The Tar-aiym Krang (8 page)

“A fascinating creature, I say again,” Truzenzuzex continued. “A subject I would like to pursue further. However as I am not an exoherpetologist, I don’t think it would be worthwhile just now. Too many other things on my mind.” The confession did not entirely ring true, as Flinx could read it. Not entirely.

Malaika was craning his neck over the map, tracing out lines in the plastic with his fingers and nodding occasionally to himself. “
Ndiyo,
ndiyo .
. . yes.” He looked up finally.

“The planet in question circles a GO, sol-type star. Four-fifths of the way toward GalCenter, straight through the Blight. Quite a trip, gentlesirs. He doesn’t supply much information on the planet itself, no, not by an
ndege
-depositing, but it might be enough. Terra-type, slightly smaller, marginally thinner atmosphere, higher proportion of certain gases . . . helium, for example. Also eighty-one point two percent water, so we should have little trouble finding the thing.”

“Unless it happens to be submerged,” said Truzenzuzex.

“So. I prefer not to consider possibilities upsetting to the liver. Besides, if that were the case I don’t think your prospector friend would have found it. We’ll have the same kind of heavy-metal detection instruments with us anyway, but I’d wager on its being above the water-line. If I recall, the information we do have on the Tar-Aiym suggests they were anything but aquatic in build.”

“That’s true,” admitted the philosoph.

“We’ll travel most of the way through unspaced areas, but then, one section of nothing is very much like any other,
kweli?
I foresee no problems. Which probably means a
mavuno
of them. At least we will be comfortable. The
Gloryhole
will not be crowded with all of us.”

Flinx smiled but was careful to hide it from the merchant. The origin of the name of Malaika’s private cargo-racer was a well-known joke among those in the know. Most thought it an ancient Terran word meaning a rich mineral strike. . . .

“Unless, of course, this gun or giant harp or whatever is going to crowd us. How big did you say it was?”

“I didn’t,” said Tse-Mallory. “We’ve no better idea than you. Only that it’s . . . large.”

“Hmph! Well, if it’s too big to go up on the shuttle, we’ll just have to send back for a regular transport. I’d rather sit on it once we’ve found it, but there are no relay stations in that area. If it’s been there untouched for a few millenia it will wait a few days.” He rolled up the map. “So then, sirs. If there are no objections, I see no reason why we cannot leave
kesho,
tomorrow.”

There were none.

“
Ema!
A toast, then. To success and profit, not necessarily in that order!
Nazdrovia!”
He raised his tankard.

“Church and Commonwealth,” murmured man and thranx together, softly. They sipped down the remainder of their drinks.

Malaika burped once, glanced out through the crystal wall where the sun of Moth was sinking rapidly behind the fog-squalls.

“It is late. Tomorrow then, at the port. The dock stewards will direct you to my pit. The shuttle will take us all in one trip and I need little time to set my affairs in order.”

Tse-Mallory rose and stretched. “If I may ask, who are ‘us all’?”

“Those four of us here now, Wolf and Atha to run the ship, and, of course, Sissiph.”

“Who?” asked Tse-Mallory.

“The Lynx, the Lynx,” whispered Truzenzuzex, grinning and nudging his ship-brother in the ribs. “Have your eyes aged as much as your brain? The girl!” They were strolling to the hallway now.

“Ah yes.” They paused by the shadowlike Wolf, who held the door open for them. The man grinned in what was obviously supposed to be a friendly gesture. It did not come off that way. “Yes, a very, ah, interesting and amusing personage.”

“
Ndiyo,”
said Malaika amiably. “She does have quite a pair, doesn’t she?”

As the others bid the spectral doorman goodeve, a hand came down on Flinx’s shoulder. The merchant whispered. “Not you,
kijana.
I’ve a question for you yet. Stay a moment.”

He shook hands with Tse-Mallory and touched olfactory organs with Truzenzuzex, waving them toward the elevator.

“Good rest to you, sirs, and tomorrow at first fog!”

Wolf closed the door, cutting off Flinx’s view of the scientists, and Malaika immediately bent to face him intently.

“Now, lad, that our ethical friends have left, a point of, um, business. The two hired corpses you left rotting so properly in that alley. Did they have any special insignia or marks on them or their clothing?
Think,
youth!”

Flinx tried to recall. “It was awfully dark . . . I’m not sure . . .

“And when did that ever bother you? Don’t hedge with me,
kijana.
This is too important Think . . . or whatever it is you do.”

“All right. Yes. When I was trying to pry that map away from the dead man, I did notice the feet of the man Pip had killed. He’d fallen close by. The metal of his boots had a definite design etched on them. It looked to be some kind of bird . . . an abstract representation, I think.”

“With teeth?” prompted Malaika.

“Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know for sure. The questions you ask, merchant! It could have been. And for some reason, during the fight I got this picture of a woman, an old-young woman.”

Malaika straightened and patted the boy on the back. His expression was jovial but his thoughts were grim—grim. Ordinarily Flinx would have resented the patronizing gesture, but this time, coming from the merchant, it seemed only complimentary.

“Thank the Mti of Miti for your powers of observation, lad. And for a good memory.” Flinx saw another word:
uchawi,
witchcraft, but did not press the point. The big man changed the subject abruptly. “I’ll see you
kesho,
on ship, then?”

“I would not miss it. Sir, may I ask the why of your question?”

“You may not. The ship tomorrow, then. Good rest.” He ushered a puzzled Flinx to the elevator.

The merchant stood pondering silently awhile, curses bubbling like froth from the cauldron of his mouth. They constituted the only sounds in the now deserted room. He turned and walked over to an apparently blank section of wall. Striking a hidden switch he sent the deep-grained paneling sliding up into the ceiling to reveal a complex desk. The slim bulk of an interstellar transceiver dominated the other apparatus. Buttons were pushed, dials turned, meters adjusted. The screen lit up suddenly in a glorious fireball of chromatic static. Satisfied, he grunted and hefted a small mike.

“Channel six, please. Priority. I wish to speak straight-line direct person, to Madame Rashalleila Nuaman, on Nineveh, in the Sirius system.”

A small voice floated out of a tiny speaker set to one side of the rainbow flux rippling on the screen. “Call is being placed, sir. One moment, please.”

Despite the incredible distances involved, the slight delay was occasioned by the need to boost the call through half a hundred relay stations. Time of transit, due to the less-than-space concepts in use, was almost instantaneous.

The screen began to clear, and in a short while he was facing one of the ten wealthiest humanoid females in the universe.

She was lounging on some sort of conch. To one side he could easily make out the muscled, naked leg of whoever was holding the portable transceiver hookup for her. In the background he could see lush greenery, growing to fantastic size and shapes without the restraints of heavy gravity. Beyond that, he knew, was the dome which shut out the airless void that was the normal atmosphere of Nineveh.

Nature battled surgery as the woman pulled her face into a toothsome, slinky smile. This time, surgery won. It was intended to be sexy, but to one who knew, it only came out vicious.

“Why Maxy, darling! What a delightful surprise! It’s always so delicious to hear from you. That lovely body of yours is well, I trust, and business equally?”

“I’m only well
when
business is good. At the moment it is passable. Rasha, just passable. However I have hopes it will take a sudden jump for the better very shortly. You see, I’ve just had a most interesting chat with two gentlemen . . . three, if you count the redhead.”

Nuaman tried to project an aura of disinterest, but surgery couldn’t hide the way the tendons tautened in her neck. “How interesting, I’m sure. I do hope it proves profitable for you. But your tone seems to imply that you believe I am somehow involved.”

“It did? I don’t recall saying anything that might lead you to that conclusion . . . darling. Oh, it isn’t the redhead you’re thinking of. Your bully-boys did get to that one. . . as per instructions, no doubt.”

“Why Maxy, whatever are you thinking of? Why should any of my assistants be on Moth? My dealings on the planet are small, as you well know. You’re the one who keeps blocking all my attempts to expand my interests there. Anyhow, I don’t know many redheads altogether . . . certainly can’t recall any I’d want killed. Messed up a little, perhaps, but not killed. No, darling, you’re mistaken. What an odd conversation! There’s nothing on that pitifully damp ball of dirt of yours, redheaded or otherwise, that I’d risk a murder for.”

“Ummm. Not even this,
hasa?”
He held up the map. Folded, so that the interior would not show.

It didn’t matter. She recognized it, all right! She sat bolt upright and leaned forward so that her face, witchlike, seemed to fill the whole screen.

“Where did you get that? That belongs to me!”

“Oh now Rasha,
bibi,
I do doubt that. And do sit back a little. Closeups are not your forte, you know.” He made a pretense of examining it. “No name, I’m afraid. And besides, I got it from a
live
redhead. A boy, really. He happened along just as your ‘assistants’ happened to be performing acts of doubtful legality against the original owner. Either the youth is an extraordinary chap . . . which I am inclined to believe . . . or else the two assistants you assigned to this job were very low-grade morons . . . which, come to think of it, I am also inclined to believe. They
were
yours, I see. It had your typically brazen touch about it. I merely wanted to make certain. I’ve done that. Thank you, Rasha dear.
Sikuzuri,
now.”

He cut her off in midcurse and went off to find Sissiph.

All in all, it had been rather a good day.

Chapter Three

On Nineveh, Rashalleila Nuaman, matriarch and head of one of the largest private concerns in the Commonwealth and one of the ten richest humanoid females in the known firmament, was howling mad. She booted the nearly nude male servant who held the portable transceiver in an indelicate place. The unfortunate machine fell into a pool of mutated goldfish. Startled, they scrambled for cover amidst pastel lily pads. A number of very rare and expensive opaline glasses were shattered on the stone pathway.

Her anger momentarily assuaged, she sat back down on the lounge and spent five minutes rearranging her hair. It was olive this week. At that point she felt sufficiently in control of herself to get up and walk to the main house.

How
had that utter bastard Malaika found out about the map? And how had it found its way into his hands? Or possibly . . . possibly it had been the other way around? The two gentlemen he had so snidely referred to were undoubtedly that Tse-Mallory person and his pet bug. But who was this new “redhead”? Who had so rapidly and shockingly managed to wreck what had until a few minutes ago been a comparatively smooth, routine operation? And all this now, with Nikosos only two days out of Moth! It was insufferable! She took a clawed swipe in passing at a stand of priceless Yyrbittium trumpet-blooms, shredding the carmine leaves. The delicate tube-shaped petals sifted brokenly to the floor. Someone was definitely, yes definitely, going to be flayed!

She stomped into the lounge-room that doubled as her office and collapsed disconsolately in the white fur mouldchair. Her head dropped onto her right hand while the left made nervous clicking sounds on the pure corrundum table. The brilliant quicksilver flickering was the only movement in the wave-proofed room.

It
was
insufferable! He would not get away with it. It would be on his head, yes, on his, if a single killing operation devolved into a multiple one. It might even extend itself to his own exquisite carcass, and wouldn’t that be sad. He
would
make a lovely corpse.

Don’t just sit there, you slobbering bitch. Get cracking! She leaned over the desk and jabbed a button. A thin, weary face formed on the screen in front of her.

“Dryden, contact Nikosos and tell him that he is not to land at Drallar. He is instead to monitor all starships that are in parking orbit around the planet and stand off. Any which depart in the direction of the Blight he is to follow as closely as possible while at all times staying out of immediate detector range. If he complains, tell him I realize it’s a difficult proposition and he’s simply to do his best.” I can always fire him later, she thought grimly. “If he presses you for an explanation, tell him plans have been changed due to unforeseen and unpreventable circumstances. He is to follow that ship! I guarantee there will be one, and probably shortly. It will be headed for the planet he was originally to have proceeded to by map. For now he’ll have to do without his own set of coordinates. Is that all clear?”

“Yes, Madame.”

She had cut him off before he reached the second “m”. Well, she’d done what she could, but it seemed so goddamn
little!
Her feeling of comparative impotence magnified her rage and the corresponding desire to take out her frustration on someone else. Let’s see. Who was handy? And deserving? Um. The idiot who had bungled with those two assassins? A fine choice! Her niece? That bubble-head. And to think, to think that one day she might have to take over the firm. When she couldn’t even oversee a simple extraction. She pressed another button.

“Have Teleen auz Rudenuaman report to my office at, oh, five hours tomorrow morning.”

“Yes Madam;” the grid replied.

Now if there were only someone else. A budding career to squelch, perhaps. But in good faith there was no one else she could rake over the coals. Not that that should prove a consideration if she felt especially bitchy, but a loyal staff could be assured only through an equal mixture of fear and reward. No point in overdoing the former. No, face to it, what she really needed was relaxing. Hopefully that fop van Cleef would be in decent shape tonight. A smile suddenly sickled across her face. The unlucky button got jabbed again.

“Cancel that last. Have my niece report at five hours tomorrow . . . but to my sleeping quarters, not the office.”

“Noted,” said the grid compactly.

Rashalleila leaned back and stretched luxuriously. Definitely she felt better. She knew her niece was hopelessly in love with her current gigolo. Why, she couldn’t for the life of her see, but it was a fact. It would be interesting to see if the girl could keep a straight face tomorrow as she was bawled out in front of him. While he stirred groggily in her aunt’s bed. It would fortify her character, it would. She giggled at the thought and even in the empty room it was not a pleasant sound.