A visibly anxious Treappyn scuttled quickly to stay in front of him. Interestingly, the soldiers who had remained with him and several of those who had gone in pursuit of assassins and had now returned shifted their positions accordingly.
What now? Flinx wondered as he halted. Over the years, it had become an all-too-common thought.
“Note that in reference to this invitation I said originally,” the visibly uncomfortable counselor murmured. “Subsequent to that intention, events have occurred that have forced a change not only in the nature of the invitation, but in the reasoning behind it. Urgency and not wishfulness now guide the Highborn’s appeal. It is no longer a question of whether you can come back with me. You must come back with me.”
Hearing this, Ebbanai and Storra tried to edge their way out of the small clearing. If they could just get into the taller vegetation behind them, the net-caster thought worriedly, they could slip away without being noticed. Unfortunately, there were a couple of soldiers standing between them and welcoming obscurity. In the absence of applicable orders, the soldiers blocked the flight of the net-caster and his mate. Like it or not, they were caught up in whatever was to come.
Flinx eyed the counselor, studied the attentive, well-armed soldiers. On his shoulder, Pip shifted as if preparing to take to the sky. Reaching up, he placed a gentling hand on her body between head and wings, indicating that the time for such things was not yet.
“Must?” he repeated. “I’m flattered, I suppose, that your leader wants to see me so badly. Why? Is he, or someone close to him, seriously ill?”
Pleading for the alien’s understanding, Treappyn spread his four forearms wide, forming an interesting X-shaped pattern in the air of the clearing. “There is an illness afoot, yes, but one that afflicts all of Wullsakaa. The realm, may I remind you, that has been your home ever since your arrival on our world.
“Wullsakaa is under attack. Even as we speak, Metrel itself is threatened with siege by the armies of not just one but two long-established rivals: Jebilisk, and Pakktrine Unified. We need your help, venerable visitor from the skies.”
It was not the explanation Flinx had expected. While he was distressed by the news, as he would have been at the announcement of any warfare, it did not change anything.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Treappyn, and I wish you and your people well in their defense of their land, but it still has nothing to do with me—and I’m still leaving. Your internal disputes have nothing to do with me.” He took another step forward.
For a second time, Treappyn and his troops moved to intercept his path. “Your pardon, friend Flinx, but in this instance, they do.”
Now he found himself confused as well as angry. “I don’t follow you, Treappyn.”
Looking thoroughly embarrassed, the counselor forced himself to meet the alien’s unblinking eyes. “Ah-humm—it seems that the Aceribb of Jebilisk and the Kewwyd of Pakktrine, knowing of your presence and your remarkable work among our people, are fearful of what you might do on behalf of Wullsakaa if you decide to move your base of operations from the country to the capital itself. These fears have motivated them to embark upon a ferocious and unannounced pre-emptive action.” Taking a cautious step backward, he added, “So you see, friend Flinx, through no fault of your own, it seems that you are indeed the cause of this current conflict.”
As he stood there, quietly stunned, it came home to Flinx more than ever that the minds who had promulgated those early, silly Commonwealth regulations governing contact with less advanced societies and species might after all have had some small idea of what they were doing, and good reasons for it.
“But I’m not going to Metrel, to help Wullsakaa’s government or for any other reason!” He pointed eastward. “I’m going back to my ship, and by tonight I’ll be so far away from Arrawd that even with their best telescopic instruments your people won’t be able to find me.”
Treappyn was gesturing with the patience of an experienced diplomat. “That is exactly what the despicable diseased servants of Jebilisk and Pakktrine would expect us to say, in order to put an end to their assault. All sides, you see, employ skillful deceit in the service of their goals.”
Then I’ll go to Metrel and tell them myself! Flinx mused angrily. No, wait—he couldn’t do that. It was exactly what Treappyn and his conniving Highborn wanted. Once he was in the city, they would doubtless try to use him to further their own political ends.
He did not know whether he was more appalled or disgusted.
“I’m sorry about all this,” he told the waiting Treappyn firmly. “I can see now that I never should have had any contact with your people. I should have stayed in my ship until it was ready to leave and, failing that, certainly shouldn’t have remained among you to minister to as many of your sick and ill as I did. But I wanted to help—and I was curious.” Not exactly the first time, he reflected, that his curiosity had gotten him into trouble.
“I’m leaving now. I’m more sorry than I can say that in only trying to do good, I seem to have ended up causing so much trouble. You’ll just have to sort it all out among yourselves as best you can.” Treappyn had told him that Wullsakaa and these other two political entities were traditional enemies. That suggested this was not the first time they had gone to war with one another, and probably would not be the last. His presence or absence among them would not change that. He felt a little better. He started forward.
Yet again, Treappyn and his soldiers moved to block the alien’s path. This time, the soldiers seemed to hold their weapons a little more tightly. The business ends of a couple of loaded barbolts were not quite, but almost, aimed in Flinx’s direction. What had started out as uncomfortable was rapidly metamorphosizing into ugly. He’d already shot and killed one native, while Pip had dispatched another. Was he going to be forced to do so again?
“All right,” he told Treappyn. “If you’d rather I travel in the direction of Metrel, so be it.”
The relief on the counselor’s face was immense. Flinx did not add that he would be traveling in the direction of Metrel because that was the general direction of departure the Teacher was going to take from Arrawd. But before he could supervise his vessel’s departure from this world, he had to get to it. Preferably without causing any more deaths among the locals.
“I am more pleased to hear you say that than you can begin to imagine,” Treappyn told him honestly. Turning, he gestured to the commander of troops and barked orders. A riding tethet that had belonged to one of the two fallen soldiers was brought forward and made ready for the visitor.
“As soon as the last of our avenging troops returns from his work, we will start for Metrel.” The counselor was now relaxed and at ease, feeling that he had successfully accomplished the uncertain.
“Your pardon, counselor, friend Flinx.” With Storra following close behind him, Ebbanai approached. “What of us? What are we to do?”
Treappyn glanced at Flinx, who showed no reaction. With a dismissive flick of one left flange, the counselor gestured in the direction of the distant homestead.
“You have no part in this and may return to your home. Unless,” he added, eyeing Ebbanai appraisingly, “your patriotic nature impels you to accompany us, to fight in defense of the city and your country folk.”
The alacrity with which Ebbanai and his mate vanished into the surrounding verdure was something to behold.
Flinx was fiddling with the gear on his survival belt, alternately unfastening and checking one piece of equipment after another. At first Treappyn observed this activity with interest, but when nothing unusual manifested itself as a result, his attention rapidly waned.
“What do you expect me to do when we get to Metrel?” Flinx asked the counselor.
“Your reputation for remarkable deeds is known and feared among our attackers,” Treappyn replied conversationally. “It may be that your presence alone will be enough to halt the assault. Failing that, the Highborn and his counselors presume that you have a
t your disposal the means to repel the invaders, or at least give them pause as to whether or not they should continue their offensive.”
“Reasonable assumptions, on their part,” Flinx agreed. As Treappyn turned to speak with his troop commander, Flinx turned away slightly, just enough so that the counselor did not notice him whispering ever so softly into the most recent piece of equipment he had removed from his belt. After speaking less than two short sentences into the com unit, he returned it to its resting place on his right hip.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
“How would you go about discouraging the forces of Jebilisk and Pakktrine?” a curious Treappyn inquired, turning away from his commander of troops and back to the alien. “Could you perhaps start a great fire? Or cause large stones to be dropped on advancing soldiers?” His tone indicated that nothing would please him more than to witness exactly such a demonstration.
War, Flinx mused. With him as the cause. If he got away from this world in one piece, he vowed, he would never intrude on the affairs of less advanced species ever again. Stones and fire. That was the ultimate in weaponry the otherwise good-natured Treappyn could envision. Meanwhile, as soon as he departed Arrawd’s system, Flinx’s obligations required that he resume searching for a single ancient weapon capable of destroying entire worlds. Who rested more comfortably at night? he reflected. “Advanced” species such as his own and the thranx who were aware of the existence of such terrible devices, or species like the Dwarra who dwelled in ignorance of them?
His thoughts were distracted by a soft, distant humming. As he stood listening, it grew at once louder and more familiar. Blinking at the unfamiliar sound, it was clear that Treappyn heard it, too. So did the soldiers.
Responding to his terse, whispered emergency request, the Teacher had dispatched the skimmer with haste. The sleek, compact vehicle came in low and fast over the waving crests of the tallest growths. As contemporary surface transport went, it was a comparatively quiet machine. The Wullsakaan soldiers, however, had never heard or seen anything like it. It was not large, but in any case it was not the skimmer’s size that impressed them. On a world where the most advanced form of aerial transport consisted of hesitant experiments with gas-filled balloons, the sight of something the size of a large freight wagon humming along with no visible means of support or propulsion several body lengths above the ground smacked more of magic than science, exactly as ancient human philosophers had predicted.
With the attention of his friend-captors momentarily distracted by its arrival, Flinx bolted for the oncoming, descending vehicle, utilizing the lesser gravity to cover the rapidly shrinking space between them in long, graceful, bounds. Pip stayed above him, providing cover where none was needed, as he pulled the small com unit from his belt and began to direct the transport.
Treappyn was torn. He liked the alien. It was clear to him now that Flinx was not going to come back to Metrel City voluntarily. But the counselor had his orders. And much as he would have liked to have traveled among and seen the other worlds the alien insisted populated the night sky, Flinx was not the person to whom Treappyn ultimately had to report. He raised his right forearms.
“Bring him down! But aim for the legs—the Highborn needs him alive!”
Galvanized out of the momentary trance into which the appearance of the skimmer had placed them, soldiers raised their weapons. Lances and swords could not reach the retreating alien, but barbolts could. Mechanisms were cocked, crude ranging devices aligned, and half a dozen short, sharp metal bolts were soon cutting through the air between the sharpshooters and their fleeing target.
At Flinx’s command, the skimmer had already commenced a sharp descent surfaceward. The bolts struck its alloy frame and canopy and shattered or fell to the ground. They did not so much as scratch the vehicle’s transparent passenger compartment.
Treappyn was already huffing and puffing his way toward his own mount. “Arise, servants of the Highborn! Arise, and give chase!” The admonition sounded futile even to his own ears, but he knew that in the aftermath of this vital, failed mission his actions would be judged, and he had no intention of being found wanting. Besides, there was always the chance some mechanical fault would befall the alien’s craft, leading to an opportunity to once again remand him into their safekeeping.
Around him, the other soldiers were swinging themselves up into the saddles of their riding tethets, urging them in the direction of the skimmer. It floated before them, not far away at all, hovering just above the ground as its master and his pet entered the upper, glass-like compartment.
Flinx saw them coming as he settled into the familiar, comforting surrounds of the skimmer’s pilot’s seat. They were brave, these soldiers of Wullsakaa. He admired Treappyn’s hopeless persistence even as he made arrangements to put the counselor’s visage behind him forever. Having spent time in the company of a few bureaucrats, both human and otherwise, he was familiar with the pressures under which they functioned. If given the opportunity, could he even explain why he had to go? What would someone like Treappyn, or for that matter his much-exalted Highborn, make of news that some unknown and unidentified force was coming out of their night sky and threatening not just their country, but their whole world, and every star and world they could see in the sky? Such a thing would be beyond their comprehension. They would be convinced he was making it up. Existence would be so much simpler if only he were.
Over open ground, the riding tethets were much faster than he expected. Indifferent to proceedings now that her master’s mind was at ease, Pip had settled herself down on the narrow console and gone to sleep. With a sigh, Flinx muttered a command to the skimmer. If the Wullsakaan riders came too close, they might injure themselves on the skimmer, or unknowingly impact on its repulsion field.
The pulsepopper mounted on the front of the skimmer was not large. It did not have to be. The small globe of fiery plasma it discharged in response to Flinx’s command caused several of the terrified tethets to halt abruptly enough to dislodge their riders. Despite their multiplicity of limbs, the animals did not rise up in fear. Instead, they slumped down, not unlike a squatting Dwarra, and simply refused to move.
When the plasma ball struck the ground, there was no explosion. Instead, a noise like a deep-throated whoosh filled the air. There was a bright flash that caused Treappyn’s eyes to contract sharply in their sockets. When he could expand them enough to focus again, he saw that a hole several times deeper than himself and considerably wider had appeared in the earth between his mount and the alien machine. The sides of the cavity were smooth and glassy, like the panes of fine glass that were installed on the better manors and commercial buildings in Metrel. The bottom of the hole was curved. Everything that had once occupied that space—soil, small crawling things, plants—had disappeared. The smell of burning things was strong in his nostril.
He did not have to call a formal halt to the pursuit.
To their credit, several of his troops retained enough of their wits to load their barbolts and fire repeatedly at the rapidly disappearing alien craft. Like their predecessors, those bolts that reached it glanced harmless off its sides. What must it be like, Treappyn thought as he watched the skimmer recede eastward, to have access to that kind of technology? One such machine could sow panic among Wullsakaa’s enemies without even having to utilize its magical—no, not magical, he corrected himself—weapon. Such a wish would remain nothing more than that. The alien had declared his intention to leave Arrawd. It was now abundantly clear that nothing on Arrawd was capable of preventing him from doing so.
Even saving the alien’s life had not been sufficient to persuade him to stay and render assistance. Although, as he watched the skimmer fade from view, Treappyn was not entirely sure that Flinx’s life had ever been really in danger. What he did know was that he had failed in his mission.
Siryst, he thought resolutely to himself as he started to bring his still-trembling mount around. He had done his best.
The troops who had accompanied him would be witnesses to the fact, and would back him up on it. What could lances and barbolts do against technology that commanded small pieces of sun? It would be a long, joyless ride back to Metrel district, and then they would have to be careful to avoid outriding patrols of the enemy on their way back to the fortress. Wullsakaa would have to face the combined forces of Jebilisk and Pakktrine Unified alone.
The Highborn’s great gamble had failed.
CHAPTER
13
The sea of foliage beneath the skimmer gradually gave way to intermittent blotches of green interspersed with the first patches of sand, and then to the lightly vegetated dunes that marked the eastern coast of the Pavjadd Peninsula. Now back in familiar surroundings and completely safe, Flinx allowed himself to relax and examine from above the countryside through which he had previously traveled only on foot.
From the skimmer, he could see the coast approaching. It looked little different from seacoasts he had seen on other Earth-type worlds. Only the lack of real trees prevented the view from being one that might have suggested a landscape on Moth, or New Riviera, or Terra itself. Of Dwarran habitation there was no sign. This low, he could not see any of the inland towns. Looking back the way he had come, he found that he had already traveled too far to the east to locate the rural homestead of his Dwarran hosts, the net-caster Ebbanai and the weaver Storra.
One more interlude in a life that already seemed overfull of them. One more world to add to his catalog of the visited and explored. One more visitation that, inevitably, ended up leaving him with more questions than answers. It didn’t matter. He had done the best he could, and now he was going.
There was no one in the vicinity of his ship when the skimmer started down. As it neared a group of high dunes fronting the coast, an opening appeared at the base of one sandy hill. Lights gleamed within. Less than a minute later, the skimmer slipped into its docking receptacle as neatly as Clarity Held’s graceful foot into a waiting slipper.
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