The human. The damnable softskin. Where was it now, and what was it saying, and to whom? He forced himself not to panic. There was nothing he could do about that— yet.
An officer Takuuna did not recognize appeared. Ominously, he did not offer either an introduction or voice concern for the prone AAnn's condition. “Adminisstrator Takuuna VBXLLW, by order of the Imperial Authority on Jasst, I have been compelled to place you under arresst.” He did not add any gesture at all.
“ ‘Arresst’?” Feigning confusion, seeking sympathy, Takuuna blinked up at the officer. “On what charge, Captain?”
“Nothing sspecific.” The officer was visibly unhappy at having to deliver such news to one who was clearly unwell. “I wass told that there are thosse who wissh to quesstion you about eventss ssurounding the death of another nye, a junior functionary named Joofik.”
So that was it. Takuuna thought rapidly. Somehow, somewhere, he had overlooked something. Suspicions had been raised. He was concerned, but far from flustered. Questions, suspicions, no matter how palpable, he could deal with. He had been doing so throughout his entire career. Accusations could be countered by the “success” of his visit to the Tier. A potentially treacherous female nye had been dealt with, albeit more severely than intended.
As for the human, it was plain that it was somehow dangerous, just as he had been insisting all along. Evidence of this was to be found in his own present condition, not to mention that of poor, unfortunate Trooper Qeengat. Though he as yet had no proof that the human was directly responsible for what had happened to them there in the canyon, in the absence of argument to the contrary Takuuna knew he could certainly make a case for it. It did not matter if he was believed; only that his accusations were given consideration. With allegations and insinuations, he would turn any investigation into Joofik's death away from himself. Besides, the fact that he had suffered injury would automatically gain him sympathy. Why, if he played it right, he might even come out of this with his position strengthened. There might even be a commendation.
Lying on his back on the medical platform, he contemplated both the transport's ceiling and his immediate future with mounting confidence. One of the strike team's Vsseyan support staff appeared and bubbled deferentially to the medtech, announcing that they had already entered the outer limits of municipal Skokosas and would soon be passing Security on their way into the heart of the Imperial Compound. The medtech acknowledged the native with an absent wave of one hand.
“No time musst be wassted,” Takuuna told the Vssey importantly. “As ssoon as we arrive, I have ssignificant tesstimony to communicate to the ssenior adminisstrator, and my sseriouss injuriess require the attention of experienced medical sstaff.”
Utilizing several tentacles, the native gestured deferentially. “I assure the honorable administrator that no time will be waste', and that with any luck his hurting will soon be at an en'.”
Relaxing on the cradling platform, Takuuna hissed his approval. If only all Vssey were as respectful and servile as this one, the Authority would not be faced with any trouble on Jast. As his head troubled him less, he felt magnanimous.
“May I have your name, sservant, sso that I may commend your attitude to the Department of Ancillary Native Personnel as ssoon as I am able to do sso?”
“Certainly, Honore' Administrator. But no commendation is necessary. Such phenomena, like everything else, are transitory. I am Qyl-Elussab, gladly at your service until the impending termination of this journey.” Pivoting on its silent pad-feet, the Vssey departed for another part of the aircar.
For a moment, something about the native's name seemed to tickle a memory deep within the administrator's mind. Something briefly glimpsed and shunted aside. Absurd, he decided. Where could he possibly have encountered the name of a Vsseyan employee of the Authority?
Increasingly at ease, Takuuna instantly forgot about the submissive native. It did not occur to him precisely where and when he had previously encountered the Vssey's name until the aircar had passed through Security and was deep inside the Imperial compound. Only as the vehicle was slowing toward its parking station did he finally recall it as part of the late, ill-fated Joofik's eager presentation. Something about a single Vssey radical, exceedingly intelligent, subtle, and clever in its ability to wager solitary war against the AAnn presence on Jast. A Vssey whom Joofik had managed to isolate and identify, whose name was …
Heedless of the monitoring equipment that cocooned him, of the sensors that were attached to his body, Secondary Administrator Takuuna sat up with a start, just as the aircar and, as the Vsseyan had quietly put it, “everything else” terminated loudly—and violently—deep within the heart of the AAnn Authority's transportation annex. …
In the ship's relaxation chamber, with green growing things and running water and familiar smells embracing him in a congenial web of comforting familiarities, Flinx sat sipping a cold drink as the Teacher apologized for not having been able to find him.
“You were completely out of touch, Flinx. When my instruments lost the signal from your communicator, they could find nothing to replace it.”
“That's all right.” He watched approvingly as Pip chased a projection of an Alaspinian degath through the tidily manicured foliage that backed up against the little waterfall and pool. It was one of her favorite toys. “For a while there, I was completely out of touch with myself.”
The ship voice was still for a while. That suited Flinx perfectly, as he luxuriated once more in familiar surroundings.
“How was your vacation?” it finally inquired.
Unable to marshal a suitable reply, Flinx responded as best he could. “Somewhere between the looming galactic crisis Bran Tse-Mallory, the Eint Truzenzuzex, and I are trying to think of a way to deal with simply being dead.”
For a second time the ship went silent. “Ah,” it finally acknowledged. “Sarcasm. It is good to see that you are feeling well.”
“I'm not feeling well,” Flinx shot back, feeling like being argumentative for the hell of it. “Truly,” he added with a hint of sadness.
“Is there anything I can do?” the ship inquired with its usual synthetic solicitousness.
“Yes. Get me away from here. Back to the Commonwealth. No more exotic destinations. But no place too urbane,” he added hastily, mindful of the fact that Commonwealth authorities were undoubtedly still looking for him. “And let's initiate another external hull configuration.”
“Another one!” Flinx ignored the ship's apparent exasperation. It could not any more get exasperated than it could get tired. It was simply making use of its idiomatic verbal programming.
“Yes. If we're going back into the Commonwealth, we need to take precautions. We don't want to get hurt, or have to hurt anybody else.” After a moment's pause, he added, “I'll help with drafting the reconfiguration this time. I'm feeling a little—creative.”
Hurt. Wherever he went, whatever he tried to do, it followed him like a cloud. Not so bad if he could restrict it, limit it, to himself. Sorrowfully, that was hardly ever the case. Why was it that even though all he only ever wanted to do was help, everyone he came in contact with, especially representatives of the opposite gender, always seemed to end up getting hurt?
As the Teacher made the jump to space-plus, his stomach lurching one way and the ship another as it accelerated sharply in the general direction of the distant Commonwealth, it occurred to him that perhaps, when it came down to the matter of interpersonal relations, species like the Vssey had the best of it.
You can't hurt a member of the opposite sex if you're both of them.
Read on for an exciting excerpt from
RUNNING FROM THE DEITY
the next Pip & Flinx Adventure
by Alan Dean Foster
At first thought, you'd think it would be easy to find a missing planet. Even a methane dwarf. Except that the missing tenth world of the outlying Imperial AAnn system of Pyrassis was not a world, but an immense automa
ted weapons platform of the long-extinct race who called themselves the Tar-Aiym.
Actually, Flinx mused as he held out his arms and let the magnetically charged droplets of water swirl around him and scrub his lanky naked form, one would think it would be even simpler to find a planet-sized weapons platform than a small planet itself. The only problem was that in the absence of standing orders to guide its revived behavior, the monstrous ancient device had gone looking for some. Since to the best of current knowledge the last of those beings who might be capable of issuing such directives had died half a million years earlier, more or less, the prospects of said intelligent weapons platform stumbling across relevant instructions on how it ought to proceed were slight indeed. Flinx suspected that it would do no good, should he somehow actually succeed in tracking down his galactically perambulating quarry, to point out that the species it was built to fight, the Hur'rikku, were as dead and gone as the massive machine's original TarAiym builders.
Find it first, he told himself as he did a slow turn beneath the recycled spray from the shower. Semantics follow function.
He did not need to pivot for purposes of cleanliness since the water beads automatically enveloped him in their attentive aqueous embrace. They avoided only the special shower mask that shielded his mouth and nose. Without such a mask, someone making use of such a shower conceivably could drown—though it was an easy enough matter simply to step sideways and clear of the open-sided, freestanding facility.
“Are you finished yet?” The voice of the Teacher's ship-mind reached him through the stimulating vertical bath.
“Almost. Why? Are you going to suggest that after I finish bathing I take another ‘vacation’?”
“It is interesting how sardonicism tends to shed efficacy over time,” the ship-mind replied tartly. Having suggested that Flinx spend a while resting and recuperating on the out-of-the-way world of Jast, only to see him nearly murdered by one of the expatriate AAnn officials residing on that world, the AI was understandably disinclined to discuss the subject. Knowing this, Flinx lost few opportunities to bring it up.
“I take your point, by which I assume that you're not going to make such a suggestion. Good.”
As he stepped out of the shower, the ready and waiting dryer scanned his dripping body. Preprogrammed to his specified level of individual comfort, it set about evaporating from his skin the water and the dirt it had englobed. Standing there, alone in his personal hygienic facilities within the ship, Flinx contemplated his immediate future and regarded it as fraught with uncertainty, danger, and confusion.
Not that it had ever been otherwise.
Some days he chose to dress while at other times he moved about the Teacher's interior quite naked. As the only human on board, there was no need to concern himself with violating nudity taboos. Pip certainly did not mind. Rising from the resting place where she had dozed in utter indifference to her master's peculiar habit of immersing himself in gravity-defying liquid, she landed on his bare right shoulder and settled down. Her slender serpentine shape was warm against his freshly scoured skin.
Pulling on lightweight pants and a feathery comfort shirt, he made his way to the Teacher's bridge. Around him, the product of the Ulru-Ujurrian's creative engineering genius functioned smoothly. It would have been dead silent inside the ship, except that dead silence smacked too much of death itself. So at present, and in response to his latest request, the hush was broken by the soft sounds of a Sek-takenabdel cantata. Like many of his kind, Flinx was quite fond of the often atonal yet oddly soothing traditional thranx music, which in this particular composition sounded like nothing less than lullabies sung by angry, but muted, electrified cimbaloms.
As the ship sped at unnatural velocity through the nebulosity of higher mathematics colloquially known as space-plus, Flinx settled into the single command chair to gaze moodily through the sweeping, curved forward port. Though shifted over into the ultraviolet by the ship's KK-drive posigravity field, the view of the distorted universe surrounding him was, as always, still spectacularly beautiful. Pulsars and novae illuminated nebulae while distant galaxies vied for prominence with nearby suns.
Meanwhile, out beyond it all, in the direction of the constellation Boötes, something unimaginably vast and malevolent was coming out of a region known as the Great Emptiness, threatening not merely the Commonwealth and civilization, but everything within his field of view. His mental field of view, he reminded himself. Hence the need, however hopeless the notion of fighting something so immense and alien, to find allies. Such as, just possibly, the primeval weapons platform that had for millennia masqueraded as the tenth planet of the system known as Pyrassis.
Thinking of it made him want to go stand and soak beneath another shower.
A reaction as ineffectual as it was childish, he knew. He could no more wash away the distinct memory of the evil he knew was out there than he could that of his troubled childhood, his subsequent erratic maturation, and the pressure to succeed that had been placed on him by his good friends and mentors Bran Tse-Mallory and the Eint Truzenzuzex. Just as with his unstable, if escalating and potentially fatal Talent, he could not wish such things away.
He stared out at the universe and the universe stared right back, indifferent. Exactly how was he supposed to go about finding the wandering planet-sized Tar-Aiym device? The brilliant Truzenzuzex and the insightful Tse-Mallory had been unable to give him much advice. Since he was the only one who had experienced (or suffered, he corrected himself) mental contact with the machine, it was hoped that if he deliberately went looking for it he might make such contact with it again. Strike up a casual conversation with an all-powerful alien artifact, it was supposed.
And, he mused, in the unlikely event that he did? How to convince such a relic to participate in the defense of the galaxy. Nothing of overweening importance—just your average galaxy, in which he, and everyone he knew, happened to live. Reposing in the chair, he shook his head dolefully though there were none present to note the gesture save Pip and ship.
“I don't see how I can do what Bran and Tru asked,” he muttered aloud. He did not need to explain himself. Ship-mind knew.
“If you cannot, then no one can,” it replied unhelpfully. As befitted its programming, it was doing its best to be supportive.
“A distinct and even likely possibility,” he murmured to no one and nothing in particular. He glanced in the direction of the main readout. “We're still on course—if you can call heading in a general direction hundreds of parsecs in extent a ‘course.’”
As usual, the Teacher sounded more relaxed when responding to specifics of ship operation than it did when trying to understand the often unfathomable complexities of human thought and behavior.
“We have reentered the Commonwealth on intent to cross vector three-five-four, accelerating in space-plus on course to leave Commonwealth boundaries beyond Almaggee space, subsequent to entering the Sagittarius Arm and the region collectively known as the Blight.”
The Blight, Flinx thought. Home to long-vanished species among whom were the ancient Tar-Aiym and Hur'rikku. The Blight: an immense swath of space once flourishing with inhabited worlds much of which had been rendered dead and sterile by the photonic plague unleashed by the Tar-Aiym on their ancient Hur'rikku enemies half a million years ago. Like those who had hastily and unwisely propounded it, the all-destroying plague had long since consumed itself, leaving in its wake only empty skies gazing forlornly down on dead worlds. Here and there, in a few spatial corners miraculously passed over by the plague, life had survived. Life, and memories of the all-consuming horror that had inexplicably skipped over them. No wonder the inhabitants of such isolated yet fortunate systems gazed up at the night sky with fear instead of expectation, and clung tightly to their isolated home systems.
Somewhere within that immense and largely vacant chunk of cosmos, the reenergized Tar-Aiym weapons platform had gone searching for instructions. Hunting for those who had made it. That
there were none such to be found anywhere any longer was not sufficient to discourage it from looking. Such was the way of the machine mind. A mind he somehow had to make contact with once again. A mind he had somehow to persuade.
A hard task it was going to be, if he continued to have trouble convincing himself that the enterprise he was engaged in had not even the remotest chance of success.
When applied to most people, the expression have an open mind was merely rhetorical. Not so with Flinx. In fact, for much of his life he had prayed for the ability to have one that was closed. Intermittently and uncontrollably exposed to the emotions of any and every sentient around him, he threatened to drown in a sea of sentiment and sensation whenever he visited a developed world. Feelings flooded in on him in endless waves of exhilaration, despair, hope, remorse, anger, love, and everything in between. With each passing year he seemed to become more sensitive, more alert to those inner expressions of thinking beings. Not long ago, he had unexpectedly acquired the ability to project as well as receive emotions. This capability had proven useful in his search for the truth of his origins as well as in escaping those who intended him harm.
Yet for all his escalating skills, he had yet to learn how to master them. Defined by their erraticism, he had long ago decided that they might forever be beyond his control. That did not keep him from trying. Not only because a Talent that was wild was of far less usefulness than one that could be managed, but because the severe headaches he had suffered from since adolescence continued to grow more frequent, and more intense. His ability might be his savior—as well as that of billions of other sentient beings. It might also kill him. He had no choice but to continue wrestling with it, and with what he was, because he was special.