Patrimony (16 page)

A road led through the town and down to the river. Smaller structures were visible on its banks. He saw no sign of dray or other domesticated animals, though he knew that the omnivorous Tlel kept some. When not walking, the adaptive natives made use of small, powered personal transports. The largest of these could hold as many as half a dozen travelers. Though he was disappointed not to see any skimmers or aircraft, that did not mean the village was devoid of such fast means of transport.

In striking contrast with the newer part of the community, older habitations and storerooms had been dug into the side of the hundred-meter-high cliff that formed the back of the village. Over time, natural caves that a much higher, faster prehistoric river had once excavated from the rock had been walled in and enlarged. It was to one of these ancient, traditional dwellings that he had been taken, and it was there that he had been nursed back to consciousness.

As they walked through the community, Vlashraa greeted and was greeted in turn by fellow citizens. Though he could not see all of it at one glance, Flinx estimated Tleremot’s population at no more than a couple of hundred. That was not necessarily a drawback. Though small in size, the nature of its buildings, the modern accoutrements he saw in use, as well as elements of Vlashraa’s speech, all pointed to regular contact with larger, more advanced communities. His hopes were quickly and easily confirmed.

“You have communication with other towns and—cities?”

“Of course,” she told him. “We are serviced by multiple satellite relay. Is there perhaps someone in Tlossene or elsewhere on Silvoun that yu wish tu talk tu? Tu assure them that yu are alive and well, if momentarily stranded?”

Flinx considered contacting the company from which he had rented his skimmer. Better to delay reporting that awkward bit of news, he decided. Not only to avoid having to argue about circumstance and money, but because he was not yet ready to announce his continued existence among the living. Whoever had come hunting for him might also have the expertise and the wherewithal to monitor an unknown variety of communications, including any intended for a certain skimmer rental company. The longer he kept knowledge of his survival quiet, the longer his privacy and safety would be ensured.

“Maybe later,” he told the helpful Vlashraa. Refusing to take a backseat to his brain, his stomach chose that moment to speak up forcefully. The Tlel stared at him but otherwise did not react to the peculiar sotto voce growl. Even so, Flinx looked apologetic. “What I’d really like is something more to eat. I appreciate what you’ve given me already, but I’d be lying if I denied that I’m still hungry.”

“There is no need tu apologize. I am pleased fur yu. Hunger is a sign uv good health. We will pay a visit to Healer Fluadann, whu will best know what additional foods uv urs tu recommend fur yu now that yu are walking once more.”

“I have some idea,” he told her. “I’ve kept down what I’ve already eaten, and I also shared some of my escort’s food.” Bleshmaa had been accommodating that way, he recalled. Though he had thought many times of the ever-helpful escort since losing her to the river, it was only at that moment that he found himself choking up.

Observing the phenomenon in silent amazement, Vlashraa found herself wondering at the seemingly inexplicable shedding of water that had commenced from the corners of the human’s eyes.

CHAPTER 9

Nearly an hour passed before Halvorsen finally stopped yelling at the supervisor of the repair facility where he had left his damaged skimmer. The frustrated hunter was nothing if not consistent: every facet of the necessary repair work, from what needed to be done to get the skimmer back in working order to what the repairs were going to cost, had brought forth from its owner an inventive, odious fulmination covering everything from the shop owner’s professional ineptitude to doubts regarding the nature of his ancestry. Having dealt with Halvorsen before, the shop owner suffered through it all without comment. Early on he had learned the important lesson that in business it was better to cultivate a spiteful client who paid in full and on time than one who was charmingly and consistently impecunious.

Halvorsen’s wrath was muted by the knowledge that the reward he was about to claim would more than cover the repair cost to his vehicle. In fact, if he so wished, he would be able to buy a new one. Having verbally relieved himself on the unfortunate but tolerant shop owner, he turned his attention to filing his claim. Since like all space-minus communications it would have to cross the relevant interstellar gap via Tlossene’s projector, he could not very well have his dimensional avatar standing forth declaiming,
The one you wanted killed is dead
—
I took care of it myself
. While admirably succinct, such a straightforward admission could potentially expose him to awkward inquiries. While modest in size and limited in experience, Gestalt’s planetary law enforcement entity was not entirely incompetent.

Consequently, he took the time to make efficient use of code words and intentional misdirection. Those receiving the message would know exactly what was being talking about. Developed and refined through hundreds of years of use, space-minus communication was swift and efficient. Everything being equal, the response to his communiqué should take the form of a series (a series being employed to avoid drawing attention to the overall sum) of substantial transfers that would significantly augment his bank account. Just thinking about it almost allowed him to forget what it was going to cost to repair his damaged skimmer. Almost.

Descending on his quarry with surprise on his side, he’d expected no resistance. That his youthful target had managed to put up much more than a cursory fight spoke highly of his abilities. It went a long way toward explaining why the cryptically yclept Order of Null was willing to pay such a large amount to arrange for his demise. It did not give a reason why the unknown faction wanted him dead. This dearth of detail did not trouble Halvorsen. It was none of his business.

A couple of days, he told himself confidently. Receipt, response, and transfer should take no more than that. How wonderful were the advanced communications that allowed a citizen to be broke one day and drowning in costly purchases the next. With his skimmer temporarily out of action and having nothing else to do, he set about planning in meticulous detail exactly how he was going to lavish a lordly chunk of his ample new funds on what promised to be a binge of estimable depravity.

Watching the young Tlel at play on the cliff edge, Flinx could not help but marvel at how readily the locals had adapted not only to a fad current among young humans, but to one that required special modifications to the necessary equipment. There were only four of them. That was the Tlel way. Other than for traditional exceptions such as a rescue or hunting party, it was best to have no more than four in a group, though he still did not know if the reason for this unswerving, self-imposed limitation was social, psychological, or physical in the sense that it might be somehow related to their ability to perceive
flii
.

Though the side street where he was standing was steep, he had no difficulty keeping his balance as he tilted back his head and stared upward. Built to accommodate the cloddish, blocky feet of the Tlel, the street had been deeply incised with horizontal ripples. The footing thus provided even in damp, slippery weather was as advantageous to a human as it was for the villagers.

Shading his eyes with his right hand he watched as one of the youngsters, unburdened by any complicated apparatus, stepped calmly off the edge of the hundred-meter-high cliff and plunged downward. Immediately, the adolescent’s three friends raced toward him on their lifters, riding air as each sought to be the first to partner with the plummeter. They bounced and spun off one another, jockeying for position.

Having spread wide her long arms and thick legs, the seemingly suicidal youngster who had initiated the contest fell surfaceward. She was in no danger, Flinx knew. Continuously monitoring the distance between itself and the ground, the fail-safe lifter strapped to her back would engage in time to slow her descent and set her down safely on the pavement. Assuming, of course, that her plunge was not first interrupted by one of the three other youngsters presently competing to do just that.

Skill at levitating, falling, fighting, and catching combined to award points to the most adroit and successful. Looking on, Flinx had no difficulty understanding the game’s attraction. The part of him that was still an adopted orphan boy freely roaming the bustling streets of distant Drallar, on Moth, wanted to don a lifter of his own so he could participate. He knew he could not. More important, more adult objectives demanded his energy and attention. He was not a kid anymore. Not that he had ever really been one, he mused wryly.

Someone else was not as constrained, either by past or present. Sunlight glinted off a small winged shape that darted recklessly in and among the competing lifters as well as the targeted plummeter. Gleefully welcomed into their midst by the soaring, maneuvering Tlel youth, Pip’s joyful presence added a new and stimulating element to the game. For a change, the feelings that washed over Flinx as he intermittently connected with his colorful winged companion were entirely free of everything but joy.

I should get a lifter, he kept telling himself. Show them how it’s done. He stood and watched, pondering, wishing. Approaching from behind, a more multifaceted set of emotions caused him to turn away from the juvenile aerial contest. More multifaceted and more—mature. Ordinarily open and receptive, he found that at that moment he did not especially welcome them. As brief as they had been heart tugging, memories and thoughts of his carefree youth evaporated as quickly as a snowball on the sun.

His irritation was unfair to Zlezelrenn and Vlashraa, whose feelings were nothing if not kindly disposed in his direction. Having no way of perceiving his melancholy, they could not sympathize. Dragged back to the present by callous reality, Flinx forced himself to greet them politely.

Raising a long arm, Zlezelrenn indicated the contending youngsters. “Going tu join in?”

“No,” Flinx told him tersely. “It’s just a kids’ game. I don’t have time for kids’ games.” His translator could only convey the meaning of his words and not the bitterness behind them. He put his disappointment out of his mind. “This is the last place I’d expect to find youngsters of another species playing gravgrave.”

Satisfaction was evident in the sentiments the Tlel projected, if not in the minimal distortions of his alien visage. Natural physiological constraints prevented the Tlel from being physically expressive. “As yu have been told, ur people were and remain quickquick tu import frum the rest uv the Commonwealth whatever is deemed useful. Cultural influences are as readily welcomewelcomed as technology.”

“It’s not usual.” Accompanied by the adult Tlel, Flinx started back down the street. Stabilizing ripples in the pavement notwithstanding, he was careful to watch his step on the steep downhill grade. “Especially at first, less technologically developed species tend to resist such influences.”

“We have alwaysalways been highly adaptable.” Vlashraa indicated their surroundings: the deep valley cut by its unnavigable river, the dense blue and green forest, and the towering peaks beyond. “Ur world demands it. We have always welcomed anything that makes a hard life easier.”

Flinx glanced down at her. “Is that why you agreed almost immediately after first contact to allow individuals of other Commonwealth species, especially my kind, to settle here? Visitation is one thing, but actual settlement is something else again. The matter of granting permanent residency to large numbers of another species is a question that many other sentient races find very—” He sought for the right Tlelian term. “—touchtouchy.”

After his escorts exchanged a glance, it was Zlezelrenn who replied. “Stars, river, forest, sky—these things belongbelong tu all. Humans and Tlel—and other intelligences—may be very different physically, but what is necessary tu create happiness among us is not so dissimilar. Silvoun is like a house with many rooms that is owned by small family. Better empty rooms should be used tu make people happy than stay empty.”

“Besides,” Vlashraa added, “we have always gotten along well-well with yur kind, frum very beginning. Though we not look alike, we likelike many uv same things. Clean air, beautiful mountains, gud food. Human settlement has been gud fur Silvoun and gud fur Tlel. It is much easier tu participate in something vast and nu like interstellar commerce when one is partnered with humans whu are already familiar with its workings. We have made manymany successful and useful enterprises together.”

“Still,” Flinx argued, “it’s not usual for indigenous people to readily sell property to offworlders. Much less to accompany it with citizenship.”

The feeding appendages beneath Zlezelrenn’s chin rippled in reaction. “The Tlel have ample land fur all.”

How long would that attitude last? Flinx wondered. While it was true that for now, at least, Gestalt/Silvoun was hardly overrun by humans, conflict over property rights was an inevitable occurrence on many more developed worlds. He wondered why this should trouble him. Why should he care? In all likelihood he would be long dead before any such conflict arose. Or at the very least an old man on some other world, in another system parsecs distant. Pondering the question, he supposed he cared because he had always cared about such things. Mother Mastiff, on the other hand, would have urged him to rush out and buy land.

Well, he wasn’t here because he was tempted by the possibilities inherent in local real estate, he reminded himself firmly. Tomorrow he would see about trying to arrange some form of transportation back to distant Tlossene. It looked like he was going to have to organize his journey to visit the shadowy Anayabi all over again.

Propped up in the semi-vertical sleeping position not only favored by but in fact essential to her kind, Vlashraa was slumbering soundly when she was awakened. By the light he held, she saw that it was Zlezelrenn who had roused her. A simple voice command activated the illumination in her sleeping quarters. She was startled to see that he was accompanied by several others, Healer Fluadann among them. Stepping off the sleeping platform, she confronted her nocturnal visitors. The flutter in their
flii
told her immediately that something was wrong.