So these people knew about the phenomenon that lay behind the Great Emptiness. But how? Could there be others besides him capable of such perception? He giggled. The air, the air, he gasped. Somehow these people had fooled the Teacher's AI sufficiently to slip aboard. Since he had seen no other shuttle in the bay, they had probably entered via environment suits. Then they had introduced something into the ship's atmosphere. Something that made anyone who inhaled it feel good, at ease, unthreatened. Then they had enhanced the effect even further by injecting him with something.
Why didn't Pip defend him, attack them? Because he felt no apprehension, no fear. He felt wonderful. Did they intend him harm? For just an instant, a flicker of anxiety crossed his mind. From her small bed across the room. Pip looked up. The spark of unease that had briefly troubled her master flickered out. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.
"How do you know about what's coming?" he heard himself ask.
Leaning over him, the man smiled. They were breathing the same recycled atmosphere, Flinx knew. It made them feel unaccountably happy also. But they had come prepared for the consequences and had probably dosed themselves with something that would mitigate the effect and allow them to continue to function.
"Why, because of you, Philip Lynx! There would be no Order of Null without you. In a sense, you are our founder."
Anger marched now with his contentment. He was the founder of this bizarre and confused Order? He was responsible for the existence of these blissful worshipers of nothingness?
"Confused," he gurgled softly. "Better explain."
"We would be happy to."
Of course she would, Flinx thought. Everyone and everything on the Teacher was happy now. Except perhaps the AI. It had clearly been neutralized, if not entirely shut down.
"The individual, praise be his perceptiveness, who started the Order was a researcher named Pyet Prorudde who worked in Commonwealth Science Central on Earth. He encountered a singular report from one Padre Bateleur on Samstead. Curious, he monitored all departmental addenda to this report that revealed the presence of nothingness in a certain section of space lying in the direction of the constellation Boötes. So intrigued was he that he engaged others to research it further with him.
"What they found was emptiness. Nothingness. A place where everything had been wiped away. No sin, no vice, no immorality. No war, no slaughtering of innocents. A place where immorality, both humanx and alien, had been erased. A place where life, where the very stuff of creation itself, could begin afresh."
"No." Flinx's protest was feeble, weighed down by the malicious bliss that was smothering him. "There's not nothing there." Was he even making sense? he wondered. "There's something else. An immense evil. A foulness that destroys. It's not cleansing. It's pure destruction. And where it passes, nothing is left, so there's nothing from which new life, new creation, can emerge. There's only-void."
Favoring him with a confident, knowing smile, the woman patted him reassuringly on his shoulder. She wore the contented look of the self-assured fanatic.
"We believe that we know better, Philip Lynx."
Realization struck home, penetrating even the fog of false happiness that enveloped him. "You're the people who tried to kill me on Goldin Four."
"Not us," the woman protested, "but others of the Order. Something happened to them. There are wise individuals among us who realized that what affected them might somehow have been tied to you. So we delved deeper into what little is known about you and learned enough to determine how best you might be deceived." She gestured to her right.
"It was felt that waylaying you on your way to your shuttle might not work. Therefore a backup plan was devised. So here we are now, on your wonderful ship, together."
He smiled up at her and giggled again. Inside, a part of him that was restrained by something less tangible than straps was screaming to be let loose. Across the room Pip dozed on, empathetically awash in her master's radiant happiness.
"You wouldn't kill your founder, would you?"
"Everything must perforce be wiped away. No hint, not the tiniest nanofragment of corruption from this reality, must be allowed to remain to contaminate the new dawn that is to come. We of the Order welcome the cleansing that is coming." She smiled maternally; a death's-head smile. "We all die, Philip Lynx. Some sooner, some later. In the immensity of time, our individual lives mean nothing."
"I disagree," he mumbled liquidly.
"As will others. But by then the purifying force that presses forward behind the Great Emptiness will be here, and it will not matter."
"Then why bother with me?" he asked.
Looking down at him, the man wore a somber expression. Exultant, but somber. "Because it has been determined, because of what you know and because of your ability to perceive what lies beyond, that you are the one individual who might make a difference. That cannot be allowed. So you have to die." He smiled. "We will die with you. Now or later, it does not matter."
"What are you going to do?" Flinx managed to snigger.
"Your ship's controlling AI has been placed in a rest mode. We cannot manage changeover to space-plus. Only advanced electronics can handle such calculations. But it is not necessary for us to enter space-plus. We will activate the KK-drive manually and set a course for Nur's sun. Even at sub-changeover speeds, final purification will take place in a few days. Until then, Philip Lynx, you might as well relax and dream happy dreams." He turned to the woman. "Make sure the atmospheric concentration of added endorphin modifiers stays at the appropriate level and that he gets another booster in four hours." She nodded.
They left. Flinx struggled indifferently against his bonds. What did it matter if he was tied up? What could be better than lying there, with nothing to do, feeling contented and happy? Why struggle? The visiting members of the Order were right, of course. In the end we are all dead. What difference did it make if it was today or tomorrow? The end was the same. As it would be for everyone and everything when whatever lay behind the Great Emptiness began to affect the galaxy. Why worry about it?
Clarity, he thought. Clarity would die, too. Without knowing what had happened to him, without seeing him again, without his seeing her, without his being able to hold her, to feel her body against his, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against hers. He started to weep. As he cried, he laughed, his system saturated with pleasure-inducing chemicals.
In the darkness of space, a glow formed at the front of the Teacher's Caplis generator. Ignoring preliminary queries from orbital control, the ship began to move. Those directing her did not mind the warnings. If a government vessel capable of threatening them appeared, they would use the Teacher's weaponry to shoot back. Whether they fell into the sun or were blown apart made no difference.
On his bed Flinx drifted in and out of consciousness. From time to time one of the visitors came and injected him with something soothing. Then his unease faded away and the angst that had begun to build inside him popped like a soap bubble. Nearby, Pip snoozed unconcerned. She knew that his emotions were only of peace and contentment.
The Teacher accelerated, moving deeper into the Nurian system. The yellow-orange main sequence dwarf star at its heart grew larger in the curved foreport of the control room. While Flinx lay in unnatural slumber his visitors ate and slept and gazed at the universe they were soon to depart.
Days later they were sleeping soundly in one of the ship's guest quarters when something like a quartet of green and vermilion ropes entered their room. The cordlike appendages advanced across the floor slowly and silently, carrying with them the aroma of cloves and vanilla. None was more than a couple of centimeters thick.
They approached the visitors' bed. It was dark in the room, but that did not matter to the questing tendrils. They explored the motionless shapes, and two of the tendrils gently wrapped around the neck of the woman while two encircled the throat of her companion. Then they began to tighten. The man never woke up.
The wo
man did, choking and gasping for air. She frantically tried to pull the constricting tendrils from her neck, but so tight was their grip, so assured, that she couldn't get her fingers between tendril and flesh. Turning blue in the darkness, she threw herself to her left, dragging the tendrils with her. Her fingers sought the small needler she'd left on the night table. Scratching weakly against its smooth surface, they encountered nothing.
Another tendril was retreating across the floor. Like a long, spidery finger, its end was wrapped around the barrel of the needler as it dragged the weapon away.
Flinx woke up feeling happy but dirty. It struck him that he hadn't had a shower in a long time. He realized he felt a little less wonderful than he had during the preceding days.
He rubbed at his eyes. Then it occurred to him that his arms were no longer restrained. Looking down, he saw that the straps that had held him in place had been unfastened. Happy haze fogged his memory. There was something he needed to do. He struggled to remember what it was.
Until he could think of it, he decided, he might as well have something to eat. He was incredibly hungry. Forcing his muscles to work, he rose from the bed and staggered into the corridor. Seeing her master on the move again, Pip spread pleated wings and followed.
The quiet hum of the Teacher enveloped him. As he stumbled toward the relaxation lounge where he often took his meals he happened to pass the open door to one of the two guest rooms. Inside, he saw both his visitors. The man was lying on the bed while the body of his companion hung over the side, her hair brushing the floor. Deep red welts around their necks suggested that both of them had been strangled.
This insight oddly only improved his mood.
This must be what a three-day drunk feels like, he told himself numbly. Staggering onward, he entered the lounge area. The sound of the waterfall and the diminutive splashings of the imported fauna that inhabited the pond helped to sharpen and focus his thoughts. The uninvited visitors, members of something called the Order of Null, had slipped aboard his ship, deactivated its AI, and drugged him with the intent of sending them into Nur's sun.
Famished as he was, food could wait.
He stumbled and bumped his way forward to the control room. Nur's star filled the entire field of view through the forward viewport, hellishly prominent beyond the purple halo of the K-K drive's posigravity field. He threw himself into the pilot's chair. Despite the best efforts of the Teacher's automatic climate control systems, it was uncomfortably warm in the control room.
"Ship, change course one hundred eighty degrees."
There was no reply.
"Ship." His lips and tongue did not seem to be functioning properly and he had to struggle to mouth the right words. Nearby, Pip began to show signs of concern. "Change course one hundred eighty degrees." Silence. "Ship, respond."
He moved to the main console. Though he was no engineer, years of familiarity with the workings of the Teacher and endless hours spent in study of its components made him familiar with its most important and basic functions. So when he found a small, seemingly innocuous device in a receptacle that normally should be vacant, he quickly removed it.
A familiar feminine voice filled the control room. "Hello, Flinx. I am now reaware. I enjoyed my rest. Did you enjoy yours?" Without giving him time to articulate even one of the several semihysterical, acerbic responses that sprang immediately to mind, the shipvoice added, "We have entered the danger zone of the nearest star. Unless we alter course within six point three four minutes it is probable that increasing external heat will begin to compromise hull integrity and-"
"Change course!" Flinx ordered. Feeling suddenly nauseated, he had to rest both hands on the control console to steady himself. Was it the intensifying warmth he felt, or something in the air?
The air. He remembered. Happy or not, have to do something about the air.
"New course?" the shipvoice inquired politely.
He turned around. If he was going to throw up, it was better not to do it all over the main console. "Anything! Anywhere! Just go!"
"Back to New Riviera? During my sleep I logged sixty-eight communications from-"
"No, no, not New Riviera!" he exclaimed. Instinct took over. "Moth. Set course for Moth."
"Changing course. Stellar pull at extreme levels. We are deep within the star's gravity well. I may not be able to break free and do this, Flinx."
"Yes, you can," he said tightly. As he spoke he knew that he was only offering encouragement to himself, since it would have no effect on the AI.
He was aware of no sense of movement, but slowly, the flaming, screaming, all-devouring thermonuclear mass of Nur's star slid from right to left, until eventually it passed entirely out of view. Though it was still too hot for comfort, he felt cooler.
After changeover and once they were safely in space-plus, clear of annihilating stars and insistent Commonwealth control, he tracked down and disconnected the concealed tank and filter arrangement that had been installed by his visitors. As soon as the AI had finished cleansing and purifying the ship's air, Flinx felt less happy but considerably more like himself.
As he was making his way back to the control room, something growled. He did not have to look around to find the source. It was his stomach, reminding him again that it had been days since he had eaten. Supplementary commands could wait. The ship's AI had everything under control.
Back in the relaxation lounge it took him only a moment to program the autochef. While he waited for his food, he slumped down into one of the chairs scattered around the domed chamber. Around him water and imported organisms and plants, all carefully landscaped to create a naturalistic refuge in the middle of a space-bending starship, blended into a harmonious and soothing whole.
The scent of pomegranate, clove, and vanilla drew his attention to the most recent additions to his sanctuary. An artificial breeze drew flute music from one of the unique saplings. Vermilion leaves fluttered slightly in the ship-generated draft. The plants he had been given by the inhabitants of Midworld had rooted firmly and were doing well in the company of those brought from other worlds. No reason why they shouldn't, he thought. Plants were plants, even those hailing from as exceptional a place as Midworld.
A soft musical tone announced that his food was ready. Ravenous, he dug in with more energy than he had felt in days, occasionally picking out a choice morsel to pass to Pip. As he ate, he considered the future. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex had promised to look after Clarity until he could return for her. Meanwhile, in addition to his search, he now had the members of this coldly fatalistic yet dangerously capable Order of Null to worry about. How extensive was their organization? How many of them were there, and what resources could they command? Had others been monitoring the Teacher's flight? Would they assume he and his two suicidal captors had plunged into the cleansing furnace of Nur's sun?
He had spent most of his life forced to constantly look over his shoulder. It seemed nothing had changed. At the appropriate time he would deal with the Order of Null just as he had dealt with everyone else who had sought to enlist, use, study, or kill him. Just as he would eventually figure out what had eliminated his unwanted homicidal visitors. Had they fought and somehow managed to strangle each other?
He was far too exhausted to ponder the mystery now. Perhaps after breakfast, and then dessert, and maybe his first true rest in days uninfused with counterfeit contentment.
Almost at his feet, a pair of tendrils growing from the base of one of his most attractive and recently imported plants twitched slightly. Concealed by exotic leaves of blue and vermilion, the movement went unnoticed either by Flinx or the minidrag resting on the arm of his chair. Connected by, entangled with, and a part of the singular world-mind known as Midworld, the decorative vegetation on the Teacher was not about to allow the key to the only chance of stopping an immense oncoming cosmic evil to be terminated by a couple of zealot humans. And the remaining live human on board was the key. The vast roiling, sweltering, fecu
nd greenness knew that as emphatically as it knew itself.
The sentient flora of Midworld knew good dirt when it found it.
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Alan Dean Foster, Flinx's Folly
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