Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 3 - Orphan Star

VIP免费
2024-12-14 0 0 324.96KB 89 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
***************************************************
Author: Alan Dean Foster
Title: For Love Of Mother-Not
Original copyright year: 1983
Genre: Science Fiction
Version: 1.0
Date of e-text: 11/28/00
Source:
Prepared by:
Comments: Download both lit and txt version.
Please correct any errors you find in this e-text,
update the txt file’s version number and redistribute.
***************************************************
Chapter One
"Watch where you're going, qwot,""
The merchant glared down at the slim, olive-skinned youth and made a show of readjusting his
barely rumpled clothing.
"Your pardon, noble sir," the youngster replied politely. "I did not see you in the press of the
crowd." This was at once truth and lie. Flinx hadn't seen the overbearing entrepreneur, but he had
sensed the man's belligerence seconds before the latter had swerved intentionally to cause the
collision.
Although his still poorly understood talents had been immensely enriched several months ago by his
en- counter with the Krang-that awesome semisentient weapon of the now-vanished masters of the
galaxy, the Tar-Aiym-they were as inconsistent as ever. The experience of acting as an organic
catalyst for the colossal device had almost killed both him and Pip. But they had survived and he,
at least, had been changed in ways as yet uncomprehended.
Lately he had found that at one moment he could detect the thoughts of the King himself off in
Drallar's palace, while in the next even the minds of those standing in close proximity stayed
shut tight as a miser's purse. This made for numerous uncertainties, and oftentimes Flinx found
himself cursing the gift, as its capriciousness kept him in a constant state of mental imbalance.
He was like a child clinging desperately to the mane of a rampaging devilope, struggling to hang
on at the same time he was fighting to master the bucking mount.
He shifted to go around the lavishly clad bulk, but the man moved to block his path. "Children
need to learn how to mind their betters," he smirked, obviously unwilling, like Flinx, to let the
incident pass.
Flinx could sense the frustration in the man's mind, and sought deeper. He detected fuzzy hints of
a large business transaction that had failed just this morning. That would explain the man's
frustration, and his apparent desire to find someone to take it out on. As Flinx considered this
development, the man was making a great show of rolling up his sleeves to reveal massive arms. His
frustration faded beneath the curious stares of the shifting crowd of traders, hawkers, beg- gars,
and craftsmen who were slowing and beginning to form a small eddy of humanity in the round-the-
clock hurricane of the Drallarian marketplace.
"I said I was sorry," Flinx repeated tensely.
A blocky fist started to rise.
"Sorry indeed. I think I'm going to have to teach you ..." The merchant halted in his stride, the
threatening fist abruptly frozen in midair. His face rapidly turned pale and his eyes seemed fixed
on Flinx's far shoulder.
A head had somehow emerged from beneath the loose folds of the youth's cape. Now it regarded the
merchant with a steady, unblinking gaze that held the quality of otherworld death, the flavor of
frozen methane and frostbite. In itself the skull was tiny and unimpressive, scaled and
unabashedly reptilian. Then more of the creature emerged, revealing that the head was attached to
a long cylindrical body. A set of pleated membranous wings opened, beat lazily at the air.
"Sorry," the merchant found himself mumbling, "it was all a mistake ... my fault, really." He
smiled sickly, looked from left to right. The eyes of the small gathering stared back
dispassionately.
It was interesting how the man seemed to shrink into the wall of watchers. They swallowed him up
as neat and clean as a grouper would an ambling angelfish. That done, the motionless ranks blended
back into the moving stream of humanity.
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (1 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
Flinx relaxed and reached up to scratch the flying snake under its leathery snout. "Easy there,
Pip," he whispered, thinking warm relaxing thoughts at his pet. "It's nothing, settle down now."
Reassured, the minidrag hissed sibilantly and slid back beneath the cape folds, its pleated wings
collapsing flat against its body. The merchant had quickly recognized the reptile. A well-traveled
individual, he knew that there was no known antidote for the poison of the Alaspin miniature
dragon.
"Maybe he learned whatever lesson he had in mind to give us," Flinx said. "What say we go over to
Small Symm's for a beer and some pretzels for you. Would you like that, summm?"
The snake summmed back at him.
Nearby buried within the mob, an obese, unlovely gentleman thanked a gratified goldsmith as he
pocketed a purchase indifferently made. This transaction had served the purpose of occupying time
and covering up his true focus of attention, which had not been the just-bought bauble.
Two men flanked him. One was short and sleek, with an expression like a wet weasel. The other
showed a torso like a galvanized boiler, and half a face. His one eye twitched persistently as he
stared after the retreating figure of Flinx, while his small companion eagerly addressed the
purchaser of the tiny gold-and- pearl piano.
"Did you see the look on that guy's face, Challis?" he asked the plump man. "That snake's a hot
death. Nothin' was said to us about anything like that. That big idiot not only saved his own
life, but mine and Nanger's too."
The one-eye nodded.
"Ya, you're goin' to have to find someone else for this bit of dirty stuff." His short companion
looked adamant.
The fat merchant remained calm, scratched' at one of his many chins. "Have I been ungenerous?
Since yon both ape on permanent retainer to me, I technically owe you nothing for this task." He
shrugged. "But if it is a question of more money ..."
The sleek weasel shook his head. "You can buy my service, Challis, but not my life. Do you know
what happens if that snake's venom bits you in the eyes? No antivenom known will keep you alive
for more than sixty seconds." He kicked at the gravel and dirt underfoot, still moist from the
regular morning ram. "No, this isn't for me and not for Nanger neither."
"Indeed," the .man with half a face agreed solemnly. He sniffed and nodded in the direction of the
now de- parted youth. "What's your obsession with the boy, anyway? He's not strong, he's not rich,
and he's not particularly pretty."
"It's his head I'm interested in, not his body," sighed Challis, "though this is a matter of my
pleasure." Puffing like a leaky pillow, he led them through the bustling, shouting crowd. Humans,
thranx, and representatives of a dozen other commercial races slid easily around and past them as
though oiled, all intent on errands of importance.
"It's my Janus jewel. It bores me."
The smaller man looked disgusted. "How can any- one rich enough to own a Janus jewel be bored?"
"Oh, but I am, Nolly-dear, I am."
Nanger made a half-smirk. "What's the trouble, Challis? Your imagination failing you?" He laughed,
short, stentorian barks.
Challis grinned back at him. "Hardly that, Nanger, but it seems that I have not the right type of
mind to produce the kind of fine, detailed resolution the jewel is- capable of. I need help for
that. So I've been at work these past months looking for a suitable mental adept, trying to find a
surrogate mind of the proper type to aid in operating the jewel. I've paid a lot of money for the
right information," he finished, nodding at a tall Osirian he knew. The avian clacked its beak
back at him and made a gesture with its graceful, ostrichlike neck, its periscope form weaving
confidently through the crowd.
Nanger paused to buy a thisk cake, and Challis continued his explanation as they walked on.
"So you see why I need that boy."
Nolly was irritated now. "Why not just hire him? See if he'll participate willingly?"
Challis looked doubtful. "No, I don't think that would work out, Nolly-dear. You're familiar with
some of my fantasies and likes?" His voice had turned inhumanly calm and empty. "Would you
participate voluntarily?"
Nolly looked away from suddenly frightening pupils. In spite of his background, he shuddered.
"No," he barely whispered, "no, I don't guess that I would...."
"Hello, lad," boomed Small Symm-the giant was incapable of conversing in less than a shout. "What
of your life and what do you hear from Malaika?"
Flinx sat on one of the stools lined up before the curving bar, ordered spiced beer for himself
and a bowl of pretzels for Pip. The flying snake slid gracefully from Flinx's shoulder and worked
his way into the wooden bowl of trapezoidal dough. This action was noted by a pair of wide-eyed
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (2 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
unsavory types nearby, who promptly vacated their seats and hastily made for the rearmost booths.
"I've had no contact with Malaika for quite a while, Symm. I've heard he's attending to business
outsystem."
Flinx's wealthy merchant friend had enabled him to quit performing his personal sideshow, having
provided him with a substantial sum for his aid in exploring the Tar-Aiym world of the Krang. Much
of the money had gone to set up Flinx's adoptive mother. Mother Mastiff, in a well-stocked shop in
one of Drallar's better market districts. Muttering at her capriciousness, the old woman had
rescued Flinx as a child from the slave-seller's block, and had raised him. She was the only
parent he had ever known. She muttered still, but with affection.
"As a matter of fact," he went on, sipping at the peppery brew, "Malaika wanted me to go with him.
But while I respect the old hedonist, he'd eventually get ideas about putting me in a starched
suit, slicking my hair back, and teaching me diction." Flinx shuddered visibly. "I couldn't stand
that. I'd go back to juggling and audience guessing games first. What about you, father of oafs?
I've heard that the municipal troops have been harassing you again."
The owner of the bar leaned his two-and-a-half-rneter-tall, one-hundred-seventy-five-kilo frame
onto the absorbent wood-plastic counter, which creaked in protest. "Apparently the marketplace
commissioner took it as a personal affront when I ejected the first group of officious do-gooders
he sent round to close you down. Maybe I shouldn't have broken their vehicle. Now they are trying
to be more subtle. I had one in just this week, who claimed to have observed me serving borderline
minors certain hallucinogenic liquids."
"Obviously you deserve to be strung up by your extremities," commented Flinx with mock solemnity.
He, too, was underage for much of what Symm served him.
"Anyway," the giant went on, "this heckster flies out of a back booth, flashes his municipal peace
card, and tries to tell me I'm under arrest. He was going to take me in, and I had best come along
quietly." Small Symm shook his massive head mournfully as Flinx downed several swallows.
"What did you do?" He licked liquid from the corners of his mouth.
"I really don't want any more trouble, certainly not another assault charge. I thought an
inferential demonstration of a mildly physical nature might be effective in persuading the
gentleman to change his opinion. It was, and be left quietly." Symm gestured at Flinx's now empty
mug. "Refill?"
"Sure. What did you do?" he repeated.
"I ate his peace card. Here's your beer." He slid a second mug alongside the first.
Flinx understood Small Syrnm's gratification. He had his reputation to uphold. His was one of the
few places in Drallar where a person could go at night with a guarantee of not being assaulted or
otherwise set upon by rambunctious rovers. This was because Small Symm dealt impartially with all
such disturbers of the peace.
"Be back in a minute," Flinx told his friend. He slid off the stool and headed for the one room
whose design and function had changed little in the past several hundred years. As soon as he
stepped inside he was overwhelmed by a plethora of rich smells and sensations: stale beer, hard
liquor, anxiety, tension, old water, dampness, fearful expectation. The combination of thick
thoughts and airborne odors nearly overpowered him.
Looking to his left, where the combination was strongest, he noticed a small twitch of a man
watching him anxiously. Flinx observed the man's outward calm and felt his internal panic. He was
holding an osmotic syringe in one hand, his finger coiled about it as-if it were a weapon. As
Flinx started to yell for help, his rising cry was blanketed by the descent of something dark and
heavy over his head. A mental cry was aborted by the cool efficiency of the syringe....
He awoke to find himself staring at a tumbled panoply of lights. They were spread out before and
below him, viewed as they were through a wall and floor of transparent plastic.
Slowly he struggled to a sitting position, which was accomplished with some difficulty since his
wrists were manacled together by two chromed metal cuffs. A long tube of flexible metal ran off
from them and disappeared among rich furniture. The chain meandered through the thick transparent
carpet like a mirror- backed worm.
Looking out, Flinx could see the lights that were the city-pulse of Drallar, dominated by the
glowing spires of the King's palace off to the left. The view enabled him to orient himself.
Combining the position of the palace with the pattern of lower lights and the knowledge that he
was several stories above ground indicated that he was being held captive in one of the four
sealed inurbs of the city. These guarded, restrictive enclaves held the homes of the upper
classes, of those native to Drallar and those off-worlders who had commerce here. His assailants,
then, were more than gutter thieves.
He was unable to pick tip any impressions nearby. At the moment the only alien sensation he could
detect was a slight throbbing in the muscles of his upper right arm, where the syringe had struck
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (3 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
home. A different kind of sensation was inspired by his own anger, anger directed at himself for
not detecting the inimical emanations his attackers must have been putting out before he entered
the bathroom.
Suddenly he noticed another sensation missing, too. The comfortable weight of Pip was absent from
his shoulders.
"Hello," ventured a tiny, silvery voice.
Spinning, Flinx found himself eye-to-eye with an angel. He relaxed, swung his feet off the couch,
and regarded her in surprise. She could not have been more than nine or ten years old, was clad
.in a powder blue- and-green fringed pantsuit with long sleeves of some transparent lacy material.
Long blond hair fell in manicured ripples to the backs of her thighs. Baby-blue eyes looked out at
him from the high-boned face of a sophisticated cherub.
"My name's Mahnahmi," she informed him softly, her voice running up and down like a piccolo trill,
"what's yours?"
"Everybody calls me Flinx."
"Flinx." She was sucking on the knuckle of her big finger. "That's a funny name, but nice." A
smile showed perfect pearly teeth. "Want to see what my daddy brought me?"
"Daddy," Flinx echoed, looking around the room. It was dominated by the great curve of the
transparent wall and balcony and the sparkling panorama laid out below. It was night outside ...
but was it that same night? How long had he lain unconscious? No way to tell ... yet.
The room was furnished in late Siberade: lush cushions, chairs and divan mounted on pencil-thin
struts of duralloy, with everything else suspended from the ceiling by duralloy wires so thin that
the rest of the furniture appeared to be floating in air. A massive spray of luminescent spodumene
and kunzite crystals dominated the domed roof. They were surrounded by circular skylights now open
to the star-filled night sky. Climatic adjusters kept the evening rain from falling into the room.
His captor was a very wealthy person, Petulant-rich with nonattention, the girlish voice
interrupted his inspection. "Do you want to see it or not?"
Flinx wished the throb in his upper arm would sub- side. "Sure," he said absently.
The smile returned as the girl reached into a suit pocket. She moved closer, proudly opened her
fist to reveal something in the palm of her hand. Flinx saw that it was a miniature piano,
fashioned entirely from filigree gold and real pearls.
"It really plays," she told him excitedly. She touched the tiny keys and Flittx listened to the
almost invisible notes. "It's for my dolly."
"It's very pretty," Flinx complimented, remembering when such a toy would have cost him more
credit than he ever thought he would possess. He glanced anxiously past her, "Where is your daddy
right now?"
"Over here."
Flinx turned to the source of those simple, yet some- how threatening words.
"No, I already know you're called Flinx," the man said, with a wave of one ring-laden hand. "I
already know a good deal about you."
Two men emerged from the globular shadow. One had a sunk-in skull half melted away by some
tremendous heat and only crudely reconstructed by medical engineers. His smaller companion
exhibited more composure now than he had when he'd held the syringe on Flinx in the bathroom at
Symm's.
The merchant was talking again. "My name is' Conda Challis. You have perhaps heard of me?"
Flinx nodded slowly. "I know of your company."
"Good,"" Challis replied. "It's always gratifying to be recognized, and it saves certain
explanations." The uncomfortable pulsing in Flinx's shoulder was begin- ning to subside as the man
settled his bulk in a waiting chair. A round, flat table of metal and plastic separated him from
Flinx. The half-faced man and his stunted shadow made themselves comfortable-but not too
comfortable, Flinx noted-nearby.
"Mahnahmi, I see you've been entertaining oar guest," Challis said to the girl. "Now go somewhere
and play like a good child."
"No. I want to stay and watch."
"Watch?" Flmx tensed. "Watch what?"
"He's going to use the jewel. I know he is!" She turned to Challis. "Please let me stay and watch,
Daddy! I won't say a word, I promise."
"Sorry, child. Not this time."
"Not this time, not this time," she repeated. "Yon never let me watch. Never, never, never!" As
quick as a sun shower turns bright, her face broke into a wide smile. "Oh, all right, but at least
let me say good-bye."
When Challis impatiently nodded his approval she all but jumped into Flinx's arms. Much to his
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (4 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
distress, she wrapped herself around him, gave him a wet smack on one cheek, and whispered into
his right ear in a lilting, immature soprano, "Better do what he tells yon to, Flinx, or he'll rip
out your guts."
Somehow he managed to keep a neutral expression on his face as she pulled away with a disarmingly
innocent smile.
"Bye-bye. Maybe Daddy will let us play later." Turning, she skipped from the room, exiting through
a doorway in the far wall.
"An ... interesting little girl," Filax commented, swallowing.
"Isn't she charming," Challis agreed. "Her mother was exceptionally beautiful."
"You're married, then? You don't strike me as the type."
The merchant appeared truly shocked. "Me, life- mated? My dear boy! Her mother was purchased right
here in Drallar, a number of years ago. Her pedigree claimed she possessed exceptional talents.
They turned out to be of a very minor nature, suitable for parlor tricks but little else.
"However, she could perform certain other functions, so I didn't feel the money wholly wasted. The
only drawback was the birth of that infant, resulting from my failure to report on time for a
standard debiojection. I didn't think the delay would be significant." He shrugged. "But I was
wrong. The mother pleased me, so I permitted her to have the child.... I tend to be hard on my
property, however. The mother did not live long thereafter. At times I feel the child has
inherited her mother's minuscule talents, but every attempt to prove so has met with failure."
"Yet despite this, you keep her," Flinx noted curiously. For a second Challis appeared almost
confused, a sensation which passed rapidly.
"It is not so puzzling, really. Considering the manner of the mother's death, of which the child
is unaware, I feel some small sense of responsibility for her. While I have no particular love for
infants, she obeys with an alacrity her older counterparts could emulate." He grinned broadly and
Flinx had the impression of a naked white skull filled with broken icicles.
"She's old enough to know that if she doesn't, I'll simply sell her." Challis leaned forward,
wheezing with the effort of folding his chest over his protruding belly. "However, you were not
brought here to discuss the details of my domestic life."
"Then why was I brought here? I heard something about a jewel. I know a little about good stones,
but I'm certainly no expert."
"A jewel, yes." Challis declined further oral explanation; instead, he manipulated several
switches concealed by the far overhang of the table between them. The lights dimmed and Challis'
pair of ominous attendants disappeared, though Flinx could sense their alert presence nearby. They
were between him and the only clearly defined door.
Flinx's attention was quickly diverted by a soft humming. As the top of the table slid to one
side, he could see the construction involved. The table was a thick safe. Something rose from the
central hollow, a sculpture of glowing components encircled by a spiderweb of thin wiring. At the
sculpture's center was a transparent globe of glassalloy. It contained something that looked like
a clear natural crystal about the size of a man's head. It glowed with a strange inner light. At
first glance it resembled quartz, but longer inspection showed that here was a most unique
silicate.
The center of the crystal was hollow and irregular in outline. It was filled with maroon and green
particles which drifted with dreamy slowness in a clear viscous fluid. The particles were fine as
dust motes. In places they nearly reached to the edges of the crystal walls, though they tended to
remain compacted near its middle. Occasionally the velvety motes would jerk and dart about
sharply, as if prodded by some unseen force. Flinx stared into its shifting depths as if
mesmerized. ...
On Earth lived a wealthy man named Endrickson, who recently seemed to be walking about m o daze.
His family was fond of him and he was well liked by his friends. He also held the grudging
admiration of his competitors. En drickson, though he looked anything but sharp at the moment, was
one of those peculiar geniuses who possesses no creative ability of his own, but who instead
exhibits the rare power to marshal and direct the talents of those more gifted than himself.
At 5:30 on the evening of the 25th of Fifth Month, Endrickson moved more slowly than usual through
the heavily guarded corridors of The Plant. The Plant had no name-a precaution insisted on by
nervous men whose occupation it was to worry about such things-and was built into the western
slope of the Andes.
As he passed the men and women and insectoid thranx who labored in The Plant, Endrickson nodded
his greetings and was always gratified with respectful replies. They were all moving in the
opposite direction, since the work day had ended for them. They were on their way-these many, many
talented beings-to their homes in Santiago and Lima and New Delhi and New York, as well as to the
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (5 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
Terran thranx colonies in the Amazon basin.
One who was not yet off duty came stiffly to attention as Endrickson turned a corner in a last,
shielded passage- way. On seeing that the visitor was not his immediate superior-a gentleman who
wore irritation, like his under- wear, outside his trousers-the well-armed guard relaxed.
Endrickson, he knew, was everyone's friend.
"Hello . . . Dav'is," the boss said slowly.
The man saluted, then studied him intently, disturbed at his appearance.
"Good evening, sir. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Davis," Endrickson replied. "I had a last-minute thought ... won't be long." He
seemed to be staring at something irregular and shiny that he held cupped in one palm. "Do you
want to see my identity card?"
The guard smiled, processed the necessary slip of treated plastic, and admitted Endrickson to the
chamber beyond which contained the shop, a vast cavern made even vaster by precision engineering
and necessity. This was the heart of The Plant.
Moving with assurance, Endrickson walked down the ramp to the sealed floor of the enlarged cavern,
passing enormous machines, long benches, and great constructs of metal and other materials. The
workshop was deserted now. It would remain so until the early-morning shift come on five hours
later.
One-third of the way across the floor he halted before an imposing door of dun-colored metal, the
only break in o solid wall of the same material that closed off a spacious section of the cavern.
Using his tree hand while still staring at the thing in his other hand, he pulled out a small ring
that held several metal cylinders. He selected a cylinder, pressed his thumb into the recessed
area at one end of it, then inserted the other into a small hole in the door and shoved forward. A
complex series of radiations was produced and absorbed by the doorway mechanism. These passed
judgment on both the cylinder and the person holding it.
Satisfied that the cylinder was coded properly and that ifs owner was of a stable frame of mind,
the door sang soft acquiescence and shrank info the floor. Endrickson 'passed through and the door
noted his passage, then rose to close the gap behind him.
A not quite finished device loomed ahead, nearly filling this part of the cavern. It was
surrounded by an attending army of instruments: monitoring devices, tools in repose, checkout
panels and endless crates of assorted com- ponents.
Endrickson ignored this familiar collage as he headed purposefully for a single black panel. He
thoughtfully eyed the switches and controls thereon, then used another of his ring cylinders to
bring the board to life. Lights came on obediently and gauges registered for his inspection.
The vast bulk of the unfinished KK-drive starship engine loomed above him. Final completion would
and could take place only in free space, since the activated posigrovity field of the drive
interacting with a planet's gravitational field would produce a series of quakes and tectonic
adjustments of cataclysmic proportions.
But that fact didn't concern Endrickson just now. A far more intriguing thought had overwhelmed
him. Was the drive unit complete enough to function? he wondered. Why not observe the interesting
possibilities firsthand?
He glanced at the beauty in his palm, then used a second cylinder to unlock a tightly sealed box
at one end of the block beard. Beneath the box were several switches, all enameled' a bright
crimson. Endrickson heard a klaxon yell shrilly somewhere, but he ignored the alarm as he pressed
switches in proper order. His anticipation was enormous. With the fluid-state switches activated,
instructions began flowing through the glass-plastic-metal monoIith. For off on the other side of
the locked door, Endrickson cou!d hear people shouting, running. Meanwhile the drive's thermomdear
spark was activated and Endrickson saw full engagement register on the appropriate monitors.
He nodded with satisfaction. Final relays interlocked, communicated with the computermind built
into the engine. For a brief second the Kurita-Kita field was brought into existence. Momentarily
the thought flashed through Endrickson's mind that this was something that should never be done
except in the deep reaches of free space.
But his last thoughts were reserved for the exquisite loveliness and strange words locked within
the object he held in his hand. ...
Had the unit been finished there might have been a major disaster. But it was not complete, and so
the Field collapsed quickly, unable to sustain itself and to expand to its full, propulsive
diameter.
So, although windows were shattered and a few older buildings toppled and the Church of Santa
Avila de Seville's ancient steeple cracked six hundred kilometers away in downtown Valparaiso,
only a few things in the immediate vicinity showed any significant alteration,
However, Endrickson, The Plant, and the nearby technologic community of Santa Rosa de Cristobal
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (6 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
(pop. 3,200) vanished. The 13,352-meter-high mountain at whose base the town had risen and in
whose bowels The Plant had been carved was replaced by a 7,200-mefer-deep crater fined with molten
glass.
But since logic insisted the event could have been nothing other than on accident, it was so ruled
by the experts called upon to produce an explanation-experts who did not have access to the same
beauty which had so totally bedazzled the now-vaporized Endrickson. ...
Flinx blinked, awakening from the Janus jewel's tantalizing loveliness. It continued to pulse with
its steady, natural yellow luminescence.
"Did yon ever see one before?" Challis inquired.
"No. I've heard of them, though. I know enough to recognize one."
Challis must have touched another concealed switch because a low-intensity light sprang to life at
the table's edge. Fumbling with a drawer built into the table, the merchant then produced a small
boxy affair which resembled an abstract carving of a bird in flight, its wings on the downbeat. It
was designed to fit on a human head. A few exposed wires and modules broke the device's otherwise
smooth lines.
"Do you know what this is?" the merchant asked,
Flinx confessed he did not.
"It's the operator's headset," Challis explained slowly, placing it over his stringy hair. "The
headset and the machinery encapsulated in that table transcribe the thoughts of the human mind and
convey them to the jewel. The jewel has a certain property."
Challis intoned "property" with the sort of spiritual reverence most men would reserve for
describing their gods or mistresses.
The merchant ceased fumbling with unseen controls and with the headset. He folded his hands before
his squeezed out paunch and stared at the crystal. "I'm concentrating on something now," he told
his absorbed listener softly. "It takes a little training, though some can do without it."
As Flinx watched raptly, the particles in the jewel's center began to rearrange themselves. Their
motion was no longer random, and it was clear that Challis' thoughts were directing the
realigmnent. Here was something about which rumor abounded, but which few except the very rich and
privileged had actually seen.
"The larger the crystal," Challis continued, obviously straining to produce some as yet unknown
result, "the more colors present in the colloid and the more valuable the stone. A single color is
the general rule. This stone contains two and is one of the largest and finest in existence,
though even small stones are rare.
"There are stones with impurities present which create three- and four-color displays, and one
stone of five-color content is known. You would not believe who owns it, or what is done with it."
Flinx watched as the colors within the crystal's center began to assume semisolid shape and form
at Challis' direction. "No one," the merchant continued, "has been able to synthesize the
oleaginous liquid in which the colored particulate matter drifts suspended. Once a crystal is
broken, it is impossible to repair. Nor can the colloid be transferred in whole or in part to a
new container. A break in the intricate crystal-liquid formation destroys the stone's individual
piezoelectric potential. Fortunately the crystal is as hard as corundum, though nowhere near as
strong as artificials like duralloy."
Though the outlines shifted and trembled constantly, never quite firmly fixed, they took on the
recognizable shapes of several persons. One appeared to be an exaggeratedly Junoesque woman. Of
the others, one was a humanoid male and the third something wholly alien. A two-sided chamber rose
around them and was filled with strange objects that never held their form for more than a few
seconds. Although their consistency fluctuated, the impression they conveyed did not. Flinx saw
quite enough to turn his stomach before everything within the crystal dissolved once again to a
cloud of glowing dust.
Looking up and across from the crystal he observed that the merchant had removed the headpiece and
was wiping the perspiration from his high forehead with a perfumed cloth. Illuminated by the
subdued light concealed in the table edge below, his face became that of an unscrupulous imp.
"Easy to begin," he murmured with exhaustion, "but a devilishly difficult reaction to sustain.
When your attention moves from one figure, the others begin to cpl- lapse. And when the play
involves complex actions performed by several such creations, it is nigh impossible, especially
when one tends to become so ... involved with the action."
"What's all this got to do with me?" Flinx broke in. Although the question was directed at
Challis, Flinx's attention was riveted on those two half-sensed figures guarding the exit. Neither
Nolly nor Nanger had stirred, but that didn't mean they had relaxed their watch, either. And the
door they guarded was hardly likely to be unlocked. Flinx could see several openings in the floor-
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (7 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
to-ceiling glassalloy wall which overlooked the city, but he knew it was a sheer drop of at least
fifty meters to the private street below.
"You see," Challis told him, "while I'm not ashamed to admit that I've inherited a most successful
family business in the Ghallis Company, neither do I count myself a dilettante. I have improved
the company through the addition of people with many diverse talents." He gestured toward the
door. "Nolly-dear and Nanger there are two such examples. I'm hoping that you, dear boy, will be
yet another."
"I'm still not sure I understand," Flinx said slowly, stalling.
"That can be easily rectified." Challis steepled his fingers. "To hold the suspended particles of
the Janus jewels, to manipulate the particulate clay, requires a special kind of mind. Though my
mental scenarios are complex, to enjoy them fully I require a surrogate mind. Yours! I shall
instruct you in what is desired and you will execute my designs within the jewel."
Flinx thought back to what he had glimpsed a few moments ago in the incomplete playlet, to what
Challis had wrought within the tiny god-world of the jewel. In many ways he was mature far beyond
his seventeen years, and he had seen a great many things in his time. Though some of them would
have sickened the stomach of an experienced soldier, most of them had been harmless perversions.
But beneath all the superficial cordiality and the polite requests for cooperation that Challis
had expressed, there bubbled a deep lake of un- treated sewage, and Flinx was not about to serve
as the merchant's pilot across it.
Surviving a childhood in the marketplace of Drallar had made Flinx something of a realist. So he
did not reel at the merchant's proposal and say what was on his mind: "You revolt and nauseate me,
Conda Challis, and I refuse to have anything to do with you or your sick private fantasies."
Instead he said: "I don't know where you got the idea that I could be of such help to you."
"You cannot deny your own history," Challis sniggered. "I have acquired a small but interesting
file on you. Most notably, your peculiar talents figured strongly in assisting a competitor of
mine named Maxim Malaika. Prior to that incident and subsequent to it you have been observed
demonstrating abnormal mental abilities through the medium of cheap sideshow tricks for the
receipt of a few credits from passersby. I can offer you considerably more for the use of your
talents. Deny that if you can."
"Okay, so I can work a few gimmicks and fool a few tourists," Flinx conceded while studying the
thin silvery bracelets linking his wrists and trying to find a hidden catch. "But what you call my
'talents' are erratic, undisciplined, and beyond my control much of the time. I don't know when
they come or why they go."
Challis was nodding in a way Flinx didn't like. "Naturally. I understand. All talents-artistic,
athletic, whatever kind-require training and discipline to develop them fully. I intend to help
you in mastering yours. By way of example . . ." Challis took out some- thing that looked like an
ancient pocket watch but wasn't, pressed a tiny button. Instantly the breath fled from Flinx's
lungs, and he arced forward. His hands tightened into fists as he shuddered, and he felt as if
someone had taken a file to the bones in his wrists. The pain passed suddenly and he was able to
lean limply backward, gasping, trembling. When he found he could open his eyes again, he saw that
Challis was staring into them, expectantly interested. His stare was identical to the one a
chemist would lavish on a laboratory animal just injected with a possibly fatal substance.
"That ... wasn't necessary," Flinx managed to whisper.
"Possibly not," a callous Challis agreed, "but it was instructive. I've seen your eyes roving
while you've tatted. Really, you can't get out of here, you know. Even should you somehow manage
to reach the central shaft beyond Nolly and Nanger, there are others waiting." The merchant
paused, then asked abruptly, "Now, is what I wish truly so abhorrent to you? You'll .be well
rewarded. I offer you a secure existence in my company. In return you may relax as you like.
You'll be called on only to help operate the jewel."
"It's the ethics of the matter that trouble me, not the salary," Flinx insisted.
"Oh, ethics." Challis was amused, and be didn't try to hide it. "Surely you can overcome that. The
alternative is much less subjective." He was tapping two fingers idly on the face of the pseudo-
watch.
While pretending to enjoy it all, Flinx was thinking. His wrists were still throbbing, and the
ache penetrated all the way to his shoulders. He could stand that pain again, but not often. And
anything more intense would surely knock him out. His vision still had an alarming tendency to
lose focus.
Yet ... he couldn't do what Challis wanted. Those images-his stomach churned as he remembered-to
participate in such obscenities ... No! Flinx was considering what to say, anything to forestall
the pain again, when something dry and slick pressed against his cheek. It was followed by the
feathery caress of something unseen but familiar at the back of his neck.
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (8 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
Challis obviously saw nothing in the darkness, since when he spoke again his voice was as
controlled as be- fore. His fingers continued to play lazily over the ovoid control box. "Come,
dear boy, is there really need to prolong this further? I'm sure you gain less pleasure from it
than do 1." A finger stopped tapping, edged toward the button.
"HEY!"
The shout came from the vicinity of the door and was followed by muffled curses and dimly
perceived movement. Challis' two guards were dancing crazily about, waving and swatting at
something unseen.
Challis' voice turned vicious, angry for the first time. "What's the matter with you idiots?"
Nanger replied nervously, "There's something in here with us."
"You are both out of your small minds. We are eight floors from the surface and carefully screened
against mechanical intruders. Nothing could possibly-"
Nanger interrupted the merchant's assurance with a scream the likes of which few men ever
encounter. Flinx was half expecting it. Even so, the sound sent a chill down his spine. What it
did to Nolly, or to Challis, who was suddenly scrambling over the back of the chair and fumbling
at his belt, could only be imagined.
Flinx heard a crash, followed by a collision with something heavy and out of control. It was
Nanger. The half-face had both hands clamped tight over his eyes and was staggering wildly in all
directions.
"The jewel ... watch the jewel!" a panicky Challis howled. Moving on hands and knees with
surprising rapidity, he reached the edge of the table and hit a switch. Instantly the light went
out. In the faint illumination from the wall window Flinx could see the merchant disconnect the
top of the apparatus, the globe containing the crystal itself, and cradle it protectively in his
hands as he removed it.
Suddenly there was another source of light in the room, in the form of sharp intermittent green
flares from a needler. Nolly had the weapon out and was sparring desperately with an adversary
that swooped and dove at him.
Then something began to buzz for attention within the table, and Challis lifted a receiver and
listened. Flinx listened too, but could hear nothing. Whatever was being said elicited some
furious responses from the merchant, whose easygoing manner had by now vanished completely. He
mumbled something into the pickup, then let it snap back into the table. The look he threw Flinx
in the near blackness was a mixture of fury and curiosity. "I bid you adieu, dear boy. I hope we
have the opportunity to meet again. I thought you merely a beggar with talents too big for his
head. Apparently you may be something more. I'm sorry you elected not to cooperate. Your maternal
line hinted that you might," Challis sneered. "I never repeat mistakes. Be warned." Still
scrambling on hands and knees, he made his way to the hidden door. As it opened, Flinx caught a
glimpse of a small golden figure standing there.
"Listening again, brat-child?" Challis muttered as he rose to his feet. He slapped the girl,
grabbing her by one arm. She started to cry and looked away from Challis as the door cycled shut.
As Flinx turned his attention back to the other door, his mind was already awhirl at an offhand
comment of the merchant's. But before he could consider all the implications of the remark, Flinx
was hit with a tsunami of maniacal mental energy that nearly knocked him from the couch. It was
forceful beyond imagining, powerful past anything he had ever felt from a human mind before. It
held screaming images of Conda Challis coming slowly apart, like a toy doll. These visions were
mixed haphazardly with other pictures, and several views of Flinx himself drifted among them.
He winced under that cyclonic wail. Some of the fleeting images were far worse than anything
Challis had tried to create within the jewel. The merchant's mind may have been one of utter
depravity, but the brain behind this mental storm did not stop with anything that petty.
Flinx stared back at the closing door, getting his last view of black eyes set in an angelic face.
In that un- formed body, he knew, dwelt a tormented child. Yet even that revelation did not spark
the same wild excitement in him that Challis' last casual statement bad. "Your maternal line," the
merchant had said.
Flinx knew more about the universe than he did about his real parents. If Challis knew even a
rumor of Flinx's ancestry ... the merchant was going to get his wish for another meeting.
Chapter Two
The door to the tower's central shaft opened as the only other occupant of the room sought escape.
Instead of an empty elevator, he found himself confronted by a figure of gargantuan proportions
that lifted him squealing from the floor and removed the needler. The new arrival quickly rendered
the weapon harmless by crumpling it in a fist that had the force of a mechanical press. Nolly's
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (9 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt
fingers, which happened to be wrapped around the needler, suffered a similar fate, and a single
shriek of pain preceded unconsciousness.
Small Symm ducked to clear the top of the portal, dropping the limp human shape to one side.
Simultaneously a long lean -shape settled easily about Flinx's shoulders, and a single damp point
flickered familiarly at his ear. Reaching back, Flinx scratched under the minidrag's jaw and felt
the long muscular form relax. "Thanks, Pip."
Rising from the chair, he moved around the table- safe and played with the controls on the other
side. Before very long he succeeded in lighting the entire room.
Where Nanger had crashed and stumbled, the expensive furnishings lay broken and twisted. His body,
already growing stiff with venom-inspired death, lay crumpled across one bent chair. The unmoving
form of his companion was slumped to one side of the doorway. A mangled hand oozed blood.
"I was wondering," Flinx informed Symm, "when you'd get here."
"It was difficult," the bartender apologized, his voice echoing up from that bottomless pit of a
chest. "Your pet was impatient, disappearing and then reappearing when I fell behind. How did he
know how to find you?"
Flinx affectionately eyed the now somnolent scaly head. "He smelled my fear. Life-water knows I
was broadcasting it loud enough." He held out manacled wrists. "Can you do something about these?
I have to go after Challis."
Symm glanced at the cuffs, a look of mild surprise on his face. "I never thought revenge was part
of your makeup, Flinx."
Reaching down with a massive thumb and forefinger, Symm carefully pinched one of the narrow con-
fining bands. A moment's pressure caused the metal to snap with an explosive pop. Repeating the
action freed Flinx's other hand.
Looking at his right wrist as he rubbed it with his left hand, Flinx could detect no mark-nothing
to indicate the intense pain that the device had inflicted.
He debated how to respond to his friend's accusation. How could he hope to explain the importance
of Challis' remark to this good-natured hulk? "I think Challis may know something of my real
parents. I can't simply forget about it."
The unaccustomed bitterness of Symm's answer startled him. "What are they to you? What have they
done for you? They have caused you to be treated like chattel, like a piece of property. If not
for the intervention of Mother Mastiff you'd be a personal slave now, perhaps to something like
Challis. Your real parents- you owe them nothing, least of all the satisfaction of showing them
you've survived!"
"I don't know the circumstances of my abandonment, Symm," Flinx finally countered. "I have to find
out. I have to."
The bartender, an orphan himself, shrugged massively. "You're an idealistic misfit, Flinx."
"And you're an even bigger one," the boy shot back, "which is why you're going to help me."
Symm muttered something unintelligible, which might have been a curse. Then again, it might not.
"Where did he get out?"
Plinx indicated the hidden doorway, and Symm walked over to the spot and leaned against the metal
panel experimentally. The hinging collapsed inward with surprising ease. Beyond, they discovered a
short corridor, which led to a small private lift that conveyed them rapidly to the base of the
luxarions tower.
"How did you get in, anyway?" Flinx asked his friend.
Symm Switched. "I told the security people I met that I had an appointments pass, the usual
procedure in an inurb like this."
"Didn't anyone demand to see it?"
Symm didn't crack a smile. "Would you? Only one guard did, and I think he'll be all right if he
gets proper care. Careful now," the giant warned as the lift came to a stop. Crouching to one
side, he sprang out as soon as the door slid open sufficiently to let him pass. But there was no
ambush awaiting them. Instead, they found themselves in a ground-car garage, which showed ample
sign of having been recently vacated.
"Keep your monumental ears open," Flinx advised quietly. "See if you can find out where Challis
has fled. I'm going to work my own sources...."
When they left through the open doorway of the-garage, no one challenged their departure, though
hidden eyes observed it. But those behind the eyes were grateful to see the pair go.
"You're sure they're not still here?" Symm wondered aloud. "Someone could have taken the car as a
diversion."
Flinx replied with the kind of unnerving assurance Symm didn't pretend to understand, but had come
to accept. "No, they're no longer in this vicinity."
The pair parted outside the last encircling wall of the inurb. There was no formality, no shaking
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20...20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt (10 of 89) [1/16/03 6:46:05 PM]
摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%203%20-%20Orphan%20Star.txt***************************************************Author:AlanDeanFosterTitle:ForLoveOfMother-NotOriginalcopyrightyear:1983Genre:ScienceFictionVersion:1.0Dateofe-text:11/28/00Source:Preparedby:Comments:...

展开>> 收起<<
Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 3 - Orphan Star.pdf

共89页,预览18页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：89 页 大小：324.96KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-14

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

高考理综 人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 89
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注