesture of respect, and left, leaving Dysseen to meditate on the unanticipated arrival. Guidance confirmed that the solo vehicle had recently departed the surface of the alien artifact. Clearly, it contained one of the fugitive spies who had been pursued by Commander Voocim. Its fleeing occupant would not find a sympathetic welcome waiting for it on the Commonwealth vessel. Apprehension of the single fugitive would be a routine matter. He turned his mind to other business.
  The subofficer in charge of the capture party waited impatiently for the air in the lock to cycle through. Immediately following the all-clear and the separation of seals, he led his trio of troopers quickly toward the tiny vehicle. Everyone held their weapons at the ready, alert for any deceptions or tricks. Following the subofficer's directions, they spread out to flank the slim craft and waited for its occupant to emerge.
  When the canopy slid back, the subofficer advanced cautiously, preceded by the muzzle of his rifle. Within the craft's cockpit lay a single human. Female, and based on the subofficer's limited knowledge of humankind, recently entered into maturity. Carefully, he prodded the prone figure with the tip of his weapon. It did not stir.
  One of the troopers was equipped with a field medical pack. Hurrying forward in response to the subofficer's gesture, she ran a basal prognosticator over the motionless shape.
  "No heartbeat, no resspiration in progress. There iss ssome ssuggesstion of E-pattern activity, but brain functionss appear to be virtually nonexisstent."
  "Paralyssiss." The subofficer grunted noncommittally as he slung his rifle across his back. "Bring it."
  "If it iss dead, or nearly sso," the soldier observed, "why not ssimply dump it into sspace?"
  "Even a dead sspy iss proof of sspying. In any event, the decission is not ourss to make. Bring it, and I will conssult with Supervissing Officer Dysseen."
  Hissing their displeasure, but not sharply enough to incur the subofficer's wrath, two of the troopers lifted the limp, unresisting figure out of the transport. It was not heavy. Deciding how best to proceed, each slipped a limp human arm over their shoulders, thus supporting it in an upright position. The apparently defunct organism hung slackly between them. Its head, enveloped in unfettered strands of gold-colored keratin, hung toward the floor from the flexible neck while each of its soft, pulpy arms dangled on either side of a scaly, uniformed shoulder.
  They were halfway to the bridge, having passed a number of their colleagues in the corridors, when the two soldiers supporting the corpse decided to adjust its position. As one arm sprawled limply across the back of one trooper, the drooping five-fingered hand clutched convulsively around the shank of a pendant rifle. Fingers slid through the trigger guard to cover the activator. Since the weapon was slung muzzle upward, the resulting shot when two of those fingers contracted messily removed the back of the weapon owner's skull.
  As the trooper collapsed, dead before he struck the deck, the human spun away from her other startled supporter while ripping the weapon that had just been fired from his deceased companion's back. A second shot blew a gaping hole in the other soldier. Meanwhile, both the subofficer and the surviving trooper were just sufficiently stunned by the speed of the "dead" human's reaction that their responses were slightly slower than usual. Two more salvos, aimed and fired with unhuman dexterity and swiftness, completed the hasty trashing of the reptilian escort.
  Without pausing to see if they were dead, a startlingly revivified Mahnahmi raced in the direction of the Crotase's brig. Confirmed in her assumption that arriving AAnn would first take control of her ship before landing soldiers on the artifact, she had taken the precaution of playing dead as a precondition of returning to her vessel. Subsequent developments had confirmed the wisdom of her decision. That she was possessed of certain unique abilities that enabled her to play dead better than perhaps any other member of her species had greatly facilitated the headway she had made thus far.
  The last thing the sluggish solo guard posted outside the Crotase's brig expected to encounter was a reason for his posting. That he realized this too late gained him no respite from Mahnahmi's unswerving attack. Within minutes she had freed the rest of her surviving crew, whose consolidated presence she had sensed from several decks below. All were present save one unfortunate engineer who had previously given rash voice to his sentiments in the presence of the AAnn commander.
  Mahnahmi had moved so rapidly that the stunned escort she had coldly and efficiently liquidated still lay where they had fallen in the corridor. Arming themselves with the assortment of available AAnn weapons, the competent crew of the Crotase proceeded to quietly eliminate one unsuspecting trooper after another. By the time the AAnn were alerted to the unexpected insurrection in their midst, it was too late. Two more of Mahnahmi's crew died in the ensuing battle for control of the Crotase. Their loss saddened her because it meant the ship would not be run as efficiently on the journey homeward.
  When one of the crew pointed out the wounded Dysseen as the overseer of the occupying force, Mahnahmi took care to see that he was preserved. They found him trying to transmit details of the uprising to the Sstakoun. Though Mahnahmi could speak passable AAnn, for the benefit of her crew she addressed the officer in Terranglo.
  "Your efforts are futile. I had my engineering staff insert a cycling static pattern in the communications system before we came up here. Anyone on your ship trying to contact you would assume you were experiencing a simple malfunction and wait for it to clear before considering the possibility that something more serious had occurred. Any further attempts to report on the resurgence of my crew will meet with a quick end."
  Tottering slightly from the wound beneath his fourteenth rib, Dysseen rose. "Who are you, and where did you come from? I have not sseen you before. Were you hiding ssomewhere on thiss sship?"
  Her expression did not change, nor did the tenor of her voice. "This is my ship. I am the owner, and I just arrived back."
  "Jusst arrived… ?" Dysseen gawked at the young human female. "You came on the transsport module! But it wass reported to me that the ssingle occupant wass dead!"
  "I was. It's a little skill I've refined over the past couple of years. I find that with time and practice I can perform progressively more interesting parlor tricks. Some of them, like playing dead, really dead, turn out to have unforeseen uses. Here's another trick."
  An appalling pain struck Dysseen's skull, as if someone had taken his brain in a giant fist and squeezed. When the lights of torment had begun to fade from in front of his eyes, he was able to stare at the unprepossessing female in horror.
  "How—how did you accomplissh that?"
  "You mean, it worked?" Mahnahmi was delighted. "That's only the second time I've tried that. The other time it was on another human, and nothing happened. How about if I try it again?"
  "No, psshassta, no!" A frantic Dysseen executed a desperate gesture of first-degree supplication underscored by first-degree anxiety. "I beg the death of an honorable sservant of the Emperor."
  "Why beg for death? Cooperate, and I'll see you put off in the same service module that brought me here. Once we're safely on our way outsystem, your people can pick you up."
  Dysseen's tail flicked uneasily from side to side. "I can trusst you to do that?"
  Mahnahmi shrugged. "You're welcome to choose any of your other options." She nodded meaningfully to a grim-faced crew member, who responded by raising the muzzle of the AAnn rifle he was carrying. "If it's death you prefer, I promise that you won't have to beg for it."
  It took less than a minute for the suffering officer to weigh his choices. If picked up by the Sstakoun, he could commend himself to the mercy of the appropriate Imperial court. Rank might be degraded, but he would still be alive.
  "What iss it you want from me?"
  "As you know, we'll need to move several planetary diameters out before we can initiate changeover. In order for us to have the time we require, you'll have to explain our movements to your counterparts on the warship. Once we're far enough out to activate the KK-drive, I'll kick you out of the lock in the module. If you're unfamiliar with human instrumentation I'll even have one of my techs show you how to set and activate its homing beacon."
  Dysseen did not need to ponder any longer on the offer. "I am agreed. But your triumph will be ssmall. You will be detected trying to leave Imperial sspace, and confronted before you can enter changeover."
  "I don't think so—not if you do your job well. And, of course, no one's going to hunt us down once we're in space-plus." Her cool countenance loomed resolute before him. "Not only will we decamp safely to the Commonwealth, we'll find a way to return and take control of our rightful discovery before squabbling Imperial bureaucrats can decide what to do about it. In any case, I guarantee that you won't have to worry about it." Stepping forward, she and the Crotase's chief communications tech positioned themselves before the relevant ship's systems.
  "Pay attention to what I want you to say." The sidearm she held rose symbolically. "And don't try to so much as improperly inflect a syllable. I speak excellent AAnn." She proceeded to demonstrate the pertinent skill to a degree where Dysseen was suitably impressed. "Your people will wonder why you are contacting them with audio only. Explain that it is a collateral problem with the preceding static cycle that your techs are working to resolve."
  Dysseen was calm, effective, and quietly eloquent. Mahnahmi was quite pleased. The Sstakoun's position remained fixed as the human vessel began to adjust and modify its own, nor did the war-ship's weapons veer to track the Crotase's movements. Despite the crew's anxieties, all maneuvers were executed progressively and without haste so as not to raise suspicions on the AAnn craft.
  Mahnahmi was as good as her word. As soon as her ship had moved the requisite five planetary diameters out from the methane dwarf around which the artificial, gas-shrouded moon orbited, the AAnn officer was assisted into the compact transport module and its distress beacon activated. While he drifted clear of the Crotase, Dysseen was able to watch as a deep purplish red radiance took shape in front of the Commonwealth vessel's KK-drive projection dish. As the posigravity field deepened and intensified, the former prize ship slowly but with rapidly increasing speed began to move outsystem. By the time the Sstakoun, homing in on the module's electronic lament, began to fill his field of view, the humans' craft had long since vanished into the impenetrable depths of space-plus.
  Dysseen hissed in relief. It took him a moment to realize that though his hissing had ceased, the sound itself had not. A quick glance at the vehicle's minimal instrumentation revealed the onset of an alarmingly rapid fall in atmospheric pressure. Frantically, he attempted to decipher the humanoid readouts in a frenzied attempt to discover the source of the problem. When he finally isolated it, the explanation was as elegant as the realization of what had taken place.
  The outflow had not been programmed to activate until the Sstakoun acknowledged his position.
  As he raged in silent desperation, trapped in the coffinlike transport module, a number of words the remorseless human female had spoken came back to him. She was right—he would not have to worry about what happened to the Commonwealth vessel, just as he would not have to beg for death. As a species with a highly developed sense of irony, the AAnn officer could appreciate the situation better than many others. His appreciation would have been even greater had he not been the focus of it.
  He was probably still alive when those aboard the Sstakoun, getting no reply from the module, used grapplers to draw the tiny craft into the air lock. By the time the compartment had been properly pressurized and medical personnel were able to reach and force an opening into the vehicle, however, the honored officer was no longer able to respond. Unlike the human female, he did not possess the ability to feign his own death.
  He could only limn it for real.
  Moving as fast as he could, a weary Flinx penetrated farther and farther into the artifact. It did not seem to matter which way he turned or what twists he deigned to take: The proximity of pitiless AAnn emotions remained constant in his mind. The well-trained, well-conditioned soldiers recently relieved from boredom were not going to give up until they ran their quarry down. Plainly, their detection and tracking equipment was as efficient and relentless as the technicians operating it.
  His heart threatened to thump a hole through his chest. Weak from fatigue, he halted and bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. Pip fluttered solicitously in front of his face, doggedly trying to encourage her friend and companion to resume his headlong flight. He found himself wishing he could somehow borrow a portion of the minidrag's seemingly inexhaustible energy. Sensing that the AAnn closing in on him were not resting, unable to see any other course of action but refusing to yield either to them or to his fatigued body, he straightened and staggered onward.
  Worst of all was the realization that he could no longer sense the emotional presence of his deceitful sister. Somehow, Mahnahmi had managed to flee from his ken. As he stumbled ever deeper into the limitless relic, he found himself wondering how much to believe of what she had told him. Without access to the sybfile she possessed, how could he really know what was true and what she had invented about his history? Was she really his legitimate sister, as seemed to be the case? Or was she just a clever adapter of information gleaned from the syb she had appropriated? Mockery seemed to be the order of the day.
  Of all the people in the galaxy, she was the only one in possession of the erudition that could validate or invalidate her claims. She was the only one with access to the information he wanted and needed, the irreplaceable personal knowledge that had been explosively excised from the Terran Shell. There were others—others who were interested in him, others who were curious about his origins and abilities, perhaps even a few who knew enough to fear him. But among them one and all, as far as he knew, only she was consumed with hatred.
  What he would do when his spent body would not carry him any farther he did not know. Perhaps the same mysterious, inexplicable aptitude that had previously rescued him in desperate situations would once more manifest itself. He was not comforted by the idea. A sufficiency of inscrutability seemed an inadequate recourse to rely upon.
  He had been tottering down a comparatively narrow corridor when he suddenly emerged into a large room. An explosion of conduits and conductors radiated from its center. There were thin panels of self-supporting reflective material, several ornate laceworks of spun metallic glass whose functions dwelled in a land beyond elusive, and a number of free-floating geometric shapes that appeared to pulse steadily in and out of existence. In the approximate center of this farrago of strange devices a single horizontal slab that appeared to have been poured from a cauldron of molten ceramic or plastic protruded from the floor. It lodged beneath a transparent dome containing a second smaller dome that was too large to be a helmet, too small to be a body capsule.
  Gaping, Flinx stumbled to a halt, his lower jaw hanging slack. Pip hovered about his head, her agitation unabated. He sensed that the pursuing AAnn were very close now. What was startling, even shocking, about the deceptively simple-looking slab-and-dome creation was neither its appearance nor its design nor its location.
  It was the fact that he recognized it.
CHAPTER
Nineteen
  Bewildered, the strength in his legs gone, he approached the gleaming dome-covered slab as if in a waking dream. Everything was as he remembered it: the color of the slab, the sleekness of its slightly concave surface, the faint luminosity of the outer dome, the beckoning arc of the curving interior transparency that was neither glass nor plastic nor any material known to Commonwealth science. Even as he recognized it, he knew it was not the one he had seen before, some six years ago. That would have constituted an even graver, greater impossibility. This was a different one, perhaps slightly larger, but of almost identical design and construction. In identifying it, he also knew what it was. Because he had, those selfsame six years earlier, activated one just like it—or nearly so.
  It was a TarAiym control platform.
  Memories came flooding in unbidden: Of a jovial but resolute merchant named Malaika. Of his pilot Atha Moon, who was well-nigh as comely as her name. Of two longtime acquaintances who became his friends and mentors; one human, one thranx. Of a towering monolith on a world far, far away in a place of sterility and mystery humans called the Blight. Of himself, concerned for an unexpectedly cataleptic Pip, entering a dome identical to the one that now rose before him. Dizziness ensuing, followed by pain, confusion, resistance. Then acquiescence, an overwhelming brightness, and a kind of numbing enlightenment, as if a smothering had been cleared from his mind. Since that time, that moment, he had never been quite the same.
  Alien phrases reached his ears: rising, sibilating voices fraught with anticipation, coming closer. He had felt the deaths of at least two AAnn together with that of the self-sacrificing Qwarm Briony. As was the case with any feeling sentients, the reptiloids did not take kindly to those who killed while fleeing. Under such circumstances it was reasonable to assume that his interrogation would be harsh and his future unpromising.
  If he entered into the dome, there was an excellent chance nothing whatsoever would happen. Should that be the case, then he would lose nothing by the trying. If, on the other hand, anything transpired, however unobtrusive, it might be enough to cause the AAnn to pause and reconsider, or even to decide that the apprehension of a single human was not worth challenging the unknown. He remembered the seemingly innocuous iridescent film that had forcefully assimilated nearly all the members of Mahnahmi's exploration party. The same fate or worse might await him beneath the glistening dome. Could it be worse than being taken prisoner by the AAnn? If nothing else, it was certain to be quicker.
  Poised on the brink of discovery was not a bad place to perish. As shouts of expectation reached him, he came to a final decision and strode forward. Reaching the dome, he took a deep breath as if preparing to duck underwater, stepped inside, and lay down flat on the slab. It was cool against his back and designed to accommodate a body far more massive than that of any human. Above him, the partial inner and more complete outer domes displayed a confusion of incomprehensible schematics sculpted solid and multidimensional from alien materials. Puzzled and a little disconcerted. Pip folded her wings and landed on his shoulder.
  Nothing happened. The domes remained as he had first seen them from a distance, the lighting in the chamber ample but subdued. He could hear clearly the voices of the pursuing AAnn as they entered the room. This was a waste of time, a useless exercise, he decided. His legs felt a little better. He determined to make an attempt to resume running, to delay his capture until the last possible moment. Grimacing slightly at a mild cramp in one thigh, he started to rise from the slab. As he did so, something moved against him.
  Curled into a tight, fetal ball of coiled muscle. Pip was twitching to an unheard rhythm. Her trembling was steadfast and regular, as if something more than her breathing pattern had changed. As he stared, something danced past his face less than a meter in front of his eyes. It was a ball of red-gold energy that pulsed like a live thing. Captivated by its silent beauty, he watched it drift sideways until it made contact with the wall of the outer dome. There it was promptly absorbed, its light and substance dissipating into the photoporous material like water into a sponge. Tilting back his head, his gaze fell on the interior surface of the inner dome.
  Like lavender fireflies, a thousand lights were dancing within the curving transparency.
  Shivering slightly, he closed his eyes and lay back down. The coiled weight of Pip, his companion since childhood, was unreasonably reassuring against his neck and shoulder. An inner peace slipped over him like a blanket. He was entering a place he had been before, related yet different. And this time, unlike the first, there was no pain.
  Weapons at the ready, Voocim and her soldiers rounded a bend in the corridor along which they had been racing. Leading the way, the techs operating the life-form sensors were the first to enter the chamber. So sharply did they pull up, their sandaled feet catching against the slightly ribbed decking, that they were nearly run over by those soldiers following close behind. Like her troops, the commander was forced to raise a clawed hand to shield her eyes.
  Dominating the center of the chamber they had entered was a slightly elevated dais upon which rested a kind of couch or bench. This was covered with an outer dome of some glassy material that presently was ablaze with integrated green-and-gold fire. Occasional upheavals of coruscating cobalt blue detonated in the depths of the prismatic tempest like thunderbolts within a storm cloud. From the surface of the profound turbulence, globes and streaks of dynamic energy leaped in all directions, as if escaping from the concentrated inner uproar.
  Subofficer Amuruun raised a hand and pointed. "The human iss there. Honored Commander!"
  "I ssee it!" Voocim hesitated. "It appearss to have activated ssome kind of localized energy field."
  "But how… ?" The subofficer gestured fifth-degree uncertainty while his expression revealed the first inkling of fear.
  Voocim saw she would have to act quickly. "An automatic reaction on the part of the artifact, no different from the activating of lightss along the corridorss we have been ussing or the operation of the large air lock when confronted by an arriving sship. The human iss operating nothing, becausse there iss nothing here a human can operate. Or an AAnn, or anyone elsse. It iss a dessperation act on the part of the fugitive. It iss also an insufficient one." Casually raising a hand, she executed the appropriate gesture.
  "As you know, I would prefer to have the human alive. Corpssess are notorioussly unressponsive to quesstioning." The attempt at humor had a calming effect on Amuruun and the rest of the troopers. "Fire a warning sshot at the lower end of the sstructure. That sshould rouse the human and alsso put an end to thiss dramatic but harmless dissplay."
  Obediently, the subofficer stepped forward and took careful aim with his own rifle. A graceful weapon designed to be carried easily, it threw a shell whose diminutive size belied its striking power. The almost imperceptible flash that was lost in the glare from the domes was accompanied by a brief but violent exhalation from the side of the weapon.
  The shell struck the dome where it disappeared into the opaque dais. A momentary flare was visible at the point of impact—and that was all. The structure of the dome was not breached, and the explosion did nothing to quell the colorful conflagration that continued to rage in and about its surface. Voocim expressed irritation.
  "Again," she ordered. Gesturing acknowledgment, the sub-officer took another step forward and raised the muzzle of his weapon anew. This time he aimed beneath the outer dome at the base of the slab that was supporting the recumbent human.
  Something unimaginably profound within the inorganic bowels of the artifact had just concluded an extensive review and analysis of preponderant reality. Among several thousand other factors newly apprised, it had determined that a single A-class mind was present and functioning. This exhibited an aberrant structure, but one that was at least ascertainable. Other minds were present that were not
  A-class. Furthermore, these were engaged in irritant activities. ETTA energies responded. Dismissing the observed proximate beings as a negligible distraction to be briskly dealt with, that which had sluggishly begun to stir moved on to more consequential activities.
  A skull-sized globe of flickering azure incandescence burst forth from the apex of the outer dome and flew straight toward Amuruun. Uttering a startled oath, he tried to duck away from the onrushing ball of blue fire. He did not succeed. The globe touched him on the upper arm. There was a momentary flash of sapphire light, a faint smell of ozone, and a lingering but rapidly dissipating coil of pale blue vapor corkscrewing its way upward into nonexistence where an instant before the subofficer had been standing. Voocim gaped at the hovering sphere of animated effulgence. Darting to its right, it made contact with another horrified soldier. As he threw up his clawed hands in a futile attempt at defense, another flash was replaced by a second wisp of evaporating bluish haze. At this, the rest of the troop broke and ran.
  Their commander ran too, her legs pumping, powerful thigh muscles propelling her back up the corridor. Screams and hissing howls of desperation followed close behind. The two senior scientists were shouting also, trying to communicate something instead of simply shrieking in fear. From time to time there was an occasional flash and smell. Gradually, the outcries became fewer, the blue flashes more infrequent.
  Gasping for breath, Voocim threw herself behind a massive bulwark of somber gray polycarbide. The corridor was silent, the illumination balanced and restrained. She huddled like that, alone and hunched over, her scaly epidermis squeezed tight against the protective palisade. Would the cerulean specter grow tired and return to the luminous chamber? The Sstakoun's shuttle waited in the lock. It was still an appreciable distance away, but like all her kind she was a strong, powerful runner. Given even a momentary respite from pursuit, she felt she would be able to make it safely back to the ship.
  Slowly, cautiously, she rose, straightening a little at a time to peer over the edge of the bulwark. The exotic material was warm to the touch, almost ductile despite its apparent solidity. Her eyes widened.
  The silent sphere of indigo energy that hung motionless in the air less than an arm's length from her face had no eyes, but it saw her anyway.
  Lambent orbs of refulgent energy drifted lazily back toward the blazing dome, to be reabsorbed into its energetic essence. Green-and-gold phlogistons grew intermittent, then scarce. Sequentially, full transparency returned to the structure. The volume of light in the chamber dropped from overpowering, to bright, to a pastel normalcy.
  Flinx blinked. He was still tired, but otherwise unhurt. Sitting up, his first thought was for Pip. She was already aloft, fluttering outside the domes, waiting for him to join her.
  He rubbed the back of his neck. Something had happened after he had entered the dome. He had gone to sleep, for how long he did not know. A glance at one of the compact instruments attached to his service belt provided the answer. Strange—his period of unconsciousness had seemed longer.
  Remembering his pursuers, he looked up sharply. The chamber, as well as the corridors beyond, were deserted. Had they changed their minds, or at the last minute decided to take another route? His good fortune was hard to believe. Could dome and distance have kept them from noticing him? Tentatively, he slid off the slab. It was still cool on contact. Entering the corridor, he searched for signs of his stalkers. Finding none, unable to perceive any emotions save his own, he started forward at a hesitant trot, trying to maintain a steady pace in the event he suddenly had to change direction. Though he felt confident his talent was still working, he was puzzled by his inability to detect even the faintest twinge of emotion from so much as a single AAnn.
  Tradssij was standing before an impressive array of readouts, idly scanning and committing to memory mundane ship data while wondering if something more might have been done to save the unfortunate Officer Dysseen from the perfidy of the escaped humans, when technician Osilleel approached.
  "Honored Captain, there iss ssomething you musst look at."
  Amenable, Tradssij followed the tech to her station. Above the projector lens, a full three-dimensional depiction of the tenth planet of Pyrassis, its moon, and its immediate spatial surroundings hovered in stasis. Taking her seat, the technician slipped her induction headset back over her scales. Immediately, the image transposed, the view zooming in to resolve on a reduced area. It showed the artifact, still partially cloaked in its dissimulating synthetic atmosphere. The confiscated human starship continued to occupy concordant coordinates.
  The same, however, could not be said for the artifact.
  Tradssij leaned forward, his prominent snout almost piercing the projection. "What iss happening here, technician?"
  Osilleel replied in an awed tone of voice that showed she too was being affected by what they were seeing. Every other tech and officer in the vicinity had also turned to stare.
  "The artifact iss dropping toward the ssurface of the planet,
  Honored Captain. It hass not entered into a declining orbit. The descent is vertical, in contravention of normal gravitational preceptss."
  " Barrisshsst. " Tradssij snarled softly. Without hesitation, he proceeded to give orders. "Inform our people aboard the sshuttle to evacuate their possition immediately and return to the Sstakoun. We will come forward to meet them, dock, and bring them back aboard as quickly as possible."
  Behind him, a subofficer voiced what everyone was thinking. "Captain—Commander Voocim, the sscientific complement that iss traveling with her, and the resst of the exploration-and-capture team are sstill insside the artifact."
  "Truly," Tradssij replied in the clipped tones of command, adding an especially brusque gesture of second-degree concern coupled with first-degree comprehension. "However, until we are able to asscertain exactly what iss happening, I will rissk no more of my crew than iss necessary. In the abssence of communication or explanation from the landing party, I musst do what I believe to be mosst efficaciouss under the circumsstancess. When the ssituation hass sstablized, the sshuttle will be ssent back to the artifact to remove Commander Voocim and her group."
  No argument arose from those AAnn on station. All felt the captain's ratiocination of the situation to be accurate as well as succinct. Adjusting course, the Sstakoun began to move toward the regressing artifact and away from the place where it had recovered the transport module containing the body of Officer Dysseen.
  Flinx arrived outside the lock less out of breath than he had expected. The continuing dearth of any AAnn emotions found him puzzled but relieved. Here, at least, he had expected to perceive something, only to be confronted with no evidence of feeling sentience but his own.
  The reason for the absence of any significant reptilian emotion was immediately apparent: Only one vessel remained within the lock, and it was not AAnn. As near as he could detect, there were no longer any guards aboard the craft from the Crotase, either. Having escaped in Flinx's transport module, Mahnahmi had left her own shuttlecraft behind.
  But why had all the AAnn gone? Had their starship fled orbit as well? Too many events of the past hour were inexplicable. Still, comprehensible or not, the indisputable fact was that he was alive and free.
  Nothing and no one challenged him as he entered the lock and cautiously made his way toward and eventually into the unsealed shuttlecraft. The internal layout was relatively typical, the majority of shuttles being built along certain fundamental, common lines. Like all such craft, it was designed to be operated with little effort or training. As he studied the readouts, Flinx felt increasingly confident it would respond to his simple, straightforward instructions.
  He felt even more sure of himself when the ship's systems activated in response to his first verbal command. Given the most generalized coordinates and description, the shuttle's automatics would be able to lock onto the Teacher and home in on her. Barring surprises, within a short while he would finally be back on board his own ship, surrounded by its familiar confines. He found he could barely contain his anticipation. Pip darted contentedly around the bridge, reveling in her companion's first upbeat emotions in some time. And still he could not sense the menacing presence of any potentially contentious AAnn.
  Now that it was almost over, his only regret was that after all he had been through and everything he had suffered, beginning with his sojourn on Earth and ending in this abject outback corner of the AAnn Empire, he had failed to recover the sybfile containing the precious information about his ancestry. It remained with Mahnahmi. As the shuttle cleanly exited the cavernous lock, he found himself once more contemplating the panoply of unfamiliar stars. The syb was out there, she was out there with it, and he did not doubt that he would encounter both of them again.
  That was when the shuttle's automatics announced, in a clear and emotionless male voice, that a starship other than the one he had chosen as a destination was approaching swiftly from several planetary diameters out.
  The Sstakoun's weapons master hovered close to his captain, his intricate induction headset a triple metallic band that traversed the upper portion of his golden-scaled skull. Together the two AAnn studied the dimensional projection that showed the Commonwealth shuttle departing the massive, rapidly descending artifact.
  "Report," Tradssij hissed.
  A technician responded without looking up. "Detection iss weak at thiss range. Honored Captain, but preliminary sscans indicate only two organic life-forms aboard the fleeing vessel."
  "Mark itss coursse," Tradssij spoke sharply. "Highesst ressolution quadrant sscan."
  Sounding surprised, another technician reported in a moment later. "Gravitational dissturbance collateral with a massked vessel exisstss at point two-four-five, hypothessizing forward from vissible smaller craft'ss pressent trajectory."
  Tradssij was quietly furious. "We have been indolent. That sshall be corrected." He gestured appropriately to weapons master Haurcchep. "Extirpate."
  The senior officer responded accordingly, relaying the command together with the necessary ancillary instructions to the fire control team situated elsewhere on the ship. A component of the Sstakoun's limited but deadly arsenal was activated.
  Aboard the shuttle, Flinx scrutinized the projection that showed the AAnn vessel rapidly closing on his coordinates. There was nothing he could do. The shuttle was not designed to execute elaborate evasive maneuvers, and the light armament it carried would not penetrate a warship's minimum defensive field. Maybe they were just coming in for a closer look. If only they held off long enough for him to board the Teacher, he felt he would be able to hold his own. The Ulru-Ujurrians had equipped it with more than adequate defenses. But as long as he was stuck on the slow-moving shuttle, he was helpless.
  The shuttlecraft's voice directed his attention to the other tri-dimensional display. Intending only to glance in its direction, he ended up staring at it for a very long time. Then, realizing he had no need of onboard technology to perceive what was being manifested, he turned and walked to the unpretentious viewport that curved around the forepart of the ship. Everything that had been delineated in the tridee display was as apparent to the naked eye as it had been to the shuttle's monitors. There was no need for magnifying devices or vision-enhancing instrumentation. Whether he altogether believed what he was seeing was another matter entirely.
  Thousands upon thousands of square kilometers of dense cloud cover, dull brown and bronze tinged with orange, faded yellow, and red, had begun to shrink from the periphery of the methane dwarf. Not by means of simple evaporation or from being blown out into space due to some inexplicable internal cataclysm, but in response to a powerful unknown force that was sucking clouds, upwellings, and entire storm systems inexorably downward. As the thick, abyssal atmosphere was thinned, the inner core of the swirling planet began to reveal itself. Like a few other methane dwarves, Pyrassis Ten boasted a solid center. Unlike the heart of similar celestial bodies, the tenth planet of the Pyrassisian system brought to light an albedo that was off the charts.
  Perhaps because it had been polished.
  As the enshrouding atmosphere of the gigantic globe was drawn forcibly downward into a complex of gargantuan vents and intakes, the serrated surface of the inner planetary core was exposed. Billions of lights, intensely brilliant and of multiple hues, began to wink to life within the crust of synthetic structures the size of small continents. From a rather dull orb of ordinary aspect, the tenth planet of Pyrassis's sun was metamorphosing rapidly into the most dazzling sight in the immediate heavens.
  As torrents of cloaking atmosphere the size of whole mountain ranges continued to flow into unfathomable depths, they threw off continual salvos of lightning tens of kilometers high. The towering electrical discharges struck the shimmering surface of the newly exposed core without visible effect. As Flinx looked on in awestruck silence with Pip cuddled close to his neck, the artifact he had first thought to be a moon continued to approach the core's solid surface. Only when it seemed as if a devastating impact was inevitable did a portion of the planetary crust retract ponderously inward. Descending gradually and under flawless control, the artifact concluded a stately entrance into a holding bay capacious enough to admit a real moon.
  Big enough to boast its own atmosphere, the artifact, whose size had stunned him when the inorganic nature of its origin had first been revealed, was nothing more than a lifeboat. It was the tenth planet of the Pyrassisian system that was the actual ship. Staring hard at the gleaming surface and the manifold diverse projections with which it was studded, a chill traveled through Flinx unlike any other he had ever experienced—because he recognized at least a few of those lofty, monumental shapes. Subsequent magnification on the dimensional display only confirmed identification of an image he had resurrected from memory.
  Clearly visible on the curving, burnished exterior of the artificial globe were no less than a dozen krangs, the ancient Tar-Aiym weapon that was capable of dynamically generating and projecting forth a Schwarzchild discontinuity. It was a device, a weapon, against which nothing could stand. If symmetry held, still more of them were likely to be found on the other side of the exposed surface. As to the multitudinous other revealed protrusions and concavities, the intent behind their ominous contours and configurations could barely begin to be inferred.
  Half a million or more years old, the tenth planet of the Pyrassisian system was a Tar-Aiym warship twice the size of Earth.
  And it was waking up.
  Aboard the Sstakoun, surprise and astonishment at the planetary transformation they had been observing turned to fright underscored by second-degree panic. As Tradssij and his officers shouted and argued over what to do next, it did not occur to anyone to countermand the just-given order to fire at the evacuating Commonwealth shuttlecraft. A few seconds too late, it struck the captain of the AAnn ship with appalling realization that dispatching explosive devices in the general direction of the newly revealed colossus might be interpreted by an unknown sentience as something other than a benevolent gesture. Stammering excitedly into the tiny voice pickup that hovered alongside his snout, he frantically tried to rescind the order.
  Deep within ancient factitious profundities impenetrable to human or AAnn thought, the synthetic sentience that was the sequentially awakening Tar-Aiym vessel detected a threat directed at the only A-class mind in the immediate astral vicinity. Though the ship was far, far from fully operational, it determined that it was capable of taking certain unassuming measures to countermand the impending danger. As concentric rings of turbulent light expanding to the diameter of a small sea erupted from its summit, a single imposing device of Himalayan dimensions discharged a blinding fork of lightninglike energy so intensely purple it was almost black. When this intercepted the pair of individually powered incoming explosive devices, they vaporized in twin puffs of scattered particles.
  His glistening, scale-covered throat suddenly drier than even a desert-loving AAnn would have experienced, a solemn and oddly distracted Tradssij XXKKW pensively voiced the order for the Sstakoun to power up its posigravity drive despite the fact that they were too close in-system for reliable activation. It did not matter. A drive field had barely begun to form within the nexus of the ship's KK-drive projector when the Sstakoun was struck by a second compacted helix of furious energy emitted by the azoic planetary core. The result was that the space hitherto occupied by the AAnn warship was forthwith filled with a somewhat larger volume of rapidly dissipating particles from whose constituent atoms every last electron had been forcibly stripped.
  Flinx watched the implausible awful transpire. Not unreasonably, he wondered if he might be next. But nothing happened. There was no follow-up, no third eruption of desolating energy. Except for the stable, progressive emergence of thousands and thousands of additional lights on the uneven surface of the planet-sized alien warship, no new or startling class of resplendent power revealed itself.
  He thought back to his brief, enigmatic slumber atop the Tar-Aiym control platform. For whatever reason, the majestic and incomprehensibly ancient vessel below had resolved not to look upon him as an enemy. Whether that apparent decision constituted a permanent or temporary state of affairs he had no way of knowing—and he was not about to tarry in the vicinity to find out.
  Several excited exchanges with the Teacher served to clarify the status of the approaching shuttlecraft. Flinx was not displeased to note that he had acquired a replacement for the one he had crashed on Pyrassis, though he wished the method of acquisition could have been otherwise. He genuinely regretted the premature death of any sentient being, even an AAnn.
  His relief upon exiting the interior air lock to find himself once more within the comforting, familiar confines of his own ship was immense. Even the smell of it was exhilarating. Without pausing, he headed directly for the bridge. As he passed through the lounge where he tended to spend the majority of his time while traveling in space-plus, he noted absently that the decorative flora that had been presented to him by the considerate citizens of the distant planet its inhabitants called Midworld appeared to have held up exceptionally well in his absence. Oddly, there were even a few fragments of soil scattered across the otherwise spotless deck; moist terrestrial blemishes occupying locations unexpectedly far from their planters. No doubt a consequence of sluggish, limited movement by the burgeoning alien growths with whose intimate characteristics he was not yet wholly familiar. He made a mental note to see to it that the ship's hygienics system was careful to recycle the scraps. In space, dirt was a precious commodity.
  The bridge greeted his arrival contentedly, as if he had never been away, as if nothing untoward had occurred in his absence. As if the vapor-shrouded planet-sized body outside the port had not been unexpectedly transformed from an apparently ordinary methane dwarf orbiting an unremarkable star in a notably undistinguished star system to the most inconceivable and improbable discovery since the revelation that humans shared the galaxy with other intelligent species.
  In addition to being the most unbelievable and improbable of its kind, the discovery was also, potentially, the most dangerous.
  What would happen when he left? Abandoned once more to its isolated orbit, would the artifact regenerate its mantle of dense, artificially spawned methane atmosphere, resuming once again the appearance of a dreary, mundane world? And what of the effortlessly annihilated AAnn? Had they managed before their abrupt and absolute demise to communicate the true nature of their find to others of their kind? What about the departed Mahnahmi? If he was capable of activating a Tar-Aiym control platform, could she not do the same? The thought of a tool of true ultimate destruction the size and power of the artifact falling into the hands of his hate-filled sister raised possibilities too dreadful to contemplate. What could he do to prevent her return? If he warned the AAnn against her, they would uncover the nature of the artifact for themselves. He seemed to have few choices—all of them bad.
  As it turned out, resolution and solution were provided by the artifact itself. Very soon following his return to the succoring confines of his ship, the alien orb began to move. Because of its unnatural proportions he did not notice the initial activity, and had to be alerted to the change by the Teacher.
  "You're sure it's moving?" Gazing out the port at the immense, now internally illuminated sphere, it was difficult to ascertain any motion by sight alone.
  "Yes, Flinx." The ship's AI was quietly emphatic. "Velocity is increasing exponentially and will shortly become salient to the unassisted human eye. There is evidence of the activation of a posigravity field of unparalleled dimensions evolving in the vicinity of what might freely be designated as the northern pole."
  As always, the AI's analysis was correct. It was not long before Flinx could perceive not only movement but the blossoming of the space-distorting drive field as well.
  "It's going to have to move a lot farther than an orbit or two out-system if it's going to safely initiate any kind of changeover," he murmured, as much to himself as to the ship.
  "Though in the absence of sufficient data I am unable to accurately compute mass, I would estimate the minimum secure distance for safe activation at not less than three-quarters of a local AU. Given no suspension of the speed at which the artifact continues to accelerate, it should reach that point in approximately two hours and thirty-four minutes."
  "Then," Flinx declared with some alacrity, "we had better get moving ourselves." Reacting to her companion's surge of anxiety. Pip rose from his shoulder to hover solicitously above and behind him.
  The Teacher replied to the assumption without remarking on its owner's lack of specifics. "Shall I enter coordinates and initiate preparations for entry into space-plus?"
  "Yes. Take us out and stand ready for changeover. I'll supply a destination, but I want to remain in normal space until I see what happens. So long as we keep at a safe distance, we shouldn't have any problems."
  The field being generated by the artifact continued to amplify to an extent that would have astonished Alex Kurita and Sumako Ki-noshita, the architects of the first KK-drive. Two hours and thirty-six minutes after it had first begun to move, the artifact blurred briefly, was engulfed in an intense burst of celestial radiance, and vanished. A deeply contemplative Flinx spent a long time gazing at the empty space the evanesced world-ship had occupied. At what point in time would the AAnn notice that the system of Pyrassis now encompassed nine and not ten worlds? To what incomprehensible phenomena would they ascribe the inconceivable anomaly? People lost track of credits and diminutive personal effects and small items of clothing—not planets.
  The important thing was that it was gone from where it had been, had taken itself elsewhere, was no longer where it had been known to be. Perhaps, he reflected thoughtfully, having been reanimated after a slumber of half a million years only to find itself with no traditional enemy to fight, it had gone in search of updated orders. If that was the case, it would go looking for them in the Blight. There it could wander harmlessly forever, in the vast stellar region of systems rendered sterile by the prehistoric war between the Tar-Aiym and the Hur'rikku, unmolested by bellicose AAnn or Hatharc, Quillp or Branner, human or thranx.
  Most important of all, it would be far from Mahnahmi's grasp. Some day, he knew, he would have to deal decisively with his sister. Or she with him.
  But for now, he was free of such onerous concerns. Free to roam again in search of enlightenment and wisdom. It did not occur to him to travel in search of amusement, or simply for diversion. He did not have the mind-set. Pensive but no longer apprehensive, he absently began to caress the back of Pip's head as she settled down again onto his shoulder. Soothed by the steady motion of his fingertips and the warmth of his body, she closed her eyes and went to sleep, her coils taut against him.
  As he provided the Teacher with a destination and the ship obediently set about making preparations for changeover, he found himself wishing he had been more fully cognizant of what had taken place while he had been lying semiconscious on the Tar-Aiym control platform. While grateful for the outcome, it would have been nice to know how he had done what he had done: how much of it had been a consequence of his and Pip's actions, and how much that of the artifact acting on its own. Perhaps it was just as well that he did not. He would have been both dumfounded and stunned by an explanation that was at once simplistic, incredibly convoluted, and pregnant with measureless meaning for far more than his own, singular future.
  Everything that had happened from the moment he had lain down on the platform had occurred because the planet had been talking to a plant.
  A NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF INTERSTELLAR TRAVEL
  Those with a taste for history know that the modern KK-drive that powers Commonwealth ships swiftly across vast interstellar distances was invented in 2280 A.D. by the husband and wife team of post-graduate students Alex Kurita and Sumako Kinoshita, of the technologically advanced Namerican tribe.
  Working in the field of applied high-energy physics, the couple was initially drawn to the pioneering work of the German mathematicians Theodor Kaluza and Oskar Klein not because of their theories, but because, by one of those wonderful bits of serendipity that inform the entire history of science, the two men happened to have the same last initials as the married students.
  With Einstein having previously shown that gravity arises from the four-dimensional curvature of space-time, the two Germans worked to demonstrate how the electromagnetic force arose from a fifth dimension, an unheard-of concept in 1919 A.D. According to the Kaluza-Klein theory, each point in normal space is actually a loop in the fifth dimension. Studying higher energy KK echoes of Z and Y bosons at the Winnipeg greater particle accelerator, Kurita and Kinoshita were able to develop a practical means for generating quantum gravity. Engineering designs based on their equations resulted in the construction of the first Caplis generator, variations of which power all interstellar vessels by accelerating them to speeds that allow them to slip into the fifth dimension, more commonly known today by its colloquial designation, space-plus. Later work by others building upon the work of Kaluza-Klein and Kurita-Kinoshita led to the discovery of a practical means for sending communications as resonating loops through the sixth dimension, or space-minus.
  —Excerpted from A Technological History of the Commonwealth, supervising ed. Repinski & Mutombu; Heidelberg University Press, Europe, Terra; volume 446. All rights reserved, known space and multiple dimensions.