Trouble Magnet Page 19

  The giantess came forward. Holding the credmitter in one hand, she extended the other expectantly. She was waiting for Flinx’s credcard of choice, he knew, so she could first security-clear it and then transfer the verted reward to his specified account. Subar looked over at him, his face reflecting an expectation of a different kind. Next to him Ashile’s expression mimicked her feelings. Reflecting her earlier doubts, they were now clashing violently.

  There was no time for stalling. It was time for Flinx to do something. Now that the moment of crisis had arrived, what, the increasingly anxious girl wondered, did the offworlder intend to do, confronted as he was by a seemingly impossible situation?

  What Flinx did was close his eyes halfway. Corsk frowned uncertainly as his visitor failed to produce the necessary credcard. The Amazonian Gail tensed. So did her twin. The alien’s expression was unreadable. Significantly, however, he slid a liquid step backward while a six-fingered hand shifted slowly in the direction of a bandolier replete with a diversity of small weapons.

  As he had done a number of times in the past several years, Flinx readied himself to emotionally project onto those surrounding him. Just as he had taken down Chaloni and his companions in the rooftop priv place, he prepared to flood selected minds around him with a wave of focused fright and vulnerability intended to reduce them to helpless, quivering lumps of terrified id. Practice had taught him how to focus his newfound ability so that, for example, he could spare Subar and Ashile from its effects. Beneath his baggy shirt, Pip stirred in expectation.

  Frowning, Corsk gestured toward the movement. “You’ve got something alive in there. Not that it’s any of my business, but what—?”

  Flinx pushed outward.

  “—is it?” the big man finished.

  Flinx opened his eyes all the way. Corsk was eyeing him expectantly. The Amazonian twins were staring at him. Off to the left, the alien’s limber fingers had coiled around one of several weapons attached to a diagonal chest strap, though the gun had not yet been removed.

  Flinx blinked. Ignoring Corsk’s query, he strained anew. More forcefully this time. Once again, nothing happened. Subar’s expression now perfectly duplicated the growing look of alarm on Ashile’s face. And with good reason.

  To his horror Flinx realized that his Talent, always intermittent, had chosen that moment to diminish on him. Practice and experience counted for nothing when his unique ability decided to go on vacation. It had chosen a particularly volatile moment to do so.

  Remembering Corsk’s question, he tried to formulate a reply as he fumbled for the credcard he carried inside a secure pocket. “It’s a minidrag from Alaspin. Reptilian in appearance, but not cold-blooded. Opto example of xenoconvergent evolution.” Working at the seal on his pant pocket, his fingers were trembling. He could not recall the last time his fingers had trembled.

  As he did so, he could not avoid feeling, if not projecting, emotions. With his thoughts racing several different ways at once, he momentarily forgot that there was another present who could also read, if not project, feelings.

  Sensing her master’s distress, Pip stuck her head out of the neckline of his shirt, surveyed the physical situation as well as the rising emotional squalls that threatened to fill up the room, and decided to take action of her own. Her reaction instantly drew Flinx’s attention away from his own internal conflict.

  “Pip, no!”

  Launching into the air, wings spread, Pip darted toward the ceiling. Analyzing the potential dangers milling below, she instinctively began ranking them according to the degree of threat to her master that each presented. Whereas a human evaluating potential dangers would have looked to the presence and type of weapons, she read emotions in search of differing degrees of friendliness or hostility.

  Taking another stride backward, tall ears thrust in the direction of the unexpected flying creature, the alien drew his weapon of choice. At almost the same time, the giantesses retreated and Corsk pulled a pulsepopper of his own. Ducking away from the sonorous hum being generated by the minidrag’s membranous pink-and-blue wings, the big man was simultaneously angry and uncomfortable.

  “Call it off,” he growled warningly. “Get it back inside your shirt now, or I’ll fry it!”

  Flinx raised both hands. The gesture was both entreaty and warning. “Don’t shoot! I’ll get her down, just don’t think hostile at her!” Looking ceilingward, he implored his companion. “Pip! Come down here—now!”

  But Corsk wasn’t watching the flying snake anymore. His gaze had fallen and turned, to refocus on Flinx. For the first time, he seemed to see his tall young visitor in an entirely new light.

  “Don’t ‘think hostile at her’? Why would that…?” In his business, analysis was something best left to the contemplative. He was paid not to analyze, but to react. Now he did so, bringing the muzzle of the pulsepopper up sharply.

  His attention still concentrated on where Pip was hovering just beneath the ceiling, Flinx saw the man’s hand come up out of the corner of one eye. He knew what a pulsepopper could do. The tiny globe of plasma it discharged would incinerate whatever it came in contact with. He started to open his mouth to say something at the same time as Corsk’s finger slid forward on the trigger.

  There was a brilliant flash of light, pure white and intense as a sun. He was not conscious when the sound of the concussion rolled through the room.

  Time passed.

  Flinx was relieved, but not especially surprised, when he came around. It meant that he was not dead, and that something besides the pistol’s plasma ejecta had rendered him insensible. Though still shaken and far from thinking entirely coherently, he had some idea of what might have happened. Because it had happened to him several times before.

  On each occasion he had been on the verge of being killed, the difference between life and death a matter of seconds or less. Each time something, some unknown part of him, had risen intuitively to his defense. That it had to do with his still-blossoming abilities there was no doubt, but as to its exact nature, he had no idea. It was different from the kind of collective surge he and the Tar-Aiym Guardian Peot had used recently to defeat the Vom at Repler.

  Whatever its true nature, it was evident that it involved generating energy, displacing matter, or both. Most recently, it had flared forth unbidden to save him from an assassination attempt on the primitive world of Arrawd. Being rendered comatose each time it happened prevented him from examining or analyzing it in any way. He never knew exactly what took place, or how. He was privy only to the consequences.

  In this instance, as he picked himself up off the floor of the room, these involved the unexpected protrusion from the ceiling of three pairs of feet—three female, one male. The remainder of the bodies that were attached to the dangling feet were embedded somewhere within the ceiling and the lower layer of the upper floor. The trio of individuals to whom the feet belonged had been thrust straight upward from where they had been standing by whatever it was that leaped to Flinx’s defense whenever he was in imminent danger of extinction. Shattered and powdered fragments of ceiling material sifted downward from the holes in the ceiling, forming little piles of debris directly below the dangling feet.

  A moan came from the far side of the room. The collateral force of Flinx’s unbidden defensive response had thrown Subar and Ashile across the floor and into the opposite wall. Thankfully, and unlike those who had absorbed the full force of his involuntary, reflexive, and still-inexplicable reaction, they were not embedded, only bruised. He hurried to them. They were both sore, but unbroken.

  “What—what happened?” A dazed Ashile struggled to stand as Flinx worked to unseal her wrist bonds.

  Before he could reply, a still-secured Subar shook his head, blinked up at his tight-lipped offworld friend, and muttered, “He happened. That was it, isn’t it?” Looking around the room, he needed a moment to spot the legs dangling from the ceiling like so many fleshy stalactites. “Tnuw! What did you do to them? I reme
mber,” he squinched up his face, “I remember a flash, and being lifted up and thrown. Then pain, and then nothing.”

  “I thought I heard a noise.” Rubbing her wrists, the suddenly concerned girl looked around anxiously. “Where’s your pet? They were going to shoot her!”

  Having released Subar, Flinx straightened and called out. “Pip!”

  The flying snake appeared immediately, hovering unharmed in the hole that had been punched in the wall opposite the main doorway. The hole had been made by the body of the tall alien and more or less conformed to his shape. Standing apart and opposite from Corsk and the two giantesses, who were now decorating the ceiling, the force of whatever had erupted from Flinx had blown him sideways through the wall instead of upward toward the roof.

  Pip fluttered back through the new opening. Following her and stepping through the gap, Flinx and his younger companions discovered not only another room but also the abducted individuals they had come for. As they came into view, Subar’s lower jaw dropped. Considering herself at least as hardened by life as he was, Ashile promptly covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes widened. As Pip landed gently on his left shoulder and coiled her back half around his neck, an expectant Flinx took in the full measure of what was displayed before them. In contrast with his younger companions he was disturbed but not shocked. He had seen and experienced far more than them not only of the galaxy, but also of the disturbing inventiveness that his own species was capable of.

  Spread-eagled, piercing eyes now permanently shut, the willowy alien stood embedded upright in the far wall. No emotions flowed from it. Flinx did not need his Talent to tell him that the tormenting visitor from an unknown world would trouble him and his friends no longer. He shifted his attention back to those they had come to liberate. Zezula was there, and Missi, and Sallow Behdul. All three were alive.

  But they were not well.

  They hung in stasis, not between earth and sky but between ceiling and floor. Or—more properly—between the grids that generated a powerful magnetic field. The field was not strong enough to magnetize and levitate the iron in their bodies. It was, however, more than powerful enough to act forcefully on the hundreds of tiny metal squares that covered the three suspended bodies. Some of the metal squares were pierced with holes, allowing the compressed flesh beneath to bulge through them and form tiny pale bumps. Others were studded with pins, or pyramidal points.

  From above, below, and on both sides, the magnetic field pushed or pulled on the hundreds of metal shards, driving them into the naked flesh of the three captives and holding them suspended in midair. If the strength of the field was reduced, the trio would crash to the floor in a shower of harmless metal fragments. The more it was strengthened—the more it was strengthened, the deeper the metal squares would dig into the bodies of the three prisoners. If sufficient power was applied to the field, Flinx determined as he searched for the controls, it could conceivably pull the pieces of metal not only into the flesh of anyone unfortunate enough to be so trapped, but in fact through them. Apply enough power, and every magnetized square of metal would eventually meet its opposite being driven from the opposing direction. The ultimate result would be—untidy.

  It was a jail “cell” from which a prisoner could not escape, in which the bars had been broken up into hundreds of pieces that pinned captives between them. Reach down, pull one away from your body, and attempt to fling it, and it would only snap painfully back into place. Exhaustion would give way quickly to resignation. And to more pain.

  Despite the metal squares pressing against her lower jaw, chin, and skull, a battered Missi raised her head enough to recognize those who had just entered the room. She was trying to say something, Flinx saw. Tears dripped from her eyes, too nonferrous to attract a metal square. Then she passed out.

  Locating the instrument panel, he deactivated the brutal machine as quickly as he could. The jolt that the captives would experience as the field was disengaged and they were dropped to the floor would be nothing compared with what they had undergone. Having recovered from their initial shock at the sight of Subar’s friends, he and Ashile hurried to assist them.

  Though most of the metal squares simply clattered to the floor as soon as the magnetic field was turned off, some had to be pulled from the bodies of the former captives, so deeply had they embedded themselves in exposed flesh. While the two youngsters worked on the newly liberated trio, Flinx scoured the cabinets and storage bins in the room until he found their clothes. A refreshment silo mounted in one corner supplied water that the prisoners had doubtless been denied. One by one, care and fluids brought them around. First Sallow Behdul, who could only mumble a few pained words of gratefulness. Then Missi, sobbing. And lastly Zezula, screaming until a comforting Subar held her and rocked some of the terror out of her. Ministering to Missi, Ashile occasionally glanced in their direction. Since she said nothing, only Flinx knew that one other individual in the room besides the former captives was suffering pain.

  Which meant that his Talent, now that it was not especially needed, had returned as abruptly and inexplicably as it had previously taken its leave.

  With Subar and Ashile’s help, the three hurting but grateful sufferers managed to get dressed. From time to time Flinx approached the crumbling edges of the gap in the wall to look across the outer room in the direction of the main doorway. It remained shut, and he could perceive no immediate threat outside the walls of the building they were in—only staff and employees in other, adjacent structures. These ordinary folk went on about their daily business utterly unaware of the horrors that had been perpetrated in the innocuous structure nearby.

  As he turned back to the inner prison, he found Subar confronting him.

  “We have to take everybody back to your hotel.” The younger man spoke with a new, self-assured authority that belied his age.

  “Now, wait a minute.” Raising his gaze, Flinx indicated the surviving youths he had just risked his own life to rescue. “I said I would help free your friends. Nothing was said about providing accommodation for them.”

  Some of Subar’s determination threatened to slip away. His voice turned pleading. “Tlack, Flinx. For that, I thank you from the base of my cer’bell. But right now they have nowhere else to go. I have nowhere else to go.” Turning, he gestured with one hand. “Ash can probably go home safely, but once they find out everybody’s been sprung, whoever picked up Zez and Missi and Behdul and put a price on me will want us back.” He tried not to smile. “Not to mention that they’ll be looking for whoever did this. You didn’t only scrim somebody’s revenge, Flinx. You cost them some cred.”

  Flinx tried to shrug it off. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Bending forward, he put his face close to that of the younger man and lowered his voice. “This may surprise you, Subar, but I already have one or two organizations of some small consequence looking for me. So I’m not worried if some minor Visarian crime syndicate, or whatever, decides to join the pack.” He straightened. “I’m leaving. Leaving Malandere, leaving this world. And based on what I’ve seen and experienced, I don’t see any reason why I should be back.”

  Unable to refute the offworlder’s assertions, Subar opted for the simple expedient of ignoring them. “It’d only be for a little while,” he insisted. “Just until we can make arrangements to get ourselves out of the city. I’ve got an older cousin on my mother’s side. He has a good business outside Caralinda. Legitimate agriculture. Caralinda’s a smaller city a respectable distance from Malandere. He could help us make a new start. We could all get new identities, head for Bondescu on the other side of the planet.”

  Lifting his gaze, Flinx studied the still-quivering former captives. “What about your parents?”

  Subar articulated an unpleasantry. “Zezula doesn’t have any parents. Missi’s are useless. Sallow Behdul’s been on his own for years. And you met mine. I have to contact my cousin, arrangements need to be made, and we have to plan how to slip out of Malandere without
being seen. Among other technicalities. But first we need some recoup time, in a safe place.”

  From across the room a communit built into a tech panel barked unexpectedly to life. Flinx had no idea who might be on the other end. Only that he had no intention of replying.

  “Let’s go.” He raised his voice. “Everybody out of here, now!” Battered and bruised figures began to shamble toward the gap in the wall as long-paralyzed muscles were forced to move again.

  “Your hotel?” Subar was gazing up at him, unblinking.

  Flinx muttered something under his breath. Curving her neck around so that she could look into his eyes, Pip regarded him questioningly.

  “Yes, my hotel.” He hardened his tone deliberately. “But only for a day or two. Only until you can make the necessary arrangements with your cousin. Then I’m away from here, off this miserable world. I’ve got work to do. Important work. As soon as you’ve all recovered enough to slip out of the city on your own I’m done with you, Subar, and also with your intemperate, foolish friends.”

  As they exited carefully out onto the serviceway and then headed for the nearest transport terminal, it occurred to Flinx that in making what he intended to be his final statement on the matter he was only repeating something he himself had heard once before, a long time ago. It was not until they were safely in a transport pod and accelerating out of the industrial district that he recalled the circumstances under which he had heard it.

  Mother Mastiff had said it to him, in Drallar on Moth, when he and two childhood acquaintances had been caught in the main market stealing from a merchant infamous for his predatory pricing. “I’m done with you!” she had sputtered. “And with your careless, hotheaded friends as well!” Though her tone had been harsh, he had known at the time that she hadn’t really meant what she was saying.

  Well, he assured himself, he had meant what he had just told Subar.

  What a pity, he thought as the pod zipped smoothly through the teeming, congested cityscape, that the only emotions he could not accurately read were his own.