Flinx in Flux (9 page)

“Why not?”

“Because I think I know you better than that already, if you’ll excuse my presumption. You are also the strangest young man I’ve ever met in my life. I guess you’ll be upset if I add that I find you particularly attractive, too.”

“No. You can tell me that all you want.” He was afraid she would do just that, but she did not. Apparently his reply was all she had wanted to hear.

It was the last question, for a while, anyway. She nestled back into her seat and gazed silently out at the empty Alaspinian night. Meanwhile he worried about the absence of a decent scanner. The skimmer was equipped with standard delivery system electronics, which meant you could always tell where you were but had no idea where anyone else was. It would help when they reached Alaspinport and he sought to abandon the vehicle in a safe place, but it was useless for trying to find out if you were being paralleled, followed, or otherwise tracked.

Pip could detect hostile intent, but only over a short distance. The minidrag was sound asleep, exhausted by her earlier exertions in his defense. Even Scrap rested, a gleaming scaly bracelet lit by the glow of the skimmer’s instrumentation.

He preferred to assume their departure had gone undetected than to think of Clarity’s assailants trailing them just out of sight. By now they must be combing, the alleys and buildings around the hotel. The likelihood of their discovering the missing cargo skimmer and connecting it to their quarry was small. He reminded himself that he had no idea how extensive or advanced their tracking equipment might be.

He would have preferred company in the sky. The lone cargo skimmer would stand out on any plotting screen. Few people chose to travel across the treetops at night.

There he went, borrowing trouble again. Tiring himself out mentally dealing with a nonexistent threat. Better to conserve himself for real danger.

A glance showed his companion still alert and staring out the window. “Try to get some sleep. The sun’ll be up soon.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m off Alaspin and in space-plus. The last time I tried to sleep, I had a rude awakening.” She indicated the instruments. “Can’t this hulk go any faster?”

“It’s not built for speed. I picked it because I thought it would be the most inconspicuous on a screen and the most likely to be parked on full charge. I could have chosen something smaller, more maneuverable, and quicker. We could also have run out of power in the middle of the savanna. You don’t want to try walking out of the Aranoupa savanna. The surface has a nasty habit of turning to sludge underfoot, and its full of unpleasant things that don’t react kindly to having their habitat disturbed. Better we get to Alaspinport slowly but surely.

“Besides, anyone hunting you would first go after an obvious passenger craft, not a clunker like this.”

“You’ve worked it out very carefully. And I thought you just grabbed the first machine you thought you could break-into.”

“I could have broken into any of them. And I’m sure I’ve still overlooked something important.”

“You know,” she said admiringly, “I think I’ll be better off if I just shut up and let you take care of me instead of asking stupid questions.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said since I met you that justifies your name.”

She shook her head but could not repress a smile. “Awfully young to be so sarcastic.” She turned back to the window and the dark view outside.

The skimmer was moving right at a hundred and fifty kph, clearing the tops of the tallest grasses by a good fifty meters. Occasionally Flinx would angle left or right simply to vary their course and confuse any plotting computer that might be tracking them. Significant variations would waste too much power. He wanted to keep enough of a charge in the skimmer’s cells to approach Alaspinport in a wide curve, from the ocean side instead of from the savanna. That would further confuse anyone trying to tail them.

“How much longer?”

He checked the dash cartographic readout. “Straight line from Mimmisompo to Alaspinport is about fourteen hundred kilometers. We’ll be there in time for lunch. You don’t mind if we skip eating, do you? Not that I wouldn’t mind something, but I don’t want to waste time in a restaurant.”

“I’m hungry right now.”

He sighed. “Have a look around. This is a working machine. I don’t see a protein synthesizer, but I’ll bet there’s an internal still for condensing drinking water out of the air. There might be flavorings or concentrates somewhere. A heavy-duty cloud banger like this might come equipped with emergency rations in case the driver is forced down somewhere.”

“I’ll have a look.”

It took her half an hour to produce fruit-flavored ration bars and juice concentrates to add to the water the skimmer drew from the sky. The result was a nutritious if pedestrian meal. Human fuel.

Once back on the
Teacher
he could offer her a real repast. It had elaborate synthesizing facilities. A candlelight dinner simulated by electronics. Repair robots rapidly reprogrammed to serve as butlers and waiters. He grinned to himself. He could make a real production out of it, impress her with his resources and skills. And did he want to impress her? He tried not to glance furtively in her direction.

She had offered to help drive, and he had turned her down. The long flight relaxed him. He was much more comfortable with electronics than with people.

Sure, why not impress her? Maybe on board the
Teacher,
back in familiar surroundings, he would be able to relax in her presence. Get to know her and find out if she was half as brilliant as she thought she was. Certainly whoever was chasing her had a high opinion of her abilities.

She was not the only one torn with curiosity, he reflected as he smoothly guided the skimmer into a slow turn westward.

Chapter Six

Since no ship rose to intercept them or question their presence, he felt reasonably safe in approaching Alaspin on a narrower path than he had originally planned, coming in from the north instead of the east. When he was fifty kilometers out, he swerved sharply onto a straight heading for the shuttleport, saving a half hour’s flight time.

They passed over the broad northern bay with its deserted white sand beaches, shadowing half a dozen low-flying sea skimmers that were working the shellfish beds off the inner reef. Alaspin’s extensive, shallow oceans were ideal breeding grounds for shellfish, both native and introduced varieties, but the industry was just getting started. Most of what was gathered was for local consumption. Not that he cared about making money, it was just that all his life he had been around people for whom commerce was the raison d’être, and he could not avoid picking up a little of their way of thinking. Mother Mastiff, for example, preferred to talk about different ways of making money above all else.

He had acquired, however, greater concerns than building a fortune. Money was, after all, nothing more than a means for securing freedom, and freedom was the precursor to learning. And learning? What was learning for? He had not quite decided that one yet.

Hell, I’m only nineteen. Think about Clarity Held instead, he told himself. Better still, think about her legs and—he clamped down ruthlessly on that line of thought. Not yet. Don’t think about that yet. For now, concentrate on making it safely back to the
Teacher.

Alaspinport’s underside was single-story gritty, bubbling with temporary storage domes whose sole purpose was to separate goods within from fauna and climate without. The few tall structures tended to cluster along the high ridge of land that formed a bluff overlooking the ocean at the end of the port peninsula.

The shuttleport itself occupied a section of cleared Savanna south of the main city. Though it slowed them down, Flinx inserted the skimmer in the automatic traffic guide pattern above town. It offered anonymity and convenience. Clarity was delighted to be back among crowds, sensing false safety in civilization.

Instead of requesting formal landing permission at the port, he set down among a cluster of other commercial vehicles near a recharging station. From there it was a short walk to a public tram that let them off inside the port itself.

There were several private shuttles parked off in their own area. Since no commercial ships hung in orbit that day, the only traffic was atmospheric, aircraft traveling between Crapinia and Mooscoop, frontier towns farther from Alaspinport than even Mimmisompo. The absence of a commercial shuttle lowered Clarity’s spirits.

“If they’re here, and you can bet they’re all over the port, all they have to do is close in on anything prepping for launch.”

“Why should they? What business is it of theirs if a corporation or family shuttle makes ready to depart? There’s no reason to assume you’d be traveling on one.”

“But they’ll see me. They’ll be watching all the departure lounges, and they’ll see me.”

He tried to mute his exasperation. “First of all, while I don’t know what kind of contacts these people have on Alaspin, no one’s allowed in the private shuttle departure lounge without proper clearance.”

“Then they’ll be watching from just outside.”

He considered. “Then we’ll just have to get you through without being seen.”

“How? Disguise?”

“No. I think there’s a simpler and more effective way.” Overhead luminescent broadband displays directed them to the part of the port he was looking for, where a small man sat in a small office behind a flat LCD screen. He looked up expectantly as they entered.

“Can I be of service?”

Flinx pushed toward the narrow barrier that separated work from waiting area. “I want to use the facilities.”

The man’s welcoming smile faded. “I’m sorry. I’ll be happy to do any work you require, but we’re not a self-service concern. Insurance regulations and all that, you know.”

Flinx extracted a thin plastic card from his pants, the lock on the card reading his thumbprint and heat signature and obediently detaching it from the securestrip that kept it fastened to the inside of the pocket. It was an ordinary-looking bright blue card.

“Run this through your show and tell.”

The man hesitated, then shrugged and complied. Clarity noted that he never did look up from the screen once the card had been decoded.

“Fix me a price,” Flinx finally told him when the man failed to respond.

“What?”

“I said, fix me a price for the use of your equipment.”

“Price. Sure.” He nodded rapidly, started to rise, then slumped. “I told you that we’re not self-service. I just can’t possibly . . .”

Without asking permission, Flinx came around the barrier and ran his fingers over the screen’s secureboard. The man looked up at him.

“You can’t mean that.”

By way of reply Flinx pressed screen run. The machine beeped as it recorded the transaction. The man let out a long breath.

“What now? What do you want me to do?”

“Go have something to eat, or go to the bathroom, or go call your wife.”

“I’m not married,” the clerk mumbled dazedly.

“Then go call a friend.”

“Yeah. Right.”

He left the office quickly. Flinx locked the door behind him.

“What did you do?” Clarity asked, watching him closely.

“Rented the facilities. Come with me.”

She followed. “What kind of place is this?” Piles of crates and boxes filled platforms and shelves in the long chamber behind the office.

“You’ll see. Stand here.” He positioned her on a circular platform.

“What are you going to do?” She eyed the platform and the nearby machinery warily. “Build me a disguise?”

“Not exactly.” He sat down opposite another large LCD screen and keyboard, studying it thoughtfully.

“What if they find us here?” He had been examining the screen and board for five minutes, and she was starting to fidget.

“They won’t find us here,” he said absently. “Hold still.” His fingers rose to the keys.

She looked down, startled. “Hey, what—”

“I said, don’t move.”

She froze, puzzled but trusting. She had no choice but to trust him.

It was a very elegant box. Normally it was used for transporting live, exotic tropical vegetation. The two-meter-tall cylinder was tinted green and brown to match its usual contents and came lightly scented. It occurred to Flinx that he had neglected to ask if she was claustrophobic, but it was too late now.

The packaging equipment wove the custom container out of a special fibrous material produced on Alaspin. The strong celluloid base would allow the free flow of air while simultaneously shielding the container’s contents from radiation, which meant it would also foil any casually applied detection scanners. Internal noise would be muted. As befitted the transportation of expensive tropical vegetation, it was heavily padded on the inside. It moved on its own built-in, yttrilithium battery-powered repulsion kit. Gyroscopic programming kept it perfectly upright to protect the delicate petals of the plant inside. As a final touch he had stenciled on the exterior, product of alaspin—sensitive flora—do not open, screen, or handle.

“I hope that’s comfortable,” he said aloud when he had finished. There was no answer, of course. She couldn’t hear him, nor he, her. The air inside the cylinder would be a little on the warm side, but while temporarily uncomfortable, she was in no danger of suffocation.

He kept a surreptitious eye out for suspicious types as he convoyed his personal baggage through port Security. No one intercepted him in the lounge, and no one confronted him as he guided the cylinder through the boarding corridor toward his shuttle. Then he was loading the little craft’s cargo bay, a touch on the throwaway repulsor’s control sending it rising by itself into the belly of the ship.

“Almost clear,” he said aloud, though she still could not hear him.

He instructed the shuttle’s computer verbally, giving simple lift-off and docking instructions, then settled back into the pilot’s seat and waited. Upon receiving departure clearance from port authority, the shuttle taxied itself into position. A moment later it was roaring down the runway, gathering speed, its wheels folding up into the delta wings and nose as they cleared the first marsh grass. Thin purple blossoms vibrated in the wake of its passing. Clarity had worried needlessly. Whoever had kidnapped her might be resourceful, but they were not omnipotent. He rose. Using interior handholds as gravity left him, he pulled himself back toward the cargo hold. It was time to unpackage his passenger.

The woman standing over him was very tall and extremely pretty, much too beautiful for the vapid-faced young man who had come in with her. An oddly matched couple, but very polite. Almost deferential.

“You said he had a woman with him? A young woman?” The towering blonde wore the uniform of a port authority guard.

“Yes.” This excited both of them tremendously, though they took obvious pains to hide it. He still could not decide which one was in charge. “Why? Is there a problem?” The size of the bribe he had received from his earlier visitor was, weighing heavily on his mind.

“No, no problem,” the young man said softly. “We just want to ask the young lady a couple of questions.”

“Excuse me.” A matronly woman in a bright pink and yellow dress came through the door, a plant basket slung under one arm. “I have some fresh-cured maniga root I’d like shipped today to Tasc—”

The tall blonde stepped in front of her. “Sorry. This office is closed.”

The clerk behind the narrow counter blinked. “Closed? No, we’re open here until six.”

“It’s closed,” the blonde reiterated without looking back at him.

“But he just said . . .” the matron began.

The tall woman reached down, put a hand in the center of the older woman’s chest, and shoved. The matron stumbled backward, barely keeping her balance, and gaped.

“Well, if you’re closed, you’re closed!” She spun and hurried out of the office.

“Hey, wait a minute!” the clerk shouted, rising from his chair. “Official port business is one thing, but—”

“It won’t take long.” The young man moved nearer as his tall female companion gently shut and locked the door. “And it will go much faster if you cooperate.”

“Of course I’ll cooperate,” the clerk told him irritably, “but that’s no reason to close us down.”

“Questions are understood much better when they’re not interrupted in the asking,” the blonde said.

What a lovely speaking voice, the clerk thought, staring at her. Everything about her was gorgeous—except her attitude. And the port guards were noted for their politeness.

“Maybe,” he said suddenly, “I’d better make a call and check with some people before I answer any more questions.” He reached down for the com unit slung beneath his terminal.

The blonde reached it in two strides and locked her fingers around his wrist. “Maybe,” she said softly, “you’d better not.”

He tried to break her grip, but it was as if his wrist had been lassoed with wire. He forced himself to calm down. All these people wanted was some information, and who was he to deny them? There was the back door, but as she released his wrist he had the idea that making a run for it would not be a good idea. Why ruin his day and maybe more than that to shield some stranger’s privacy?

“All right.” He sat carefully back in his chair. “Go ahead and ask your questions.”

“Thanks,” the young man said. His left eyelid was jumping noticeably. “The people we’re after are trying to ruin an entire world. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

“Of course not. What right-thinking citizen wants that for any world?”

The twitching went away, though it did not stop completely. “See?” He looked back up at the overpowering blonde. “I told you it would be okay.”

“I still think we should do it the other way, but—” She shrugged. “—get on with it.”

The clerk found that he was trembling slightly inside, even though he had made the right decision.