Orphan Star (Pip & Flinx) Read online

  Without warning the woman disappeared—swam off, flew off, ran away, depending on the terrain of the moment. Distraught beyond hope, the man walked to a workbench, depressed a switch on a tiny instrument board which would make everything well again.

  In the magnificence of youth, Povalo-plus courted a woman of supple grace, swirling and spinning in love-turns about her as they floated among pink clouds. . . .

  Flinx blinked once, looked away from the bed. Jiwe was watching him intently. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “I couldn’t detect a thing.”

  The Counselor held his stare a moment longer, then slumped back into the chair. He appeared to age ten years.

  “I got what I expected. I thank you for trying, Flinx.”

  “May I leave, now?”

  “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. Padre-elect,” he directed Sylzenzuzex, “you’d better go with our young friend and show him his way out.” Then he looked again at Flinx. “I’ll authorize a blank voucher for travel anywhere on Terra. You can pick it up on your way out.”

  “If it’s all right with you, sir,” Flinx declared, “I’d like to make one more trip to Records. I think I might find some related information on my parents. And I’d like to replay the copy of the information I already have.”

  Jiwe looked blankly at Namoto, who reminded him: “The boy’s parents, remember?”

  “Yes. Naturally any help we can give you we will gladly provide. Padre-elect, you can assist our friend Flinx in finding any information he requires. One last thing, son,” Jiwe finished, managing to smile slightly again, “if you run into any more visitors who smell like an old jacket instead of a human or thranx, please speak up before your pet assassinates them?”

  “I’ll do that, sir,” Flinx agreed, smiling back. His relief as they left the room was considerable.

  “Where do you want to go?” Sylzenzuzex inquired as they re-entered the main hospital corridor. “Back to Genealogy?”

  “No . . . I think I’ve gotten all I can from there. Let’s try your Galographics Department. I think I may have located the world my parents moved to.” This was a lie.

  “No problem,” Sylzenzuzex assured him, her mandibles clacking politely.

  As they continued down the corridor, Flinx mulled over what he had seen in Povalo’s mind. The idealized vision of himself, the woman, the clouds, seas, and rolling hills—all gentle, simple images of an uncomplicated paradise.

  Except for the console. Everything had been all golden and red and green. He had not seen reality, of course, but merely a simulation of it which the comatose engineer had thought was reality.

  Those simple colors. The shifting body outlines. Flinx had seen them before.

  Just prior to his death, the engineer Mordecai Povalo had owned and played with a Janus jewel.

  Povalo’s jewel naturally led Flinx to think of Conda Challis and his own little crystal playhouse. Conda Challis had been in the mind of the infiltrating AAnn, along with the unknown world Ulru-Ujurr.

  A bizarre Series of coincidences which undoubtedly led nowhere. Never mind the AAnn and to perdition with poor Mordecai Povalo! Flinx had no room in his mind for anything now save Challis and the information he had removed from the Church archive.

  That was why he was going to Galographics. His parents . . . they could quite easily have died right here on Terra. To find out for certain he had to find Challis; and the merchant might well have fled to an unfamiliar globe like this Ulru-Ujurr—if indeed such a world existed and was not merely some aspect of the AAnn’s mind that Flinx had misinterpreted.

  It felt as if they had walked for hours before they reached the bank of lifts again. Once more Sylzenzuzex employed the complex card key, once more they traveled an angular pathway.

  The level they eventually stepped onto was deserted, a far cry from the bustle of the hospital section. She led him past doors with long compound names engraved in them until they entered the one they sought.

  Physically, Galographics looked like a duplicate of the Genealogy Archives, with one exception. This room was smaller and it contained more booths. Furthermore, the monitoring attendant here was much younger than the one he had encountered before.

  “I’d like some help hunting up an obscure world.”

  The attendant drew herself up proudly. “Information retrieval eliminates obscurity. It is the natural building block of the Church, on which all other studies must be based. For without access to knowledge, how can one learn about learning?”

  “Please,” Flinx said, “no more than two maxims per speech.” Behind him, Sylzenzuzex’s mandibles clicked in barely stifled amusement.

  The attendant’s professional smile froze. “You can use the catalog spools, three aisles down.” She pointed.

  Flinx and Sylzenzuzex walked toward the indicated row. “The world I want to check on is called Ulru-Ujurr.”

  “Ujurr,” she echoed in symbospeech, the odd word sounding more natural when spoken in her consonant-oriented voice. Flinx watched her closely, but she gave no sign that she had ever heard the name before.

  He couldn’t immediately decide whether that was good or bad.

  “Is that symbospeech spelling?” she asked after he made a show of blocking it out. “The tape doesn’t say for sure. There may be variables. Let’s try phonetic first, though.” The attendant appeared to hesitate slightly, wondering if perhaps a Church tape would be so unspecific. But there were variable spellings of far better known worlds, she reminded herself.

  They walked down an aisle lined by the vast, nearly featureless walls of the information storage banks. In those metal ramparts, Flinx knew, were stored trillions of bits of information on every known world within and without the Commonwealth.

  These records probably had an annex buried somewhere beneath them in the true labyrinth of the Depot complex, an annex closed to casual inspection. For that reason, if Flinx’s globular quarry happened to be of some secretive, restricted nature, it might not appear in the spools here.

  He was somewhat surprised when they found what appeared to be the proper compartment. Sylzenzuzex pressed a switch nearby and the metal wall responded with oral confirmation.

  “It could be a different Ulru-Ujurr,” she warned him, as she studied the labels and minute inscriptions identifying the spool case. “But there don’t appear to be any cross-references to another world with a similar name.”

  “Let’s try it,” Flinx instructed impatiently.

  She inserted a card key into the appropriate slot. It was a far simpler device than the one used to operate the multilevel lifts. They were rewarded with a tiny spool of thread-thin tape. She squinted at it—though that was merely an impression Flinx interpreted by her movements, rather than by a physical gesture, since she had no eyelids to narrow.

  “It’s so hard to tell, but it seems as if there’s very little on this tape,” she finally told him. “Sometimes, though, you can find a spool that looks like it contains two hundred words and in actuality it holds two million. They could make this system more efficient.”

  Flinx marveled at anyone who could call such a system inefficient. But, he reminded himself, even the lowliest members of the Church hierarchy were constantly exhorted to find ways to improve the organization. Spiritual methodology, they called it.

  Only a few of the booths were occupied. They found one at the end of a row, isolated from the other users.

  Flinx took the chair provided for humans, while Sylzenzuzex folded herself into the narrow bench designed for thranx and inserted the fragment of sealed plastic into the playback receptor. Then she activated the viewscreen, using the same procedure Namoto had employed earlier. The screen lit up immediately.

  Displayed was the expected statistical profile: Ulru-Ujurr was approximately twenty percent larger than Terra or Hivehom, though its composition produced a gravity only minimally stronger. Its atmosphere was breathable and uncomplicated and it contained plenty of water. There were extensive ice ca
ps at both poles. Further indicative of the planet’s cool climate was the extent of apparent glaciation. It was a mountainous world, its temperate zone boasting intemperate weather, and primarily ice north of that.

  “It’s not a true iceworld,” Flinx commented, “but it’s cooler than many which are suited to humanx habitation.” He examined the extensive list closely, then frowned. “A little cold weather shouldn’t discourage all humanx settlement on an otherwise favorable world, but I don’t see any indication of even a scientific monitoring post. Every inhabitable world has at least that. Moth supports a good-sized population, and there are humanx settlements of size on far less hospitable planets. I don’t understand, Sylzenzuzex.”

  His companion was all but quivering with imagined cold. “ ‘Cool,’ he calls it. ‘Habitable.’ For you humans, perhaps, Flinx. For a thranx it’s a frozen hell.”

  “I admit it’s far from your conception of the ideal.” He turned back to the readout. “Apparently there’s both animal and vegetable native life, but no descriptions or details. I can see how the terrain would restrict such studies, but not eliminate them totally the way they seem to have been.” He was growing more and more puzzled.

  “There aren’t any significant deposits of heavy metals or radioactives.”

  In short, although people could live on Ulru-Ujurr—there just wasn’t anything to entice them there. The planet lay on the fringe of the Commonwealth, barely within its spatial borders, and it was comparatively distant from the nearest settled world. Not an attractive place to settle.

  But dammit, there ought to be some sort of outpost!

  That was the end of the tape except for one barely legible addendum: those desirous of obtaining additional statistical detail consult appendix 4325 section bmq. . . .

  “I presume you’re as tired of reading statistics as I am,” Sylzenzuzex said as she set the tiny tape to rewind. “As far as your parents are concerned, this world certainly looks like a dead end. What do you wish to see now?”

  Trying to keep his tone casual, he said, “Let’s go ahead and finish with this one first.”

  “But that means digging through the sub-indexes,” she protested. “Surely you . . .”

  “Let’s make sure of this,” he interrupted patiently.

  She made a thranx sound indicating moderate resignation coupled with overtones of amusement, but she didn’t argue further.

  After nearly an hour of cross-checking they hunted down Appendix 4325, Section BMQ; obtained the necessary sub-index, and prodded the somehow reluctant machine to produce the requested tape sub-subheading. Someone, Flinx thought, had gone to a lot of trouble to conceal this particular bit of information without being obvious about it.

  This time his suspicions were confirmed. Slipped into the viewer and activated, the screen displayed glaring red letters which read: ulru-ujurr . . . habitable world . . . this planet and system are under edict. . . .

  The date of the first and only survey of the planet was listed, together with the date on which it was placed under Church Edict by the Grand Council.

  That was the end of it, as far as Sylzenzuzex was concerned. “You’ve reached the Hive wall. I can’t imagine what led you to think your parents could be on this world. You must have made a mistake, Flinx. That world is Under Edict. That means that nothing and no one is permitted to travel within shuttle distance of its surface. There will be at least one automated peaceforcer in orbit around it, programmed to intercept and challenge anything that tries to reach the planet. Anyone ignoring the Edict . . . well,” she paused significantly, “you can’t outrun or outmaneuver a peaceforcer.” Her eyes glistened. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I’m going there. To Ulru-Ujurr,” he added, at her expression of disbelief.

  “I retract my first evaluation,” she said sharply. “You are more than strange, Flinx—or perhaps your mind is becoming unhinged by the traumatic events of today.”

  “My mind’s hinges are fastened down and working smoothly, thanks. You want to hear something really absurd?”

  She eyed him warily. “I’m not sure.”

  “I think all these suicides of important people that Jiwe is so worried about have something to do with the Janus jewel.”

  “The Janus—I’ve heard of them, but how . . .?”

  He rushed on recklessly. “I saw powder that might have come from a disintegrated jewel on the body of the infiltrator.”

  “I thought that was from destroyed crystal syringe-darts.”

  “It could also have been from a whole jewel.”

  “So what?”

  “So . . . I don’t know what; but I just have a feeling everything ties together somehow: the jewels, the suicides, this world—and the AAnn.”

  She looked at him somberly. “If you feel so strongly about this, then for the Hive’s sake why did you not tell the Counselor?”

  “Because . . . because . . .” his thoughts slowed, ran into that ever-present warning wall, “I can’t, that’s all. Besides, who’d listen to a crazy theory like that when it comes from . . .” then he smiled suddenly, “an unhinged youngster like myself.”

  “I don’t think you’re that young,” she countered, pointedly ignoring the comment about him being unhinged. “Then why tell anyone . . . why tell me?”

  “I . . . wanted another opinion, to see if my theory sounded as crazy out loud as it does in my head.”

  Her mandibles clicked nervously. “All right, I think it sounds crazy. Now can we forget all this and go on to the next world your research turned up?”

  “My research didn’t turn up any other worlds. It didn’t turn up Ulru-Ujurr, either.”

  She looked exasperated. “Then where did you find the name?”

  “In the . . .” He barely caught himself. He had almost confessed that he’d plucked it out of the mind of the dying AAnn. “I can’t tell you that, either.”

  “How am I supposed to help you, Flinx, if you refuse to let me?”

  “By coming along with me?”

  She stood there dumbstruck.

  “I need someone who can override a peaceforcer command. You’re a padre-elect in Security or you wouldn’t have been monitoring a station as sensitive as the surface lift corridor. You could do it.” He stared anxiously at her.

  “You had better go talk to Counselor Jiwe,” she told him, speaking very slowly. “Even assuming I could do such a thing, I would never consider challenging a Church Edict.”

  “Listen,” Flinx said quickly, “a higher-ranking Church member wouldn’t consider it, and would be followed, if only for protective reasons. Not even a Commonwealth military craft would. But you’re not so high up in the hierarchy that it would cause alarm if you suddenly deviated from your planned activities. I’m also betting that you’ve something of your uncle in you, and he’s the most brilliant individual I ever met.”

  Sylzenzuzex was looking around with the expression of one who suddenly awakens to find herself in a locked room with a starving meat-eater.

  “I am not hearing any of this,” she muttered frantically. “I am not. It . . . it’s blasphemous, and . . . idiotic.” Never taking her eyes off him, she started to slide from the bench. “How did I get involved with you, anyway?”

  “Please don’t scream,” Flinx admonished her gently. “As to your question, if you’ll think a minute . . . I saved your life. . . .”

  Chapter Eight

  She paused, all four running limbs cocked beneath her in preparation for a quick sprint toward the monitor’s desk. Flinx’s words rolled about in her head.

  “Yes,” she finally admitted, “you saved my life. I’d forgotten, for a moment.”

  “Then by the Hive, the Mother-Queen and the miracle of metamorphosis,” he intoned solemnly, “I now call that debt due.”

  She tried to sound amused, but he could see she was shaken. “That’s a funny oath. Is it designed to tease children?”

  For emphasis he repeated it again
. . . this time in High Thranx. It was difficult and he stumbled over the clicks and hard glottal stops.

  “So you know it,” she murmured, slumping visibly, then glancing at the monitor sitting quietly at the distant desk. Flinx knew that a single shout could bring a multitude of armed personnel—and angry questions. He was gambling everything that she wouldn’t, that the ancient and powerful life-debt sworn on that high oath would restrain her.

  It did. She looked at him pleadingly. “I’m barely adult, Flinx. I still have all my wingcases and I shed my adolescent chiton only a year ago. I’ve never been wed. I don’t want to die, Flinx, for your unexplained obsession. I love my studies and the Church and my potential future. Don’t shame me before my family and my Clan. Don’t . . . make me do this.

  “I’d like to help you . . . truly I would. You’ve apparently had more than your share of unhappiness and indifference. But please try to understand—”

  “I haven’t got time to understand,” he snapped, shutting her up before she weakened his resolve. He had to get to Ulru-Ujurr, if there was even a chance Challis had fled there. “If I’d taken time to understand, I’d be dead half a dozen times already. I call on that oath for you to pay your debt to me.”

  “I agree then,” she replied in a dull voice. “I must. You drown me in your dream.” And she added something indicative of hopelessness mixed with contempt.

  For a brief moment, for a second, he was ready to tell her to disappear, to leave the room, to run away. The moment passed. He needed her.

  If he went directly to someone like Jiwe and told him he had to go to Ulru-Ujurr the Counselor would smile and shrug his shoulders. If he told him about his theory concerning the Janus jewels, Jiwe would demand details, reasons, source of suspicions. That would mean owning up to his talents, something he simply couldn’t do.

  The Church, for all its goodwill and good works, was still a massive bureaucracy. It would put its own concerns above his. “Sure,” they would tell him, “we’ll help you find your real parents. But first . . .”