For Love of Mother-Not

by Foster, Alan Dean;

"It's an updated twenty-six," he informed her. "I didn't expect anyone in this slum would take the trouble and expense to keep updating something like this. Someone sure likes his privacy."

  "Don't you?"

  "Very funny." Suddenly, the disk emitted a soft beep, and the numbers on the readout froze. "That's got it." The man's tone was relaxed, methodical. There was no pleasure in his announcement, only a cool, professional satisfaction. He touched buttons set at five points spaced evenly around the black disk. It beeped again, twice. The illuminated numbers vanished from the readout. Unsealing the disk, he slid it back inside his coat. There were a number of pockets inside that coat, all filled with the kinds of things that would raise the hackles of any police chief. The man put a hand on the door and pushed. It moved aside easily. After a last, cursory glance up the narrow street, the two of them stepped inside.

  The center section of the man's ornate belt buckle promptly came to life, throwing a narrow but powerful beam of light. It was matched a moment later by a similar beam projected from his companion's brooch. They wandered around the stall, noting the goods on display and occasionally sniffing disdainfully at various overpriced items.Inspection led them to an inner door and its simpler locking mechanism.

  Both stood just inside the second doorway and gazed around the living area. "Someone put up a hell of fight," the man commented softly.

  "The boy--or his adoptive mother, do you think?" "The woman moved in, stooping to examine an overturned end table and the little silver vase that had tumbled from it. The vase was empty. She carefully replaced it where it had fallen.

  "Maybe both of them." Her companion was already inspecting the larger of the two bedrooms. They went through the area methodically: kitchen, bedrooms, even the hygiene facilities.

  When they had finished--and it did not take them very long--and when fingerprinted samples of air and dust and tiny bits of hopefully significant detritus had been relegated to the safety of tiny storage vials, the man asked his companion, "What do you think? Wait for them here?"

  The woman shook her head as she glanced around the kitchen-dining area. "They obviously left under duress--and you know what that suggests."

  "Sure, that's occurred to me. No way it couldn't. But there's no guarantee."

  She laughed, once. "Yeah, there's no guarantee, but what do you think?'

  "The same as you. I'm just saying we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

  "I know, I know. Isn't it odd, though, that both of them are missing? That surely suggests something other than a common break-in."

  "I said I concurred." The man's tone was a mite testy. "What now?"

  "The shopkeeper up the street who watched us break in," she said. He nodded agreement.

  They retraced their steps, leaving nothing disturbed save the air and the dust. The palm lock snapped tight behind them as they stepped back out into the street, giving no hint that it had been foiled. The couple strolled back up the little side street until they stood before Arrapkha's doorway. They thumbed the buzzer several times.

  After the third try, the man leaned close to the little speaker set above the buzzer. "It's been a long, hard day for us, sir, and we're both very tired. We mean you no harm, but we are empowered to take whatever steps we think advisable to carry out our assignment. Those steps will include making our own entrance if you don't let us in.

  "We saw you watching us as we let ourselves into the old woman's shop. I promise you we can let ourselves into your place just as easily. You might also like to know that we have an automon trained on the alley behind your shop. If you have a slip-me-out in your back wall, it won't do you a bit of good. So why not be pleasant about this"--he smiled in case the shopkeeper had a video pickup hidden somewhere--"and come on out? If you prefer, we can chat here on the street, in full view of your other neighbors."

  They waited a suitable time. The woman looked at her companion, shrugged, and withdrew a small, thimble-shaped object from an inside breast pocket. The door opened immediately. The man nodded, then smiled. The woman put the thimble-thing away and moved back.

  Arrapkha stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and looked hesitantly from one visitor to the other. "What can I do for you, lady and sir, this night? Your insistence moved me to concern despite the fact that I am closed now for more than--"

  "Skip the banter," the man said crisply. "We know you were watching us. You know that we're not here to buy"--he glanced at the sign above the doorway--"wood-work. Or do you deny having watched us?"

  "Well, no," Arrapkha began, "but I--"

  "And you didn't call the police," the man continued easily, "because the police often ask questions you'd rather not answer, right?"

  "Sir, I assure you that I--"

  "We're looking for the old woman and the boy who live in that shop." The man glanced briefly back toward Mother Mastiffs stall. "You wouldn't happen to know where they are, would you?"

  Arrapkha shook his head, his expression blank. "No, sir, I would not."

  "There are signs of a struggle inside. This is a small street. You didn't hear anything, see anything?"

  "A struggle? Dear me," Arrapbka muttered, showing signs of distress. "Well, you know, even though this is a small street, it can still be very noisy here, even at night. We don't always pay close attention."

  "I'll bet," the woman muttered. "Just like you didn't pay attention to all the noise we weren't making while we were letting ourselves into your neighbor's shop?"

  Arrapkha favored her with a wan smile.

  "We haven't time for these games," the man said impatiently, reaching into his pants pocket.

  "Please, sir and lady." A look of genuine concern came over Arrapkha's face. "You said that you wouldn't do anything--"

  "We won't." The man's hand paused a moment as he saw the shopkeeper's nervous stare. "Even if we have to, we probably won't." He slowly withdrew his hand to bring out a small folder. Arrapkha let out a relieved sigh, and studied the contents of the folder. His eyes widened.

  The visitor slipped the little case back into his pocket. "Now, then," he said pleasantly, "I tell you again that we mean you no harm, nor have we any intention of banning the old woman and her boy. Quite the contrary. If they've been the victims of violence, as seems probable, we need to know everything you know, so that if they're still alive, we can help them. Regardless of what you may think of us personally and what we stand for, you must realize that if they've met with ill fortune, they're bound to be better off in our care than in the hands of whoever carried them away. You can see that, surely."

  "Besides," his companion added matter-of-factly, "if you don't tell us what you know, we'll escort you to a place in city center where you'll be strapped into a machine, and you'll end up telling us, anyway. It won't hurt you, but it will waste our time. I don't like wasted time." She stared into his eyes. "Understand?"

  Arrapkha nodded slowly.

  "The old woman you seek--Mother Mastiff?" The man nodded encouragingly. "I think I saw her carried off by several figures. I couldn't even tell you if they were human or alien. It was dark and misty."

  "Isn't it always here?" the man muttered. "Go on."

  "That's all I know, all I saw." Arrapkha shrugged. "Truly." He pointed down the street toward the gap that separated Mother Mastiff's shop from the one next to hers. "Through there I saw struggling shapes in the alley. It still confuses me. She is a very old woman, quite harmless."

  "How long ago was this?" the man asked him. Arrapkha told him. "And the boy? What of the boy?"

  "He returned home that same night. He often goes off by himself until quite late. At least he's been doing so for as long as I've known him, which is most of his life."

  "Long solo walks through this city? At his age?" the woman asked. Arrapkha tried not to show his surprise at the woman's seemingly casual remark. These people knew a great deal in spite of how far they had come from.

  "He's not your average youth," Arrapkha informed them, seeing no har
m in doing so. "He's grown up largely on his own here." He waved toward the brighter lights and the noise that drifted in from the main avenue. "If you let it, Drallar will mature you quickly."

  "I'm sure." The man nodded. "You were saying about the boy?"

  "He came back that night, saw what had happened, and was very upset. He's an emotional type, though he fights not to show it, I think. Mother Mastiff is all he has."

  Still the couple did not respond, remaining maddeningly uninformative. Arrapkha went on. "He vowed to find her.

  I don't think he has much chance."

  "He went after her, then?" the woman asked eagerly. "How long ago?"

  Arrapkha told her. She muttered in some language that Arrapkha did not recognize, then added in the more familiar Commonwealth lingua franca to her companion, "Only a couple of days. We missed them by a lousy couple of days."

  "It's happened before," the man reminded her, seeming unperturbed. His attention returned to Arrapkha. "Which way did the boy intend to go?"

  "I have no idea," the shopkeeper said.

  "You know," the man said pleasantly, "maybe we just ought to all take that little jaunt downtown and visit the machine."

  "Please, sir, I tell you truly everything. You have believed my words until now. Why should it be different because the facts no longer please you? That is not my fault.What reason would I have for suddenly lying to you?"

  "I don't know," the man said in a more conversational tone. "What reason would you?"

  "No reason." Arrapkha felt his few wits deserting him, "Please, I don't understand what's happening here. It's all very confusing to me. What is all this interest suddenly in poor old Mother Mastiff and this Flinx-boy?"

  "We'd only confuse you further by telling you, wouldn't we?" the man said. "So you have no idea how the boy intended to begin his search?"

  "None at all because that is all that he told me," Arrapkha confessed. "He said only that he was determined to find her. Then he left."

  "Well, that's wonderful. That's just wonderful," the man declared sardonically. "All that work, all that research, and we get them narrowed down to one modest-size city.Now we get to start all over again with a whole damn world to cover."

  "It's not that bad," the woman soothed. "The native population is thin outside the city."

  "It's not that which worries me." The man sounded tired. "It's our happy competitors."

  "I think we'll run into them simultaneously." The woman gestured at Arrapkha as if he weren't there. "We've learned all we can from this one."

  "Yes. One more thing, though." He turned to Arrapkha and handed him a small blue metal box. A single button marred its otherwise smooth, vitreous surface. "This is a sealed-beam, high-intensity, low-power transmitter," he explained to the shopkeeper. "If either the woman or the boy should return here, all you have to do is push that button once. That will summon help, both for them and for you. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," Arrapkha said slowly. He accepted the metal box, then turned it over in his hand and inspected it.

  "There is a reward--a considerable reward," the woman added, "for anyone who assists us in bringing this matter to a speedy and successful resolution." She looked past him, into the little woodworking shop. "I don't know what kind of a life you make for yourself here, but it can't be much. This isn't exactly the high-rent district. The reward would amount to more, much more, than you're likely to clear in an entire year."

  "It sounds nice," Arrapkha admitted slowly. "It would be very nice to make a lot of money."

  "All right, then," the man said. "Remember, the people who'll show up here in response to a signal from the cube won't necessarily include us, but they'll be people familiar with our mission. We'll follow as quickly as we're able. You're certain you understand all this, now?"

  "I understand."

  "Fine." The man did not offer to shake Arrapkha's hand. "Your help is appreciated, and I'm sorry if we upset you."

  Arrapkha shrugged. "Life is full of tiny upsets."

  "So it is," the man agreed. He turned to his companion."Let's go." They ran back toward the main avenue, leaving Arrapkha standing in front of his shop.

  After several hours, Arrapkha put away his woodworking tools, cleaned himself, and prepared to retire. The blue metal cube sat on the stand next to his bed. Arrapkha studied it for a moment. Then he picked it up and walked into the bathroom. Without ceremony or hesitation, he dropped it into the waste-disposal unit and thumbed the "flush" control. He wondered how it would affect the cube, if it would send any kind of signal, and if those on the receiving end of such a signal would interpret it properly.

  Feeling much better, he slipped into bed and went to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  The forest was full of revelations for the thoroughly urbanized Flinx. The first few nights were hard. The silence hit him with unexpected force, and he found sleeping difficult. Pip spent those nights in uneasy rest, sensing its master's discomfort. Only the stupava, its head bobbing methodically with its soft snores, was content.

  By the fourth night, Flinx slept soundly, and by the fifth, he was actually enjoying the silence. I've been deceived by circumstances and fate, he thought. This is much better than city life. True, he missed the color, the excitement, the ever-shifting landscape of beings from dozens of worlds parading through the marketplace and the wealthy inurbs, the smells of different foods and the sounds of sinister bargains being consummated. Nor did the forest offer him any opportunity to practice his skills: there wasn't anything to steal. The woods gave freely of their bounty. It was all too easy, somehow.

  He had almost relaxed when the squook surprised him. It shot out of its hole in the ground, startling the stupava and nearly causing it to buck Flinx off. The squook was, like its near-relative the canish, a hyperactive grounddwelling carnivore. It was somewhat larger, boasting claws the length of Flinx's own fingers. The slim, brown-and-black-striped body was built low to the ground. It spent the majority of its life burrowing, searching out other, herbivorous burrowers, but it occasionally would erupt from its hole in an attempt to snag and drag down some larger prey.

  The critter had evidently mistaken the comparatively light footsteps of the stupava for those of a much smaller animal. The bird squawked and wrenched at its reins while Flinx fought to bring it under control. At its master'ssurge of alarm. Pip had instantly leaped clear and now hovered menacingly over the occupied burrow.

  The squook favored the minidrag with an impressive snarl but could only glare at its airborne nemesis. Though the riding bird was clearly afraid of it, the squook still had a healthy respect for the bird's long, powerfully muscled legs. Still, if it could just get its teeth around one of those legs, it could bring the large meal to the ground.

  But it wasn't so sure about the human perched on the bird's back. Though uncommon thereabouts, humans were not unknown to the inhabitants of that part of the great forest. A squook could kill a human, but the reverse was also true. And then there was that peculiar and utterly unfamiliar humming thing that darted through the air overhead. That made three opponents, one alien and unpredictable, the other two potentially dangerous. Letting out a last, disgruntled snarl, the squook backed into its burrow and expanded to fill the opening. With only its muzzle showing, it sat there and set up a steady warning bark.

  Flinx finally got the stupava back under control and urged it forward. The angry calls of the squook receded slowly behind him.

  There had been no real danger, he thought. On the other hand, if he had lost his saddle and fallen off--he recalled clearly the long, toothy snout of the carnivore and watched the forest with more respect.

  Nothing else emerged to menace them. They encountered nothing larger than the many soaring rodents which Inhabited that part of the forest. Pip amused itself by flying circles around them, for they were natural gliders rather than true fliers. They could do nothing but squeak angrily at the intruder as it executed intricate aerial maneuvers in their midst.
Those that chattered and complained the loudest, the flying snake selected for lunch.

  "That's enough. Pip," Flinx called out to the gallivanting minidrag one day. "Leave them alone and get down here." Responding to the urgency of its master's mind, the flying snake stopped tormenting the flying rodents and zipped down to wrap itself gently around Flinx's neck.

  The inn they were approaching was one of hundreds that formed an informal backwoods network in the uninhabited parts of the vast forests. Such establishments provided temporary home to hardwood merchants and cutters, sightseers, fishermen and hunters, prospectors, and other nomadic types. There were more inns than a casual observer might expect to find because there were more nomads. They liked the endless forest. The trees concealed many people and a comparable quantity of sin.

  Flinx tethered the stupava in the animal compound, next to a pair of muccax. The inn door sensed his presence and slid aside, admitting him. Smoke rose from a central chimney, but the stone fireplace was more for atmosphere than for heating. The latter was handled by thermal coils running beneath the inn floors. Many of thestructures dotting the forest were rustic only in appearance, their innards as modem in design and construction as the shuttleport outside Drallar. The offworlder tourists who came to Moth to sample the delights of its wilderness generally liked their rough accommodations the same as their liquor: neat.

  "Hello." The innkeeper was only a few years older than Flinx. "You're out by yourself?" He glanc'ed at Pip. "That's an interesting pet you have."

  "Thanks," Flinx said absently, ignoring the first comment. "What time do you serve midday meal?" He looked longingly toward the nearby dining room, calculating what remained on his credcard. At the present rate, he would starve before he could catch up to his quarry.

  "You don't want a room, then?"

  "No, thanks." He would sleep in a tube tent in the forest, as usual. Exhaustion made him sleep as soundly these days as any soft bed.

  "What about your animal?" The innkeeper gestured toward the animal compound outside.

  "He'll be all right."