The functionary standing on the other side of the counter at Sphene's main port was representative of his type: busy, preoccupied, and phlegmatic, with a thin mouth pursed in a perpetual pout-though being a citizen of Nur, his tan was better than most of his ilk. With Pip asleep on his shoulder, Flinx waited patiently for the bureaucrat to finish what he was doing.
"Export codes?" The clerk did not look up from his readout. Flinx responded with a series of numbers that had to be recited in person. He waited while they were slowly checked.
Halfway through inputting the sequence, the port clerk frowned to himself. He enlarged the readout. "You are Philip Lynx?" he asked, finally looking up.
Flinx had already forwarded his personal ident information. "Want to do a retina scan?" A mind-wave reading would be more definitive, Flinx knew, but he could not allow that. A retina scan had always been sufficient.
"That won't be necessary. I was asking rhetorically." He looked back at his readout. "Quite a load of stores for one man."
"It's not just for me. It's for an entire ship." Of course, he was the only passenger on that ship, but there was no need to volunteer that bit of information.
"Oh, a whole ship. Well then, well then," the man muttered, as if that explained everything.
The clerk resumed processing the formalities that would result in the release of Flinx's goods, already warehoused and awaiting transfer to his shuttle.
The clerk hesitated. "I hope you don't mind-I'm just naturally inquisitive-it's part of my job to react to such things as pique my curiosity." He gestured at the readout Flinx could not see. "This one item here. I don't understand it."
At the official's urging, the readout rose and floated over to Flinx, who eyed the manifest warily. "What part do you find confusing?"
"Well-it's this dirt. Compacted aerated high-grade humus mixed with other components but basically-dirt. What do you do with dirt on such a small starship?"
The tall man leaned on the counter and smiled confidingly. "It's all business. There are valuable live plants on the ship. Specialty trade items. I need to do some transplanting."
"You don't strike me as the gardening type."
"I'm not. I told you. They're trade items."
"You didn't perchance try smuggling any of these trade items onto New Riviera? There are very strict penalties for such things."
"You just said I don't strike you as the gardening type. Do I strike you as the brainless type?" On his shoulder, Pip lifted her head and yawned. In the bright office illumination, her small but sharp teeth glinted like shards of pearls as she stared attentively at the clerk.
The functionary suddenly lost all further interest in such banal items as dirt. Flinx departed with his full clearance approved. Now he could supervise the loading of his supplies. Then it would be time to have a long talk with Clarity Held. One whose subject matter promised to be even more serious than usual.
As he left the building housing Customs, he found himself wondering how he knew that the plants aboard his ship were in need of transplanting. Maybe he simply had more of a green thumb than he suspected. Or perhaps he had been emfoling in his sleep. But as the official had pointed out, it only involved dirt.
She awoke to the dulcet ptwee-ptwerr of the iridescent-winged sila languet, one of the most euphonious of all the inhabitants of New Riviera's takari forests. The cheerful vivacity of the song contrasted forcefully with the murkiness that swathed her thoughts. Not only did she not know where she was, she had no idea how she had come to be there.
She was in some kind of small building with walls made to look like actual wood. Outside, through the air barriers that took the place of old-fashioned windows, she could see blossom-laden trees, a cerulean sky, and the occasional bright yellow-green corkscrew bush. In addition to the arresting song of the sila languet, the crescendoing mutter-mutter of colusai climbers filtered in from outside. Neither harmony was particularly reassuring.
Especially since her wrists were secured behind her and her ankles were bound together.
Nothing restrained the rest of her, however. Swinging her legs to her left and pushing with arms and shoulders against the back of the couch on which she lay, she managed to work herself into an upright position. That allowed her to see across the room. Beyond the faux-rustic furniture and particulate-scrubbing fireplace was a kitchen equipped with replicated appliances from humanity's past. Behind the plastic-and-ceramic façades were modern devices, she was sure. On a table sat a large, transparent box perforated with tiny holes.
Inside the box, Scrap moved slowly, as if drugged, while peering anxiously in her direction.
What had happened? The last thing she remembered was going through some recent deliveries. The final item had been a box embossed with the malleable logomot of a famous, elegant perfumery headquartered in the southern city of Quescal. There had been an accompanying letter: something about sampling a new fragrance and hoping to solicit her professional opinion. She remembered opening and reading the letter. She remembered opening the package and...
She did not remember anything after that.
Had someone struck her from behind? Nothing hurt, except her bound wrists. They throbbed slightly. She hadn't opened any perfume. Had there been something else in the package? Whatever had put her down and out had apparently done the same or something similar to Scrap. More ominous, the presence of the minidrag-proof container suggested the actions of someone familiar with the flying snake's abilities. As she knew, that information was limited to a small circle of her acquaintances. Which was not to say that someone outside that orbit could not have acquired such information.
She rose from the couch and was hopping toward the kitchen table with an eye toward freeing the minidrag when the front door opened. Most of the doorway was blocked by a familiar figure.
"Bill! Thank Deity you're here!" Hopping around, she fluttered the tips of her fingers. "I don't know what happened. One minute I'm opening packages and the next, I'm waking up on that couch. Where are we?"
Ormann walked over to the kitchen table and sat down on a chair. Inside the transparent container, the flying snake thrust its head in his direction. The emotions it was reading from Ormann were more cautious and hopeful than openly aggressive. It would not have mattered anyway. Ormann had ordered the container constructed from material that was impervious to the minidrag's corrosive poison.
"We're up in the mountains, Clarity. No need to know which mountains. This retro cabin is a loan from an old friend of mine. It's fully equipped, designed to blend harmoniously with its surroundings, and quite isolated. You'll be safe here."
"Safe?" She frowned. "Safe from what? Untie me, Bill."
"In due time. Until then, it can't be comfortable for you, standing like that. Why don't you sit back down?"
She gaped at him, then realized he had no intention of releasing her. Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she worked her way back to the couch.
"There, that's better, isn't it?" he cooed once she had managed to sit down. She knew that tone well. Or thought she did. Now, she was no longer sure she knew anything at all about William Ormann.
"It depends. Why won't you untie me?"
He moved toward the food storage cabinet. "You might do something foolish. You might hurt yourself. You might hurt me."
"Under the circumstances, I don't think I can deny that. What's going on, Bill?"
"Something to drink?" He poured himself a glass of pale-blue liquid that quickly chilled itself. Humorous faces jelled and dissolved within the fluid, an amusing sales element devised by the drink company's packaging department.
"Maybe later. When I can hold my own glass. Why would you think I might hurt myself? Or do something foolish? You've known me for more than a year. Bill. I'm not one to do foolish things."
"I used to think that, too." He set the half-drained glass aside and eyed her intently. Scrap was beginning to show the first signs of agitation. "Then your old friend arrived, seeking your he
lp, and you began spending more and more of your free time with him. I think I was pretty patient, considering. Then more and more of your free time turned into all your free time. We hardly see each other anymore."
She stared at him. As she stared, she struggled with her wrist bonds. "Is that what this is all about? Have you lost your mind, Bill?"
"No, but I'm not so sure about you."
Leaning back into the overstuffed couch, a clever reproduction from humankind's primitive past, she rolled her eyes imploringly toward the ceiling. "Bill, I've explained this over and over. Philip has problems and no one to talk them over with. That's why he came here, to see me. Because we're old acquaintances and he trusts me to listen to him. That's what I've been doing: listening." She met his gaze evenly. "That's all."
"I'd like to believe that. I really would, Clarity." His expression darkened slightly. "Just talk. With this harmless old acquaintance of yours, who still thinks kindly of you even after six years have passed."
"That's right," she replied defiantly. Her wrists and ankles were throbbing. "Just talk."
Walking over to an old-fashioned bookcase filled with facsimiles of ancient tomes, Ormann removed a modern read pad and switched it on. "I've been doing some research, and I've had others helping. Let me tell you a few things about your good old harmless friend Philip Lynx that you may not be aware of, Clarity."
I never said he was harmless, she thought. "I can hardly cover my ears to keep from hearing, Bill."
"Understand, Clarity, that I'm doing this for your own good. For our good."
"If it's for my own good," she snapped back, "then why do my wrists and ankles hurt so much?"
For a moment she thought he was going to free her. However, he turned instead to the pad he was holding. "The enigmatic Mr. Lynx has access to funds whose origins are so far untraceable, though I have people working on it. That, coupled with the fact that he arrived in his own ship, suggests that he derives his income from possibly illegal sources. He claims that he survives on an inheritance but is deliberately evasive about its origin."
"His ship was a gift," she muttered.
"Really?" Ormann's tone was mocking. "Somebody just gave him a starship."
"It was several somebodies-but, yes."
"Who?"
Sighing heavily, she turned away from his demanding stare. "I can't tell you that."
Lips tightening, he nodded, as if her refusal was explanation enough. "Philip Lynx is also wanted by the Commonwealth for several violations. The list of these is not long, but it is impressive." He glanced at the readout on his pad. "Violation of shell and box security on Earth. On Earth, no less! Refusal to heed an order to stay in Terran space. Illegal visitation of not one but two worlds Under Edict. Assaulting a female security officer-
"That's a lie!" She twisted violently on the couch. "He would never hurt anyone unless they attacked him first."
A nasty smirk played over Ormann's face. It made him look less the handsome, successful executive and more like an antique ventriloquist's dummy. "That's not what the deposition of the security guard claims." He shut off the pad. "Even if your friend was as you describe him when you knew him, how do you know he hasn't changed? Six years is a long time. People sour, develop hatreds. Go bad."
"Is that the kind of person you've met?" she challenged him.
He drew himself up slightly. "Actually, I haven't been much interested in getting to know Lynx. If it wasn't for your interest in him-and his obvious interest in you-he would pass completely beneath my notice. Forget the security guard for a moment. What about the other charges? How do they square with the person you claim as an old friend?"
How much could she say? How much could she admit to that would extricate her from her present predicament without compromising Flinx's safety and status on New Riviera? Was Orrnann being malicious or simply jealous?
"I know that Flinx has had some run-ins with authority. Given the life he's led, something of the sort was probably inevitable. But I'm sure he had good reasons for everything he did."
Ormann gawked at her-the woman he expected to marry and bear his children. "You know about these violations?" Clearly he had expected his revelations of Flinx's wrongdoings to anger or disconcert her. That they had not unsettled him. "And you haven't reported him, have continued to see and counsel him?"
She remained defiant. "He needs help, not incarceration. Whatever he's done, I know there was a valid rationale for it. And despite what your little spy report may claim, I know that he'd never harm so much as a worm without good cause." Outside, the sila langeur sang on, but now its trill was drowned out by Ormann's outrage.
"This is insane! How can you believe that? The man's a fugitive, not an abandoned child!" He took a step toward her and she nearly flinched. "What is this, Clarity? What has this man done to you?" His voice fell, became at once more cautious and more compassionate. "That's it, isn't it? He's done something to you-affected you with more than just talk."
"Now who's talking crazy?" she argued. Ironically, she knew that had he wished to do so, Flinx could have done exactly what Ormann was hinting at. He had promised her he would not. So he hadn't-had he? The twists and turns in the conversation were starting to make her dizzy.
Ormann took her reaction as confirmation. "Now I understand. And believe me, Clarity, it's a relief to know you're not responsible for what's been happening. All we have to do now is figure out what he's done to you and how, and then reverse the effects." He fell into deep thought. "Some kind of drug, applied subtly enough so that you wouldn't know it was influencing you. Or maybe aural mesmerics. Certainly hypnotics of some kind must be involved."
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Bill, he hasn't done anything to me! I'm the same person. I'm just trying to help him."
"Of course you are." Ormann now spoke to her in the soothing tone one would use when addressing an idiot. "That's exactly how he would want you to think. I was proceeding on the assumption that he was evil. Now I see it's much more insidious than that." He smiled reassuringly. "But don't worry. I'll take care of it, Clarity. Once he's been dealt with, whatever he's been using on you, dousing you with, will cease, and you'll recover your senses." The more relieved he looked, the more alarmed Clarity became.
"Bill, all I can tell you is that you've got this whole thing backward. Whatever I'm doing, right or wrong, I'm doing of my own free will. I haven't been mesmerized, drugged, or brainwashed. I'm the same person I was before Philip came here. And I know that Flinx is the same person I knew six years ago. More mature, more knowledgeable but the same person. We just, well, we just connect on a certain level."
"Is that a fact? Something special between the two of you, is it? Naturally he'd want you to think that." He approached to within arm's length and crouched down, so his face was on a level with hers. "Why don't you tell me more about this special connection?"
She searched his face. This was not the William Ormann she had known for over a year, the one whom she had contemplated marrying. The man squatting before her was obsessed. She considered pointing out again that her friendship with Flinx was purely platonic, but she suspected than even an allusion to the possibility of a physical relationship between them would add to Ormann's paranoia. Besides, it wasn't true.
"I-I can't tell you, exactly. It's just a feeling."
"I see. A feeling. You have a feeling about this Lynx. A feeling about an accused criminal who-according to what I've been able to learn about him-is capable of extensive and highly sophisticated manipulation of sensitive information and those in charge of it. Not to mention strong individual personalities. And this doesn't trouble you. Because you and he connect on a certain level. What level is that, Clarity? Hypnosis? Mind-altering drugs slipped into your drink? That would certainly constitute a connection."
What else could she say? she thought. How could she convince him that he was wrong about Flinx without giving away her friend's secrets? Telling the truth was out of the question.
For one thing, it would cause him to realize that Flinx could read his emotions. She knew Bill Ormann well enough to know how he would react to that.
The longer she remained silent, the grimmer his expression became. Finally he rose, looming over her. Scrap was now thrashing around violently, beating his wings and tail against the transparent barrier, frantic to get out. Clarity tensed. But Ormann intended her no harm. He loved her. All he wanted to do, since she was so obviously sick, was to make her well again. To remove the poison the interloper had somehow planted in her mind.
"I could simply report him to the local authorities and let them deal with him," he murmured. "I'm sure they'd be delighted to know that there's an important fugitive in their midst."
"What do you mean, important?" Anything, she thought, to get his mind off such a course of action. "Philip has never harmed anyone. He's not a murderer, or an extortionist, or an embezzler."
"Are you sure? You've told me yourself that he bemuses and puzzles you. Who knows what this Philip Lynx may really be or what he may be capable of?"
Not Flinx, she told herself. He's as much in the dark as anyone. That's the reason he's here talking to me.
"Turning him over to the authorities won't help anybody," she insisted desperately. To her surprise, Ormann agreed with her.
"You're absolutely right, my dear. I know from personal experience how our purportedly sophisticated legal system works, and someone with Lynx's resources might easily buy his way out of trouble. Since I would dislike seeing that happen, I've decided not to inform the authorities. I'll continue to deal with the situation myself."
She tensed. "What does that mean?"
He frowned as he started for the door. "Why, I'd think it pretty straightforward. Unusual problems require unusual solutions. Rest assured I'll come up with one and that no harm will come to you."
Flinx's Folly Page 15
