Trouble Magnet

by Alan Dean Foster

  Lal and Joh regarded her out of bright, vertically pupiled, no-longer-masked eyes.

  “Difficulty?” Lal inquired.

  “One dead by meanss unknown and dissturbing. The other I wass compelled to terminate to halt a foolissh flowing of thoughtless inssultss.” Free now to communicate normally, she added a forceful second-degree gesture of disapproval.

  “Our number with whom to sstrike hass been reduced by two,” Joh reflected contemplatively. “Converssely, in the abssence of dawdling humanss, we gain the advantage of now being able to proceed more quietly.” Slipping through the polymer-clad field on broad-soled sandals, tails swishing from side to side and weapons held at the ready, the three AAnn made little noise as they resumed their advance on the residential complex.

  Two approaching emotional streams had been abruptly terminated: one male, one female, both human. Flinx was not surprised. One termination had been carried out by Pip. He knew this because he had been with the minidrag emotionally when she had carried it out. The source of the other was not known to him; he had caught only the moment of actualization.

  That left the three AAnn slayers still advancing on the complex. He was all too aware of the threat they posed, both to him and to those who were relying on him. It was possible to project onto them, though manipulating alien emotions was far more difficult than working those of his fellow humans, and if he lost control there might not an opportunity to recover in time to make use of the tools he carried. There was also one other option.

  On several previous occasions the offworlder had surprised and even startled Subar. Yet none of these emotions approached the shock he felt on seeing his tall friend suddenly holster his weapon, rise, and walk out into the moonlight.

  “Stay here,” Flinx told him brusquely. “Don’t do anything.”

  “‘Stay here’? Tney, Flinx, what are you…?”

  Calm and composed, the older youth looked back and made a calming gesture. Alarmed and bewildered but not knowing what else to do, Subar held tightly to the beam cutter as he crouched back down behind the protective pile of storage containers. True, Flinx’s deadly flying snake was still out there, circling somewhere in the dark, but still…He could not imagine what the offworlder had in mind, exposing himself like this.

  He was about to find out.

  Seeing the tall bipedal figure materialize from the shadows, Dir immediately raised the sidearm she carried and aimed it directly at the human’s forehead. As she did so, the softskin turned slightly to look directly at her. Without knowing exactly why, she held off depressing the trigger. Flanking her on either side, Lal and Joh rose from their stalking crouches and closed in. Like her, both had their weapons raised and aimed.

  Catching sight of their lightly clad, undisguised scaly forms outlined clearly in the moonglow, the human stopped. Turning his head to one side, he deliberately exposed his jugular. Being beyond arm’s length, he could not reach for Dir’s neck. In lieu of sheathing the claws he did not have, he curled his fingers inward. The ritual tail swipe that should have concluded the greeting was, self-evidently, out of the question.

  “Tssrinssat ne vasse nye,” he hissed sibilantly into the semidarkness. “Flinx LLVVRXX of the Tier of Ssaiinn extends a closed hand across the sand.”

  It was difficult to tell who was the more stunned by this greeting: an openmouthed Subar looking on from concealment, or the three hired AAnn assassins who formed a line at the edge of the field. Weapons were lowered slightly while Lal’s voice rose.

  “How comess a ssoftsskin by a truthful name?”

  “And ssuch fluency in the right tongue?” an astounded Joh added.

  Flinx took another couple of steps forward. “I have commanded the right tongue for some time. As to the naming, it was bestowed on me by the Ssemilionn of the bespoken Tier, on the neutral planet Jast. Artisans of the first water they are, whose works you would find pleasing to eye, mind, and tail.”

  Even Dir, who of the trio always knew best how to interact with humans, was forced by her astonishment to pause a moment in her search for wordings. “Never have I heard of a human being given a truthful name. Yet your knowing burrowss too deep to be the invention of a facile ssanderling.”

  On her left, Lal was clearly troubled. “Thiss iss no nye, but rather a clever sspeaker-after-water.” He started to raise his pistol. Above him, unseen, Pip circled a little lower.

  Dir made a gesture of second-degree prohibition. “Not a nye, truly—but perhapss more than ssimply ssoftsskin, alsso.” She looked back at the human, who was taller than any of them but unlike many of his kind appealingly slender. Graft on a tail, she mused, sharpen the eyes, engineer some suitable claws instead of the ridiculous and useless keratinous nubs softskins possessed, swathe that disgustingly slick flesh with proper scales, and…

  She scratched herself, grateful for the cultured pain. This was neither the time, the place, nor the circumstances for indulging in fanciful perversions.

  “Knowledge of a modesst sstanding iss not enough to ssave you. We are honor-bound by the sstricturess of our employ to sshoot you, and to kill or bring out alive all thosse hiding within the buildingss you sshield.”

  “By the-sand-that-shelters-life,” Flinx responded, curling the fingers of both hands into his palms to illustrate even more vigorously that he intended no harm, “I remind you that no matter what you may have set claw to on this world, your honor binds you only to the laws of your own kind. Would not the opportunity to profit more both individually and as a group release you ethically from any agreement you may have made with a worthless human? Truly, would it not almost require you to do so?”

  The three heavily armed AAnn exchanged glances. After a pause of ritual significance, Dir looked back at the slim shadow standing before them.

  “Our ssureptitiouss employment on thiss world demanded that for much of the time we appear only in awkward and uncomfortable camouflage dessigned to give uss the appearance of ssoftsskinss.” Her head inclined slightly forward on its flexible yet powerful neck, she strained with sharper eyes than those of any human. “Are you certain you are not nye dissguissed as human?”

  “What opportunity do you flourissh?” the thoroughly pragmatic Joh hissed. The muzzle of his weapon had sunk even lower.

  Though showing no outward change of expression and knowing he was far from successfully resolving the confrontation, Flinx allowed himself an internal smile. “A number of extremely valuable items were taken from the one who employs you.”

  “Thiss iss known,” Joh responded immediately. “They are the sspark of our pressence here.”

  Further amazing the trio, Flinx executed a perfectly timed gesture of third-degree concurrence. “What care nye such as you for the spark of a softskin? You owe him no allegiance. Who among you would not be better off taking these objects, which are valuable to my kind but meaningless to you, and profiting from them many four-times over and above the comparable pittance you are being paid?”

  Another tripartite exchange of glances was followed by Dir inquiring directly, “We are on thiss dissmally damp world charged with following other interesstss, but…Joh hass sspoken sseveral timess of thesse objectss. You know their pressent location?”

  “Truly,” Flinx assured her.

  “You would reveal thiss to uss? Here, now?”

  “I sswear by the ssacred sshalowss of Blassussar.”

  Dir did not sheath her pistol—but with her free four-fingered hand she did perform a first-degree gesture of concordance. The tip of her whip-like tail touched the ground in a sign that was as deliberate as it was unprecedented. Turning her head sharply to one side, she drew in her claws, looked back at him, and voiced what was, at least at that moment, the most consummate compliment she could think of.

  “I have been sstranded on this wretched globe for longer than I care to think, longing for the warm ssandss of home, and in all that time you are the firsst ssoftsskin I have met whom I have not felt an insstant and insstinctive ur
ge to desstroy.”

  A hand came down on Subar’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was an appropriate simile. Watching from the shadows as the offworlder chatted easily and fluently with the three lizards, Subar had found himself thinking about skin in ways he had never previously contemplated.

  “Ashile!” He untensed and lowered the beam cutter he had raised. Not that there was any need to do so. He had been so startled he had forgotten to activate it. “Don’t do that!”

  She was crouching slightly to one side and behind him, raising and lowering her head to obtain the best view while still keeping out of sight. “What’s going on? Are those AAnn?”

  Subar nodded tersely. “Flinx is talking to them.” He heard the astonishment in his own voice. “In their own language.” Turning away from her, he stared back out at the impossible moonlit scene. “I never heard a human talk AAnn before. Not even in propaganda vits.”

  She rose slightly, risking exposure for a better look. “Where are Shaeb’s other people?”

  “Out front, I guess,” he murmured. “Or somewhere else on the property. If there were any more back here, they’d be gathered together with the AAnn.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “If Flinx can keep them occupied, it means we have a chance to slip away! Once beyond the fields, we can hide until morning, then walk to the nearest corridor and hail a transport!”

  He looked back at her, uncertain. It was a tempting thought. “What about the others?”

  Even in the dark he could make out her indignant expression. “You mean Zezula.” Before he could respond, she rushed on. “Everyone else has the same chance as us. They can make their own decisions without you. Haven’t they always?” Keeping low, she started to back away from him. “I’m going, Subar. We might not get another chance.”

  Torn, he found himself looking from her back out to where Flinx was still conversing with the three AAnn. What the result of that conversation might be he did not know. Would they let Flinx go, or would they shoot him down where he stood despite anything he and his flying snake said or did? And if they let him go, what would they do subsequently? Was Flinx, perhaps, tiring of trying to help Subar and his friends and quietly arranging his own escape? Doubt crept into Subar’s mind. In its presence, Ashile’s insistence was a powerful lure. And for insurance, he had the beam cutter.

  “Are you coming?” She was already halfway around the nearest corner.

  Staying in a low crouch, he backed away from the shielding mound of containers and worked his way around to where she was waiting for him. Together they surveyed their immediate surroundings, finally settling on a route that would take them far to the right of the implausible hissing conversation. Sprinting across the first moonlit gap, they headed for the property’s main storage building. No shots were fired in their direction, and no shouts remarked on their passage.

  The final speak was formal and respectful. Flinx lingered for a moment, watching as the three AAnn melted away into the night. Returning to the city, they would redon their human disguises and, following his instructions, set about vastly improving their financial status at a shaken Piegal Shaeb’s expense. They would regard it as fitting recompense for having to spend so much time on a soggy, human-settled world. Unlike the youngsters in the residential complex, the trio of mature nye were not afraid of retribution from their former human employer. Skilled agents, they could well look after themselves.

  His satisfaction ebbed as he made his way back to the complex. A distinctive and unexpected shift had taken place in the emotional resonance of one particular individual he had been closely monitoring. As Pip descended toward him, he worriedly increased his pace.

  “Subar? Subar!”

  Disregarding the instructions to stay put, the youth had vanished. Reaching out, Flinx passed lightly over various emotive identities, some frightened, some determined, some homicidal, until he located the one he sought. It was accompanied by a second whose powerful emotings he also recognized. While Subar’s feelings were muddied and confused, those of Ashile were clear-cut and unambiguous. And powerfully linked to his. Having experienced such sentiments himself in relation to another, Flinx identified them immediately. Identified with them. His unease deepened.

  Even at the most copacetic of times, such emotions were both dangerous and distracting.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Moonglow lit their way as they raced around the side of the storage building. Reaching the far side, they paused. Across one of the farm’s smaller fields, a glistening horizon seemed to beckon. Panting hard, struggling to control his breathing, a cautious Subar leaned out around the pebbly side of the structure in an attempt to search as much of the field as possible. Occasional shouts, curses, and the sporadic burst of weapons fire from other parts of the property continued to pierce the nocturnal silence.

  Ashile crowded close behind him. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Doesn’t mean there’s nothing there,” he told her.

  She started to push past him. “The longer we wait here, the more likely there will be.”

  Reaching out, he grabbed her left arm and held her back. “Don’t rush it. Haven’t you ever watched migrin?” he asked, referring to the small native black-bristled arthropod that was the Visarian equivalent of omnipresent urban vermin. “They don’t just scurry out across open spaces they want to cross. They dart from one corner to another, pause, look around, then run, pause, look around, and repeat, until they reach their destination.”

  The moonglow turned her perspiration to pearls as she looked back the way they had come. “Tkay, we’ve paused. Now it’s time to dart.” Pulling free from his grasp, she turned away and sprinted for the cover of the half-grown field.

  He started to follow. A reflection caught his eye. It should not have been where it was, because there was nothing for the moonlight to reflect from. It took him only a second for knowledge to reconcile with memory.

  Slantsuit.

  “Ashile, no!”

  Too late. In a flurry of glints and glimmers, the two slantsuit-wearing operatives rose from the polymer-shrouded field and closed on the oncoming young woman. Catching sight of them at last, she slid to a halt, whirled, and tried to race back the way she had come. Weapons appeared from beneath the concealment of the military-grade camo gear. Slantsuits bent light around them, virtually rendering the wearers invisible unless they moved. Now they were in pursuit of a desperate, frightened Ashile. They could easily have shot her down, but were unmistakably making an attempt to take her alive.

  Anguish is a lens that often brings otherwise obscured realities into sharp focus. Seeing Ashile running toward him, her hard-nosed pursuers gaining ground with each relentless stride, he remembered in a sudden rush who his true friend was. Who had always been there to listen to him prattle on, often vaingloriously. Who had taken him in and given him shelter when the screeching and infighting of his insufferable family had grown intolerable. Who had shared food with him and, when he was broke, loaned him cred for whose return he had never been pressed. Who had stared at him in a certain distinctive, inimitable way when she thought he didn’t notice. Who had laughed with him and walked with him and sometimes cried with him. The person whose attention he had so often shrugged off, frequently with a disdainful laugh. Not Zezula, she of the flawless face and unobtainable body and overarching ego.

  Ashile. Always Ashile. And now that he had finally managed to substitute understanding for folly, perception for obliviousness, it was too late.

  Or not. Activating the meat cutter and raising it high, he waved it in front of him in as active and threatening a manner as he could muster and charged out from behind the side of building, screaming at the top of his lungs the most bloodthirsty curses in his developing streetwise repertoire.

  She might have stopped, or at least slowed, but she was running full-out. He shot past before it registered on her what he was doing. Though in stature he was far from threatening, in the reduced
light the nature of his “weapon” was sufficiently ill-defined to bring both of the oncoming attackers to an abrupt halt. Raising their weapons, they fired almost simultaneously.

  Instead of just a foot or finger, every muscle in Subar’s body seemed to go to sleep at once. The beam cutter fell from his spasming fingers, bounced across the ground, and automatically shut down. Sprawling forward, he gritted his teeth against the paralyzing tingling that had assumed control of his nervous system. Whatever the nature of the weapon that had brought him down, it had been set to stun, not kill. Whether that would prove the more benign alternative remained to be seen.

  Approaching guardedly, his slantsuit-clad assailants eyed him with caution. One nudged the youthful form none too gently, then looked toward the shadowed structural complex.

  “The girl’s gone.”

  “We’ll get her soon enough.” His half-visible partner scanned the conjoined buildings through special night-vision lenses. “We’ll get them all. Give me a hand with this one.”

  Shouldering his rifle, he bent over the uncontrollably quivering body. It was not heavy, and he was able to carry it easily by himself while his companion, rifle at the ready and held parallel to the ground, defended their retreat.

  Flinx had sensed the shock and confusion in Subar’s mind the instant the younger man was struck by the pulse from the infiltrator’s weapon. With Pip flying cover, he hurried around one small structure, ducked beneath a brace of strapped-together conduits, and rounded another building. As he did so, he nearly ran over Ashile. A quick change of emotional focus laid bare the panic and distress that were raging within her.

  So out of breath was she that she could barely stand, stumbling against him as he reached down to grab her shoulders and keep her upright. “Subar—they’ve—they got Subar!” She was gasping and crying at the same time. “I was running and—I didn’t see the men, and Subar, he—he came running past me, running right toward them, and…” She gulped air. “You’ve got to—you have to…” She started to choke on her own desperate sobs. “Please…!”