Reunion

by Alan Dean Foster

  “What about the dangerouss ssmall flying creature that travelss with it?” subofficer Ulmussit inquired.

  “Desstroy it on ssight. Jusst be careful not to harm the human.” Gesturing dismissal coupled with a traditional third-degree supplication for good luck, he headed for the nearest floater.

  Soon both of the compact craft were airborne, gliding smoothly over the highest prominences. Looking down, Dysseen wondered at the two scientists’ classification of the eroded blackness as the surface of some ancient transmitter. It did not seem possible. But then, he was not here to reflect on the viability of work he was unqualified to judge. Picking up an actual live human intruder was far more important than some obscure archeological find, anyway.

  Flinx heard the floaters and sensed the expectant emotions of their high-strung occupants approaching several minutes before he saw them. Taking shelter beneath the womblike bulge of two ebony towers, he watched as one of the low-flying vehicles swept past overhead. His hopes fell. Clearly, he had been spotted and his location ascertained. His movements were now circumscribed. Even so, he refused to concede his freedom. There were still things he could do, still a chance for escape.

  But escape to where? If the landing party from the Crotase was still in the vicinity, they would surely have noted the recent surge of AAnn activity and, no matter how well camouflaged their camp, hastened to move elsewhere. That would eliminate any remaining chance he had of confronting or joining up with them. His choices seemed more desperate than ever: Evade the AAnn and die alone in the desert, or surrender to them and suffer whatever consequences they might choose to mete out.

  His lips tightened. He had spent too many years avoiding the hostile attentions of others to relinquish his independence now. As soon as the floater was out of sight, he darted away from his hiding place and hurried off in the opposite direction.

  Dysseen received word via his combat headpiece less than a tenth-timepart after setting down. They might actually have located the human faster had they employed all the resources at his disposal. But that would have made it too easy. He wanted to justify the time spent on the project, as well as give his troopers a chance to practice their field skills.

  There was no way the human could escape their attention. With its route blocked in front and retreat eliminated behind, it could move without restriction only to left or right of its initially detected position. Those remaining options were speedily being cut off as troopers fanned out to encircle their quarry. It did not take long for a pair operating on the northern fringe of the closing southern group to identify a solitary figure, apparently dug in as best it could contrive, and waiting with weapon at the ready for whatever might come.

  Admonishing everyone in the vicinity to continue to close the snare without alarming the prey, Dysseen rushed to the indicated location. The subofficer on site provided coordinates, which Dysseen promptly entered into his headpiece. Sensor lenses instantly pinpointed and zoomed in on the target.

  It was too simple, but what else could one expect when modern battlefield gear was brought to bear on a single, poorly equipped fugitive? Without additional input or effort, Dysseen could clearly see two arms and a portion of shoulder clad in the skinsuit the two scientists had informed him had been appropriated by the human. The stubby, clawless fingers of the hand holding the stolen pistol were grimy with dust in a painfully obvious but nonetheless honorable attempt to camouflage the pale, soft flesh within. A lumpy shadow divulged the position of the head and neck. There was, as yet, no sign of the dangerous flying creature. No doubt its owner had it lurking in the background somewhere in a useless but admirable attempt to guard his rear.

  A single shot with an explosive shell could have taken the human out. It would also simultaneously render it useless for purposes of interrogation. Everything would be much more simple and straightforward if the fugitive was a thranx. The insectoids responded readily to reason and logic. Dysseen knew from his academy studies that this was not always the case with humans. Though the mammal was overwhelmingly outnumbered and only lightly armed, Dysseen had no intention of risking even one of his troopers to capture it. It was completely surrounded, and they had plenty of time.

  From his belt he took a voclo and clipped it to the pickup on his headpiece. As an officer of his class he was required to know a certain minimal amount of Terranglo. It was time to try it out.

  “Human!” His voice echoed among the sharp projections and ropy coils of unidentifiable black material. The exclamation brought a satisfying response from the circle of concealed soldiers. Even the insufferable Qiscep was impressed. “You ssurrounded total now. You sshow sself, abandon weapon. Come uss. No danger you. Officer promisse. Come uss now. All assurancess given.”

  There was no response from the place of concealment. The stolen weapon remained pointed menacingly forward, and the human did not move. Irritated, Dysseen tried again.

  “You come uss now, human! Come now, or die soon. No esscape more for you. Many Imperialss here. Big gunss.”

  The human must have heard. To be certain, Dysseen took the time to check with an unusually learned subofficer named Amuruun, who assured his superior that the particulars he had voiced in Terranglo had been adequate if not glib. Convinced that reasonable contact had been made, Dysseen reluctantly gave orders for his troopers to close in on the human simultaneously from all sides, and to be sure and shoot the flying creature the instant it was sighted. Having passed the directive along, he resumed his observations—and waited.

  Worried, he stood alongside Hizzvuak. If necessary, the troopers were under instructions to fire to disable, but there was no guarantee some overzealous soldier might not inadvertently shoot the human in the head instead of a lower limb. Dysseen was not going to be able to rest easy until the intruder was safely in custody.

  They kept waiting for shots to be fired; either from the human or his encircling captors. None echoed through the ghostly surroundings. Eventually, a voice whispered to the officer via his headpiece.

  “You had better come and ssee thiss, honored ssir.”

  “What iss it? Iss the human ssafe?” Dysseen’s tail switched uneasily. Something had gone wrong. He could hear it in the subofficer’s voice.

  “Hassessh, ssir, it certainly iss unharmed. Come and ssee for yoursself.”

  Vaulting over the low barrier behind which they had been waiting, Dysseen and Hizzvuak raced forward at an urgent lope, their long legs carrying them over anything but the most significant barriers. Approaching the human’s hiding place, they slowed sharply. While Dysseen looked on in stupefied silence, his slightly laggard subofficer slowed to a halt alongside him.

  The human’s pistol remained up and aimed, ready to fire. The arrogated skinsuit glistened distinctively in the sun. Advancing, Hizzvuak gave the precisely poised bipedal figure a sharp kick, striking out with one of his powerful hind legs.

  The carefully collected bits of broken transmitter material that filled the skinsuit collapsed into a pile of misshapen rubble, bringing down with them the longer, leaner fragments that had filled out the arms of the skinsuit. Supported by shards of rock that from a distance had passed for dust-camouflaged fingers, the pistol tumbled to the ground. Only the lump of carefully selected stone that had cast a skull-like shadow remained in place, now severed from the rest of its metamorphic mannequin.

  Ulmussit’s tone was dry. “As you ssee, ssir, the human iss unharmed.”

  “Very effective use of improvissed low-tech,” Hizzvuak commented.

  Dysseen was not amused. With nothing to work with but his alien surroundings, the lone human had made a fool of his pursuers.

  “It could be anywhere behind uss now—but not far. Sspread out and find it. Use individual motion detectorss and all available ssenssoring equipment. I want it brought under control within the timepart!”

  The order was passed. Once more the squad dispersed, this time fanning out instead of closing in. With both floaters searching from above, D
ysseen felt confident they would locate and recover the human within the time space he had specified. This was merely a short-lived delay, one that would do the resourceful mammal no good. And if it happened to suffer some unpleasant but non-life-threatening injuries prior to being delivered to base commander Voocim, why, there would be no real harm done. A thoroughly annoyed Dysseen intended to inflict a portion of those himself.

  Flinx was a lean, strong runner, but even in top condition he could not outrun a floater. One spotted his nearly naked outline less than half an hour after he had used his painstakingly fabricated decoy to buy enough time to slip through the net that the AAnn had been drawing tight around him. With nothing to be gained by looking in the floater’s direction or following its flight path, he concentrated on maintaining his pace as he ran back toward the scientific outpost. If he could beat the AAnn troops there he might find material of use. Individual transport, perhaps, or the additional weapons the scientist couple was sure to have. He gave no thought to trying to hold either or both of the elderly researchers hostage. Following AAnn military convention, the soldiers would simply shoot at them to get at him, and then hold him responsible for their deaths.

  Considering the distance he had to cover, his chances of improving his plight by trying to make it back to the outpost were slight to nonexistent, but anything was better than simply waiting around for the AAnn to pick him up. Even though checkmate seemed inevitable, he had resolved to continue the game until he was out of pieces. He still had Pip, who soared along above him, and perhaps another trick or two. At the very least, he would not make it easy for the AAnn.

  A roar filled his ears, and sudden wind ruffled his long red hair from behind. Was the floater trying to run him down? If so, there was little he could do about it. The hand weapon remaining in his possession might be capable of damaging the military vehicle, but if he shot at them he risked being blasted in return. If they were going to attack him with a floater, he might as well surrender now and save himself an injury. Exhausted, breathing hard, he slowed and turned. Hovering dangerously close overhead while hot air danced in rippling waves around it was a large, highly mobile craft. It was not an AAnn military floater.

  It was the other shuttlecraft from the Teacher.

  A mellifluous voice broadcast down to him. “Good afternoon, Flinx. You are in need of transportation. Your ship misses you.”

  It was standard AI interfacing, interlaced according to his chosen program, but he could not have responded more gratefully had the words come from old Mother Mastiff herself.

  “You could say that. Access, please.”

  Since the shuttle could not set down on the jagged black surface of the transmitter, a hoist was deployed. It was not an elegant means of embarkation, but it allowed Flinx to board. Pip accompanied him upward, having no need of such unwieldy devices.

  Once within the familiar confines of the backup shuttle, Flinx threw himself into the pilot’s seat and gave the order to return at speed to the Teacher. Further inquiry revealed that the shuttle’s path had not been tracked, nor was it presently being monitored. As for the Teacher, it remained where he had left it, secluded in fixed orbit behind the outer moon. Within minutes they were accelerating out of Pyrassisian atmosphere. Only then did he begin to feel a little safe.

  The distilled, recycled water the shuttle provided from its limited supply slid down his parched throat like refrigerated nectar. His fatigue fell away like dry skin as he contemplated the order he intended to put to the Teacher’s autochef, and the immersion shower he intended to take as soon as he could divest himself of his filthy remnant rags. It was plain what had happened. More than a reasonable amount of time having passed without any contact from its owner, the ship AI’s intuitive programming had finally kicked in and sent the shuttle looking for him. Had he been marooned in a city, finding him would have taken forever. But on Pyrassis’s barren surface, locating the only human on the planet had taken considerably less time.

  He wanted to ask the Teacher, via the shuttle’s instrumentation, about the present location of the presumed exploration party from the Crotase. He also wondered about the dried leaves that were lying on the deck close to the pilot’s seat, but he was too tired to phrase the queries: too tired, and too consumed with anticipation of the decent food, water, and cleansing to come. There was nothing of such importance that it could not wait a little bit longer for examination.

  When Dysseen reported what had transpired, Voocim was at once furious and pleased: furious that their empty-handed quarry had somehow managed to escape the attentions of an entire squad of presumably well-trained Imperial troopers, and pleased that her suppositions were confirmed. The human was a spy, all right, whose operations had been monitored all along by sophisticated instrumentation aboard an as-yet-undetected interstellar craft. It made the prize, when eventually it came to rest in her grasp, all the more attractive. A spy was definitely worth apprehending: a spy and its KK-drive ship considerably more so.

  As a system of decidedly minor importance, Pyrassis was not notably well defended against intrusion. But neither was it open and inviting. No claimed Imperial world was without protection. There were steps she could take, forces she could mobilize. The insidiously clever human had escaped the surface of Pyrassis. It would not escape the system. There was less room for improvisation in space than in atmosphere. Turning to her communicator, she began to issue the necessary directives.

  Chapter 14

  Flinx had never had much of a real home, not in the traditional sense. Mother Mastiff had done her best to make one for him, but the rambunctious old lady had not really been the domestic type. As a result, and in the absence of true parents, he had spent most of his youth wandering about the streets and bazaars of Drallar, seeking diversion and enlightenment in place of familial comfort.

  Many years and worlds later he was still wandering, but thanks to the adaptive skills of his whimsical, curious friends the Ulru-Ujurrians, he could now take a semblance of a home with him wherever he chose to go. The Teacher was a fully-equipped KK-drive ship capable of making the journey between star systems. Over the past couple of years it had become as much of a permanent home as he had ever known, one that could not only take him where he wished but respond to his needs and requests as he thought of them. As the shuttlecraft settled into place within the drop hold, he realized how much he had missed his ship’s comforting, enveloping walls.

  After days of wandering the arid desert of Pyrassis, the immersion shower was so satisfying, so relaxing, that it required a real effort of will on his part to step out and stand still while the system dried him. With his spirits revived, real food and sweet drink rapidly restored his spirits. Pip reveled in every one of the edible bits and pieces he passed her. Her dust-coated wings regained their stained-glass gloss, and a familiar luster returned to her green-eyed gaze.

  None of this took very long. Though Flinx could gladly have done nothing but cleanse, eat, and sleep for days, he could not spare the time. Not if he wanted to stay on the track of the Crotase. Additionally, the AAnn responsible for the security of Pyrassis were now aware that at least one unauthorized human was prowling their vicinity. While Flinx did not know the limits of the locals’ resources, he doubted they would allow him to roam free just because he had escaped the planetary surface. As long as he remained within Empire boundaries, his independence was at risk.

  Did they have ships in-system that were capable of searching for him? He had to assume so since it could be fatal to assume otherwise. Accordingly, he directed the Teacher to monitor proximate space for suspect trajectories, to report any such to him immediately even if he was asleep, and to take whatever appropriate evasive action its tactical programming should deem necessary to ensure the continued safety of both itself and its sole human occupant.

  None of which meant that he was giving up on his search: only that he was taking steps to ensure that he would be able to continue it.

  Now that it was possib
le that his presence had been descried, and his escape from the surface via shuttlecraft reported, the AAnn would begin looking for him in orbit. Failing to find either the shuttlecraft or any other unidentified vessel nearby, they would invariably extend their search outward. Which meant that his time frame for tracking, observing, and making contact with the landing party from the Crotase was limited and getting smaller with every passing moment. Eschewing the comfort of the immersion chamber, he headed purposefully forward and settled himself in the owner’s chair. Pip amused herself slithering in and out of the instrumentation, searching for vermin that weren’t there.

  It was not necessary to address himself specifically to the Teacher’s controlling AI. There was no one else on board capable of responding to his questions. “Has the position of the landing party under scrutiny changed from previous determinations?”

  The ship did not hesitate. “It has.”

  That wasn’t surprising, he knew. He called up the dimensional map of the region where he had spent the past difficult days. Interestingly, it identified the significant expanse of the buried alien transmitter as a geological feature.

  “Show me the new location and refine the convergence.”

  “I cannot do that, Flinx.”

  He blinked. “Why not?”

  “Because the landing party from the Commonwealth vessel in question is no longer on the surface of the world in question. Its members rejoined their ship several days prior to your recent return.”

  “Then they must be reconsidering the geographical location of whatever it was they came here to investigate.”

  “I surmise otherwise. Not only did they depart the surface, they have left the planetary vicinity.”

  Leaning back his head, Flinx closed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired. To have come all this way, to have risked intrusion into Empire space, only to have lost the trail of the one syb that might contain critical clues to his history, was almost too much to bear. And the trail was lost. No ship could be tracked through space-plus. One had to know its destination, or at the very least its departure trajectory. Even then, and with the aid of sophisticated plotting and predicting instrumentation, trying to decide on a vessel’s eventual destination without knowing where or when it planned to emerge from space-plus was an arcane art that bordered on the metaphysical.