Flinx listened quietly even as he was gauging the distance between himself and the cage. The elderly man holding the control box gazed grimly back at him. Even if be could somehow avoid the hands that would surely reach out to restrain him, he did not see how he could open the cage and free Pip. His stiletto would be useless against the thick pancrylic.
"You've made your point," he said finally. "What do you want from me?"
"Redemption," Cruachan told him softly.
"I don't understand."
"You will eventually, I hope. For now, suffice for you to know that we are interested in your erratic but unarguable abilities: your Talent."
All Flinx's preconceived ideas collapsed like sand castles in a typhoon. "You mean you've gone through all this, kidnaping Mother Mastiff and now Pip, just because you're curious about my abilities?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I would have done my best to satisfy you with- out your having to go through all this trouble."
"It's not quite that simple. You might say one thing, even believe it, and then your mind might react other- wise." Crazier and crazier, Flinx thought dazedly. "I don't
"Just as well," Cruachan murmured. "You are an emotional telepath, is that not correct?"
"I'm sensitive sometimes to what other people are feeling, if that's what you mean," Flinx replied belligerently.
"Nothing else? No precognitive abilities? Telekinesis? True telepathy? Pyrokinesis? Dimensional perceptivity?"
Plinx laughed at him, the sound sharpened by the tension that filled the room. "I don't even know what those words mean except for telepathy. If by that you mean can I read other people's minds, no. Only sometimes their feelings. That other stuff, that's all fantasy, isn't it?"
"Not entirely," Cruachan replied softly, "not entirely. "The potentials lie within every human mind, or so we of the Society believe. When awakened, further stimuli, pro- vided through training and other means, can bring such abilities to full life. That was the-" He paused, his smile returning.
"As I said, someday you will understand everything, I hope. For now, it will be sufficient if you will permit us to run some tests on you. We wish to measure the probable limits of your Talent and test for other possible hidden abilities as yet undeveloped."
"What kinds of tests?" Flinx regarded the tail man warily.
"Nothing elaborate. Measurements, electroencephalotopography."
"That sounds elaborate to me."
"I assure you, there will be no discomfort. If you'll just come with me ..." He put a fatherly hand on Flinx's shoulder. Flinx flinched. There should have been a snake there, not an unfamiliar hand.
Cruachan guided him toward the instruments. "I promise you, give us twenty-four hours and you'll have your pet restored to you unharmed, and you'll never have to go through this again."
"I don't know," Flinx told him. "I'm still not sure of what you want from me." It seemed to him that there was an awful lot of instrumentation around for just a few simple tests, and some of it looked almost familiar. Where had he seen that tendriled globe before?
Over a table in a room far to the north, he realized suddenly.
What do I do? he thought frantically. He could not lie down on that table, beneath those waiting tentacles. But if he hesitated, what might they do to Pip out of impatience and anger?
Unexpectedly, as his thoughts were tied in knots and he tried to decide what to do next, a sudden surge of emo- tion burst into his brain. There was hate and a little fear and a self-righteous anger that bordered on the paranoiac. He looked up at Cruachan. The older man smiled pleasantly down at him, then frowned as he saw the expression that had come over the subject's face. "Is some- thing wrong?"
Hinx did not reply, methodically searching every face in the room. None of them seemed to be the source of the feelings he was receiving. And they were getting steadily stronger, more intense. They came-they came from- He looked sharply toward the main entrance.
"Nobody move!" snapped a determined voice. The couple who burst through the door, having quietly circum- vented the lock, were complete strangers to Flinx. A middle-aged pair dressed like offworld tourists, each holding a gun bigger than a pistol and longer than a rifle care- fully balanced in both hands, they surveyed the startled occupants of the storage chamber.
Flinx did not recognize their weapons. That was un- usual. His learning expeditions through the marketplace had made him familiar with most personal armament. But these were new to him. As new as this couple. They looked unrelentingly average. There was nothing average about the way they moved, however, or gave commands or held those peculiar guns. The Meliorares certainly seemed familiar with them.
"MO Section, Commonwealth Peaceforce," the man barked. "All of you are under government detention as of this moment." He grinned crookedly, almost savagely. "The charges against you, the specifics of which I'm sure you're all quite familiar with, are many and varied. I don't think I have to go into details."
Flinx started gratefully toward them. "I don't know how you people found me, but I'm sure glad to see you."
"Hold it right there." The woman shifted her weapon toward him. The expression on her face assured Plinx she was ready to shoot him if he took so much as another half step toward her. He froze, hurt and confused.
There was something new there, partly in her eyes but also in her mind: not so much fear as a kind of twisted hatred, a loathing. The emotion was directed squarely at him. It was so new, so alien and sickening, that he didn't know how to react. He knew only that his would-be saviors held no more affection for him, and perhaps even less in the way of good intentions than this insane society of Meliorare people.
His confusion was being replaced by anger, a frantic fury born of frustration and despair, compounded by helplessness and desperation. Through no fault of his own, de- siring only to be left alone, he had become the focal point of forces beyond his control, forces that extended even be- yond his world. And he didn't know how, couldn't begin to think how to deal with them.
Through all the confusion came one lucid realization: he wasn't as grown-up as he had thought.
Near the back room the man named Westhoff had gone unnoticed by the Peaceforcers. He did not linger. Putting aside the control box he commenced a cautious retreat, utilizing crates and containers to make good his escape.
Pressure removed, the button he had been holding down rebounded.
"Over against that empty packing and away from the consoles. All of you," the woman commanded them, gesturing meaningfully with her gun. Rising from their seats and showing empty hands, the Meliorares hurried to com- ply with her order.
"Anybody touches a switch," the other Peaceforcer warned them, "it'll be the last thing he ever touches."
The woman threw Flinx a hard look. "Hey, you too. Move it." Revulsion emanated from her. Disgust and pity washed over Flinx in waves. She was broadcasting them all. Flinx tried to squeeze the degrading emotions out of his mind.
"I'm not with them," he protested. "I'm not part of this."
"I'm afraid that you are, boy, whether you like it or not," she told him. "You've caused a lot of trouble. But don't worry." She tried to smile. The result was a discomfiting parody. "Everything's going to be all right. You're going to be fixed up so you can live a normal life."
A buzzer suddenly roared to life on one of the unattended consoles, filling the room with insistent discordance. Cruachan stared dumbly at it, then at Flinx, then at the Peaceforcers.
"For heaven's sake, don't threaten him!"
"Threaten me?" Flinx was almost crying now, ignoring Cruachan's sudden terror, the buzzing, everything, as he spoke to the female Peaceforcer. "What does he mean, threaten me? What did you mean when you said you're going to have me fixed up? I'm fine"
"Maybe you are, and maybe you aren't," she replied, "but these Meliorares," she spat the word out, "seem to think otherwise. That's good enough for me. I'm no specialist. They're the ones who'll decide what's to bedone with you."
"And the sooner the better," her companion added. "Did you call for backup?"
"As soon as we were sure." She nodded. "It'll take them a few minutes to get here. This isn't Brizzy, you know."
Flinx felt unsteady on his feet as well as in his mind. Where he had expected rescue, there was only new hurt, fresh indifference. No, worse than indifference, for these people saw him only as some kind of deformed, unhealthy creature. There was no understanding for him here in this room, not from his ancient persecutors or these new ar- rivals. The universe, as represented by organizations illegal and legitimate, seemed wholly against him.
Fixed, the woman had said. He was going to be fixed. But there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing! Why do they want to do these unnamable things to me? he thought angrily.
The pain and confusion produced results unnoticed by the anxious antagonists facing each other across the floor. Prodded by the powerful emotions emanating from his master, half-awakened by the thinning quantity of soporific gas entering its cage, the flying snake awoke. It did not need to search visually for Flinx-his outburst of hurt was a screaming beacon marking his location.
The snake's wings remained folded as it quickly examined its prison. Then it rose up and spat. In the confused babble that filled the opposite end of the room, the quiet hissing of dissolving pancrylic Went unnoticed.
"Let's get them outside." The male Peaceforcer moved to his right, separating from his companion to stand to one side of the entrance while she moved to get behind the shifting group gathered in the middle of the room.
"Single file now," she ordered them, gesturing with her gun. "All of you. And please keep your hands in the air. No dramatic last-minute gestures, please. I don't like a mess."
Cruachan pleaded with her. "Please, we're just a bunch of harmless old scholars. This is our last chance. This boy"-and he indicated Flinx-"may be our last opportunity to prove-"
"I've studied your history, read the reports." "The woman's voice was icy. "What you did is beyond redemption or forgiving. You'll get just what you deserve, and it won't be a chance to experiment further on this poor, mal- formed child."
"Please, somebody," Flinx said desperately, "I don't know what you're talking about! Won't somebody tell me-?"
"Somebody probably will," she told him. "I'm not privy to the details, and explanations aren't my department." She shuddered visibly. "Fortunately."
"Rose, look out!" At the warning cry from her companion, the woman whirled. There was something in the air, humming like a giant bumblebee, moving rapidly from place to place: a pink and blue blur against the ceiling. "What the hell's that?" she blurted.
Flinx started to answer, but Cruachan spoke first, taking a step out of the line and toward the Peaceforcer. "That's the boy's pet, I don't know how it got out. It's dangerous."
"Oh, it is, is it?" The muzzle of the short rifle came up.
"No!" Cruachan rushed toward her, the console buzzer screaming in his ears. "Don't!"
The Peaceforcer reacted instinctively to the unexpected charge. A brief burst of high-intensity sound struck the leader of the Meliorares. His stomach exploded through his spine. No sound had come from the gun. There had been only a slight punching noise when the burst had struck home.
One of the elderly women screamed. The Peaceforcer cursed her overanxiousness and took aim at the source of her embarrassment. As she pointed her weapon at Pip, all the fury and pain and anguish crashed together inside Flinx's head.
"Pip! No!" he yelled, rushing the woman. The other Peaceforcer moved to cover his companion. Pip darted toward the rear of the storage room. The woman's gun tracked the minidrag as her finger started to tighten on the trigger.
Something happened. Cruachan's eyes were still open. A smile of satisfaction appeared on his face. Then he died.
Night descended unexpectedly.
Flinx was floating inside a giant bass drum. Someone was pounding on it from both sides. The rhythm was erratic, the sound soul-deafening. It hurt.
Something was resting on his chest. I am lying on my back, he thought. He raised his head to look down at him- self. Pip lay on the slickertic, bruised but alive. The flying snake looked dazed. As consciousness returned with a vengeance, the narrow tongue darted out repeatedly to touch Plinx's lips and nose. Content, the minidrag ceased its ex- amination and crawled from chest to shoulder. Flinx fought to sit up.
There was something wrong with his balance. It made the simple act of changing from a prone to a sitting posi- tion into a major operation. Two things he noted immediately; it was cold, and rain was soaking his face. Then his vision cleared and he saw the old man bending over him.
For an instant the fear returned, but this was no Meliorare. It was a kindly, unfamiliar face. The oldster was dressed very differently from the Society members. There hadn't been anything shabby about their attire. This stranger was a refugee from a simpler life.
"Are you all right, boy?" He looked over his shoulder. "I think he's all right."
Flinx looked past the old man. Several other strangers were gathered behind him. It occurred to Flinx that he was the center of their concerned curiosity. Strong arms reached toward him and helped him to his feet. There were comments about the flying snake riding his shoulder.
A younger man stepped forward. "You okay?" He searched Flinx's face. "I've had a little medical training."
"I'm not-I think-" Funny, his mouth wasn't working right. He swallowed. "What happened?"
"You tell me," said the unsmiling young man. He was dressed neatly, much more so than the oldster who had first examined Flinx. A yellow-and-green-striped slickertic covered what Flinx could see of a brightly colored business suit.
"I'm a factotum for the Subhouse of Grandier. I was Just coming down to check on the arrival of a recent shipment from Evoria." He turned and pointed. "That's our warehouse over there. I nearly tripped over you."
"Me, too," the oldster said, "though I'm no factotum for anybody 'cept my own house." He grinned, showing missing teeth.
Flinx brushed wet strands of hair from his eyes and forehead. How had he gotten so wet? He couldn't remember lying down in the street. He couldn't remember lying down at all.
Now that those around him had quieted, the roar that had filled his ears since he had regamed consciousness assumed deafening proportions. Sirens sounded in counter- part.
A couple of blocks away, flames shot skyward from the top of a warehouse in defiance of the steady, light rain. A fire-control skimmer hovered off to one side, its crew spraying the flames with fire-retardant chemical foam. It combined with the rain to knock the blaze back into itself.
"Anyway," the younger man next to Flinx continued as they both watched the dying inferno, "I was just entering our office over there when that building"-he nodded toward the flames-"blew up. If I remember aright, it was four or five stories tall. There are only two left, as you can see. Top three must've been incinerated in the first seconds. There's charred debris all over the streets. Knocked me right off my feet, just like you." Flinx's gaze roved over the crowd that had gathered to watch the unusual sight. Large fires were rare in Drallar.
"Somebody's let themselves in for a nest o' trouble," the oldster muttered. "Storing explosives or volatiles inside the city limits. Bad business. Bad."
"Someone told me they felt it all the way to the inurbs," the younger man said conversationally. "I wonder what the devil was stored in there to cause an explosion like that? Piece of building went past me like a shot. It's stuck: in our front door, no less, if you want to see it. As I was getting up, I saw you lying there in the street. Either something mercifully small hit you or else you got knocked out when your head hit the pavement."
"I didn't see him get hit," the oldster said.
"Doesn't mean anything, as fast as stuff was flying." The executive looked at Flinx. "I'll bet you never even felt it."
"No," Plinx admitted, still terribly confused. "I didn't. But I'm okay now."
"You're sure?
" The man looked him over. "Funny. Whatever it was that knocked you down must have whizzed right past. I don't see any bruises or cuts, though it looks like your pet got a little banged up."
"Can do you like that," the oldster said. " "Nother centimeter and maybe you'd have a piece of metal sticking out of your head. Conversation piece." He chuckled.
Flinx managed a weak grin. "I feel all right now." He swayed a moment, then held steady.
The executive was still studying the minidrag coiled around Flinx's left shoulder. "That's an interesting pet, all right."
"Everybody thinks so. Thanks for your concern, both of you." He staggered forward and joined the ring of spectators gawking at the obliterated building.
Slowly, reluctantly, his brain filled in the blank spaces pockmarking his memory. Third floor, he'd been up there, and the Meliorares ... Yes, the Meliorares-that was their name-were getting ready to run some tests on him. Then the Peaceforcers had broken in, and Pip had gotten loose, and one of them had been ready to shoot it, and the head Meliorare-Flinx couldn't remember his name, only his eyes-had panicked and rushed the Peaceforcer, and Flinx remembered screaming desperately for the woman not to fire, not to hurt Pip, not to, not to-!
Then he had awakened, soaked and stunned in the street, an old man bending solicitously over him and Pip licking his mouth.
His hand went to the back of his head, which throbbed like the drum he had dreamed of being imprisoned inside. There was no lump there, no blood, but it sure felt like something had whacked him good, just as the executive had surmised. Only the pain seemed concentrated inside his head.
People were emerging from the burning warehouse: medical personnel in white slickertics. They were escorting someone between them. The woman's clothes were shredded, and blood filled the gaps. Though she walked under her own power, it took two medics to guide her.
Suddenly, Flinx could feel her, for just an instant. But there was no emotion there, no emotion or feelings of any kind. Then he noticed her eyes. Her stare was vacant, blank, without motivation. Probably the explosion had stunned her, he thought. She was the Peaceforcer who had been about to shoot Pip.
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