The End of the Matter (4 page)

Flinx pitied the creature and idly wondered where it had come from as he jumped down off the wall and brushed at the seat of his clammy pants. No doubt the Qwarm were going to perform their job soon, and he had no morbid desire to stay around to discover what method they were going to employ.

It hit him like a hammer blow when he was halfway up the street. The imagery had come from the Qwarm. Turning and walking quickly back toward the crowd, he had a glimpse of them heading for a nearby building. The image they had unexpectedly projected explained the cause of their confusion: Their intended victim was not the simple animal trainer but rather his subject.

It was reputed that the Qwarm did not hire themselves out for killing cheaply or frivolously. Therefore, one had to assume that in utter seriousness, and at considerable expense to someone—they were about to murder a foolish, seemingly harmless alien.

There was no hint of worry or suspicion in the trainer’s mind, and nothing at all in that of his muddled ward. The minds of the Qwarm held only continued confusion and a desire to complete their assigned task. They could not question their task aloud, but they wondered privately.

The stone-and-wood structure they vanished into was slightly over two stories tall, backed up against several other old, solid edifices. As if in a daze, Flinx found himself moving toward the same building. Listening with mind and ears, hunting with eyes, he stopped at the threshold. No one was standing guard inside the doorway. And why should they? Who would trail Qwarm, especially these Qwarm?

He stepped into the building. The old stairway at the far end of the hallway showed one of the Qwarm ascending out of view. It was the woman, and she had been pulling something from a pouch. Flinx thought the object she removed might be a very tiny, expertly machined pistol of black metal.

Cautioning Pip to silence, Flinx approached the railing and started upward, alert for any movement from above. As he mounted the rickety spiral he ran his last image of her over again in his mind. Probably a dart pistol, he mused. He knew of organic darts that would dissolve in a victim’s body immediately after insertion. Both the dart and the toxin it carried would become undetectable soon after injection.

The staircase opened onto a second floor. Flinx turned his head slowly. Both Qwarm were standing by a window. One of them pulled the shade aside and peered through cautiously.

A quick glance revealed that this floor was being lived on. It was sparsely but comfortably appointed. In a far, dark corner an attractive but tired-looking young woman was huddling on cushions, cuddling a much younger girl protectively in her arms. She was staring fearfully at the Qwarm.

Flinx returned his attention to the assassins. While her companion held the shade back, the woman was readying the black pistol, her arm resting motionless on the windowsill. Without question, she was about to murder the alien.

He had learned everything he could here; there was no point in staying around. As he started to retreat back down the stairs, the woman in the dark corner saw him and drew in a startled breath. No normal person would have noticed it, but to the Qwarm it might just as well have been a scream. Both whirled from the window, startled. Pip was off Flinx’s shoulder before the youth could restrain the minidrag.

Reaching for his boot top, Flinx heard a slight
phut
from the supposed dart pistol. The explosive shell blew apart the section of floor he had just been leaning against. Then he rose and threw the knife in one smooth motion at the other Qwarm, who was fumbling at a belt pouch. It struck the man in the neck. He went down, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his severed artery.

The female hesitated ever so slightly, unable to make up her mind whether to fire at Flinx or at the darting, leathery little nightmare above her. The hesitation was fatal. Pip spat, and the minidrag’s venom struck the woman in the eyes. Unbelievably, she didn’t scream as she stumbled about the room, clawing frantically at her face. She banged into the wall, fell over the twitching body of the man, and began rolling on the floor.

Fifteen seconds later, she was dead.

The man continued to bleed, though he had stopped moving. Flinx entered the room and rapidly inspected side rooms and closets. He was safe—for the moment. The little girl in the corner was crying softly now, but the woman holding her merely stared wide-eyed at Flinx, still too terrified to scream.

“Don’t tell a soul of this,” Flinx admonished her as a nervous Pip coiled once more around his right shoulder.

“We won’t . . . please, don’t kill us,” the woman whispered in fear. Flinx gazed into blank, pleading eyes. The little girl stared at the two motionless bodies, trying to understand.

Flinx found himself staggering back toward the stairway. Without even bothering to recover his knife, he plunged down the steps. Somehow he had completely lost control of events and as had happened too often in the past, events had ended up controlling him.

At the bottom of the stairs he paused, regarding the open doorway as an enemy. A glance right and left showed that this floor was still deserted. There had to be a back way out; he went hunting and found a little-used exit opening onto a narrow, smelly alley. The pathway appeared empty. After a careful search, he started down it at a brisk trot. Soon he was back on the streets. The moment he was convinced he wasn’t being followed, he turned and angled back toward the stage, approaching it from a new direction.

As for the woman with the child, he suspected she would find new lodgings as quickly and quietly as possible. She might notify the police and she might not.

By the time he reached his destination, the show was concluding. He slipped easily into the protective wall of bodies. Nothing had changed: The trainer was still making jokes at the dopey alien’s expense and the alien was bearing it all with the serenity of the softheaded. And that oval head
did
look soft, Flinx reflected. So why had the Qwarm felt it necessary to use such dangerously identifiable explosive projectiles?

A respectable amount of applause and some tossed coins were awarded at the end of the show, as much for uniqueness as for polish, he suspected. The trainer scrambled about after the coins without regard for dignity.

The crowd started to disperse. Apparently the alien act was the last for the afternoon at this location. Flinx sauntered casually backstage, where he found the trainer counting his money and inspecting his few props. Almost at once, the man grew aware of Flinx’s attention and looked up sharply. On seeing that it was only a youth, he relaxed.

“What do you want, youngling?” he inquired brusquely.

“We have something in common, sir.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

‘We both train aliens.” Pip moved suddenly on Flinx’s shoulder, showing bright colors in the cloud-filtered light. The man frowned, and squinted as he peered close.

“I don’t recognize your pet, boy.”

Whoever this fellow was, Flinx thought, he wasn’t well traveled or informed. Minidrags were not common, but their reputation far exceeded their numbers. Yet this man obviously didn’t know one when he saw one.

Flinx found his attention shifting to the alien, which stood patiently to one side, muttering rhythmically to itself in some unknown language. “In any case,” he explained, “I’m curious about
your
pet. I’ve never seen anything like him.” To make conversation, he went on, “Where did you get its name from?”

Flinx’s politeness disarmed the man a little. “It came with the poor dumb monster,” he explained, exhibiting more sympathy than Flinx would have suspected of him. “I bought it from an animal dealer who thought it no more than that. But the creature has some kind of intelligence. It can speak as well as you or I, and in many languages. But in none of ‘em does it make sense. Oh, Ab’s quite mad, it is, but he can learn. Slowly, but enough to serve in the act.” He smiled, now filled with pride. “I was smart enough to recognize his uniqueness. No one else has ever been able to identify Ab’s species either, boy. I hope it’s a long-lived one, though, since this one’s irreplaceable.

“Far as the name goes, that’s kind of a funny tale. Only time he’s ever made sense.” He frowned. “I was trying to decide what to call ‘im when he gave out with one of his crazy ramblings.” He turned and eyed the alien. One egg-yolk eye watched him while the other three operated independently. Flinx considered that a creature capable of looking in four directions at once must have a mind of considerable complexity, simply to monitor such a flood of neural responses.

“What’s your name, idiot,” the trainer asked, pronouncing the words slow and careful. “Name!”

“Mana, Orix, Gelmp nor Panda,” the liquid tones ventured promptly, “my name is Abalamahalamatandra.”

While the creature continued to mumble on in verse, the man looked back at Flinx. “Easy to see why I call ‘im Ab, hey?” he bent over and wiped at his muddy boots. “Dealer I bought him from had no clue to his species. Just assured me he was docile and friendly, which he is.”

“It’s remarkable,” Flinx observed, flattering the man as he studied the blue-and-green lump, “that as mad as Ab is, you’ve managed to teach him so much.”

“Told you, boy, all I’ve taught Ab are the rules of the act. He’s a mind of his own, of sorts. I said he can talk in many tongues, didn’t I?” Flinx nodded. “Terranglo and symbospeech are just two of ‘em. Every once in a while Ab gives me a start when I think he’s said something almost sensible.” He shrugged. “Then when I try to follow it up he goes on blabbin’ about the taste of the sky or the color of air or stuff I can’t make any sense of whatsoever. You’re curious about ‘im, are you? Go over and say hello, then.”

“You’re sure it’s all right?”

“I said he was friendly, boy. In any case, he’s got no teeth.”

Flinx approached the alien tentatively. The creature observed his approach with two eyes, which crossed as he neared. Flinx smiled in spite of himself. Experimentally, he extended a hand as if to shake the alien’s.

Two eyes dipped downward. One smooth hand came up and slapped Flinx’s palm. Flinx drew his hand back sharply, more surprised than hurt. As if in admonition, another hand came around and slapped at the one which had struck Flinx. Apparently enchanted, the alien commenced slapping its four palms together, entirely ignoring Flinx.

The alien palm had been hard, flat, and cool to the touch.

The owner was speaking again. “Ab will eat just about anything except,” he finished with a smile, “me and thee.” Rising, he walked up to Ab and booted the creature hard. It ceased slapping itself and resumed mumbling steadily, like an idling engine. “C’mon, sit down for a while, you stupid monstrosity.”

Showing no sign of pain, Ab sat down on the ground and began cleaning its feet with all four hands. In that position it looked like a demented triclops trying to pull its toes off. Again Flinx found himself grinning unintentionally.

“Have to do that when I’m not watchin’ ‘im,” the man explained, “or he’ll wander off.”

“I can see why you use Ab in a comedy act,” Flinx observed readily. “What I can’t understand is why anyone, least of all a Qwarm, would want to kill it.”

At the mention of the assassin clan the trainer lost his composure, his emerging friendliness, and most of the color in his face.

“Qwarm?” he stammered.

“Two of them,” Flinx elaborated. He nearly turned and indicated the building with its window facing on the stage. Then he thought better of it. “I don’t know why they changed their minds,” he lied, “but I know for a fact that they want your pet dead.”

“Qwarm?” the man repeated. At that moment, Ab appeared to be the more balanced of the two. Looking around frantically, the man grabbed a small black satchel. A couple of coins fell from a half-open pocket. He ignored them.

“You train aliens too?” he bleated hurriedly. “Good. He’s all yours now, boy.”

“Wait a minute!” Flinx protested. Things were happening too quickly again. “I don’t want to—”

“ ‘Bye and luck to you, boy!” the man shouted back to him. He put out a hand, vaulted a nearby railing, and vanished on the run into the milling crowd nearby.

“Hey, hold on!” Flinx shouted, rushing to the railing. “Come back, I can’t take care of—”

There was a tentative honk from behind. Flinx turned and saw Ab staring blankly at him while mumbling steadily. When he turned back to the crowd, the trainer was out of sight, though his terror still lingered like the scent of cloves.

Flinx stared over and down at the striped blue alien. “Now what am I going to do with you?” The fix he now found himself in was his own fault, of course. If he had taken care not to mention the Qwarm by name . . . Well, no matter now. He started to walk away. A fresh, louder honk stopped him.

Ab had stood up and was following Flinx. At the sight of that utterly open, helpless face, Flinx’s coldness shattered. Whatever else he did he couldn’t leave the poor thing alone. It would probably remain where it was, cleaning itself, until someone took charge of it or it starved to death.

Served him right. He had started the day in an attempt to find out something about himself. Instead, he’d killed two Qwarm and acquired an alien simpleton by default.

“I can’t keep you,” he told the bubbling creature, “but we’ll find a place for you as quickly as possible.” One big eye blinked disarmingly at him.

“Mur’til hurtill?” he sang.

“Yeah, come on,” Flinx instructed. “I’m going to finish the day the way I should have started it.” He started off; a glance behind showed the creature following dutifully, weaving on its four legs. Spouting sing-song nonsense, it trailed Flinx through the crowd, apparently as happy with its present master as it had been with the former one.

Flinx was not happy with the stares his strange companion drew, but there was nothing that could be done about it. As soon as he finished with the records department, he would get rid of the creature.

There was a knock at the door.

The woman sent her silent little girl into the bathroom. Then she walked over to lean against the door and listened with one hand on the bolt. “Yes?” she finally asked quietly.