For Love of Mother-Not (26 page)

Brora found himself licking his lips. “We failed with the mother. Maybe we should try taking the subject directly in spite of our experience with the girl.”

“No,” she argued. “We don’t have the authority to take that kind of risk. Cruachan must be consulted first. It’s his decision to make. The important thing is for us to get out of here now with our records and ourselves intact.”

“I disagree.” Brora continued to study the boy, fascinated by his calm. The subject appeared indifferent to the hoofed death that was devastating the encampment. “Our initial plan has failed. Now is the time for us to improvise. We should seize the opportunity.”

“Even if it’s our last opportunity?”

Flinx shouted at them. “What are you talking about? Why don’t you answer me?”

Haithness turned and seemed about to reply when a vast groaning shook the hangar. Suddenly, its east wall bulged inward. There were screams of despair as the loading crew flung cargo in all directions and scattered, ignoring Nyassa-lee’s entreaties.

They didn’t scatter fast enough.

Walls and roof came crashing down, burying personnel, containers, and the big cargo skimmer. Three bull Devilopes pushed through the ruined wall as Flinx threw himself backward through the doorway. Metal, plastic, and flesh blended into a chaotic pulp beneath massive hoofs. Fragments of plastic flew through the air around Flinx. One nicked his shoulder.

Red eyes flashing, one of the bulls wheeled toward the single figure sprawled on the ground. The great head lowered.

Coincidence, luck, something more: whatever had protected Flinx from the attention of the herd until now abruptly vanished. The bull looming overhead was half insane with fury. Its intent was evident in its gaze: it planned to make Flinx into still another red stain on the earth.

Something so tiny it was not noticed swooped in front of that lowering skull and spat into one plate-sized red eye. The Devilope bull blinked once, twice against the painful intrusion. That was enough to drive the venom into its bloodstream. The monster opened its mouth and let out a frightening bellow as it pulled away from Flinx. It started to shake its head violently, ignoring the other two bulls, which continued to crush the remains of the hangar underfoot.

Flinx scrambled to his feet and raced from the scene of destruction, heading back toward the building where he had left Lauren and Mother Mastiff. Pip rejoined him, choosing to glide just above its master’s head, temporarily disdaining its familiar perch.

Behind them, the Devilope’s bellowing turned thick and soft. Then there was a crash as it sat down on its rump. It sat for several moments more before the huge front legs slipped out from under it. Very slowly, like an iceberg calving from a glacier, it fell over on its side. The eye that had taken Pip’s venom was gone, leaving behind only an empty socket.

Breathing hard, Flinx rushed back into the building housing the surgery and nearly ran over the fleeing Lauren and Mother Mastiff. He embraced his mother briefly, intensely, then swung her left arm over his shoulder to give her support.

Lauren supported the old woman at her other shoulder and looked curiously at Flinx. “Did you find who you were looking for?”

“I think so,” he told her. “Sennar and Soba are properly revenged. The Devilopes did it for them.”

Lauren nodded as they emerged from the remains of the building. Outside, the earth-shaking had lessened.

“The herd’s dispersing. They’ll reform in the forest, wonder what came over them, and likely go back to sleep. As soon as they start doing that, this camp will begin filling up with those who managed to escape. We need to improve our transportation, and fast. Remember, there’s nowhere near a full charge in the skimmer. You and I could walk it, but—”

“I can walk anywhere ye can,” Mother Mastiff insisted. Her condition belied her bravado—if not for the support of Flinx and Lauren, she would not have been able to stand.

“It’s all right, Mother,” Flinx told her. “We’ll find something.”

They boarded their skimmer. Lauren rekeyed the ignition, removed to prevent potential escapees from absconding with their craft, and they cruised around the ruined building back into the heart of the camp.

Their fear of danger from survivors was unfounded. The few men and women who wandered out of their way were too stunned by the catastrophe to offer even a challenging question. The majority of them had been administrative or maintenance personnel, quite unaware of the importance of Flinx or Mother Mastiff.

The Devilopes were gone. The power station was hardly damaged, perhaps because it lay apart from the rest of the encampment, perhaps because it operated on automatic and did not offer the herd any living targets. None of the camp personnel materialized to challenge their use of the station’s recharge facility, though Lauren kept a ready finger on the trigger of the dart rifle until a readout showed that the skimmer once again rode on full power.

“I don’t think we have to worry about pursuit,” she declared. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone left to pursue. If the leaders of this bunch got caught in that trampled hangar as you say, Flinx, then we’ve nothing to worry about.”

“I didn’t get my answers,” he muttered disappointedly. Then, louder, he said, “Let’s get out of this place.”

“Yes,” Mother Mastiff agreed quickly. She looked imploringly at Lauren. “I be a city lady. The country life doesn’t agree with me.” She grinned her irrepressible grin, and Flinx knew she was going to be all right.

Lauren smiled and nudged the accelerator. The skimmer moved, lifting above the surrounding trees. They cruised over several disoriented, spent Devilopes and sped south as fast as the skimmer’s engine could push them.

“I didn’t learn what this was all about,” Flinx continued to mutter from his seat near the rear of the cabin. “Do you know why they abducted you, Mother? What did they want with you?”

It was on her lips to tell him the tale the Meliorares had told her the previous night—was it only last night? Something made her hesitate. Natural caution, concern for him. A lifetime of experience that taught one not to blunder ahead and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how true it might be. There were things she needed to learn, things he needed to learn. There would always be time.

“You’ve said ’tis a long story as to how ye managed to trace me, boy. My tale’s a long one, too. As to what they wanted with me, ’tis enough for ye to know now that it involves an old, old crime I once participated in and a thirst for revenge that never dies. Ye can understand that.”

“Yes, yes I can.” He knew that Mother Mastiff had enjoyed a diverse and checkered youth. “You can tell me all about it after we’re back home.”

“Yes,” she said, pleased that he had apparently accepted her explanation. “After we’re safely back home.” She looked toward the pilot’s chair and saw Lauren gazing quizzically back at her.

Mother Mastiff put a finger to her lips. The other woman nodded, not fully understanding but sensitive enough to go along with the older woman’s wishes.

S
everal hours passed. The air was smooth, the mist thin, the ride comfortable as the skimmer slipped southward. Mother Mastiff looked back toward the rear of the craft to see Flinx sound asleep. His useful if loathsome pet was, as usual, curled up close to the boy’s head.

She studied the pilot. Pretty, hard, and self-contained, she decided. Night was beginning to settle over the forest speeding by below. Within the sealed canopy of the skimmer, it was warm and dry. “What be your interest in my boy?” she asked evenly.

“As a friend. I also had a personal debt to pay,” Lauren explained. “Those people who abducted you slaughtered a couple of rare animals who were long-time companions of mine. ‘Revenge never dies.’ ” She smiled. “You said that a while ago, remember?”

“How did ye encounter him?”

“He appeared at the lodge I manage on a lake near here.”

“Ah! The fight, yes, I remember. So that place was yours.”

“I just manage it. That’s where I’m heading. I can help you arrange return passage to Drallar from there.”

“How do ye know we’re from the city?”

Lauren gestured with a thumb back toward the sleeping figure behind them. “He told me. He told me a lot.”

“That’s odd,” Mother Mastiff commented. “He’s not the talkative kind, that boy.” She went quiet for a while, watching the forest slide past below. Flinx slept on, enjoying his first relaxed sleep in some time.

“ ’tis an awful lot of trouble you’ve gone through on his
behalf,” she finally declared, “especially for a total stranger. Especially for one so young.”

“Youth is relative,” Lauren said. “Maybe he brought out the maternal instinct in me.”

“Don’t get profound with me, child,” Mother Mastiff warned her, “nor sassy, either.” Ironic, that last comment, though. Hadn’t she once felt the same way about the boy many years ago? “I’ve watched ye, seen the way ye look at him. Do ye love him?”

“Love him?” Lauren’s surprise was quite genuine. Then, seeing that Mother Mastiff was serious, she forced herself to respond solemnly. “Certainly not! At least, not in
that
way. I’m fond of him, sure. I respect him immensely for what he’s managed to do on his own, and I also feel sorry for him. There is affection, certainly. But the kind of love you’re talking about? Not a chance.”

“ ‘Youth is relative,’ ” Mother Mastiff taunted her gently. “One must be certain. I’ve seen much in my life, child. There’s little that can surprise me, or at least so I thought until a few weeks ago.” She cackled softly. “I’m glad to hear ye say this. Anything else could do harm to the boy.”

“I would never do that,” Lauren assured her. She glanced back at Flinx’s sleeping form. “I’m going to drop you at the lodge. My assistant’s name is Sal. I’ll make some pretense of going in to arrange your transportation and talk to him. Then I’ll take off across the lake. I think it will be better for him that way. I don’t want to hurt him.” She hesitated. “You don’t think he’ll do anything silly, like coming after me?”

Mother Mastiff considered thoughtfully, then shook her head. “He’s just a little too sensible. He’ll understand, I’m sure. As for me, I don’t know what to say, child. You’ve been so helpful to him and to me.”

“ ‘Revenge,’ remember?” She grinned, the lights from the console glinting off her high cheekbones. “He’s a funny one, your Flinx. I don’t think I’ll forget him.”

“Ye know, child, ’tis peculiar,” Mother Mastiff muttered as she gazed out into the clouds and mist, “but you’re not the first person to say that.”

“And I expect,” Lauren added as she turned her attention back to her driving, “that I won’t be the last, either.”

The mudder circled the devastated encampment several times before leaving the cover of the forest and cruising among the ruined buildings. Eventually, it settled to ground near the stump of what had been a central tower.

The woman who stepped out was clad in a dark-green and brown camouflage suit, as was the man at the vehicle’s controls. He kept the engine running as his companion marched a half-dozen meters toward the tower, stopped, and turned a slow circle, hands on hips. Then they both relaxed, recognizing that whatever had obliterated the installation no longer posed any threat. No discussion was necessary—they had worked together for a long time, and words had become superfluous.

The man killed the mudder’s engine and exited to join his associate in surveying the wreckage. A light rain was falling. It did not soak them, for the camouflage suits repelled moisture. The field was temporary, but from what they could see of the encampment, they wouldn’t be in the place long enough to have to recharge.

“I’m sick of opening packages, only to find smaller packages inside,” the man said ruefully. “I’m sick of having every new avenue we take turn into a dead end.” He gestured toward the destruction surrounding them; crumpled buildings, isolated wisps of smoke rising from piles of debris, slag where power had melted metal.

“Dead may be the right description, too, judging by the looks of things.”

“Not necessarily.” His companion only half heard him. She was staring at a wide depression near her feet. It was pointed at one end. A second, identical mark dented the ground several meters away, another an equal distance beyond. As she traced their progress, she saw that they formed a curving trail. She had not noticed them at first because they were filled with water.

She kicked in the side of the one nearest her boots. “Footprints,” she said curtly.

“Hoof prints,” the man corrected her. His gaze went to the mist-shrouded woods that surrounded the camp. “I wish I knew more about this backwater world.”

“Don’t criticize yourself. We didn’t plan to spend so much time here. Besides, the urban center is pretty cosmopolitan.”

“Yeah, and civilization stops at its outskirts. The rest of the planet’s too primitive to rate a class. That’s what’s slowed us up from the beginning. Too many places to hide.”

Her gaze swept the ruins. “Doesn’t seem to have done them much good.”

“No,” he agreed. “I saw the bones on the way in, same as you did. I wonder if the poor monster died here, too?”

“Don’t talk like that,” she said uneasily. “You know how we’re supposed to refer to him. You don’t watch yourself, you’ll put that in an official communiqué sometime and find yourself up for a formal reprimand.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot,” he murmured. “The disadvantaged child. Pardon me, Rose, but this whole business has been a lousy job from the beginning. You’re right, though. I shouldn’t single him out. It’s not his fault. The contrary. He isn’t responsible for what the Meliorares did to him.”

“Right,” the woman said. “Well, he’ll soon be repaired.”

“If
he got away,” her companion reminded her.

“Surely some of them did,” the woman said.

The man pointed toward several long walls of rubble that might once have been buildings. “Speak of the devil.”

A figure was headed toward them. It took longer than was necessary because it did not travel in a straight line. It attempted to, but every so often would stagger off to its right like a wheel with its bearings out. The man’s clothes were filthy, his boots caked with mud. They had not been changed in several days. He waved weakly at the newcomers. Save for the limp with which he walked, he seemed intact. His stringy hair was soaked and plastered like wire to his face and head. He made no effort to brush it from his eyes.