On reaching the gravitized section of the ship, everyone went his separate way. Atha and Woif to Control, Malaika and Sissiph to their cabin. The merchant had not yet had a drop of in toxic ant, but he had escaped a ransom and gained a planet. Even if he never realized a cent off his investment, that alone was enough to make him slightly drunk. The two scientists prepared to resume their endless game of personality chess as though they had never been interrupted.
'That was not a legal psychosis.' said Tse-Mallory, his voice drifting back to Flinx. 'And you are well aware of it!'
'Why, Bran, how can you say that? Surely when I instigated a Jump of four places in that secondary childhood fear piece ...' Their voices faded as he turned the corner leaving to his cabin.
Flinx glanced down at this shoulder. The minidrag, the effects of its ordeal now apparently catching up with it, was fast asleep. He paused after a moment's hesitation for twice that in thought. Then he shrugged, grinned. Whistling a famous and delightfully ribald tune, he sauntered off in expectation of the biggest pseudo steak the ship's autochef could produce. He had much to think about.
And much to do it with.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rashalleila Nuaman lay back in her huge bed and idly examined the bedraggled, seminude figure of her niece. The girl had obviously used more force than good sense in protesting madame's request' for her presence.
'Teleen,’ she said, sighing, ‘I am awfully disappointed in you, you know. Stupidity I can sometimes understand, but sloppiness is inexcusable. I knew about your amusing plan for doing away with me, of course.'
The girl started at this and her eyes darted around the room in search of an escape route. Even assuming she could evade the grasp of the two giants who stood impassively to either side of her, there was nowhere on the airless moon to escape to.
'Oh, don't let it bother you, child. It didn't me. Actually I thought it rather an admirable attempt. Showed some spunk, for a change. But that you should undertake to interfere with business ... that, my dear,' and her voice dropped dangerously, 'was ill-chosen on your part. I would perhaps have more sympathy for you had you succeeded. And with the AAnn, too. Dear, dear! I suppose you are aware they are the closest thing to a hereditary enemy mankind has?'
Teleen's tone was bitterly sarcastic. 'Don't foist patriotic mush on me, you sanctimonious crank! You'd sell babies to the Devil if you thought he was more than a superstition ... and enough profit.'
'You are being absurd, girl. Also impertinent. I certainly would not. At least, certainly not for spite, as you did. Being branded an enemy of the Commonwealth and excommunicated by the Church would require promise of a considerably greater potential return than such pettiness as you aspired to. And on top of everything else, your adolescent ineptitude will force me to tolerate an unbearable amount of ridicule from a very old and dear friend. Who incidentally, I am informed, has long since sewn up the registry of a certain planet by interspace relay, beyond argument of any kind. I will now be forced to fall back on legal means to obtain what was rightfully mine in the first place. As you may know, such procedures are notoriously unfair.
'However, we are not here to discuss that. What we are here to determine, dear niece, is what T am to do with you. I fear that your attitude has taken rather a dangerous turn. I do not fear it, but my men are capable of error too. Accordingly, I am forced to send you on vacation, until such time as you have been persuaded to channel your considerable energies into more porductive pursuits. You shall be given ample time to repent and readjust your rebellious attitudes, There is a very excellent and renowned mental institution in the Qatar system. It is operated by a. group of exceptional therapists who have aided me often in the past. While their methods have often been questioned, most notably by the Church, their successes cannot be denied. The director is a personal friend of long standing.'
'Rory,' said Teleen imploringly.
‘I am sure they will be more than happy to accommodate you as a guest for awhile. Unfortunately, they specialize in childhood neuroses and sexual maniacs of the most extreme kind. Now, which section do you suppose you would find more comfortilble for your stay?'
'Rory!' The girl's voice was frightened and shrill, now.
Rory Mallap van Cleef stood quietly by the foot of the bed in silk loincloth and beads.
'Oh, you needn't badger your accomplice and confidant, my dear. Darling Rory knows what side of the bed his butter is on.' She smiled sweetly.
His voice was even and mild. Almost neutral, in fact, I am sorry, love.' He flexed a bicep. I still love you, of course, but I don't see why we should both be made to suffer for this unfortunate setback. I'll wait for you.' Then, after a thoughtful pause. I do hope this doesn't complicate our relationship.'
Teleen's answer was unprintable.
'Teh! Such language. And after all those expensive schools, too. Yes, I am certain you will be placed in the section most suitable to your attitude, child. I see no reason why you shouldn't take the opportunity to add to your education at the same time as we are about improving your disposition.'
She waved a hand negligently and the girl was dragged spitting and squealing from the room.
'Remember now, dear. I am depending on you to show your hosts the true Nuaman spirit! Come back to us in one piece, won't you?' She shook her head mournfully after the closing doors had cut off the sound of the girl's fading shrieks. ‘The, I'm not sure that girl will ever be ready to take over the company reins. Everything devolved upon me, and I am old. But not that old.' She extended a hand 'Rory ... come here...'
They were half-way home and proceeding smoothly for Moth. Flinx looked up from his game of crystal solitaire, now grown childishly slimplistic. The sense of thoughts in violent conflict had grown too strong to be ignored. As it was a normal sleep shift he was the only one in the lounge, and the commotion surprised him.
A rather dishevelled-looking Atha stepped into the room. She obviously hadn't expected to encounter anyone and was noticeably upset by Flinx's presence.
'Well,' she began awkwardly, simultaneously trying to adjust her clothing, 'we've, uh, almost finished our journey, Flinx. I imagine you're looking forward to getting home ... and to that credit slip Malaika's prepared for you!’
'Yes, to both. You're on your way to relieve Wolf at Control, I assume?'
'Hmmm? Oh yes, naturally!' He had to hide his amusement at the way she had pounced on the excuse. 'Yes, I've just come from making some alterations, uh, in the arrangement of the ship's supplies. They were becoming unwieldy. I had to... work on the problem at some length to get things right.'
'And did you?'
Her smile was broad. 'Oh, yes, Everything should now be m its proper place.' She disappeared forward.
A short while later a much more dishevelled Sissiph, clothes and self in nearly equal disarray staggered into the lounge. The expression on her face was murderous, interrupted only when she grimaced at a particularly painful bruise. She spared him one unfocused glance before weaving off in the direction of the big cabin she shared with Malaika.
Apparently then, everyone had profited from the expedition, with the exception of an attractive and furious minority of one. He sighed and returned to his game, its attraction dimmed. There were many things to do, and he wasn't sure how to go about doing them. Lf he couldn't have any fun ... Malaika, lie knew, was preparing great things for him. He could not see himself in the role the merchant had envisioned for him. Dressing up for gala conferences, withering competitors with his astonishing insight. Perhaps a compromise might be arranged. But that might mean leaving the markets, and his friends there. Mother Mastiff would probably have no trouble adapting to such a life. He grinned. Could High Society survive her? More seriously, how would he adapt? With everyone these days convinced of his own righteousness and secure in the knowledge that 'his was the proper way of doing things.'
He'd also seen what un-nice people could do to the nice, enough to want to modify the situation.
Out there were minds which would resist such efforts. And who was he, to arbitrate the lives of others? Did he want to play God? He didn't think so. Besides he was only ... well, he was almost seventeen, wasn't he? He had talent, and one innocent man and two probably guilty ones had died because he hadn't used it properly. "Now he had Power, and who knew how many had died in space because of it? Power. Fagh! He wasn't one tenth the Man Tse-Mallory was! He'd need. Men like that to help him or he'd likely make some horrendous mistakes. Now they might prove deadly. Could be handle what he was now? Did he want to?
Still, the whole universe was out there and it seemed a shame not to take a look at it.
Now that he could see,
About the Author
Born in New York City in 1946, Alan Dean Foster was raised in Los Angeles, California. After receiving a bachelor’s degree in political science and a Master of Fine Arts in motion pictures from UCLA in 1968-69, he worked for two years as a public relations copywriter in a small Studio City, California, firm.
His writing career began in 1968 when August Derleth bought a long letter of Foster’s and published it as a short story in his biannual Arkham Collector Magazine. Sales of short fiction to other magazines followed. His first try at a novel. The Tar-Aiym Krang, was published by Ballantine Books in 1972.
Foster has toured extensively through Asia and the isles of the Pacific. Besides traveling, he enjoys classical and rock music, old films, basketball, body surfing, and karate. He has taught screenwriting, literature, and film history at UCLA and Los Angeles City College.
Currently, he resides in Arizona with his wife JoAnn (who is reputed to have the only extant recipe for Barbarian Cream Pie).
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