Running from the Deity

by Alan Dean Foster

  Above, Pip sensed her master’s sudden stress, folded her wings, and dove. Her intervention was not necessary. Exerting only a minimal effort, and without even trying to focus his attention, Flinx simply thought at the beast that he meant it no harm. Normally, he would have had to concentrate forcefully and hope that the creature possessed sufficient neurological complexity to be affected by the projection. If not, Flinx was fully prepared to dive aside and pull his handgun while his flying snake engaged and diverted the onrushing animal.

  It stopped dead in its tracks, its dark blue pupils squeezing together even more tightly than they had thus far. The two appendages that protruded from its head were pointed straight at Flinx, and quivering. Simultaneously relieved and bemused, the tall young human stared back. He had only concentrated once on the suggestion, and that almost indifferently, that the advancing creature should halt its charge. Yet it had done so with such alacrity that it was almost as if it had received and reacted to a recognizable spoken command. What was going on here?

  Flinx allowed himself to feel at ease, relaxed, nonthreatening. The jaw-bear’s cranial appendages relaxed. Letting out a soft snort, it turned and ambled off into the brush, not even looking back to see if the strange, angular being that had surprised it in the midst of dense vegetation was making an effort to follow.

  That was odd, Flinx reflected. Usually, his singular ability allowed him to empathize only erratically with nonsentients. He was better at it now than he had been years ago, but it was a talent that was still far from perfected. Yet convincing this startled alien plant-eater that he represented no threat to it had required hardly any effort at all.

  He shrugged it off as a fortuitous coincidence. That rationalization lasted until he encountered a small herd of long-eared, long-tailed browsers.

  There might be trees elsewhere on this world, but at least on the sandy peninsula where he had landed, the tallest vegetation was comprised of numerous variants of single-bladed pseudo-grasses. Some species were striped, some blotched, while others flaunted extraordinary and sometimes bizarre variations in color. And size. A few individual blades soared to heights high overhead. Providing a strong contrast was a pinkish stubble that in places grew together tightly enough to form a pale carpet under his feet. Everywhere he looked, diminutive and fast-moving creatures scurried through the diverse, angular grassland.

  Striding along, trying to gain a sense of the place while having to remind himself not to take giant leaps, he topped another dune, pushed through a closely packed stand of yellow-striped, single-leafed vegetation, and found himself confronting a pack of creatures busily cropping fat blue blades that grew in dense, solitary clumps. Unlike the bear-thing, these browsers were built low to the ground, though they featured the same arrangement of subdividing limbs as the larger animal. There the resemblance ended.

  Each individual was about the size of a small pig. Their front ends were narrow, the opposite terminus broad and flattened. Once again, each sported four legs that separated further into eight forelegs. A single small eye stared up at him from a globular housing near the tip of the pointed end, while a much larger one was located directly behind it and higher up. Speculating on the unusual in-line ocular arrangement, Flinx hypothesized that one eye was permanently focused for close-up work while the other searched for movement at a distance. Like the jaw-bear, their bodies were smooth and, except for a few gray and black patches here and there, a startling creamy white. And just like the bear-being, each of them had a pair of cranial appendages protruding from the front of its skull. At present, every one of them was pointing directly at Flinx.

  Half closing his eyes to relax himself, he felt that he was projecting a sense of complete well-being, of calm and contentment, that bordered on lethargy.

  In seconds they were clustering around him, rubbing up against his legs like so many arrowhead-shaped alien house cats. At the same time, they began vocalizing sharp clicking sounds that reminded him of recordings he had heard of terrestrial crickets. In this case, exceedingly large terrestrial crickets.

  The feelings, in the best sense of the term, were mutual. The more he relaxed, the more the arrowhead cats did, and the more he felt himself at ease. So much so that despite some nervousness on Pip’s part, he felt safe in taking a seat in the midst of the pack. They swarmed him immediately, chattering away like a dozen attenuated snare drums come to life, the emotions they were registering anything but hostile.

  Attracted by the noise, another couple of representatives of the local fauna appeared, pushing their way forcefully through the high, solo-stalked flora. The newcomers were considerably larger than the arrowhead-shaped creatures, each massing about as much as a heavy dog. Their appearance being notably less benign than that of the browsers clustered around him, Flinx started to scramble to his feet. As soon as he sensed what both of the new arrivals were feeling, however, he allowed himself to relax once again.

  The new arrivals had eight main limbs apiece, four to a side, each further dividing according to the apparently dominant local pattern into a pair of separate forelegs. That gave them sixteen legs apiece to go along with the four bright eyes: two facing forward to provide binocular vision, one each aimed to either side to supply tracking in parallel. Coupled with a narrow mouth full of slim but sharp centimeter-long teeth, it was clear that these most recent visitors had evolved to eat something more substantial than grass.

  Yet as they approached the wary but still-seated Flinx, not only did they ignore the potential arrowhead-shaped prey crowding around him; they positively purred. While their scaly flanks were not nearly as velvety to the touch as those of the clicking, chattering arrow-cats, they made up in displays of affection what they lacked in suppleness.

  Landing on her master’s shoulder, Pip surveyed the alien love-fest, flicked out her tongue several times in a reptiloid gesture whose meaning was beyond Flinx’s purview, coiled her hind half snugly around his neck, and settled down for a nap, oblivious to the activity around him. Meanwhile, the arrowhead cats and the two predators had been joined by a dozen or so much smaller creatures, each no bigger than a wingless pigeon and considerably more wiry. They boasted the same pair of peculiar cranial appendages possessed by every example of the local fauna he had encountered so far. While built close to the ground, these latest locals to push up against him were not devoid of limbs. Each had two, appropriately separated into two more.

  Eyeing the mass of alien affection swarming over his lower body and nuzzling his back, Flinx decided that instead of Arrawd, this world might more appropriately have been called Legs, if only by the Commonwealth probe that had surveyed it.

  Cuddly as was the creature conclave, before the sun reached its midpoint in the sky he wanted to see as much as possible of the region that lay within easy walking distance of the Teacher. Of course, the light gravity considerably aided the number of kilometers he could cover. Careful not to kick or step on any of his captivated local admirers, he rose, having to gently dislodge or brush several of them away from the legs of his jumpsuit. Primitive though were the simple emotions engulfing him on all sides, he found he was able to perceive their collective disappointment without straining.

  A single leap, a giant stride, and he was off and running. Jolted from her brief nap, Pip rose complainingly into the air as she was forced from her perch on his shoulder. Leave it to a minidrag to throw a hissy fit that was literal as well as metaphorical, he thought as he joyfully extended his bounding stride.

  What he forgot to keep in mind, because he was not used to taking such long steps, was that the sudden ability to span additional space also exposed one to additional dangers. One such, as treacherous as it was innocuous, took the form of an unexpectedly deep hole that had been inadvertently camouflaged by its excavators. As Flinx’s right foot descended, the occupants of the hole took scampering flight. When his boot entered the burrow, the owners were no longer present.

  A surprised look on his face, he threw out his hands
and arms to break his fall as he went down. Lesser gravity or no, he hit hard. An electric pain shot up his right leg, and he was grimacing as he hit the ground.

  Angry at himself, he gently disengaged his right foot from the gap that had momentarily swallowed it and began to feel gingerly of the limb from toe to knee. Nothing appeared to be broken, but when he tried to stand and put pressure on it, the injured area protested vehemently. It took only another minute to trace the problem to a sprained ankle.

  He was in no particular danger. A quick call via the communicator that was part of his service belt would cause the Teacher to send out the small skimmer it carried in its cargo hold. The danger was not to him, but to Commonwealth protocol regulating Class IVb worlds. Unless the initial planetary survey had been very wrong, or severely limited in scope, or the local dominant species had made unexpectedly giant strides in scientific achievement that he had somehow overlooked during his own admittedly brief survey from orbit, the skimmer represented technology far in advance of anything yet developed on Arrawd. It was incumbent on him to make every effort to ensure such a device was not observed by the locals.

  He considered how to proceed. The craft could fly low, just above the tips of the tallest growths, and at slow speeds made very little noise. Furthermore, he had chosen an area of sparse population in which to set down. Even if the skimmer was seen by a couple of locals, it was unlikely any report they might decide to make would be believed. Circling low, Pip regretted the absence of any vegetation with branches, and had to settle for landing on the sandy soil. Head up, wings half furled, she watched Flinx carefully as she monitored his pain.

  A second try at standing proved as futile as the first. While there was plenty of fallen and dried plant matter scattered about, none of it proved strong enough to serve as a temporary crutch. Lips tight, he reluctantly reached for his communicator, and was about to request that the skimmer be dispatched when a thought stopped him.

  No, not a thought. A feeling. Paired.

  Each was among the clearest emotional projections he had ever received, even from others of his own kind. Though not human, they were startling and uncompromising in their clarity. The first was a rapidly and continuously shifting blend of anticipation, determination, and fear. The second was unchanging and relentless in its lightweight fury: anger underlain with resentment. For all his practice in reading the emotions of others, in all his years of trying to gain control of his erratic, sometimes pain-inducing Talent, this was the first time perceived feelings had leaped out at him with such crystalline transparency.

  What sort of beings could project their emotions as sharply as if they were shouted words? His fingers hesitated above the communicator. He knew he should not have any contact with the local sentients. By doing so, he would be flouting a long list of elemental Commonwealth laws. On the other hand, he told himself as the emotional clarity of the two individuals approaching the clearing where he was sitting continued to intensify, he had been raised a thief. In his time, he had been compelled to steal many things. He had already stolen time on this world. Taken in that context, the theft of a little information, without anyone continuing any the wiser, to satisfy his own private curiosity and without any intent to disseminate, seemed but a minor infraction.

  His hand drew away from the communicator and moved to position itself near the needler attached to his belt. While their emotions were presently nonthreatening, he had no way of knowing how those coming this way would react at the sight of him. Nor did he know if they were armed, and if so, with what. Death brought about by primitive devices was no less final than that begat by advanced weaponry. He needed to be prepared for anything. As he had been all his life.

  Calling Pip to him, he bade the flying snake curl up in his lap, leaned back with his palms pressing into the cool, slightly moist soil, and waited to see what was about to step through the surrounding vegetation.

  CHAPTER

  4

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

  Storra was tired, bored, and frustrated at the waste of time. She should be home, finishing the fringe work on the magaarje runner. It was a particularly fine piece of work, incorporating both suru and sjal patterns, and it ought to bring a high price in Metrel’s southern marketplace. If she was ever allowed to finish it, that is. She resented every timeclick that took her away from the work. It was beginning to look like this wild wandering of her beloved mate, she reflected dourly, would end up costing her an entire morning.

  Ebbanai’s confidence was starting to ebb even though they were still some distance from where the arrival had taken place. Storra’s uncompromising resort to logic and reason was beginning to have an effect on him, wearing down his conviction like gherowd bone beneath a file. Had he truly seen what he claimed to have seen? Or, as she had suggested, had he taken a fall after all, and hit his head, and dreamed everything but the falling and the head-hitting?

  No. He rose a little higher, lifting his upper torso another fold out of the pelvic buttress. He had not been dazed, or dreaming. It had all been real, as real as the sand and dirt presently passing beneath his four sandal-shod foot-pads. What he did fear was that the machine he had seen had swallowed up its creatures and left during the night. If that was the case, and no proof of its ever having been on the beach had been left behind, he would never hear the end of it. For the rest of his life, Storra would drag it out in the middle of every argument and use it against him.

  The machine-dune had to still be there. It had to be. He pushed through a denser clump of tall cherkka—and then it no longer mattered whether the gigantic apparition remained on the beach or not.

  Because its occupant was not with it. It was here, right in front of them.

  Alongside him, he heard Storra react, her startled inhalation a fusion of whistle and gasp. Every one of her skin flaps lifted and extended to its maximum, giving her the temporary appearance of a threatened horwath raising its defensive spines. Her eyes widened such an extent that they threatened to sprain the encircling muscles. All her anger, annoyance, and uncertainty evaporated in the space of a second.

  As for the creature, neither it nor the smaller, winged being coiled about its upper arms made any effort to stand in response to their arrival. Nor did either of the alien beings react sharply. Their calm in the face of the confrontation almost suggested that the arrival of Ebbanai and his mate had been anticipated.

  Nearly as shocking to Storra as their appearance, and certainly as much to Ebbanai, were the mouth-noises the alien spoke. These were directed not at them, but toward a small device the creature took from a belt and held up to its enormously wide, flattened mouth. Alien noises went in, but comprehensible Dwarrani came out.

  “My name is Flinx. I am an intelligent being like yourselves.” A single hand at the end of a single forearm pointed skyward, and a stunned Storra could not keep from looking for its missing counterpart. “I come from far away, from a world that circles a star not unlike your own.” The alien arm lowered to indicate a leg that terminated in a similarly solitary forelimb. “I was running, and I’ve injured myself. I mean you no harm.”

  He did not have to say so. Both Ebbanai and his mate already knew it.

  They knew it because they could sense it. How, neither of them could understand. They had made no contact with the alien’s Sensitives. They could not do this, because it had no Sensitives. Except for the peculiar short, red tendrils that sprouted somewhat gruesomely from its skull, it was evident that the alien had nothing of that vital nature to conceal. Yet despite the creature being Sensitive-deprived, they could perceive its feelings as clearly as if that myriad of tiny red tendrils possessed the same function and were presently coiled tightly around their own antennae.

  Somehow it was communicating its emotions to them without physical contact. Ebbanai would have declared this to be impossible, if not for the indisputable fact that it happened to be taking place. He turned to Storra.

  “Are you
feeling these—these projections, as I am?”

  Openmouthed, she indicated assent. “How can this be happening?” She looked back down at the alien. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Of course not.” Her mate spoke with quiet but unmistakable satisfaction. “It’s impossible, remember?” With both of his right hands, he indicated the incongruous creature seated before them. “Just as is the undeniable existence of this being.”

  She found herself grateful to her mate twice over. First, for having had the strength of character to persist in his beliefs and insist she come see the truth of them for herself. And second, for not shaming her with his triumph. Other females might seek mates with money or reputation: once again she found herself content to have chosen one whose most outstanding asset was a goodness of spirit and soul. Moving impulsively close to him, she flicked her Sensitives against his.

  The depth of feeling that passed between them was not lost on Flinx. He understood immediately the nature of their relationship without having to inquire.

  Despite the additional forelimbs, their movements were somewhat awkward, as if their lean and willowy bodies did not quite know what to do with the extra forelegs and arms. No doubt that was just his own alien perception. In all probability they considered themselves quite graceful. He marveled at how the quartet of forelegs worked in concert, when it seemed certain every second step would see them getting entangled and tripping all over themselves.

  “You two are related, and very fond of one another.” He spoke gently into the translator he held.

  Contact between them broke as both regarded him with fresh astonishment. “How—how can you know that?”

  Seeing no reason to withhold information about himself that would never leave this isolated world, and feeling that revelation of his ability to communicate on the emotional level could only enhance his stature among natives who did likewise, he told them.