Sliding Scales

by Alan Dean Foster

  He wracked his brain for a way to accelerate the process of search and discovery. His efforts as he plowed grimly through the endless reports that drifted above his desk spawned a substantial headache, but no insight.

  The last thing he expected to find was a diversion.

  It was not marked urgent, or pressing, or deserving of any more than passing attention. Had he not been so preoccupied, with half his mind trying to focus on his work while the other half sought a means of delaying Keliichu's wrath, he might have skipped over it entirely. But the division of mental labor slowed him down somewhat.

  Hissing a sharp, startled command, he froze the specific report in place. It hovered before him, the information floating in the air. As he leaned toward it, it automatically drew back to remain in focus.

  It made no sense. Ordinarily, he would have dismissed it out of hand, had he even bothered to read it. For one thing, it bore no particular relation to his specific mission. In that respect it was remarkable that it had even found its way into the endless file of suspect data that he was obliged to peruse. In fact, he would have ignored the body of the report save for the fact that it contained a pair of integrated images. That he recognized them immediately was not surprising. That they existed at all was mind-numbing.

  The report had been filed by one of his unit's operatives who had actually been off duty at the time. Nevertheless, though engaged in a period of relaxation, the operative had remained mindful of the task to which she was normally assigned. Something she had encountered in the course of her traveling had piqued her interest. She evidently thought it might also pique that of the unit's commander. She was right.

  Of the two images incorporated into the report, one had been taken from a distance while the other showed its subject in close-up. The first was a view of several figures dressed in idiosyncratic costumes strolling together among some admirable landscaping and simple, low buildings. All of the figures except one were AAnn. The close-up showed the questionable figure engaged in conversation with a shorter, female nye. Takuuna rotated the images carefully, examining them from all sides. There was no mistaking the identity of the non-nye.

  His designated human spy was still alive.

  That was crazy. Takuuna had killed the softskin himself, had seen him fall over the cliff face of Saudaunn Chasm and plunge to his death.

  No, the administrator corrected himself cautiously. He had seen the softskin go over and, scrambling to look down into the canyon, had subsequently failed to catch sight of the human. He had not actually seen him plummet to his death. Clearly, something had caught and stopped him before he had taken the fatal plunge, because he looked none the worse for what should have been a fatal experience.

  But if he had survived, and made his way to civilized surroundings, why had he not reported in, much less leveled some kind of accusation against the aggressive Takuuna? It made no sense. The administrator enlarged the accompanying words.

  According to the information provided to the wandering but resourceful underling, the human had little memory of who he was, where he had come from, or what he was doing on Jast. Takuuna allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. If the softskin was suffering from loss of memory—as seemed to be the case—there was no guarantee it would never return to him. However, if it did, the softskin would be in a position to make things very uncomfortable for a certain rising secondary administrator. Furthermore, the human seemed to have been taken in, if not outright adopted, by the Tier of Ssaiinn.

  What in the proscribed nomenclature of all the Twelve Deaths was the Tier of Ssaiinn? Some speedy research produced the required explanation. Takuuna almost laughed aloud as he read. A misbegotten lot of wacky creative types who had isolated themselves on a plateau in search of peace, quiet, and artistic enlightenment. That much, at least, did make sense. Who else among the AAnn would take in a softskin and care for it, instead of eating him outright?

  Just to be sure, he checked the pair of visuals against the immigration record in the files. They were a perfect match. The one who had called himself Flinx had returned from the depths and the dead. But if the report was to be believed, the human remembered next to nothing of what had happened to him. Doubtless he did not recollect the sharp blow from Takuuna's tail that had contributed to his present mental state. Takuuna did not intend to give the death-defying softskin a chance to remember.

  He would have preferred to ignore the situation. But he could not. Should the human's memory return, he might take the story of how he had come to strike his head with the walls of Saudaunn Chasm to Imperial Administration. While they would not have much sympathy for an itinerant softskin, they would have even less for one of their own suspected of treachery. And filing the kind of false report that he had turned in concerning the encounter would hurt even more. There was always the small but potentially sobering possibility that the unit commander's superiors would believe it.

  That possibility could not be allowed to eventuate. The best way to ensure that Keliichu and the others did not have the opportunity to hear the softskin's story was to make certain it could never be told. Rising from his desk, he instructed it on how to deal with the rest of the day's queries and conversations, and what kind of excuses to make for his absence. As for himself, Takuuna VBXLLW was in such a hurry to take care of the unfinished business that he rushed off without even confirming his appointment for the evening's mating clash.

  All was silent within the KK-drive ship Teacher. Automatics recycled the atmosphere and kept clean the water in the vacant relaxation chamber's decorative pond and waterfall. Artificial gravity prevented the normal shedding of the chamber's plants from flying off to clog the various ducts and intakes.

  The relaxation chamber was the only place on the ship where there was any kind of movement or organic life. Unneeded elsewhere, the lights in the corridors and rooms, the shuttle bay and pilot's bridge, remained dark. But there were decorative plants in the chamber, and they needed light as well as air and moisture. Occasionally, unobserved, a few branches belonging to certain particularly exotic specimens twisted or coiled in silence, an occasional tentacle-like root went exploring. But for the most part, the lounge was as quiescent as the rest of the vessel.

  When a certain predesignated period of time had passed, previously inactive circuits engaged. New programming was triggered. This notified the ship that its owner should by now have issued a command or two in person, and that he had not done so. Given this specified lack of communication, it was determined that certain consequences should ensue.

  Dormant instruments became active. In the absence of command input, programming took over. One of these involved a certain level of concern. Already anxious about the emotional stability of its owner, the Teacher was now forced to contemplate the fact that it had not had any contact with him in too long a time.

  Inquiries were broadcast. They were not answered. Signals were sought. They were not found. In its memory, the ship possessed, among other identifying features, the complete genome of one Philip Lynx as well as that of his pet Alaspinian minidrag. As an extensive long-range scan for such biological factors was not feasible, other tracing methods would have to be employed. One of these involved placing demands on other memories, organic as well as mechanical. The Teacher had been trained to carry out such inquiries in a clandestine manner.

  Dropping orbit closer to the planetary surface beneath it, the ship began surreptitiously querying the storage facilities of both the resident and guest sentient species. There was more material to examine than even a very smart person could have scrutinized in many lifetimes. The Teacher was able to remote-view the information rather more rapidly than any organic intelligence, however. Millions, billions of bits of information were stealthily scanned, analyzed, and discarded. This lack of success did not frustrate the ship. Frustration was not a fault to which its programming was susceptive. It simply continued to search.

  Flinx had landed on Jast. Therefore, though his physical condi
tion could not at present be properly ascertained, it was most likely that Flinx was still on Jast. It was just a matter of finding him.

  The search continued, unremarked upon by any bystanders—save perhaps in their own unique, unfathomable way, a certain small portion of the decorative flora that filled the ship's relaxation chamber with unusually perceptive greenery.

  12

  The twosome of troopers who were accompanying Takuuna frequently argued among themselves. While it was flattering to be asked to accompany the head of the anti-insurgency unit, he had acquired a reputation for being easily aggravated, and for subsequently taking out his exasperation on those unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity. On the other hand, both knew that a successful mission could result in the granting of favors, or even promotion within the corps. As the latter was certainly not to be gained by patrolling office buildings or sifting through endless reports devoid of anything consequential, there was a certain amount of competition among the lower ranks for what were regarded as potentially plum assignments.

  That did not keep them from squabbling among themselves or wondering what they were doing so far from the nearest AAnn outpost. Piloting the aircar across the plateau, they found themselves racing farther and farther away from Skokosas and any center of civilization— Vssey as well as AAnn.

  While the troopers bickered quietly among themselves, Secondary Administrator Takuuna sat in the back of the aircar and brooded, only occasionally deigning to speak. Not that the troopers expected him to provide entertaining conversation, but it would at the very least have been nice to know where they were headed and what was going to be expected of them when they got there.

  Finally, Yerelka could stand it no longer. Ignoring her confederate's cautioning gestures, she swiveled around in her codriver's chair and hissed politely but firmly in the direction of their supervisor and passenger.

  “Mosst honored unit leader, while we at all times resspect the need for official ssecrecy, it sstrikes my companion and me (Trooper Craaxu tried to bury his head in the control console) that we cannot be expected to be very effective in carrying out a mission whosse purposse is forever kept from uss.”

  Outside, native vegetation sped past beneath and alongside the aircar. Takuuna sniffed, his tail switching once from left to right as a sign that he had heard. Craaxu held his breath.

  “A not unreassonable request,” Takuuna replied considerately. A relieved Craaxu inhaled. “We are going to make an arresst, of a dangerouss anti-Imperial activisst.”

  “One of the murdererss.” Yerelka's impatience promptly gave way to excitement.

  “Not precissely,” Takuuna was quick to explain. “While not being directly ressponssible for the deathss of sso many of our fellow nye, it iss believed that thiss individual hass contributed to the general unresst that hass insspired other localss to carry out ssuch desspicable actss.”

  “Jusst as bad.” Craaxu caressed instrumentation as the aircar's autopilot sought clarification of an indeterminate landmark. “One who perssuadess another to pull a trigger iss jusst as guilty as if he had fired the weapon himsself.”

  Takuuna smiled inwardly. “I knew, of coursse, that you would both ssee it that way. There iss no other way to ssee it.”

  Yerelka continued to confront the administrator. “It iss difficult to believe that anything could rousse thesse creaturess to ssuch violent action. The one we sseek musst be a very active Vssey indeed.”

  Rising from his seat, the administrator moved forward to position himself behind and between the troopers. Beyond the transparent dome of the aircar, the countryside had become familiar. Recent unpleasant memories returned to him, unbidden and insistent.

  “The individual we sseek iss not a Vssey, but a human.”

  “A ssoftsskin!” Craaxu looked back sharply, eyes wide, both eyelids retracted, nostrils flared. “There iss a ssoftsskin on Jasst, agitating the Vssey?”

  Takuuna gestured third-degree confirmation. “Why sshould you find that ssurprissing?”

  “It iss jusst,” the trooper hesitated, unsure, “I did not know there were any repressentativess of the Commonwealth government on Jasst.”

  “We do not know that thiss individual directly repressentss hiss government. Only that he iss a troublemaker who hass been ssowing uncertainty and disscontent among the Vssey.” The administrator hissed softly. “When we get him back to Sskokossass, we will find out who ssponssorss him.”

  “Truly.” Trooper Yerelka had grown dark. “I had friendss in Morotuuver. Perhapss I might be permitted to offer my sservicess in aid of the official interrogation?”

  “All thingss are possible,” Takuuna replied paternally. He would have no trouble with these two, he saw. Whether he would with the eccentric talents among whom his quarry was sheltering, that still remained to be seen.

  As the aircar banked gently to the northeast, he knew that the commendably eager trooper would not be given the opportunity to help in questioning the prisoner. Because the prisoner might decide, during interrogation or even before, to tell his side of a story involving a certain administrator, a canyon, and a near-fatal confrontation. That could not be allowed to happen.

  As before, the softskin would “resist.” And when he did so this time, Takuuna reflected grimly, no one would be left wondering as to the nature of his fate.

  For an isolated experiment in living and working on a non-Imperial world, the compound that was home to the Tier of Ssaiinn proved to be greater in extent than he expected. As hints of more and more semi-subterranean structures manifested themselves beside the decelerating aircar, the administrator was impressed in spite of himself. He had come expecting to find a bunch of addled artisans scribbling abstract designs in the sand while scrabbling for food among the native fauna. What he found instead was a sophisticated, modern multiplex that, save for its alien surroundings, would not have been out of place on any developed Imperial world.

  That was all to the good, truly. It meant he would be able to put his claws on the softskin Flinx all the more quickly.

  Having called ahead to announce his coming, he was not surprised when the arriving aircar was met as it touched down at the designated arrival site. The female who greeted him was austerely clad in the favored style of her Tier. An additional bonus, Takuuna thought as he let his eyes rove over her from tail-tip to shimmering snout. If she was as talented as she was lissome, she would make a fine candidate for mating with a future noble like himself.

  Throats were exposed, claws retracted as she acknowledged the arrivals. “I am Chraluuc. I will bring you to the Ssemilionn. They are curiouss as to your purposse in coming.”

  Takuuna fell into step beside her as the two troopers brought up the rear. Off toward the east, a large flock of moulops drifted steadily southward, their massed peeping a distant, high-pitched din. Looking like ballooning teeth, several more maneuverable gholomps ranged outside the flock, searching for stragglers. The active predators dared not dip into the flock itself. The moulops' effective defensive strategy consisted of surrounding an attacker with their bodies and slowly enveloping it with strands of mucus until the shrouded attacker, impossibly weighed down and unable to clean itself, fell harmlessly to earth. But stragglers outside the flock were easy prey. The gholomps dipped and rose, biding their time.

  Takuuna made a gesture indicative of third-degree bemusement. “Why sshould they be curiouss? I communicated my intent more than an hour ago.” He moved closer to the female. In response, she edged ostentatiously away, preserving the minimum formal distance between them. Oh well, bissank, he thought. Perhaps he had moved too soon. There was plenty of time before he needed to depart.

  “Possibly they require clarification.” She was polite, but reserved. A few well-placed tail slaps would loosen her up, the administrator decided.

  “Clarification?” As they entered the nearest structure, he simultaneously hissed and gestured amusement. “I come sseeking an illegal human renegade. I sshould think that ssuffici
ently sstraightforward as to brook little in the way of confussion.” Descending a gentle ramp, they turned into a wide, skylit corridor. As they walked, the two troopers murmured among themselves, admiring the spectacular swirls and colors of the elegant skylights.

  “You will have to assk that of the Ssemilionn. I am only a member of the Tier, not one of itss honored Elders.”

  “Truly yess. Your Tier.” He studied her quite beautiful face; the arch of eye, the shine of scale, the fine, white, sharp teeth that could equally well nibble playfully as shear through bone. “How do you find it, living out here in the emptiness of an alien world whosse backwardss inhabitantss are ssometimess openly unfriendly to nye?”

  “Being an artisst, I thrive in issolation.” Her sandaled feet slap-slapped rhythmically on the decorated pavement underfoot. “We have no conflict with the Vssey, as few of them pass thiss way. What ssuppliess we need we bring in as required from Bouibouw, the nearesst town. The Vssey there, at leasst, are ussed to uss and give uss no trouble.”

  Takuuna hissed mild condescension. “At leasst they undersstand commerce.” Changing tack, he asked abruptly, “The illicit ssoftsskin I sseek: have you sseen him?”

  “Yess, I have sseen him. And talked with him.”

  Takuuna repressed his excitement. “I know that he sspeakss the civilized tongue remarkably well. What do you sspeak of?”

  “Art, naturally,” she replied. “Many things. As much as he can manage, ssince he came to uss devoid of memory.”

  The administrator kept his tone carefully neutral. “Devoid of memory, you ssay?”

  “Truly. He wass found near here and near death. When he recovered, he wass without memory of himsself. It iss returning to him, but very sslowly.”

  “Remarkable. Hass he mentioned how he came to be in the sstate in which he wass found?”