Mid-Flinx (8 page)

Beautiful
, he mused. Initial encounter to the contrary, not everything here was out to make a meal of him.

A glance skyward revealed several larger fliers dipping low, whether to examine him or the shuttle, he couldn’t tell. Several looked large enough to try and make a meal of the latter.

“We’d better get under cover,” he told the minidrag. As always, she offered companionship without comment. He headed for the nearest patch of verdure.

Choosing the thickest branch he could find, Flinx bent down and pushed his way into the brush. Several leaves gave off an aromatic scent as he eased them aside. The living pathway expanded rapidly and the undergrowth became less impenetrable. Before long he was able to walk upright while descending the gentle slope of the branch.

Wonders large and small flew, swung, fell, flitted, and swelled before his eyes. Despite the incredible density of the hylaea, dropoffs of ten meters and more were common on either side of his chosen path. By this time the branch he was walking along was more than a meter wide, however, and unless he took a careless misstep there was little danger of falling. From time to time he would have to step over a thick vine or epiphyte, or work his way around a subsidiary branch growing upward, but with care he was able to continue on his way in relative safety.

Something so enormous it blocked out the diffuse sunlight passed by close overhead. Rising slowly from his crouch as the shadow passed, he looked around until he found a suitable creeper. As Pip effortlessly paralleled his descent on her brilliant wings, he lowered himself twice, to a still larger branch, until he felt reasonably confident no aerial predator could reach him through the tangle of growth that now crisscrossed above his head.

A quick check indicated that the tiny positioner attached to his service belt was functioning properly, keeping him in constant touch and in return line with the shuttle, and through it, with the
Teacher
orbiting high overhead. Thus reassured, he moved on, following the gently curving route provided by the branch.

Bursts of color like small frozen explosions splotched the forest with a riot of hues as radiant flowers burst forth from bromeliads, epiphytes, and other growths which were in turn parasitic or symbiotic on the trees themselves. Many of these subsidiary growths were as big as normal trees and provided sites for still smaller plants. The largest trees must be immense, he knew, not only to reach such heights but to support such a weighty biomass of subsidiary growth.

Sound as well as color surrounded him, an irregularly modulated cacophony of screams and bellows, squeaks and pipings, honks and hisses, whistles and whines. A few sounded almost familiar to his alien ears, while others were like nothing previously encountered in all his travels. He was traveling within a green sea, many of whose inhabitants he could hear but not understand.

Coming to a slightly more open space, he clutched a sturdy vine the color of aged rum and leaned over the side of the branch. It was twenty meters down to the next solid wood, and in places more than that. Incredible to think that the actual surface lay hundreds and not merely dozens of meters below.

He found himself wondering; if he fell, would he bounce from branch to branch all the way to the ground, or would he fetch up before that in a tangle of branches or flowers? Something the size of his little finger darted in front of him, paused to hover a hand’s length in front of his nose as it studied him. It sang like a shrunken calliope and its body was painted with alternating crimson and green stripes. Three bright blue compound eyes regarded him somberly. Finding in the tall, gangly alien nothing of interest, it pivoted in midair and sped away.

The air was so rich and thickly flavored with alien smells he felt he should be spooning it into his mouth like some frothy whipped dessert instead of simply inhaling it. The effect was as if a perfume factory and a fertilizer plant had been raised up and smashed together, resulting in what Flinx chose to think of as aromatic critical mass.

An all-pervasive warmth enveloped him, which he attributed to the perpetual and for the most part pleasurable assault on his senses. Not a single threatening mental throb disturbed his musing. No headaches to be had here.

Pip sometimes trailed behind, sometimes raced out in front to investigate a new flower or slow-moving creature. She appeared to be coping effortlessly with the deluge of new sensations.

He paused to examine a flower whose petals twisted to form perfect spirals. The top of each petal was bright silver-green, the underside green-gold. Each a meter or so in diameter, half a dozen such flowers grew upon every parent plant. They looked like decorations for a gigantic Christmas tree and smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. Overwhelmed by their magnificence, he moved on.

Numerous small life forms skittered along the branch and its wooden tributaries, adroitly avoiding his approach by means of legs or wings. Most hewed to the three-eyed, six-legged standard which seemed to the norm, though there were plenty of variations in the number of limbs and other organs.

A single bloom three meters across blocked his path. The hundred slender petals of the incredible blossom were dark green laced with tartrazine, while the center of the flower bulged with thick orange nodules whose purpose was not immediately apparent. Purple stamens thrust skyward, drusy with yellow pollen. Its elegant perfume was so heady it all but made him dizzy.

Reaching down, he broke off a piece of damp deadwood, intending to use it to nudge the petals aside so he could pass without having to walk on so much beauty. As he took a step forward he thought he saw the purple stamens twitch. There were more than a dozen of them, each as thick around as his thumb. He hesitated, having already escaped one encounter with vines that had turned out to be tentacles.

Tentatively, he extended his arm to the fullest and managed to reach the nearest stamen. Surprisingly tough, it was as if he were prodding a stick of rubber. The stamen bent and released a blast of still stronger perfume. Woozy with pleasure, Flinx turned away and sucked fresh air to clear both his lungs and his head.

Nothing made a grab for him. The amazing blossom was the reproductive portion of a plant and nothing more. Reaching down, he used the piece of wood to push the first petal aside.

It contracted viciously around the stick and snapped it neatly in half. Flinx jumped back and Pip let out a startled hiss.

As he watched, half a dozen wiry tendrils that glistened like corn silk crept out from beneath the base of the flower. Like pale worms, they examined the wooden fragments from top to bottom before curling around them and dragging them to the edge of the branch. The deadwood was dropped over the side and the tendrils withdrew out of sight, leaving the astonishing flower once more quiescent and wondrous.

Flinx backed slowly away from the botanical phantasm. Securing a grip on a suitable creeper, he leaned far out over the side of the branch and looked down. Half a dozen meters below, whiteness gleamed amidst the green. He wondered what the creatures who had encountered the flower before him had looked like.

Certainly their broken and scattered skeletons were interesting.

Finding the exquisite fragrance that issued from the blossom no longer quite so appealing, he sought a safe way around the innocent-looking petals. Closer inspection revealed that the silvery glint that emanated from their edges was decidedly metallic in nature. Somehow the plant extracted and concentrated metal along the rims of its alluring petals. Flinx knew of plants whose leaves could slice flesh, but none that incorporated actual razors into their blossoms. Here was a plant whose perfume masked the presence of swords.

A brace of stout vines and a twisting aerial root allowed him to descend to the next major branch. Despite the resultant gap, he took care not to pass directly beneath the great flower.

As a lesson, the brief encounter was simple and straightforward. On this world, equating beauty with harmlessness could prove fatal. He considered returning to the shuttle. Even a cursory exploration of the surrounding forest might better be left to an experienced and properly equipped survey team.

If only it wasn’t so beautiful.

Something was moving sluggishly through the branches and lianas just ahead. It looked like a dun-colored, black-spotted stump suspended from a hanging creeper. The three eyes were half closed, giving the creature a decidedly somnolent appearance. The short tail was striped with gray, and a pink patch flashed above each of the three eyes. It had no legs and hung from the creeper by six long, triple-jointed arms. In this fashion it moved along hand over hand over hand.

As Flinx looked on, a dozen similar individuals of varying size materialized from the green depths, following the leader along the creeper like so many upside-down elephants. The smallest ones gamboled among the vines and branches, occasionally leaping by means of their sextupal arms from adult to vine and back again. Meanwhile the adults advanced with an unconscious solemnity so profound Flinx found himself grinning at the sight.

Suddenly the lead adult spotted him. All three eyes dilated and a concealed round mouth pumped out a series of shrill hoots. The troop immediately leaped in a series of floral crashes from their chosen creeper to another farther away.

It was a relief to encounter something more afraid of him than he was of it. Flinx watched as the troop of ambling armatures vanished into the glaucous depths, the leader lingering behind to favor him with a few last disparaging hoots. He found himself waving amiably.

A swarm of tiny creatures momentarily enveloped him in a cloud of powder-blue wings before moving on. Nearby, a cluster of leathery cylinders the color of dried blood weaved back and forth to a silent floral beat. Flinx saw a waterfall of silver-sided vines plunging into the abyss, flashing light from leaf to reflective leaf as they bounced precious sunshine to light-hungry growths down in the emerald depths.

“Look at that,” he murmured to Pip. “Isn’t adaptation wonderful? Wish it were as easy for me.” The shuttle could wait, he decided. With a new wonder presenting itself at every step, he had no choice but to continue on. Beauty aside, the sheer profusion and diversity of life was overwhelming. He felt more alive than he’d ever been.

And there was something else. Something thus far undefinable. An all-pervasive feeling of peace and well-being that persisted and survived despite the aggressive attempts of various representatives of the local flora and fauna to consume him. It washed over and through him in an irresistible, soothing wave, almost as if the forest itself was projecting a homogeneous emotional calm.

Which was absurd, of course. Only sapient beings emitted emotions his aberrant talent could detect. Plants did nothing of the sort. What he was experiencing was nothing more than a deception promulgated by a subtle combination of fragrance, humidity, and increased oxygen levels. It was a physical rush masquerading as mental.

The astonishing alien zoo kept his attention occupied. A two-meter-long, rippling crawler the color of clotted cream was advancing down the branch toward him, scuttling along on hundreds of tiny legs. It looked innocuous enough. Half a dozen small black hairs or antennae protruded from each end. Several bulged at the tips, suggestive of eyestalks.

Flinx retreated a step. Sensing movement, the creature halted, then turned to its right. Increasing its pace, it came to the edge of the branch and without hesitating dropped off the side.

Leaning over, Flinx saw it land in a cluster of flowers with leaves the texture of split blue leather. To his surprise, the crawler promptly split into half a dozen independent sections, each with its own now visible face. These organic components engaged in some brief foraging before reforming their original lineup, the protuberant face of each section fitting seamlessly into the concave depression that formed the backside of its colleague immediately in front of it. Once more resembling a two-meter-long—and presumably more formidable—animal, the communal crawler continued on its leisurely way.

Shaking his head, Flinx resumed his pace. Before long he came to a section of branch devoid of animal or secondary plant life. The barren place caused him to halt. After several close brushes with death, he’d learned to suspect anything out of the ordinary. On this world, a place where nothing grew certainly qualified.

While he waited he watched the local fauna. Everything that came close was careful to bypass the seemingly innocuous section of branch. Their unanimous avoidance only heightened Flinx’s suspicion.

The slight depression that ran the length of the open space was filled with fresh rainwater, surely an attraction to any passing animal. Then Pip, before he could call her back, zoomed over and lowered her head to take a drink. He held his breath.

Nothing happened. None the worse for the experience, she returned to resume her familiar perch upon his shoulder.

Either he continued forward or looked for a way around. No easy alternate routes presented themselves. Advancing cautiously, he examined the waterlogged section of wood without seeing anything that resembled an eye, a limb, a claw.

Then it occurred to him that anything that tried to grow in the depression would find itself subject to permanent if shallow inundation. Any hopeful epiphyte that took root in the hollow would find its roots rotting quickly. Striding forward into the liquid, he watched it slide over the tip of his boot. A swarm of tiny red ovals with outsized black eyespots scurried away from his foot. Apparently they lived in the water without coming to any harm.

He was halfway across the depression when he was forced to pause. His right foot was refusing to comply with the instructions from his brain. Irritated that he might have momentarily stepped in a deeper crack and caught himself, he looked back and down.

There was no crack. It was the water itself that had undergone a startlingly rapid transformation. He leaned forward. His leg refused to move. When he tried to turn to gain more leverage, he found that his left foot was also stuck fast. He was locked in place, unable to advance or retreat, his boots entrapped by a thick, transparent, tarlike substance. Furthermore, it wasn’t inactive.