Running from the Deity

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” he barked at them wearily. “I can’t do what you want!”

  “Why not?” While he had been addressing the crowd, Storra had climbed a set of wide stairs located at the rear of the platform and now stood to his left, confronting him. “Perhaps to do such things is against the laws of your government. But your government is not here. I’m sure it is a long, long way away, or we would have seen your kind before now, and would know about you.” She gestured with all four sets of gripping flanges. “We helped you. You’ve helped my mate.” She indicated the still guilty-looking Ebbanai, who had remained down on the floor with the rest of the crowd.

  “Help these others.” Both left hands indicated the milling supplicants. “These are poor people, like Ebbanai and myself. Our friends and acquaintances. They have little money. Their afflictions are many. You are great and powerful. How can you withhold your help from them and still call yourself a civilized, compassionate being?”

  Her words were straightforward, but her emotions were more complex, Flinx noted. There was honest entreating, yes, but it was mixed with hints of other feelings. Expectation, and eagerness. Eagerness for what? To see him perform more “miracles”? Or thoughts of turning a situation to personal advantage? Clever female...

  “Please, help my offspring!” An elderly Dwarra, upper legs trembling with age, pushed forward with a blank-faced young adult in tow. The emotions streaming from the senior overflowed with anguish and despair. In contrast, those of the offspring were—sluggish. The native was brain-damaged. Flinx could do nothing for it even if he tried.

  But there were others—others with broken bones and torn muscles, with horrific scars and missing digits—whom he could help. Already adjusted to Dwarran biology, his simple beam-healer could speed curing in many of the cases he saw. Similarly recalibrated, the synthesizer on board the Teacher could turn out basic medicines that could likely cure at least some of the ills that afflicted this crowd of several dozen desperate supplicants.

  The nonmedical questions they continued to bawl loudly and often frantically at him were another matter.

  “Where do the stars go in the day?”

  “The priests say different things,” bellowed another, “but where do we really go when we die?”

  “Why must I mature?” asked a youth whose undeveloped lower limbs seemed hardly sturdy enough to support the angular adolescent alien body.

  “Are there others up there besides your kind?” wondered another elderly petitioner as two pairs of gripping flanges gestured at the roof of the barn.

  “Please, please,” Flinx implored them. “I can’t answer your questions.”

  “Because it’s against your ‘laws,’” Ebbanai suddenly called out from below, sounding resentful, “or because you are so superior to us that you think we won’t understand your answers? My mate and I helped you, and you reward us with your contempt.”

  Flinx’s gaze narrowed. In response to his darkening emotions, Pip began to circle more anxiously overhead. “What about your broken leg, Ebbanai? Did I treat that with contempt?”

  “No. No, you did not,” the net-caster admitted as others in the crowd turned to stare in his direction. “You treated it well, as you would have your own. For that, Storra and I are grateful.” He spread all four forearms. “Will you not share such goodness with a few others? Just those who are here now, and then you can go. To wherever it is in the sky that calls so strongly to you. I ask, we ask, only for the help of one who is greater than ourselves. Is that so much?”

  Once again, Flinx opened himself to the outpouring of emotion before him. These simple folk did not wish him dead, like the Order of Null. They did not seek to use him for their own ends, as had the Meliorare Society. They did not want to arrest him for violating assorted laws, as did the Commonwealth government. Nor were they after the secrets of his Ulru-Ujurrian-built ship. All they wanted was a little care, a little compassion. Help to make a disfiguring scar go away, or for broken bones to knit. Answers to questions that, if they were passed on, none of their brethren were likely to believe anyway.

  He’d already broken the laws against contact with peoples inhabiting a Class IVb world. What did that transgression amount to, anyway? Who promulgated such restrictions, and who decided when and where they should be enforced? These people were unbelievably isolated on one of the few inhabited worlds within the boundaries of the Blight. When he took his leave, they might remain so for another century, or for millennia. For the life of him, he could not see what harm it would do for him to use his skills and resources to help a small handful of forlorn locals. He inhaled deeply.

  “All right,” he told the waiting Storra. “I’ll do it. I’ll try to help those who are here.” The outpouring of gratefulness that rose from the assembled as his translator conveyed his decision threatened to overwhelm him. “But only these. Once I’ve finished with the last of those you’ve brought, I’m leaving.”

  It was only a half-lie. Regardless of how he chose to spend his remaining time on Arrawd, he couldn’t truly leave until the Teacher had finished its repairs. But he could certainly disappear within her bulk, as he had planned to do, isolating himself from these despondent natives as completely as if he were looking down at them from the surface of one of their world’s three moons.

  “Of course.” Storra’s Sensitives were waggling like semaphores. “That is all we ask.”

  Her emotions said otherwise, but it didn’t matter what plans she might be concocting, Flinx knew. He would insist that she and Ebbanai remain at his side, to “help” him with his work. Regardless of how events developed, there was clearly nothing on this backward but developing world that was capable of restraining him any longer than he wished to remain. That much he was sure of.

  Of course, in the course of his complicated and singular life he had frequently been sure of many things, only on more than one occasion to find himself proven quite significantly wrong.

  CHAPTER

  6

  “Visitors from the sky?”

  As far as he was concerned, His August Highborn Pyrrpallinda of Wullsakaa never had any time to rest. There were judgments to be handed down, regulations to be reviewed, proclamations to be promulgated, evildoers to be sentenced, sentences to be commuted, petitions to be heard. Add to that the constant jostling for position and influence at his court, the endless intrigues, the complications posed by developing technologies that could not simply be stayed or supported by simple decree, the physical responsibilities placed on him to produce several potential heirs, and constant worries about the weather. Throw in the always present threat of war with any one of several confrontational neighboring states and the occasional assassination attempt, and circumstances made for anything but a relaxed lifestyle. A ruler who did not pay attention to all these things was liable to find his reign, along with his neck, cut short.

  Other than immortality and invulnerability, neither of which was available to him, the next-best thing someone in his position could have was trusted and true counselors. A judicious and experienced appraiser of others, Pyrrpallinda had over the years managed to gather around him several such invaluable advisors. Most were specialists. Treappyn was not. Knowledgeable in many facets of daily as well as government life, from foreign affairs to the price of chetke fruit in the main marketplace, he was the Highborn’s most trusted associate. That they were nearly the same comparatively young age made Pyrrpallinda even more comfortable with Treappyn. While one was the ruler of Wullsakaa’s government and the other only a glorified employee, their relationship was that of close friends, if not equals. Pyrrpallinda often found himself differing with Treappyn on numerous matters of administration, but even when they argued, he never failed to respect the other Dwarra’s opinion.

  Even when the counselor chose to speak of something as absurd as visitors from the sky.

  “Only one, actually, Highborn. Or two, if one counts the domesticated flying creature that accompani
es it.”

  Treappyn, who was unusually stout for one of his kind, approached the work desk behind which his liege was presently squatting. Holding a stylus in one right gripping flange and another in a left, the Highborn was writing in florid qeslen style, simultaneously from right to left and left to right, with both lines eventually meeting in the middle of the page. It was a skill not everyone could master. Now he paused and set both writing instruments aside, placing them on opposite sides of the desk according to tradition.

  “Very well, then. One or two, it makes no actual difference. Either this is a real thing, or else it is nothing more than a creative rumor spawned by country folk.” The ruler of Wullsakaa placed all eight gripping flanges on the table. “I find myself very much inclined to believe the latter. Visitors from the sky!” To emphasize his disdain, he tilted back his head and peered ceilingward. “The stars are points of light. Nothing more. So say those who sacrifice to assorted gods. Among the scientists with an interest in astronomy, I believe there are some who think the stars may be suns not unlike our own. Suns are clearly too hot to support life. Any fool can see that.”

  Unintimidated as always, Treappyn begged to differ. “Your pardon, Highborn, but many of our younger and brightest academics believe there may be other worlds circling them, much as Arrawd circles a sun of its own. The possibility of life like ours existing there is one that they have often speculated upon.”

  “Proof of which is now alleged to have arrived here. On the largely empty, windblown Pavjadd Peninsula, no less.” The Highborn emitted a discordant whistling grunt. “Such a journey, from one star to another, must demand a ship with a considerable span of sail.”

  Treappyn smiled inwardly. “The mechanism by which the alien arrived has apparently been seen by only one citizen, Highborn, and nothing was said of sails. This vessel is supposedly still there, but has changed its appearance so that none can recognize it.”

  “Sounds like the work of a merchant trying to hide from creditors, not that of an explorer. Am I supposed to mobilize a response based on the outrageous claims of one witness?” Pyrrpallinda glanced at a note on his desk. “A childless net-caster, no less. What more proof is needed? Let us call out the army and sound the nereyodes!”

  Treappyn grunted sympathetically. “While it is true there appears to be only one witness to the alien’s arrival and means of transport, it seems that many others have been the recipients of its largesse.” Raising a pair of forearms, the counselor ticked off the alien’s reported, rumored abilities one by one. “It is said that he—it is self-declared to be male—can heal the sick in both body and mind, cause crops to mature ten times faster than in nature, answer any question on any subject by communicating with some kind of library on his vessel, and change his own appearance as well as that of his craft. He can also leap higher than any Dwarra and is stronger than our most accomplished athletes.”

  The litany of accomplishments left Pyrrpallinda more thoughtful, but no less dubious. “No doubt he can also transmute metals and turn night into day, part the sea and raise the dead. A god has come down to us from the stars. With his pet, of course, and a bagful of tricks. A god should always have a pet, and a bagful of tricks.” Gripping flanges clenched and relaxed. “Pardon me if I remain skeptical.”

  “Sensibly so, Highborn,” Treappyn readily agreed. Knowing the Highborn for the cautious conservative that he was, the counselor had expected nothing less. “However, bearing in mind that a rumor has a will of its own and a tendency to spread like spit, I think it would behoove the all-embracing, wise government of Wullsakaa to swiftly investigate and ascertain the truth or falsity of this one. Before, say, any of our more quarrelsome neighbors have the opportunity to do so.” He leaned over the desk. “On the off chance that there may be some small smidgen of truth to this.”

  Pyrrpallinda had loaded a suitable response and was preparing to fire when they were loudly interrupted.

  “Highborn, Highborn—I have just heard!”

  Srinballa came stumbling into the room as fast as his four forelegs would carry him, his conical skirt and matching shirt swirling around his ribbed, aged form like a red whirlwind. The crimson and gold outerwear was trimmed with the finest lacework and fringe obtainable in the main marketplace, imported all the way from distant Berekkuu. For a sober government counselor, Srinballa always had been something of a dandy. Even as a child, Pyrrpallinda remembered the jokes that had been made at the expense of the senior advisor’s overdeveloped fashion sense. As ruler, the personal affectations of others meant little to him. He was interested only in a counselor’s mind, and what could be wrung from it like a sponge.

  Disregarding the hard-breathing arrival’s evident anxiety, he responded quietly as a tight-mouthed Treappyn stood aside, “And what, good Srinballa, have you just heard?”

  No fool he, the senior counselor swiftly surmised that the Highborn and his youthful friend Treappyn might have possibly been discoursing on just the same subject. Yet having announced himself with such a flurry, he had no choice but to proceed.

  “It concerns the increasing number of these folk stories about some all-powerful being who has fallen from the sky.” Though he was considerably older than either his liege or Treappyn, Srinballa’s words as they emerged from his round mouth were clear and resolute.

  “Highborn, if I may...,” Treappyn began.

  Pyrrpallinda raised a pair of flanges. “You may indeed—in time. Let our elder say what he has come in such a rush to say—as soon as he catches his breath.”

  “I do not have to catch it, Highborn, as it rarely strays from my side.” Srinballa gathered his too-elegant garb about his person and glared at Treappyn. “Surely you do not intend to extend the credibility of the government of Wullsakaa to this preposterous fiction?”

  Pyrrpallinda clicked one tongue against his upper, tightly curved palate and his second against the lower. The sound this generated was heard by his counselors though the appendages that produced it were not seen, being of insufficient length to emerge from his mouth.

  “As always, wise Srinballa, I grant the government’s credibility only where it has already been safely established. I take it by both your words and your tone that you believe there is no substance to these stories?”

  “Substance?” As he came forward, the senior counselor was gesturing animatedly with all eight gripping flanges. “A being who comes from the sky? Who is no taller than the average Dwarra but whose strength is several times that of the most powerful soldier? Who can clear the roof of a small building or a high fence in a single leap? Not to mention heal the incurable, dispense knowledge on any subject, and—most wonderfully of all—perceive the true feelings of another without Sensitives?” His own pair dipped forward sharply to emphasize the impossibility of it all.

  Treappyn was growing mildly agitated. “Why should a previously unknown being not possess such powers, and more? While we know a great deal about ourselves, we know nothing of other worlds and their inhabitants.”

  “What other worlds?” Srinballa challenged his younger colleague. “The night sky shows us only stars. It is not possible that...”

  Pyrrpallinda raised a left and a right flange for silence. “I have no time for an extended argument concerning the extent and limits of our current astronomical knowledge. Awkward situations often find a home in the fertile soil that is rumor, and need to be nipped in the bud. I neither accept nor deny the existence of other worlds and those who might dwell upon them.”

  “Fithwashk,” Srinballa grumbled. “This whole business is nothing more than a story concocted by bored coastal folk to garner some attention. If it gets out that we grant any truth to this nonsense, we will be a laughingstock to our neighbors.”

  “I am already all too aware of the opinion many of our neighbors hold of Wullsakaa.” Pyrrpallinda spread all eight flanges out on the table in front of him. “Since it cannot go much lower, I see no reason why we should not investigate these rumors further.”<
br />
  Treappyn’s Dwarran equivalent of a smirk would not have been identifiable as such to a human, but Srinballa seized on it readily enough. Their respective expressions, however, were immediately reversed by the Highborn’s next remark.

  Pyrrpallinda let out a long, gradual grunt that was more like an extended wheeze. “The things a sovereign has to deal with. Treappyn, I accede to your opinion in this matter. We will authorize a look into it. And since you have been the one to convince me of the necessity of doing so, you are obviously the one to follow through on it.”

  It was the senior Srinballa’s turn to smirk. The Highborn was passing the responsibility on to his youthful counterpart, with the expectation that any derision would subsequently fall upon him and not the government. As for Treappyn, he was visibly taken aback.

  “Highborn, I’m not sure that I...”

  Once again, Pyrrpallinda raised open gripping flanges in a call for silence. “No, no, Treappyn, don’t thank me. Your willingness—indeed, your eagerness—to pursue this matter to a verifiable conclusion is commendable. I bid you gather a small retinue and start as soon as possible for this—what was the name of that nearest village again? No matter. I’m sure you’ll get there and put paid to these absurd rumors before they can spread any farther. As always, the realm owes yet another debt of gratitude to your unbounded initiative.”

  “Surely, it does,” added Srinballa, struggling to conceal his glee.

  Swallowing his unhappiness, Treappyn requested and received permission to remove himself from the presence of the August. “I will commence preparations for departure immediately, Highborn.”

  As soon as he was out of the room, Pyrrpallinda turned to Srinballa. “It will be a lesson for him. Along with his other travel baggage, he will have to carry with him the burden of the credulous.”

  “Young fool.” Srinballa was careful not to gloat overmuch. “The things people will believe. ‘Creatures falling from the sky.’ As if the government did not have enough real problems to deal with.”