Flinx's Folly

  She sidestepped the question. "Bill, you're not the first man to mistake compassion for passion. He's an old acquaintance who I'm trying to help. When he's said all he came to say, I'm sure he'll leave." Behind her, a drifting chronoture announced the time in soft tones that imitated the call of a particularly melodious local pond dweller.

  "Alone?"

  That was too much. "I'm an independent woman, Bill. I enjoy talking to Philip and I enjoy talking to you. What I don't like is being interrogated." She pushed her drink toward him. "Maybe this isn't a good time for a talk like this. Maybe you should leave."

  "I've been getting the distinct feeling that no time is a good time for us to talk anymore. Or to do anything else." He rose and stepped around the table. But he didn't continue toward the door.

  In all the time they had spent together, he had never laid a hand on her. That was not to say they hadn't argued, but their disagreements had always struck her as normal for two people getting to know each other. These occasional disagreements had never involved physical violence. Now that he stood close by, angry and looming over her, she wondered if that record was about to be broken. She wasn't afraid, but she was wary. Ormann was a big man, and despite what self-defense training she'd had, she did not doubt that he could do a lot of damage were he so inclined.

  For the moment, however, all the fury bottled up inside him continued to take the form of words and flushed expressions.

  "Don't lie to me, Clarity. There's something more between you and this kid than just a desire to listen to his troubles. I've seen the way you look at each other-not all the time, true, but now and again. There's more there than mutual compassion."

  "Okay, I admit it, Bill. We had a relationship. It didn't last long and it was six years ago. You didn't have any relationships then, I suppose?"

  "We're talking about now, today, not six years ago."

  "He got rid of me," she told him.

  That admission took Ormann by surprise. "He dumped you? I knew the kid was weird, but I didn't think he was stupid."

  "He's twenty-four, Bill. He's not a kid."

  "Everything's relative, Clarity." He sat down on the arm of her chair, closer than she wanted. "So, what's his big problem that he had to come all this way just to talk to an old friend?"

  Let's see, she thought. Where to begin? Well, for one thing, he's the one of the few surviving illegal offspring of a loathsome research project developed by a disgraced bunch of gengineers known as the Meliorare Society, whose biological manipulation of his nervous system has endowed him with capabilities he is still learning about and that may kill him. Oh yes; he also believes he may be the key to saving civilization in this galaxy from an unnamed threat of cosmic proportions, an infinitesimal exposure to which caused my blood to run cold and frightened me so badly it all but stopped my breathing. Furthermore, he thinks he is being manipulated by outside forces he is unable to identify, with the exception of one childlike but absurdly talented sentient species that is so dangerous it has been placed Under Edict by the government. Other than that, he's as carefree as a bidium songfret and there's nothing on his mind-nothing at all.

  What she said was, "He doesn't make friends easily. I'm one of the few people he thinks he can confide in."

  Ormann made a disgusted noise. "One of the oldest lines in the book: All I need is the love and support of a good woman to help me out of my troubles and misery. Women have fallen for that one since time immemorial. I don't blame you, Clarity." The anger in him had subsided but it had not gone away. "It's maternal instinct, among other things. But I'd prefer that you didn't see him anymore. You insist he's not a kid? Fair enough. Let him work out his own problems like an adult. Or seek counseling. This has been going on for more than a month now. You've done your best. You've done more than your part."

  Wishing there were more space between them, she looked up at him unapologetically and without smiling. "He's my friend, Bill. I won't abandon him."

  Ormann nodded thoughtfully. "I see. And us?"

  "I don't want to abandon that, either."

  "But you won't stop seeing him? How about listening to him, talking to him, over the vit?"

  She shook her head. "There's no comfort to be found in talking to an electronic image, no matter how realistic."

  A hand reached down. It was a large hand, smooth and fine, the nails perfectly manicured, but still very strong. It gripped her shoulder, the fingers digging in.

  "You're hurting me, Bill."

  He leaned toward her without slackening his grip. "I'm not going to lose you, Clarity. Especially not to some overtall, under-mature emotional basket case. I've got too much invested in our relationship."

  She reached up but was unable to dislodge his fingers. Her voice was tight and controlled. She knew he knew he was hurting her, but she wasn't about to plead with him. "Let go of me, Bill. Now."

  "And if I don't?" His face was suddenly much closer, split by an unpleasant, humorless grin.

  She didn't have to reply. The deep humming in his ears was enough to make him release her. Scrap was hovering behind him, less than a meter from his head. Though Ormann's knowledge of the minidrag's capabilities extended no further than what Clarity had told him, he had no reason to doubt her. The slitted eyes were staring unblinkingly back into his own, the scaly mouth was parted, and somewhere within lay the means to render him dead as a doornail in fewer minutes than he had fingers on one hand.

  Very slowly, he rose from the arm of the chair. One hand went to the table to pick up the travel pouch that lay there. It contained, among other personal items, a powerful shocker. New Riviera might be the most livable world in the Commonwealth, but it was not devoid of crime. Where there was so much money to be had, there were always those hoping to acquire it without having to work for it.

  "I've got personal protection with me." Carefully, making no sudden moves, he clipped the pouch back onto his waist. "One burst would paralyze your damn flying snake for hours, if the charge didn't kill it outright."

  She pursed her lips and eyed him pityingly. "You'd never get off a shot. Unless you're better at controlling your emotions than anyone I've met. Scrap would sense your intent before you could get a finger on the firing mechanism. You'd be on the floor, dying and with your eyes melting in their sockets."

  His hand cradled the pouch, caressing it slowly. "I've only your word for that, Clarity. I never liked snakes, anyhow-winged or otherwise, terrestrial or alien."

  She shrugged diffidently. "I don't want to see you dead. Bill."

  "Well, that's something, anyway." His voice dripped sarcasm.

  "If you don't believe me about Scrap, you know how to find out for yourself."

  Silence filled the room. Then he let his hand slide away from the pouch. In response not to the gesture but to the emotions Ormann was projecting, the minidrag backed off another couple of meters. But Scrap remained airborne with his gaze fixed on the man.

  Ormann headed for the front door. "Don't make any rash decisions, Clarity. That's all I'm asking. This kid shows up unannounced after six years-he's likely to disappear again the same way. But I'll still be here when he's gone."

  "I know, Bill. I'm keeping that in mind."

  It wasn't much to leave with, but it was something, and he clutched at it. The evening hadn't gone at all the way he'd hoped. He was leaving unsatisfied and irate, but at least he hadn't been thrown out. She still cared for him. Genuine affection, he wondered, or hedging her emotional bets?

  "I'll see you at the office," he told her by way of good night. She responded pleasantly, if without any great enthusiasm.

  He'd made a mistake, he told himself grimly as he took the lift down to the transport level. He'd underestimated everything: this strange guy's appeal, the depth of the relationship he'd had with Clarity, the strength of their lingering attachment, and, yes, even the extent of his own relationship with the beautiful and desirable gengineer.

  A few solid whacks might have knocked s
ome sense into her, he mused as he climbed back into his luxury personal transport and activated the autohome. Rising from its charger in the garage, it pivoted and accelerated gently, heading for the exit. But if she was to be believed, any attempt to strike her with anything more edifying than words would result in the intervention of that slimy, leather-winged pet of hers. He needed to do some research, he told himself firmly. Find out how much of what she had told him about the minidrag was the truth and how much embellishment. If things continued to proceed the way they were going, he might need to know.

  Meanwhile, he reflected as the transport turned up the guideway, accelerating on automatic, he had no intention of standing politely aside any longer and playing the confident, condescending bystander. Thanks to the arrival of this peculiar specter from her past, his relationship with Clarity was in jeopardy. He would not sit back and watch it be destroyed by some soft-spoken competitor. The kid wasn't even a Nurian, for O'Morion's sake!

  There were several things he could do. Some of them would require time and research. At least one he could set in motion immediately. Its outcome would be instructive at the least, highly gratifying at best. Activating the transport's communicator, he spoke a name that would have surprised his superiors as much as it would Clarity. Not everyone he had engaged in business with was an executive or scientist.

  Even on a world as civilized as New Riviera, it was sometimes useful to know individuals who were not.

  It took a few days. During that time he made an effort to be as affable as possible at the office and as gracious to Clarity as his emotions would allow. His task was made more difficult since she went everywhere with that damn minidrag. It was a struggle not to let his real feelings flow to the fore, even when he was smiling and joking on the outside. He could fool her but not the alien empath. The minidrag would sense the deception, and she in turn would note the reptiloid's reactions.

  But he managed. Part of his business success lay in knowing how to massage corporate egos and stroke company personalities. More than once, he caught the minidrag casting a threatening stare in his direction. More often than not, Clarity didn't notice. When she did, he mustered a plausible excuse for the snake's reaction, claiming that he was upset about the way some aspect of business was going or that he'd just banged his knee on the side of desk.

  She was pleasant enough toward him, especially as time passed and he made no mention of the uncomfortable confrontation that had taken place in her codo. Some of her old affection for him returned. Pleased, he did everything possible to encourage her. He even managed a genial word or two when she announced that she would be unable to see him because she would be attending to Lynx's needs. He lied, in short, with consummate skill.

  A week later he found himself on the same path through the city park that the two of them had strolled on so often during the past year. This time, he was alone. Clarity was with her psychologically damaged charge. What they were talking about, he didn't know. What they might be doing, he fought manfully not to imagine.

  It was late and the park was no longer crowded. Constrained by municipal regulations, the majority of self-animated drifting advertisements had long since shut down for the night, returning to their camouflaged charging stations like so many diurnal birds. With the return of the sun the following morning they would resume their hard or soft sells, depending on the product they happened to be programmed to hawk. To sleep, perchance to harangue.

  Two men sat munching self-warming bags of Frair on the other side of the Tavares-Cellini fountain. Graphic water from the fountain reached toward them with misty tentacles, to moisten slightly without making too much contact. They ignored the aqueous aesthetics in single-minded pursuit of their late-night snacking.

  One was almost as tall as Clarity's friend. His thick, muscular torso rested atop a pair of spindly legs. With his equally long, heavy arms and narrow, raptorish face, he looked top-heavy and as if he might topple over if he tried to stand. His companion was nearly as tall and resembled a cartoonist's sketch of a human being: all balloons and circles, as if every part of his body had been puffed up with air. When he rose, however, none of the concentric folds of his great mass rolled or jiggled. The outward appearance of obesity was a sham. The man was buffed up, not puffed up.

  It seemed unlikely that any other pair of male visitors to the Tavares-Cellini fountain at this hour would half so well fit the profile of the two men Ormann sought. The nearest glanced challengingly in his direction. The stare was quietly arrogant, designed to fend off a casual approach.

  "I'm the oar man for the boat," Bill informed them in a noncommittal tone. If he was wrong and these two were not the right ones, they would think him no more than a harmless idiot: something even contemporary Commonwealth society had not been able to eliminate.

  The muscular man nodded. Neither man made any move to rise from their bench, nor did they make room for him.

  Ormann was not offended. So much the better. He had not sought out the services of men like these in the hope they would prove conventionally polite. "Did our mutual friend explain what I need?"

  The two men exchanged a glance. Top-heavy replied, "You have a problem with a visitor who's spending too much time with your woman."

  Ormann smiled thinly. "She's not mine yet, but things aren't progressing toward that end as smoothly as I'd like."

  "Because of this visitor."

  Ormann nodded. "I was told you and your friend work quickly and efficiently."

  A smile cracked the raptor's visage. "We're not rated by the Nurian Consumer Network, but we know what to do. What you want sounds fairly straightforward."

  "It would be." He waited while a meandering couple moved past and out of earshot. "Except that the visitor, like my lady, has an Alaspinian flying snake. They're empathetic telepaths. So if the visitor feels threatened, his pet senses it and reacts accordingly."

  The mass of muscle frowned. "It's dangerous then, this flying snake?"

  "Lethal," Ormann replied somberly, "and lightning fast. You're dead before can you draw a bead on it with even a lightweight weapon. Or so I'm told. I've never actually seen it in action."

  Wiping crumbs from his mouth with the back of his thick forearm, the big man frowned at his partner. "Don't like this. We were told there was one disrespectful young guy who needed enlightening. Nothing was said about lethal flying creatures."

  "I've thought of a way to deal with it."

  Raptor face was already thinking of solutions. "Set up and detonate a kill from a distance or by timer."

  Ormann shook his head. "Too extreme. No way of being sure about the consequences. And there's always the chance some fool bystander ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time and gets hurt. Then the authorities come into it and things could get awkward. Besides, I don't really want him dead-just scared off." He smiled wolfishly. "He's so relaxed and sure of himself it shouldn't be a problem to bring off what I have in mind. He feels completely secure whenever that minidrag of his is riding his shoulder. Which is, as near as I've been able to determine, constantly."

  "Then how do we get to him without getting bit?" raptor face wanted to know.

  "The minidrag doesn't bite; it spits venom. But it won't get the chance. I've arranged for the delivery of a special package. It will be addressed from the woman who's involved, so I know the kid will accept it. The package will contain a powerful soporific. Even if he has an unusually strong constitution, it should put both him and his pet out for an hour. You two can move in at your leisure, pack him up, take him someplace quiet and isolated, and finish your job."

  Man mountain looked thoughtful. "What if he don't open the package? What if he scans it and sees that the contents are suspicious?"

  "The contents won't be suspicious because there won't be any of consequence." Ormann felt more than a little pleased with himself. "There'll be nothing inside but stuffing. The soporific will be infused into the packaging itself. I managed to obtain a DNA sample from one o
f his hairs. The packaging material is keyed to him alone. As soon as he touches the package, the wrapping will disintegrate, releasing the soporific. There'll be enough of it and it will be strong enough so that, even if he's faster thinking than I believe he is, he won't have time to do anything. It will be sufficient to saturate the hotel room he's staying in, which means that even if the minidrag isn't on his shoulder but is somewhere else in the room, it will still be rendered unconscious. The agent will dissipate in five minutes, so you'll be able to enter the room almost immediately after he handles the package."

  "Better be." The big man shifted on the bench, which groaned beneath his weight. "I'm not dealing with any poisonous offworld pet."

  Ormann reassured him. "All you'll have to do is walk in, bag him, and take him to wherever it is you take those who have been consigned to your care. Leave the flying snake behind, blow its malicious little scaly head off, tie its wings to its body and toss it out the nearest window-whatever you want. It's the kid I'm interested in."

  Raptor face nodded. "How interested?"

  "I told you." After another glance around the park, Ormann leaned toward them. In the pale amber light from the park's glowfloats his expression was as twisted as his words. "Scare him. Frighten him so that when he regains consciousness the first thing he'll want to do is leave Nur and never come back. You don't have to be explicit about the reason. Tell him he's made enemies who don't want him here. Tell him nothing. I leave the details up to you. Mess up his face and anything else you think appropriate for a guy who's trying to steal another man's woman.

  "Oh, and one more thing. He's too tall. Break his knees. Both of them." His expression contorted into a smile. "I'll be the first one to convey my outrage and sympathy to him-while he's recovering in the hospital."

  Raptor face was neither impressed nor dismissive. This was, after all, part and parcel of the nature of doing his kind of business, and he and his partner had been through it all many times before. Even in paradise, there were parasites.