Flinx Transcendent Page 7

  Flinx had to smile. “Are you sure you're not preparing for a career in the Imperial diplomatic corps?”

  “I have not yet chossen a life pace,” Kiijeem confessed. A slight pressure on the end of his spine caused him to look down and back. Having coiled around his tail, Pip was playing with the twitching tip.

  “She likes you,” Flinx told his host. “You should be flattered. She usually doesn't take quickly to strangers.”

  Kiijeem turned back to the human. While the absence of a tail had many disadvantages, there was one clear benefit. The softskin could sit on any surface, in any position, without the risk of damage to the smallest of his vertebrae.

  “Her epidermiss iss very ssimilar to that of my kind. I feel that sshe ssenssess a kinsship.”

  “I'm sure that she does,” Flinx agreed. But if you try to hurt me, superficial similarities notwithstanding, she'll kill you without a second's hesitation. He did not voice the caution. Despite his deepening camaraderie with the young AAnn, there was nothing to be gained by filling him in on every little detail.

  It was getting late. Or rather, early. Soon the sun would be up. Kiijeem straightened his body, rising up out of his resting crouch, his tail stiffening behind him. “Thesse passt dayss and the captivating time I have sspent in your company have enabled me to come to a decission.”

  Flinx tensed slightly, readying himself for whatever might come. “Truly, it is always constructive when one comes to a decision.”

  Both optical membranes were withdrawn as the youth looked over at him. “My decission iss—that I am not afraid of you any longer.”

  Flinx relaxed. “That's a good decision to come to.” Extending an arm, he indicated the landscaped surroundings where he had spent the past week in comparative safety and comfort. “For my part, I have to point out that as agreeable as our meetings and conversations have been, we both know they can't continue forever. I've already spent more time here than I intended—and that has been because of you. I'm not complaining, mind—knowledge has been passed in both directions. But now …” Using both hands he executed a first-degree gesture of urgency. “Now I am truly compelled to move onward because of matters that lie beyond my control. It's time for me to leave.”

  Kiijeem eyed his guest speculatively. “You are expected ssomewhere elsse? You do not sstrike me as the type of individual who fretss over a missed appointment.”

  “The appointment I have to keep,” Flinx replied solemnly, “involves the future of your kind as well as mine. As well as everyone's.” How to describe his situation to this youthful representative of another species? How to convey even a hint of the seriousness, the weight, the overwhelming burden that life and circumstance had placed on his shoulders? Should he even try? If he tried, would his explanation make any sense? And if it did, what were the chances of it being believed? Better to keep his reasoning nonspecific and ill-defined.

  “All I can tell you, Kiijeem, is that for the sake of the Commonwealth and the Empire, I must be allowed to return to my ship.”

  His host considered. His response, when it was finally forthcoming, was not encouraging. “I have been able to keep you ssafe here becausse my family iss highly resspected, elevated in sstatuss, and dwellss on property that iss professionally ssecured.” A clawed hand gestured toward the distant, night-shadowed fence line. “But once you are beyond the family boundariess you will once again rissk attracting the notice of Imperial Ssecurity and find yoursself ssubject to public ssearching.”

  Flinx gestured over at his now thoroughly aired-out simsuit. “I passed secretly and safely among you for a full teverravak. I can do so again. I only need to keep my identity a secret long enough to get out of the city. I've prearranged a location with my ship. It's situated well outside the city, in a locality infrequently visited by locals. A place where a fast-moving shuttle can touch down just long enough to make an unauthorized pickup. By the time its vector has been detected and analyzed by Planetary Security, I'll be back on board my vessel and safely on my way outsystem.”

  “A heartening sscenario,” Kiijeem conceded, “but one I mysself conssider unlikely. While one of my age knowss but little of how Planetary Ssecurity workss, I do know that likenessess of your ssimulated sself have been widely dissperssed and viewed on all formss of general media for the passt sseveral dayss.” He indicated the rock crevice where Flinx had been storing the carefully folded simsuit. “The appearance of your AAnn perssona at any time would quickly trigger an active ressponsse.” Using a clawed hand to trace a diagram in the air, the youth made a sign indicative of supplementary third-degree mirth.

  “The narration accompanying thesse portrayalss of your dissguissed sself hass often verged on the pretentiouss. The continued inability of the authoritiess to trace the origin of ‘the myssteriouss forger and accomplisshed currency thief,’ as you have been desscribed, hass provided a perssisstent albeit minor sstory line for the sseriouss media.” Kiijeem expelled a series of rising hisses that constituted laughter among his kind. “I cannot imagine the hyssterical reaction that would enssue if they had any idea what you really are.”

  Flinx mulled his young friend's observations. “I think I still might be able to slip out of the city, especially if I travel at night. But I can't argue the fundamentals of this with you, Kiijeem. If my AAnn image has indeed been disseminated widely among the general public, any movement on my part is going to entail a real risk.” He studied the young nye thoughtfully. “You could smuggle me out in a vehicle.”

  “I would have to produce a ssuitable explanation as to why I would need the private usse of a family transsport.” The youth did not immediately reject the idea. “The vehicle'ss progress would be tracked. If your dessired landing location iss as remote as you ssuggesst, quesstionss would be raissed as to what I wass doing there.” Vertical violet pupils met Flinx's steady gaze. “Given ssuch aid you might indeed make your esscape, ssoftsskin. But I would be left behind to deal with the awkward queriess that would inevitably follow. If your true identity wass ssubssequently learned, ssuch a revelation could mean not only the end of my prosspectss but of my life. And worsse sstill, immensse loss of sstatuss to my family.” He hesitated. “But if you believe it iss the only way …”

  “No,” Flinx told him bluntly. “I won't chance it on that basis, Kiijeem. I've spent much of the past couple of years trying to decide if my own kind is worth the sacrifice of my own future and happiness. If I were to ask you to risk yours, I could never justify preserving my own.” He punctuated his decision with a first-degree gesture signifying concordance.

  “Sstrange.” His age notwithstanding, Kiijeem turned unexpectedly philosophical. “I offer to take ssuch a rissk for you, and your ressponsse iss to refusse it becausse it would imperil me. If thiss were to be known, you would gain sstatuss among my kind.”

  Flinx muttered a reply. “I already suffer from more status than I'd like to have, thanks.”

  Kiijeem was not sure he understood this response. He felt he was incapable of grasping the proper context. In any case, he did not push for a more extensive explanation. It was enough to realize that the softskin would not put him at risk even in order to advance his own ends. It confirmed what Kiijeem had come to believe: this was not the human of his studies. No matter how hostile or threatening the others of his species might be, it was clear that there was sufficient individual variance to allow for one whose thoughts and actions were, in their slightly twisted way, almost nyelike.

  “I'll have to try and get back to the pickup point the same way I left it,” Flinx was telling him. “By making use of public transportation.” Looking to his left, he eyed the folded simsuit where it lay waiting in its crevice. “I can't modify the face—the suit material was formed in a single piece. But maybe I can disguise it somehow. At least enough to prevent immediate identification by roving automatics.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “A pity your kind doesn't wear hats.”

  Kiijeem patiently indicated fo
urth-degree ignorance. “What iss a ‘hat’?”

  Flinx passed a hand over his red hair. “An item of clothing designed to cover the head.”

  “Why would one want to cover one's head?”

  “Well, for one thing, to keep the sun off.”

  “Why would you want to keep the ssun off your head?” Instead of being enlightened, Kiijeem found himself more confused than ever.

  Flinx sighed as Pip glided down to land softly in his lap. Absently, he stroked the back of her head and upper body as she curled up against him. “My kind can suffer if the head is exposed to too much sun.”

  “What a sstrange concept.” Every time the softskin said something, Kiijeem learned something new about this alien species. “We welcome the ssun on our headss.”

  “It's really not the sun I need to block, but my bogus reptilian visage.” From a distance Flinx continued to study the folds of his disguise. “What I need is the AAnn equivalent of a chameleon suit. Even if you could get hold of one for me, I probably couldn't make it fit right.” He chewed worriedly on his lower lip. “There has to be some way to hide my face.”

  Kiijeem had a thought. “Perhapss if your face wass bandaged up, as if you had been in a sseriouss accident.”

  Flinx considered the notion for several moments before finally shaking his head. Kiijeem had come to learn that among softskins, this odd side-to-side motion was a simplistic indication of negativity.

  “Good thought,” Flinx told his young friend. “Your kind are sufficiently private so that no one would be likely to pry about the cause of the bandaging. But what about one of your publicans, those who are employed by the state to aid citizens in distress? I can't have a solicitous health professional inquiring about my ‘condition,’ no matter how caring their intentions. All it would take is for one specialist to have a close look at my simsuit and my subterfuge would be exposed.”

  “That iss sso.” Kiijeem slumped. “I had not thought of that.”

  “We'll think of something,” Flinx assured his young friend. “What we have to do is come up with a list of possibilities and winnow them down to the least inauspicious.”

  As an assessment of available options intended to save his life, it was a conclusion decidedly lacking in optimism.

  Vunkiil BNCCRSQ did not very much like her job. For one thing, the work was too easy, too repetitive. Without challenge there was little room in which to acquire status and therefore few opportunities for advancement. She longed for a crisis that would allow her to demonstrate her exceptional competency. One serious enough to allow her to reap the formal name of BNCCRS. Alas, it seemed that the “Qucent” of her family name was likely to be attached to her until her scales dulled in hue and her claws grew blunt and old.

  What attracted her attention that afternoon did not exactly qualify as a crisis, but it was at least curious enough to entice her away from her tiresome regular duties.

  In her position in the station as one of a dozen monitors of traffic in orbit above Blasusarr's largest continent, it was her task to keep track of a certain number of vessels both coming and going that had been assigned to her watch. Over the past several days one had drawn just a little more notice than most. Not because it had done anything unusual, not because its visual or electronic signature was in any way out of the ordinary, but simply because it had done precisely that—nothing. Not merely nothing unusual, but nothing at all. That was in and of itself—unusual.

  Vessels did not arrive in orbit around the homeworld for no reason. Interstellar travel was always difficult, dangerous, and expensive. It was not undertaken for a lark. As with any action taken by the AAnn and their allies, reason and purpose underlay every activity. Yet in all the time it had been in quiet, standard orbit around Blasusarr since arriving from outsystem, this particular minor commercial vessel had distinguished itself by doing nothing. While doing nothing did not exactly constitute a hazard, the complete lack of action and response was sufficiently out of the ordinary to finally invite her attention.

  She might well be making a fool of herself for following up on the observation, she knew. There could be any number of perfectly rational explanations for the vessel's continued inaction. She debated with herself for one more day before deciding that the prudent course of action would be to find a colleague to concur with her opinion. The reason she delayed was that if additional action was taken on her recommendation she would be the one to garner all the blame, but if anything positive resulted, she would have to share the credit with her defender. After wrestling with the conundrum for part of yet another morning, she finally decided there was no way she could plausibly proceed without at least one corroborator. She found herself turning to Arubaat DJJKWWE, the monitor who was stationed next to her.

  “I have a requesst: run a sstock ssafeguard on the vessel occupying thesse coordinatess.” Without waiting for a response she reallocated the relevant information to his station. Tail tip barely flicking the floor behind his seat, he complied without looking over at her.

  “A class twenty-four cargo craft, with minimal if any passenger-carrying capability,” he reported with becoming swiftness. “Onboard life ssupport appearss to be active. When queried, it resspondss appropriately.”

  “But alwayss electronically.” She leaned slightly though not provocatively in his direction. She wanted confirmation, not a fight. “I have been querying the craft for sseveral dayss now and have yet to receive a ssingle vissual of any member of the crew.”

  Her colleague's dismissal was unapologetically sarcastic. “Perhaps the crew iss sshy. They need only resspond appropriately to formal queriess. Nothing requiress that they sshow themsselvess.” The third-degree gesture of apathy he flipped in her direction matched his tone. “For thiss you interrupt my own sscanning?”

  “In the time that I have been monitoring them,” she replied frostily, “they have done nothing but acknowledge presscribed ssignalss. They have initiated no application for landing, forwarded no requesst for cusstomss clearance, ressponded uninteresstedly to repeated offerss to clear cargo. Do you not find thiss odd? Or possibly you think they have come all thiss way ssolely to drift in orbit around the homeworld and admire itss landsscape?”

  Reluctantly, Arubaat found himself somewhat drawn to his colleague's disquiet. “They have not yet requessted permission to ssend down a sshuttle, or to validate their bussiness here?”

  “Nothing,” she told him firmly. “All codess and queriess are ansswered with a promptness that iss only undersscored by their lack of detail.”

  “Not likely a ssecretive thranx warsship, then. What elsse can it be?” Returning his attention to his own station, the now intrigued Arubaat sent skyward a series of electronic requests. They were answered without delay—and without a hint of elaboration. His carefully formatted queries had generated the minimum response required to satisfy regulations. The automated files were completely satisfied.

  He, however, was not. At least, not entirely. Much as he hated to admit it, his coworker and natural work-rival might be on to something. How could he make the most of her apparent insight to benefit himself? Much depended on what she wanted to do next, on how she wanted to proceed. So he asked her. After first formally registering his own interest in the matter, of course.

  Distastefully but not unexpectedly, she recorded his official acknowledgment of support before elaborating. “The sship'ss crew musst have ssome agenda in mind, whether commercial or otherwisse. It iss incumbent upon uss”—and she took care to emphasize the “uss”—“as Imperial monitorss to find out what it iss. There alsso exisstss the possibility that thosse aboard have ssuffered a collective injury either to themsselvess or to their communicationss facilitiess. Or they may be ssuffering under adversse circumsstances we cannot envission—becausse they can do nothing more than resspond automatically and electronically to our inquiriess.”

  Arubaat withheld comment until the female had concluded her review of the situation. “What do you proposse?�
�

  Taking the necessary risk, Vunkiil plunged ahead. “A formal invesstigation. I would conssider mysself remiss in my dutiess were I to ssuggesst anything less. A crewed orbital monitor needss to approach the vessel in quesstion and examine it with more than jusst insstrumentss.”

  Her colleague made a second-degree gesture of concurrence. “I will ssecond your recommendation—bassed ssolely, of coursse, on your assessment of the ssituation.”

  “Of coursse,” she responded flatly. It would have been unrealistic to expect anything less from a fellow and equally ambitious nye. Arubaat was taking steps to cover his tail in the event the time-consuming and costly inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

  Too late for second thoughts, she told herself. The bones had been thrown. While she still felt confident she had made the right decision in requesting the detailed check, her convictions would have been greatly reinforced if only she could have come up with a better rationale for the continuing silence of the mysterious craft's peculiarly nonresponsive crew.

  One reason that never occurred to her was that the vessel in question might not have a crew.

  Kiijeem had hardly retired for the remainder of the night, slipping quietly back to his quarters in the main residence, when the integrated communit inside the hood of Flinx's simsuit sang softly for attention. Inconspicuous as it was, the sound was so unexpected that a startled Flinx looked around in momentary shock before settling on the source.

  It was the Teacher calling. It had to be. There was nothing and no one else within a hundred parsecs that had access to that special frequency or the means to address him. The call itself told him immediately that something was wrong. While on the surface of another world he contacted the ship. It did not, would not, try to contact him unless something had gone amiss.