Orphan Star

by Alan Dean Foster

  He lay quietly. For one thing, his stomach was performing gymnastics and it would be best to keep the surroundings subdued until the internal histrionics ceased. For another, the sensations and sounds surrounding him indicated it would be unwise to call attention to his new consciousness.

  The sounds of destruction were being produced by the methodical dissection of his personal effects. Looking slowly to his right, he saw the shredded remains of his shoulder bag and clothing. These were being inspected by three humans and a single thranx. Recognizing the latter as his former games mentor and would-be friend, Bisondenbit, he damned his own naïveté.

  Back in Drallar he would never have been so loquacious with a total stranger. But he had been three days isolated and friendless on board ship when the thranx had approached him with his offer of games instruction. Gratitude had shunted aside instinctive caution.

  “No weapons, no poison, no beamer, needler—not even a threatening note,” complained one of the men in fluent symbospeech.

  “What’s worse,” one of his companions chipped in, “no money. Nothing but a lousy cardmeter.” He held up the compact computer unit which registered and transferred credit in unforgeable fashion, and tossed it disgustedly onto a nearby table. It landed among the rest of Flinx’s few possessions. Flinx noted that there was one remaining object they had not yet broken into.

  “That’s not my fault,” Bisondenbit complained, glaring with eyes of shattered prism at the three tall humans. “I didn’t promise to deliver any fringe benefits. If you don’t think I’ve earned my fee I’ll go straight to Challis himself.”

  One of the men looked resigned. Taking a double handful of small metal rectangles from one pocket, he handed them to Bisondenbit. The thranx counted them carefully.

  The human who had paid him looked over at the restraining bonds, and Flinx closed his eyes just in time. “That’s a lot of money. I don’t know why Challis is so afraid—this is just a kid. But he thinks it’s worth the fee you demanded. Don’t understand it, though.”

  The man indicated the biggest of the three. “Charlie, here, could break him in two with one hand.” Turning, he tapped the large sealed case. “What’s in this?”

  “I don’t know,” the thranx admitted. “He kept it in his cabin all the time.”

  The third man spoke up. His tone was vaguely contemptuous. “You can all stop worrying about it. I’ve been examining that container with appropriate instrumentation while the rest of you have been occupying yourselves with a harmless wardrobe.” He gave the bag a shove. “There’s no indication it contains anything mechanical or explosive. Readings indicated that it’s full of shaped organics and organic analogs—probably the rest of his clothing.” He sighed. “Might as well check it out. We’re paid to be thorough.” Taking a pair of thick metal clippers from a neat tool case, he snipped through the squat combination lock. That done, the top of the case opened easily. He peered inside, grunted. “Clothes, all right. Looks like another couple of suits and—” He started to remove the first set of clothing—then screamed and, stumbling backward, clawed at the left side of his face, which was suddenly bubbling like hot mud. A narrow, beltlike shape erupted from the open case.

  Bisondenbit chattered something in High Thranx and vanished out the single door. The one called Charlie fell backward across Flinx’s pinioned form, his beamer firing wildly at the ceiling as he dug in awful silence at his, own eyes. The leader of the little group of humans was close on Bisondenbit’s abdomen when something hit him at the back of his neck. Howling, he fell back into the room and started rolling across the floor.

  Less than a minute had passed.

  Something long and smooth slid onto Flinx’s chest.

  “That’s enough, Pip,” he said to his pet. But the minidrag was beyond persuasion. His inspection over, he took to the air again and began darting and striking at the man on the floor. Gaping holes appeared in the supplicant’s clothing and skin wherever the venom struck. Eventually the man stopped rolling.

  The first man who had been struck was already dead, while the second lay moaning against a wall behind Flinx. Pieces of skin hung loosely from his cheek and neck; and a flash of white showed where Pip’s extremely corrosive poison had exposed the bone.

  Meanwhile the minidrag settled gently on Flinx’s stomach, slid upward caressingly. The long tongue darted out again and again to touch lips and chin. “The right hand, Pip,” Flinx instructed, “my right hand.” In the darkness the reptile eyed him questioningly.

  Flinx snapped his fingers in a special way and now the minidrag half crawled, half fluttered over to the hand in question, rested his head in the open palm. A few scratches and then the hand closed gently but firmly. The snake offered no resistance.

  Adjusting his pet with some difficulty, Flinx aligned Pip’s snout with the place where the metal band was locked to the table. His fingers moved, massaging various muscles behind the jaw. A few droplets of poison oozed from the tapered tube which ran through the minidrag’s lower palate.

  There was a sizzling sound.

  Flinx waited until the noise died away, then pulled hard. A second pull and the rotted metal gave way. Transferring Pip, with greater control now, he repeated the process on his other bindings, the snake doing his bidding through each step.

  As he was freeing his left leg, Flinx noticed a movement on his right. So did Pip, and the minidrag took to the air again.

  The single survivor shrieked as the dragon shape moved close. “Get away, get away, don’t let it near me!” he gibbered in total terror.

  “Pip!” Flinx commanded. A hushed pause. The minidrag continued to hover nervously before the crouching man, its wings a hummingbird blur, soulless, cold-blooded eyes staring into those of the bleeding human whose clavicle showed pale through dissolved clothing.

  Flinx finally ripped clear of the last strap. Getting slowly to his feet, he made his way carefully to the other table. The clothes he’d been wearing were an unsalvageable mess. He began to slip into the second jumpsuit, in whose folds Pip had been so comfortably coiled.

  “I’m sorry for your friends, but not too sorry,” he murmured. Zipping up the suit, Flinx turned to the shocked creature on the floor. “Tell me the whole story and don’t leave out any details. The more questions I have to ask, the more impatient Pip will get.”

  A stream of information poured from the man’s lips. “Your thranx friend is a small-time criminal.”

  “Antique services,” Flinx muttered. “Very funny. Go on.”

  “It struck him odd that a kid like you, traveling alone, would be so interested in looking up Conda Challis. On a hunch he beamed Challis’ offices here and told them about you. Someone high up got upset as hell and told him to deliver you to us, to be checked out.”

  “Makes sense,” Flinx agreed. “What was supposed to happen to me after I was—er—checked out?”

  The man huddled into the corner farthest away from the fluttering minidrag, whispered, “Use your head—what do you think?”

  “Challis claimed he was the thorough type,” Flinx observed. “I could have been an innocent passenger—it wouldn’t have mattered.” Repacking his few intact belongings in the hand case, Flinx started for the door that Bisondenbit had exited through only moments before.

  “What about me?” the man mumbled. “Are you going to kill me?”

  Flinx turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the human wreck who had confidently pawed through his luggage just minutes before. “No. What for? Tell me where I can find Conda Challis. Then I’d advise you to get to a hospital.”

  “He’s on the top floor of the executive pylon at the far end of the complex.”

  “What complex?” Flinx asked, puzzled.

  “That’s right—you still don’t know where you are, do you?” Flinx shook his head. “This is the fourth sublevel of the Challis Hivehom Mining Components plant. The Challis family’s very big in mining machinery.

  “Go to the corrid
or outside the door, turn to your left, and keep on until you reach a row of lifts. They all go to the surface. From there anyone can direct you to the executive pylon—the plant grounds are hexagon-shaped and the pylon’s at the northeast corner.”

  “Thanks,” said Flinx. “You’ve been helpful.”

  “Not helpful, you poisonous little bastard,” the unemployed cripple muttered painfully as soon as Flinx had departed, “just pragmatic.” He began to crawl slowly toward the open door.

  In the corridor, once assured that no one waited in ambush, Flinx snapped his fingers again. “Pip . . . rest now.”

  The minidrag hissed agreeably and fluttered down into the open case, burying itself quietly within the folded shreds of torn clothing. Flinx snapped the latch shut. At the first opportunity he would have to replace the ruined lock, or else chance some innocent bystander suffering the same fate as his three former captors.

  No one challenged him as he continued on toward the lifts. The numbers alongside the doors were labeled 4-B, 3-B and so on to zero, where the count began again in normal fashion. Four levels above ground and four below, Flinx noted. Zero ought to take him to the surface, and that was the button he pressed when a car finally arrived.

  The lift deposited him in an efficiently designed four-story glass antechamber. A steady stream of humans and thranx utilized the lifts around him. “Your pardon,” a triad of thranx trilled, as they made their way purposefully into the lift he had just vacated.

  Although every eye seemed focused on him, in reality no one was paying him the least attention. No reason they should, he thought, relaxing. Only one man and a few of his minions would be hunting him.

  A large desk conveniently labeled Information was set just inside the transparent facade of the vaulted chamber. A single thranx sat behind it. Flinx strolled over, trying to give the impression that he knew exactly what he was about.

  “Excuse me,” he began, in fluent High Thranx, “can you tell me how to get to the executive pylon from here?”

  The elderly, rather officious-looking insect turned to face him. He was painted black and yellow, Flinx noted, and was utterly devoid of the enamel chiton inlay the thranx were so fond of. A pure business type.

  “Northeast quadrant,” the thranx said sharply, implying that the asker should know better. “You go out the main door there,” he continued, pointing with a truhand as a foothand supported his thorax on the table edge, “and turn left down H portal. The pylon is a full twelve floors with carport on top.”

  “Blessings of the Hive on you,” Flinx said easily. The oldster eyed him sharply.

  “Say, what do you want with . . .?”

  But Flinx had already been swallowed up by the bustling crowd. The officer hunted for him a moment longer, then gave up and went back to his job.

  Flinx made rapid progress across the factory grounds. A friendly worker gave him ready directions the one time he found himself lost. When he finally spied the unmistakable shape of the executive pylon, he slowed, suddenly aware that from this point on he had no idea how to proceed.

  Challis’ reaction to his unexpected appearance was going to be something less than loving. And this time he, if not his underlings, would be prepared to deal with Pip. For all his lethal abilities, the minidrag was far from invulnerable.

  Somehow, he was going to have to slip inside the tower and find out where Challis was. Even from here he could sense the powerful emanations of a smaller, darker presence. But he had no guarantee that he would find Mahnahmi and Challis together. Did the girl sense his presence as well? It was a sobering thought.

  Deciding to move fast and purposefully, he strode boldly through the tower’s main entrance. But this was no factory annex. An efficient-looking thranx with three inlaid chevrons on his b-thorax was there to intercept him—politely, of course.

  “Swarm be with your business,” the insect murmured. “You will state both it and your name, please.”

  Flinx was about to answer when a door on one side burst open. A squad of heavily armed thranx gushed out, the leader pointing and shouting: “That’s the one—restrain him!”

  Reacting swiftly, the officer who had confronted Flinx put a truhand on one arm. Flinx brought his leg up and kicked reluctantly. The armorlike chiton was practically invulnerable—except at the joints, where Flinx’s foot struck. The joint cracked audibly and the officer let out an agonized chirp as Flinx broke for the rank of lifts directly ahead.

  Jumping inside, he swung clear and hit the topmost switch, noticing that it was for the eleventh floor. A key was required to reach the twelfth.

  Several beamers pierced the lift doors even as the car began its ascent. Fortunately they didn’t strike any vital machinery and his ride wasn’t slowed, though the three molten-edged holes bored in the door provided plenty of food for thought.

  An angry pounding and banging inside the carrybag attracted his attention. Once the latch was popped a furious Pip rocketed out. After a rapid inspection of the lift’s interior the minidrag settled nervously around Flinx’s right shoulder. It coiled tightly there, muscles tense with excitement.

  There was no point in keeping the reptile concealed any longer, since they clearly knew who he was. But who/what had given him away?

  Mahnahmi—it had to be! He almost felt as if he could sense a girlish, mocking laughter. Her capacity for mischief remained an unknown quantity. It was possible that her mental talents exceeded his own, both in strength and lack of discipline. Of course, no one would believe that if he had the chance to tell of it. Mahnahmi had her role of goggle-eyed, innocent infant perfected.

  The question, though, was whether her maliciousness was grounded in calculation or merely in a desire for undisciplined destruction. He sensed that she could change from hate to love, each equally intense, at a moment’s thought. If only she would realize that he meant her no harm . . . then it came to him that she probably did.

  He was a source of potential amusement to her, nothing more.

  Some simple manipulations sufficed to jimmy the door mechanism. When the car passed the tenth floor he jumped clear, then turned to watch it continue past him. Frantically, he began to hunt around the room that appeared to be a combination of offices and living quarters, probably belonging to one of Challis’ principal assistants. Or maybe the plant manager.

  If there were no stairways he would be trapped here. He didn’t think Challis’ bodyguard was so stupid as to allow him to descend and escape.

  At least these quarters were deserted. As he considered his situation, a violent explosion sounded above. Looking up, he saw shredded metal and plastic alloy fall smoking back down the lift shaft.

  He suddenly realized that there was only one way to deal with Mahnahmi’s mischief. Consciously, he fought to blank his mind, to suppress every consideration of subsequent action, every hint of preconception. The dark cloud which had hovered nearby slowly faded. He could no longer detect Mahnahmi’s presence—and she should be equally blind to his whereabouts. There was a chance she, like everyone else, would momentarily think that he had died in the ambush of the lift car.

  A quick patrol revealed that these quarters had only one entrance—the single, now useless lift. No other lift opened on this level. That left one way in to the floor above—the roof carport. Gradually his gaze came to rest on the curving window that looked out across the plant and to the Plateau beyond.

  Flinx moved to the window, found it opened easily. The side of the pylon was marked with decorative ripples and thranx pebbling. He looked upward, considered one additional possibility.

  At least they wouldn’t be expecting him anymore.

  His mind briefly registered the magnificent panorama of the Mediterranea Plateau, dotted with factories and human settlements. In the distance the mist-filled lowlands stretched to the horizon.

  The footing on the rippled metal exterior of the building was not as sure as he would have liked, but he would manage. At least he had to climb only one fl
oor. Moving through the apartment-office, he located the bathroom, opened the window there, and started up.

  Unless the floor plan upstairs was radically different, he should encounter another bathroom, perhaps larger but hopefully unoccupied, above the one he had just exited from. That would be the best place from which to make an unobtrusive entrance.

  Moving hands and feet methodically, he made slow but steady progress upward, never looking back. In Drallar he had climbed greater heights on wet, less certain surfaces—and at a younger age at that. Still, he moved cautiously here.

  The absence of wind was a blessing. In good time he encountered a ledge. There was a window above it. Reaching, he pulled himself up so that he was staring through the transparent pane, and observed with satisfaction that the window was open a few centimeters. Then he noticed the two figures standing at the back of the room. One was fat and sweating, a condition not due to recent exercise. The other was small, blond, and wide-eyed.

  Suddenly they saw him.

  “Don’t let him get me, Daddy,” she said in mock-fright. Opening his mind, Flinx sensed the excitement racing through hers and he felt sick.

  “I don’t know why you persist in tormenting me,” Challis said in confusion, his beamer now focused on Flinx’s shoulder. “I didn’t hurt you badly. You’ve turned into something of a pest. Good-bye.” His finger started to tighten on the trigger.

  Pip was off Flinx’s shoulder instantly. Challis saw the snake move, shifted his aim, and fired. Remembrance of what the minidrag was capable of shook the merchant, and his shot went wild. It struck the wooden molding above the window, missing Pip and Flinx completely. Whatever the molding was made of, it burned with a satisfying fury. In seconds the gap between window and Challis was filled with flame and smoke.

  While the smoke chased the merchant from the room and prevented him from getting a clear shot, it also left Flinx pinned outside the window. He started downward as rapidly as he dared, Pip thrumming angrily around his head and looking for something to kill. Flinx doubted he could make the ground safely before Challis got word to the guards below. Slowly he descended past one floor, a second, a third. On the fourth floor down he noticed that the reflective one-way paneling had broken and been repaired with transparent film.