Flinx Transcendent

by Alan Dean Foster

  Time passed and still the human made no threatening gestures. What was it thinking? How could it be so confident and controlled standing there naked and unprotected? What threat, what unknown danger, Kiijeem wondered wildly, was he overlooking?

  In reality, nothing that another human would have detected. Or any other sentient, for that matter. The young AAnn had no way of knowing that Flinx had already sized up his youthful challenger and found the threat he posed wanting. Kiijeem's roiling uncertainty and hesitation were as plain for Flinx to perceive as if the AAnn had announced them himself.

  They were all laid out for the singular human to read, in the young nye's emotions.

  What to do with this frightened but potentially dangerous adolescent? Flinx found himself wondering. Though he had no weapons himself, he felt that his experience would allow him to easily disarm the youth in any hand-to-tail combat. Alternatively, Flinx could summon up fear and Pip would kill the AAnn in an instant. Neither of those options appealed to him. Though undeniably scared, the young AAnn was also courageous enough to put forward the standard fighting challenge of his kind. Flinx didn't want to hurt him. In all the time he had spent on Blasusarr he had managed to avoid injuring a single resident. He did not want to start here, now, with this spirited but inexperienced youth. By the same token he could hardly let the young male attack him or run off to seek help. What to do, how to respond?

  The most important thing was to keep the youngster from raising any kind of alarm. Having been challenged, Flinx decided that for the moment at least, the best thing to do was play along. Projecting an emotion onto the youngster, if the mental effort succeeded, might calm him down—or it might send him screaming off into the night. Panicky screams were something to be avoided.

  Holding the fingers of his right hand together, Flinx passed the inner edge against his throat, then used both hands to perform a second-degree gesture of martial acknowledgment that perfectly complemented the youth's preliminary gesticulations.

  “I am called Flinx, of no family known to you, and I accept your challenge.” He indicated Pip, hovering threateningly nearby. “My companion will not interfere. Initiate as you will.” So saying, he dropped into as close an approximation of the traditional AAnn fighting crouch as his lanky human physiognomy would allow. Accepting a challenge while naked and unarmed would have seemed foolhardy to another AAnn—or another human. His helpless appearance notwithstanding, Flinx was far from defenseless.

  If Kiijeem had been startled and confused before, he was now baffled beyond reason. That did not prevent him from responding appropriately.

  “I am called Kiijeem, Fourth-born of the Family AVM, and it iss I who issuess thiss challenge.” Double eyelids blinked in surprise as he realized that the human had not only responded in the approved manner to the initial challenge, but had done so in perfect, only slightly accented speech.

  Why would a human master the AAnn language? Self-evidently this was no diplomat, wandering about unannounced on family property with some kind of AAnn costume-covering in hand. Was he a thief? Surely there was nothing worth taking from the family residence that justified the risk of making a clandestine landing on Blasusarr. What then was the creature's motivation?

  A spy. Of all possibilities he could imagine, that was the one that made the most sense to young Kiijeem. Except—a spy would logically attempt to infiltrate a military base, or some important scientific establishment, or at the very least a key commercial enterprise. One would not go to the trouble of sneaking onto the secured property of a wealthy and respected but by no means crucially important capital city family. The more Kiijeem mulled the situation, the further it shifted from the menacing to the farcical.

  Had his parents hired a clever actor to don a human simsuit while carrying around an empty AAnn skin? Was this an attempt by them, or other of his relatives, or of his study friends, to frighten him? Perhaps to dissuade him from his nocturnal rambles? Or had he offended someone his own age and thereby unknowingly set into motion what was nothing more than an elaborate prank? It would certainly explain the tall figure's linguistic fluency and familiarity with AAnn custom if it was nothing more than another of his own kind. Perhaps a professional hireling walking on flexstilts. Heedless of the individual who had just responded to his challenge, Kiijeem looked around intently. Searching the surrounding darkness, he found only silence. If anyone was looking on and watching, he could not see them. Nor could he hear any eager breathing or hissing laughter.

  Well, chissann, there was one way to find out. Having issued a challenge and subsequently had it accepted, he could not back away now without sacrificing what little adult status he had managed to acquire. If this was some kind of cunning subterfuge and those who had organized it were watching from hiding, the worst thing he could do was turn and run. Aside from the loss of all-important status, the humiliation would stick to him for years.

  “Prepare to defend yoursself,” he hissed in the sharpest tone he could muster. Holding the torgk close against his chest, he raised the curved bengk high over his head, kicked off his quick-release sandals, and initiated a ceremonial advance. As he did so, he could not keep from noticing the human-shape's external ears. He stared at his inscrutable opponent. What purpose did all that extraneous flesh and ligamentation serve? He shook himself. He had made a start to a fight. A fight in which he, at least, was wielding weapons that were anything but childish. If someone was playing a trick on him, if this was a game, a few quick swipes of the bengk ought to expose it swiftly enough.

  Shifting into the formal posture AAnn employed for hand-to-hand combat, Flinx took a half step backward and lowered his clawless hands. His adversary was young and probably inexperienced, but there was nothing juvenile about the blade he was gripping, about the killing point that tipped the end of the sheath that covered his tail, or about the sharp claws on his feet. Serious injury and even death could come at Flinx from any one of several different directions. He did not want to hurt the youth—but neither could he coddle the young AAnn at the risk of damage to himself.

  Seeing that Pip was watching him and not his approaching attacker, Flinx made sure to keep his thoughts calm. There was no real danger here, he told himself. Everything was manageable. He faced nothing more dangerous than a little strenuous exercise. The nighttime visitor was not an enemy. Perceiving his thoughts, the deadly flying snake slowed her wing beats and settled back to the ground. Flinx relaxed. Feeding off her master's relaxation, the minidrag's mind was eased that much more. Still, she did not fold her wings flat against her sides, and she stayed alert.

  Kiijeem continued to advance one stealthy step at a time. His unshod claws scraped rock, seeking the most secure foothold. If this was a game, the hypothesized unseen players were not ready to call it off. Was he actually going to have to bleed the tall figure confronting him? And what was it doing with its arms and hands? Why had it positioned itself with one leg in advance of the other, instead of side by side to gain the most height when leaping and kicking out?

  It did not matter. If constrained within a clever costume, whoever had been hired or otherwise engaged to frighten him would find their movements correspondingly restricted. The realization was reassuring. Letting out a swelling battle hiss, his tail whipping behind him, Kiijeem AVMd charged across the painstakingly sculpted, slightly sloping sandstone that enclosed the artificial pool.

  Overlooked by the onrushing reptilian figure and reassured by her master's muted emotions, Pip lay half dozing on the slice of rock where she had decided to rest and ignored them both.

  At a chosen distance from his target, Kiijeem gave free rein to his powerful leg muscles and leaped. Though not yet fully mature he was strong for his age and the beneficiary of good martial training. As he started to descend toward his taller target, he cocked his legs and prepared to kick out, keeping bengk and tail in reserve. Still the shape before him did not move; merely continued to track him with its peculiar round eyes. Choosing the optimum moment,
Kiijeem kicked. Still uncertain as to the seriousness of the challenge, he elected to strike for the chest instead of the head. If he was fighting an actor constrained by a costume, he did not want to mutilate or kill.

  He need not have worried. As his legs shot forward in the direction of his opponent he expected it to try a blocking maneuver or to retreat. Instead, the tall shape ducked and threw itself forward. Exhibiting a suppleness that reflected the flexibility of a truly soft body, it tucked into a ball and rolled. As Kiijeem dropped farther and tried to adjust the striking angle of his double kick, the human figure thrust out and upward with both legs. Kiijeem flicked his tail downward, but he was not quite fast enough. Before the tail's sheathed point could strike home, both of his opponent's feet made contact between the base of the AAnn's tail and his legs.

  The swift kick in the behind sent Kiijeem sprawling unceremoniously on the rocks. His landing was as undignified as it was unanticipated. Fortunately for him, the claws on human feet were stunted and harmless. Momentarily stunned, he recovered in time to see the human shape standing once more erect on both legs, still somehow managing to maintain itself upright in the absence of a counterbalancing tail. Expecting an attack, Kiijeem scrambled frantically to regain his footing. Lying on the ground, he was vulnerable.

  The figure did not attack. Instead, it stood breathing easily while staring back at him. The fingers on both fleshy hands curled inward against the palms: a sign of inoffensiveness. Truly, Kiijeem decided, this was the most peculiar deception in which he had ever participated. His opponent ought to have rushed him when he was down. What kind of game was being played here? Was his adversary showing deliberate disdain for Kiijeem's fighting skills? But if that was the case, why was the tall shape not making the appropriate accompanying gestures of contempt? Rising to his feet, Kiijeem dropped back into a fighting crouch.

  “I intend you no injury, I wish you no harm,” the figure declared in its barely accented AAnn.

  “Sspawn of sswamp,” Kiijeem hissed. “I will take your tail!” As he charged a second time it struck him how futile the threat must sound. His opponent had no tail. Unless, Kiijeem reminded himself, it was coiled and bound inside the base of the human suit to further the illusion.

  Maybe this was some kind of test, he told himself as he rushed forward, bengk at the ready. If so, he would not be found wanting.

  Let it not be said that he failed to learn from experience. This time he did not jump. Instead, at the last instant he dropped into a slide, legs thrust out in front of him, intending to take his foe's feet out from underneath. No unarmored human could have duplicated that swift slide on unforgiving rock without sacrificing plenty of skin. The young AAnn's scaly hide protected him from any scrapes or cuts. To distract his opponent Kiijeem threw his torgk upward, straight at the figure's face. This left him free to strike out with the bengk at whatever portion of his rival's anatomy came within reach.

  None did. The figure simply jumped straight up into the air. One downward-sweeping arm batted the flying torgk aside. Digging in with his claws, Kiijeem stopped his slide directly beneath the falling human shape. Bengk and tail upraised, he waited for his opponent to simply fall on the point of blade or sheath. His intent was still only to wound and not to kill. Lying on the nearby sandstone, a suddenly concerned Pip raised her head to eye the ongoing combat.

  As the figure fell toward him it twisted in midair. Demonstrating un-AAnn-like flexibility at the thigh, one leg swung out and around to hook the upthrust tail and half coil around it, trapping it and rendering it harmless. At the same time an arm snapped downward to knock aside the hand holding the bengk. The fingers of the other hand spread wide.

  The air whooshed out of Kiijeem as the heavy body landed on top of him. His tail was hooked and trapped, the hand holding the bengk was pinned to one side, and his adversary's other hand …

  The other soft but powerful hand was gripping his throat.

  Only the fact that those clutching fingers were clawless kept Kiijeem from giving in completely to panic. The blunt keratin at the tips of those five (why five and not the normal four? he wondered) could do him no harm. But the fingers themselves—how strong were they?

  He was utterly helpless, Kiijeem realized. His legs were free, but the heavy body lying atop his pinned form prevented him from flexing enough to make contact with his clawed feet. He struggled to kick free, to no avail. What if his opponent chose to tighten further those choking fingers? Kiijeem considered yelping for help, but if this was a test, or a masquerade, it would only magnify the humiliation of his defeat. At the hands of an unarmed opponent, no less.

  He waited for his enemy to increase the pressure on his throat. He waited for him to claim the right to inflict a ceremonial injury. He waited for a rush of hissing laughter from hidden, unseen mouths. What happened next unnerved him completely.

  The tall, lanky figure released the grip on his throat, carefully straightened the leg that had locked itself around Kiijeem's tail, rose, and stepped back to look down at him. Lying on the ground, Kiijeem let the fingers clutching the bengk loosen as he stared dazedly up at his opponent.

  “I attacked with weaponss. You have the right to claim damage.” He waited stoically. As the tailless shape came slowly toward him he closed his eyes and tensed.

  A soft, pulpy hand made contact with his own right one. Five digits wrapped around his four. Not to break, not to dislocate, but to pull. The strength in those spongy fingers was as surprising as the figure's agility. As they helped him upright, Kiijeem could detect nothing of artifice about the gesture. Breathing hard, he stared up at his infuriatingly phlegmatic opponent.

  “You inflict no injury.” Even an actor, he knew, would leap at the opportunity to acquire that germane bit of status, if only as a bonus in addition to whatever payment he had been promised. Kiijeem looked around. The night was still calm, the exclusive residential neighborhood still quiet. No shapes emerged from the darkness to laugh, to chide, or to admonish him. His lower jaw dropped to reveal sharp teeth, and his tongue lay flat and numb against his palate.

  “It's a human thing,” Flinx told him, careful not to show any teeth of his own as he smiled back.

  “You…,” Kiijeem searched for appropriate words. “You really are a human.”

  “Truly,” Flinx replied, this time without even a trace of an offworld accent.

  “How can thiss be? How can you be?” Aware that he was still gripping the bengk, Kiijeem realized that the figure standing before him was within easy stabbing range. The tip of his tail twitched, instinctive preparation for whipping around and striking. The appendage seemed oddly heavy. Looking around, he saw that something had attached itself to the very tip.

  The small flying creature had wrapped its coils around the end. Staring at the brightly colored blue and pink creature, Kiijeem took in the slitted eyes, the scaly body, and reflected that it was the one he would have been comfortable conversing with. Alas, while the winged thing was somewhat perceptive it was just as obviously not sentient.

  “If I cannot be,” Flinx replied gently as he took a seat on the sandstone and crossed his long legs, “then who are you talking to?”

  “I wass being literal, not solipssisstic.” Kiijeem squatted down into a resting crouch. After a moment's indecision he laid the bengk aside. But not out of reach. That would have been foolish. And un-AAnn-like. “What I meant wass that you, a human, should not be on Blasussarr.” Double eyelids blinked in succession. “You are not an operative attached to the Commonwealth diplomatic corpss?”

  “No.” Flinx chuckled. “They would be as upset to learn that I'm here as would your own officials.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” a genuinely curious Kiijeem inquired. “To my knowledge, no human hass ever managed ssuch a thing.”

  “I'm here because,” Flinx explained thoughtfully, “to my knowledge, ‘no human has ever managed such a thing.’” He looked away from the now intensely interested young nye, toward the n
ight sky. “I seem to have a propensity for doing things none of my kind have done before. My own ship thinks I'm crazy.”

  Two revelations to ponder in one short phrase, Kiijeem decided. “I'm crazy” and “My own ship thinks.” He determined now was not the time or place to probe more deeply into either claim.

  “You are lying. There cannot be a human sship near Blasussarr. Any incoming vessel not intercepted in the outer reachess of the home ssysstem would be obliterated long before it could enter into orbit.”

  Flinx did not smile. “Technological advances exist that the Empire knows nothing about. Or for that matter, the Commonwealth. My ship is not your typical voyager through space-plus. And I am not your usual human.”

  “I would not know. I have never encountered a ssoftsskin before. Only in sstudiess. Never in the flessh.” Aware that the weight had left his tail, he looked on as the colorful flying creature buzzed over to land on its master's shoulder.

  “Disappointed?” Flinx asked him. “Afraid?” He already sensed that the young nye was afraid of him, but he was curious to see how the youth would respond to a direct query.

  “A little, truly,” Kiijeem replied with admirable honesty. “You are not going to kill me.” It was not a question. Had the human intended murder, he would already have carried it out.

  “No. You are not my enemy.” Drawing his knees up to his chest, Flinx clasped his arms around them. As dawn began to threaten, the coldest part of the night probed harder at his exposed flesh.

  “The Empire and the Commonwealth have been enemiess for a long time.” As he spoke, Kiijeem tried to note all the details of the softskin's alien anatomy. In many ways the sight was laughable; in others, fascinating.