Running from the Deity (8 page)

“I don’t know how I can be of much help around here, but if that’s what you want me to do...”

A demonstrably excited Storra came toward him, started to dip her Sensitives toward his forehead, remembered that he did not possess the pertinent appendages, and stood back. “It will allow us to continue business with our waiting contacts in Metrel. I will be back in less than three days’ time, I promise. Meanwhile, Ebbanai can tell you what to do to keep things functioning here.” Four forearms reached out to him expectantly. Choosing a pair of gripping flanges at random, he grasped them politely.

“I can’t tell you how much this will help us, friend Flinx.” Ebbanai spoke through the throbbing pain in his leg. “With your assistance, nothing need go undone here while Storra is in the city.”

Flinx nodded absently. It was clear he was going to learn more about collecting the liquid bounty produced by baryeln and the process and procedures required to support it than he had ever anticipated.

Overhead, Pip remained puzzled and confused. But if her master was now at ease, there was no reason why she should be otherwise. Settling herself across his left arm and shoulder, she warily eyed the barn’s two other sentients. She could perceive they meant neither her nor her master any harm.

But that did not mean she had to like them.

Time spent at the homestead in Ebbanai’s company passed swiftly, thanks to Flinx’s insatiable curiosity and his host’s willingness, even eagerness, to satisfy it. In return, Flinx used the medical instrumentation he always carried with him to perform the necessary analysis of Ebbanai’s bone structure and consequent injury. As it developed, the beam-healer did not require much adjustment to speed the healing of Dwarran bone. Watching an injury that would normally take eight-days to heal rapidly repair itself, Ebbanai’s astonishment knew no bounds.

“How is this possible?” The native was standing in resting pose just inside the barn, his upper torso sunk partway into the lower and supported by his three undamaged forelegs. In the cool shade, with a light, crisp breeze blowing intermittently outside, he had leaned back against the wall to examine the bandage-wrapped injured member. “It must be some kind of magic!”

“Not magic.” Standing nearby watching a pair of baryeln lap up the moist plant mash Ebbanai had just dumped in their stalls, Flinx idly stroked the back of Pip’s head with one hand as he spoke. “Science.”

Gingerly, Ebbanai set his second right foreleg down and put a little weight on it. Normally, it would have been another couple of eight-days before he could have done so. Thanks to the ministrations of the alien and his mysterious devices and mendicants, after only a couple of days of treatment the limb could now provide the first underpinnings of support.

“I’ve heard of science. There are many who believe in it, especially the builders of the new factories and the sailoring merchants who are always looking for safer and faster ways to cross the seas. Equally, there are others who prefer to rely on the old ways and beseech the assistance of spirits and gods. And there are some, not wishing to take chances, who implore the help of both.”

Flinx nodded understandingly. His host’s description of Dwarran society placed it well within its exploratory Commonwealth classification. “My people have come to rely on science to explain the natural cosmos. In time, so will yours.” He did not add,
If they survive the necessary difficult social adjustments that affect all such sentient species at such critical times.

Ebbanai took an experimental step with his treated foreleg, marveling at its unnaturally restored strength. “If such ‘science’ can do things like fix a broken leg in less than an eight-day, I certainly will be among the first to salute its primacy.” Wide round eyes regarded the pouch and instrument-laden belt that encircled the alien’s waist. “What other wonders do you carry around so casually with you?” he asked eagerly. A bit too eagerly, Flinx thought.

Well, such envy was only natural. “Just enough to look after myself. Emergency rations, both for myself and for Pip. A device for purifying water. The means with which to communicate with my ship. Medical supplies and equipment, as you already know.”

An entranced Ebbanai forgot himself completely. Had his mate been present, she would have kicked him for his candor. “Weapons?” he asked enthusiastically, and was immediately sorry for his zeal.

His guest did not seem upset by the query, much less alarmed. “I always have with me the means for defending myself. When you find yourself in a strange place, that’s always the prudent thing to do.” He smiled reassuringly. “Of course, if I’d been able to foresee what a kind reception I was in for, I could have left that on my ship.”

Could have,
the alien said, Ebbanai noted carefully. Not
would have
. It was not a warning, or a sign of displeasure. If their situations were reversed, Ebbanai would have done no less. For example, he never went into Metrel unarmed. The city could be dangerous, especially for a nonresident, and it was only a fool who entered such places unprepared.

Abruptly, and unexpectedly, the alien turned away from him. Its posture stiffened, and the flying creature that never strayed far from its side took to the air, rising toward the domed roof of the barn. Both beings’ attention was focused on the main doorway.

“What is it?” Approaching as close as he dared without being invited, Ebbanai directed his own gaze toward the entry. “Is there something wrong, friend Flinx?”

His guest did not reply. Flinx’s eyes were on the barn entrance, but his perception was roving beyond. Luxuriating in the mental peace and quiet, he had only intermittently allowed his Talent to break through the silence and reach outward, especially when he was in the perceived comfort of Ebbanai’s presence. He had just sampled the emotional aether in the immediate vicinity, only to be rewarded not with the expected continued stillness but with a number of highly energetic emotional projections. Many, in fact.

Frowning, he turned back to Ebbanai, who did his best not to look blameworthy. Flinx wouldn’t have recognized the equivalent Dwarran expression in any case, but he didn’t have to. His host’s guilt flowed out of him like smoke off a coal fire.

“Ebbanai, what is this? What’s going on?”

“What is what?” The shamefaced Dwarra tried to stall, ineffectually.

Flinx nodded in the direction of the doorway. Now that he had once again opened himself to external Dwarran emotions, they were flooding in on him simultaneously from several directions. “You told me Storra was expected back today. Nothing was said about her bringing others with her.”

Ebbanai tried hard not to look up at the hovering Pip, whom his guest had informed him was capable of dealing out a particularly lethal toxin. Where was Storra and why didn’t she hurry up? Where were his tongues when he needed both of them so badly? He stammered, found his tongues tied up in his chewing plates, and managed to utter only a few feeble inconsequentialities.

I’ve been deceived, Flinx thought to himself as the pack of approaching emotional outpourings grew louder and stronger in his mind. The question was, to what purpose?

Then the barn doors were dragged aside and a veritable flock of Dwarra were visible bunched up tightly together in the entrance. One set of wide round eyes after another gaped at the alien standing before them. In the center, looking tired but triumphant, was Ebbanai’s mate Storra.

“There it is,” she declared into the verbal but not emotional silence. “Just as I described it.
Now
who calls me a liar?”

There was a pause. The cluster of awestruck Dwarra stared at Flinx. Flinx gazed back at the Dwarra. Then, assured by Storra of his friendliness—that she could not guarantee it did not stop her from offering the assurance—they surged forward and into the barn.

A multifaceted flood of emotion washed over Flinx as he left himself open to them. Anxiety, hope, intense interest, desperate need, and not a little fear were the most common feelings he perceived. Effortlessly he shut them out, then let them flood in on him again. Nowhere else in all his travels had he found himself with the ability to so painlessly turn the rush of surrounding, sentient emotion on and off as easily as he might control the flow of water from a tap.

At the first sign of the incoming crowd Pip had lifted herself from his shoulder. Now she hovered high overhead, near the apex of the barn’s dome, watching. She was not alarmed. None of the new arrivals projected hostility toward her master. Wariness, yes. Suspicion, yes. But no enmity.

They didn’t want to hurt him, Flinx sensed equally well. The depth of feeling he was picking up was indicative of something else. Via the limited knowledge of Dwarrani he had acquired and with the aid of the translator still in place around his neck, it soon became clear what they wanted from him.

Dwarran parents with suffering offspring jostled for his attention with aged partners in need of miraculous and biologically implausible rejuvenation. Gatherers and farmers wanted an assortment of missing limbs and digits replaced. The mentally disturbed wished to be restored to sanity. Victims of marauding warlords desired that their wounds be made whole again. Veterans of pillaging armies wanted shattered bones rebuilt. All of them pushed and shoved and crowded close to beseech the alien whom Storra had declared could work these miracles. Dozens of pairs of Sensitives fluttered in his direction, as if by merely making contact with him the needs of their owners could somehow be met. Their collective desperation was overwhelming. Off to one side, Storra had rejoined her mate. She looked pleased. He looked guilty.

Hemmed in on all sides by imploring Dwarra, a perturbed Flinx bent his knees and sprang. In Arrawd’s lesser gravity, his leap carried him over the heads of the tightly packed throng and onto a rending platform none could reach without one of the triple-wide ladders designed to accommodate their rangy frames. A loud exhalation somewhere between a mass hiss and stunned whistling greeted his astounding physical feat. Catching his balance, he turned to look back down at them. If anything, his new position high above made him appear even more transcendent, though the appearance of the Alaspinian minidrag that settled itself on his shoulder and neck was anything but angelic.

There was no point in pretending that he was ignorant of their reason for coming. No doubt Storra had already regaled them with tales of his empathetic abilities—suitably enhanced. Relying on his translator to correct and adjust his speech patterns, he addressed the crowd. The instant he started talking, they went silent, astonished in spite of what Storra had told them to hear their own language coming from the vicinity, if not always the mouth, of the alien. His words also had the effect, he noted, of calming the storm of competing emotions.

“It’s true—I am a visitor from another place, another world.” Perfectly round oculars eyed him raptly. “And it’s also true that I can do certain things you cannot. But I can’t help any of you with your problems, or with your questions, because it’s against the laws of the government where I come from.”

There was the briefest of silences, followed by a concerted rush toward the high platform on which he was standing. No matter where he went, he thought grudgingly, no matter how hard he tried, he always seemed to end up the center of attention.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he barked at them wearily. “I can’t do what you want!”

“Why not?” While he had been addressing the crowd, Storra had climbed a set of wide stairs located at the rear of the platform and now stood to his left, confronting him. “Perhaps to do such things
is
against the laws of your government. But your government is not here. I’m sure it is a long, long way away, or we would have seen your kind before now, and would know about you.” She gestured with all four sets of gripping flanges. “We helped you. You’ve helped my mate.” She indicated the still guilty-looking Ebbanai, who had remained down on the floor with the rest of the crowd.

“Help these others.” Both left hands indicated the milling supplicants. “These are poor people, like Ebbanai and myself. Our friends and acquaintances. They have little money. Their afflictions are many. You are great and powerful. How can you withhold your help from them and still call yourself a civilized, compassionate being?”

Her words were straightforward, but her emotions were more complex, Flinx noted. There was honest entreating, yes, but it was mixed with hints of other feelings. Expectation, and eagerness. Eagerness for what? To see him perform more “miracles”? Or thoughts of turning a situation to personal advantage? Clever female...

“Please, help my offspring!” An elderly Dwarra, upper legs trembling with age, pushed forward with a blank-faced young adult in tow. The emotions streaming from the senior overflowed with anguish and despair. In contrast, those of the offspring were—sluggish. The native was brain-damaged. Flinx could do nothing for it even if he tried.

But there were others—others with broken bones and torn muscles, with horrific scars and missing digits—whom he
could
help. Already adjusted to Dwarran biology, his simple beam-healer could speed curing in many of the cases he saw. Similarly recalibrated, the synthesizer on board the
Teacher
could turn out basic medicines that could likely cure at least some of the ills that afflicted this crowd of several dozen desperate supplicants.

The nonmedical questions they continued to bawl loudly and often frantically at him were another matter.

“Where do the stars go in the day?”

“The priests say different things,” bellowed another, “but where do we really go when we die?”

“Why must I mature?” asked a youth whose undeveloped lower limbs seemed hardly sturdy enough to support the angular adolescent alien body.

“Are there others up there besides your kind?” wondered another elderly petitioner as two pairs of gripping flanges gestured at the roof of the barn.

“Please, please,” Flinx implored them. “I can’t answer your questions.”

“Because it’s against your ‘laws,’” Ebbanai suddenly called out from below, sounding resentful, “or because you are so superior to us that you think we won’t understand your answers? My mate and I helped you, and you reward us with your contempt.”