The Tar-aiym Krang

by Alan Dean Foster

  The grid voice clicked off and immediately the rich-grained doors slid back. Man and thranx stepped unbidden into the dark-pile interior. Flinx debated a second whether to follow them or run like hell, but Tse-Mallory decided for him.

  “Don’t stand there gawking, youth. Didn’t you hear it say he wished to see the three of us?”

  Flinx could nowhere detect malignance. He stepped in. The elevator held them all more than comfortably. He’d been in this house before, but if there was one thing he was certain of it was that he was not now being summoned to provide entertainment. And this was not the servants’ entrance he’d used before. The soft fsssh of air as the doors closed sounded explosively loud in his ears.

  They were met at the end of their ride by a tall skeleton of a man dressed in the black and crimson of the Malaika family colors. He said nothing as he conducted them to a room Flinx had not seen before.

  The far end of the room looked open to the sky. Actually it was one of the great crystal proto-porches which made this section of Drallar resemble so well a bejeweled forest. He quivered momentarily as he stepped out onto what appeared to be slick nothingness. The two scientists seemed unaffected. He had been on one of these before, when performing, but it had been opaque. This one was perfectly transparent, with just a hint of rose coloring, all the way to the ground. He looked up and the vertigo passed.

  The furnishings were all in red and black, with here and there an occasional bright color in some imported article or work of art. Incense hung cloyingly in the air. In the distance the sun of Moth had begun to set, diffused by the perpetual thin fog. It got dark early on Moth.

  On one of the numerous big fluffy couches sat two figures. One he immediately recognized: Malaika, The other was smaller, blond, and quite differently formed. The majority of her covering was formed by her waist-length hair.

  The voice that rumbled out of the thick-muscled neck was like a dormant volcano stirring to life. “Je? Our visitors are here. You run along, Sissiph, dear, and make yourself more pretty, ndiyo?”

  He gave her a crushing peck on the cheek and sent her from the room with a resounding swat on the most prominent portion of her anatomy. He’s got a new one, thought Flinx. This one was blonde and a bit more ripely curved than the last. Apparently the trader’s tastes were expanding along with his belly. In truth, though, it showed only slightly as yet.

  “Well! Well,” boomed Malaika. His teeth flashed whitely in the ebony face, sparkling amidst wisps of curly beard. He was up to them and shaking hands in two steps. “Bran Tse-Mallory and the Eint Truzenzuzex Usitawi. The Truzenzuzex?”

  The insect performed another of its slow, graceful bows. “I plead guilty of necessity to the accusation.” Flinx took the time to admire the insect’s abilities. Due to the nature of their physiology the thranx were usually extremely stiff in their movements. To see one bow as did Truzenzuzex was exceptional.

  When the Humanx Commonwealth was in the process of being formed, humans had marveled at the scintillating blue and blue-green iridescence of the thranx body coloring and swooned at the natural perfume they exuded. They had wondered miserably what the thranx would see in their own dun-colored, stinky soft selves. What the thranx had seen was a flexibility coupled with firmness which no thranx could ever hope to match. Soon traveling dance companies from humanoid planets had become among the most popular forms of live entertainment on the thranx colonies and homeworlds.

  But from the thorax up, at least, Truzenzuzex gave the impression of being made of rubber.

  Malaika finished shaking hands with both and then gave Flinx another little surprise. The merchant extended his head and touched nose to antenna with the insect. It was the nearest a human could come to the traditional thranx greeting of intertwining antennae. But then, he reminded himself, a man who did business with as many races as had Malaika would know every gesture as a matter of course . . . and commerce.

  “Sit down, sit down!” he roared in what he undoubtedly thought to be a gentle tone of voice. “What do you think of my little mwenzangu there, eh? Companion,” he added, seeing the puzzlement on their faces. He jerked his head in the direction taken by the departed girl.

  Tse-Mallory said nothing, the twinkle in his eyes being sufficient. Truzenzuzex went further. “If I read current human values aright, I should venture to say that such a proportion of marmoreal flesh to the width of the pelvic region would be viewed as more than usually aesthetic.”

  Malaika roared. “Stars, you are a scientist, sir! Powers of observation, indeed! What can I give you both to drink?”

  “Ginger ale for me, if you have a good year.”

  “Fagh! I do, but ‘pon my word, sir, you’ve mellowed if you’re the same Tse-Mallory I’ve heard tell of. And you, sir?”

  “Would you by any chance have some apricot brandy?”

  “Oh ho! A gourmet, as well as a man of science! I believe we can accommodate you, good philosoph. But it will necessitate a trip to the cellars. I don’t often receive such a discerning guest.” The shadow which had conducted them from the elevator still stood wraithlike at the back of the room. Malaika waved to it. “See to it, Wolf.” The sentinel bowed imperceptibly and shuffled from the room, taking something in the atmosphere with him. More sensitive to it than the others, Flinx was relieved when the man’s presence had gone.

  Now, for the first time, that hearty voice lost some of its bantering tone. “Je? What brings you two here, to Drallar? And so very quietly, too.” He glanced keenly from one imperturbable face to the other, stroking that rich Assyrian beard slowly. “Much as my ego would be flattered, I cannot believe that such a stealthy entrance to our fair city has been effected purely for the pleasure of making my company.” He leaned forward expectantly in a manner that suggested he could smell money at least as well as Mother Mastiff.

  Malaika was not as tall as Tse-Mallory, but he was at least twice as broad and had the build of an over-age wrestler. Shockingly white teeth gleamed in the dusky face which bore the stamp of the kings of ancient Monomotapa and Zimbabwe. Massive, hairy arms protruded from the sleeves of the one-piece semisilk dressing gown he wore casually belted at the waist. Legs to match, as solid looking as a Mothian ironwood tree, thrust out from the pleated folds at the knees. The short, knobby toes on the splayed feet bore a close resemblance to the woody parasites that often infested such growths. At least, they did on one foot. The other, Flinx knew, ended at the knee. Fueled by credits, the prosthetic surgeons had labored their best to make the left match its natural counterpart on the right. The match was not quite perfect.

  The real one, Flinx had learned from a talkative young woman at one of Malaika’s parties, had been lost in the man’s youth. He had been on a fur-gathering expedition to the planet of a minor sun in Draco when his party had been attacked by an ice-lizard. Being rather stupidly caught away from their weapons, they had watched helplessly as the carnivore instinctively sought out the weakest member of their party, the youthful female accountant. Malaika alone had intervened. Lacking a suitable weapon, he had choked the beast to death by the simple expedient of jamming his left leg down its throat. It was the sort of extreme stunt that one wouldn’t expect of the pragmatic merchant. Unfortunately, by the time they could get him to sufficient hospital facilities the limb had been torn and frozen beyond repair.

  “We neither intended nor expected to deceive you, friend Malaika. We happen in fact to be on the trail of something we have good reason to think you would find of value, yes. To us, however, it means much more than a paltry few hundred million credits.”

  Flinx swallowed.

  “But,” Tse-Mallory continued, “our personal resources are limited, and so we are forced, however reluctantly, to seek an outside source of aid. One with an open credit slip and a closed mouth.”

  “And so you’ve wound your way to me. Well, well, well! It seems I’m to be flattered after all. I wouldn’t be truthful if I said I were not. Nonetheless, you must of course prove that what
you wish me to provide credit for is going to be profitable to me . . . in hard credit, not philosophical intangibles . . . your pardon, friends. Tell me more about this thing which is worth much more than a mere few millions of credit.”

  “We assumed that would be your reaction. Any other, to tell the truth, would have made us suspicious. It is one of the reasons why we feel we can deal openly with your type of person.”

  “How comforting to know that you regard me as so obviously predictable,” Malaika said drily. “Do go on.”

  “We could have gone to a government organization. The best are all too often corrupt, despite Church pronouncements. We could have gone to a large philanthropic organization. They are too prone to shock. In the end we decided it would be best to go where the promise of much credit would insure the exclusivity of our enterprise.”

  “And supposing that I do agree to put up the fedha for this venture, what guarantee have you that I will not kill you outright if it proves successful and return with the object of search and two cancelled checks?”

  “Very simple. First, odd as it may sound, we know you to be both reliable and reasonably honest in your business dealings. This has proved among the best of your wares in the past and should again, despite the bloodthirsty image your publicists enjoy presenting to the gullible public. Second, we don’t know what we’re looking for, but we will know it when we find it. And there is an excellent possibility that we will find nothing at all. Or worse, something will be found which will still remain worthless to us because of its incomprehensibility.”

  “Good! Any other thoughts and I would have become suspicious! I become more and more curious. Elucidate for the benefit of my poor, ignorant trader’s mind. Why me, por favor?”

  Truzenzuzex ignored the pun and made the thranx equivalent of a shrug. “Someone was necessary. As already mentioned, your reputation in a business noted for its back-stabbing made my ship-brother select you.” Another revelation, thought Flinx. “And Moth itself is close to our objective . . . in a relative sense only, so it would do you little good and much expense to try to find it on your own. Also, another vessel departing Moth would mean nothing, with its constant Flinx of star travel. Our course would not be suspect from here, whereas elsewhere it might engender unwanted cogitation. Traders, however, often fly peculiar tangents to throw off competitors.”

  At this point the drinks arrived. Conversation was suspended by mutual consent as the debaters sipped at their refreshments. Flinx sampled Tse-Mallory’s mug of ginger ale and found it delicious, if mild. Malaika drained at least half the contents of a huge tankard in one gulp. He rubbed his foamy lips with the sleeve of an immaculate gown, staining it irreparably. Knowing the fabric’s worth in the marketplace, Flinx couldn’t help but wince.

  “I again apologize for my denseness, sirs, but I would have whatever it is the competition is to be thrown off of spelled out to me.” He turned to face Tse-Mallory directly. “And although you are apparently no longer associated with the Church in an official capacity, sociologist, I confess I am curious to know why you did not approach them seeking aid.”

  “My dealings with the United Church, Malaika, have not been overclose for a number of years now. My parting was amicable enough, but there was a certain amount of unavoidable bitterness in certain quarters over my leaving that . . . matters would be complicated, shall we say, should I reveal our knowledge to them at this time. Such would be necessary to secure their aid.”

  “Um. Well, that’s blunt enough. I won’t prod a sore. Maybe we should get on to. . . .” He paused and looked to his right. Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex followed his gaze with their own.

  Flinx shifted his position on the floor uncomfortably. He had managed to hear as much as he had by remaining utterly inconspicuous while in plain sight, an art he had learned from a certain patient and very sneaky old man. Aided by his own odd abilities, it had served him importantly more than once. These three, however, were far more observant than the folk one encountered in the marketplace. He could see clearly that he would have to leave. Why not voluntarily?

  “Uh, sirs, I could do with some . . . if you, honored host, would point me in the direction of a pantry, I will endeavor to make myself instantly and painlessly nonpresent.”

  Malaika chuckled deafeningly. “Astuteness is laudable, youth. So instead of sending you home . . . I could wonder where that might be . . . you go back to the hall, to your right, second door. You should find in there enough nourishment to keep even you busy for a few minutes!”

  Flinx uncurled from his lotus position on the floor and departed in the indicated direction. He felt their eyes and minds on him until he was out of view, at which point the pressure relaxed. Malaika’s conviviality did not fool him. He might already have heard more than would prove healthy. He was intensely interested in the answers to a good many questions that Malaika was now undoubtedly putting to his guests, and entertained thoughts of locating a good listening place at a thin section of wall. However, the death’s head had reappeared and stationed himself by the entrance to the porch-room. The blue eyes had passed over him once, as though he were not worthy of a second glance. Flinx bridled, then sighed. He would have to make do with what he could pick up without visual contact. Might as well enjoy the other opportunity while he had it. He walked on.

  The pantry was all of fantastic. He almost forgot the unusual progression of incidents that had brought him here while he gorged himself and the minidrag on the store of luxuries. He had gotten as far as debating between Terran champagne and pine mint from Barrabas when a short series of extremely odd thoughts drifted across his open mind. He turned and noticed that the door to the room on his right was slightly open. The teasing sub-vocalizations came from beyond there. He did not for a moment doubt that that door should be securely locked. Cautiously, with a quick glance at the kitchen entrance, he made his way over to the door and slid it back another inch.

  The room next to the kitchen was narrow but long. It probably ran the whole length of this radius of the tower. Its function, at least, was unmistakable. It was a bar. With an eye towards locating an even more palatable drink and his curiosity piqued he prepared to enter, only to catch himself quickly.

  The room was already occupied.

  A figure was hunched over by the opposite wall, its head pressed tightly against it. He could make out the outlines of a ventilating grid or something similar on the other side of the head. The face was turned away from him and so hidden. The metal and wood he could see there was thin and light. The voices from the next room sounded clearly to him even from where he stood in the kitchen.

  He eased the door back, as slowly and easily as possible. Apparently totally engrossed in the conversation taking place on the other side of the wall, the figure did not notice his quiet approach. The grid itself could now be seen to be much larger than would be required for ventilating purposes. It looked loose and was probably hinged. Garbage could be passed through it from the other room, and thence shifted to nearby disposal units. He had a hunk of spiced Bice cheese in one hand and a pheasant leg between his teeth. His free hand started down for the stiletto hidden in his boot, then paused. The thoughts of the figure did not have the coldness nor the death-clear logic of the professional spy or assassin. Quite the contrary. Deaf killers were also rare, and this one had still refused cognizance of his presence.

  He made a rapid decision and brought back a foot, delivering a solid blow to the upthrust portion of the unbalanced figure below. It uttered a single screech and shot through the grill into the room beyond. In a split second he had regretfully discarded both pheasant and cheese and rolled through after it, coming up on his feet on the other side. The startled faces of Malaika, Tse-Mallory, and Truzenzuzex were already gazing in astonishment at the scene. The figure stood opposite him, rubbing the injured portion. It cursed him steadily and fluently. He noticed absently as he dodged the fingers which drove for his larynx that the figure was very much that of a woman. It
matched the thoughts he had picked up. Reluctantly he assumed a defensive pose, legs apart, knees slightly bent, arms out and forward. Pip fluttered nervously on his shoulder, the pleated wings unfurling preparatory to the minidrag’s taking flight.

  The woman made another motion as if to attack again, but was frozen by the bellow which came from Malaika’s direction.

  “ATHA!” She turned to face him.

  The big merchant strode over to stand between them. His eyes went from one to the other, finally settling hard on Flinx.

  “Well, kijana? I suggest something profound, and quickly!”

  Flinx tried to keep his voice as even as possible, despite the adrenalin pumping through his system.

  “I was in the pantry and happened to notice the door to the room next to it was open” (never mind why he had noticed it). “Looking in, I saw a figure . . . that figure . . . hunched over next to a grill. The room most certainly ought to have been locked. I assumed that this was not part of your normal method of conducting private business talks and so I decided to force the issue—and the person—into the open, where the air is clearer. I’m sorry if I’ve broken a fetish or taboo of yours.”

  “What!” Then he caught the humor of it and grinned. “Think I’m a weirdie, eh, kijana?”

  “It was a thought, sir.”

  “Adabu! No, you did right, Flinx.” He turned a furious gaze on the girl. She shrank back slightly under that withering visage but the obstinate glare never left her face. Somehow she found the where-withal to look righteous.

  “Goddamn you, girl, double-damn and collapsed drives, I’ve told you about this, before!” He shook his head in exasperation. “Again, kwa ajili ya adabu, for the sake of manners, I forgive it. Get out to the port and check out the shuttle.”

  “It was checked again only last week and nothing was wrong with . . .

  “Agggh!” He raised a hand the size of a ham. “I . . . strongly . . . suggest . . . that you . . .!” She skittered by the descending hand and sped for the exit. The look she sent Flinx on the way out was brief, but hot enough to melt duralloy. Malaika caught his breath and seemed to calm himself somewhat.