Orphan Star (6 page)

But he was totally unaware that he was struggling over a region as densely populated as any of Terra’s major cities. An entire thranx metropolis lay below him, hewn in traditional fashion, from the earth and rock beneath the sweltering surface. Flinx walked upon a green cloud that hovered over the city.

Totally drained and beginning to wish Challis
had
shot him, he shoved himself through one more stubborn cluster of bushes . . . then stumbled onto the surface of a neatly paved roadway. Two more days, and he had made his way back to Chitteranx Port. Those he met cautiously avoided him. He was quite aware of the sight he must present after his scramble down the cliff wall and his hike through the jungle.

A few thranx did take pity on the poor human, enough to provide him with sufficient food and water to continue on.

The sight of the Port outskirts cheered him immensely. Pip took to the air at Flinx’s shout of joy before settling back on his master’s shoulder. Flinx glanced up at the minidrag, who looked relaxed and comfortable in the tropical heat so like that of his native world of Alaspin.

“You can afford to look content, spade-face,” Flinx addressed his companion enviously. While he had fought his way down the cliff centimeter by centimeter, Pip had fluttered and soared freely nearby, always urging him on faster and faster, when a single misstep could have meant quick death.

The clerk at the overbank counter in the Port terminal was human, but that didn’t prevent him from maintaining his composure at the sight of a dirty, ragged youth approaching. A wise man, he had learned early in life a basic dictum: odd appearance may indicate wealth or eccentricity, with the two not necessarily mutually exclusive.

So he treated the ragamuffin as he would have any well-dressed, clearly affluent arrival. “May I be of service, sir?” he inquired politely, unobtrusively turning his head to one side.

Flinx explained his needs. The information he provided was fed to a computer. A short while later the machine insisted that the person standing before the counter—name Flinx, given recorded name Philip Lynx, retina pattern so-and-so, pulse variables such-and-such, heart configuration thus-and-that—was indeed a registered depositor at the King’s Bank on Moth, in the city of Drallar, and that his present drawable balance as of this date was . . .

The clerk stood a little straighter, fought to face Flinx. “Now then, sir, how did you happen to lose your registered cardmeter?”

“I had an accident,” Flinx explained cryptically, “and it fell out of my pocket.”

“Yes.” The clerk continued to smile. “No need to worry. As you know, only you can utilize a personal cardmeter. We will note the disappearance of your old cardmeter and within the hour you will have a new one waiting at this desk for you.”

“I can wait. However,” he indicated his clothing with an eloquent sweep of his hands, “I’d like to buy some new clothes, and get cleaned up a little.”

“Naturally,” the clerk agreed, reaching professionally into a drawer. “If you’ll just sign this slip and permit me to register your eyeprint on it, we can advance you whatever you require.”

Flinx applied for a ridiculously modest amount, listened to the clerk’s directions as to where he could hire a bath and buy clothing, and left with a grateful handshake.

The jumpsuit he eventually chose was more elaborate than the two Hivehom had already appropriated, but he felt he owed himself a little luxury after what he had been through.

The bath occupied most of the rest of the hour, and when he returned to the overbank desk he once more resembled a human being instead of a denizen of Hivehom’s jungles. As promised, his new cardmeter was ready for him.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Thanks, you’ve done more than enough. I . . .” He paused, looked to his left. “Excuse me, but I see an old friend.”

He left the clerk with an open mouth and a tip of ten percent of his total withdrawal.

The central terminal floor was high-domed and filled with the noise of travelers arriving and departing. The smallish thranx Flinx strode up behind was engaged in activity of a different sort.

“I think you’d better give that lady back her abdomen purse,” he whispered to the insectoid lightfinger. As he spoke, a lavishly inlaid and chiton-bejeweled thranx matron, her flaking exoskeleton elegantly streaked with silver, turned to stare curiously at him.

At the same time the thranx Flinx had surprised started visibly and whirled to confront his accuser. “Sir, if you think that I have . . .” The voice turned to a clacking gargle. Flinx smiled engagingly as Pip stirred on his shoulder.

“Hello, Bisondenbit.”

The concept of compound eyes bugging outward was unreasonable from a physiologic standpoint, but that was the impression Flinx received. Bisondenbit’s antennae were quivering so violently Flinx thought they might shake free, and the thranx was staring in expectant terror at the lethal length of Pip.

“The abdomen purse,” Flinx repeated softly, “and calm down before you crack your braincase.”

“Y-ye-yes,” Bisondenbit stuttered. Interesting! Flinx had never heard a thranx stutter before. Turning to the old female, Bisondenbit reached into an overly capacious b-thorax pouch and withdrew a small, six-sided bag of woven gold-colored metal.

“You just dropped this, Queen Mother,” he muttered reluctantly, using the formalized honorific. “The hooks have come all unbent . . . see?”

The matron was checking her own abdomen with a foothand while reaching for the purse with a truhand.

“I don’t understand. I was certain it was secured . . .” She broke off, ducked her head and executed a movement with skull and antennae indicative of profound thanks, adding verbally, “Your service is much appreciated, warsire.”

Flinx flinched when she bestowed the undeserved compliment on Bisondenbit.

That worthy’s courteous pose lasted until the matron had passed out of hearing range. Then he turned nervous eyes on Flinx. “I didn’t want you killed . . . I didn’t want anyone killed,” he stammered rapidly, “they said nothing to me about a killing. I only was to bring you to . . .”

“Settle down,” Flinx advised him. “And stop yammering of death. There are already too many deaths in this.”

“Oh, on that I concur,” the thranx confessed, the tension leaving him slowly. “None of my doing.” Abruptly his attitude changed from one of fear to one of intense curiosity.

“How did you manage to escape the tower and leave the plateau? I am told many were watching for you but none saw you leave.”

“I flew down,” Flinx said, “after I made myself invisible.”

Bisondenbit eyed him uncertainly, started to laugh, stopped, then stared again. “You are a most peculiar fellow, even for a human. I do not know whether to believe you or not.” He suddenly looked around the busy terminal, his nervousness returning. “Powerful people around Challis want to know your whereabouts. There is talk of a large reward, to be paid without questions. The only clue anyone has as to your escape, however, resides in a woman who is confined to a hospital. She is hysterical still”

“I’m sorry for that,” Flinx murmured honestly.

“It is not good for me to be seen with you—you have become a desired commodity.”

“It’s always nice to be wanted,” Flinx replied, blithely ignoring Bisondenbit’s fear for his own safety. “By the way, I didn’t know that the thranx counted pickpocketing among their talents.”

“From a digital standpoint we’ve always been adroit Many humans have acquired equally, ah, useful abilities from us.”

“I can imagine,” Flinx snorted. “I happen to live in a city overstocked with such abilities. But I haven’t time to debate the morality of dubious cultural exchanges. Just tell me where I can find Conda Challis.”

Bisondenbit eyed the youth as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra pair of hands. “He almost killed you. It seems he wants another chance. I can’t believe you will continue to seek out such a powerful enemy. I consider myself a fair judge of human types. You do not appear revenge-motivated.”

“I’m not,” Flinx confessed uneasily, aware that Small Symm had assumed he was following Challis for the same reason. People persisted in ascribing to him motives he didn’t possess.

“If not revenge, then what is it you follow him for . . . not that it makes me sad to see a being of Challis’ reputation squirm a little, even if it be bad for business.”

“Just tell me where he is.”

“If you’ll tell me why you seek him.”

Flinx nudged Pip and the flying snake stirred, yawned to show a sac-backed gullet “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Flinx said softly, meaningfully. A terrified Bisondenbit threw up truhands and foothands in feeble defense.

“Never mind,” sighed Flinx, tired of threatening. “If I tell you it might even filter convincingly back to Challis. I just think he holds information on who my real parents are and what happened to them after they . . . abandoned me.”

“Parents?” Bisondenbit looked quizzical. “I was told you had threatened Challis.”

“Not true. He’s paranoid because of an incident in our mutual past. He wanted me to do something and I didn’t want to do it.”

“For that you’ve killed several people?”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Flinx protested unhappily. “Pip has, and then only to defend me.”

“Well, the dead are the dead,” Bisondenbit observed profoundly. He gazed in disbelief at Flinx. “I did not believe any being, even a human, could be so obsessed with perverse desire. Does it matter more than your life to know who your parents were?”

“We don’t have the tradition of a general hive-mother that I could trace myself to and through,” Flinx explained. “Yes, it matters that much to me.”

The insect shook his double-lobed head. “Then I wish you musical hunting in your mad quest. In another time, another place, I would maybe be your clanmate.” Leaning forward, he extended antennae. After a moment’s hesitation, Flinx touched his own forehead to the proffered protrusions. He straightened, gave the slight thranx a warning look.

“Try,” he said to Bisondenbit, “to keep your truhands to your own thorax.”

“I don’t know why my activities should concern you, as long as you are not affected,” the thranx protested. He was almost happy, now that it appeared Flinx wasn’t going to murder him. “Are you going to report me to the authorities?”

“Only for procrastination,” Flinx said impatiently. “You still haven’t told me where Challis is.”

“Send him a tape of your request,” the thranx advised.

“Would you believe it?”

Bisondenbit’s mandibles clicked. “I understand. You are a strange individual, man-boy.”

“You’re no incubator yourself, Bisondenbit. Where?”

Shoulder chiton moved to produce a ruffling sound, like cardboard being scraped across a carpet. Bisondenbit spoke with a modicum of pride.

“I’m not one of Challis’ hired grubs—I’ll tell you. You drove him from Moth, it seems; and now you’ve chased him off Hivehom. The Challis Company’s home office is in Terra’s capital, and I presume that’s where he’s fled. No doubt he’ll be expecting you, if he hasn’t died of fright by now. May you find him before the many-who-pursue find
you.”
He started to leave, then paused curiously.

“Good-bye, Bisondenbit,” Flinx said firmly. The thranx started to speak, but spotted the minidrag moving and thought better of it. He walked away, looking back over his shoulder occasionally and muttering to himself, unsatisfied. For his part Flinx felt no guilt in letting the pickpocket go free. It was not for one who had performed his fair share of borderline activities to judge another.

Why wouldn’t Challis believe that his purpose in seeking him out was for nothing so useless and primitive as revenge? Challis could understand only his own kind of mind, Flinx decided.

Somehow, he would have to find a way around it.

From Hivehom to the Commonwealth’s second capital world of Terra was a considerable journey, even at maximum drive. But eventually Flinx found himself drinking in a view of it from another shuttlecraft port as the little transfer ship dropped free of the freightliner.

This was the green legend,
Terra magnificat,
spawning place of mankind, second capital of the Commonwealth and home of the United Church. This was the world where once a primitive primate had suddenly risen to stand on hind feet to be nearer the sky, never dreaming he would one day step beyond it.

And yet, save for the royal blue of the oceans, the globe itself was unremarkable, mostly swirling white clouds and brown splotches of land.

He hadn’t known what to expect . . . golden spires piercing the cloudtops, perhaps, or formed crags of chromium backing against the seas—all that was at once absurd and sublime. Although he couldn’t see it, Terra possessed both in munificent quantities, albeit in forms far more muted than his grandiose visions.

Surely, Flinx thought as the shuttle dropped into the outer atmosphere, the omnipresent emerald of Hivehom was more striking and, for that matter, the lambent yellow ring-wings of Moth were more sheerly spectacular.

But somewhere down there his great to the second or third power grandfather had lived and died. . . .

Chapter Four

Descending on a west-to-east path, the shuttle passed over the big approach station at Perth before beginning its final powerglide over the endless agricult fields of central Australia. Flinx had passing views of isolated towns and food-processing plants and the shining solar power stations ringing the industrial metropolis of Alice Springs. He patted the shiny new case sitting by his feet, heard the relaxed hiss from within, and strapped himself down for landing.

The shuttle was dropping toward the largest shuttle-port on Terra. The port formed the base of an enormous urban
T
whose cap stretched north and south to embrace the warm Pacific. Brisbane had been Terra’s capital city for hundreds of years now, and its port, with long, open approaches over the continental center and the open Pacific, was the planet’s busiest. It was also convenient to the large thranx settlements in North Australia and on New Guinea, and to the United Church headquarters at Denpasar.

There was a gentle bump, and he was down.

No one took any notice of him in the terminal, nor later as he walked through the streets of the vast city. He felt very much alone, even more so than he had on Hivehom.

The capital surprised him. There were no soaring towers here. Brisbane had none of the commercial intensity of West North America’s city of Lala or of London or Jakutsk, or even of the marketplace in Drallar. The streets were almost quiet, still bearing in places a certain quaintness with architecture that reached back through to the pre-Amalgamation time.

As for the government buildings, they at least were properly immense. But they were built low to the ground and, because they were landscaped on all sides, seemed to reach outward like verdant ripples in a metal and stone pond.

Locating the headquarters of the Challis Company was a simple matter. Careful research then gave him the location of the family residence. But gaining entrance to that isolated and protected sanctum was another matter.

Bisondenbit’s comments came back to him. How could he reach Challis and explain his purpose before the merchant had him killed?

Somehow he must extend the time Challis would grant him before destruction. Somehow . . . he checked his cardmeter. He was not wealthy, but he was certainly far above beggar status. If he could stretch things a bit, he would have a few weeks to find the proper company to implement his plan.

There was one such firm located in the southern manufacturing sector of the capital. A secretary shuffled him to a vice-president, who gazed with a bemused expression at the crude plans Flinx had prepared and passed him on to the company’s president.

An engineer, the president had no difficulty with the mechanical aspects of the request. Her concern was with other matters.

“You’ll need this many?” she inquired, pursing her lips and idly brushing away a wisp of gray hair.

“Probably, if I know the people involved. I think I do.”

She made calculations on a tiny desk computer, looked back at his list again. “We can produce what you want, but the time involved and the degree of precision you desire will require a lot of money.”

Flinx gave her the name of a local bank and a number. A short conversation via machine finally caused a smile to crease the older woman’s face. “I’m glad that’s out of the way. Money matters always make me feel a little dirty, you know? Uh . . . may I ask what you’re going to use these for?”

“No,” Flinx replied amiably as Pip shifted lazily on his shoulder. “That’s why I came to you—a small firm with a big reputation.”

“You’ll be available for programming?” she asked uncertainly.

“Direct transfer, if need be.”

That appeared to settle things in the president’s mind. She rose, extended a hand. “Then I think we can help you, Mr. . . .?”

He shook her hand, smiled. “Just use the bank number I gave you.”

“As you wish,” she agreed, openly disappointed.

The contrast between the rich blue of the ocean and the sandy hills of the Gold Coast was soft and striking. One high ridge in particular was dotted with widely spaced, luxurious private residences, each carefully situated to drink in as much of the wide bay as possible—and to provide discreet, patrollable open space between neighbors.

One home was spectacular in its unobtrusiveness. It was set back in the cliffs like a topaz in gold. Devoid of sharp corners, it seemed to be part of the grass-dusted bluff itself. Only the sweeping, free-form glassalloy windows hinted that habitation lay behind.

Nearby, curling breakers assaulted the shore with geometric regularity, small cousins of more mature waves to the south. There, at an ancient village named Surfersparadise, many-toned humans, and not a few adaptive aliens rode the surf, borne landward in the slick wet teeth of suiciding waves.

Flinx was there now, but he was watching, not participating. He sat relaxed on a low hill above the beach, studying the most recent converts to an archaic sport. Nearby rested his rented groundcar.

At the moment Flinx was observing a mixed group of young adults, all of whom were at once older and younger than himself. They were students at one of the many great universities that maintained branches in the capital. This party disdained boards in favor of the briefer, more violent experiences of body surfing. He saw a number of young thranx among them, which was only natural. The deep blue of the males and the rich aquamarine of the females was almost invisible against the water, and showed clearly only when a comber broke into white foam.

Body surfing was hardly an activity native to the thranx, but like many human sports it had been adopted joyfully by them. They brought their own beauty to it. While a thranx in the water could never match the seal-like suppleness of a human, when it came to nakedly riding the waves they were far superior. Flinx saw their buoyant, hard-shelled bodies dancing at the forefront of successive waves, b-thorax pushed forward to permit air to reach breathing spicules.

Occasionally a human would mount the back of a thranx friend for a double ride. It was no inconvenience to the insectoid mount, whose body was harder and nearly as buoyant as the elliptical boards themselves.

Flinx sighed. His adolescence had been filled with less innocent activities. Circumstances had made him grow up too fast.

Looking down at the sand he put out a foot to impede the progress of a perambulating hermit crab. A toe nudged it onto its side. The tiny crustacean flailed furiously at the air with minute hairy legs and hurled motes of indignant anger at its enormous assailant. Regaining its balance, it continued on its undistinguished way, moving just a little faster than normal. A pity, Flinx thought, that humans couldn’t be equally self-contained.

Looking up and down the coast, where a citrine house lay concealed by curving cliffs, Flinx reflected that Challis should be arriving there soon from his offices in the capital.

A gull cried wildly above, reminding him that it was time. . . .

Conda Challis had all but forgotten his young pursuer as he stepped from the groundcar. Mahnahmi ran from the house to greet him, and they both saw the solemn figure in the gray jumpsuit moving up the walk at the same time. Somehow he had penetrated the outer defenses.

Mahnahmi drew in her breath, and Challis turned a shade paler than his normal near-albino self. “
Francis
 . . .”

Challis’ personal bodyguard did not wait for further verbal command. Having observed the reaction of both his employer and employer’s daughter, he immediately deduced that this person approaching was something to be killed and not talked to. Pistol out, he was firing before Challis could conclude his order.

Of course, the person coming up the walk might be harmless. But Challis had forgiven him such oversights in the past, and that reinforced the man’s already supreme confidence.

Challis’ policy seemed to pay off, for the wildly gesticulating figure of the red-haired youth disintegrated in the awesome blast from the illegally overcharged beamer.

“And that,” the shaken merchant muttered with grim satisfaction, “is finally that. I never expected him to get this close. Thank you, Francis.”

The guard holstered his weapon, nodded once, and headed in to check the house.

Mahnahmi had her arms around Challis’ waist. Normally, the merchant disdained coddling the child, but at the moment he was shaken almost to the point of normalcy, so he didn’t shove her away.

“I’m glad you killed him,” she sniffed. Challis looked down at her oddly.

“You are? But why? Why should he have frightened you?”

“Well . . .” there was hesitation in the angelic voice, “he was frightening you, and so that frightened me, Daddy.”

“
Um,
” Challis grunted. At times the child’s comments could be startlingly mature. But then, he reminded himself, smilingly, she was being raised surrounded by adults. In another three or four years, if not sooner, she would be ready for another kind of education.

Mahnahmi shuddered and hid her face, hid it so that Challis could not see that the shudder was of revulsion and not fear. Francis returned and took no notice of her. She had experienced the thoughts Challis was now thinking all her life, knew exactly what they were like. They were always sticky and greasy, like the trail a snail left behind it.

“Welcome home, sir. Dinner will be ready soon,” the servant at the interior door said. “There is someone to see you. No weapons, I checked thoroughly. He insists you know him. He is waiting in the front portico.”

Challis snorted irritably, pushed Mahnahmi away ungently. It was unusual for anyone to come here to conduct business. The Challis offices in the tritower downtown were perfectly accessible to legitimate clients and he preferred to keep his personal residence as private as possible.

Still, it might be Cartesan with information on that purchase of bulk ore from Santos V, or possibly . . . he strolled toward the portico, Mahnahmi trailing behind him.

A figure seated with its back to him stared out the broad, curving window at the ocean below. Challis frowned as he began, “I don’t think . . .”

The figure turned. Having just barely regained his composure, Challis was caught completely unprepared. The organic circuits that controlled the muscles of his artificial left eye twitched, sending it rolling crazily in its socket and further confusing his thoughts.

“Look,” the red-haired figure began rapidly, “you’ve got to listen to me. I don’t mean you any harm. I only want . . .”

“Francis!” the terrified merchant shrieked at the sight of the ghost.

“Just give me a minute, one minute to explain,” Flinx pressed. “You’re only going to ruin your furniture if . . .” He started to rise.

Challis jumped backward, clear of the room, and stabbed frantically at a concealed switch. A duplicate of that switch was set just outside of every room in the house. It was his final security and now it worked with gratifying efficiency.

A network of blue beams shot from concealed lenses in the walls, crisscrossing the room like a cat’s cradle of light. Two of them neatly bisected the form standing before him. He had had to wait until the figure rose or the beams would have passed over it.

Now the merchant let out a nervous little laugh as the figure collapsed, awkwardly falling against the couch and then tumbling to the floor. Behind him, Mahnahmi stared with wide eyes.

Challis fought to steady his breathing, then walked cautiously toward the unmoving figure. He kicked at it, gently at first, then good and hard. It did not give under his boot as it should have.

Leaning over he examined the two punctures the beams had made in the upper torso. There was no blood, and inside both holes, he saw something charred that wasn’t flesh and bone. The smell drifting from the figure was a familiar one—but the wrong one.

“Circuitry and coagulated jellastic!” be muttered. “No wonder there were two of him. Robots.”

“A robot?” a small voice squeaked behind him. “No wonder I couldn’t—” She shut up abruptly. Challis frowned, half turned to face her.

“What was that, Mahnahmi?”

She put a finger in her mouth, sucked innocently on it as she gazed at the twisted figure on the floor.

“Couldn’t see any blood,” she finished facilely.

“Yes, but . . .” A sudden thought brought concern to his face. “Where’s Francis?”

“Sleeping,” a new voice informed him. The merchant’s hands fell helplessly to his side, and Mahnahmi drew away as Flinx walked into the room, smiling softly. Unlike the previous two, this youth had a gently stirring reptile coiled about his right shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I had to knock him out—and your overzealous butler, too. You have a nervous staff, Challis.” His hand came up to touch the wall next to the concealed hallway switch controlling the multiple beamers. “That’s a neat trick.”

Challis debated whether he ought to drop to the floor, then looked from the switch back to Flinx and licked his lips.

“Will you stop with your paranoia?” the youth pleaded. “If I wanted to kill you I could have hit that control already, couldn’t I?” He tapped the wall next to it.

Challis dropped, relaxing even as he fell below the lethal level of the beams. But Mahnahmi was running in a crouch toward him, screaming with child-fury: “Kill him, Daddy, kill him!”

“Get away, child,” Challis said abruptly, slapping her aside. He climbed slowly, carefully, back to his feet and stared at the silent figure in the hall. “You’re right . . . you could have killed me easily just now, and you did not. Why?”

Flinx leaned against the door jamb. “I’ve been trying to tell you all along. That incident on Moth is past, finished, done with. I haven’t been following you to kill you, Challis. Not all the way to Hivehom and certainly not here.”

“I can’t believe . . . maybe you do mean what you say,” the merchant confessed, words coming with difficulty as he fought to readjust his thinking. “Is it the real you, this time?”

“Yes.” The youth nodded, indicated his shoulder where Pip yawned impressively. “I’m never without Pip. In addition to being
my
insurance, he’s my friend. You should have noticed that the mechanicals appeared without reptilian companionship.”