Orphan Star (20 page)

“I’m not sure I understand,” Flinx admitted, sitting down on a rock and shivering. A monstrous shape materialized at his shoulder, and Sylzenzu-zex jumped half a meter into the air.

“No doubt about it,” thundered Maybeso. One paw cuddled two wrinkled objects while the other held a large plastic case. Flinx felt a warm thought flow over him like a bucket of hot water and then Maybeso was gone.

“What was that?” a gaping Sylzenzuzex wanted to know.

“Maybeso,” Flinx told her absently, examining what the mercurial Ujurrian had brought. “Thermal suits—one for you and one for me.”

After climbing into the self-contained heated overclothing they spent a few luxurious moments defrosting before they began their inspection of the big case’s contents.

“Food,” Sylzenzuzex noted. “Two beamers . . .”

Flinx reached into the depths of the container, aware he was trembling. “And this . . . even this.” He withdrew his hand, holding a small, slightly battered spool.

“How?” he asked Fluff, awed. “How did he know?” Fluff’s smile was genuine and went beyond the one frozen into his features.

“Maybeso plays his own games. Everything is a game to Maybeso, and he’s very good at games. Better than any of the family. In some ways he’s just like an overgrown cub.”

“Cub,” agreed Moam, “but a big light.”

“Very big light,” Bluebright agreed, raising his head and licking water from his muzzle with a long tongue.

“It’s fun to have someone who can talk back,” Fluff observed playfully. Then Flinx had the impression of a hurt frown. “Others came but did not land. Maybeso saw them and says they did some strange things with constructs—with instruments like those at the metal caves. They got very excited, then went away.”

“The Church exploration party,” Flinx commented unnecessarily.

“We didn’t understand why they went away,” a troubled Fluff said. “We wished they would have come down and talked. We were sad and wanted to help them, because they were frightened of something.” Again the mental shrug. “Though we could have been wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong, Fluff. Something frightened them, all right.”

Sylzenzuzex paid no attention to him. She was staring at Fluff, her mandibles hanging limp. Flinx turned to her, asked, “Now do you understand why this world was put Under Edict?”

“Under Edict,” Fluff repeated, savoring the sound of the spoken words. “A general admonition embodying philosophical rationalizations which stem—”

“You’re a fast learner, Fluff,” gulped Flinx.

“Oh sure,” the giant agreed with childish enthusiasm. “Is fun. Let’s play a game. You think of a concept or new word and we try to learn it, okay?”

“It wasn’t a game to the exploration party which took readings here,” Sylzenzuzex announced suddenly. She looked over to Flinx. “I see what you were trying to tell me.” To the giant: “They didn’t land because . . . because they were afraid of you, Fluff.”

“Afraid? Why be afraid of me?” He slapped his meters-wide torso with a paw that could have decapitated a man. “We only live, eat, sleep, make love, build caves, and play games . . . and make jokes, of course. What to be afraid of?”

“Your potential, Fluff,” Flinx explained slowly. “And yours, Moam, and Bluebright, and you too, Maybeso, wherever you are.”

“Someplace else,” Moam supplied helpfully.

“They saw your potential and ran like hell instead of coming down to help you. Put you Under Edict so no one else would come to help you, either. They hoped to consign you all to ignorance. You have incalculable potential, Fluff, but you don’t seem to have much drive. By denying you that the Church saw they could—”

“No!” Sylzenzuzex shouted, agonized. “I can’t believe that. The Church wouldn’t . . .”

“Why not?” snorted Flinx. “Anyone can be afraid of the big kid down the block.”

“Is wrong to fear,” Fluff observed mournfully, “and sad.”

“Right both times,” concurred Flinx. Suddenly aware his stomach demanded attention, he dug a large cube of processed meat and cheese from the plastic container, sat down on a rock. After removing the foil sealer, he took a huge bite out of it, then started searching the container for something suitable for Pip.

Sylzenzuzex joined him, but her inspection of the supplies was halfhearted at best. Her mind was a maelstrom of conflicting, confusing, and destructive thoughts. The knowledge of what the Church had certainly done was shattering beliefs she’d held since pupa-hood. Each time another ideal came crashing down, it sent a painful stab through her.

Flinx had reached a decision. “You wanted to talk, to play a concept and words game?”

“Yes, let’s play,” Moam snuffled enthusiastically, ambling over.

“Let’s talk,” agreed Bluebright.

Flinx looked grim, considered what he was about to do, and was gratified to discover that it made him feel more satisfied than any decision he’d made in his entire life.

“You bet we’ll talk. . . .”

Chapter Eleven

“But not here,” Fluff put in.

“Definitely not here,” Bluebright echoed. “Let’s go to the cave.” Turning away from Flinx, he and Moam started off into the trees, matching each other stride for stride. Fluff waddled after them, gesturing for Flinx and Sylzenzuzex to follow.

“
The
cave?” Flinx inquired later as he and the shaking thranx struggled to maintain the blistering pace. “You all share the same cave?”

Fluff seemed surprised. “Everyone shares the same cave.”

“You’re all part of the same family, then?” Sylzenzuzex panted.

“Everyone same family.” The big native was obviously puzzled at these questions.

It occurred to Flinx that Fluff might have something other than immediate blood relationships in mind. A word with multiple meanings could be confusing to a human, to say nothing of an alien with a bare knowledge of the language.

“Are we of the same family, Fluff?” he asked slowly. Heavily furred brows wrinkled ponderously.

“Not sure yet,” their unassuming savior finally told him. “Let you know.”

Another hour of scrambling hectically over rocks and ditches, and Flinx found himself becoming winded. It was much worse for his companion, who finally settled to an exhausted halt in the middle of a clump of flowering growth.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I can’t keep up. Tired and—cold.”

“Wait,” he instructed her. “Fluff, wait for us!” Ahead, the three Ujurrians paused, looked back expectantly.

Flinx knelt and gently examined the broken leghand. Though Sylzenzuzex wasn’t putting any pressure on it, the joint didn’t seem to be healing properly.

“We’re going to have to splint that break,” he muttered softly. She nodded agreement.

“Do at the cave,” Fluff advised, having retreated to join them.

“I’m sorry, Fluff,” Flinx explained, “but she can’t go any further unless we fix this break.” He considered, suggested, “You three continue on—leave a trail of broken branches and we’ll catch up with you later.”

“Foolish,” the native advised. He moved nearer, his huge bulk dwarfing the slim youth. Flinx noted that Pip hadn’t moved. If his pet expressed no concern, then it sensed no threat behind those advancing luminous eyes.

Fluff studied the quaking Sylzenzuzex, asked curiously, “What to do, Flinx-friend?”

“If you think it’s foolish of us to follow your trail,” he told the Ujurrian carefully, alert for any indication of outraged anger, “you could let us ride.”

Bluebright scratched under his chin with a hind foot. “What is ride?” he asked interestedly.

“Means to carry thems instead of gems,” a deep voice snorted with mild contempt at Bluebright’s slowness. Flinx spun just in time to see the slightly phosphorescent form of Maybeso vanish into someplace else.

“Understand now,” Fluff bubbled with satisfaction. “What do we do?”

“Just stand there,” Flinx instructed, wondering as he walked up next to that brown wall if this was going to turn out to be such a clever idea after all. The big ursine head swung to watch him. “Now lie down on your stomach.”

Fluff promptly collapsed with a pneumatic
whump.
Tentatively placing one foot against his left flank, Flinx reached up and grabbed a double handful of coarse hair and pulled hard. When no protest was forthcoming, he pulled again, hard enough this time to swing himself up on the broad back.

“Okay, you can get on all fours again,” he told his jocular mount.

Fluff rose with hydraulic smoothness, his mind smiling. “I see. This is a better idea.”

“A new fun thing,” Moam agreed. She and Bluebright ambled over to Sylzenzuzex and spent a minute arguing over who should have the privilege of trying this new experience first. Moam won the debate. She moved next to the watching thranx and lay down next to her.

Sylzenzuzex studied that muscular torso apprehensively, glanced across at Flinx. He nodded encouragement, and she climbed carefully onto Moam, dug her claws into the thick fur, and hung on firmly.

They discovered now how patiently the Ujurrians had walked before, to enable their two pitiful friends to keep up with them. If either Fluff or Moam noticed the weight on their backs it wasn’t apparent, and the little group flew through the forest.

They had only one further mishap, when Flinx was nearly thrown. He barely managed to maintain his seat when Fluff rose without warning onto his two hind legs. He ran on like a biped to the manner born, and at a pace which no Terran bear could have duplicated. With seven limbs to hold on with, Sylzenzuzex kept her perch much more securely when Moam likewise rose to match Fluff’s long two-legged stride.

It was impossible to tell how long or how far they had traveled when they descended into the last valley. From the beginning of the real run until the end, none of the ursinoids slackened their pace, though by then they were puffing slightly.

This third valley was dominated by the stream they’d run parallel to during their retreat. It broadened into another lake here, though one much smaller than that bordering the mining encampment now far behind them. A new variety of tree grew here among the quasi-evergreens. It had broad, yellow-brown leaves. Certain varieties, Flinx saw in the moonlight, held different kinds of berries, though these were scarce. Others boasted clusters of oval-shelled nuts, some big as cocoanuts.

“You eat those?” Flinx asked, pointing at the burdened branches.

“Yes,” Fluff informed him.

“And you also eat meat?”

“Only in snowtime,” his host explained quietly, “when the
baiga
and
maginac
do not bloom. Meat is no fun, and more work. It runs away.”

They were moving toward a steep hillside now. In the soft moonlight Flinx saw that it was bare rock, devoid of talus. Several circles made dark stains against the gray granite.

Ujurrians of many sizes, including the first cubs they had seen, gamboled between the dark shoreline and the cave mouths.

“If one doesn’t eat meat for variety,” Fluff went on, “one begins to feel sick.”

“Why don’t you like to eat meat?” Sylzenzuzex wondered.

Flinx prayed she wouldn’t involve their impressionable hosts in some abstract spiritual dialogue.

Fluff spoke as if to children. “Even the life of the
najac
or the six-legged ugly
coivet
is like a piece of the sun. When smothered, the warmth leaves it.”

“We do not like to make bright things dark,” Bluebright elaborated. “We would rather make dark things bright. But,” he finished mournfully, “we don’t know how.”

They slowed to a walk, finally came to a complete stop outside the first of the caves. Flinx observed that the exterior of the entrance was composed of neatly piled boulders, chinked together with smaller rocks and pebbles in the absence of ferrocrete. Motioning for Fluff to lie down, he started to slide off the ursinoid’s back.

A glance behind him showed a long glass spear of moonlight broken into pieces by the ripples and eddies on the lake. A look into the cave ahead revealed nothing but blackness.

“You said everyone shares the same cave, Fluff, but I see other openings in the mountainside.”

“Is all same cave,” the native explained.

“You mean they all connect inside the mountain somewhere?”

“Yes, all meet one another.” A warm mental smile came to him. “Is all part of the game we play.”

“The game?” Sylzenzuzex echoed, chilled despite the fact her thermal suit was set on high. When Fluff didn’t comment, she wondered aloud, “Do you think we could build a fire?”

“Sure,” Moam said cheerfully. “What is building a fire? Is like building a cave?”

Patiently, Flinx explained what was necessary, confident he would have to do so only once.

“We will go and gather the dead wood,” Moam and Bluebright volunteered, when he had finished his explanation.

“What is this game you play, the one involving your warren, Fluff?” Flinx inquired when the other two had departed.

Fluff ignored the question, urged them into the cave where he silently exchanged greetings with another huge native.

“This is Softsmooth, my mate,” he informed them in response to the question Flinx phrased in his mind. “You ask about the game, Flinx-friend? . . . Our parents’ parents’ parents many times over-and-dead worried that one day the cold would stay forever, and many lights among the family would vanish.

“I wouldn’t call this a heat wave right now,” Sylzenzuzex commented.

“The cold comes when the sun is smothered by the mountains,” Fluff explained. “Our many-times parents felt it was becoming colder each year. It seemed to them that each year the sun grew smaller than the year before.”

Flinx nodded slowly. “Your world has an elliptical orbit, Fluff, but it’s not a regular orbit. According to the statistics I saw, it’s swinging farther and farther away from your sun every century—though how your ancestors realized this I can’t imagine.”

“Many new concepts,” a frowning Fluff murmured. “Anyhows, our parents many times dead decided how to fix. Should move closer to sun in certain way.”

“They were talking about regularizing Ulru-Ujurr’s orbit,” Flinx husked. “But how did they
know?
”

“Have to ask ancestors,” Fluff shrugged. “Very difficult to do.”

“I’ll bet,” Sylzenzuzex agreed readily.

“Was a new way, though,” the big native went on. “Diggers . . .”

“The people at the mine?”

“Yes. They make their own caves very warm. We asked them how we could make warm, too.”

“What did they suggest?” Flinx wondered.

Fluff appeared confused. “They told us to dig big hole in the ground and then pull dirt in on top of ourselves. We tried and found it does make warm. But you can’t move, and one gets bored that way. Also no light. We did not understand why they told us to do this way. They do not do for themselves. Why they tell us to do that, Flinx-friend?”

“That’s the AAnn excuse for humor at work,” he replied with quiet fury.

“AAnn?” Fluff queried. Moam and Bluebright returned, each buried under enormous armloads of dead branches.

“Some of the people at the mine,” Flinx explained, “the ones with—the ones with the cold minds.”

“Ah, the cold minds,” Fluff echoed in recognition. “We did not see how such cold ones could give us knowledge on how to become warm. But we tried anyway.”

Flinx couldn’t look at the amiable native. “How . . . how many of the experimenters died?”

“Experimenters?”

“The ones who tried burying themselves?”

“Oh, Flinx-friend worries wrongly. No one died,” Fluff assured him, feeling relaxation in the human’s mind at these words.

“You see, we buried Maybeso. . . .”

“Here is wood,” Moam said.

“Do you need more?” asked Bluebright.

“I think this is enough to last us at least a week,” Flinx told them. As he spoke Sylzenzuzex was arranging some of the broken wood in a triangular stack, delicate truhands making a sculpture out of twigs and thin trunks.

Flinx eased himself up against the wall of the cave, feeling the coolness of the stone through the thermal suit. “How did your parents many times dead think you could regula—move closer to the sun?”

“By playing the game,” Fluff told him again. “Game and making cave home is one.”

“Digging caves is supposed to bring your world nearer its sun?” Flinx muttered, not sure he had heard correctly.

But Fluff signaled assent. “Is part of pattern of game.”

“Pattern? What kind of pattern?”

“Is hard to explain,” Fluff conceded languidly.

Flinx hesitated, voiced a sudden thought, “Fluff, how long have your people been playing the game of digging cave patterns?”

“How long?”

“How many of your days?”

“Days.” Fluff decided it was time to consult with the others. He called Bluebright over, and Moam came with Bluebright. Softsmooth joined them and for a brief moment Maybeso winked into existence to add his comment.

Eventually Fluff turned back to Flinx, spoke with confidence as he named a figure. A large figure. Exceedingly so.

“Are you certain of your numerology?” Flinx finally asked slowly.

Fluff indicated the affirmative. “Number is correct. Learned counting system at the mine.”

Sylzenzuzex eyed Flinx speculatively as he turned away, leaned back against the wall and stared at the dark cold roof above. She paused prior to starting the fire. “How long?”

There was a long pause before he seemed to come back from a far place, to glance across at her. “According to what Fluff says, they’ve been playing this game of digging interconnecting tunnels for just under fourteen thousand Terran years. This whole section of the continent must be honeycombed with them. No telling how deep they run, either.”

“What is honey?” wondered Moam.

“What is comb?” Bluebright inquired.

“How far is deep?” Fluff wanted to know.

Flinx replied with another question. “How long before this pattern is supposed to be finished, Fluff?”

The Ujurrian paused, his mind working busily. “Not too long. Twelve thousand more of your years.”

“Give or take a few hundred,” Flinx gulped dully.

But Fluff eyed him reprovingly. “No . . . exactly.” Great glowing guileless eyes stared back into Flinx’s own.

“And what’s supposed to happen when this pattern is complete, when the game is finished?”

“Two things,” explained Fluff pleasantly. “We move a certain ways closer to the warm, and we start looking for a new game.”

“I see.” He muttered half to himself. “And Rudenuaman thought these people were primitive because they spent all their time digging caves.”

Sylzenzuzex hadn’t moved to light the fire. Her face was a mask of uncertainty. “But how can digging a few caves change a planet’s orbit?”

“A
few
caves? I don’t know, Syl,” he murmured softly. “I doubt if anyone does. Maybe the completed pattern produces a large enough alteration in the planetary crust to create a catastrophe fold sufficient to stress space the right amount at the right moment. If I knew more catastrophe math—and if we had the use of the biggest Church computer—I could check it.