Chitteranx was impressive. Though a small port for a world as populous and developed as Hivehom, it still dwarfed the shuttleport of Drallar.
"The city is mostly underground, of course. All thranx cities are, though the surface is well utilized." The jeweled head shook in puzzlement. "Why you humans have always chosen to build up instead of down is something I'll never comprehend."
Flinx's attention was more engaged by the view through the transparent access corridor than by the standard sights of the shuttle terminal. Lush jungle practically overgrew the plastic walls. It was raining outside—steaming, rather. The heat in the terminal was oppressive, despite the fact that it was a com- promise between the delightful weather outside—as Bisondenbit called it—and the arctic air atop the nearby plateau.
Rain, Flinx had grown up with on Moth, but the humidity was something new and unpleasant. Humans could tolerate a hothouse climate, but not for long without protection, and never comfortably.
Bisondenbit, however, could only grumble about the chill inside the terminal. When Flinx remonstrated, he told him. "This is the principal human port of entry on Hivehom. If we'd landed near the equator, at Daret or Ab-Neub, you'd be wilting, Flinx." He looked around as they emerged from the terminal proper into a cluster of roofed-over commercial buildings.
"Before I have to accompany you up to the plateau, and struggle into a hotsuit, let me enjoy a rational climate for a while. What about a drink?" "I'd really like to start looking for Challis as soon as—"
"The plafeau shuttles run every ten chronits," Bisondenbit insisted. "Do come. Besides, you still haven't told me: What do you keep in that box?" A truhand gestured at the large square, case Flinx lugged with his left hand.
"It must be something exotic and valuable, judging from the care with which you've handled it."
"It's exotic, I suppose," he admitted, "but not particularly valuable."
They found a small eating place just inside the climate-controlled cluster of buildings. Only a few humans were present, though it was crowded with thranx. Flinx was thoroughly enchanted with the thranx resting couches, the subdued lighting which made even midday appear dim, and the ornately carved, communal drinking cannisters suspended from the ceiling above each booth.
Bisondenbit selected an isolated table at the back of the room and made helpful though unnecessary recommendations. Flinx had no trouble deciphering the menu which was printed in four languages: High Thranx, Low Thranx, symbospeech and Terrangio.
Bisondenbit ordered after Flinx opted for one of the several thousand liqueurs which the thranx were masters at concocting.
"When do you want to go back to the terminal to pick up the rest of your luggage?" the insect asked casually, after their drinks arrived. He noted with approval that Plinx disdained a glass in favor of one of the weaving-spouted tankards used by the thranx themselves.
"This is it," Flinx told him, indicating his small shoulder bag and the single large perforated case. Bisondenbit didn't try to conceal his surprise.
"That's all you've brought all this way with you, without knowing how long it will take you to find this human Challis?"
"I've always traveled light," was his companion's explanation. The drink was typically sweet, with a faint flavor of raisin. It went down warm and smooth. The trip, he decided, was beginning to catch up with him. He was more tired than he should be this early in the day. Obviously he wasn't quite the urbane interstellar traveler he pictured himself as.
"Besides, it shouldn't be hard to find Challis. Certainly he'll be staying at his local company headquarters." Flinx let another swallow of the thick, honeylike fluid slide down his throat, then frowned. Despite his age, he considered himself a good judge of intoxicants, but this new brew was apparently more potent than the menu description indicated. He found his vision blurring slightly.
Bisondenbit peered at him solicitously. "Are you all right? If you've never had Sookcha before, it can be a bit overwhelming. Packs quite a concussion?"
"Punch," Flinx corrected thickly.
"Yes, quite a punch. Don't worry ... the feeling will pass quick enough."
But Flinx felt himself growing steadily groggier. "I think ... if I could just get outside. A little fresh air ..." He Started to get up, but discovered his legs responded with indifference while his feet moved as if he were walking on an oiled treadmill. It was impossible to get any traction.
Abandoning the effort, he found that his muscular system was entering a state of anarchy. "That's funny," he murmured, "I can't seem to move."
"No need to be concerned," Bisondenbit assured him, leaning across the table and staring at him with an intensity that was new to Flinx. "I'll see that you're properly taken care of."
As all visual images faded, Flinx feared his strange, new acquaintance would do just that....
Flinx awoke to the harmony of destruction, accompanied by curses uttered in several languages. Blinking —his eyelids felt as if they were lined with platinum —he fought unsuccessfully to move his arms and legs. Failing this, he settled for holding his eyes partially open. Dim light from an unseen source illuminated the little room in which he lay. Spartan furnishings of rough-hewn wood were backed by smooth walls of argent gunite. As his perceptions cleared he discovered that metal bands at his wrists and ankles secured him to a crude wooden platform that was neither bed nor table.
He lay quietly. For one thing, his stomach was performing gymnastics and it would be best to keep the surroundings subdued until the internal histrionics ceased. For another, the sensations and sounds surrounding him indicated it would be unwise to call attention to his new consciousness.
The sounds of destruction were being produced by the methodical dissection of his personal effects. Looking slowly to his right, he saw the shredded remains of his shoulder bag and clothing. These were being inspected by three humans and a single thranx. Recognizing the latter as his former games mentor and would-be friend, Bisondenbit, he damned his own naivete.
Back in Drallar he would never have been so loquacious with a total stranger. But he had been three days isolated and friendless on board ship when the thranx had approached him with his offer of games instruction. Gratitude had shunted aside instinctive caution.
"No weapons, no poison, no beamer, needler—not even a threatening note," complained one of the mea in fluent symbospeech.
"What's worse," one of his companions chipped in, "no money. Nothing but a lousy cardmeter." He held up the compact computer unit which registered and transferred credit in unforgeable fashion, and tossed it disgustedly onto a nearby table. It landed among the rest of Flinx's few possessions. Flinx noted that there was one remaining object they had not yet broken into.
"That's not my fault," Bisondenbit complained, glaring with eyes of shattered prism at the three tall humans. "I didn't promise to deliver any fringe benefits. If you don't think I've earned my fee I'll go straight to Challis himself."
One of the men looked resigned. Taking a double handful of small metal rectangles from one pocket, he handed them to Bisondenbit. The thranx counted them carefully.
The human who had paid him looked over at the restraining bonds, and Flinx closed his eyes just in time. "That's a lot of money. I don't know why Challis is so afraid—this is just a kid. But he thinks it's worth the fee you demanded. Don't understand it, though."
The man indicated the biggest of the three. "Charlie, here, could break him in two with one hand." Turning, he tapped the large sealed case. "What's in this?" "I don't know," the thranx admitted. "He kept it in his cabin all the time."
The third man spoke up. His tone was vaguely contemptuous. "You can all stop worrying about it. I've been examining that container with appropriate instrumentation while the rest of you have been occupying yourselves with a harmless wardrobe." He gave the bag a shove. "There's no indication it contains any- thing mechanical or explosive. Readings indicated that it's full of shaped organics and organic analogs—probably the rest of his clothing." He sighed. "Might as well check it out. We're paid to be thorough." Taking a pair of thick metal clippers from a neat tool case, he snipped through the squat combination lock. That done, the top of the case opened easily. He peered inside, grunted. "Clothes, all right. Looks like another couple of suits and—" He started to remove the first set of clothing—then screamed and, stumbling backward, clawed at the left side of his face, which was suddenly bubbling like hot mud. A narrow, beltlifce shape erupted from the open case.
Bisondenbit chattered something in High Thranx and vanished out the single door. The one called Charlie fell backward across Flinx's pinioned form, his beamer firing wildly at the ceiling as he dug m awful silence at his own eyes. The leader of the little group of humans was close on Bisondenbit's abdomen when something hit him at the back of his neck. Howling, he fell back into the room and started rolling across the floor.
Less than a minute had passed.
Something long and smooth slid onto Flinx's chest.
"Thats enough. Pip," he said to his pet. But the minidrag was beyond persuasion. His inspection over, he took to the air again and began darting and striking at the man on the floor. Gaping holes appeared in the supplicant's clothing and skin wherever the venom struck. Eventually the man stopped rolling.
The first man who had been struck was already dead, while the second lay moaning against a wall behind Flinx. Pieces of skin hung loosely from his cheek and neck; and a flash of white showed where Pip's extremely corrosive poison had exposed the bone.
Meanwhile the minidrag settled gently on Flinx's stomach, slid upward caressingly. The long tongue darted out again and again to touch lips and chin. "The right hand, Pip," Flinx instructed, "my right hand." In the darkness the reptile eyed him questioningly.
Flinx snapped Ms fingers in a special way and now the minidrag half crawled, half fluttered over to the hand in question, rested his head in the open palm. A few scratches and then the hand closed gently but firmly. The snake offered no resistance.
Adjusting his pet with some difficulty, Flinx aligned Pip's snout with the place where the metal band was locked to the table. His fingers moved, massaging various muscles behind the jaw. A few droplets of poison oozed from the tapered tube which ran through the minidrag's lower palate.
There was a sizzling sound
Flinx wafted until the noise died away, then palled hard. A second pull and the rotted metal gave way. Transferring Pip, with greater control now, he repeated the process on his other bindings, the snake doing his bidding through each step.
As he was freeing his left leg, Flinx noticed a movement on his right. So did Pip, and the minidrag took to the air again.
The single survivor shrieked as the dragon shape moved close. "Get away, get away, don't let it near me?" he gibbered in total terror.
"Pip!" Flinx commanded. A hushed pause. The mrinidrag continued to hover nervously before the crouching man, its wings a hummingbird blur, soul- less, cold-blooded eyes staring into those of the bleeding human whose clavicle showed pale through dissolved clothing.
Flinx finally ripped clear of the last strap. Getting slowly to his feet, he made his way carefully to the other table. The clothes he'd been wearing were an unsalvageable mess. He began to slip into the second jumpsuit, in whose folds Pip had been so comfortably coiled.
“I'm sorry for your friends, but not too sorry," he murmured. Zipping up the suit, Flinx turned to the shocked creature on the floor. "Tell me the whole story and don't leave out any details. The more questions I have to ask, the more impatient Pip will get."
A stream of information poured from the man's lips. "Your thranx friend is a small-time criminal."
"Antique services," Flinx muttered. "Very funny. Go on."
"It struck him odd that a kid like you, traveling alone, would be so interested in looking up Conda Challis. On a hunch he beamed Challis' offices here and told them about you. Someone high up got upset as hell and told him to deliver you to us, to be checked out."
"Makes sense," Flinx agreed. "What was supposed to happen to me after I was—er—checked out?"
The man huddled into the comer farthest away from the fluttering minidrag, whispered, "Use your head— what do you think?"
"Challis claimed he was the thorough type," Flinx observed. "I could have been an innocent passenger— it wouldn't have mattered." Repacking his few intact belongings in the hand case, Flinx started for the door that Bisondenbit had exited through only moments before.
"What about me?" the man mumbled. "Are you going to kill me?"
Flinx turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the human wreck who had confidently pawed through his luggage just minutes before. "No. What for? Tell me where I can find Conda Challis. Then I'd advise you to get to a hospital."
"He's on the top floor of the executive pylon at the far end of the complex."
"What complex?" Flinx asked, puzzled.
"That's right—you still don't know where you are, do you?" Flinx shook his head. "This is the fourth sublevel of the Challis Hivehom Mining Components plant. The Challis family's very big in mining machinery.
"Go to the corridor outside the door, turn to your left, and keep on until you reach a row of lifts. They all go to the surface. From there anyone can direct you to the executive pylon—the plant grounds are hexagon-shaped and the pylon's at the northeast corner."
"Thanks," said Flinx. "You've been helpful."
"Not helpful, you poisonous little bastard," the unemployed cripple muttered painfully as soon as Flinx had departed, "just pragmatic." He began to crawl slowly toward the open door.
- In the corridor, once assured that no one waited in ambush, Flinx snapped his fingers again. "Pip ... rest now."
The minidrag hissed agreeably and fluttered down into the open case, burying itself quietly within the folded shreds of torn clothing. Flinx snapped the latch shut. At the first opportunity he would have to replace the ruined lock, or else chance some innocent bystander suffering the same fate as his three former captors.
No one challenged him as he continued on toward the lifts. The numbers alongside the doors were labeled 4-B, 3-B and so on to zero, where the count began again in normal fashion. Four levels above ground and four below, Flinx noted. Zero ought to take him to the surface, and that was the button he pressed when a car finally arrived.
The lift deposited him in an efficiently designed four-story glass antechamber. A steady stream of humans and thranx utilized the lifts around him. "Your pardon," a triad of thranx trilled, as they made their way purposefully into the lift he had just vacated.
Although every eye seemed focused on him, in reality no one was paying him the least attention. No reason they should, he thought, relaxing. Only one man and a few of his minions would be hunting him.
A large desk conveniently labeled Information was set just inside the transparent facade of the vaulted chamber. A single thranx sat behind it. Flinx strolled over, trying to give the impression that he knew exactly what he was about.
"Excuse me," he began, in fluent High Thranx, "can you tell me how to get to the executive pylon from here?"
The elderly, rather officious-looking insect turned to face him. He was painted black and yellow, Flinx noted, and was utterly devoid of the enamel chiton inlay the thranx were so fond of. A pure business type.
"Northeast quadrant," the thranx said sharply, implying that the asker should know better. "You go out the main door there," he continued, pointing with a truhand as a foothand supported his thorax on the table edge, "and turn left down H portal. The pylon is a full twelve floors with carport on top."
“Blessings of the Hive on you,” Flinx said easily. The oldster eyed him sharply.
"Say, what do you want with ...?"
But Flinx had already been swallowed up by the bustling crowd. The officer hunted for him a moment longer, then gave up and went back to his job.
Flinx made rapid progress across the factory grounds. A friendly worker gave him ready directions the one time he found himself lost. When he finally spied the unmistakable shape of the executive pylon, he slowed, suddenly aware that from this point on he had no idea how to proceed.
Challis" reaction to his unexpected appearance was going to be something less than loving. And this time he, if not his underlings, would be prepared to deal with Pip. For all his lethal abilities, the minidrag was far from invulnerable.
Somehow, he was going to have to slip inside the tower and find out where Challis was. Even from here he could sense the powerful emanations of a smaller, darker presence. But he had no guarantee that he would find Mahnahmi and Challis together. Did the girl sense his presence as well? It was a sobering thought.
Deciding to move fast and purposefully, he strode boldly through the tower's main entrance. But this was no factory annex. An efficient-looking thranx with three inlaid chevrons on his b-thorax was there to intercept him—politely, of course.
"Swarm be with your business," the insect murmured. "You will state both it and your name, please."
Flinx was about to answer when a door on one side burst open. A squad of heavily armed thranx gushed out, the leader pointing and shouting: "That's the one—restrain him!"
Reacting swiftly, the officer who had confronted Flinx put a truhand on one arm. Flinx brought his leg up and kicked reluctantly. The armorlike chiton was practically invulnerable—except at the joints, where Flinx's foot struck. The joint cracked audibly and the officer let out an agonized chirp as Flinx broke for the rank of lifts directly ahead.
Jumping inside, he swung clear and .hit the topmost switch, noticing that it was for the eleventh floor. A key was required to reach the twelfth.
Several beamers pierced the lift doors even as the car began its ascent. Fortunately they didn't strike any vital machinery and his ride wasn't slowed, though the three molten-edged holes bored in the door provided plenty of food for thought.
An angry pounding and banging inside the carrybag attracted his attention. Once the latch was popped a furious Pip rocketed out. After a rapid inspection of the lift's interior the minidrag settled nervously around Flinx's right shoulder. It coiled tightly there, muscles tense with excitement.
There was no point in keeping the reptile concealed any longer, since they clearly knew who he was. But who/what had given him away?
Mahnahmi—it had to be! He almost felt as if he could sense a girlish, mocking laughter. Her capacity for mischief remained an unknown quantity. It was possible that her mental talents exceeded his own, both in strength and lack of discipline. Of course, no one would believe that if he had the chance to tell of it. Mahnahmi had her role of goggle-eyed, innocent infant perfected.
The question, though, was whether her malicious- ness was grounded in calculation or merely in a desire for undisciplined destruction. He sensed that she could change from hate to love, each equally intense, at a moment's thought. If only she would realize that he meant her no harm ... then it came to him that she probably did.
He was a source of potential amusement to her, nothing more.
Some simple manipulations sufficed to jimmy the door mechanism. When the car passed the tenth floor he jumped clear, then turned to watch it continue past him. Frantically, he began to hunt around the room that appeared to be a combination of offices and living quarters, probably belonging to one of Challis' principal assistants. Or maybe the plant manager.
If there were no stairways he would be trapped here. He didn't think Challis' bodyguard was so stupid as to allow him to descend and escape.
At least these quarters were deserted. As he considered his situation, a violent explosion sounded above. Looking up, he saw shredded metal and plastic alloy fall smoking back down the lift shaft.
He suddenly realized that there was only one way to deal with Mahnahmi's mischief. Consciously, he fought to blank his mind, to suppress every consideration of subsequent action, every hint of preconception. "The dark cloud which had hovered nearby slowly faded. He could no longer detect Mahnahmi's presence—and she should be equally blind to his whereabouts. There was a chance she, like everyone else, would momentarily think that he had died in the ambush of the lift car.
A quick patrol revealed that these quarters had only one entrance—the single, now useless lift. No other lift opened on this level. That left one way in to the floor above—the roof carport. Gradually his gaze came to rest on the curving window that looked out across the plant and to the Plateau beyond.
Flinx moved to the window, found it opened easily. The side of the pylon was marked with decorative ripples and thranx pebbling. He looked upward, considered one additional possibility.
At least they wouldn't be expecting him anymore.
His mind briefly registered the magnificent panorama of the Mediterran Plateau, dotted with factories and human settlements. In the distance the mist-filled low- lands stretched to the horizon.
The footing on the rippled metal exterior of the building was not as sure as he would have liked, but he would manage. At least he had to climb only one floor. Moving through the apartment-office, he located the bathroom, opened the window there, and started up.
Unless the floor plan upstairs was radically different, he should encounter another bathroom, perhaps larger but hopefully unoccupied, above the one he had just exited from. That would be the best place from which to make an unobtrusive entrance.
Moving hands and feet methodically, he made slow but steady progress upward, never looking back. In Drallar he had climbed greater heights on wet, less certain surfaces—and at a younger age at that. Still, he moved cautiously here.
The absence of Wind was a blessing. In good time he encountered a ledge. There was a window above it. Reaching, he pulled himself up so that he was staring through the transparent pane, and observed with satisfaction that the window was open a few centimeters. Then he noticed the two figures standing at the back of the room. One was fat and sweating, a condition not due to recent exercise. The other was small, blond, and wide-eyed.
Suddenly they saw him.
"Don't let him get m&, Daddy," she said in mock- fright. Opening his mind, Flinx sensed the excitement racing through hers and he felt sick.
"I don't know why you persist in tormenting me," Challis said in confusion, his beamer now focused on Flinx's shoulder. "I didn't hurt you badly. You've turned into something of a pest. Good-bye." His finger started to tighten on the trigger.
Pip was off Flinx's shoulder instantly. Challis saw the snake- move, shifted his aim, and fired. Remembrance of what the minidrag was capable of shook the merchant, and his shot went wild. It struck the wooden molding above the window, missing Pip and Flinx completely. Whatever the molding was made of, it burned with a satisfying fury. In seconds the gap between window and Challis was filled with flame and smoke.
While the smoke chased the merchant from the room and prevented him from getting a clear shot, it also left Flinx pinned outside the window. He started downward as rapidly as he dared, Pip thrumming angrily around his head and looking for something to kill. Flinx doubted he could make the ground safely before Challis got word to the guards below. Slowly he descended past one floor, a second, a third. On the fourth floor down he noticed that the reflective one-way paneling had broken and been repaired with transparent film.
Two sharp kicks enlarged the opening and he jumped through—to find himself confronting a single startled woman:
She screamed.
"Please," he begged, making calming sounds and moving toward her. "Don't do that. I don't mean you any harm."
She screamed again.
Flinx made violent shushing motions with his hands. "Be quiet ... they'll find me."
She continued to scream.
Flinx halted and thought furiously what to do. Someone was bound to hear the noise any second.
Pip solved the immediate problem. He lurched speculatively at the woman. She saw the long, sinuous, quick-moving reptilian form, mouth agape, rushing toward her on broad membranous wings.
She fainted.
That stopped the screaming, but Flinx was still trapped in a now alerted building with next to no prospect of slipping out unseen. His gaze traveled frantically around the room, searching for a large carton to hide in or a weapon or ... anything useful. Eventually his attention returned to the woman. She had fallen awkwardly and he moved to shift her into a more natural resting position. As he propped her up, Flinx noticed a bathroom nearby. His gaze shot back to the girl....
A minute later several heavily armed guards burst into the unlocked room. It seemed to be deserted. They fanned out, made a quick inspection of every possible hiding place. One guard entered the bathroom, noticed feminine legs beneath the privacy shield, and hastily withdrew, apologizing. With his comrades he left and moved on to inspect the next office.
Three offices later it occurred to him that the woman hadn't responded to his apology—not with a thank- you, not with a frosty acknowledgment, not with a curse. Nothing. That struck him as being strange and he mentioned the fact to his superior.
Together they dashed back to the office in question, entered the bathroom. The legs were still in the same position. Cautiously, the officer knocked on the shield, cleared his throat appraisingly. When there was no response, he directed the other two men to stand back and cover the shield exitway, which he then opened from the outside.
The woman was just opening' her eyes. She found herself sitting stark naked on the convenience, staring into the muzzles of two energy weapons held in the steady grip of a pair of resolute-looking, uniformed men.
She fainted again.
By the time the badly shaken woman had been revived once more, Flinx was well clear of the tower. No one had noticed the lithe, short-haired woman leaving the building. Flinx had made excellent use of the cosmetics found in the woman's desk—in Drallar it was useful to have knowledge of abilities others might find absurd or even disreputable. Only one clerk had noticed anything unusual. But he wasn't about to mention to his fellows that the double leather belt encircling the woman's waist had moved independently of her walk.
Finally away from both the tower and the Challis plant, Flinx discarded the woman's clothing and let Pip slip free from around his belly. Disdaining normal transportation channels as too dangerous now, he made his way to the edge of the escarpment.
The two-thousand-meter drop was breathtaking, but he couldn't risk waiting around the Plateau for some of Challis' armed servants to challenge him in the street. Nor did he want to risk awkward questions from the authorities. So he took a deep breath, selected what looked like the least sheer cliff, and began his descent. The basalt was nearly vertical, but crumbling and weathered, so he encountered an. abundance of handholds. Even so, he doubted that Challis would imagine that anyone would consider descending the escarpment by hand and foot.
Flinx came upon some bad places, but the overgrowth of dangling vines and creepers enabled him to bypass these successfully. His arms began to ache, and once, when a foot momentarily became numb, he was left clinging precariously by fingers and one set of toes to tiny cracks in the rock.
At the thousand-meter mark, the cliff started to angle slightly away from him, making climbing much easier. He increased his pace. Finally, bruised, scratched, and utterly exhausted, Flinx reached the jungle at the bottom. Pausing a moment to orient himself, he headed immediately in what he hoped was the direction of the port. He had chosen his place of descent with care, so he didn't have far to go through the dense vegetation.
But he was totally unaware that he was struggling over a region as densely populated as any of Terra's major cities. An entire thranx metropolis lay below him, hewn in traditional fashion, from the earth and rock beneath the sweltering surface. Flinx walked upon a green cloud that hovered over the city.
Totally drained and beginning to wish Challis had shot him, he shoved himself through one more stubborn cluster of bushes ... then stumbled onto the surface of a neatly paved roadway. Two more days, and he had made his way back to Chitteranx Port. Those he met cautiously avoided him. He was quite aware of the sight he must present after his scramble down the cliff wall and his hike through the jungle.
A few thranx did take pity on the poor human, enough to provide him with sufficient food and water to continue on.
The sight of the Port outskirts cheered him immensely. Pip took to the air at Flinx's shout of joy before settling back on his master's shoulder. Flinx glanced up at the minidrag, who looked relaxed and comfortable in the tropical heat so like that of his native world of Alaspin.
"You can afford to look content, spade-face," Flinx addressed his companion enviously. While he had fought his way down the cliff centimeter by centimeter, Pip had fluttered and soared freely nearby, always urging him on faster and faster, when a single misstep could have meant quick death.
The clerk at the overbank counter in the Port terminal was human, but that didn't prevent him from maintaining his composure at the sight of a dirty, ragged youth approaching. A wise man, he had learned early in life a basic dictum: odd appearance may indicate wealth or eccentricity, with the two not necessarily mutually exclusive.
So he treated the ragamuffin as he would have any well-dressed, clearly affluent arrival. "May I be of service, sir?" he inquired politely, unobtrusively turning his head to one side.
Flinx explained his needs. The information he provided was fed to a computer. A short while later the machine insisted that the person standing before the counter—name Flinx, given recorded name Philip Lynx, retina pattern so-and-so, pulse variables such- and-such, heart configuration thus-and-that—was indeed a registered depositor at the King's Bank on Moth, in the city of Drallar, and that his present drawable balance as of this date was ...
The clerk stood a little straighter, fought to face Flinx. "Now then, sir, how did you happen to lose your registered cardmeter?"
"I had an accident," Flinx explained cryptically, "and it fell out of my pocket."
"Yes." The clerk continued to smile. "No need to worry. As you know, only you can utilize a personal cardmeter. We will note the disappearance of your old cardmeter and within the hour you will have a new one waiting at this desk for you."
"I can wait. However," he indicated his clothing with an eloquent sweep of his hands, "I'd like to bay some new clothes, and get cleaned up a little."
"Naturally," the clerk agreed, reaching professionally into a drawer. "K you'll just sign this slip and permit me to register your eyeprint on it, we can advance you. whatever you require."
Flinx applied for a ridiculously modest amount, listened to the clerk's directions as to where he could hire a bath and buy clothing, and left with a grateful handshake.
The jumpsuit he eventually chose was more elaborate than the two Hivehom had already appropriated, but he felt he owed himself a little luxury after what he had been through.
The bath occupied most of the rest of the hour, and when he returned to the overbank desk he once more resembled a human being instead of a denizen of Hivehom's jungles. As promised, his new cardmeter was ready for him.
"Anything else I can do for you, sir?"
"Thanks, you've done more than enough. I ..." He paused, looked to his left. "Excuse me, but I see an old friend."
He left the clerk with an open mouth and a tip of ten percent of his total withdrawal.
The central terminal floor was high-domed and filled with the noise of travelers arriving and departing. The smallish thranx Flinx strode up behind was engaged in activity of a different sort.
"I think you'd better give that lady back her abdomen purse," he whispered to the insectoid lightfinger. As he spoke, a lavishly miaid and chiton-bejeweled thranx matron, her flaking exoskeleton elegantly streaked with silver, turned to stare curiously at him.
At the same time the thranx Flinx had surprised started visibly and whirled to confront his accuser. "Sir, if you think that I have ..." The voice turned to a clacking gargle. Flinx smiled engagingly as Pip stirred on his shoulder.
"Hello. Bisondenbit."
The concept of compound eyes bugging outward was unreasonable from a physiologic standpoint, but that was the impression Flinx received. Bisondenbit's antennae were quivering so violently Flinx thought they might shake free, and the thranx was staring in expectant terror at the lethal length of Pip.
"The abdomen purse," Flinx repeated softly, "and calm down before you crack your braincase."
"Y-ye-yes," Bisondenbit stuttered. Interesting! Flinx had never heard a thranx stutter before. Turning to the old female, Bisondenbit reached into an overly capacious b-thorax pouch and withdrew a small, six- sided bag of woven gold-colored metal.
"You just dropped this. Queen Mother," he muttered reluctantly, using the formalized honorific. "The hooks have come all unbent ... see?"
, The matron was checking her own abdomen with a foothand while reaching for the purse with a truhand.
"I don't understand. I was certain it was secured
..." She broke off, ducked her head and executed a movement with skull and antennae indicative of pro- found thanks, adding verbally, "Your service is much appreciated, warsire."
Flinx flinched when she bestowed the undeserved compliment on Bisondenbit.
That worthy's courteous pose lasted until the matron had passed out of hearing range. Then he turned nervous eyes on Flinx. "I didn't want you killed ... I didn't want anyone killed," he stammered rapidly, "they said nothing to me about a killing. I only was to bring you to ..."
"Settle down," Flinx advised him. "And stop yammermg of death. There are already too many deaths in this."
"Oh, on that I concur," the thranx confessed, the tension leaving him slowly. "None of my doing." Abruptly his attitude changed from one of fear to one of intense curiosity.
"How did you manage to escape the tower and leave the plateau? I am told many were watching for you but none saw you leave."
"I flew down," Flinx said, "after I made myself invisible."
Bisondenbit eyed him uncertainly, started to laugh, stopped, then stared again. "You are a most peculiar fellow, even for a human. I do not know whether to believe you or not." He suddenly looked around the busy terminal, his nervousness returning. "Powerful people around Chaflis want to know your whereabouts. There is talk of a large reward, to be paid without questions. The only clue anyone has as to your escape, however, resides in a woman who is confined to a hospital. She is hysterical still."
"I'm sorry for that," Flinx murmured honestly.
"It is not good for me to be seen with you—you have become a desired commodity."
"It's always nice to be wanted," Flmx replied, blithely ignoring Bisondenbit's fear for his own safety. "By the way, I didn't know that the thranx counted pickpocketing among their talents."
"From a digital standpoint we've always been adroit. Many humans have acquired equally, ah, useful abilities from us."
"I can imagine," Flinx snorted. "I happen to live in a city overstocked with such abilities. But I haven't time to debate the morality of dubious cultural ex- changes. Just tell me where I can find Conda Challis."
Bisondenbit eyed the youth as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra pair of hands. "He almost lolled you. It seems he wants another chance. I can't believe you will continue to seek out such a powerful enemy. I consider myself a fair judge of human types. You do not appear revenge-motivated."
"I'm not," Flinx confessed uneasily, aware that Small Symm had assumed he was following Challis for the same reason. People persisted in ascribing to him motives he didn't possess.
"If not revenge, then what is it you follow him for ... not that it makes me sad to see a beme of Challis' reputation squirm a little, even if it be bad for business."
"Just tell me where he is."
"If you'll tell me why you seek him."
Flinx nudged Pip and the flying snake stirred, yawned to show a sac-backed gullet. "I don't think that's necessary," Flinx said softly, meaningfully. A terrified Bisondenbit threw up truhands and foothands in feeble defense. . .
"Never mind," sighed Flinx, tired of threatening. "If I tell you it might even filter convincingly back to Challis. I just think he holds information on who my real parents are and what happened to them after they ... abandoned me."
"Parents?" Bisondenbit looked quizzical. "I was told you had threatened Challis."
"Not true. He's paranoid because of an incident in our mutual past. He wanted me to do something and I didn't want to do it."
"For that you've killed several people?"
"I haven't killed anyone," Flinx protested unhappily. "Pip has, and then only to defend me."
"Well, the dead are the dead," Bisondenbit observed profoundly. He gazed in disbelief at Flinx. "I did not believe any being, even a human, could be so obsessed with perverse desire. Does it matter more than your life to know who your parents were?"
"We don't have the tradition of a general hive- mother that I could trace myself to and through," Flinx explained. "Yes, it matters that much to me."
The insect shook his double-lobed head. "Then I wish you musical hunting in your mad quest. In another time, another place, I would maybe be your clanmate." Leaning forward, he extended antennae. After a moment's hesitation, Flinx touched his own forehead to the proffered protrusions. He straightened, gave the slight thranx a warning look.
"Try," he said to Bisondenbit, "to keep your truhands to your own thorax."
"I don't know why my activities should concern you, as long as you are not affected," the thranx protested. He was almost happy, now that it appeared Fliax wasn't going to murder him. "Are you going to report me to the authorities?"
"Only for procrastination," Flinx said impatiently. "You still haven't told me where Challis is."
"Send him a tape of your request," the thranx advised.
"Would you believe it?"
Bisondenbit's mandibles clicked. "I understand. You are a strange individual, man-boy."
"You're no incubator yourself, Bisondenbit. Where?"
Shoulder chiton moved to produce a ruffling sound, like cardboard being scraped across a carpet. Bisondenbit spoke with a modicum of pride.
"I'm not one of Chalks' hired grubs—I'll tell yon. You drove him from Moth, it seems; and now you've chased him off Hivehom. The Challis Company's home office is in Terra's capital, and I presume that's where he's fled. No doubt he'll be expecting you, if he hasn't died of fright by now. May you find him before the many-who-pursue find you." He started to leave, then paused curiously.
"Good-bye, Bisondenbit," Flinx said firmly. The thranx started to speak, but spotted the minidrag moving and thought better of it. He walked away, looking back over his shoulder occasionally and muttering to himself, unsatisfied. For his part Flinx felt no guilt in letting the pickpocket go free. It was not for one who had performed his fair share of borderline activities to judge another.
Why wouldn't Challis believe that his purpose in seeking him out was for nothing so useless and primitive as revenge? Challis could understand only his own kind of mind, Flinx decided.
Somehow, he would have to find a way around it.
From Hivehom to the Commonwealth's second capital world of Terra was a considerable journey, even at maximum drive. But eventually Flinx found himself drinking in a view of it from another shuttlecraft port as the little transfer ship dropped free of the freight- liner.
This was the green legend. Terra magnificent, spawning place of mankind, second capital of the Common- wealth and home of the United Church. This was the world where once a primitive primate had suddenly risen to stand on hind feet to be nearer the sky, never dreaming he would one day step beyond it.
And yet, save for the royal blue of the oceans, the globe itself was unremarkable, mostly swirling white clouds and brown splotches of land.
He hadn't known what to expect ... golden spires piercing the cloudtops, perhaps, or formed crags of chromium backing against the seas—all that was at once absurd and sublime. Although he couldn't see it, Terra possessed both in munificent quantities, albeit in forms far more muted than his grandiose visions.
Surely, Flinx thought as the shuttle dropped into the outer atmosphere, the omnipresent emerald of Hivehom was more striking and, for that matter, the lam- bent yellow ring-wings of Moth were more sheerly spectacular.
But somewhere down there his great to the second or third power grandfather had lived and died....