Sliding Scales

by Alan Dean Foster

  Viinpou was not so easily convinced. “What you propose ssmackss more of politicss and ssociology than art.”

  “Do not people sspeak of ‘the art of politicss’?”

  The elderly female turned to her fellow Ssemiil. “Thiss weed-wissher iss too clever by half.”

  “I concur,” hissed Naalakot, “but that doess not invalidate her argument. I can, however vaguely, tasste a glimmer of the possible benefitss to which sshe alludess. I believe it may be ssomething worth nibbling on.”

  Chraluuc slowed her breathing and stilled her tail as the Ssemilionn of the Ssaiinn continued to debate her radical proposal. If they turned it down, that would be the end of it. There was nothing more she could do, no higher court to which she could file an appeal. Not within the Tier.

  After what felt like hours, the Elders ceased their animated wrangling.

  “We think we undersstand the potential benefits,” Xeerelu hissed softly at her. “We alsso, even though it conveniently appearss to have esscaped you, ssee the potential harm that taking ssuch an unprecedented action could incur.” Sharp eyes glanced at her expectant colleagues, and she continued—reluctantly, it seemed to Chraluuc.

  “After conssidered debate, we have decided to proceed as you requesst. This will occasion much disscussion among the memberss of the Tier. That iss as it should be, and iss to be encouraged. At pressent, we do not the three of uss foresee any objectionss—and there will be ssome— that cannot be overcome. When would you wissh to perform the necessary activitiess?”

  “As ssoon as the Ssemilionn deemss it propitiouss,” she replied promptly. Now that they had agreed to her proposal, the actual date on which it should be implemented was a matter of indifference to her.

  “A day will be chossen.” A still plainly reluctant Viinpou pulled his pale yellow vest tighter around him. The etchings on his scaly shoulders shimmered with intricate inlays of powdered metal.

  Xeerelu continued. “I musst ssay, truly, that a part of me iss looking forward with great curiossity not only to the ceremony itsself but to itss unpredictable conssequencess. To the besst of my knowledge, thiss will be the firsst time in the hisstory of the modern Imperial era that ssuch a thing hass been tried.” She gazed back at the female nye who had boldly flung the outrageous proposition in their faces, challenging not only them but the philosophy of the Tier itself.

  “What of the one who iss to play the central figure in thiss drama? How do you think he will react?”

  “Truly.” Now even Viinpou was beginning to find himself caught up in the anticipation. “When the time comess, it may be that he will refusse to participate. What then?”

  “He will not refusse.” Chraluuc was completely confident. Well, almost completely confident, she told herself. “If nothing elsse, he will accept becausse it would be impolite to refusse, and he iss nothing if not polite.” Her tail smacked the floor behind her. “If he hessitatess, I will thrassh him until he agreess.”

  The junior male's pupils dilated strongly. “That iss very perssonal of you. May I ssay, mosst oddly sso.”

  She glared at the Ssemiil. “Like any artisst, I am interessted in doing whatever iss necessary to get ressults.”

  Naalakot spoke solemnly. “A sstrange ssort of art, thiss.” Both clawed hands clove the air in a first-degree gesture of satisfaction mixed with third-degree anticipation . “I find that I am alsso looking forward to it. If nothing elsse, it will provide an interessting diverssion for the entire Ssaiinn.” He leaned forward slightly. Though devoid of external ears to point in the petitioning female's direction, the Elder still listened intently. “What hass been the reaction thuss far of the ssoftsskin to your extraordinary propossal?”

  For the first time since she had entered the room to confront the Ssemilionn, Chraluuc appeared tentative. “I cannot ssay. You ssee, I have not sspoken of it to him yet.”

  10

  When, unable to put discussing it off any longer once the Ssemilionn had chosen a date, she finally did confront the subject of so much fervent deliberation, Flinx's reaction was decidedly ambivalent.

  “I'm flattered, I guess.” As he spoke in the small living compartment that had been set aside for him, he was playing with his pet. While he held his right arm straight out in front of him, the flying snake was winding around it in multiple coils. Only when her head reached his wrist did she unfurl and exercise her wings, opening them to their fullest extent and slowly moving them back and forth. Since she was upside down, the striking pink and pale blue membranous flaps hung from his arm like the folds of some exotic, translucent robe.

  “You musst undersstand.” Standing by the entrance-way, Chraluuc kept her tail in check. There was no need to take a traditional swing at the softskin since he had not yet turned down the proposal. “Inssofar as anyone knowss, nothing like thiss hass ever been done before, either within the borderss of the Empire or without, irresspective of the nature of the proffering Tier itsself. It may not even be legal. But the Ssemilionn has agreed to it. All that iss necessary in order to proceed iss, obvioussly, your conssent.”

  “I don't know.” As he lowered his arm, the minidrag folded her wings flat against her body but remained coiled around his limb. “What would be my responsibilities? What would be expected of me?”

  “Very little,” she replied encouragingly. “That you would do nothing to bring yoursself or the Tier into dissgrace. That you would continue to practice a chossen art. That you would resspect your fellow memberss and their work.”

  “Some of them don't like me.” He did not tell her that he could sense whenever animosity was being directed his way even when the perpetrator was being outwardly polite. Just as he could sense now that her feelings toward him were truly warm and friendly. “How would they respond to something like this?”

  “As any member of the Tier would to another. With courtessy and kindness.”

  Flinx wasn't so sure. During his stay there had been more than one instance where an AAnn had approached him with hand politely affixed to throat and head turned sideways, but whose true emotions he had perceived as bordering on the bloodthirsty. Still, since no one had tried to kill him the first week he had been at the complex, there was every reason to hope they would not try to do so now. Or try to do so following the singular procedure Chraluuc had described to him.

  But he was still unsure. “You really want to initiate me into your Tier?”

  Possible tail-thrashing forgotten, she began to pace in the AAnn manner: taking a step to the left, then to the right, then left again, essentially pacing in place. An onlooking human could have been forgiven for thinking that the slender reptiloid was practicing a new dance step.

  “As I ssaid, it hass never been done before. As far as thosse who have done the relevant ressearch have been able to determine, you would be the firsst ssoftssk—the firsst human to be formally inducted into an AAnn family unit. Becausse in order for you to become one of the Ssaiinn, you musst alsso become a member of a family.”

  The more he thought about it, the more Flinx had to admit that the proposal held a peculiar appeal. As Pip slithered off his outstretched arm and onto the room's single, simple table, Flinx reflected on his lack of any kind of family: a lack that would persist at least until more of his memory returned. And if it never did? Wasn't an AAnn family—wide-ranging, belligerent, and frequently indifferent as it could be—better than no family at all?

  “What AAnn extended family would adopt me?” he speculated aloud.

  “Mine,” she informed him without hesitation. “It hass all been worked out. The necessary recordss have already been transsferred to the deep-sspace communicationss ssysstem in Sskokossass for relay to the appropriate recordss-keeping department on Blasusarr. Family adoption is common and cassual among my kind. Yourss sshould not even be noticed.”

  Because so many of you are busy fighting and killing, he reflected silently. Still, that was not enough to put him off the idea. The more he pondered on it, the more intr
iguing, if not necessarily conventionally attractive, it became.

  “You will become a member of my family as well as the Tier of Ssaiinn,” she told him. “Who better than to do ssuch a thing than an association of radical outcasst artissanss?”

  It would be good to belong to a family of some kind, he mused. Even if it wasn't of his own species.

  “All right—I agree. But with one caveat: for one thing, I'm not participating in any mating brawls,” he told her firmly. “I'd be at a real disadvantage without a tail, not to mention claws, and I don't particularly like rolling around in hot sand.”

  “It would not be necessary for you to …” She broke off, gaped at him a moment, and then broke out in a stream of amused hisses like a toy steam engine. “Your ssuitably dry ssensse of humor is appropriate to your new sstatuss. Thiss unprecedented affair will go well, I think.” Turning suddenly somber, her words were punctuated by an appropriate half-gesture.

  “What will your own family think of thiss, when at lasst you are returned to them?”

  “That won't be a problem.” Reaching down, he stroked the back of Pip's neck, between her head and the place where her body bulged slightly and the muscles that moved her wings began. “Right now and for the foreseeable future, this is all the family I have, right here, and she's not objecting.”

  Chraluuc swallowed respectfully. “Ssurely, truly, there musst be otherss, ssomewhere. You musst have a female and male parent.”

  Her words sparked more remembrance. “There is an old woman who raised me, but she's not my true parent. My real mother was … my father was …”

  Rudely, questions came flooding back. Dozens of questions, to which he could summon up only a few answers.

  She took an alarmed step toward him. “Are you unwell, Flinx?”

  He mustered a smile. “No more so than usual, Chraluuc. Jsstass-ca vss-ibb-tssak. The sand on which I walk shifts, but is solid underneath.”

  Relieved, she gestured understandingly. “Then I will report your conssent to the Ssaiinn. The ceremony will take place in three dayss.”

  He was newly alarmed. “Ceremony? You mean, there's more to this than just entering the necessary information into a file?”

  She made a second-degree gesture of acknowledgment leavened with mild irony. “Did you think ssomething sso exceptional would enssue sso ssimply? There iss more to it than that, Flinx. It would be the ssame were the Tier inducting another AAnn.” Turning, she approached and put a hand on his left arm, the claws digging in only enough to reinforce her words. “Do not worry. There iss no rissk involved, and it will not take long. But it musst be done.” Claws capable of ripping out his throat moved up from his arm to scratch him lightly under his chin. Had it been covered in scales instead of skin, he would not even have felt it. “Tradition.”

  Soon to become mine as well, he realized. Reaching out with his own hand, he drew his fingertips politely down the side of her exposed, muscular neck. Greatly to his inner embarrassment, he could not escape the feeling that he was stroking the sleeve of an especially well-tanned leather jacket.

  It was early morning when Chraluuc escorted him to the convocation hall. Normally decorated lushly in adamantine chromatoswirls by the mated team of Yiicadu and Joorukij, the large circular chamber was bare now except for the diluted sunlight that poured through the domed skylight. It was noon, when the sun was at its highest, and therefore considered among the AAnn the most propitious time of day for the carrying out of ancient ritual. Even in the most modern setting and circumstances, the rapacious reptiloids were as devoted to the maintenance of custom as any primitive species with a long history of unbroken tradition.

  Not all were present. As he was led by Chraluuc into the center of the spacious chamber, Flinx tried to give names to those who were absent. Significantly, the participation was not along lines of partiality. Some of those who waited in the chamber were fond, or at least tolerant, of his presence among them. Others he suspected of actively disapproving, or forthrightly disliking, him. But several of the latter were present nonetheless, proud of their ability to set personal preferences aside for the sake of the Tier.

  At Chraluuc's urging he had left Pip behind, asleep in their room. He felt naked without the flying snake snugged around his shoulders and neck. This was not surprising, since he was naked. He felt no shame and believed that he never had suffered from a nudity phobia, but he did feel more vulnerable. In a room abounding with exposed claws and sharp teeth, he was virtually defenseless. Not that the unpretentious attire he normally wore would have afforded much protection anyway against a concerted attack from so many directions. If he was going to go through with this, he had realized from the time Chraluuc had first proposed it, he had to trust the members of the Tier. He had to trust her.

  Nudging and hissing to one another, the assembled artisans eyed him with undisguised curiosity. Until he had fallen into their midst, few of them had ever set eyes on one of the notorious softskins. Certainly none had ever seen one unclothed. Swirling around him, Flinx could sense feelings that traveled the gamut from jaded indifference to outright revulsion at the sight of him. Approving or not, everyone held their emotions in check.

  Though there were many present he had barely spoken to, there were none he did not recognize. He had lived long enough in the Tier to know everyone by sight. For their part, they all knew him. He was impossible to miss.

  The Ssemilionn of the Ssaiinn approached. As the triumvirate of Elders drew near, they turned their backs on him. Chraluuc moved back to take her proper place in the circle. Words were hissed. Flinx felt multiple tail-tips patting his body. The sensation was not unpleasant, but he tensed nonetheless. The age of their owners notwithstanding , the same leathery tails that were caressing him reassuringly could just as easily knock him senseless.

  They did not. Testimonies concluded, the members of the Ssaiinn also rejoined the circle. A moment of silence hung as heavy in the air as a blast from muted trumpets.

  Then something hit him. Hard.

  Looking down, he saw that he had been struck by a blob of iridescent color. It clung to his waist, twisting and coiling like a line of live neon freed from its tubing. Something else smacked into the back of his head. Reaching up, he drew back fingers stained with moaning ocher. The sound fit the color. Turning slightly, he sought a friendly face in the circle. His gaze immediately settled on Chraluuc's. With one hand she gestured first-degree reassurance. With the other she flung something bright and green at him, too swiftly and accurately for him to duck. Striking his left arm, its roots quickly wrapped themselves around his elbow, securing a firm perch. That was when it hit him.

  He was being assaulted by art. Every member of the Tier present was assailing him with some variant of their particular forte. The intent was not to injure, or to wound. The clinging iridescence, the moaning tint, the grasping carefully nurtured plant: all were intended to combine to form a single unified composition at the center of which was—himself. He was becoming not an art form, but an art formed.

  Clenching his teeth, arms held loosely at his sides, he tried to shield his more vulnerable parts as best he could without flinching. Otherwise, he stood and took it. Though it seemed as if the induction took hours, in reality it lasted much less than that.

  Then there came a moment when he opened his eyes to see that no one was hurling anything in his direction. Battered and not a little bruised, he struggled to make sense of the alien emotions that filled the room. Most smacked of approval—and not a few of admiration. Though whether this was for his display of stoicism in the face of the artistic assault or the aesthetic results, he could not say.

  His sight was blurred by the sparkling lights that danced before his eyes—part of the redoubtable Naakuca's luminescent work. Through the twinkling he could see a figure approaching—Chraluuc. A mix of respect and satisfaction radiated from her.

  “Almosst finisshed,” she hissed softly. Her pointed tongue flicked out to touch his chin. �
�Come with me.”

  Taking his hand, she led him toward one side of the chamber. The assembled members of the Tier stepped aside to make way for them. Confronted by an ordinary mirror, Flinx found himself gazing at a figure that was barely recognizable. It was himself, transformed.

  A Naakucan torus hovered around his head. Flowers bloomed from his elbows and knees (Chraluuc's work, he knew, and that of the Tier's several other botanical artisans). Colored lights formed patterns around arms and legs that were splattered with sculpted paint that shifted and heaved like sentient sculpture. Tinted sand spiraled around hips and torso, held in place close to his body by shaped charges of static electricity. It itched, but he refrained from brushing it away. He was as beautiful as he was unrecognizable.

  And it was all temporary, he knew. All rendered solely for the sake of his induction. He hoped.

  “What next?” he mumbled to his escort. “Everyone takes pictures?”

  A soft hiss of amusement issued from between powerful jaws. “All necessary recording hass already been done. All that iss needed now iss to complete the compossition that you have become.”

  He wanted to groan. “There's more?”

  Reaching into a pouch, she withdrew a familiar stylus. “The opuss iss not finisshed. You have to finissh it.”

  He was startled. “Me? What am I supposed to do?” Gazing into the mirror at the extravagant image of himself, he could not see where anything was lacking.

  “It doess not matter. Sso long as it iss part and parcel of yoursself. The artisst musst complete the art.” She stepped back.

  Turning back to his reflection, he gazed bemused at the kinetic wonderment he had become. What could he possibly do to enhance the dramatic resonance? What could he add to complete inspired perfection? It didn't matter, Chraluuc had said. What was important was that he do something. He was not sure he entirely believed her, but since he couldn't think of anything else to do anyway …