Flinx Transcendent

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I do not ‘gallivant,’” Truzenzuzex commented primly. “I plan in haste.”

  Tse-Mallory smiled considerately. “Will a couple of days be sufficient for you to get your affairs in order?” When she nodded, he turned to Flinx. “And you?”

  Flinx did not have to think. He had worked through departure procedures many times, on many worlds. “There are supplies and provisions the Teacher can't synthesize. There's no telling where we're going or how long we'll be gone. It would be good to be able to start the search again knowing the ship is fully prepared.”

  Instead of replying, Tse-Mallory glanced over at his companion. “Tru?”

  The thranx gestured impatiently. “Humans invariably find a way to rationalize delay. But I suppose our young friend's logic is sound. Very well then. A couple of days. I will use the time until our departure to compose and plant certain situation-sensitive messages with professional acquaintances.”

  “What kind of messages?” Flinx asked curiously.

  The thranx philosoph's great golden eyes rose to regard him impassively. “The kind that might prove useful to friends and colleagues in the event we don't come back.”

  Effrom was out of breath by the time he reached the rendezvous. It was out in the open, of course, the better to ensure both anonymity and privacy. As soon as he showed himself beside the public healthirl, the others began to steadily gravitate in his direction. As they did so, like the several dozen other citizens caught up in the healthirl's whirl, Effrom and his party breathed deeply of the supervised whirlwind's heady atmospheric cocktail. Today's broad-spectrum anti-retroviral was infused with the aroma of Terran peach. Effrom took care to inhale the respiratory prophylactic, though improving his health was not the reason for his visit.

  Tuoela, Ambreleon, and the others were waiting for him inside the slow-speed domesticated cyclone. Drifting away from the other citizens, they collected in a small group near the center of the health-enhancing storm. There they could hear one another clearly while reasonably confident no one else could eavesdrop on their conversation, either in person or electronically.

  “We received your alert.” Tuoela ran a small business that supplied decorations imported from different worlds for everything from birthdays to ceremonial government dinners. On any of the capital's streets she would not have drawn a second look from the most suspicious policeman or chary government operative. Nor would any of her companions in the present circle. Their zealous ordinariness ensured their continued anonymity.

  “Everyone is excited.” Canodoce was only slightly younger than the woman floating next to him. “We've waited and hoped for this. You can really confirm?”

  Though he was no less excited than his comrades, Effrom controlled his emotions. “The one who endangers the Purity has indeed returned. I have seen him myself on multiple occasions. There is no mistaking his identity.” He breathed deeply of the invigorating, health-giving hurricane. “As if further authentication were required, the same small flying creature accompanies him.”

  Ambreleon's expression darkened. “That's the kind of verification I could do without.” Reaching up, he touched the right side of his neck. Surgery had completely erased the damage he had suffered during the fight at the shuttleport, but no physician or medtech could eradicate the phantom pain that continued to haunt him. “The flying snake kills.”

  “We'll deal with it this time.” Tuoela was full of confidence. Their patience had, at last, been rewarded. “Deciding to monitor the woman's recovery was genius. Our colleagues lost track of the man almost immediately. Based on what was known and could subsequently be learned, it was thought he might one day return to see her.” She smiled thinly. “Love is such a proficient betrayer.”

  “It certainly makes it possible once again to carry out our sacred duty.” Longing for the all-inclusive great death that might follow his own, Canodoce verged on the ecstatic. “We can now act to preserve the Purity that is to come.”

  “In order to do so we must separate the tall meddler from his small protector,” Tuoela pointed out.

  “‘Protectors,’” an apologetic Effrom corrected her. “The others who were at the shuttleport and helped provide the cover that allowed him to get away have also returned.”

  Tuoela was not pleased. “More complications. Still, we will prevail.” Squinting into the roaring wind of the rejuvenating airstream, she regarded her friends and colleagues. “We have waited too long for it to be otherwise. Let it begin here and now. First, to logistics.” She turned to face middle-aged M'dbane. “While I have no more fear of dying than any of us, if possible I would prefer to live to greet the coming end. As I am sure you all would.” Murmurs of agreement greeted her assumption. “Therefore I rule out suicide attacks unless we are left with no other choice. Such an attempt would likely fail in any event.”

  “Why is that?” Though bigger and stronger than any of them, Canodoce was comparatively new to the Order.

  She caught his gaze. “It has been determined that the meddler can read feelings. The stronger the emotion, the easier it is for him to perceive it. Whether in isolation or a crowd, an incipient suicide would stand out sharply. To a certain extent one's emotions can be masked by medication. But while drugs can disguise feelings, they also tend to diminish skills. A proper balance must be struck.” She shifted her attention to the rest. “That much we have learned from several failed attempts to eliminate the meddler. We cannot fail again. We may never have another chance.”

  “Bearing in mind our previous failed attempts to kill him, wouldn't he be exceedingly watchful now that he has returned to Nur?” Beulleu had a face that reminded others of a stranded fish, and a personality to match.

  “He gives no indication of it.” Effrom felt confident in sharing his assessment. “On the several occasions I observed him, I could not see that he was taking any special precautions save for keeping the flying creature always close by. Perhaps he feels that his elderly human and thranx friends are shield enough.”

  “Or more likely,” Ambreleon declared, “he remains unaware of our strength and persistence and believes we were dealt a mortal blow during the fight at the shuttleport.”

  Tuoela nodded. “So much the better for us if he thinks we are all dead, disabled, or disbanded. It is entirely conceivable he cannot imagine the depth of commitment those of us who survived have to the Order.” Muted but steadfast rumbles of affirmation rose from the congregation as she turned to a roly-poly employee of one of New Riviera's most respected research companies.

  “What news of the Purity?”

  “It still comes.” The man's voice was high and squeaky, as if he dwelled in a state of perpetual fear. His ruthlessness and ability were not compromised by his vocal shortcomings, nor by the fact that despite his intellectual skills he qualified as a borderline psychopath. “Continued corroboration comes from our covert contacts on Earth.” His eyes rolled heavenward. “Would that I might live to see its arrival and be drawn into the great nothingness! The meddler cannot stop it. Nothing can stop it.” In a quiet paroxysm of semireligious ecstasy he lowered his gaze and shut his deep-sunk eyes tightly. “All will be wiped clean and remade.”

  “Nevertheless,” Tuoela reiterated sternly, “we of the Order are committed to ensuring that the Purity encounters nothing that could prevent or slow it from fulfilling its destiny in this small corner of the cosmos. That means removing the meddler and the enigma he represents from the scheme of possibilities.” As she addressed the gathering the fragrance of the wind whirling around them changed from peach to cupuraçu.

  “This should not be so difficult, now that we have a better idea of what we are dealing with. We do not have to confront an army. Two men, two flying creatures, one woman, and one thranx. Several times we have underestimated the ability of this small group to forcibly reject absolution. It is a mistake we will not make again.”

  “How do you propose to proceed?” Though Canodoce dwarfed the rotund researcher, he did n
ot consider himself the other man's superior. Within the Order, all were equal. In death, in the Purity, they would be exactly the same. It was a soothing thought. Those who believed their mission was to prepare the way for death did not fear it.

  “We must deal with them separately.” Tuoela was remembering. “When we tried to take them that day at the shuttleport they were able to concentrate their defenses and render help and support to one another. The big man and the thranx are clever, but they are old. I fear the small flying creatures more.” She nodded in M'dbane's direction. “Though it seems that very little specific information is available on them, Olu has done some valuable research on the creatures that should aid us considerably when we confront them this time. The woman we nearly killed the first time. She presents no problem. It is the meddler himself who continues to present the real difficulty.”

  “How do you plan for us to take him?” Truth be told, while helping to maintain the watch on the healing woman, Ambreleon had not given the winding up of the business much thought.

  “There are a number of options, all of which will be exercised if necessary.” Tuoela's unbending confidence was an inspiration to them all. “This time nothing is being left to chance.” She smiled grimly, more she-wolf than saleswoman.

  “I have even made arrangements to bring in professional help.”

  It was an odd group.

  Tse-Mallory noticed them as soon as they entered the shop. In the back, the two sets of simple clothing he had ordered were in the process of being soft-cast from the holo the proprietor had taken of his customer. Tse-Mallory could have come back when they were ready, but since the entire process took less than twenty minutes from customization to conclusion, he had decided to wait. To kill time, he amused himself examining, trying on, and pricing the vast assortment of accessories available for the outfits he had ordered.

  The peculiar troupe that had wandered in did not look like they wanted to kill time.

  Their very blandness nearly caused him to let down his guard. That was their intent, of course. A couple of matronly women; a decidedly senior citizen who flaunted his long, double-pointed beard; a chatty younger couple, and a single street singer radiating music from his headband did not at first glance appear to pose a threat to anyone or anything. What gave them away was the incongruity of their congress: one would never expect to encounter the street musician, for example, in the company of the old man, or the younger couple with the pair of matrons. Had they entered the shop separately, Tse-Mallory might never have taken notice. But they all came in together, almost pushing to get through the single portal. As soon as they were inside, they went from the comparative silence of their collective entrance to all talking at once.

  Culturally and socially it was a bit off. Just sufficiently skewed to set off internal alarms in someone like Tse-Mallory. Evincing no outward unease, he ambled toward the back of the store. Perfectly normal for someone in his situation to want to check on the progress of his order. Perfectly natural for him to step behind the counter. The member of the staff he intercepted started to say something. As she did so Tse-Mallory smiled, leaned toward her, put a finger to his lips, and whispered, “Get on the floor. Now.”

  Her eyes got very wide. “Is this a robbery? We have nothing to steal except equipment and fabric.”

  “I wish it were a robbery. I think it's something more. Something that doesn't involve you or your establishment.” Out of the corner of an eye he detected movement behind him. “Not that it will matter to these people. Get down or get shot.”

  Then he was whirling, spinning, and ducking all in the same incredibly rapid motion as he drew a pistol from his pocket.

  The first shot, fired by one of the two matrons, was overeager. Though she took careful aim, in her hurry to extract her weapon she had fumbled the draw. It was that motion that had alerted Tse-Mallory to the fact that the curious cluster of presumed patrons was intent on something other than casual shopping. The discharge from his pistol sizzled air as it cleaved her skull just above an elaborately shadowed right eye.

  Chaos erupted inside the small shop. Harkening to Tse-Mallory's warning, the clerk had dropped to the floor. She had her hands over her ears and was undertaking, with some success, to scream. Sheltered behind the counter, constantly in motion, Tse-Mallory took out his assailants one by one. While it was apparent in the course of the firefight that all of them were experienced in the handling of arms, formal weapons training was not the same as actual battlefield experience.

  Bits and pieces of counter and wall, but not of Tse-Mallory, went flying. One struck the poor prone employee hard enough to make her gasp. Her nonstop screaming was only one component of the auditory madness that filled the shop. In back, the proprietor and his assistant did the usual stupid thing by sticking their heads out to see what was happening. For their trouble the assistant acquired a hole in his chest and his employer a severe concussion.

  Both of the older women were down. So was the senior citizen, who had proven surprisingly agile but far from invulnerable. The street singer's severed head lay in one place and his body in another. The headband continued to pump out music. As for the young couple, they rose from the little available cover they had found to charge straight toward the counter. It was a suicide rush. Tse-Mallory's interest in their motivation did not prevent him from rolling to his right out of their line of fire and shooting them both down.

  Rising slowly amid the carnage, he took stock of himself. A couple of close calls had resulted in wounds that looked bad but were in reality little more than bloody nicks. Good thing he had new clothing on order, he mused. That was assuming he could persuade the stunned proprietor to finish the job.

  Stepping out from behind the counter, pistol gripped tightly at the ready, Tse-Mallory checked those bodies that still had their heads. If these people wanted him dead so badly, why had they not simply bombed the entire building? But a bombing on peaceful New Riviera would doubtless have attracted investigative attention from all across the planet. Therefore it was reasonable to assume they did not want to draw that kind of attention to themselves. Which left hanging the critical question—who were ‘themselves’?

  A quick check of the pockets of the dead told him nothing. What information and identification he was able to access was consistent in its uniformity. Based on what he found, it seemed as if he had been marked for assassination by as mundane a bunch of citizens as could be found in the city.

  That was when old memories gave birth to a terrible suspicion. Still holding the pistol, he lifted his left arm to his mouth and addressed the communit on his wrist. Sartorial replacement could wait. With luck, his fear would not be confirmed. As he spoke to the pickup he was heading for the door. Behind him, the stunned shop owner was trying to render aid to his badly wounded assistant and shell-shocked salesgirl. Tse-Mallory would have to let him get on with it by himself.

  His own concerns ran much deeper.

  They closed in around Truzenzuzex while he was in the park. Lacking the need for any additional personal supplies for the forthcoming journey, he had chosen to wait in more amenable and relaxing surroundings for Tse-Mallory to finish his business in the nearby shopping arcade. The philosoph was taking his ease on one of the many longitudinal benches set out in the park to accommodate his kind when he noticed the trio coming toward him.

  Their approach was restrained—and they had probably rehearsed it thoroughly—but that could not keep them from occasionally glancing furtively in his direction. One or two glances he could appreciate. Nur/New Riviera was a human colony world. Thranx, while they could be found in numbers in the equatorial regions, were not to be encountered everywhere. But his presence in Sphene was not so extraordinary as to draw nervous, fleeting looks one after another.

  Then there was the couple approaching from the opposite direction. Though ostensibly wholly absorbed in each other, they too cast sporadic glances in the direction of the elderly thranx sprawled on the bench. Raising his h
ead, he idly surveyed the remainder of his surroundings. His peripheral vision, far superior to that available to any human, quickly detected several individuals coming toward him from still another direction. Taken together, it was clear to him that the trio, the couple, and the advancing individuals had one thing and only one thing in common.

  They happened to be converging on the spot where he was lying.

  Easing off the bench, he gathered all six legs beneath him and started off in the one direction that was not occupied by humans coming toward him. While this corner of the park was not deserted, neither was it crowded. The three and two and more who were closing in on him might be doing so with the intent of meeting up with one another. Or it might be nothing more than a mathematical coincidence. Truzenzuzex did not like convergences that placed him at the center of strange coincidences. In any event, it would be easy enough to find out if he was the focus of their attention. He would walk away from them, they would pass behind and ignore him, or …

  The sonic burst that shattered the trunk of the small tree he stepped behind was more than enough to confirm that last suspicion.

  He was virtually surrounded and there was nowhere to run. Seeing weapons being drawn, the few other visitors in the vicinity began running in all directions or ducked down behind decorative boulders and trees. Ignoring these panicky citizens, the humans who had been closing in on the elderly thranx charged toward their quarry. Several of the bystanders who had taken cover were already using their communits to report the violent encounter to the police and to the media. While their rapid responses were to be commended, they would do the target of the belligerent humans no good. The philosoph would be diced and sliced before the first police arrived.

  Off to his right, the fleeing philosoph noticed a hole in the ground. He had no idea what it was or where it might lead, but to a thranx salvation instinctively lies below. Cutting in that direction, he dove into the opening as sonic and neuronic bursts ripped up the landscaping in his wake.