Running from the Deity (2 page)

Unlike me, he thought.

“There is a problem.”

Reluctantly, he bestirred himself from daydreaming of warm beaches on a recently visited world, and the passionate company he had kept there. “If you’re trying to astonish me with revelation, you need to choose a less recurrent subject.”

Ignoring the cynicism, the
Teacher
continued. “You are not the only one who suffers from stress, Philip Lynx.”

Frowning, he rolled over on the supportive lounge. “Don’t tell me that
you’re
having mental problems. That’s supposed to be my area of expertise.”

“Mechanicals, however sophisticated, are fortunately immune to such intermittent cognitive plagues. My current situation involves stress of a purely physical nature. That does not render it any less serious or in need of attention. Quite the contrary.”

Mildly alarmed now, Flinx sat up straight and set his cold drink aside. “You know how I hate understatement. Tell me straight: what’s wrong?”

“We have done a great deal of traveling together, Flinx. In all that time I have endeavored to protect and care for you to the best of my abilities, according to the programming installed within myself by my builders.”

“And an admirable job you’ve done of it, too.” Flinx waited uncertainly for whatever was coming.

“We have crossed and recrossed vast sections of space. Because of a singular adaptation of KK-drive technology exclusive to my drive system, I have been able to set down on worlds and moons that would otherwise require visitation in the usual manner, via suborbital shuttle. On your behalf, I have run and I have fought.

“Now internal sensors have detected a disquieting deterioration in certain portions of my makeup. These need to be repaired. I am afraid that continuing on our present course and search without attending to these needs could result in structural failure, eventually of a catastrophic nature.”

Flinx knew whereof the ship spoke. KK-drive starships did not fall slowly to pieces, did not wear away like ancient ships of the sea. Bits and parts did not flake off the exterior, exposing gaps and cracks, and still remain functional. Boats traveling on liquid oceans could sustain themselves with such damage and continue to function. So could vehicles traveling on land. But a starship had to be maintained whole and intact, or disintegrate entirely. Tortured metaphors notwithstanding, there was no middle ground in space, to which the doomed crew of the famously lost
Curryon
could no doubt attest.

He took a deep breath. “What do you recommend?”

“We can reverse course and return to the Commonwealth, where repair facilities are widely available and where I judge it should be possible to effect them without arousing overmuch unwanted attention.”

Return, Flinx reflected. Go back, risk being discovered by Commonwealth authorities, or members of the Order of Null, or who knew what else, while the
Teacher,
his home and refuge, was laid up in an orbital repair facility somewhere, leaving him no means of flight from possible trouble. Not to mention, once repairs were completed, having to begin this probably vainglorious quest all over again.

“I deduce by your silence that this proposed course of action leaves you less than enthused.”

Irritated, Flinx spoke without looking up from the green-and-blue ground cover that gave the floor of the lounge the look of a well-manicured meadow. “What did I just say about understatement?”

“Usefully,” the ship-mind went on, “there is an alternative possibility.”

“Alternative?” Now Flinx did look up, focusing his gaze on one of the unobtrusive visual pickups scattered around the lounge. “How can there be an alternative?”

Sounding pleased with itself—although it was nothing more than a subset of its conditional programming—the ship-mind continued.

“The structural repairs and reinforcements I need to effect are within the capability of my integrated maintenance faculties. I am convinced that I can carry out the requisite maintenance without outside assistance. Provided, of course, that a location is found that will support my weight while simultaneously making available certain essential raw materials. These consist primarily of carbon and titanium, two quite common elements, that need to be worked under terrestrial-type atmosphere and gravity. It should be possible to locate such a world here within the Blight. This would obviate the need for us to return to the Commonwealth, a course of action I infer from your reaction to my previous suggestion that you would clearly prefer to avoid.”

“You infer correctly.” Flinx was much relieved. With luck, they would not have to subject themselves to Commonwealth scrutiny, nor retrace the parsecs they had already covered. He did not doubt that the
Teacher
could successfully carry out the necessary repair work. If it was in the least bit uncertain, it would never have put forth the proposal.

For just a moment, he considered instructing the ship to press on ahead and ignore the required repairs. What was the worst that could happen? That the ship would fragment and he would die? In space-plus, the convergent disintegration would occur in less than the blink of an eye. It would all be over and done with: the burden of responsibility, the endless worrying, his confused concerns for Clarity Held, the recurrent head-splitting headaches—all forever finished, and him with them.

Then he remembered what the ever-gruff but affectionate Mother Mastiff had always told him, even when he was a pre-adolescent, about dying.

“Just remember one thing about death, boy,” she’d growl softly, in between spitting something better left unidentified into a receptacle in the corner of the small kitchen. “Once you decided to be dead, you don’t get to change your mind if you don’t like the consequences.”

And, he reminded himself, there was Clarity to think of.

A new thought caused him to break out in the slight, subtle grin that always teased and bemused those fortunate enough to gaze upon it. Once again he eyed a pickup concealed among the foliage that enveloped him. “I don’t suppose you would by any chance already happen to have located a suitable nearby world?”

“As a matter of fact,” ship-mind replied unexpectedly, “there are virtually no systems in the general, let alone immediate, spatial vicinity that fit all of the obligatory needs.”

Flinx frowned slightly. “You said
virtually
. Go on.”

“There is one. That is, it should prove suitable if the single isolated and relatively old record referring to its location, existence, and physical makeup is of sufficient accuracy.”

The sole human on board the expansive, softly humming starship nodded knowingly to himself. “Then we ought to head there, don’t you think?”

“I do. Unfortunately, I cannot do that unless you specifically grant permission for me to do so.”

“And why is that?” Something small and bright yellow darted between a pair of solohonga trees, energetically pursued by the blur of blue-and-pink wings and body that was Pip.

“Because,” ship-mind intoned solemnly, “while the extant situation for a system lying within the Blight is unusual, it unfortunately for our purposes is not unprecedented. This is because the world in question is inhabited.”

Even as they changed course to head for the system where the
Teacher
would attempt to carry out repairs to itself, Flinx brooded on whether or not he had made the right decision in authorizing access. Arrawd, as the depressingly inadequate old records indicated it was called by its nonhuman inhabitants, was a Commonwealth-equivalent Class IVb world. Knowing that presented him with an ethical dilemma of a kind he had never before been forced to face.

Class IVb sentients existed at a pre-steam or lower level of technology, usually accompanied by similarly primitive political and social structures. The study of such societies was permitted only after applicants, nearly always scientific and educational bodies, submitted and had their intentions rigorously screened and passed by peer review and the appropriate authorities. Even with suitable safeguards in place, orbital observation was permitted only under advanced camouflage and from strictly regulated distances. Surface study was outright forbidden, actual contact with the species under examination punishable by revocation of academic and scientific accreditation and, in extreme cases, selective mindwipe of the offending individuals.

The
Teacher
was unequivocal in stating its needs. In order to obtain the raw materials to effect the necessary repairs to its structure, it had to set down on Arrawd itself. As for any contact, Flinx determined to hold his natural and inveterate curiosity in check. He would stay inside the disguised ship and wait out the delay while essential renovations were completed.

It had been a long time since the single Commonwealth survey vessel that had filed the only report on Arrawd had visited its isolated system. Though not exceptionally far from Commonwealth space, it lay well within the boundaries of the Blight. As was typical of such remote, inhabited worlds, there were no other populated systems nearby. The likelihood of the
Teacher
encountering another Commonwealth vessel in such a region was more than remote. That comforting improbability did not make his intended visit any less illegal.

His alternative was to reverse course and return to the nearest developed Commonwealth world, there to continue concealing his identity and that of his vessel while the obligatory repairs were surreptitiously carried out. Flinx had never been one to backtrack. Perhaps it was because he was more conscious than most of the absolute preciousness of time.

Also, once a thief, always a thief. In this instance, he would filch an illegal stopover. Somehow it struck him as less unlawful than stealing goods or money. Just a brief, if illicit, visit. Then he would depart, he and his swiftly repaired ship stealing away just as though they had never been there, leaving any natives none the wiser or Commonwealth authorities any the angrier.

So it was with the most righteous and honorable intentions that he entered the Arrawd system, flew past a ringed world that generated unexpectedly powerful pangs of homesickness, and allowed his suitably cloaked vessel to settle into orbit high above the fourth world of the local sun. It was there and then that his virtuous intentions unexpectedly began to unravel.

For one thing, Arrawd was astonishingly beautiful.

Even from orbit, the surface was achingly tempting. In the space immediately in front of him, images of the world below materialized and shifted at his beck and call. There were rainstorms but no hurricanes, seas but no oceans, dry land regions but only unassuming deserts. Capillary-like, rivers threaded their way through rolling plains and dense forests. Jungles matched icecaps in moderation. According to the
Teacher
’s sensors, the atmosphere was almost painfully human-normal while the gravity was sufficiently less to make an athlete of all but the most incapacitated visitor. He could not only survive unprotected on Arrawd’s surface; he would have to take care not to let himself go.

As for the local dominant species that carefully crafted government regulations were designed to shield from the potentially unsettling effects of superior Commonwealth technology, there was little enough information on the Dwarra. Since the robotic probe that had discovered and studied their world was prohibited from setting down its surface, all measurements, readings, approximations, evaluations, and opinions of that unfamiliar species were necessarily fragmentary and incomplete.

The last time he had been compelled to call upon the
Teacher
’s prodigious archives to provide him with a portrayal of a soon-to-be-visited alien race, he had been forced to wrap his perceptions around the completely alien (and not a little grotesque) Vssey from the distant world of Jast. So it was with some relief that he found himself gazing upon body shapes that were considerably less outlandish as the ship called them forth from its files. Even the recorded analysis of their primary language was simple and straightforward.

The Dwarra were bipedal, bisymmetrical, and bisexual, like himself. No more reproducing via spores or budding, like the Vssey. Aside from a distinctive slenderness that bordered on the anorexic, their most distinguishing physical characteristic consisted of a pair of short, whip-like antennae that protruded from their flat, back-sloping foreheads. Concerning the possible function of these prominent appendages, the relevant archive was disappointingly uninformative. For all Flinx was able to find out, their purpose might be nothing more than decorative—or they might be equally capable of sending and receiving radio signals. Though the vaguely humanoid Dwarra displayed ample evidence of sexual dimorphism, both genders appeared to sport antennae of equal length and diameter. He had to smile. The fleshy gray protrusions lent their owners something of the appearance of emaciated sprites.

Waif-like bodies suited to the lighter gravity boasted two upper arms that divided halfway along their length into two separate forearms. Instead of hands and fingers, each forearm tapered until it split again into a pair of flexible gray flanges that looked oddly clumsy and flipper-like but were doubtless capable of sufficient manipulation with which to raise a civilization. Legs were characterized by a similarly subdivided arrangement. Two legs and two arms giving way to four feet and eight hand-finger equivalents made for a disconcertingly busy physical appearance. Fortunately, hearing organs and eyes were not similarly partitioned. As in humans, the former were small and positioned on the sides of the narrow head, while the eyes were wide, round, and set in deep, muscular sockets in the center of the equally round face. A single small air intake located just above the mouth slit and set flush with the gray skin of the hairless face completed the alien visage.

In place of body hair or scales, flattened fingernail-sized flaps of skin that ranged in hue from light gray to an almost metallic silver covered the visible parts of the slim body. Varying in length from one to three centimeters, they flapped like leaves in the breeze when the projection demonstrated the Dwarra’s ungainly but satisfactorily motile gait. Females tended to be slightly smaller than males. According to the sparse records, the Dwarra gave birth to young who remained encased in a nourishing sac of gelatinous material until they were approximately a year old, at which point a second birthing ritual took place to celebrate the emergence of the infant from its mother’s insides and manual transfer to its nurturing pouch, where it remained for an additional year before finally being asked to stand erect on its eight wobbly podal flanges.