For Love Of Mother Not

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Because he may be dangerous.”

  Yes, they are quite mad, this lot. Mother Mastiff mused. Her boy, Flinx, dangerous? Nonsense! He was a sensitive boy, true; he could sometimes know what others were feeling, but only rarely, and hardly at all when he most wished to do so. And maybe he could push the emotions of others a tiny bit. But dangerous? The danger was to him, from these offworld fools and madmen.

  “Also,” the little Oriental continued, “we have to proceed very carefully because we cannot risk further harm to the Society. Our numbers have already been drastically reduced, partly by our too-hasty attempt to regain control of one subject child a number of years ago. We cannot risk making the same mistake with this Number Twelve. Most of our colleagues have been killed, imprisoned, or selectively mindwiped.”

  Mother Mastiff’s sense of concern doubled at that al- most indifferent admission. She didn’t understand all the woman’s chatter about genetic alterations and improving mankind, but she understood mindwiping, all right. A criminal had to be found guilty of some especially heinous crime to be condemned to that treatment, which took away forever a section of his memories, of his life, of his very self, and left him to wander for the rest of his days tormented by a dark, empty gap in his mind.

  “You leave him alone!” she shouted, surprised at the violence of her reaction. Had she become so attached to the boy? Most of the time she regarded him as a nuisance inflicted on her by an unkind fate-didn’t she?

  “Don’t you hurt him!” She was on her feet and pounding with both fists on the shoulders of the woman called Nyassa-lee.

  Though white-haired and no youngster, Nyassa-lee was a good deal younger and stronger than Mother Mastiff. She took the older woman’s wrists and gently pushed her back down into the chair.

  “Now, we’re not going to hurt him. Didn’t I just explain his importance to us? Would we want to damage someone like that? Of course not. It’s clear how fond you’ve be- come of your charge. In our own way, we’re equally fond of him.”

  What soulless people these are. Mother Mastiff thought as she slumped helplessly in her chair. What dead, distant shadows of human beings.

  “I promise you that we will not try to force the boy to do anything against his will, nor will we harm him in any way.”

  “What do ye mean to do with him, then?”

  “We need to guide his future maturation,” the woman explained, “to ensure that whatever abilities he possesses are developed to their utmost. It’s highly unlikely he can do this without proper instruction and training, which is why his abilities have not manifested themselves fully so far. Experience, however, has shown us that when the children reach puberty, they are no longer willing to accept such training and manipulation. We therefore have to guide him without his being aware of it.”

  “How can ye do this without his knowing what is being done to him?”

  “By manipulating him through a third party whose suggestions and directions he will accept freely,” the woman said. “That is where you become important.”

  “So ye wish for me to make him do certain things, to alter his life so that your experiment can be proven a success?”

  “That’s correct,” Nyassa-lee said. “All this must be carried out in such a way that he cannot suspect he is being guided by an outside force.” She gestured toward the far end of the room, past transparent doors sealing off a self- contained operating theater. In the dim blue and green light of the instrument readouts, the sterile theater gleamed softly.

  “We cannot allow the possibility of interference or misdirection to hamper our efforts, nor can we risk exposure to the Commonwealth agencies which continue to hound us. It is vital that our instructions be carried out quickly and efficiently. Therefore, it will be necessary for us to place certain small devices in your brain, to ensure your complete compliance with our directives.”

  “Like hell,” Mother Mastiff snapped. “I’ve spent a hundred years filling up this head of mine. I know where everything is stored. I don’t want somebody else messing around up there.” She did not add, as she glanced surreptitiously toward the operating room, that she had never been under the knife or the laser and that she had a deathly fear of being cut.

  “Look,” she went on desperately, “I’ll be glad to help ye. I’ll tell the boy anything ye wish, have him study any- thing ye want and avoid whatever matters ye wish him to avoid. But leave my poor old head alone. Wouldn’t I be much more the help to ye if I did what ye require voluntarily instead of like some altered pet?”

  Brora folded his hands on the table and regarded her emotionlessly. “That would certainly be true. However, there are factors which unfortunately mitigate against this.

  “First, there are mental activities you will be required to carry out which involve complex processes you are not conversant with but which can be stimulated via direct implants. Second, there is no guarantee that at some future time you would not become discouraged or rebellious and tell the subject what you know. That could be a catastrophe for the experiment. Third, though you may direct the boy with surface willingness, his abilities may enable him to see your inner distress and know that something is amiss, whereas I do not think he can detect the implants themselves, as they are wholly mechanical. Lastly, I think you are lying when you say you would be willing to help us.”

  “But I don’t want an operation!” she cried, pounding at the arms of the chair with her fists. “I tell you ‘tis not necessary! I’ll do anything ye ask of me if you’ll but leave the boy alone and instruct me. Why should I lie to ye? You’ve said yourself that he’s not my true child, only an adopted one. I’ll be glad to help ye, particularly,” she added with a sly smile, “if there be any money involved.”

  But the man Brora was shaking his head. “You lie forcefully, but not forcefully enough, old woman. We’ve spent most of our lives having to cope with traitors in our midst. We can’t afford another one. I’m sorry.” His attention was drawn to the main entrance and to the two men who’d just entered. He nodded toward Mother Mastiff.

  “Restrain her. She knows enough now to do something foolish to herself.”

  One of the new arrivals held Mother Mastiff’s right arm and glanced back toward Brora. “Anesthetic, sir?” “No, not yet.” Mother Mastiff stared at the horrid little man and shuddered as he spoke quietly to the black woman. “What do you think, Haithness?”

  She examined Mother Mastiff. “Tomorrow is soon enough. I’m tired. Better to begin fresh. We’ll all need to be alert.”

  Brora nodded in agreement, leaving the two younger men to bind the raving Mother Mastiff.

  Later that evening, over dinner, Nyassa-lee said to Haithness, “The woman’s advanced age still gives me concern.”

  “She’s not that old,” the taller woman said, spooning down something artificial but nourishing. “With care, she has another twenty years of good health to look forward to.”

  “I know, but she hasn’t the reserves of a woman of fifty anymore, either. It’s just as well we haven’t told her how complex tomorrow’s operation is or explained that her mind will be permanently altered.”

  Haithness nodded agreement. “There’s hardly any need to upset her any more than she already is. Your excessive concern for her welfare surprises me.”

  Nyassa-lee picked at her food and did not comment, but Haithness refused to let the matter drop.

  “How many of our friends have perished at the hands of the government? How many have been mindwiped? It’s true that if this old woman dies, we lose an important element in the experiment, but not necessarily a final one. We’ve all agreed that implanting her is the best way to proceed.”

  “I’m not arguing that,” Nyassa-lee said, “only reminding you that we should be prepared for failure.”

  Brora leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was not hungry; he was too excited by the prospects raised by the operation.

  “We will not fail, Nyassa-lee. This is the best chance we’ve had i
n years to gain control over a really promising Subject. We won’t fail.” He looked over at Haithness. “I checked the implants before dinner.”

  “Again?”

  “Nothing else to do. I couldn’t stand just Waiting around. The circuitry is complete, cryogenic enervation constant. I anticipate no trouble in making the synaptic connections.” He glanced toward Nyassa-lee. “The woman’s age notwithstanding.

  “As to the part of the old woman that will unavoidably be lost due to the operation”-he shrugged-“I’ve studied the matter in depth and see no way around it. Not that there seems a great deal worth preserving. She’s an ignorant primitive. If anything, the implants and resulting excisions will result in an improved being.”

  “Her strongest virtues appear to be cantankerousness and obstinacy,” Haithness agreed, “coupled to an appalling ignorance of life outside her immediate community.”

  ‘Typical speciman,” Brora said. “Ironic that such a low example should be the key not only to our greatest success but our eventual vindication.”

  Nyassa-lee pushed away her food. Her colleague’s conversation was upsetting to her. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Reasonably early, I should think,” Haithness murmured. “It will be the best time for the old woman, and better for us not to linger over philosophy and speculation.”

  Brora was startled at the latter implication. “Surely you don’t expect the boy to show up?”

  “You’d best stop thinking of him as a boy.”

  “He barely qualifies as a young adult.”

  “Barely is sufficient. Though he’s demonstrated nothing in the way of unexpected talent so far, his persistent pursuit of his adopted mother is indication enough to me that he possesses a sharp mind in addition to Talent.” She smiled thinly at Nyassa-lee. “You see, my dear, though I do not share your proclivity to panic in this case, I do respect and value your opinion.”

  “So you are expecting him?”

  “No, I’m not,” Haithness insisted, “but it would be awkward if by some miracle he were to show up here prior to the operation’s successful completion. Once that is accomplished, we’ll naturally want to make contact with him through his mother. When he finds her unharmed and seemingly untouched, he will relax into our control.”

  “But what if he does show up prior to our returning the old woman to Drallar?”

  “Don’t worry,” Haithness said. “I have the standard story prepared, and our personnel here have been well coached in the pertinent details.”

  “You think he’d accept that tale?” Nyassa-lee asked. “That hoary old business of us being an altruistic society of physicians dedicated to helping the old and enfeebled against the indifference of government medical facilities?”

  “It’s true that we’ve utilized the story in various guises before, but it will be new to the subject,” Haithness reminded her colleague. “Besides, as Brora says, he barely qualifies as an adult, and his background does not suggest sophistication. I think he’ll believe us, especially when we restore his mother to him. That should be enough to satisfy him. The operation will, of course, be rendered cosmetically undetectable.”

  “I do better work on a full night’s sleep.” Brora abruptly pushed back from the table. “Especially prior to a hard day’s work.”

  They all rose and started toward their quarters, Brora contemplating the operation near at hand, Haithness the chances for success, and only Nyassa-lee the last look in Mother Mastiff’s eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  They had to be close to their destination because their quarry had been motionless for more than an hour. That’s when the pain hit Flinx; sharp, hot, and unexpected as al- ways. He winced and shut his eyes tight while Pip stirred nervously on its master’s shoulder.

  Alarmed, Lauren turned hurriedly to her young companion. “What is it? What’s wrong, Flinx?”

  “Close. We’re very close.”

  “I can tell that by looking at the tracker,” she said.

  “It’s her, it’s Mother Mastiff.”

  “She’s hurt?” Already Lauren was dropping the skimmer into the woods. The minidrag writhed on Flinx’s shoulder, hunting for an unseen enemy.

  “She’s-she’s not hurting,” Flinx mumbled. “She’s- there’s worry in her, and fear. Someone’s planning to do something terrible to her. She fears for me, too, I think. But I can’t understand-1 don’t know what or wh-“

  He blinked. Pip ceased his convulsions. “It’s gone. Damn it, it’s gone.” He kicked at the console in frustration. “Gone and I can’t make it come back.”

  “I thought-“

  He interrupted her; his expression was one of resignation. “I have no control over the Talent. No control at all. These feelings hit me when I least expect them, and never, it seems, when I want them to. Sometimes I can’t even locate the source. But this time it was Mother Mastiff. I’m sure of it.”

  “How can you tell that?” Lauren banked the skimmer to port, dodging a massive emergent.

  “Because I know how her mind feels.”

  Lauren threw him an uncertain look, then decided there was no point in trying to comprehend something beyond her ken.

  The skimmer slowed to a crawl and quickly settled down among the concealing trees on a comparatively dry knoll. After cutting the power, Lauren moved to the rear of the cabin and began assembling packs and equipment. The night was deep around them, and the sounds of nocturnal forest dwellers began to seep into the skimmer.

  “We have to hurry,” Flinx said anxiously. He was al- ready unsnapping the door latches. “They’re going to hurt her soon!”

  “Hold it!” Lauren said sharply. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to her. More important, you don’t know when.”

  “Soon!” he insisted. The door popped open and slid back into the transparent outer wall. He stared out into the forest in the direction he knew they must take even though he hadn’t checked their location on the tracking screen.

  “I promise that well get to her as fast as is feasible,” Lauren assured him as she slipped the sling of the dart rifle over her shoulder, “but we won’t do her or ourselves any good at all if we go charging blindly in on those people, whoever they are. Remember, they carried paralysis weapons on their vehicles. They may have more lethal weapons here. They’re not going to sit idly by while you march in and demand the return of the woman they’ve gone to a helluva lot of trouble to haul across a continent. We’ll get her back, Flinx, just as quickly as we can, but recklessness won’t help us. Surely you know that. You’re a city boy.”

  He winced at the “boy,” but otherwise had to agree with her. With considerable effort he kept himself from dashing blindly into the black forest. Instead, he forced himself to the back of the skimmer and checked out the contents of the backpack she had assembled for him. “Don’t I get a gun, too?”

  “A fishing lodge isn’t an armory, you know.” She patted the rifle butt. “This is about all we keep around in the way of a portable weapon. Besides, I seem to recall you putting away an opponent bigger than yourself using only your own equipment.”

  Flinx glanced self-consciously down at his right boot. His prowess with a knife was not something he was particularly proud of, and he didn’t like talking about it. “A stiletto’s not much good over distance, and we may not have darkness for an ally.”

  “Have you ever handled a real hand weapon?” she asked him. “A needier? Beam thrower, projectile gun?”

  “No, but I’ve seen them used, and I know how they work. It’s not too hard to figure out that you point the business end at the person you’re mad at and pull the trigger or depress the firing stud.”

  “Sometimes it’s not quite that simple, Flinx.” She tightened the belly strap of her backpack. “In any case, you’ll have to make do with just your blade because there isn’t anything else. And I’m not going to give you the dart rifle. I’m much more comfortable with it than you’d be. If you’re worried about my determin
ation to use it, you should know me better than that by now. I don’t feel like being nice to these people. Kidnappers and wervil killers.”

  She checked their course on the tracker, entered it into her little compass, and led him from the cabin. The ground was comparatively dry, soft and springy underfoot.

  As they marched behind twin search beams, Flinx once more found himself considering his companion. They had a number of important things in common besides independence. Love of animals, for example. Lauren’s hair masked the side of her face from him but he felt he could see it, anyway.

  Pip stirred on its master’s shoulder as it sensed strange emotions welling up inside Flinx, emotions that were new to the minidrag and left it feeling not truly upset but decidedly ill at ease. It tried to slip farther beneath the protective jacket.

  By the time they reached their destination, it was very near midnight. They hunkered down in a thick copse and stared between the trees. Flinx itched to continue, knowing that Mother Mastiff lay in uneasy sleep somewhere in the complex of buildings not far below. The common sense that had served him so well since infancy did more to hold him back than logic or reason.

  To all appearances, the cluster of dimly lit structures resembled nothing so much as another hunting or fishing lodge, though much larger than the one that Lauren man- aged. In the center were the main lodge buildings, to the left the sleeping quarters for less wealthy guests, to the right the maintenance and storage sheds. Lauren studied the layout through the thumb-sized daynight binoculars. Her experienced eye detected something far more significant than the complex’s deceptive layout.

  “Those aren’t logs,” she told Flinx. “They’re resinated plastics. Very nicely camouflaged, but there’s no more wood in them than in my head. Same thing goes for the masonry and rockwork in the foundations.”