Flinx Transcendent Page 2

  That the end result had turned out to be at once disappointing and far beyond anything its original Meliorare developers had envisioned was of no consolation to the experiment himself.

  The discovery had left him more down on himself and on his species than at any time in his life. Well short of his thirtieth birthday, he had spent the preceding decade desperately trying to learn the truth about himself, only to wish now as he stalked the streets of alien Krrassin that he had never bothered to try. The search had led him to wondrous revelations and astounding adventures, to great friendships and an ever-strengthening love, but also to unsought, uncomfortable realizations about humankind and to a deepening personal malaise from which he seemed unable to extricate himself.

  His unique empathic abilities had placed him in the position of potential savior of the galaxy. They had also rendered that potential savior increasingly indifferent to both his and its fate. Why should he trouble himself, if he was only the product of human experimentation and not humanity itself? He could live out the remainder of his natural life with Clarity Held. So could their children, should they have any. Though the threat to the Commonwealth and its galactic surrounds was advancing at increasing speed, he would be long dead before it began to affect the outermost star systems. Why risk his own life and happiness to save a species to which he belonged only through invention?

  Could he even call himself human anymore?

  Within the confines of the suit, Pip shifted uneasily in response to her master's troubled thoughts. While ever a comfort to him, her presence was also nonhuman. Empathetic but simplistic. Nor did he expect to find sympathy or understanding here, on the homeworld of the Commonwealth's most powerful adversary. He had come because it was a thing that had never been tried, and because he no longer deeply cared whether he lived or died. The time he had spent among the troubled youth of Visaria had given him a reason to stumble on. That brief flash of hope and inspiration had been more than negated by what he had learned about himself on Gestalt.

  As he wound his way slowly up the winding curves of the paved pedestrian walkway, he found it numbing, if not exactly relaxing, to roam among intelligent but nonhuman sentients. When his still unpredictable, erratic Talent was functioning he was able to perceive their emotions. These were more consistently hostile, more inherently combative than those of his own kind. Yet they possessed a confidence and tranquility all their own, due not only to their alienness but to the culture in which they were grounded. Fight, argue, challenge—within this constant conflict lay a serenity that derived from consistency. It also inspired and drove each individual AAnn to always do their best, or else find themselves doomed to mediocrity. Humans possessed a similar drive, but one that was moderated by compassion.

  What did it matter? What among either species, or among the thranx, or among any of the other intelligent species whose future was threatened by the Great Evil that was speeding toward the galaxy was worth the sacrifice of his own brief, transitory happiness? He thought of Clarity and Mother Mastiff, of Bran Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex. Surely those were examples of individuals worth saving. Because they happened to be his friends, or his love? Did anything else recommend them and link them?

  Then it struck him.

  Intelligence. Regardless of how he thought it was misused, in spite of how those who were fortunate enough to possess it frittered it away on trivial personal pursuits or feckless quarrels, that was the light that could not be allowed to go out. If the Great Evil was not confronted, if he did not do what little he could to help divert or defeat it, then he was ultimately as guilty as the billions he condemned. It had nothing to do with the confused delinquents of Visaria, or the slow-moving thinkers of Jast, or any other particular sentient species, humans included. It had to do with preserving the ability to understand. Trillions of stars and billions of years had culminated in a spark of comprehension here, a flash of awareness there. Experiment or not, he felt he was ethically bound, as an ancient Terran poet had once declared, to “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” If that realization could be applied to an individual life, surely it was applicable to sentience as a whole. The shining clarity of his own intelligence, for example, was something that stood apart from the confusion of his origins.

  A knife stabbed straight through his head, piercing the frontal lobe and shocking him all the way down to his toes. Subject to and unable to avoid the mental flare, poor Pip contracted spasmodically against his upper thigh.

  All his deliberating, the best of his intentions and the worst of his indifference, continued to be held hostage to the horrific headaches that had increasingly plagued him as he grew and matured. Resist though he did the one that had just struck him, he still found himself unable to do little more than stagger into a public voiding slit cut from the inward-slanting jet-black wall of the nearest building. Leaning against the interior halfway between the street and the sanitizing receptor, his chest heaving as he sucked down short, trembling gasps, he fought to stay upright. If he let the agonizing pain overcome him and passed out, whatever decision he reached about the threat facing the galaxy or about anything else would be rendered moot. The most perfunctory medical check would expose him for the impostor he was and see him sent off under heavy guard to the nearest enforcement center. Fortunately, the voiding slit was unoccupied when he stumbled into it.

  It did not remain so for long.

  Shorter than a male AAnn but wider of hip, the elegantly clad female who entered behind him started to turn away to allow the individual in front of her to finish his business unobserved. Taking a second look at the slightly slumped male figure, she hesitated. His stance showed he was improperly positioned to properly void. Instead, he appeared to be leaning against the enclosing, curving wall for support. This insight instinctively suggested two possible courses of action. She could attack him while he was physically weakened and potentially gain status. Or she could demonstrate compassion, offer help, and perhaps gain the same. Much depended on how seriously he was incapacitated. If only a little, then a challenge would be worthwhile. If, however, his condition was serious, then an assault on another nye who was not in condition to fight back would cause her to lose merit.

  Without having to turn to see her, Flinx sensed her confusion along with her presence. Despite the pain coursing through his skull he concentrated on calming Pip. The last thing he needed was for the flying snake to burst free from some unnatural opening in the simsuit to attack a startled passerby. In response to his silent urgings, Pip remained tightly wound around his right arm and made no move to defend him.

  “Pssannch.” He fought to stand upright and move away from the wall. “A falsse calling. The body playss trickss with digesstion. The sstation is yourss.” He managed to straighten. The invisible gnomes mining for gold at the back of his skull continued their agonizing attempts at extraction.

  Intensely bright slitted eyes stared into his own. One eyelid closed briefly, then the second. “You look unwell, citizen.”

  Designed to accommodate one nye at a time, the voiding station made a single privacy bend as it cut deeply into the wall. It was very narrow and they were very close. He started to edge past her, remembering to finger the correct sensor so that his tail would not slap into her. Were it to do so, the action could be interpreted as either a challenge or an invitation to classically violent AAnn cuddling—neither of which he wished to incite.

  “A momentary pain. An old fighting injury, incurred againsst the bugss.”

  “Ahriinn!” She backed up, giving him as much room as possible to slide past. Soldiering was revered among the AAnn, with those who had seen action against their traditional enemies the thranx being held in the highest regard of all. “Iss there nothing I can do for you?”

  Her words could have been an attempt to promote more intimate interaction. At the risk of appearing impolite, he fought back the pain in his head as he stepped toward the winding walkway beyond.

  “I am mated,” he gasped weakly in her direction.

  “Sso am I,” the female responded. “I freely abjure reproduction.”

  “No time,” he muttered. “Bachaanssk, and in addition to that I am late for duty.” With his left arm he executed a second-degree gesture of appreciation and stumbled out onto the street.

  The throbbing that threatened to tear his head off his shoulders finally began to subside. Thankfully, the female did not pursue, choosing instead to make use of the hygienic facility that had given him temporary refuge. He could feel Pip relax slightly against his arm, responding in kind as his own concern eased.

  It had been a near thing. He decided then and there he would take no more such risks. He had done enough, had won the hand he had played, had more than achieved the outrageous goals he had set for himself when he had first decided to embark on the attempt. Having survived a teverravak in the most closely guarded, sacrosanct part of the entire Empire, he would not push his luck any further. The gamble had been well taken, the time judiciously spent. It confirmed to him that irrespective of species, what ultimately mattered was that the glow of intelligence be preserved. That was what was worth fighting for, no matter which political or racial entity eventually came to dominate the galaxy. As a consequence he, Philip Lynx, would do his personal best to see that the ember of sentience continued to burn. No matter what he was, no matter how he or anyone else defined him, he saw that he remained one with that purpose.

  Thus strengthened in resolve, he loped along until he found the public transport that had originally brought him to this part of the great city. Entering the small automated vehicle, he ignored his fellow passengers and turned to ease back into a support slot, taking care to ensure that his tail did not strike anyone nearby. Like the majority of his fellow travel
ers, save for the elderly or infirm, he disdained the use of the U-shaped fold-down seat, preferring to flaunt his health and fitness by standing for the duration of the journey. With one four-fingered hand he reached up and used a pointed claw to clean between several teeth. As it never became dirty, his perfectly rendered artificial dentition had no need of the attention, but the action helped him to blend in among the other passengers.

  At individually selected stops various AAnn stepped on or off the nearly silent vehicle. It took some fifteen minutes for the high-speed urban transport to reach the densely developed, heavily populated inurb where Flinx had taken lodgings. No one looked in his direction when he exited the public vehicle.

  As he strode slowly toward the building where he had lived for the past ten days, he reflected that he now knew more about the day-to-day workings of the Imperial capital than those Commonwealth specialists who were considered to be the most knowledgeable on the subject. That the sectors where he had spent his time were of no military importance whatsoever did not mitigate his achievement. Working his way into and through the city subsequent to his unsanctioned arrival he had chosen the present quarter as his base of operations specifically because it could be defined by its ordinariness. Going about their daily tasks while dealing with no more than the minimal number of socially acceptable face-to-face challenges, mid-level AAnn generally avoided their neighbors and kept scrupulously to themselves.

  While there were no trees, native Blasusarrian desert landscaping spotted the inurb's pedestrian pathways and buildings with patches of green, brown, and a festering dark blue bushy growth that was endemic to the planet's largest continent. Additional shades and shapes were present in the form of public sculpture and structural adornment. Though coated or imbued with the muted tones favored by the natives, there was no lack of color. While individualistic artisans were held in low regard, when it came to communal aesthetics the AAnn were a dynamic and inventive species. Perhaps no human knew that better than Flinx, who alone among his kind had spent time among their artists.

  Examples of high-quality collective work took the form of bas-reliefs and sculptures that erupted from the sides of sprawling, low-lying residential complexes. Some were solid and inert, while others were displayed as elaborate wave-and-sound projections. Scenes from AAnn history and selective popular entertainment were the most common. As he turned down the next-to-the-last pathway, which led to the entrance to his building, he found himself smiling, as always, at an imbedded wave projection that depicted charismatically brave AAnn warriors attacking and overwhelming a primitive redoubt full of quaking humans. From a stylistic standpoint, at least, it appeared that cheap propaganda transcended origin anywhere in the galaxy.

  Everything he had brought with him on his soon-to-be-terminated unsanctioned excursion fit neatly into a single AAnn back-and-belly pack. The Teacher had experienced no difficulty in reproducing a flawless example of the straightforward baggage from examples contained in its extensive library. Not one of the AAnn Flinx had encountered since his arrival and infiltration had stopped him to question the source of his luggage. If they had, he would simply have identified it as the creation of one of the Empire's more distant colony worlds. Just as within the Commonwealth, expansion of colonization on a galactic scale allowed for a comforting degree of anonymity in product as well as person.

  He would pick up his few belongings and begin to retrace his steps out of the city. A chartered automatic transport would take him to the remotest part of a nearby planetary park, a region of preserved and profound desolation little visited by those in whose interest it had been established. It was there he had been quietly dropped off by one of the Teacher's masked shuttlecraft, and it was there that he would call and wait for pickup. He had survived his sojourn on the AAnn capital world and had learned a little more about himself. That and more would see him returning with fresh resolve to a previous decision now reinforced. He was once more certain of what he was going to do with the rest of his life. Rejuvenated and enlightened by the time spent on the AAnn homeworld, he was ready to leave.

  Blasusarr's intense sun was setting, turning what could be seen of the horizon above the low buildings a fiery yellow and the undersides of outmatched clouds a deepening rust red. At this time of day few nye were out walking. The notion of a casual evening stroll was an exercise that appealed to very few of them. Even in the absence of pedestrian traffic he was careful to keep to the paved right-hand path and out of the winding sand-filled causeway that dominated the center of the street. It was not unknown for aggressive, hormone-driven AAnn to resort to a favored ploy of their primitive ancestors by burying themselves in the sand, there to wait until the time came to erupt and confront potential adversaries who would not have time to avoid the consequent challenge.

  As he turned the last corner before his residence, he spared a glance for the woven sand sculpture that marked the intersection of multiple pathways. Held erect and in place by hand-sketched magnetic fields, the braided streams of multicolored sand and flecks of local gemstone were recycled in continuously shifting patterns; the fountain spewed stone instead of water. Sunset's blush turned the spout's sunward side to shards of stuttering rainbow.

  Both the automated manager and live concierge of his building would be sorry to see him go. Not only had he paid for his stay in advance with his carefully counterfeited Imperial credit, he had freely rented the least desirable quarters in the entire structure: high up and on the shady side of the building. His view of the inevitable desert garden and exterior sand-filled relaxation area was from above: practically from overhead. From an AAnn point of view, his rooms were totally undesirable.

  He did not expect to see the concierge when he checked out, nor was it necessary for him to do so. As an out-system visitor intent on commercial business, such personal interaction was not only unnecessary but an open invitation to spontaneous challenge. Flinx was confident that the somewhat elderly concierge was as eager as himself to avoid any gratuitous final farewells.

  So he was more than a little surprised to see the elder nye, slightly stooped from his species' version of scoliosis, standing just outside the entrance to the building where he presented himself open to challenge by any casual passerby. Despite the AAnn's present choice of location and stance, Flinx saw right away that such a potential confrontation was unlikely.

  Not when the concierge had half a dozen or so armed enforcers clustered closely around him.

  As far back as he could remember, Flinx had always had excellent reflexes. In Drallar, on Moth, they had helped to keep him always just out of reach of the local police. Later, as he had traveled from one end of the Commonwealth to the other, they had often been the difference between life and death. A second or two slower, a second or three later under threatening circumstances, and he might not be standing where he was now.

  In the rapidly fading light of evening a human might easily have overlooked the approaching Flinx—but not an AAnn. The concierge was old, but he was not blind. Before Flinx could react to the presence of the enforcers and nip back out of sight, the Elder had spotted him. Flinx turned and bolted, but not in time.

  Had he been on a Commonwealth or a disputed world he quite likely would have been dead. But on the Imperial homeworld the local enforcers of Status and Order did not carry lethal weapons. Provided proper etiquette was observed, social convention allowed for one citizen to slay another in the course of escalating one-on-one conflict, but the same latitude was not granted to the authorities. The paralyzing neuronic bursts that flared in his direction were designed to incapacitate, not to kill. Unfortunately, the similarity between human and AAnn nervous systems was such that if one of the shots being fired in his direction did happen to hit home, it would most assuredly lay him out as flat and limp-tailed as any rightful resident of Krrassin.