Sliding Scales Read online

  Praise for Alan Dean Foster and Reunion, a Pip & Flinx Adventure

  “Bestseller Foster has created yet another entertaining adventure story in the far-flung reaches of a far-future outer space. …Using the traditional cliff-hangers and narrow escapes of classic SF adventure page-turners, and propelling Flinx from one crisis to another, from moral dilemma to deus ex machina, Foster enlists multiple formulas for a surefire … reading experience that should appeal to space-opera fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Flinx's trek through the deadly desert and his encounters with the AAnn make for a good read.”

  —Locus

  BY ALAN DEAN FOSTER

  Published by The Random House Publishing Group

  The Black Hole

  Cachalot

  Dark Star

  The Metrognome and Other Stories

  Midworld

  Nor Crystal Tears

  Sentenced to Prism

  Splinter of the Mind's Eye

  Star Trek® Logs One–Ten

  Voyage to the City of the Dead

  … Who Needs Enemies?

  With Friends Like These…

  Mad Amos

  The Howling Stones

  Parallelities

  Impossible Places

  Drowning World

  THE ICERIGGER TRILOGY

  Icerigger

  Mission to Moulokin

  The Deluge Drivers

  THE ADVENTURES OF FLINX OF THE COMMONWEALTH

  For Love of Mother-Not

  The Tar-Aiym-Krang

  Orphan Star

  The End of the Matter

  Bloodhype

  Flinx in Flux

  Mid-Flinx

  Flinx's Folly

  Sliding Scales

  Running from the Deity

  Trouble Magnet

  Patrimony

  THE DAMNED

  Book One: A Call to Arms

  Book Two: The False Mirror

  Book Three: The Spoils of War

  THE FOUNDING OF THE COMMONWEALTH

  Phylogenesis

  Dirge

  Diuturnity's Dawn

  THE TAKEN TRILOGY

  Lost and Found

  The Light-years Beneath My Feet

  The Candle of Distant Earth

  Books published by The Random House Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

  For my nephew, Matthew Aaron Hedish.

  Something for later.

  1

  I am in danger of becoming permanently, irrevocably, and unrescuably moody, Flinx found himself thinking. He knew unrescuably wasn't a word, but the mangled syntax fit his melancholic state of mind. Forced to leave a badly injured Clarity Held behind on New Riviera in the care of Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex, pursued now by a newly revealed clutch of fatalistic end-of-the-universe fanatics who called themselves the Order of Null (whose existence he might be responsible for), sought by Commonwealth authorities and others for reasons multifarious and diverse, he could be forgiven for sinking into a mood as black as the space that enveloped the Teacher.

  Sensing his mood, Pip did what she could to cheer him. The flying snake whizzed effortlessly among the garden and fountains of the lounge, occasionally darting out from behind leaves or bushes in an attempt to startle her master—or at least rouse him from the lethargy that had settled on his soul ever since their forced flight from Nur. Recognizing the effort she was making on his behalf, he smiled and stroked her. But he could no more hide his frame of mind from the empathetic minidrag than he could from himself. Emotionally, she knew him better than anyone, Clarity Held included.

  Clarity, Clarity, Clarity, he murmured softly to himself. When will I be able to see you again? After years of wandering, to have finally found someone he felt truly understood him and he might be able to spend the rest of his life with only to lose so soon was almost more than he could bear. Instead of having her to comfort him, he had agreed to spend who knew how long and how much precious time searching for an ancient weapons platform fabricated by an extinct race that might not even prove useful or usable in diverting an oncoming peril of incalculable dimensions and intent.

  If that wasn't enough to depress someone, he could not imagine what was. At least his recurring headaches had not bothered him for a while.

  Even some of the live plants in the relaxation chamber seemed to sense his melancholy, brushing his seated form with branches and flowers. The exotic scents of several blossoms refreshed but did not inspire him. The striking foliage could touch, even caress, but could not converse. That ability remained the province of the Teacher's shipmind. To its credit, in its limited, formalized, electron-shunting fashion, it tried to help.

  “My medical programming informs me that extended periods of depression can affect the health of a human as seriously as a bacterial infection.”

  “Go infect yourself,” Flinx snapped irritably.

  “It also,” the ship continued briskly, “is detrimental to the well-being of any unlucky sentients who are compelled to function in the vicinity of the one so depressed.”

  Slumped in the lounge chair, Flinx glanced sideways in the direction of the nearest visual pickup. “Are you saying that my mood is contagious?”

  “I am saying that anything that affects you also affects me. Your continuing mental condition is not conducive to the efficient functioning of this vessel.”

  “Not to mention myself, eh?” He sat up a little straighter, brushing leaves and the tips of small branches away from his legs and sides. Several of them, very subtly, retracted without having to be touched. “You know, ship, I've been thinking about everything Bran and Tru told me, about all that we discussed, and the longer I ponder on it, the more my inclination is to say the hell with it, the hell with everything. Except for Clarity, of course.”

  “I sense that this energetic verbal response is not an indication of a lightening of mood.”

  “Damn right it isn't. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't do exactly that?”

  The ship did not hesitate. “Because if you do nothing, there is a strong likelihood that everything and everyone in this galaxy will perish, with the concomitant possibility that the ultimate responsibility will be yours.”

  He rolled his eyes. “All right—give me another reason.”

  Surprisingly, the ship did not respond. Advanced AI circuitry notwithstanding, there were still occasional matters that required a certain modicum of cybernetic reflection. This, apparently, was one of them. Or else, he told himself, it was simply pausing for dramatic effect, something it was quite capable of doing.

  “You are not thinking with your usual clarity—if you will pardon my use of that word in this context. I have been meditating on this situation for some days now, and I believe I may have, in the course of researching and studying the matter, come to a possible solution.”

  For the first time all day, Flinx showed some real interest. “You don't say? What have you been studying? Human psychoanalysis?”

  “Nothing so imprecise. Human behavior can be slotted, albeit with variations, into specific categories. Analysis of yours suggests that you have been laboring under immense mental pressure for some time now.”

  The tone of his reply was sardonic. “That's hardly a news bulletin, ship. Tell me: what prescribed remedy have you uncovered?”

  The ship could not keep a note of—artificial?—accomplishment from creeping into its dulcet electronic tones. “Philip Lynx—you need a vacation. That one quick recent visit to Moth was not nearly what is required. You need a vacation from your concerns, your worries, your fears. From trying to see and le
arn and study. From the immense threat that looms over the galaxy. From yourself.”

  It was not the response he had expected. Initially cynical, he found himself more than a little intrigued. “You mean I need to spend time on a beach somewhere, or go for extended hikes in some woods? I've done all that.”

  “No. It's true you have been to such places and done those things, but it was always with some specific purpose in mind. You need to go somewhere and do some things to no purpose. You need to just ‘be’ for a while. This is a necessity for the health of any human. The library of me says so.”

  He considered thoughtfully before finally responding, “I don't know if I can do that, ship. I never have.”

  “Then,” declared the ship conclusively, “it is time you did so. Every one of my relevant stored medical texts attests to the therapeutic value of such an undertaking. You need to go somewhere interesting and expend some energy in doing nothing. It is necessary for your health.”

  Could he? he found himself wondering. Could he set everything aside: thoughts of Clarity, of Bran Tse-Mallory, and Truzenzuzex and the steadily approaching evil that lurked behind the Great Emptiness, of the Tar-Aiym weapons platform and all those who sought him, and really do nothing for any appreciable period of time? Could he, dare he, attempt the seemingly impossible? A vacation? Of everything he had done in his short but full life, that struck him as being among the most alien. Even as a child he had not been able to engage in such non-activity. He had been too busy stealing, to keep himself and Mother Mastiff alive.

  He had been on the verge of saying to hell with everything. Here was his ship advising him to do essentially that, only without the attendant rancor. For a little while, at least. But where to seek such mental and physical succor? He asked as much of the Teacher.

  “I have devoted almost a full minute of thought to the matter,” the synthetic voice replied, clearly gratified by Flinx's decision. “Given the inauspicious interest in your person by everyone from several independent inimical organizations to the Commonwealth authority itself, it is clear that you would not be able to relax and refresh yourself on any developed world within the Commonwealth.”

  Now there's an understatement, Flinx thought.

  “Persisting with this line of reasoning,” ship continued, “it is also plain that if you are forced to spend time on an undeveloped, unexplored world, you will similarly be unable to unwind, as all your mental acuity will perforce be focused on staying alive. This would seem to leave you with few options.”

  “Indeed it would.” Flinx watched as Pip coiled around a dark-sided shrub and slid sinuously down the oddly patterned bark. It did not appear to bother the bush.

  “What is required is a comfortably habitable world that lies not only beyond the reach of Commonwealth authority but of those other groups that seek to incommode you. A world where you can move about without, as humans like to put it, having to constantly peer over your shoulder. I do not have any shoulders to peer over, but I am able to grasp the philosophical conceit.”

  “I always said you were full of conceit,” Flinx riposted. His heart wasn't really in the verbal sparring, though. He was, as ship had persisted in pointing out, very tired. “You're going to tell me that you've found such a refuge?” Near the pond, Pip was bobbing and weaving like a serpentine boxer as a thorny flower struck reflexively in her direction.

  “I do not possess sufficient information to so categorize it, but the world I have settled upon seems a promising candidate. Certainly it appears to fulfill the requisite conditions.”

  With a sigh he sat up straight on the edge of the lounge, trying hard not to think of Clarity Held and whether she was recovered from her injuries. He refused to countenance the possibility that she might not have survived. Without a doubt he needed to find something to divert himself from incessantly dwelling on such dark possibilities.

  “What's the name of this handy haven you've found?” he asked dubiously.

  “The planet is called Jast.”

  “Just Jast?” he queried flippantly. “Never heard of it.”

  “There is no reason why you should. It is not part of the Commonwealth and in fact does not even lie within the vast reach of the Orion Arm considered Commonwealth space.”

  Remembering that he was supposed to be searching for the vanished Tar-Aiym weapons platform, he experienced a sudden flicker of interest. “It's not within the Blight, is it?”

  “No. Quite the opposite direction, actually.”

  Just as well, he mused. Ship was proposing that he go to this world to relax. “Where, then?”

  Much compacted in scope, a three-dimensional star map materialized helpfully in front of him. So far off the familiar space-plus vectors was the blinking yellow indicator within that it took a moment before his eyes found it. His brow furrowed.

  “You're right. That is outside Commonwealth space.”

  “Jast lies in the region claimed by both the Commonwealth and that of the AAnn Empire,” ship informed him. Flinx could see that for himself. The flashing indicator was located in a vast unclaimed area approximately halfway between Rhyinpine and the AAnn capital of Blasusarr. A long ways from anywhere, he reflected.

  Maybe just what he needed.

  “It's certainly off the beaten path,” he admitted, increasingly intrigued. Pleased by her master's interest, Pip abandoned her shadowboxing with the long-suffering flower to flit back and settle herself in his lap. “What besides its isolation makes it suitable for a safe respite?”

  “Gravity is somewhat less than t-standard, which should make for ease of locomotion. The atmosphere is reported to be heavy with organic contaminants, but nothing dangerous. The dominant sentient species, the Vssey, are cordial enough toward visitors and have achieved a high level of technological and social development. Their physical configuration renders them generally, though not exclusively, pacific by nature. Politically, they are an independent system allied with the Empire. While some Vssey have adapted AAnn ways and subscribe to the AAnn outlook, this acclimatization is far from universal.”

  Flinx made a face. “That doesn't sound very relaxing to me. The place is likely to be full of AAnn.”

  “Records relating to Jast are understandably sparse, but insist that all non-Imperial visitors are welcome. Although your concern may be somewhat justified, Flinx, the corollary is that while sojourning on Jast you are certain to be free of scrutiny from any Commonwealth organization or independent hostile group, official or otherwise.”

  It was a valid point. In return for exposing himself to the curiosity of potentially confrontational AAnn, he would not have to worry about dealing with the attention of those who had recently been pursuing him with ever greater enthusiasm.

  “What's Jast itself like?” He was halfway convinced that the ship had made a sensible choice.

  “According to the most recent galographics of related but non-integrated systems, it is very much what you would expect of a place that would draw the attention of the AAnn. Dry and desert-like, though with considerably more widely scattered rainfall than is to be found on ecologically similar Commonwealth worlds such as Comagrave, for example. One might think of it as a particularly wet desert. Though fully adapted to hot, dry conditions, the native flora and fauna is abundant and varied.”

  “And the Vssey themselves?”

  “An unusual biotic type.”

  An image promptly appeared in the air in front of Flinx. Lifting her head, Pip regarded it with casual interest. The synchronized synthetic aroma that accompanied the likeness was new to her. If anything, he thought as he studied the three-dimensional alien portrayal, the ship was yet again given to understatement. The Vssey was like nothing he had encountered before in any of his extensive travels. At least, he corrected himself, like nothing intelligent he had encountered.

  On the included, integrated dimensional scale, the animated Vssey stood somewhat under a meter and a half in height. Roughly cylindrical in shape, its lower bod
y, or stem, was perhaps two-thirds of a meter in diameter. At its base, this spread out and separated into four short, stubby, opposing, toe-like flaps of flesh. The body itself was ridged with ligaments and muscles.

  At the upper end, the body expanded out into a meter-wide flattened dome that resembled an ancient umbrella. The overhanging, circular edge was fringed with a sufficiency of prehensile tentacles to suggest that the Vssey were an especially dexterous species. There was no neck. Near the crown of the dome a pair of eyes emerged on short, independently swiveling stalks. As the animation proceeded, Flinx saw that this arrangement allowed the Vssey to see in any direction, as well as in any two directions at once. Located above the flexing tentacles but well below the eyes, in place of readily recognizable ears there flashed a narrow comb-like ribbon of erect, dull orange membrane that ran around the entire circumference of the dome, making up in extent what it lacked in height. Below the eyes was a slit of a mouth that, when opened, revealed two sets of flat grinding plates for chewing food.

  Though exceedingly odd-looking, it was evident that the Vssey had the necessary tools to see, hear, and effectively manipulate their immediate environment. What they could not do, Flinx immediately suspected as he continued to examine the detailed depiction, was get around very well.

  “How do they move?” he murmured, fascinated as always by the sight of an entirely new sentient body style.

  “Notice the significant musculature lining the central body core,” the ship instructed him. “Observe.”

  The lowermost portion of the body and its quadruple flaps promptly contracted and released, causing the image of the Vssey to leap a few centimeters forward. The process repeated itself until Flinx, adequately educated, called a halt to the display. As a method of locomotion suitable to what was essentially a one-footed creature, the technique was admirable and efficient. It did not, however, compensate for the fact that the Vssey were compelled to explore their surroundings literally one step at a time. Flinx found himself smiling. A Vssey in forward motion resembled nothing so much as a hopping mushroom.

  “Is that as fast as they can go?”