Trouble Magnet (29 page)

He nodded toward the agrigeneer. “Mr. Behdulvlad and I might be able to negotiate with them, and we might not. If we try and fail, Subar is become meat.” To her credit Ashile somehow maintained her composure, though he could sense that emotionally she was on the verge of a total breakdown.

He sighed heavily. Subar had given himself up to save Ashile—a gesture of profound nobility that would mean nothing if they threw themselves on Shaeb’s sham mercy. “I’m going to try something,” he told them, “but for it to have the best chance of success I have to go out there and confront him.” He looked at Tracken. “Stay here and do what you can. Don’t try to run. Shaeb’s no fool. Half a dozen of his people are spread out around the main residence, just waiting for someone to try to bolt. The rest are with Shaeb himself.” He turned away. “If I can deal with him in the manner I hope, I don’t think the others will see a vested interest in hanging around.” He started for a hallway that led to a side doorway.

Ashile took a step toward him, halted. “What are you going to do, Flinx?”

Sallow Behdul chose that moment to speak up. “I know what he’s going to do.” He was looking straight at Flinx, with a gaze that was not as simple as those who spent time in his company liked to think. “He’s going to make them fall down and cry, like he did to Chaloni and Dirran and me. Aren’t you?”

Flinx managed a slight smile. “Maybe not cry. But fiddle with feelings so that they don’t feel like shooting us, either.”

Ashile stared at him. “Subar told me about that. He said you could—could make people feel a certain way. Can you really do that to somebody like Piegal Shaeb?”

Shrugging, he turned away from her and started for the hall. “We’re about to find out.”

In response to his declared announcement that he was coming out, Shaeb responded favorably, but added a demand that the offworlder at all times keep his pet in view and on his person or she would be shot. Flinx complied, having to reach up once or twice to physically restrain the increasingly nervous Pip from taking flight.

“Relax.” Murmuring soothingly, he added something in the indigenous language of Alaspin as he reached up to stroke the back of her head. “Just relax. It’ll be all right. Everything is under control.” While he could manipulate his words, it was considerably harder to mask his true emotions. The resulting discrepancy between her master’s words and his feelings left her feeling edgy and ill at ease even while riding comfortably on his shoulder.

Appearing in the shadows, a tiny point of blue light rocked up and down, beckoning him to a spot around the side of the main storage building. Turning the corner, he found himself confronted by a clutch of armed men and women. Their presence was no surprise: he had sensed their location and number before he had exited the residence, just as he had detected the emotional resonance of those who had formed a perimeter around it to prevent any possible escape.

A figure that was innocuous in appearance yet commanding in attitude stepped forward into the moonlight. Piegal Shaeb looked Flinx up and down, reserving particular attention for the jittery flying creature curled around his left shoulder. Behind him, an older man pushed forward for a better look. Both his expression and his feelings were an agitated mix of awe, fear, and expectation. They simultaneously drew and puzzled Flinx, but he had no time to probe either them or the man who was projecting them.

The Underhouse master shook his head sadly. “All this trouble, so much intercession, on behalf of such unworthy scrims.”

“Unworthiness is a distinction founded on shifting perceptions.” Though Flinx sensed Subar’s presence, he could not see him. “Where’s the other one?”

“Such a waste of commitment.” Glancing back, Shaeb murmured a command.

A large, slantsuited figure ambled out of the shadows. In one hand he held the glistening, tapered shape of a neuronic pistol. The other clutched a still-stunned Subar by the collar, dragging the listless form forward. Indifferently, the operative released his grasp, letting the numbed captive crumple to the ground. Flinx studied the limp form for a moment, then returned his attention to Shaeb.

“You’re a very unpleasant person.”

The Underhouse Master pursed his lips. “I did not achieve my present prominence on account of a predilection to conviviality.”

Flinx’s expression stiffened. On his shoulder, Pip grew tense. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, he let his caressing fingers slip away from her scales. “You need, I think, to be nicer.” Deliberately, he reached forth with his Talent.

Nothing happened.

Staring at him, Shaeb’s head tilted to one side. “Interesting. I sense that you’re trying to do something. I know that is how you freed the other scrims from receiving the balance of the reprimand due them, though the nature of the method involved continues to elude me.” Turning, he spoke to the older man who continued to hover behind him. “You see? He is only a resourceful if peculiar young man. Not nearly so dangerous as you proposed.”

Flinx strained to engage his damnably erratic abilities and to project strongly onto the now confident individual standing before him. It was all to no apparent effect. His Talent had chosen that moment, as it sometimes did, to slip from his mental grasp. As if that were not enough, the worst headache he had experienced since touching down on Visaria threatened to split the back of his head.

The Underhouse master turned back to him. “Despite your apparent inability to affect this meeting, I have no intention of waiting until something
does
happen.”

While possessing only a fraction of her master’s potential, Pip’s perceptiveness had the advantage of being consistent. Sensing the lethal intent that was escalating in the speaker’s mind, she unfurled her wings preparatory to rising. A bolt from a carefully aimed and downtuned neuronic pistol caught her before she could rise from Flinx’s shoulder. Stunned, she fluttered to the ground. A traumatized Flinx immediately knelt beside her. His relief as he found that she was only paralyzed was overwhelming. Incensed beyond speaking, he turned to glare fiercely up at Shaeb.

The Underhouse master immediately put a hand to his forehead and took a step backward. Whatever the offworlder had sent forth and despite his earlier avowal, it had not made Shaeb feel “nicer.” Like a wave that had receded with the tide and was now flowing back inland, Flinx could feel his Talent returning. He readied himself to project forcefully.

Without waiting for orders, the same alert subordinate who had grounded Pip put a neuronic charge into the flying snake’s master.

Flinx felt himself crumpling. A second charge from another pistol struck him in the stomach before he hit the ground, further numbing him. Other underlings were on the verge of firing their own weapons, some of which were set to do considerably more than stun.

Shaken but still in control of himself, Shaeb threw up a hand. “Don’t kill him!” His voice returning to its more moderate, controlled level, he added, “Not yet.” Leaning forward, he frowned thoughtfully at the motionless young man now sprawled on the ground in front of him. His right hand was still rubbing at the front of his head.

“That was interesting, what you just did. I’d like to know how you did it.” Behind him, Theodakris was crowding cautiously close, striving for a better look at the paralyzed offworlder. Though unable to move, Flinx sensed that the older man was torn between desires: to approach even nearer or to turn and run away as fast as his legs would carry him.

“But interested as I am,” Shaeb was saying, “I don’t think I want to risk a repetition, or chance something even worse. My curiosity has its limits.”

I wish mine did, Flinx found himself thinking.

Stepping back, the Underhouse master addressed a man and a woman who were holding rifles that were designed to annihilate rather than stun. “You may kill him now.”

Unable to move a muscle, his entire body tingling from the dual neuronic charges his nervous system had absorbed, Flinx strove one last time to project. Though his Talent was returning, he could sense he was not quite there yet. Another ten or twenty seconds of recovery was all he needed. Or perhaps the unknown faculty that had saved him previously, most recently in the holding chamber in Malandere and prior to that on Arrawd, would bring about yet another inexplicable last-second miracle.

Something fiery tore into his right arm. The pain was excruciating, overpowering; worst of all, it overwhelmed any attempt on his part to concentrate. Dimly he heard a male voice mutter, “Damn—missed. Won’t this time, Mr. Shaeb, sir.”

Flinx tried to raise his head, and could not. Tried to focus his mind, and could not. Struggled desperately to rouse his Talent, and could…

A perfect circle of solid blackness appeared off to his right. Astoundingly, a figure stepped out of it. Then another, and another, and finally a third. Two of them appeared to be arguing even as they tumbled out, to the point that they were exchanging heavy, clawed, seven-digited blows with each other. While neither of the cantankerous combatants appeared to be suffering any damage from this contest, it was evident to any bystander that the slightest of their thunderous thumpings could easily take off a man’s head.

The muzzles of assorted weapons swung away from Flinx to aim in the direction of the three newcomers as Shaeb’s startled minions hastened to transfer their attention. As well as his suddenly unsettled emotional state, the expression on the face of the Underhouse master showed that for the first time since arriving at the agricultural complex, he was completely taken aback. As well he ought. Not only was their means of arrival utterly and completely alien, so were the three beings.

While two of them continued to wrestle and argue between themselves without doing any actual damage, the third hulking, black-and-white-splotched, brown-furred figure leaned over to peer down at the still-paralyzed Flinx out of amber-hued, black-pupiled eyes that were the size of dinner plates. A voice sounded inside his head. One with idiosyncratically clear, bell-like overtones.

“Hello, Flinx teacher,” resonated the simultaneously joyful, child-like, wise, and uniquely telepathic greeting.

Fighting the effects of the twin neuronic bursts, Flinx fought hard to make his lungs, his lips, and his larynx cooperate. His mouth moved. A feeble gasp emerged. He tried again. Words formed. Words he had not spoken in a long, long time.

“Hello, Fluff.”

Since he was eight years old, Piegal Shaeb had never lacked for an appropriate response to even the most difficult and unforeseen situation. Now all he could do was stand and gawk. Those of his minions who were not doing likewise kept glancing nervously at him for orders. None was forthcoming.

Keeping a watchful eye on the three enormous ursinoids, all of whom continued to ignore their surroundings, several of Shaeb’s subordinates tentatively approached the black disc. It hovered a couple of centimeters off the ground, absolutely motionless. One of the more enterprising armed underlings walked behind it, noting that it was no more than a few millimeters thick. Pulling his monitor, he aimed it in the direction of the disc’s back and played the sensor across the eldritch apparition from top to bottom. No information appeared on the readout. No measurement of sound, no indication of photonic activity, no ambient radiation: nothing. This was patently impossible. As impossible as the three outrageous creatures to which it had given birth.

Taking note of the presence of other humans, Fluff took delight in switching to the mode of communication that involved intricate oral modulation of ambient air pressure.

“Sensed Flinx in trouble, we did. Trouble even Flinx teacher could not play out of. So we dug a quick tunnel and came to help with current game. If Flinx dies, a part of the game comes to a stop.”

Being able to connect a voice to a body helped a stunned Shaeb out of his daze. “Tunnel? Game? What is this? What are
these
?” Whirling, he glowered at the openmouthed figure of Theodakris. “You never said anything about this offworlder having oversized, furry, contentious alien allies!”

“I don’t—that is, I didn’t…” Words simply failed the senior analyst. He could only stand, and stare.

“You should have,” Shaeb said quietly before he pulled the trigger on the pistol he was holding. Theodakris dropped to his knees. Looking down at himself, he marveled at the tiny, smoking hole that had appeared in his chest. He could not, of course, see the corresponding one that had appeared in his back. Not even when he fell over sideways.

With Fluff helping him, an unsteady Flinx was able to stand. Painfully and slowly, the effects of the neuronic bursts were wearing off. Nearby, Pip was struggling to get airborne. On the ground, Subar had recovered control over much of his nervous system, though not from the effects of the casual beating he had received. Wisely, he stayed where he was and made no attempt to rise.

“Your digging has gotten faster,” Flinx mumbled as his brain regained control of the mechanics involved in forming recognizable speech.

Fluff straightened proudly. “We’ve had a lot of practice since we saw you last.” Turning, he rumbled an admonition. “Moam, Bluebright! Stop fighting and come say hello to teacher.”

Immediately, the other two aliens ceased their rough-and-tumble discussion to crowd close around Flinx. He remembered each of them as if it were yesterday, and why not? When folk make one a present of a starship, not to mention a ship unlike any other in the known cosmos, one retains fond memories of the givers.

Something about the reunion steadied Piegal Shaeb’s nerves. Despite their size, there was nothing especially intimidating about the trio of unexpected arrivals. Perhaps he was reassured by a chronic cuddliness that seemed at variance with their still-unexplained method of arrival. Whatever the reason, in all his long and difficult life he had never gained anything by giving in to hesitation. Also, in his business he was nothing if not thorough.

“All right,” he barked decisively. “Kill them all!”

Rifles and pistols were steadied. As aim was taken, Bluebright and Moam jumped back into the coin-thick disc from which they had emerged. In the instant of astonishment that ensued, Shaeb’s subordinates neglected to open fire. One finally did so, but her shot went wild as she fell into a second disc. An exact duplicate of its predecessor, it had materialized beneath her feet. And those of the fighter standing next to her, and the one alongside him. It was wide enough to swallow every one of them, including a disbelieving Piegal Shaeb, who could not countenance that the natural laws of physics had been convinced to conspire against him.