“You see how many gryln collectors can be placed on a single animal.” Ebbanai indicated ijv-three, their best producer.
As he took mental notes on the relevant biology and process, a curious Flinx could not keep from mentally substituting the term lactation for secretion, even though nothing about the practice had anything to do with milk. “If manual stimulation is required to start the animal producing, how to you persuade them to keep it up? Do you have to continuously work the herd, going from one to another?”
“Exactly.” Ebbanai proceeded to demonstrate, moving from one animal to the next. As he did so, a curious Pip hummed along overhead, alternating her attention between the activity taking place below and the interesting alien vermin that infested the upper reaches of the building.
Flinx studied the Dwarra’s hectic movements. “There ought to be a way to automate the process,” he murmured, more to himself than to his host.
“Automate?” Working a fourth animal, Ebbanai wondered at the alien’s thought processes. In order to induce them to produce lavishly, baryeln required constant attention and care. How did one automate attention and care?
Its focus elsewhere, the alien’s pet dropped in his direction. Flinx seemed momentarily distracted, closely examining the most recent animal Ebbanai had stimulated. Time to act, Ebbanai realized. Tilting back his head, he glanced upward more sharply than was necessary. As he did so, his eyes expanded and he began waving his forearms over his head and shouting wildly.
A surprised Flinx turned toward the native. “It’s all right, Ebbanai! You know she won’t hurt...”
Stumbling around in a panicky semi-circle as the “frightened” Ebbanai sought to avoid the minidrag’s “attack,” both of the native’s right forelegs slammed up against the back legs of the baryeln he was working with. Knowing he might not get a second chance, he made sure to throw his legs solidly against the animal’s much sturdier hind limbs. The startled baryeln uttered a sharp grunting noise and hopped a couple of steps forward. One hind limb came down on Ebbanai’s outer right foreleg. This unforeseen reaction had a consequence that was undeniably beneficial, though Ebbanai would have preferred to have avoided it. At least he was spared the need to try to force the appearance of discomfort.
The slender foreleg snapped as it was stepped on.
He screamed; a high-pitched whistling sound that had nothing of the forced or fake about it. Flinx was at his side immediately. As the heavy-bodied alien biped hauled his softly caterwauling host out of the stall, the wounded Ebbanai was yet again made conscious of the alien’s physical strength. Whether due to lower “gravity” or something else, those otherworldly muscles handled his broken body effortlessly.
Storra joined them quickly—almost too quickly. She had been waiting for the yell, though its volume and intensity had surprised her. Rushing from the house toward the barn, she mentally complimented her mate on the veracity of his screams—until she saw his leg. Before she could even think to prevent it, or modify it, a mix of sympathy and admiration flowed out to him. Since their Sensitives were not in contact, Ebbanai didn’t receive it.
Flinx did. It puzzled him. What, exactly, was the native female feeling? Compassion for her injured mate, certainly. But he was picking up indications of something else. Something almost contradictory. It made no sense.
He had no time to analyze it. There was no ambivalence about his own emotions. He felt terrible. His friendly, obliging host had been seriously injured while taking time to accommodate the wishes of his guest. Flinx eyed Pip disapprovingly. The flying snake was not intelligent enough to understand what, if anything, had gone awry. She had no sense of having done anything wrong. She perceived only that her master was unhappy with her. Fluttering above all the sudden activity, she did not know what to do except stay out of the way.
A detailed examination of her mate’s second right foreleg was not required to tell Storra what had happened. “It’s broken,” she announced immediately. Given the unexpected extent of the injury, she did not have to fake surprise. “How did this happen, Ebbanai?”
Through pain considerably greater than that which he had expected to have to experience, Ebbanai grimaced at her. His prepared speech fell by the wayside as he found himself speaking the actual truth, as opposed to the one he and his mate had so carefully rehearsed.
“I was working with three when our friend’s pet dove down and startled me. It caused me to kick ijv-three’s back legs, which upset it, and in trying to get away it stepped on me.”
Flinx looked on anxiously. “Is there anything I can do?”
This was going to be easier than they had planned, Storra thought—except for the fact that Ebbanai’s leg actually was broken, instead of merely strained as they had intended.
“Our business requires my presence in the city tomorrow.” All four forearms indicated her collapsed, injured mate. “But I can’t leave Ebbanai alone like this.” She turned what she hoped were soulful, pleading eyes on their alien guest. “I know you intended to leave us very soon, but if you could see your way to remaining for just another few days, to watch over Ebbanai, I could successfully conclude our business in town and return to take up his care.”
It was not the kind of request Flinx had expected. “By offering to help, I meant with his actual injury. I have a device called a beam-healer that promotes a body’s ability to repair itself, by encouraging the increased production of calcium, and...”
Seeing that they were staring at him uncomprehendingly, he trailed off. Anyway, while the beam-healer could to a certain extent be adjusted, he would first have to analyze the composition of Dwarran bone before it could be recalibrated to the appropriate setting. Dwarran skeletal structure might incorporate more silicon and less calcium than human bone, for example, in which case stimulating the injured area to produce more calcium might do more harm than good.
Just hanging around for another couple of days would not require the serious recalibration of anything but his travel plans, which were themselves in a state of flux. While he did not warm to the idea, there were still things here to be learned, and acquiescing to the request would be comparatively painless. After all they had done for him, openly and without complaint, he could hardly refuse such a simple request.
If only the feelings he was perceiving were less ambiguous. There was no mistaking the authenticity of poor Ebbanai’s injury and the emotions that flowed from him. But the more the three of them talked, especially Storra, the more Flinx sensed an underlying current of eagerness that seemed at odds with his host’s undeniable pain and discomfort.
Still, a request was a request, and a simple one at that. If all they wanted from him was a little of his time, that he could certainly spare.
“I don’t know how I can be of much help around here, but if that’s what you want me to do...”
A demonstrably excited Storra came toward him, started to dip her Sensitives toward his forehead, remembered that he did not possess the pertinent appendages, and stood back. “It will allow us to continue business with our waiting contacts in Metrel. I will be back in less than three days’ time, I promise. Meanwhile, Ebbanai can tell you what to do to keep things functioning here.” Four forearms reached out to him expectantly. Choosing a pair of gripping flanges at random, he grasped them politely.
“I can’t tell you how much this will help us, friend Flinx.” Ebbanai spoke through the throbbing pain in his leg. “With your assistance, nothing need go undone here while Storra is in the city.”
Flinx nodded absently. It was clear he was going to learn more about collecting the liquid bounty produced by baryeln and the process and procedures required to support it than he had ever anticipated.
Overhead, Pip remained puzzled and confused. But if her master was now at ease, there was no reason why she should be otherwise. Settling herself across his left arm and shoulder, she warily eyed the barn’s two other sentients. She could perceive they meant neither her nor her master any harm.
>
But that did not mean she had to like them.
Time spent at the homestead in Ebbanai’s company passed swiftly, thanks to Flinx’s insatiable curiosity and his host’s willingness, even eagerness, to satisfy it. In return, Flinx used the medical instrumentation he always carried with him to perform the necessary analysis of Ebbanai’s bone structure and consequent injury. As it developed, the beam-healer did not require much adjustment to speed the healing of Dwarran bone. Watching an injury that would normally take eight-days to heal rapidly repair itself, Ebbanai’s astonishment knew no bounds.
“How is this possible?” The native was standing in resting pose just inside the barn, his upper torso sunk partway into the lower and supported by his three undamaged forelegs. In the cool shade, with a light, crisp breeze blowing intermittently outside, he had leaned back against the wall to examine the bandage-wrapped injured member. “It must be some kind of magic!”
“Not magic.” Standing nearby watching a pair of baryeln lap up the moist plant mash Ebbanai had just dumped in their stalls, Flinx idly stroked the back of Pip’s head with one hand as he spoke. “Science.”
Gingerly, Ebbanai set his second right foreleg down and put a little weight on it. Normally, it would have been another couple of eight-days before he could have done so. Thanks to the ministrations of the alien and his mysterious devices and mendicants, after only a couple of days of treatment the limb could now provide the first underpinnings of support.
“I’ve heard of science. There are many who believe in it, especially the builders of the new factories and the sailoring merchants who are always looking for safer and faster ways to cross the seas. Equally, there are others who prefer to rely on the old ways and beseech the assistance of spirits and gods. And there are some, not wishing to take chances, who implore the help of both.”
Flinx nodded understandingly. His host’s description of Dwarran society placed it well within its exploratory Commonwealth classification. “My people have come to rely on science to explain the natural cosmos. In time, so will yours.” He did not add, If they survive the necessary difficult social adjustments that affect all such sentient species at such critical times.
Ebbanai took an experimental step with his treated foreleg, marveling at its unnaturally restored strength. “If such ‘science’ can do things like fix a broken leg in less than an eight-day, I certainly will be among the first to salute its primacy.” Wide round eyes regarded the pouch and instrument-laden belt that encircled the alien’s waist. “What other wonders do you carry around so casually with you?” he asked eagerly. A bit too eagerly, Flinx thought.
Well, such envy was only natural. “Just enough to look after myself. Emergency rations, both for myself and for Pip. A device for purifying water. The means with which to communicate with my ship. Medical supplies and equipment, as you already know.”
An entranced Ebbanai forgot himself completely. Had his mate been present, she would have kicked him for his candor. “Weapons?” he asked enthusiastically, and was immediately sorry for his zeal.
His guest did not seem upset by the query, much less alarmed. “I always have with me the means for defending myself. When you find yourself in a strange place, that’s always the prudent thing to do.” He smiled reassuringly. “Of course, if I’d been able to foresee what a kind reception I was in for, I could have left that on my ship.”
Could have, the alien said, Ebbanai noted carefully. Not would have. It was not a warning, or a sign of displeasure. If their situations were reversed, Ebbanai would have done no less. For example, he never went into Metrel unarmed. The city could be dangerous, especially for a nonresident, and it was only a fool who entered such places unprepared.
Abruptly, and unexpectedly, the alien turned away from him. Its posture stiffened, and the flying creature that never strayed far from its side took to the air, rising toward the domed roof of the barn. Both beings’ attention was focused on the main doorway.
“What is it?” Approaching as close as he dared without being invited, Ebbanai directed his own gaze toward the entry. “Is there something wrong, friend Flinx?”
His guest did not reply. Flinx’s eyes were on the barn entrance, but his perception was roving beyond. Luxuriating in the mental peace and quiet, he had only intermittently allowed his Talent to break through the silence and reach outward, especially when he was in the perceived comfort of Ebbanai’s presence. He had just sampled the emotional aether in the immediate vicinity, only to be rewarded not with the expected continued stillness but with a number of highly energetic emotional projections. Many, in fact.
Frowning, he turned back to Ebbanai, who did his best not to look blameworthy. Flinx wouldn’t have recognized the equivalent Dwarran expression in any case, but he didn’t have to. His host’s guilt flowed out of him like smoke off a coal fire.
“Ebbanai, what is this? What’s going on?”
“What is what?” The shamefaced Dwarra tried to stall, ineffectually.
Flinx nodded in the direction of the doorway. Now that he had once again opened himself to external Dwarran emotions, they were flooding in on him simultaneously from several directions. “You told me Storra was expected back today. Nothing was said about her bringing others with her.”
Ebbanai tried hard not to look up at the hovering Pip, whom his guest had informed him was capable of dealing out a particularly lethal toxin. Where was Storra and why didn’t she hurry up? Where were his tongues when he needed both of them so badly? He stammered, found his tongues tied up in his chewing plates, and managed to utter only a few feeble inconsequentialities.
I’ve been deceived, Flinx thought to himself as the pack of approaching emotional outpourings grew louder and stronger in his mind. The question was, to what purpose?
Then the barn doors were dragged aside and a veritable flock of Dwarra were visible bunched up tightly together in the entrance. One set of wide round eyes after another gaped at the alien standing before them. In the center, looking tired but triumphant, was Ebbanai’s mate Storra.
“There it is,” she declared into the verbal but not emotional silence. “Just as I described it. Now who calls me a liar?”
There was a pause. The cluster of awestruck Dwarra stared at Flinx. Flinx gazed back at the Dwarra. Then, assured by Storra of his friendliness—that she could not guarantee it did not stop her from offering the assurance—they surged forward and into the barn.
A multifaceted flood of emotion washed over Flinx as he left himself open to them. Anxiety, hope, intense interest, desperate need, and not a little fear were the most common feelings he perceived. Effortlessly he shut them out, then let them flood in on him again. Nowhere else in all his travels had he found himself with the ability to so painlessly turn the rush of surrounding, sentient emotion on and off as easily as he might control the flow of water from a tap.
At the first sign of the incoming crowd Pip had lifted herself from his shoulder. Now she hovered high overhead, near the apex of the barn’s dome, watching. She was not alarmed. None of the new arrivals projected hostility toward her master. Wariness, yes. Suspicion, yes. But no enmity.
They didn’t want to hurt him, Flinx sensed equally well. The depth of feeling he was picking up was indicative of something else. Via the limited knowledge of Dwarrani he had acquired and with the aid of the translator still in place around his neck, it soon became clear what they wanted from him.
Dwarran parents with suffering offspring jostled for his attention with aged partners in need of miraculous and biologically implausible rejuvenation. Gatherers and farmers wanted an assortment of missing limbs and digits replaced. The mentally disturbed wished to be restored to sanity. Victims of marauding warlords desired that their wounds be made whole again. Veterans of pillaging armies wanted shattered bones rebuilt. All of them pushed and shoved and crowded close to beseech the alien whom Storra had declared could work these miracles. Dozens of pairs of Sensitives fluttered in his direction, as if by mer
ely making contact with him the needs of their owners could somehow be met. Their collective desperation was overwhelming. Off to one side, Storra had rejoined her mate. She looked pleased. He looked guilty.
Hemmed in on all sides by imploring Dwarra, a perturbed Flinx bent his knees and sprang. In Arrawd’s lesser gravity, his leap carried him over the heads of the tightly packed throng and onto a rending platform none could reach without one of the triple-wide ladders designed to accommodate their rangy frames. A loud exhalation somewhere between a mass hiss and stunned whistling greeted his astounding physical feat. Catching his balance, he turned to look back down at them. If anything, his new position high above made him appear even more transcendent, though the appearance of the Alaspinian minidrag that settled itself on his shoulder and neck was anything but angelic.
There was no point in pretending that he was ignorant of their reason for coming. No doubt Storra had already regaled them with tales of his empathetic abilities—suitably enhanced. Relying on his translator to correct and adjust his speech patterns, he addressed the crowd. The instant he started talking, they went silent, astonished in spite of what Storra had told them to hear their own language coming from the vicinity, if not always the mouth, of the alien. His words also had the effect, he noted, of calming the storm of competing emotions.
“It’s true—I am a visitor from another place, another world.” Perfectly round oculars eyed him raptly. “And it’s also true that I can do certain things you cannot. But I can’t help any of you with your problems, or with your questions, because it’s against the laws of the government where I come from.”
There was the briefest of silences, followed by a concerted rush toward the high platform on which he was standing. No matter where he went, he thought grudgingly, no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to end up the center of attention.