Flinx Transcendent

by Alan Dean Foster

  Even with the fate of civilization at stake, the two scientists had patience enough to wait until their former charge had wolfed down two complete emergency meals before they began pressing him for particulars. Wanting a full and accurate report from the recently deployed instrument, they knew from experience that it was better to wait until the device in question was ready to operate on a full charge.

  He was downing the last drops of a half liter of liquid supplement when Sylzenzuzex could stand the delay no longer.

  “Srall!tt, Flinx—what happened? Talk to us! Where did we go? What is the result?”

  Lowering the partially imploded, pressurized drink container, he blinked at her. “You don't know?” He looked around at his companions. “You didn't see anything?”

  Putting a hand on his arm, Clarity offered gentle clarification. “We only saw you lying under the dome and its spectacular reaction to your being there.” She nodded in the direction of the corridor that led back to the landing deck. “When it became clear that you might be under for an extended period of time, Bran and Tru hiked back to the shuttle. None of its ranging instruments were able to take any readings beyond the airlock.” She smiled hopefully. “We couldn't tell what, if anything, was happening outside.”

  Stepping forward, Truzenzuzex brandished impatient antennae at the tall young man. “Your comatose presence on the operator's platform spawned a great deal of impressive ancillary activity. Bran and I presume it was not merely for show. What, if anything, of consequence was accomplished during your period of unconsciousness?” A truhand gestured in the direction of the corridor. “We know only that we moved out of range of contact with your ship. Did you succeed in making contact with this artifact?”

  It struck Flinx forcefully that his friends had absolutely no idea of the momentous events that had transpired while he had been, to their eyes, insensible. He considered how best to enlighten them.

  “You could say that. Yes, I made contact. The situation we all face was discussed. The weapons platform agreed to a plan of attack.” He tried to meet each of their gazes in turn. “You're correct in assuming that our position changed. While I was—elsewhere—the artifact was not static. We took a little trip. In order to mount a maximum effort, the ship traveled through space-minus, or something akin to it, to a location outside the galaxy.”

  “‘Outside’?” Tse-Mallory was staring evenly at him.

  Flinx nodded. “It was very beautiful. Even under the circumstances I was able to look back and see—everything.”

  “Outside the galaxy.” Truzenzuzex gestured a mix of awe and disbelief so radical that Flinx was unable to identify it. “The first humanx to travel beyond the Rim, and we have not even a crude image to commemorate the visit.”

  “There may be nothing to memorialize.” Tse-Mallory was less given than his old friend to the need for memorialization. “You spoke of the ship mounting a ‘maximum effort.’ This was done?”

  Flinx nodded again. “The artifact brought together the combined energy of all its weapons systems and unleashed them through a non-conforming variant of space-minus at the oncoming threat. I was able to observe the consequences in real time.”

  Tse-Mallory did not hesitate. “And the consequences were—are?”

  Flinx did not try to hold back or to minimize what he knew. There would be no point, and he doubted he could deceive either of the highly perceptive scientists in any case, even if he believed doing so might be to their benefit.

  “I'm afraid there weren't any. No,” he corrected himself, “that's not entirely true. There were some corporeal consequences. The Evil was affected—a little. It was slightly damaged. An insignificant amount, I think. Insofar as I could tell, both its structure and its course remain intact.” He glanced down. “It's still coming this way.”

  The two scientists conferred briefly. “You say it was damaged.” Truzenzuzex used all four hands to indicate their surroundings. “What went wrong? Could the great weapons platform not sustain the attack?”

  “It could,” Flinx told the philosoph, “but it won't. It believes that any further assaults would be useless. It says that it can't effectively do battle with something that exists outside known physics.”

  “Known Tar-Aiym physics,” Tse-Mallory pointed out. “Not that the distinction matters if it stated that it won't continue to fight. I presume that you did your best to try and convince it otherwise.” Flinx said nothing—and in so doing, said a lot.

  “It's taking us back to the Booster system,” he finally announced. “That much it's willing to do.”

  Tse-Mallory exhaled resignedly. “Well then, I guess that's that.” Raising his gaze, he surveyed their extraordinary surroundings. “This artifact was our last, best hope of overcoming the annihilation that's heading toward us. Tru and I have felt that way ever since you first told us about it.” Reaching out, he lightly tapped a nearby wall. “Compared to the forces this relic can bring to bear, every weapon in the Commonwealth is little more than a conventional firecracker. If the best it could do was irritate the menace, then I expect we all may as well make plans to live out the rest of our lives and enjoy them as best we can in the time we have left to us. As for our descendants …” He left the inevitable unsaid.

  “No.”

  Everyone's attention shifted to Truzenzuzex. The philosoph was standing on his four trulegs, rising as tall as he could.

  “I refuse. So long as consciousness remains, so long as cognizance holds sway, so long as I can function as a thinking being, I repudiate the notion of capitulation.” Gleaming compound eyes fixed on his longtime companion and fellow researcher. “However fruitless the effort may appear, we will continue to search for possibilities, my old friend. We will do this not because we must, or because we see avenues that may lead to success, but because it is what we do. Evolution has given us the ability to reason. If we choose to abjure it, we surrender the one thing that makes us worthy of continuance.”

  A somber Tse-Mallory stared down at his wholly inhuman, chitinous counterpart. Then he nodded, once.

  “Up the universe,” he murmured, and broke out in a wide grin.

  “Up the universe,” the philosoph echoed, not at all solemnly.

  While the moment was inspiring for the two scientists, it had less effect on their younger companions. By the time they had all returned to the landing deck and their waiting shuttlecraft, a sense of dour inevitability had settled over Flinx, Clarity, and Sylzenzuzex.

  “At least we won't see the stars go out in our lifetime,” the padre whistled softly. “With luck, it won't happen during the life terms of my own offspring.”

  “There's no way of telling.” Flinx was helping to sort their remaining supplies that had been laid out next to one of the shuttlecraft's landing skids. “Every time Tru and Bran's contacts in Commonwealth Science think they have its velocity verified, it keeps accelerating.”

  Clarity wore a contemplative expression. “Life must have been so much easier and more relaxing before Amalgamation, back in primitive times when people were confined to one world and believed it constituted the whole universe.” She shook her head mournfully. “They never had reason to be afraid of the stars. Their only concern was first to look out for their own survival, then that of their tribe, then their village or nation. They never had to worry about the survival of a civilization composed of dozens of star systems and species.”

  “True,” Flinx agreed, “but they also believed that shape, or smell, or language differences or belief systems were important. They didn't know that all that matters is sentience and sensibility.”

  “None of it will matter for long.” Tilting back her head, Sylzenzuzex looked up toward the sweeping roof of the immense airlock. “When that thing gets here, it will all disappear. Everything. No more consciousness. No more exploration and explanation.” She eyed Flinx. “According to what you've told us, there'll be nothing but—nothingness.”

  It was too depressing a précis on which to
terminate the conversation. He nodded over to where Truzenzuzex and Tse-Mallory were conversing.

  “Tru's not ready to give up. If he's not, then I'm not either.”

  “You saw what's coming,” Clarity commented from nearby. “You, more than anyone, know what it's like. Dark and emotionless and horrible.” She held back the hysteria that threatened to rise and engulf her. “I know you, Flinx. I know that you're a realist. Your life has made you that way, more so than most people. Given all that you've been through and all that you know, after all these years how can you find even a shred of optimism to cling to now?”

  He considered briefly. “Old habit,” he finally confessed. “Maybe that bit of DNA was manufactured into me, too. Special optimism gene. One more twisted strand of warped customization.” He bent to pick up a water container. “How about giving me a hand here?”

  “‘Manufactured’?” Sylzenzuzex inquired quizzically from nearby. But Flinx did not hear her. Or maybe he did.

  The weapons platform emerged from space-minus back into normal space far enough beyond the orbit of the Booster system's outermost world and high enough above the plane of the ecliptic that its gravitational influence did not perturb any of that system's attendant planets. That was fortunate because it also did not disturb the Teacher.

  Flinx did not have to make formal contact with the Tar-Aiym shipmind to ask that they be allowed to leave. As soon as they had boarded their shuttlecraft and lifted from the vast deck, the barrier overhead irised open. Their departure was not contested as they accelerated outward. Once clear of the surface they were able to look back as the synthesized methane atmosphere coalesced above their point of departure, once more concealing the actual artificial shell from any simplified external view.

  “It's moving again,” Flinx quietly informed his friends.

  “Yes.” Along with everyone else, Truzenzuzex was staring out the forward port of the Teacher's control room. “Have you any idea where it might be going this time, Flinx?”

  “It didn't say, and I didn't think to ask it. I imagine that its programming includes contingencies for self-preservation. It can travel through space-minus, or some kind of similar physical anomaly, so I guess it's heading—somewhere else. Maybe starting on a long journey outward, away from our doomed galaxy.”

  “If we had planet-sized ships like that,” Clarity speculated, “we might be able to save enough of a remnant population to reestablish humanxkind somewhere else. Someplace out of the path of the monster.”

  “Next address, Andromeda.” Flinx looked glum. “But we don't have any ships like that. Nobody does. Even the Tar-Aiym could only build one, and it's not exactly programmed for shuttle duties.”

  “A course, Flinx?” It was the Teacher's AI. Though his ship was perfectly content to sit in one place, it knew from experience that its human was not. Flinx forever favored moving forward.

  “I have no idea,” the master of the ship muttered. What should they do now? What should he do now? He might have lost a galaxy, but he still had Clarity. Should they look for a quiet place to settle down on another world, perhaps even on Moth? His homeworld might be obscure enough to allow them to avoid the attentions of the misbegotten members of the Order of Null. Should he try to embark on the halfway normal life he had often dreamed of?

  It would be the sensible thing to do. It would be the easy thing to do. The Teacher was his ship and would follow only his commands. He could do as he pleased.

  Instead of making a decision on his own he put the question to his mentors. Beginning with Mother Mastiff, he had always found it prudent to listen to the advice of his elders. He might not do as they suggested, but he always listened.

  Though visibly disheartened by the failure of the Tar-Aiym weapons platform to destroy or even deflect the oncoming menace from its seemingly immutable course, the two scientist-soldiers listened sympathetically to Flinx's quandary. They were in agreement in their response.

  “There is always time for mating and egg-laying,” Truzenzuzex pointed out. “Or for its messy human equivalent.” Antennae fluttering, he glanced at Tse-Mallory, who nodded, and then turned back to the attentive Flinx. “We would beg of you a little more time in this unique system, Philip Lynx.”

  Flinx looked over at Clarity, who shrugged. “It's your decision. Staying here a little longer won't bother me, as long as we're together.” Turning, she smiled at the philosoph. “You want to carry out what studies you can in a place you're not likely to ever see again. I've known you long enough to expect that.”

  Truzenzuzex gestured second-degree gratitude mixed with gentle appreciation. “Bran and I thank you for your understanding, Clarity Held. Our objective in remaining here awhile longer is not merely to indulge scholarly pursuits, however. We wonder if further study of the Krang and the ancient city that surrounds it might lead to a hint of another possibility for fighting the oncoming threat.” Both truhands described opposing circles in the air. “We have nothing else to try, and are bereft of other ideas for defense.”

  “Expending one's efforts and energies on a long shot,” Tse-Mallory added tellingly, “is better than doing nothing at all, even if the only eventual real benefit is psychological.”

  It was settled, then. Raising his voice slightly, Flinx addressed the Teacher.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “My aural sensitivity is acute. I hear everything,” the shipmind replied tartly. “I continue to await a course—from you.”

  Flinx sighed. AIs were so literal. “Take us back to Booster. Prep the shuttle for another landing. Same surface coordinates as before.”

  “Complying.”

  They set up a sleep and study area just inside the entrance to the Krang. Returning to Booster after having communicated at length with the massive and now-departed weapons platform, Flinx half expected the Krang to fill his mind with all manner of queries and thoughts as soon as he stepped through the alien edifice's lofty entrance. Nothing of the sort eventuated. Inside the great vaulting tower, the relentless winds of Booster were blocked, the soaring pipes and conduits silent and cold. Reaching out with his Talent, he molded a mental query. There was no response. He eyed the distant dais and its overarching domes. It was a lesser platform than the one he had made use of on the simulated methane dwarf, but more familiar.

  The Krang was a device. For all its planetary dimensions, the departed weapons platform was nothing more than a bigger device. The Meliorare-engineered extreme multipolar neuronic connections within Flinx's telencephalon that gave rise to his singular Talent were not duplicated by alien hardware. To in any way match his abilities, complex instrumentation was required.

  He considered placing himself once more beneath the domes—and demurred. In the absence of a specific reason, without a driving need, he saw no reason to subject himself to what was unfailingly an enlightening but always exhausting and potentially dangerous exercise. If consulted, Clarity would certainly agree with that conclusion. Subjecting himself to the domes and to intimate mental congress with ancient Tar-Aiym instrumentalities in hopes of saving the galaxy, or even just himself, was one thing. Doing so for purposes of asking general questions or just having a conversation seemed needlessly dangerous. So he avoided the beckoning platform and spent the ensuing days with Clarity, with whom he shared an entirely different and far less stressful mental connection.

  They enjoyed their time together as best they could, given the stark solemnity of their surroundings. Meanwhile, Sylzenzuzex assisted her revered Eighth and the ever-stolid Tse-Mallory in their research. This often took the three of them outside the Krang and into the deteriorating city proper. Flinx and Clarity were left behind to admire their alien surroundings, the silent mist hovering high overhead, and ponder a future fraught with an ominous mix of problem and promise.

  They spent a week thus. As a locale for what they half jokingly decided to call a pre-honeymoon it was decidedly out of the ordinary. Under such exotic conditions most men would have given li
ttle thought to anything but assuring their own continued survival. With the weight of all of civilization pressing down on his shoulders, that was not a luxury that had ever been afforded to Flinx.

  Clarity knew him well enough to realize that as much as they were enjoying having some time together without anyone trying to shoot, paralyze, or blow them up, issues other than their relationship were preying on her beloved's mind. One morning after the usual rudimentary early meal she determined to press him on it.

  She found him sitting just inside the cavernous entrance, staring out at the decomposing metropolis of the long-vanished Tar-Aiym, looking lost in contemplation. In a way that was encouraging, since he so often looked simply lost.

  Settling herself down beside him on the crest of the outermost arc of amphitheater resting slabs, she snuggled as close as she could. Outside the soaring portal, the ceaseless winds of Booster wept for a civilization long-gone and all but lost to memory.

  “I'd ask if there was something on your mind,” she murmured, “except that the answer to that question is always the same.”

  “What?” His surprised exclamation confirming her assertion, he glanced down at her and smiled. “You're what's on my mind, Clarity.”

  She grinned. “I'd better be. But I know there's something else. Something more than the usual restlessness has been bothering you these past couple of days.”

  He looked away. “It's just a thought.”

  “Uh-huh,” she observed knowingly. “When you have ‘just a thought,’ there's no telling what's at stake. Empires could crumble. Worlds could stop spinning on their axes.”

  He grunted softly. “Might just be gas.”

  She shook her head. “Not this time, unless you're running a secret internal chemical analysis. I know you. You're too deep into whatever it is you're currently into.”

  He waved a hand at the silent city that was slowly succumbing to the ferocity of the relentless wind. “I've been thinking. Tru and Bran hope to find something here that might point them to another means of combating the approaching menace. They've had no luck. They don't expect to have any luck, but it's in their nature to keep fighting, to not give up. I'm kind of the same way.”