[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
ment later.
Freed from her bonds, she rose shakily. Though of average
height, she loomed over the thranx. You still haven t told me who
you are. If not a peaceforcer, then what?
I am by avocation a Philosoph. My title is not peaceforcer or
soldier but Eint. I am an old friend of this most interesting human.
My name is Truzenzuzex. You may call me Tru.
True enough? She smiled. He looked up at her but could not
smile back, as his physiognomy was not designed for it. But she had
the feeling he recognized the expression.
I assure you I ve heard all the wordplay on my name that you
could possibly imagine. But if it amuses you to do so, please indulge
yourself.
That s all right. This was a thranx Philosoph, she reminded
% %
2 00
FLINX S FOLLY
herself, and one holding the exalted rank of Eint. Until she knew
him better, it might be wise to confine herself to sensible speech and
forgo any further jejune attempts at witticism.
She sat down beside Flinx on the couch and began to run her
fingers through his hair. Wings humming, Scrap came to wrap him-
self around her neck. Pip settled down on her master s hip and
curled up, but remained watchful.
How long have you known Flinx, Truzez Tru? Flinx s hair,
she noted not for the first time, was thick but remarkably soft, his
skin still smooth and deepy tanned.
Looking around the room, the thranx stepped indifferently over
the body of one of Serale s fallen associates.
Ever since he was an interesting boy. He s not a boy anymore.
That s one reason we ve spent some time trying to find him.
We? Clarity frowned, glancing at the doorway behind the
tranquil thranx. You re not alone?
Well, crrskk, Truzenzuzex replied thoughtfully, yes and no.
Still staring in bewildered disbelief at the communicator in his hand,
Ormann set it down on the desk. Up in the distant mountains, in that
cabin, something had gone very, very wrong. But how? This time he
had thought of everything.
At that moment, something else he had not thought of walked
into his office. His visitor was taller than average, though not quite
so tall as Flinx. Slim and dignified, he advanced into the room with
the grace of a dancer. Very black eyes shining with intelligence
peered out from beneath bushy brows in a face that was all sharp
angles. Like a jumble of knives that had been overlaid with deeply
% %
2 01
ALAN DEAN FOSTER
tanned skin that was then pulled tight over the blades. The lips were
thin, the mouth small. It was a visage that bespoke an Oriental,
probably Mongolian ancestry. His hair was graying, with one streak
of white running from front to back. Ormann guessed him, correctly,
to be in his early eighties.
How did you get in here? Smiling pleasantly, Ormann s right
hand drifted toward the drawer that held a small pistol.
Walked.
A comedian, Ormann found himself thinking. An old comedian.
You know what I mean. He furtively slid open the drawer. The
gun lay flat in its charger. It was not a big gun. But then, given the
charge it carried, it didn t have to be.
Your office manager let me in.
That will cost her. She knows not to let anyone in without first
contacting me.
Don t be too hard on her. She was very nice, and I can be very
persuasive.
Can you, now? Ormann tried not to look in the direction of
the pistol. Then maybe you can convince me why I shouldn t have
you thrown out.
First, because you couldn t. This was stated with such assur-
ance and finality that Ormann was half tempted to believe it. Sec-
ond, because I ve come a long way to deliver a short message.
Is that all? Some of the tension in Ormann s gut eased. Well
then, say your piece and leave. I m very busy.
I know you are. My name is Bran Tse-Mallory. I am an old
friend of Philip Lynx, the man you are trying very hard to get rid of.
Stop. He smiled thinly. I told you it was a short message.
% %
2 02
FLINX S FOLLY
Ormann s brows drew together as he stared at the man who,
though lean, appeared to be in excellent physical condition. He kept
his hands in full view and his distance from the desk. A valet of
some sort? Ormann wondered. Lynx had money, so why not a hu-
man servitor or two? However, something in the man suggested
otherwise.
I m a sociologist. The voice was dry, professorial. I m inter-
ested in all aspects of sentient behavior. Right now I m concentrat-
ing on yours. His voice fell. Don t disappoint me. Hatred hovers
in the air of this room like rotting meat.
Not hatred, Ormann corrected him, determination. You say
that you re an old friend of Lynx. If that s the case, then maybe you
also know that he s wanted by the authorities. His fingers crept
closer to the concealed pistol. Maybe you re even responsible for
helping him in his illegal activities.
It s been nearly seven years since my friend and I last saw
Flinx. We came here to have a talk with him about an issue of con-
siderable importance. A matter whose import far exceeds any per-
sonal concerns: his, mine, or yours. Leave him alone.
The argument between the young redhead and me is personal.
It has nothing to do with you. Fingers slowly closed around the pis-
tol s grip.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]