The Tar-aiym Krang Page 21

  “Ndiyo,” said Malaika. “How about that? It was nowhere near the atmosphere and so could not have been trapped in the windglitter layers.”

  “In addition to maintaining an impenetrable defensive screen around the planet, the Krang would be no more than a stalemate device if it did not have offensive capabilities as well,” continued the thranx. “A device wholely defensive in nature would be contrary to everything we know of Tar-Aiym psychology. And you are all aware of how the quality of vibrations changed ever so significantly toward the end of our ordeal. Now then, Flinx, you say you sensed the destruction of the other starship, yet there was no sign of an explosion? No flare, nothing?”

  A safe question, and one he could hardly deny. “That’s right, sir. It just . . . vanished.”

  “Um. A possibility suspected that will probably never be confirmed, but . . . remember that our ship was a very short distance away, yet apparently has not been affected. I suspect gentlesirs, that the Krang is a gravitonic generator—but of power undreamed of even by the ancient Gods.” He faced Malaika squarely. “Captain, what would happen if a gravity field approximately one centimeter in diameter with a field equal in strength to the surface of a neutron star impinged on a real mass?”

  Malaika’s swarthy face reflected puzzlement, revelation, and astonishment in amazingly brief succession. His voice reflected all three.

  “Manisa! That would trigger a Schwarzchild Discontinuity! But that’s . . . !”

  “Impossible?” Truzenzuzex smiled. “Pardon, captain, but how else might you explain it? The power necessary to generate such a field would need a planet-sized ship . . . much simpler to use a planet, eh? And remember there was no evidence of an explosion. Of course not. Not even light could escape a field of such strength! And gravity follows an inverse square law, so naturally our ship was not effectively endangered. A more perfectly selective weapon would be hard to imagine. A mere kilometer away and you would not even notice such a field. But touch it and poof! Instant nonexistence! I hope that one might have the sense not to tamper with such a device overmuch, captain.” The thranx’s voice was steel-solemn. “We do not know anywhere near enough about the operation of such a field. Suppose we did not discover the way to ‘uncreate’ such a field? The Krang obviously can do that—how, I cannot begin to imagine. But if such a field were to be released, uncontrolled, it would simply wander around the universe gobbling up . . . everything.”

  It was too quiet in the cabin, now. “But I think there’s little chance of that,” he continued more spiritedly, “unless our young friend can activate the mechanism once again. Not to mention,” he added, “directing it as successfully.”

  Flinx had read the veiled accusation coming for some time now. He knew it would have to be countered. They must not think him capable of operating such a threatening weapon. Especially, he reminded himself, when he wasn’t sure if he could!

  “I told you sir, I don’t know what happened. The machine controlled me, not vice versa!”

  “Still,” the thranx said significantly.

  It would have been easy to rearrange the insect’s mind so that he would simply take Flinx’s explanation of the ocurence at face value. Too easy. The Krang had not affected his sense of ethics. Besides, the idea of deliberately tampering with another’s deepest centers of thought was mildly repulsive, as well as a bit frightening. Especially when the mind in question was recognizably wiser than his own. Power, he reminded himself, is not knowledge. He would need a lot of the latter in the future.

  “Look. . . .” He was thinking rapidly. It was easy, now. “As far as ‘directing’ the device goes, you said yourself that the machine was composed of infinitely sophisticated circuitry. Once started up, it would be fully capable of handling the situation to its own satisfaction. I was merely like the hydrogen ‘plug’ that starts the KK drive.”

  “Um. And how do you account for its taking the actions it did?”

  “Maybe Nikosos’ ship made a movement that the machine interpreted as hostile, and it responded accordingly. Perhaps it was just keyed and ready when I entered it. I’m certainly not that much different from anyone else here.” (Lie!) “Probably my gift or talent or whatever you want to call it had something to do with it. Remember, it didn’t do anything the first time I entered it.”

  “I have a hunch your own fears at the moment had a lot to do with it too. Yes, that’s plausible.”

  “Right,” Flinx continued, grateful for the opening. “I was scared when I entered it this time . . . really scared.” (Truth.) “My emotional strain had to be picked up by the machine. It’s an artistic device, too! Probably any of us could have stimulated it under those conditions.” (Possible, not probable.) “In any case, it’s finished now and I’ve no desire, not the tiniest, to try it again!” (Mixed truth.)

  “Enough lad! You are too aggressive for my poor, senile mind.” (Baloney!) “I am satisfied, for the nonce.” (Flinx read otherwise, but it did not matter.) “You have convinced me in fair and equal oral combat. Try me at personality chess and I’ll beat the freckles off you! Yet. . . .” He glanced at the minidrag, then back to Flinx. “You say you feel unchanged? No aftereffects?”

  Flinx shook his head with a confidence that would have made Mother Mastiff proud. “No. I really don’t know what happened. My mind was. . . .” He broke off as the outside light was abruptly extinguished. The shuttle had slipped into her mooring dock in the cargo hold of the Gloryhole.

  “And that is that,” said Malaika, unnecessarily. To everyone’s great satisfaction, his pipe had gone out. “I’d love to discuss this all further with you gentlebeings, but at some future nafasi, ndiyo? If I do not get something of a recognizably liquid consistency down my throat very soon, you’ll be able to scatter me in orbit with the windglitter, for I shall dry up to dust!”

  He moved down the narrow aisle between them and opened the small personnel lock. The pale green light of the cargo balloon sifted inward. A pullway drifted conveniently nearby. Sissiph in hand he began hauling the two of them up its swaying length. Atha went next, followed by the two scientists. Flinx plucked Pip from where the minidrag lay coiled comfortably about a chair arm and placed him on his shoulder. He hurried out of the ship. Even now the figure of Wolf was still one he wished to avoid. He followed the others up the pullway.

  On reaching the gravitized section of the ship, everyone went his separate way. Atha and Wolf to Control, Malaika and Sissiph to their cabin. The merchant had not yet had a drop of intoxicant, but he had escaped a ransom and gained a planet. Even if he never realized a cent off his investment, that alone was enough to make him slightly drunk. The two scientists prepared to resume their endless game of personality chess as though they had never been interrupted.

  “That was not a legal psychosis,” said Tse-Mallory, his voice drifting back to Flinx. “And you are well aware of it!”

  “Why, Bran, how can you say that? Surely when I instigated a jump of four places in that secondary childhood fear piece. . . .” Their voices faded as he turned the corner leading to his cabin.

  Flinx glanced down at this shoulder. The minidrag, the effects of its ordeal now apparently catching up with it, was fast asleep. He paused after a moment’s hesitation for twice that in thought. Then he shrugged, grinned. Whistling a famous and delightfully ribald tune, he sauntered off in expectation of the biggest pseudosteak the ship’s autochef could produce. He had much to think about.

  And much to do it with.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Rashalleila Nuaman lay back in her huge bed and idly examined the bedraggled, seminude figure of her niece. The girl had obviously used more force than good sense in protesting madame’s request for her presence.

  “Teleen,” she said, sighing, “I am awfully disappointed in you, you know. Stupidity I can sometimes understand, but sloppiness is inexcusable. I knew about your amusing plan for doing away with me, of course.”

  The girl started at this and her eyes darted arou
nd the room in search of an escape route. Even assuming she could evade the grasp of the two giants who stood impassively to either side of her, there was nowhere on the airless moon to escape to.

  “Oh, don’t let it bother you, child. It didn’t me. Actually I thought it rather an admirable attempt. Showed some spunk, for a change. But that you should undertake to interfere with business . . . that, my dear,” and her voice dropped dangerously, “was ill-chosen on your part. I would perhaps have more sympathy for you had you succeeded. And with the AAnn, too. Dear, dear! I suppose you are aware they are the closest thing to a hereditary enemy mankind has?”

  Teleen’s tone was bitterly sarcastic. “Don’t foist patriotic mush on me, you sanctimonious crank! You’d sell babies to the Devil if you thought he was more than a superstition . . . and enough profit.”

  “You are being absurd, girl. Also impertinent. I certainly would not. At least, certainly not for spite, as you did. Being branded an enemy of the Commonwealth and excommunicated by the Church would require promise of a considerably greater potential return than such pettiness as you aspired to. And on top of everything else, your adolescent ineptitude will force me to tolerate an unbearable amount of ridicule from a very old and dear friend. Who incidentally, I am informed, has long since sewn up the registry of a certain planet by interspace relay, beyond argument of any kind. I will now be forced to fall back on legal means to obtain what was rightfully mine in the first place. As you may know, such procedures are notoriously unfair.

  “However, we are not here to discuss that. What we are here to determine, dear niece, is what I am to do with you. I fear that your attitude has taken rather a dangerous turn. I do not fear it, but my men are capable of error too. Accordingly, I am forced to send you on vacation, until such time as you have been persuaded to channel your considerable energies into more productive pursuits. You shall be given ample time to repent and readjust your rebellious attitudes. There is a very excellent and renowned mental institution in the Qatar system. It is operated by a group of exceptional therapists who have aided me often in the past. While their methods have often been questioned, most notably by the Church, their successes cannot be denied. The director is a personal friend of long standing.”

  “Rory,” said Teleen imploringly.

  “I am sure they will be more than happy to accommodate you as a guest for awhile. Unfortunately, they specialize in childhood neuroses and sexual maniacs of the most extreme kind. Now, which section do you suppose you would find more comfortable for your stay?”

  “Rory!” The girl’s voice was frightened and shrill, now.

  Rory Mallap van Cleef stood quietly by the foot of the bed in silk loincloth and beads.

  “Oh, you needn’t badger your accomplice and confidant, my dear. Darling Rory knows what side of the bed his butter is on.” She smiled sweetly.

  His voice was even and mild. Almost neutral, in fact. “I am sorry, love.” He flexed a bicep. “I still love you, of course, but I don’t see why we should both be made to suffer for this unfortunate setback. I’ll wait for you.” Then, after a thoughtful pause. “I do hope this doesn’t complicate our relationship.”

  Teleen’s answer was unprintable.

  “Tch! Such language. And after all those expensive schools, too. Yes, I am certain you will be placed in the section most suitable to your attitude, child. I see no reason why you shouldn’t take the opportunity to add to your education at the same time as we are about improving your disposition.”

  She waved a hand negligently and the girl was dragged spitting and squalling from the room.

  “Remember now, dear, I am depending on you to show your hosts the true Nuaman spirit! Come back to us in one piece, won’t you?” She shook her head mournfully after the closing doors had cut off the sound of the girl’s fading shrieks. “Tch. I’m not sure that girl will ever be ready to take over the company reins. Everything devolves upon me, and I am old. But not that old.” She extended a hand. “Rory . . . come here . . .”

  They were halfway home and proceeding smoothly for Moth. Flinx looked up from his game of crystal solitaire, now grown childishly simplistic. The sense of thoughts in violent conflict had grown too strong to be ignored. As it was a normal sleep shift he was the only one in the lounge, and the commotion surprised him.

  A rather disheveled-looking Atha stepped into the room. She obviously hadn’t expected to encounter anyone and was noticeably upset by Flinx’s presence.

  “Well,” she began awkwardly, simultaneously trying to adjust her clothing, “we’ve, uh, almost finished our journey, Flinx. I imagine you’re looking forward to getting home . . . and to that credit slip Malaika’s prepared for you!”

  “Yes, to both. You’re on your way to relieve Wolf at Control, I assume?”

  “Hmmm? Oh yes, naturally!” He had to hide his amusement at the way she had pounced on the excuse. “Yes, I’ve just come from making some alterations, uh, in the arrangement of the ship’s supplies. They were becoming unwieldy. I had to . . . work on the problem at some length to get things right.”

  “And did you?”

  Her smile was broad. “Oh, yes. Everything should now be in its proper place.” She disappeared forward.

  A short while later a much more disheveled Sissiph, clothes and self in nearly equal disarray, staggered into the lounge. The expression on her face was murderous, interrupted only when she grimaced at a particularly painful bruise. She spared him one unfocused glance before weaving off in the direction of the big cabin she shared with Malaika.

  Apparently then, everyone had profited from the expedition, with the exception of an attractive and furious minority of one. He sighed and returned to his game, its attraction dimmed. There were many things to do, and he wasn’t sure how to go about doing them. If he couldn’t have any fun. . . . Malaika, he knew, was preparing great things for him. He could not see himself in the role the merchant had envisioned for him. Dressing up for gala conferences, withering competitors with his astonishing insight. Perhaps a compromise might be arranged. But that might mean leaving the markets, and his friends there. Mother Mastiff would probably have no trouble adapting to such a life. He grinned. Could High Society survive her? More seriously, how would he adapt? With everyone these days convinced of his own righteousness and secure in the knowledge that “his was the proper way of doing things.”

  He’d also seen what un-nice people could do to the nice, enough to want to modify the situation. Out there were minds which would resist such efforts. And who was he, to arbitrate the lives of others? Did he want to play God? He didn’t think so. Besides he was only . . . well, he was almost seventeen, wasn’t he? He had talent, and one innocent man and two probably guilty ones had died because he hadn’t used it properly. Now he had Power, and who knew how many had died in space because of it? Power. Fagh! He wasn’t one tenth the Man Tse-Mallory was! He’d need men like that to help him or he’d likely make some horrendous mistakes. Now they might prove deadly. Could he handle what he was now? Did he want to?

  Still, the whole universe was out there and it seemed a shame not to take a look at it.

  Now that he could see.

  Alan Dean Foster has written in a variety of genres, including hard science fiction, fantasy, horror, detective, western, historical, and contemporary fiction. He is the author of the Star Wars® novel The Approaching Storm. He is also the author of numerous nonfiction articles on film, science, and scuba diving, as well as the novelizations of several films, including Star Wars, the first three Alien films, and Alien Nation. His novel Cyber Way won the Southwest Book Award for Fiction in 1990, the first science fiction work to ever do so.

  Foster’s love of the faraway and exotic has led him to travel extensively. He’s lived in Tahiti and French Polynesia, traveled to Europe, Asia, and throughout the Pacific, and has explored the back roads of Tanzania and Kenya. He has rappeled into New Mexico’s fabled Lechugilla Cave, eaten panfried pirhana (lots of bones, tastes a lot
like trout) in Peru, white-water rafted the length of the Zambezi’s Batoka Gorge, and driven solo the length and breadth of Namibia.

  Foster and his wife, JoAnn Oxley, reside in Prescott, Arizona, in a house built of brick that was salvaged from a turn-of-the-century miners’ brothel. He is presently at work on several new novels and media projects.

  Visit the author at his Web site at www.alandeanfoster.com.

  Books By Alan Dean Foster

  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

  Parallelites

  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

  Reunion

  THE DAMNED

  Book One: A Call to Arms

  Book Two: The False Mirror

  Book Three: The Spoils of War

  THE FOUNDING OF THE COMMONWEALTH