Actually, he realized with a start, there was someone. One someone. Maybe.
Where to go looking? Obviously, the place where they had last seen each other. He hesitated. Was he doing the right thing? The possibility of betrayal was always uppermost in his mind. For many years it had prevented him from seeking to share intimately of himself. But the Teacher was right, he knew. He had gone without confiding in another human being for far longer than was healthy. For better or worse, he had to find a way to unburden himself to someone who would not only listen but also might respond with something deeper and more emotive than machine logic.
Still uncertain he was doing the right thing but unable to decide what else to do—and desperate to do something—he raised his voice to finally supply the Teacher with a destination.
New Riviera was not just a beautiful, accommodating, and pleasant world. In all of mankind’s more than seven hundred years of exploring and spreading itself through the Orion Arm of the galaxy, it was still the best place humans had ever found. Some planets were rated comfortable and others livable. But out of the hundreds that had been catalogued by humans and thranx alike, only “Nur,” as it was often called, was considered even more hospitable than Mother Earth.
It was as if Nature had chosen—in a particularly languid, relaxed, and contented moment—to design a place for human beings to live. Nur was not paradise. It was, for example, home to hostile creatures. Just not very many of them. There were endemic diseases. They just weren’t very serious or common. The planet had seasons, but winter, as humans were used to thinking of it, was confined to the far north and south poles. Thanks to a remarkably stable orbit and axis, weather tended to the consistently tropic or temperate over the majority of the planet’s surface. In the absence of dramatic mountain ranges, rain tended to fall predictably and in moderate amounts except in the extreme tropics, where it served as a welcome diversion.
The bulk of Nur’s indigenous plant and animal life was attractive and harmless. With an abundance of easy-to-catch prey, even the local carnivores were a bit on the lazy side. Imported life-forms tended to thrive in the planet’s exceptionally congenial surroundings. Everything from multiwheats imported from Kansastan to tropical fruits from Humus and Eurmet grew almost without effort.
Instead of vast oceans, the waters of Nur were divided into more than forty seas of varying size. Dotted with welcoming islands and archipelagoes, they made for comfortable sailing and cheap water-based transportation. Thousands of rivers supplied fresh water to tens of thousands of sparkling lakes.
It was not surprising that immigration to New Riviera was among the most tightly controlled in the Commonwealth. True, not everyone wanted to live there. There were those who found it too static, even too civilized. There was no edge to this paradise, and many humans and thranx needed an edge to keep them going. But most of those fortunate enough to be citizens could not conceive of living anywhere else, and those that could so conceive did not want to.
The choice of landing sites was extensive. There was Soothal, in the center of one of the eight northern continents, or Nelaxis, on the sandy shore of the Andrama Sea. The shuttleport outside indolent Tharalaia, near the equator, was said to be bedecked with an astonishing variety of tropical flowers whose rainbow of colors changed naturally every week, while Gaudi was the most famous Nurian center for the arts.
Thanks to the singular modifications and advances integrated into its Caplis generator by the Ulru-Ujurrians, the Teacher could land on a planetary surface without its drive field interacting lethally with the planet’s gravity. Flinx knew it could do so because it had done so—but only on sparsely inhabited or empty worlds. A very few suspected his ship’s unique ability and had been actively trying to confirm it and track him down.
So whenever he visited a populated world, he descended and returned via shuttlecraft, in the conventional fashion. Seeking as always to preserve his anonymity he decided to land and pass through Customs and Immigration at Sphene, renowned as the planet’s center of commerce. Among traders and manufacturers, businessfolk and apprentices, students and machiavels, he was least likely to draw attention. People who were focused on money and its acquisition, he had learned, had little time for those who were not.
It would also be as good a place as any to begin searching for the person he sought. Whether that individual was still on New Riviera he had no way of knowing. It was the last place they had talked. And if the many kudos to the planet that filled space-minus were to be believed, why would anyone leave Nur for somewhere else? Furthermore, preliminary research had already revealed that the one he sought would easily be able to access appropriate employment opportunities on Nur. That seemed as promising a way and place to start as any.
Metropolitan Sphene was large enough to be served by four shuttleports. Only two handled passengers, the other two being reserved for commercial activities. As the sole occupant of a privately owned shuttle, even one originating from so disreputable-looking a craft as the presently camouflaged Teacher, he was directed and guided into the executive landing area. The mild disdain of port control was palpable.
“Use arrival lane four oh three,” the voice declared firmly, “and be certain to comply with all fumigation and decontamination procedures prior to disembarkation.”
Flinx had to smile as the shuttle slowed and its internal AI guided it to the designated parking slot. The Nurians were a famously fastidious lot.
Customs insisted on running a separate scan on Pip, not only to ensure that she was free of diseases and parasites but also to make certain she was not pregnant. New Riviera was entirely too accommodating to imported species to allow anything out into the wild without official approval, where it would like as not reproduce and thrive like mad. With Flinx close by to keep her calm, the irritated flying snake tolerated the process. It helped that the well-trained personnel assigned to perform the necessary procedures were calm and unafraid. They were shielded by their ignorance, Flinx knew.
As soon as the last of the efficient but extensive landing and arrival procedures had been completed, Flinx shouldered his travel satchel and made his way down the succession of access corridors into the main terminal. The first thing that struck him was the unmistakably high degree of general affluence. That, and the general contentment that filled his mind. The majority of emotions that touched him were happy ones. Not all—the port was full of human beings, after all—but most. It was a refreshing change from places like Goldin IV and Earth, where humanity still struggled harder with itself than against anything else.
First he needed to find a place to stay, someplace comfortable but nondescript, preferably in the busiest part of the city where he would attract the least attention. Then access to the planetary box, to begin his search. The kind of search he planned to undertake would probably veer into the illegal, but that had never slowed or stopped him before.
Breathing in the pleasantly warm, just sufficiently humid air of Nur, he lengthened his already considerable stride. So far, the stories that were told of New Riviera had proven to be true. If he did not feel at home, at least he was comfortable.
It had been a while since Flinx the thief had done any thieving. As always, he was looking forward to resuming what had, after all, been the first and only real profession he had ever mastered.
Barkamp Inn, the hotel where he finally settled, was, like everything else on Nur, clean, comfortable, and accommodating. No one questioned the desire of Alpheus Welles to stay for an indeterminate time until he had concluded his business. No one inquired the reasons for his stay. As usual, any curiosity was directed to the new arrival’s unusual pet. Satisfied that it was under the control of its owner, hotel staff flung no further questions in the redheaded Mr. Welles’s direction.
For those living and working in a planetary center of commerce and enterprise, the citizens of Sphene exhibited an air of contentment alien to comparable Terran cities like Brisbane and Lala. Not that the conflict was absent. Th
e usual jealousies and hatreds common to humankind were present in abundance. One could get mad at one’s neighbor, competitor, or spouse as easily here as on any other settled world. It was just harder to stay quite as mad, with the sun beaming down beneficently, the beach so close, and pleasant woods and lakes beckoning at every turn as soon as one left the city behind.
To embark on his search while preserving his anonymity and security, he chose a public access terminal located on the ground floor of a large office building. The structure’s architects had made good use of spun fibers, producing a multistory building in the shape of a favorite local fruit tree. The most exclusive offices, he learned, were housed in the “fruits” that hung from woven composite-and-metal branches. On Nur, whimsy as well as technical competence were the hallmarks of a successful architect. Many of the buildings were designed to reflect more than just a prosaic need to house apartments or offices. His favorite was the one topped by a café that was shaped like a pirouetting local quadruped.
Entering the building, he veered left toward the public terminal station and chose a booth as far from the entrance as possible. A transparent wall provided a view of a street outside. Sticking his ident card into a slot activated the booth. The wall opaqued, shielding him from sight. A privacy bubble snapped silently into place. He could now neither be observed nor heard.
Never leaving anything to chance, he pulled a small device from his service belt that confirmed the security of his present situation. It also assured him that the terminal in front of him was not compromised. He attached two other devices designed to prevent eavesdropping and prove to authorities that he was doing nothing illegal. Finally activating it with a credcard, he proceeded to embark on a legal search.
He found the person he was looking for within a couple of minutes, but since the information given was sparse, he proceeded to dive deep into the box in a scan that quickly became more than slightly illegal. His two devices embedded their systems in the box itself, and prevented the terminal from notifying the relevant authorities that its usage was being unlawfully compromised. Working quickly, Flinx proceeded to acquire as much information as he could.
As it grew steadily more realistic, the prospect of actually seeing the person he sought was generating within him feelings he had not felt in a long time. Along with an unexpected excitement was trepidation. Their final parting had been ambiguous at best. What if his visit were not welcome? What if he were met with hostility instead of the sympathy and understanding he so desperately sought? His nervousness increased in direct proportion to the amount of restricted information he was accessing.
The planetary box provided him with a steady flow of supposedly secure information. He learned that the individual lived in one of Sphene’s outer urbs and worked for a large company called Ulricam. His circumspect info thieving reminded him of his happier, more innocent days as a child on Moth when the most extravagant thing he had strived to steal was a used entertainment cube or a child’s mutating twinkler—and occasionally, when times were hard, food for himself and Mother Mastiff.
As opposed to such tangibles, mere information was less tactile but in many ways more valuable. If he was discovered, he knew that his action in accessing the restricted personal files of a Nurian citizen could land him in the local rehab for a year or more, possibly sentenced to mind adjustment. At the very least it would certainly be enough get him deported without any chance of ever returning. Though cautious as always in his activities, he was not too concerned. He had successfully penetrated far more confidential files than this, most recently from the depths of the Terran box itself, and he had slipped away without being caught.
As he continued to search there was still no indication that his incursion had been detected. What limited information there was on his objective flowed freely and without restriction through the tap he had attached to the terminal. The privacy bubble remained intact around him. With each detail, his excitement grew. He noted with unexpected relief one especial bit of demographics that was not present.
Why should that matter? It didn’t, he tried to tell himself—not very convincingly. Bemused by her master’s atypical confusion, Pip stirred uneasily against his neck and shoulder. Flinx always knew what he wanted—or did he? This emotional turmoil was a bit much for a simple minidrag to cope with.
It did not take long for the search to run dry. Carefully shutting down the terminal, Flinx removed his highly illicit attachments, rose, readied himself for anything that might be waiting, switched off the privacy bubble, and stepped out of the cubicle.
No gendarmes stood outside, weapons drawn, to challenge him. No irate official awaited his appearance prepared to itemize the visitor’s inventory of outrages against public decorum. Privacy bubbles darkened a couple of the other cubicles. Otherwise, all was as it had been. Feeling more cheerful than he had at any time in recent memory, he strolled out of the building in search of public transport to take him back to his hotel.
CHAPTER
5
The flying snake was dozing on its familiar perch, a soft cushion nestled strategically in the office-laboratory’s south-facing window. Bathed in Nur’s nurturing sunshine, the minidrag’s bright colors and muted iridescence formed a wonderful counterpart to the otherwise humdrum devices that filled the room. So motionless was it that a visitor might easily have taken it for some supernally truthful sculpture and not a real, living creature.
It might as well have been a sculpture for all the attention the two technicians paid to it. They were young, attractive, excruciatingly intelligent, and thoroughly preoccupied with their work. In the center of the room they flanked an oversized holo depicting a number of complex organic molecules. Occasionally, one of them looked away from the large central display to check a readout on one of the several drifting heads-ups that followed each of them around the room like so many flat, rectangular, semitransparent dogs.
By voicing commands or moving their control-gloved fingers within the central display, they could adjust the position and mold the depicted molecular structures to suit their liking. Each new alignment was dutifully recorded, analyzed, and subjected to careful comparison with previous constructions. From time to time, a new configuration was entered into the Euremtalis chemical synthesizer on the far side of the room. Within ten minutes a preproduction sample of the combined organic molecules appeared in a small dish. After a final check and dissection, these samples would find their way to Product Testing in another part of the industrial research complex.
All this work by skilled and highly paid technicians was devoted not to preventing hunger on some primitive world, to curing some exotic disease, or even to making life a little easier for the majority of humankind but dedicated to making human females—and occasionally males—appear slightly younger and more attractive to members of the opposite sex. In that respect, though their methods were as different as their results, the efforts of the two techs mirrored the ancient daubers of henna and streakers of plant sap who had preceded them in the same kind of work by eight or nine thousand years.
The techs did not reflect on this irony as they continued with their work. It was doubtful it had ever occurred to them. They were concerned with tomorrow, not with the past. And in tomorrow’s world, rewards came to those who successfully fashioned a new lip sparkle, eye filter, or follicular chromophore.
None of this meant anything to the flying snake. Normally, it spent the day ignoring the efforts of the various techs who shared the lab space. Nor was it unusual for the minidrag to repeatedly shift its position, the better to stretch its longitudinal quick-twitch muscles and soak up still more sun.
So the speed and suddenness with which it abruptly and for no apparent reason raised its iridescent green head was curious indeed.
Immersed in their work, the two techs did not notice the uncharacteristically abrupt gesture. They continued fiddling with their holoed molecules, murmuring to each other in soft, professional voices. Across the room, th
e flying snake had now raised its head some distance off the cushion and, virtually motionless, was staring in the direction of the privacy curtain that veiled the doorway.
At the soft fanlike snap of leathery wings unfurling in a single movement, both techs turned to look curiously. While one appeared uncertain, the other gave voice to concern.
“That’s odd. He usually reacts that way only when I’m threatened.” The minidrag’s master looked carefully around the room.
A loud thrumming sound, the kind an oversized hummingbird might make, suddenly filled the room. The minidrag was airborne. It hovered for a moment, semitranslucent wings converting the sunlight pouring through the window into pale shades of light blue and pink, before taking off like a rocket through the privacy curtain. The flying snake’s master yelled for it to come back. When it didn’t, the tech forgot all about work and hurried to pursue.
“I’ve never had a command ignored before!” The privacy curtain parted for the anxious technician. The other chose to remain behind.
“Better run the thing down before it gets in somebody’s face and gives them a coronary.” The second tech returned to his work. He had no intention of participating in the chase. There was important research to be completed; the highly venomous nonnative arboreal wasn’t his; and, as fond as he was of his colleague, he had never liked the damn thing anyway. Lying there on its window cushion, one slitted eye peeking open sporadically to squint at him, the beast had given the poor tech the willies more than once. Good riddance if it happened to fly out an open window and never return.
Even the confused and concerned emotions the minidrag’s owner was experiencing could not persuade it to change its course. Normally, such robust emotional broadcasting would be more than enough to bring the flying snake back to his master. Not this time. Something else had caught its attention and was holding it despite all the frantic, shouted commands that resounded in its wake off impenetrable hallway walls.
Flinx's Folly Page 6
