Orphan Star

by Alan Dean Foster

  “But the crystal syringe-darts he was carrying . . .” Sylzenzuzex started to remind him.

  “. . . could have been manufactured from flawed Janus jewels themselves,” he told her. “Did you stop to think of that? Wouldn’t it make a marvelous cover?” He turned to look at her. “I don’t think that infiltrator killed himself to keep from being questioned. You can’t break an AAnn. I think the explosion was to destroy what he was carrying—a Janus jewel”

  “But what for?” she wondered. “To bribe someone?”

  “I don’t think so . . . but I’m not sure. Not yet.”

  “As if I cared what happens to the Church,” Rudenuaman added in disgust.

  Sylzenzuzex responded with great dignity, “The Church is all that stands between civilization and barbarism.”

  “Now would the Commonwealth representatives like that, my dear? They appear to consider themselves the guardians of humanx accomplishment.”

  “The Commonwealth stands only because it’s backed by the incorruptible standards of the United Church.”

  “There is someone I’d like to meet,” the merchantwoman quipped, shifting on her couch. “An incorruptible.”

  “Me too,” admitted Flinx.

  Sylzenzuzex spun on him. “Whose side are you on, anyway, Flinx?” The fine hairs rose on the back of her b-thorax.

  “I don’t know,” he replied feelingly. “I haven’t studied all the sides carefully enough yet.”

  “Would you like to see the mine?” Teleen asked suddenly.

  “Very much,” he admitted. Sylzenzuzex looked indifferent, but he could sense her interest.

  “Very well,” the merchantwoman decided, apparently on impulse. “Linda . . .”

  “Groundcar, Madam—and guards?”

  “Just a driver and one other.”

  The squat bodyguard looked uncertain. “Madam, do you think that . . . ?”

  Rudenuaman waved her objections aside. She was in the mood to wipe away the distressing events of the afternoon. Boasting and showing off would be excellent therapy. “You worry too much, Linda. Where can they go? Their shuttle has been stolen, the Baron has taken our craft, and this world grows progressively more inhospitable no matter which way one travels. They’re not about to run away.”

  “Right,” Flinx agreed. “Besides, my companion has an injured limb.”

  “Why should that matter to you?” Sylzenzuzex sneered.

  He turned on her angrily. “Because despite everything that’s happened, and I regret much of it, I do care what happens to you—whether you want to believe it or not!”

  Sylzenzuzex stared at his back as he spun away from her, jamming his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. Security schematics, archeologic chronophysics—all appeared simple alongside this impenetrable young human. It would not have comforted her, perhaps, to know that her opinion of him was shared in varying degrees by the other two women in the room.

  No doubt Flinx would have been easier to understand if he had understood himself. . . .

  Chapter Ten

  The groundcar whined smoothly, well tuned as it was, as it climbed a sloping path covered with a low growth resembling heather. Flinx leaned back and stared through the transparent roof. Just beyond the mine buildings, the mountain became nearly vertical, soaring another 2,500 meters above the lake.

  At the moment neither the incredible scenery, nor their present dim prospects, nor Sylzenzuzex’s occasional whistling moans of pain held his attention. Instead, his mind was on that stolen tape which might contain the early part of his life. And in his mind, the tape was still inextricably linked with Conda Challis, who would run from him no longer.

  Flinx had already seen the sumptuous living quarters/office occupied by Teleen auz Rudenuaman. No doubt Challis possessed a similar if less extensive chamber somewhere in the complex behind them . . . probably in the very same building. Eventually Challis’ rooms would be cleaned out, his effects disposed of so that the space could be put to new uses. But for now it was doubtless sealed and undisturbed—including that tape, so tantalizingly near.

  If this unpredictable young woman could be persuaded to keep them alive awhile yet, he might still have the chance to see what was on that stolen spool. Though if she knew how desperately he wanted it, she might just slowly unwind it in a dish of acid before his eyes.

  It was a measure of her megalomania, or confidence, that she had ordered Challis killed. Someone would have to go to considerable lengths to cover up his disappearance—not that his company subordinates would object. Rudenuaman’s agents should have no trouble locating several survivors who would be eager to take over the reins of power unquestioningly. Besides, Challis’ private activities were of such a nature as to discourage close investigation. A man engaged in such distasteful hobbies could come to any number of sudden, unexpected ends.

  Flinx wondered if the merchant’s mind were still functional enough for him to regret the simple manner of his passing. No doubt he had conceived an eventual demise of grandiose depravity for himself.

  The groundcar came to a halt level with the lowest part of the sheer-sided, gleaming metal buildings. These were constructed on a more or less flat area that had been gouged in the flank of the mountain. Suspended at a higher elevation, a series of square metal arches punctured the rock walls like silvery hypodermics sucking blood from a whale. From within the structure, clear mountain air carried to the arrivals the steady ca-rank, ca-rank of tireless machinery.

  A guard who may or may not have been as human as he looked saluted casually as they entered the structure. “The exterior building we are now in,” Rudenuaman was explaining, “houses all our milling and processing facilities.” She waved constantly as they made their way through the building. “This installation has cost an incredible amount of credit . . . a tiny drop when compared to the profit which we will eventually realize.”

  “I still don’t see why the AAnn need you so badly,” Flinx told her, his eyes taking in everything on the principle that knowledge is freedom. “Particularly since they’re the ones responsible for negating the peaceforcer fortresses.”

  “I thought I’d already made that clear,” she said. “First, the Commonwealth is a far larger market for the gems than the Empire. They have no way to market their share except through a human agent . . . me. But more important, as the Baron explained, this world lies within Commonwealth boundaries. Though comparatively isolated, there are a number of other busy, inhabited Commonwealth planets plus numerous automatic monitoring stations between here and the nearest populated Empire world. AAnn technicians require safe conduct, which Rudenuaman company ships provide.”

  Flinx, thinking suddenly of the Baron’s pursuit of Mahnahmi, asked, “Then there are no Imperial military vessels in this region?”

  Rudenuaman looked surprised at Flinx’s naïveté. “Do you take the Baron for a fool? It would only take the discovery of one such ship and this quadrant of space would be swarming with Commonwealth warships. The Baron,” she informed them smugly, “is far more subtle than the AAnn are normally given credit for.”

  So subtle, Flinx thought with mixed feelings, that he might have outfoxed himself. If he were chasing Mahnahmi in a freighter instead of in a destroyer or frigate, she might elude him after all. Not that he was certain he wanted that precocious talent to escape; but at least a merry chase might prolong the Baron’s absence from Ulru-Ujurr for some time.

  They had to resolve the situation before that happened and the Baron returned. Novelty value or no, Flinx did not think the AAnn aristocrat would tolerate his and Sylzenzuzex’s continued existence. If it came to a confrontation between Flinx and Rudenuaman, she would have him and Sylzenzuzex executed without a thought in order to keep her associate placated.

  Though Rudenuaman might be swayed by flattery and amusement, Flinx had no illusions about his ability to so manipulate the Baron. “Teleen,” he began absently, “have you ever . . .”

  She turned angrily on him, voi
ce chill and expression dark. “Don’t ever call me that or you’ll die a lot quicker than otherwise. You will address me as Madam or Madam Rudenuaman, or the next way you will amuse me is with your noise as I have the skin stripped from your back.”

  “Sorry . . . Madam,” he apologized carefully. “You still insist that the AAnn’s only interest in the Janus jewels is financial?” He was aware of Sylzenzuzex watching him.

  “You continue to bring that up. Yes, of course I do.”

  “Tell me—have you ever seen an AAnn, the Baron, for example, utilize a headset linkage to create particle-plays within one of the crystals?”

  “No.” She didn’t appear to be disturbed by the thought. “This is a mining outpost. There are no hedonists or idlers here.”

  “Do you have a headset link here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Challis . . . I presume he did, also? Colloid plays seemed to have been one of his favorite obsessions.”

  “Yes, though not the only one,” she said, her mouth wrinkling in distaste.

  “What about the Baron? Surely he enjoys the gems?”

  “Baron Riidi WW,” she announced with confidence, “is all business- and military-minded. I have on occasion seen him relaxing at various AAnn recreations, but never with a Janus jewel.”

  “What about the other AAnn of importance and rank here?”

  “No, they’re all fully absorbed in their assignments. Why so curious to know if I’ve ever seen one of the reptiles using a gem?”

  “Because,” Flinx said thoughtfully, “I don’t think they can. I don’t know what the Baron does with the jewels which are consigned for supposed sale within the Empire, but I’m certain they’re not provided for the amusement of wealthy AAnn. Possibly for bribery purposes within the Commonwealth—I haven’t worked that out yet.

  “The AAnn mind is different from that of human or thranx,” he went on. “Not necessarily inferior—probably superior in some ways—but different. I’ve read a little about it, and I don’t believe that their brains produce the proper impulses for operating a Janus jewel linkage. They could scramble the colloidal suspension, but never organize it into anything recognizable.”

  “Really,” Rudenuaman murmured at the conclusion of his little lecture. “What makes you an expert on such matters?”

  “I have big ears,” Flinx replied. Better she continued to consider him a wild guesser than a calculating thinker.

  “All right, suppose they can’t operate the jewels the way we can.” She shrugged indifferently. “The beauty of the gem is still unsurpassed.”

  “That’s so,” he conceded, “but to the point of justifying this kind of risky invasion of Commonwealth territory? I’m damned if I think the AAnn love beauty that much. Somehow those jewels are being used against the Commonwealth, against humanxkind.”

  Rudenuaman didn’t reply, choosing to ignore what she couldn’t refute. They had walked deep into the higher levels of the building. A tall AAnn approached them, his surgical disguise perfect—except now Flinx knew what it concealed and was able to recognize the reptilian beneath.

  “That’s Meevo FFGW,” Rudenuaman informed them, confirming Flinx’s guess. “He is the AAnn second in command and the Baron’s assistant. He’s also an excellent engineer, in charge of the overall mining operation here.” She glared confidently at Flinx. “I’ve thought a little about your accusations, and you know what I’ve decided?” She smiled. “I don’t give a goddamn what the AAnn do to the Commonwealth with their share of the jewels, as long as it doesn’t interfere with my business.”

  “That’s about what I thought you might say.” Sylzenzuzex’s voice carried contempt in a way only the sharply clipped tones of a thranx can. Flinx thought it idiotic to antagonize their mercurial host, but she appeared unperturbed. If anything, she was pleased to see one of her captives so upset.

  “Isn’t it nice to have one’s thoughts confirmed?” She faced the newcomer. “Greetings, Meevo.”

  Flinx used the opportunity to study the reptilian’s makeup in detail. Were a Rudenuaman ship to be stopped by Commonwealth inspectors, he doubted that any casual observer could penetrate the carefully crafted disguise.

  If one knew to look closely, though, the eyes were a dead giveaway. For Meevo FFGW, like the Baron, like all AAnn, had a double eyelid. A blink would reveal the mind behind such eyes as not human.

  “These are the ones who succeeded in passing the adjusted fortresses?” the AAnn lieutenant asked, glancing from Sylzenzuzex to Flinx.

  “Just the two of them, yes,” Rudenuaman told him.

  Meevo appeared amiably curious. “Then why are they still alive?”

  Sylzenzuzex shivered again, this time at the utterly inhumanx indifference in that voice.

  “They keep me amused for now. And when the Baron returns he may have some questions of his own for them. The Baron’s a more efficient interrogator than I. I tend to be impatient.”

  A low reptilian chuckle came from the engineer. “I heard about the child. Most unfortunate, irritating. There is no need to worry, though. The Baron will finish her before she can contact outsiders. His efficiency extends to other areas besides questioning.” He grinned, showing false human teeth set into an elongated false human jaw. At the back of the open mouth Flinx could just make out the gleam of real, far sharper teeth.

  “You find them amusing . . . curious,” the engineer concluded, with a gesture Flinx was unable to interpret. His attitude suggested that casual amusement was as alien to him as bearing living young.

  Curiosity, however, was a trait the AAnn did share with their enemies. Meevo tagged along as Rudenuaman led them through the remainder of the complex.

  “The milling and separation you saw downstairs. Polishing and removal of surface impurities takes place over there.” She indicated a series of doorless chambers from which musical sounds emerged.

  “Are they all AAnn here except you and your bodyguard?” Sylzenzuzex wondered sardonically.

  “Oh, no. We’re about half and half here. There are a surprising number of talented humanx in our loving society for whom the everyday problems of living have proven too much. They’ve been driven by insensitive authority to seek marginally reputable work. Existence overrides any qualms they hold about such intangibles as interspecies loyalty.”

  “I’ll venture none of them ever gets off this world alive.”

  Rudenuaman appeared genuinely surprised. “Ridiculous woman . . . that would be bad for business. Oh, I don’t mean we inspire their loyalty. For most of those who work here that term no longer has meaning, or they wouldn’t be here in the first place. Any of them would gladly sell their knowledge of this illegal installation the moment they were discharged.

  “We employ, with their knowledge and consent, a selective mind-wipe which clears their brains of all memories of their stay here. It leaves them with the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that they’ve undergone a long period of unconsciousness. That and their newly fat bank accounts insure they will not give away our presence here.”

  “Mind-wipe,” a stunned Sylzenzuzex muttered, “is forbidden for use by anyone other than Commonwealth or Church high physicians, and then only in emergency circumstances!”

  Rudenuaman grinned. “You must remember to add that to your report.”

  They entered a large chamber, and the temperature dropped noticeably. “We’ll be going into the main shaft,” she explained, indicating long racks of bulky overclothing hanging nearby. Sylzenzuzex saw that a number of them were designed for thranx.

  “Did you think that your precious cousins were immune to the lure of credit?” Rudenuaman taunted her. “No species has a corner on greed, child.”

  “Don’t call me a child,” Sylzenzuzex countered softly.

  Rudenuaman’s response was not what Flinx expected—the first real laugh they had heard from her. She leaned on her cane, chuckling. Curious workers turned to glance at them as they passed.

  “I’ll call you
dead, if you prefer,” the merchantwoman finally declared. She pointed toward the long rack of overclothing. “Now put one of those on—it’s quite cold inside the mountain.”

  After donning the protective outer garments, they followed her and the AAnn engineer down a wide rectangular avenue. Metal soon gave way to bare rock. Evenly spaced single-span duralloy arches helped support the roof.

  Flinx’s thermal suit was partly open, permitting a small reptilian head to peep out from within, eyes unblinking as it surveyed the chill surroundings. Double rows of brightly glowing light tubes cast a steady radiance throughout the tunnel.

  “This section has already been played out,” Rudenuaman explained. “The jewels lie in a vein running horizontally into the mountain.”

  They slowed.

  “There are several additional subsidiary shafts, running the length of lesser veins. Some run slightly above, others below our present position. I’m told that the gems formed in occasional pockets in the volcanic rock which were once filled with gas. An unusual combination of pressure and heat produced the Janus jewels.

  “The gemstones themselves lie in a different sort of material from the mountain, like diamonds in the kimberlite of Terra and the Bronine rainbow craters which are mined on Evoria. That’s what my engineers tell me, anyhow.”

  Ignoring her possessive reference to him, Meevo made a curt gesture of acknowledgment. “It is so. Similar examples of isolated gem formation lie within the Empire, though nothing so unusual as this.”

  Something tickled Flinx’s brain, and he found himself staring down into the dim recesses of the shaft. “Someone’s coming toward us,” he announced finally.

  Rudenuaman turned to look, commented idly, “Just a few of the natives. They’re primitive types, but intelligent enough to make good menial workers. They have no tools, no civilization, and no language beyond a few grunts and imitated human words. They don’t even wear minimal clothing. Their sole claim to rudimentary intelligence appears to be in the simple modifications they make in their cave-homes—rolling boulders in front to make a smaller entrance, digging deeper into the hillside, and so on. They do the heavy manual work for us, and they’re careful with the jewels they uncover.”