Flinx''s Folly

  Winged parent and frenetic offspring finally settled down on a nearby couch, repeatedly caressing each other with their pointed tongues. Eyeing them warily, the receptionist returned to his work, politely doing his best to ignore the self-conscious reunion that was taking place in front of his desk.

  Flinx stared down at the woman he had come a long way to find again. She seemed little changed from the enthusiastic but naïve gengineer he had first encountered on distant, windswept Longtunnel. Her blond hair had grown out to shoulder length, but she still had a star shaved above each ear. The uniquely hued turquoise eyes gazed back at him. Whereas he had grown more withdrawn and contemplative, she seemed to have become more relaxed amid the comforting balm of Nurian existence. Life here, he reflected, had to be easier than it had been for her on Longtunnel-perhaps not as scientifically stimulating but certainly easier.

  She took his arm and guided him down a different corridor, followed by the two minidrags. A short walk found them all in a small service room. One wall was lined with food dispensers. A wide window looked out on one of the thousands of lush little pocket tropical gardens that dotted the city. The flying snakes immediately made themselves comfortable on an empty table half bathed in warm sunshine. This time of day the room was deserted. Sitting him down in a chair next to the window, she took the seat opposite, rested her elbows on the table, interlocked her fingers, and all but spat at him, her voice low and intense.

  "Been a while? It's been six years, Flinx. Six years!"

  He couldn't help but smile. "You know, your eyes still sparkle when you're really intent on something."

  That took her aback. "Well, you've changed. You wouldn't have managed a comeback like that six years ago."

  He struggled to find a comfortable place for his longer legs. "Six years ago I was eighteen." He considered where he had been and what he had done since last he'd set eyes on her. "It's been a busy and full six years," he added with prodigious understatement.

  "You left me," she reminded him unnecessarily. "I wanted to stay with you. You said you needed time. Time to learn more about yourself, time to try and figure some things out. Then you'd come back for me. One day." She paused. "At the time, I didn't think 'one day' meant six years down the line."

  "Neither did I," he replied truthfully. "At the time, I didn't know what it meant or what it would entail."

  He smiled hopefully. It was an expression she remembered well: a blend of someone who was simultaneously eight and eighty, a persuasive fusion of childish delight and forlorn hope. She could sense the yearning within him, a yearning that she remembered dominating so much of his character.

  How much of that yearning was for her and how much for matters often beyond her ken was as much a mystery to her as it had been when he had bid her good-bye on the tarmac of New Riviera's main shuttleport six years ago.

  Uncomfortable at her silence, he nodded in the minidrags' direction. "Scrap recognizes his mother."

  Unlocking her fingers, she leaned back in the chair. "Detected her presence all the way from the lab. I'm afraid he startled more than one of my coworkers during his search for her. He wouldn't respond to my verbal commands or my thoughts. I couldn't imagine what was going on." Gazing across the table at him, she shook her head slowly. "I'm not sure I can yet. What are you doing here, Flinx? What do you want?"

  He looked out the window, eyeing the spectacular blooms that seemed to flourish like weeds everywhere on Nur. "I told you: I said one day I would come back."

  She shook her head more sharply this time. "I know you well enough to know there has to be more to it than that, Philip Lynx. Deity knows I wish it were otherwise, but that's not the reality. You just said hello. You didn't take me in your arms, you didn't hug me, you haven't kissed me."

  He started to lean across the table and she flinched. "Oh, no-it doesn't work that way, Flinx. Not after six years."

  His confusion communicated itself to Pip, who raised her head to peer in his direction. Scrap was content to doze on.

  "I'm sorry," he told her. "I meant to, really, but when I finally saw you, after so long, I-I think I was afraid."

  She cocked her head slightly. "Afraid? Philip Lynx, afraid of a little kiss? You forget who you're talking to. I spent a lot of time with you. I've seen what you can do."

  "It's the truth," he declared defensively.

  "So the man who's not scared of guns, Qwarm, AAnn, or the entire enforcement arm of the Commonwealth is still afraid of personal intimacy." She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. I think I know what that makes you."

  "You do? What?"

  "A man." Turning toward the food dispensers, she fumbled for her credcard. "I need something to drink. You?"

  He let her buy him some local fruit juice mixture. It was tart, cold, and delicious. A container of salty snacks was sufficient to occupy the two minidrags.

  "Are you still in love with me?" he asked.

  She paused with her drink container halfway to her mouth. "O'Morion, you're still as direct as you always were, anyway. Flinx, it's been six years. I was confused even when I was in love with you. What do you expect after six years? Are you in love with me, or is everything in your life still subordinate to your endless searching?"

  "That's two different questions," he shot back.

  "Not for me it isn't. Nor for any woman I know. Well?"

  "I don't know." He dropped his gaze, brooding. Emotion washed through him, further alarming Pip. He calmed her somewhat with a familiar hand gesture. This wasn't going the way he had planned. But then, he reminded himself, things rarely did. Could he afford what he was feeling? Did he have time for it? Remember why you're really here, he told himself. Focus on that.

  "I needed someone to talk to," he finally replied.

  She sat back and her tone changed-and not for the better. "That's it? Six years you're out of my life and when you finally show up again it's because you need someone to talk to?"

  "I didn't mean it like that," he replied hastily. "Not just someone. I need someone who knows how to listen and who understands me, who knows me."

  She softened slightly. "You told me more than once that nobody understands or knows you, yourself included."

  "I'm still working on that," he admitted. "You were the only person I felt I could trust." He waved at the sky outside. "In the whole Commonwealth, you were the only one."

  "Well, at least I'm the only one for something." Her voice fell to a mildly incredulous whisper. "Six years." She sighed, and when she spoke again her tone had returned to normal. "What did you want to talk about?"

  "Many things. Some involving me, a few concerning other matters." He rubbed at his forehead, and she was suddenly concerned.

  "Your headaches? You still have them?"

  "Worse than ever. Deeper and more frequent."

  "Have you seen a doctor?"

  The twisted smile he felt was not visible on his face. Yeah, I've seen a doctor. Two of them. Just recently. Wanted to run some "tests" on me, they did. So I had to run-again. The difference this time, he reflected, was that for the first time in a long, long while, he had run not to someplace but to somebody.

  "They still can't do anything for me." He touched one temple. "Anything that would fix me to the point of eliminating my headaches would probably eliminate me as well. At least, I wouldn't be the same person. There would be-collateral damage."

  "If I can help with that-other things aside-you know that I'll try and do so. If it's just conversation you want-"

  "Something else right now," he interrupted her gently. "Something less weighty." His smile returned-open, reassuring, encouraging. "Let's talk about you for a while. Are you happy here? How's your life? You're not married?" He already knew she wasn't because he had accessed her confidential files, but he could hardly tell her that.

  "No," she told him. "But I have been seeing someone regularly for the better part of a year now," she added, instantly turning the
solid ground on which he thought he had been standing to swamp.

  His reaction must have been plain to read. "It's been a long time, Flinx. I'm twenty-nine. What did you expect-that when you left me here with no job and no immediate prospects that I'd go live in a hole and wait for you to maybe show up someday?"

  "I didn't"-he could not meet her eyes-"I didn't think."

  "I'm sorry. I don't have to be, but I am. For someone who can read the emotions of others you never were very good at analyzing or dealing with your own."

  "But you never married? Before your current-friend, I mean."

  "No." Her tone turned wry. "Apparently, men find me a threatening combination: physical attractiveness and intelligence. I'm either too pretty for them or too smart. I intimidate them. Or so I've been told. Even in this day and age it's surprising how many males feel threatened by a woman who's smarter than they are."

  "I'm not," he replied quickly.

  "Maybe so. But then, I'm not at all sure that I'm smarter than you, Flinx."

  "And you're comfortable here?" He changed the subject by indicating their surroundings. "With what you're doing and with life on Nur?"

  That was an easier question to answer. "Who wouldn't be? This is New Riviera, the paradise planet, the best of Mother Earth concentrated and then spread like a fine glaze on an entire world instead of just a small part of it."

  "I didn't ask for the planetary chamber-of-commerce pitch." His eyes locked on hers. "I asked about you."

  "And I can't lie about it. Yes, I'm happy here, Flinx." She stared back at him unflinchingly. "It's a lot better than spending the rest of my life inside one small starship, flitting from planet to planet, trying to unearth uncertainties and pin down imperceptibles."

  His lips tightened in a knowing grin. "Six years and you sure haven't changed. That attitude is one reason why I finally came back to see you again."

  "And what I said is the truth, and why I don't think I could ever be with you again, that way."

  He turned his attention to the spectacular flowers outside the window. Midworld in miniature, he found himself thinking. Except something was missing.

  "I never said I planned to wander the Commonwealth forever. I'm capable of settling down. Of having a normal life."

  She had to smile. "I don't need to be an empathetic telepath to know how much of that is true." Reaching out, she took one of his hands in both hers. "Flinx," she murmured earnestly, "I am happy here. I have a good job doing what I like. I'm well respected and well compensated. I've made a home for myself-a real life. It's not extravagant, but it suits me just fine. My life here is-soft. And I've discovered that I'm content with that. It's a better existence than anything I've known before." She let go of his hand. He found that it burned slightly where her fingers had encircled it.

  "I've had enough hardship and risking my life on frontier worlds, no matter how exciting the opportunities. I've come to enjoy good restaurants, cutting-edge entertainment venues, and being surrounded by devices that cater to my whims without complaint. I've discovered, Flinx, that I like civilization. And when I say that, you know I'm telling the truth."

  He did, whether he wanted to or not. The feelings she was projecting suggested nothing but contentment. There might have been a hint of something like dissatisfaction, a twinge of uncertainty-but nothing more. Certainly nothing conclusive.

  "So you no longer feel the need to add to the greater store of human knowledge?" he asked her, remembering a discussion they had once had on distant Longtunnel.

  "I'm happy in my work. I had years of doing that sort of thing." One perfect brow arched suggestively. "As you know, it didn't work out very well for me. This"-she indicated their immediate surroundings and by inference the convivial world outside the company complex-"is much nicer."

  "And this man you're seeing? Is he much nicer, too? Are you in love with him?"

  As soon as he put the question to her, he was sorry. She immediately made him sorrier. Without trying, he could sense the sudden, new distance that had opened between them. And a curtain had been lowered by his own crude impulsiveness and impatience.

  "That's not for you to know, Flinx. You've come a long way to talk to me, fine. I'll talk to you. But my private life is none of your business." The distance increased, leaving frost in its wake. "You can't show up after six years and expect me to fall into your arms."

  He swallowed. "I'm sorry. That was rude. You're right, of course." His gaze wandered to where Pip and Scrap were now lying next to each other, identification complete, greetings concluded, and back to the important business of sleeping in the sun. If only it were that easy for humans.

  "I don't know what I expected," he finally continued, "except to hope you'd listen to me."

  She laughed softly. "Isn't that what I'm doing? As for anything more..."

  He could make her love him again, he knew. His ability to manage his unique talents had grown tremendously since the last time he had seen her. On Earth he had made a total stranger, a security guard, fall in love with him. The remembrance of that emotional manipulation had left a sour taste in his memory.

  Besides, she had yet to say, or otherwise indicate, that she positively no longer cared for him-that way. He resolved to pursue the matter like anyone else. Like any normal human being, he thought bitterly. If she loved someone else now, well, he would just have to accept it and move on. Did he want that kind of love, anyway? Or did he just want help, compassion, and a sympathetic shoulder to cry on?

  Despite her initial rejection, he could clearly sense her confusion. She was no more certain how she felt about him than he was about her. The emotions he was picking up were a mélange of affection and fear. It was not the first time he had sensed both projected in his direction. But in the case of Clarity Held, the emotions at both extremes were notably stronger.

  He decided to regard this as a positive development, confusion offering more promise than conviction.

  Clarity was unsure what to think or believe. The man sitting before her had largely faded from her thoughts some years ago. Now here he was again-taller and more mature and handsomer than ever, and just as infuriatingly unsure of himself. They'd been through much together, during which she had fallen in love with him, lost much of that feeling through fear, and then fallen for him all over again. The last thing she wanted now was to take another ride on that emotional roller coaster.

  She stared at him, meeting his eyes, trying to see what lay behind that pleasant, entreating gaze. If only she could read his emotions the way he could read hers, she thought. As soon as she contemplated it, she was glad that she could not. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. In that she suspected they had something else in common. She wasn't sure he wanted to know what he was feeling, either.

  Since they'd parted she'd made a good life for herself here on a good world. She'd built something and was on her way to building a good deal more. Visitors from the past could not be allowed to upset that. Especially a genetically altered mutant, no matter how well-intentioned he was today or how helpful he had been in the past.

  Like it or not, his unexpected appearance had torn a small rip in the fabric of her comfortable existence. She struggled mentally to repair it and was doing a pretty good job of it, too, when Bill walked in.

  The range of emotions Flinx detected in the new arrival was extensive, increasing the moment he took in the pair seated at the table. Curiosity gave way to expectation that was immediately replaced by a mixture of concern, frustration, wariness, uncertainty, and a rising but carefully controlled anger. All natural enough reactions, Flinx supposed, if one assumed the newcomer was in any way emotionally involved with Clarity.

  She confirmed his preliminary supposition. Though she did her best to control them, her own emotional reactions were a mixed lot.

  "Philip, this is Bill Ormann. Bill, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, Philip Lynx."

  She smiled. Bill Ormann smiled. Flinx smiled. Without exception, he noted
, each smile was present only on the outside. If only everyone had his ability, general conversation would proceed in a far more honest and forthright manner. In the absence of such a development, however, ancient human rituals took precedence.

  After a moment's hesitation, Ormann walked over and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Philip. Any old friend of Clarity's is a friend of mine," he declared pleasantly. Inside, Flinx sensed, he was seething with curiosity. Before either of them could reply, Ormann noticed the twin serpentines reposing beneath the window. "I was told about your pet's corridor runaway, so I came looking for you to make sure everything was all right. I've only ever seen one Alaspinian flying snake before, and that's Scrap." He glanced back at Flinx. "The other one is yours?"

  "Scrap's mother," Clarity informed him before Flinx could say anything. Her inner reaction to Ormann's arrival, Flinx noted with restrained delight, was ambivalent. He chose to take it as a promising sign.

  The fact that she and Lynx had something more in common did not sit well with Ormann. Outwardly, he was as cordial as ever. "So, Philip-where do you and Clarity know each other from? She's told me a few things about her past. Did you two do research together on Longtunnel?"

  "Something like that," Flinx replied truthfully. Across the room, Pip had raised her head and was looking unblinkingly in their direction, alert to the slightest suggestion of hostility toward her master.

  Ormann nodded condescendingly. "When she did mention the names of coworkers, it was always senior administrators, never younger colleagues. What position did you hold?"

  "Philip gathered general information," Clarity told him, again speaking before Flinx could respond.

  Her explanation appeared to please Ormann. "Field-worker. Well," he continued expansively, "where would research be without field-workers, eh? Every army needs troops. Where would I, a vice president of Ulricam, be if I didn't have the support of hundreds of line workers? Right, Philip?"

  "Absolutely," Flinx agreed, seeing no shame in concurring with an opinion on a matter in which he had not the slightest interest.