Strange Music

by Alan Dean Foster

  Offering no objection but keeping a wary eye on the individual he had just rescued, Flinx resumed his own seat. Since Larian legs were proportionately shorter than those of most humans, this required a somewhat contortionist exercise on Flinx’s part. His knees came closer to his chest than was entirely comfortable. In addition to that, he had to sit with them turned outward, as they could not fit beneath the low table. He would have been nearly as relaxed just sitting on the floor.

  As Larian utensils consisted pretty much of a sharp knife and little else, Flinx resumed eating what remained of his local meal with his fingers. The male he had rescued looked on with interest. As far as the locals were concerned, humans compensated for the short length of their manipulative digits by having five of them instead of three. The indigene’s attention shifted to the innocent-looking metal tube leaning against the wall to Flinx’s left.

  “Graceless in design is your weapon, primitive in execution by any standards. Yet unique and deadly can none deny, is your device of offworld origins.”

  “My companion now is sleeping,” Flinx sang around a mouthful of seared plant protein, “who is both friend and protector; sensitive is she to any who come too near, to any who might threaten, to those who stink of killing.”

  The native glanced ceilingward. “Spawn of the Great Waters, I implore you, keep her insensible to my very breath!” In less stentorian tones he sang as he reached for the pouch that hung by a strap from one shoulder, “By your permission will I thank you, in paying for your meal, little as it may be. Allow me this opportunity, this small chance presented, to repay you for preserving this one’s poor life.”

  Fairly certain he was not violating any significant native cultural protocol, Flinx waved away the offer even though he sensed that it was genuine. “I respond with thanks but can decline your gesture, as enough of your portable currency I carry with me, enough to pay for what needs I have.”

  “Really? How much do you—” The song ceased in midnote as the grateful local realized he might be overstepping his bounds. When he ceased trying to singspeak, Flinx found the native’s emotions a confused mix of anxiety, fear, admiration, and exhilaration. He was plainly trying to figure out who this offworlder was and what he was all about. Flinx smiled to himself. The Larian was not the first, human or alien, who had struggled to do that. Any such analysis was complicated by the fact that Flinx himself was still engaged in an ongoing process of trying to figure out what he was all about.

  “If not in money I can pay, to show my gratitude for your recent doing, for your rescuing me from that group of louts, what can I offer by way of thanking? For I am sitting here in your debt, as well as in your sight, with obligation pending. I would discharge it with gratefulness promptly, to found your brief visit on memories pleasant.”

  As forthrightly as he had taken a seat on the bench opposite the human, the native reached out and helped himself to a spiral-shaped raw vegetable in the bowl that contained the remnants of Flinx’s meal. Amused rather than upset, Flinx said nothing. Nor did he miss the bit of purloined food. While perfectly edible and nourishing, Larian cuisine tended to the decidedly bland, regardless of whether it had been produced on land or gathered from the shallow seas. He ate it because he had to, not because he looked forward to it. Some of it, he had learned from his studies, was raised or grown, and some was free-range harvested. The latter included creatures and plants both large and small, active and drifting, energetic and parasitic.

  As he watched his uninvited guest help himself to another remnant of the meal, Flinx reflected that it had yet to be determined if the brazen local would fall into that last category.

  “Brief is not my visit’s timing, fleeting not the time I’m spending. Here I start to travel farther, in hopes of helping not a Larian but all Largess. To do this I must have some help, must someone find, to assist my going.” Having had all he could stomach anyway, he pointedly shoved the bowl with its remaining food across the table toward the native. Though his physique suggested he was far from starving, his guest was not shy about finishing the remainder of the food.

  “I know many, I am knowledgeable,” the native sputtered around mouthfuls of food as he cleaned the bowl, then licked the last particles and grease from first his fingers and finally from the webbing between, “and have contacts many and able. Whom do you seek, for you I will find him—or her depending on your tastes and needs.” Sharp teeth flashed.

  Flinx’s expression twisted. The native’s emotional state when he was silent, not to mention his table manners, suggested that despite his willingness to help in return for Flinx’s efforts on his behalf, it might be better to seek information elsewhere. A single pointed query should be enough to determine if it was worth lingering in this individual’s company.

  “The one I seek is by my peers recommended, they say he is well versed in local issues, in matters of interest to those I’d speak with. His name I was given as singular only, as is common among your kind, unless noted or highborn, unless of exceptional merit, so I was told to ask only for ‘Wiegl.’ ” Flinx hoped he had the pronunciation, with its subtle hint of piccolo at the end, correct.

  He must have said something right, because the native paused licking food from the webbing between his fingers to gape at him. Had he pronounced something wrong? a suddenly concerned Flinx wondered. Or worse, sung something wrong? Had he inadvertently committed a musical as well as linguistic faux pas?

  “Apologize do I for any misunderstanding, for possible insult, for singing wrongly. I am still new here, still new to speaking, with proper tone and inflection ring….”

  Using both long-fingered hands simultaneously and starting at the back of his snout, the native pushed them forward to wipe the sides of his mouth. Both hands met at the terminus when he had finished the bit of manual hygiene, whereupon he dropped them to the table and leaned sharply forward. Flinx tensed, but in the short-lived silence when he could sense what the other was feeling, he could detect nothing aggressive. Moreover, there was no hint of movement within the insulated metal tube that rested by his side.

  The Larian stared at him out of glistening black eyes twice the size of a human’s. “Doubly kind are the water spirits, who drench the unknowing with good intentions, who guide the unlucky despite their actions. Look no further than this chamber, furless visitor from the distant stars!”

  Blinking, Flinx let his gaze drift around the room, touching on the small groups and individuals who had warily returned to finish their own meals. Eventually it returned to his self-invited dinner guest, about whose morals and motivations he already had questions.

  “You.” It came out as a single note.

  Once more teeth were amply displayed, and the native’s flexible nostril danced back and forth to repeatedly touch the sides of his mouth.

  “Who else but I, have been sent to aid you? To help in your going, in your far traveling? Who sits before you but the best one possible, famed far and wide above all known guides, famed in legend and name, whose name is Wiegl!”

  A few droplets of grease still clinging to his lower lip, dark eyes flashing and nostril twitching, the Larian regarded the human across from him. Flinx could only stare back, torn between accepting that his search for Padre Jonas’s recommended local contact was over, or paying the bill and exiting the eating place as swiftly and politely as possible.

  6

  ■ ■ ■

  Keen to further probe the Larian seated opposite, Flinx stalled.

  “How do I know, by your word alone, that you are the individual whom I seek, who was to me recommended?”

  The native’s blithe response did not allow for the kind of extended emotional exploration Flinx desired. “Ask anyone, here attending.” A supple arm gesture took in the entire room.

  “If you will remain here, I will do so also, the better to learn the truth of your speaking.”

  Rising, Flinx walked over to a table on the far side of the room. Though he was putting distanc
e between himself and the garrulous local, he continued to stay in emotional contact. As he walked away he was unable to detect any radical swing in the native’s emotions. Everything he sensed and could interpret hinted that the Larian remained content and excited. Certainly there was nothing to suggest a sudden shift to brooding or hostility.

  The quartet that gazed up at their tall alien visitor radiated a tight emotional bond. From his studies Flinx knew that personal relationships among the Larians were highly fluid compared to human society. The two males and two females seated before him might comprise two mated pairs, a mated pair entertaining prospects from another mated pair or a couple of singles, or four unattached individuals in a Larian ménage à quatre.

  “Can you identify for me an individual, who at my table is currently sitting, who at my table is just finished eating? ‘Wiegl’ he says is his naming, of diverse talents he claims a knowing.” He indicated his distant booth.

  All four glanced in that direction, the two innermost having to strain to see across the room. While all were comparatively youthful, it was the eldest who sang for the group.

  “That entity I do recognize; from sometimes passing, from descriptions half-remembered, from encounters mentioned by others. His name is Wiegl, as you sing it, though with more emphasis on the ending.”

  Flinx nodded, then added the appropriate Larian gesture. “Think I of engaging his services tendered, for an enterprise of some difficulty. Seek I comment or recommendation; have you all anything to say in this matter?” Among the seated Larians, looks were exchanged in silence, prompting Flinx to add, “Honesty only is all I am seeking, no word of it will I sing elsewhere. Please to give me your frank opinion, that I may know how best to proceed, how best to continue.”

  Once again it was the eldest who responded, with one of the few one-note replies Flinx had encountered on Largess.

  “Run.”

  Whereupon the four, without bothering to finish the last of their drinks or food, their emotions a confusing swish of anxiety, amusement, and fear, rose and departed posthaste, without a single backward glance at the staring alien. Flinx was left to try to reconcile the brusque caution with Wiegl’s outgoing and apparently benign emotional self. Upon whose counsel was he to ultimately rely: the local Larians’ or that of Padre Jonas?

  The Padre had given him only one name. In the absence of viable alternatives and wishing to tackle the task that had been set before him as quickly as possible, he returned to the table and resumed his seat.

  “Hesitant are your fellows to give of their blessing,” he sang softly and carefully, “indications they give that are somewhat ambivalent.”

  “Easy to explain as I will tell you,” the bright-eyed native responded without hesitation. “Jealous they are of our relationship.”

  Flinx frowned. “We have no relationship, I must tell you: I must insist you reword that verse.”

  Emotionally as well as verbally, it was clear that Wiegl was not put off by Flinx’s reproach. “I mean to say they are covetous only, of any contact with your kind made, lest they be not the ones to gain thereby, from knowledge or goods acquired by such exchange. To me any profit, from such interactions, and not them, leads the trail of our talking.”

  Mollified, Flinx grunted softly. Next to him the metal tube rattled slightly as Pip shifted her resting position within. “Then will I engage you; to help and to guide me, to assist with singing, to find a solution to the problem I have been set.”

  Resting long muscular arms on the wooden table and splaying his webbed fingers wide, Wiegl leaned eagerly toward the human. “Speak of it only and I will focus, on nothing else until comes the solving, until your satisfaction is ultimately achieved.” Singspeaking more rapidly, he ventured a vocal arpeggio, “The matter of payment can be discussed later, can be settled at some future time.”

  Having no forward-thrusting flexible nostril and being unable to wiggle his nose, but sensing that the guide’s offer was genuine, Flinx settled for acknowledging the Larian’s acceptance of the offer of employment by waving the middle three fingers of his left hand.

  “Then you I welcome, Wiegl-singer, to my confidence bolstered, to my situation unspooling. Now I will tell you why I need help local, someone with knowledge wide-ranging, whom I must now take into my confidence.

  “Know you at all, from your contacts many, from your various singings, of an offworlder using among your people, the offworld technology? Technology forbidden, the technology of my kind, that is from the Commonwealth originating?”

  The Larian sat back. Before he opened his mouth to reply, Flinx could perceive a sudden hint of wariness that had not been there before. But his singspeaking response was unchanged in tone and harmonic optimism:

  “Much is said of such intrusions, much is sung of devices borrowed. Borrowed, stolen, rented, copied; yet none of this am I personally seeing. Songs are cheap but reality costly, easy to believe rumors loudly mongered, to eagerly attend the many claimants.” Showing a little more confidence, he varied his tone. “Too many stories remain stories only, reflecting the imagination of those who sing them, shine a light not on technology acquired, but only on those whose boasts are simple.”

  Flinx sang back, “And you strike me as someone who about boasting would know, an expert in that same field you decry, having just possibly yourself employed it, in touting your credentials to a person just met.”

  Wiegl’s upper lip rippled like the lateral fins of a particularly graceful fish. “About human offworlders there is much that is strange, much that is confusing and even more that is awkward. So it is always heartening, to find those points of congruence, even when they consist, of straightforward sarcasm. You ask a question and I give an answer; of it you can only make what you will. For in my answer there is no guile, I sing only the truth each time you ask me.”

  Unable to figure out how to weave a simple “Uh-huh” into singspeech, Flinx let it pass. If he was going to doubt the individual he planned to employ at this stage, he might as well drop him and look elsewhere. But there was much about the specimen called Wiegl that intrigued him. He appreciated the native’s confidence, though whether justified or misplaced was yet to be determined. Wiegl was brash, self-centered, and if he did not know what he was talking about, he faked it well. In the three-against-one tussle from which Flinx had rescued him, he had also shown that he was good in a fight: a useful skill for a guide to have on a Class IVb world.

  What Flinx could not determine at this early stage in their relationship was whether, if push came to shove, Wiegl’s self-interest would overwhelm any loyalty he might profess to an employer. Especially to an employer who was of a different species. Largess was not a mature Commonwealth world, where species interacted rationally and respectfully regardless of shape or kind. Local culture was on the cusp of realizing that mutual interests and intelligence superseded speciesism. Until that happened, those devoid of fur, flexible breathing apparatuses, tails, and tooth-lined snouts remained alien. Un-Larians were to be regarded with a mixture of envy, admiration, and suspicion. Such qualms were difficult to overcome, especially in the absence of education and exposure to the civilized galaxy beyond.

  In such circumstances, history had demonstrated on more than one occasion that these drawbacks could often be overcome through the judicious application of large amounts of the local currency.

  Money, Flinx mused, would have to substitute for any deficiencies in understanding. At least this Wiegl individual showed, along with his wariness, some enthusiasm for Flinx’s offer. So far Padre Jonas’s recommendation had proven justified. Whether it would continue to do so under more difficult circumstances remained to be seen. The posing of a second question, he knew, should provide an answer. Sensing her master’s rising concern, Pip stirred within her insulated tube.

  “Coming together were many peoples, many citizens of many Leeths,” Flinx elaborated. “First among them were those of Borusegahm, seeing the opportunities unity brings, promises
of many good things to be had through joining, even unto the technology of which I speak. Boundless were the opportunities promised, if only all Larians could join together, join together in mutual benefit, sealed by trust forged from within and without.”

  Wiegl indicated his assent and understanding. “Such talk is old but only talk, of which much is made but little finished. Always happens some silly nonsense, where insults are given in lieu of accord. Easier is harmony sung than harmony fashioned, more frequently spilled is blood than liquor, with which is written discord large.” He eyed Flinx intently. “I know of what interest this is to your government, but what it is to you remains a mystery. I would be enlightened so as best to assist you, yet,” and he showed his teeth in the Larian equivalent of a human smile, “no diplomat am I, as I am sure you can tell.”

  Flinx nodded. “Know then that it is seriously suspected, that one moves among your kind with illegal science, with advanced technology forbidden to your people. Know also that this recent kidnapping, of the Firstborn of the Hobak of Borusegahm, is with this individual or individuals possibly linked. Who for reasons unknown, in local matters, have decided themselves to become involved.” He lowered his voice. “An end to cooperation this abduction has made, an ending to all hopes of local unity, until the Firstborn can to her family be returned, until of her safety is her Leeth reassured. That is the interest of my government, or at least of an affiliate called the United Church. To see her returned and to restart the talking, that may bring together in peace every Leeth on this world.”

  Wiegl sat in thought for a long, long moment. When he finally replied, his singspeaking verged on the atonal. Larian communication allowed for placing emphasis in a manner that was unknown among humans, except perhaps those familiar with ancient opera.