Running from the Deity (13 page)

Flinx shifted his seat to more directly face his visitor. Treappyn found the movement astounding in its flexibility. “That’s one reason why I’ve gone against the regulations of my own government and spent so much time helping your people. Aside from the fact that it’s just the right thing to do, the sense of gratefulness I can perceive from each and every one is deeper and more meaningful than almost any such emotions I’ve been able to receive elsewhere.” He hesitated. “It’s almost as if in your species and their ability to read emotions I’ve found the nearest thing to kindred spirits that I’ve ever encountered.”

“On behalf of my people, I am flattered,” Treappyn replied simply. “I myself have often looked up at the stars at night, and wondered about them.”

Below, near the entrance to the barn and away from the platform and the counselor’s bodyguards, Ebbanai and Storra worked to calm and reassure the waiting line of supplicants. As they did so, they glanced repeatedly up at the raised area and fretted.

“This isn’t going well,” Storra muttered. “By which I mean to say,” and she gestured toward the platform, “it is going all too well.”

Conscious of the line of hopefuls stirring impatiently outside the door, Ebbanai was, as usual, less unsettled than his mate. “Thanks to our fortunate relationship with the alien we have already gained more income than you could make weaving and I fishing in ten years. We should not be greedy.” He touched Sensitives with her to be certain she understood how he was feeling.

“Besides, there is nothing we can do,” he added as he drew back. “The Noble Treappyn is counselor to the Highborn himself. If Flinx chooses to return with him to Metrel, we’ll only be putting ourselves in a bad light if we try to object.”

Storra considered thoughtfully. “You are a wise male, Ebbanai. Simple and uncomplicated, but wise. I agree: all we can do is wait, and hope. Why should Flinx go with the counselor, anyway? His sky ship is here—something I would still very much like to see for myself. Maybe they will just talk, and then the counselor will leave, and things will go on as they have—for a while longer, at least.”

“Sometimes, when waiting for a big catch to swim into the net, the best thing to do is just that: stand quietly, and do nothing.”

She gestured understanding. “Especially,” she added, “when one has no choice in the matter. Unless, of course, this counselor tries to force Flinx to return to Metrel with him.”

Ebbanai gazed up at the platform where the counselor and Flinx continued to engage in animated conversation. “If I was Noble Treappyn, I don’t think I would do that. Flinx mentioned to us that he could defend himself. If his means of doing so is as advanced as his medicine, I think it would go badly for the counselor and his bodyguards to try and make him do anything against his will.”

“The last thing we want is trouble with the government.” Her expression conveyed dry humor. “They might find out about how we’ve ‘assisted’ the alien in helping others, and want to tax the results of what we’ve done out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“And for the goodness of our purses,” Ebbanai added, eyeing the platform afresh.

Feeling more and more comfortable in the alien’s presence, Treappyn straightened and moved closer to the biped. Below, his bodyguards stirred restively as they lost clear sight of the counselor. Under strict orders not to interfere, they could only fidget nervously.

“This government you speak of, whose regulations you have defied to help poor and suffering Dwarra: what is it like?” Aside from his boundless personal curiosity, Treappyn had professional reasons for inquiring. He was, after all, here on government business. “Is it ruled by a Highborn, as is Wullsakaa? Or,” he added tentatively, “by a Kewwyd, as is Pakktrine Unified?”

“The government that rules the region I come from is called the Commonwealth. Many different kinds of intelligences are part of it. They all work together for a common goal, more or less, and to defend its constituents against challenges from outside.”

Ah, Treappyn thought. So the alien did not hail from some mystic, idealistic utopia. Conflict and dispute existed beyond Arrawd, among species other than Dwarra. The revelation both pleased and disappointed him.

Allies. Always, the Highborns of Wullsakaa had sought allies against those who would seek to absorb them. Here, undoubtedly, was the chance to secure the most powerful ally in the history of the realm.

“Do you think your government would entertain the notion of an alliance between it and my government?”

Flinx tried not to smile. “Only world governments are considered for membership in the Commonwealth, not individual tribe—nation-states.” He indicated his surroundings. “From what little I’ve seen, and from what little is known about you and your world, you would qualify for a certain limited status, yes. But that would be for your whole world, not just Wullsakaa. I’m sorry, but membership in the Commonwealth requires a certain degree of racial and social maturity that I’m afraid your kind has yet to achieve.” He tried to sound encouraging. “Perhaps in the near future. Technologically, you appear to be moving in the right direction.”

“I understand. To meet the requirements to join this Commonwealth, all Dwarra must, essentially, apply as one.” And what if that
one
was under the direction and domain of great Wullsakaa? he mused. If, according to this alien, one dream was not easily achievable, might there not be a way to work another and, in so doing, accomplish both? By now he had a good idea how intelligent this alien was. What was yet to be determined was how smart it was.

He stayed as long as he dared, openly enjoying the conversation while acquiring as much useful information as he could. When the alien indicated that it wished to return to helping the sick and injured, Treappyn did not try to force the issue and prolong the visit.

“I hope we can meet like this again,” he told the biped. The emotions he was projecting were genuine, but not entirely for the reasons his host thought.

Flinx shrugged. “Time determines all such things.” He didn’t add that he was likely to be long gone, the
Teacher
’s repairs completed, before the counselor returned again from the city. On the other hand, if Treappyn made haste, he would be perfectly happy to sit and chat again with the government representative. He was highly educated and interested in everything Flinx had to say. But he had no intention of lingering to fulfill the longings of the counselor or any other Dwarra. More important matters required his attention, futile as his efforts on their behalf might be. As comfortable as he was on this world, with its all-pervasive emotional projections that he could sift through or block out at will depending on his mood, he could not face Tse-Mallory or Truzenzuzex again knowing he had made less than a halfhearted effort to locate the wandering Tar-Aiym weapons platform.

So he would continue with his time-killing but very fulfilling work, healing the sick among the local poor, until the
Teacher
informed him they could depart. He would then take his leave. Regretfully, to be sure, but driven by more than one greater necessity. Try to save a few individual nonhumans today, try to save the galaxy tomorrow. And all the while, hope that some day, some how, some where, he might encounter someone or something capable of saving him.

He felt that Ebbanai, for one, would gladly do so, if only the gentle, unsophisticated net-caster possessed the necessary means.

Later that evening, when the last supplicant for the day had been treated and Flinx was enjoying the simple but filling meal Storra had prepared, his host could not refrain from commenting on the meeting that had taken place earlier that afternoon.

“Beware of government representatives, friend Flinx.” Ebbanai’s Sensitives swayed gently forward and back, as if through the constant motion their owner could somehow duplicate his guest’s ability to read emotions in the absence of such appendages and without physical contact. “They are not interested in you. They are interested only in their own interests.”

“Interesting,” Flinx replied around his food, without cracking a smile. “Don’t they represent you as well?”

“Only outside Wullsakaa.” Storra spoke from her position near the cooking pot. “Within its borders, they best represent themselves. When the interests of individuals collide with those of the state, I would not want to find myself in the position of having to side with the first against the second.”

“How is it among your people and your government, Flinx?” Ebbanai asked, genuinely curious.

Flinx sipped at his soup. By now he had become familiar with and used to the oddly shaped utensils. Pip had no such concerns, accustomed as she was to sticking her head into whatever food happened to be available, or sticking it into her.

“It depends on the people. It depends on the government. No species is entirely altruistic. There are always those for whom greed supersedes selflessness. For example, the society of one species that’s not part of the Commonwealth, the AAnn, is founded on the idea of individual advancement above all else. It seems to work for them.” He took a long swallow. “It doesn’t work for me. If it did, I think I might be a happier person. But I’m afraid I’m just not cut out for selfishness.”

“You have already abundantly shown that, Flinx.” Storra stirred her dinner. “You have helped so many Dwarra, and without asking for anything in return.”

“Happy I could do so,” he told her sincerely. “I wish I could stay longer and help everyone who needs it, but when the time is right, I’ll have to go. There are others I have to assist.”

“How many others?” Ebbanai wondered as he sucked off the tip of a grain stick.

“I’d rather not discuss it. Too many,” their guest murmured. “Too much responsibility for one being. I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t want it.”

“Then why not just pretend the problem doesn’t exist?” Storra could be startlingly direct. “Wouldn’t that make you feel better?”

He eyed her evenly. “I wish I could. I wish it would. But I’m not made that way.”

Made,
he mused. What a lousy choice of words.

“Well then,” wheezed Ebbanai, “we are pleased to have you among us for as long as you see fit.” Storra glared at him, but at times the net-caster could be as stubborn as his mate. “But while you remain, I warn you again to think carefully on anything a representative of the government says to you. Especially suggestions.”

Flinx chuckled softly, and the two Dwarra marveled at the interesting sound. “I’ll be careful, Ebbanai. Don’t worry. I’ve had, and handled, problems with governments and government agencies before. Government agencies and representatives somewhat more sophisticated than the counselor Noble Treappyn.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Storra warned. “Despite his youth he has a reputation as big as his belly. He’s very clever.”

Flinx bit down on one of the grain sticks, using teeth to accomplish the cutting where the Dwarra utilized their powerful, muscular round mouths. “If he intends me ill, I’ll sense it.”

That was true, Ebbanai reminded himself, focusing on his food so his emotions would not betray what he was really thinking.

Unheard by Flinx, the stories swapped by those who now crowded the homestead in hopes of seeing him continued to escalate in both stature and outlandishness. And unheard by him, they metastasized unchallenged. Tales of the Visitant and his abilities had ballooned from rumor, to wary fact, to phenomenon. In these stories, medicine gave way to miracle. Supplicants had become pilgrims.

None of this was known to Flinx. While doing nothing to dissuade such supposition, his kindly, caring hosts ensured that such thoughts were not voiced in his presence, explaining to those who trekked to the homestead for an audience with the virtuous Visitant that his natural modesty forbade the bestowing of such pious accolades. All arrivals were assured that in the presence of the alien, humbleness worked best, and all mention of veneration was banished. That did not prevent the pilgrims from gossiping among themselves. Indeed, while waiting in the winding, steady line to see him, there was little else to do.

“I hear the Visitant is twice the height of a Dwarra,” announced one hopeful as he struggled to keep his crippled, aged male parent upright.

“No, three times,” insisted a young metalworker from the northern Wullsakaan city of Pevvet. “And that it can leap over castle walls without straining.”

“It doesn’t have to leap,” declared an elderly female from behind both of them. “It is never seen without a flying creature that lives in a hole on its back. When the Visitant wishes to travel, it just abides the small alien, who carries it wherever it wants to go.”

The metalworker, whose missing half face had been destroyed in a smelting accident and was concealed by a makeshift mask, nodded somberly. “It is said that while the Visitant cannot fix every injury, it has been observed to perform miracles that are beyond the skills of our greatest physicians.” A pair of left hands reached up, the tips of the four gripping flanges lightly stroking the curving mask. “I came all the way from Pevvet hoping it can restore some of my face.”

“I don’t see why not.” With a wheeze, the first speaker reassessed his grip on his silent sire, struggling to ensure he remained upright. “I heard that one of the instruments it uses can cause lost bone to come back. That’s what we need. Maybe it can also give you a new eye to replace your missing one.”

“I’m not greedy. I can do without the eye.” The younger male shuffled forward a couple of steps as the slow-moving line grudgingly made another of its small, deliberate advances. “But I would like to be able to be rid of this face covering. With it, I am not considered a suitable candidate for mating.”

The elderly female sympathized. “I hope the Visitant will do right by you. My hopes are more modest.” With one right forehand she gestured in the direction of the barn; so close, yet so unapproachable. “The blessed couple who serve the Visitant say that the required donation is enough to gain access to it, but I myself am taking no chances. I have been praying ever since I started for this place.” She seemed well-satisfied with her decision. “The proof that it worked is that I am now here, not far from the Visitant itself, while others in need of its aid remain back in my village, bickering among themselves.” All eight gripping flanges were wrapped tightly around the tall walking stick she used to support herself.