Flinx in Flux (12 page)

The shuttle’s engines roared unexpectedly, slamming him back in the pilot’s chair, the harness pressing tight against chest and legs. As they rose and banked, he had a brief glimpse of blue lights lined up in the darkness. That was all: no field, no hangars or blast pits or any of the other numerous appurtenances of a regular shuttleport.

“Coming around on approach.” The shuttle’s voice sounded tinny in the rocking, swaying cabin.

“Why again?” Flinx asked sharply.

“Too much wind. Landing Command voided our initial descent. I am circling.”

“And if there’s too much wind again this time?”

“We will continue to circle until Landing Command authorizes touchdown. In the event fuel becomes critical, we shall return automatically to base for refueling.”

That meant they had enough for maybe two more tries, Flinx knew. The
Teacher
did not carry a lot of reserve fuel for the shuttle. He always fueled up wherever he touched down. Now it was too late to wish for extra tanks.

They came around in a curve so tight that it threatened to rip the wings right off the sleek delta-shaped craft. This time the approach went much more smoothly; the wind’s speed actually dropped below a hundred kph for a few precious moments.

Clarity was talking to cover her nervousness. “Are you on a familiar basis with all your computers?”

“I try to be friends with as many intelligences as possible. There are plenty of humans who don’t deserve the label. This flying bothers you, too, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it bothers me!” she replied tightly. “But it’s the only way to get on or off Longtunnel. I’ve done it half a dozen times, and I’m still doing it.”

“Another way of saying that the odds haven’t caught up with you yet.”

“You know, for a charming young man you can be very depressing at times.”

“Sorry.”

He could see the line of blue lights directly ahead and below now as the shuttle pointed her nose at the first light. They were flying below the tallest peaks. The outpost and port had been situated in a deep valley surrounded by high peaks. To cut down on the wind, he told himself. What were the surface winds like beyond the protection offered by the mountains?

When they finally touched down, he let out a sigh of relief. The shuttle rose once in the grasp of the relentless wind, then set down once and for all as the computer back-thrust the engines to cut their forward motion. They felt the wind and heard the thunder more clearly when the engines fell to idle.

A green light appeared on their left, blinking insistently. The shuttle turned on its landing gear to track another beacon, one they could not see.

“A good landing.” Clarity was already loosening her flight harness.

“Good?” Flinx was more shaken than he wanted to admit. “This is a hell of a place.”

“Full of possibilities, or none of us would be here.”

“What’s the air like?”

“Breathable—if it doesn’t knock you off your feet. Just keep in mind that any landing on Longtunnel is a good landing. We might not have been able to touch down at all.”

“Why not?”

“Landslides.” She was staring out the nearest sweep of plexalloy.

At least out in space you could see the stars, he thought. Here there was only bare rock dimly visible through the dust and dark. A light mist was falling sideways, the wind howled, and the outside temperature was unbearable thanks to the greenhouse effect engendered by the dense cloud cover. He had been on less hospitable worlds but never before on one quite so sheerly miserable.

“I’d rather live on Freeflo,” he told her.

“Yes. But nobody’s here to live. We’re here to study and work and produce.”

The barrier that rolled up to admit them was set in stelacrete walls framing a natural opening in the side of a sheer cliff. As if to remind him of the landslides Clarity had mentioned, a few large boulders came tumbling down to smash into the badly pitted landing strip off to their right.

Then they were inside, the wind a baleful memory, the shuttle bathed in the rich sterile glow of artificial illumination. The barrier door rumbled down behind them, shutting out wind, mist, and heat.

“What do you use for power here?” The amount of light filling every corner of the hangar seemed extravagant for an outpost port. He ought to have guessed.

“Wind turbines on the top of this mountain,” Clarity replied. “Heavy-duty blades and tiedowns. We have fusion for backup, but as I understand it they’ve never had to bring it on line. Anyone wants a few more kilowatts for their operation, all they have to do is struggle up topside and set up another turbine. They’re built to handle winds like these. It’s helped make development here practical. You pay for the turbine and its installation and for tying it into the system. After that the power’s free. And at these wind speeds, plentiful.”

He could see figures approaching the shuttle. They moved slowly, cautiously. “Doesn’t look like they’re used to unscheduled arrivals.”

“For all I know you may be the first. This isn’t exactly a well-known vacation world.”

“What do I tell Landing Authority?”

She laughed. “There isn’t much authority of any kind here. You’re with me, so there’s no problem. I’m with Coldstripe, and everyone knows us.” She watched as Pip uncurled herself from a chair. “What about your pets?”

“Pip comes with me. Scrap can come or go as he pleases. They’re used to Moth’s climate, so they should be able to tolerate anything in here, so long as it doesn’t freeze.”

“Never.”

Flinx followed her out of the shuttle as it shut itself down under instructions from Landing Command. A few workers in beige overalls glanced in their direction before continuing on their way. Flinx suspected their stares were intended for Pip and Scrap more than for the two humans.

Clarity had been tense emerging from the shuttle. Now she looked better. “Nothing out of the ordinary, looks like. I wonder how many knew that I was missing. They live in their own little worlds here.”

“I’d think in a place this small, news of a kidnapping would travel quickly.”

“Only if allowed to roam free, unrestrained. The company would try to keep it as quiet as possible so as not to alarm anyone else. And there’s not much interfirm socializing here. Everyone tends to keep to their work and to themselves. Some are physically isolated, and the rest, well, they’re the competition, aren’t they?”

She led him across the smooth surface. Distant thunder echoed from beyond the massive hangar gate as they walked away from it.

A few quick glances sufficed to show that they were crossing the floor of an enormous cavern that had been modified to serve as a hangar. It was commodious enough to hold several dozen shuttles.

“The space was here,” she replied in response to his query about the cavern’s origins. “That’s one thing Longtunnel has plenty of.”

“What about native life, flora and fauna?”

“Ah,” she said with a smile, “that’s why we’re here in the first place. It’s incredibly diverse and adaptable. A unique and challenging ecosystem. As you’ll find out for yourself in a little while.”

Flinx glanced back at the hangar barrier. “I didn’t see much when we came down, and I wouldn’t think you’d get any diversity out in that kind of weather.”

“You don’t.” She was still smiling. “Low scrub growth and a few hard-pressed insects and lower mammals. Nature isn’t stupid, Flinx. When Longtunnel’s discoverers landed here, the first thing they did was get out of the weather. The native lifeforms have had billions of years to do that. Don’t you think they’d do the same themselves? If it’s storming outside, you move inside. That’s just what Longtunnel’s inhabitants have done.”

They entered the port receiving facilities, which were simple and sparse. Flinx was fascinated by the amount of bare rock visible in the ceiling, floor, and walls. We’ve reverted here, he thought. Strung it with fiber-optic cables and AI terminals and contact switches, but it’s still the ancestral cave. Only the wall paintings have changed. Stalactites and stalagmites remained in place where they did not interfere with routine functions.

Few glances came their way. They were far enough from Alaspin that Pip would be regarded simply as an exotic pet by people unfamiliar with her lethal reputation.

The port was busy but understaffed, though the excess space would have given it an underpopulated appearance anyway. It was an easy matter to separate the long-timers from recent arrivals. The skin of the former was pale beyond pallid.

“Everyone here takes tanning treatments,” Clarity explained. “Some are more diligent about it than others. Artificial lighting can only compensate so much.”

“Then why do they stay on here?” Flinx knew it was a stupid question even as he asked it.

“For the money. Why else would anyone come to this place? For money, and maybe for fame.”

“And do they find it?”

“Some do. The fame, anyway—the money is just starting to come in. In my case, a share of royalties on a newly approved biopatent. I have others pending, more than you might think for someone my age. The work I’ve been involved in here is just starting to bear fruit.”

“What kind of work is that?”

“That’s right,” she said teasingly, “I haven’t told you yet, have I?”

“Only that you’re an gengineer. You haven’t told me what it is you’re engineering.”

“You’ll see. You’ll see everything and to hell with company security. I owe you that much, if that’s what you want. If not, I guess you’re free to leave. You’ve done everything I asked of you and more.”

He remembered the jump from Alaspin to Longtunnel and said dryly, “It wasn’t exactly an arduous task on my part. I’m intrigued by what you’re doing as well as by this place. I would like to see what you’re up to.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said warmly. “I’ll get you clearance.

“Longtunnel is one big karstic formation, or so the geologists claim. The whole place was covered by shallow ocean for billions of years.”

Flinx nodded, studying the exposed walls. “This is all limestone.”

“Most, not all. Limestone, gypsum, calcite—soft minerals. As the oceans receded while Longtunnel cooled, the three continents were exposed to this wind and, more importantly, to constant rain. It’s been chewing away at the limestone for millennia. The results are caves like the one we’re in now and the bigger one we just left that’s used as a hangar.

“Exploration is still in its infancy here, but some think Longtunnel is home to the largest, longest cavern systems anywhere in the Commonwealth. You can’t walk through undertown without tripping over a starry-eyed speleologist. The whole contingent’s, been stumbling around in a collective daze since the nature of the planetary surface was first deduced. They’re always posting revised lists as they discover a new biggest this or more wondrous that. Do you like caves?”

“Not as a general rule, no. I’m not afraid of them, but I prefer the feel of sunshine and the smell of growing things.”

“You’ll find half of that here, though maybe not the kind of smells you enjoy. The air’s always cool, but the surface heat seeps down and moderates it. You can work in a short-sleeved shirt. Nobody knows about the lower levels. The speleologists have been so busy up here in what we call the temperate zone that they haven’t had a chance or the inclination to take their lights any deeper. The water, by the way, is about as pure and refreshing as you can find anywhere, naturally filtered. There’s talk of starting up a local brewery and exporting. If nothing else, it would have novelty value.

“There are four underground rivers located so far.” They were strolling past a cafeteria. A few people were removing food from service bays. “They expect to find more. There’s even talk of underground oceans.”

Flinx frowned. “Surely a cavern large enough to hold something that size would have fallen in on itself by now.”

“Who knows? Longtunnel is rewriting a number of long-held geological rules. Biological, too.”

Ever since they had left the hangar behind, he had been conscious of a constant hum in the air, a soft whine like a tenor choir murmuring the same tune over and over.

“Pumps,” she explained when he asked about the sound. “There’s a lot of water in Longtunnel. Caverns are still growing, still being formed. It’s always raining topside, and the water has to go somewhere. Most of it drains away naturally, but there are places we want to move into where the water also wants to be. So we run pumps. Like I told you, energy’s no problem down here.”

“Somebody still has to pay for it, for all this.”

“The port infrastructure and support facilities are jointly supported by the government and the private concerns operating here under license. Everything else is privately run.”

“Healthy. Are all the firms located in the same cavern?”

“No, they’re scattered all over the place, connected by communications fibers. Short-range wireless doesn’t work too well through multiple walls and solid rock, no matter which technology you employ. Cheaper and cleaner to run fibers. Internal walls are only for privacy, since every outfit can have its own cavern. You pick out an unclaimed space, scrape off the formations, and set up your desks and files and beds and cooking facilities and lab equipment. There’s more office space on Longtunnel than a dozen worlds could ever use.”

“It all seems very efficient and well run. Why would anyone want to interfere with your operation here?”

Her expression turned dark. “I’m not really sure. They didn’t actually come out and tell me. But then, I only respond to logic and reason.”

He almost said, “You’re too pretty to be so sarcastic,” but then thought better of it. First, he did not think she would appreciate it, and, second, he was never sure exactly what to say around attractive women. Somehow, when he tried to talk to them, he always drew a frown instead of a smile. He did much better when he did not talk at all.

“Whoops, careful.” She put a hand on his arm to lead him to the right.

He didn’t see them at first because he was looking straight ahead. It took a moment for his eyes to detect the motion.

Chapter Eight

There were three of them traveling parallel as they crossed the left half of the poured plastic flooring Flinx and Clarity were following. Each was mostly mouth a dozen centimeters wide with a body that was broad and flat, like a pale yellow flounder striped with blue. Bright pink lips outlined each wide mouth.

At first he thought they were large insects advancing on tiny legs or cilia. As they moved closer, he saw rippling fur. Each was half a meter in length. Except for the gaping, flattened mouths that quivered as the creatures advanced, they had no visible external features except two black pinpoints located just above and behind the jaws. They might once have been eyes. Each of the two dozen or so limbs they walked on was articulated in the middle and ended in a flat, round pad. A hairless tail several centimeters long protruded from the back end. They looked like a trio of faceless, mutated platypuses that had been given the legs of an oversized millipede. Flinx stood gaping at them as they trundled silently past like so many miniature reapers.

“Floats.” Clarity gestured as she explained. “We screen all the work and living areas. There are dangerous predators on Longtunnel, and there may well be others not yet encountered. The floats are useful as they are. We’ve semidomesticated them.”

“They don’t ‘float’ very high,” he observed.

“I didn’t name them; somebody else is responsible for that. They’re trisexual, which is why you’ll always see them traveling in trios. We let them roam where they please.”

“What are they doing—vacuuming the floor?”

“No.” She laughed. “They don’t consume dirt and dust, if that’s what you mean. But this world is alive, Flinx. The floors and walls, the very air in the caverns, is full of rusts and yeasts and fungi. Half the research scientists working here are mycologists. Most of what they’ve classified is benign, but not all, and some is downright dangerous. The cartographic spleologists take masks with them on the chance they might run into something lethal.

“Between the benign and the fatal there’s a large group of small organisms that will give you an instant cold or otherwise interfere with your breathing or excretory systems if you inhale any of them. They spend most of their time on the ground, but walking stirs them up. The floats love them. So they are vacuumers, but not of dirt. They filter out the organics they suck up. Like baleen whales, only on a much smaller scale. Of course they eat the benign organisms as readily as the harmful ones, but that’s no loss to us.”

She was heading toward a familiar-looking shuttlecarsystem terminal, familiar except for the fact that they were the first of their kind Flinx had ever seen without canopies. The settlers of Longtunnel did not need to protect themselves against the weather.

“It’s not far to Coldstripe’s complex,” she was saying.

“Aren’t you going to call ahead to let them know we’re coming, that you’re back?”

She grinned wickedly. “No. They’re a pretty staid bunch. Let’s shake them up with a surprise.”

She climbed into one of the four passenger cars, and he followed. Her fingers thumbed in the destination setting. Instantly the compact car rose half a centimeter above its magnetic repulsion rail and began accelerating forward.

Flinx noted the smooth walls and the narrow service walkway as they sped through an irregular tunnel. The lighting along the route was pleasantly bright, and except for the solid stone walls there was nothing to indicate they were underground. They might have been in any transportation corridor on Earth or any of the other industrialized worlds.

Other cars raced past above the paralleling rail, heading for the port. Some were small passenger cars like the one they rode, others miniature trains carrying cargo. There were branch rails leading into side tunnels, but they continued to speed along the main line.

“Did you notice that they were heavily pigmented?”

“What?” Flinx was staring up the tunnel. It reminded him of an amusement ride Mother Mastiff had taken him on when he was a child. Less active, no holos, but in its own fashion just as fascinating.

“The floats. Yellow and blue. That’s because many lifeforms here are still dependent on food drifting in from above. The wind and rain and heat make it almost impossible for anything like higher fauna to survive, but some plants have done well and spread out. There’s nothing on the surface to feed on them. So the organic matter they produce finds its way into cave openings and sinkholes. There’s a whole ecosystem dependent on the transition zone between inside and outside. The floats are part of that. So they have coloration, while most of the creatures that thrive in the deep cave system have lost all pigment entirely. It’s quite an experience to see something like a goralact, which is a pretty good-size animal, about the mass of a cow. But it has six legs and is almost transparent. You can watch the blood coursing through it like a diagram in a junior physiology program. Almost everything we’ve encountered has eyes of some sort, but they’re mostly vestigial. The best of them can distinguish shape. The majority do well to react to bright light. There’s even one, the photomorph, that uses it to its advantage.”

“What the hell’s a photomorph?” Pip fluttered her wings as the car banked sharply around a curve, then relaxed on his shoulder.

“You’ll see.” She was grinning at him. “When one attacks.”

He was mildly alarmed. “Attacks? Should I be ready for something?” He viewed the tunnel ahead in a different light.

“Oh, no. Photomorphs and their relatives are harmless to humans. They don’t know that, the poor things, so they keep trying. If you let one get on you, it could be dangerous, but they’re easy enough to avoid. They don’t rely on speed when they attack.”

He pondered the photomorph until the car halted. Clarity led him through a succession of caverns and passageways where the cave formations had been leveled. He could hear other voices clearly. It was not surprising, since sound traveled well inside a cavern. There were brief glimpses inside large rooms separated from others by spray-fiber walls. If one put up a mesh frame, sprayed a color over it, and waited until it hardened, one had a solid partition—the cheapest kind of construction.

She stopped outside a door set in a wall painted a garish shade of blue. The door admitted them to a room occupied by a man not much older than Clarity. He was tall, and black hair worked at covering his face.

“Clarity!” He brushed nervously at the hair. “Christ, where have you been? Everyone’s been worried sick, and the brass all have sealed mouths on the subject.”

“Never mind that now, Jase. I’ve a lot to say, and I have to say it to Vandervort first so she can take appropriate steps.” She indicated Flinx. “This is my friend. So’s the flying snake lounging on his neck. So’s the one on
my
neck—it’s under my hair, so don’t go hunting for it.”

The tall young man’s eyes traveled from Flinx to Pip and back to Clarity. His expression radiated delight. “Hell, I’ve got to tell everyone you’re back.” He started to turn, then hesitated. “But you said you wanted to tell Vandervort first.”

“Just details. You can slip the news to Tangerine and Jimmy and the rest.”

“Good—sure. Hey, you want to come in?” He stepped aside to make a path.

Flinx followed Clarity into the extensive lab as Jase dashed for the nearest wall comm to spread the news. “Sounds like you’ve been missed, like you said you would be.”

“One or two projects probably came to a complete stop in my absence. I’m not boasting. That’s just how it is.”

Flinx admired the state-of-the-art equipment lining tables and walls, the gleaming surfaces, the spotless plexalloyware. There were four technicians at work in the chamber, two robotic, two human. All looked over at the visitors, waved, and returned to their work.

“Thranx work for Coldstripe also?”

“A couple. It’s pretty chilly down here for them. If not for the wind, they’d prefer it topside. They do most of the maintenance work on the turbines. The constant humidity helps, and they enjoy underground work naturally. So they wear heat suits. Their own living areas are roofed over and steamed up all the time inside. Good way to get sick: Go from any cavern into Marlacyno’s quarters. An instant twenty-degree jump.”

They walked through a subdividing door, then a second, and Flinx found himself in a room alive with hisses, squeals, and whines, none of which were being generated electronically.

“Specimen storage,” Clarity informed him unnecessarily.

Flinx didn’t recognize any of the creatures cavorting in the holding cages. Thin wire of varying grades kept them restrained. All of it was translucent.

“Carbfiber base.” Clarity touched a nearly invisible wire. “Keeps them in but relaxed. There isn’t the feeling of being caged. Here’s the one I wanted you to see.”

He looked in the indicated direction and was momentarily blinded when an intense light lit his face. Stars danced on his retinas as his vision cleared. Clarity was chuckling at him, and he realized that she must have shut her eyes at the critical moment.

“That’s the photomorph I was telling you about. I said you’d see it when it attacked. You’d think they’d realize it’s too bright in here for their own light to have much effect, but since they can hardly see, they probably don’t realize how diluted their weapons are.”

As his sight returned, Flinx could see several of the creatures slowly moving from the back of their cage toward the front. Each was about half a meter in length, the same as the floats, and was covered with a fine gray fur that formed something not unlike a long handlebar mustache below the double nostrils. The snout was short, blunt, and filled with sharp triangular teeth. The nostrils sat on the tip of a four-centimeter-long trunk. Each of the four legs ended in a clawed three-toed foot. The claws were hooked and looked extremely sharp. The translucent bars of the cage appeared far too fragile to hold such squat, muscular creatures in check, but he was confident they were stronger than they looked.

The photomorphs were advancing in slow motion, like sloths.

“They’ll stop when they reach the front of the cage and realize they can’t get at us. They have hardly any eyes at all. In their case that’s an offensive adjustment. I told you there were carnivores here.”

“If they can’t see us, how do they know we’re here? Smell?”

She nodded. “Other carnivores have lines of electric sensors along their faces and bodies so they can detect the presence of prey by the faint pulses every body generates. Still others have sensors to detect the movement of a prey animal, by analyzing air currents and pressures. Look at the top of the head, where you’d expect to find ears.”

Flinx stood on tiptoes to do so and found a double line of slightly glassy beads.

“You might mistake them for eyes, but there are no pupils or irises. They’re photogenerators. They build up the light in their bodies until they let loose with that single bright flare to stun their prey. Remember that most of the higher animals we’ve classified have the ability to detect light in darkness. So the photomorph puts out an impressive number of lumens and overwhelms the prey’s photosensors. It’s a real brain jolt and usually stuns for several minutes. Call it a phototoxin. While the animal is sitting there stunned, the photomorph and his companions wander over leisurely and start making a meal of it.”

Flinx was duly impressed. “I’ve heard of creatures that use light to lure their prey, but not to actually attack it with.”

“You’d be shocked at the kind of offensive and defensive weaponry animals can develop in the absence of light. The xenologists here are surprised by something new every time they make another field expedition. Longtunnel’s lifeforms are unique, and that’s why we’re here. To study potentially useful varieties.”

Flinx nodded in the direction of the caged photomorphs. “How might something like that be useful?”

“Other biophotics like fireflies and deep-sea fish generate their light chemically; the photomorph employs an electronic process that’s never been seen before. No matter how efficient we get, there’s always a market for still another way of generating light and power. Our people don’t have a clue to what makes the photomorph tick, but they’re working on it.”

“And you don’t have a clue either?”

“Not one of my projects. I’m busy enough. It’s good to be busy down here. There’s not much else to do except for recreational spelunking and forming casual assignations.” She led him out of the zoo. “Given a little more food and a little less competition, just about everything down here will breed like mad. If you can find a useful job for something that multiplies like crazy and lives on fungi or slime, you have a marketable bioproduct. Ever hear of Verdidion Weave?”

Flinx shook his head, then hesitated. “Wait a minute. Some kind of living carpet, right?”

She nodded. “Our first real success. The one that’s financed all our subsequent work here. I’m at least half responsible for its development. That was several years ago. Since then we’ve come up with a few additional products. Small stuff. Nothing on the order of Verdidion Weave. But we’re close to some major breakthroughs. Or we were, before my work was interrupted. I’ll show you some of them when I get a chance.”

“I’d be very interested in seeing them.”

They were back in the main lab. The tall man was waiting for them, eyes shining. “Vandervort wants to see you immediately.”

“Damn. I wanted to break the surprise myself.”

“You were seen coming through Security. Everyone wants to talk to you, but I imagine you’ll want to talk to Vandervort first.”

“I don’t have much choice now, anyway, do I, Jase?”

“I expect not.” He looked concerned. “Was there some kind of trouble? There were rumors—the company tried to keep news of your disappearance quiet, but you can’t keep secrets down here.”

“I’m not going to go into the details now, but if it hadn’t been for my friend, I wouldn’t be here.”

Jase studied the slim young man standing quietly next to the gengineer, sizing him up and dismissing him quickly. That was fine with Flinx.