Running from the Deity (7 page)

Sensing the uncertainty and concern and emotions of only his two hosts, he had naturally assumed he had set down in a sparsely inhabited area. Now they insisted the reality was otherwise. Could there be more to the local mental state of affairs than first appeared? Carefully, he reached out with his Talent; seeking, searching.

There—another set of emotions. And there another. And another. Storra was being truthful. Yet when he closed down his perceptive ability, the other individual emotive projections disappeared. And not only them. He found he could shut out the feelings he was receiving from his hosts as well.

As far back as he could remember, he had been able to read the emotions of others—whether he wanted to or not. In cities, he sometimes had to resort to music or other forms of continuous noise just to gain some relief from the emotional cacophony by overriding it with something else capable of holding his attention. Over the last few years, he had discovered that he had within him the ability to project emotions onto others.

But this was the first time, and the first place, ever, where he had been able to completely shut them out.

He sat there dazed, like a man who has just found he can turn his sense of hearing on and off at will. As his Dwarran hosts eyed him uncertainly, he practiced alternately perceiving with and then shutting his Talent down. One moment their emotions were there, clear and sharp in his mind as if he were studying words carved in stone. The next, with minimal effort on his part, all was silent. Silent, and quiet. A type of quiet he had never experienced before in his life.

He wanted to cry out with delight.

On his shoulder, an Alaspinian minidrag wondered at the rush of buoyant emotion that was surging through her master. She began a curious and ultimately futile search for its cause.

“Are you all right?” The radical shift of expression on the alien’s face alarmed Storra.

“I—I’m fine. Remarkably well, I think. It seems that this world, and your—kind—are full of surprises.”

Ebbanai felt pleased without knowing quite why. “We’re happy you find your surroundings agreeable. Hospitality is a hallmark of my family.”

Rubbing another daub of ointment into his ankle, Flinx looked up at the angular, big-eyed Dwarra. “You have no idea how hospitable I’m finding it. Maybe before I leave I’ll find a way to explain why.”

Ebbanai glanced at his mate, then back to the alien. “Surely you need not rush away. You have questions for us, but we also have some for you.”

Flinx was immediately on guard. While he had already violated the strictures governing contact with inhabitants of Class IVb worlds, he fully intended to minimize the damage by telling them as little as possible about himself, the Commonwealth, and its technology. He supposed he owed this particular couple a few answers in return for their help, even if he would have been quite capable of surviving his injury without their intercession.

But he would keep any replies to their queries as simple and harmless as possible.

It was hard to restrain his elation. If Storra was being truthful, there were within reception range of his Talent dozens, perhaps hundreds, of fully aware minds constantly generating all manner of emotions. And he was, almost without conscious effort, shutting them out. He was among emotives, but his consciousness was at peace. He luxuriated in the remarkableness of it.

Different neural pathways, he thought. The Dwarra were wired differently from any sentient species he had yet encountered. Just enough to allow him to have some peace. Barring any sudden and unexpected changes, here was an intelligent folk among whom he could spend time without having to constantly guard against the uninvited intrusion of distressing emotions. Yet whenever he wished to do so, he could apparently access them with the same ease as he did those of other sentients. And there was something else. It had been nagging at him ever since he had first stepped out of the
Teacher
to inspect its external camouflaging and his new surroundings.

He had not experienced even a suggestion of a headache.

His constant companion since childhood, they were always worse on civilized worlds, festering inside him until they exploded in pain that nowadays was sometimes severe enough to incapacitate him. During his recent visit to Goldin IV, one such attack had put him in a dangerous coma. Since arriving on Arrawd, even the familiar faint throbbing he normally experienced in the company of other sentients had vanished.

His mind was not cured—but it was at peace.

Among the gear that filled out the belt around his waist was a medipak crammed with all manner of medications designed to alleviate his recurring cerebral pains. Glancing in its direction, he eyed it as if he had a sleeping taipan snaked around his waist. Not his waist, he corrected himself, adjusting the metaphor. His head. But his mind was easy, the genetically altered neurological processes that alternately thrilled and tormented him presently tranquil. Had he finally, accidentally, stumbled upon that which he thought he would never find? An inhabited world full of expressive, thinking beings whose emotions he could perceive or ignore at will, without existing in continual fear of being overwhelmed by them? And if the corollary was a cessation of his tormenting headaches...

He dared not think about it too much lest a sardonic Fate suddenly decide to prove him wrong. He smiled inwardly. Thinking too hard on the subject might—give him a headache.

“You’re sure you are well? You squat so still and silent.” Storra was eyeing him evenly—but the emotion she was feeling was one of honest compassion. He knew that for a fact, and smiled.

“I’m fine,” he told her via the translator. “In fact, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Ebbanai puckered his round mouth and exuded satisfaction. “This is a healthy place,” he affirmed, innocent of the reasons behind his guest’s declaration. “Much better for the body than the town or the city.”

“My mate is all country at soul,” Storra confirmed. “If you are then feeling good, could you answer some questions for
us
?” She glanced over at her mate. “Both Ebbanai and I have queries that burn within us.”

Flinx nodded. “I’ll answer what I can,” he told her guardedly, “as best I can. And in turn, you can answer some additional questions for me. I’m going to try to learn something of your language, so be patient with me.”

Despite all the evidence of its technological prowess, Ebbanai saw, the alien was not domineering, nor did it choose to act toward them in a superior manner. That was promising. If only they could find ways to keep it from leaving as soon as its leg was healed. Language instruction might be one way.

It certainly put a new twist on the old adage that he who speaks slowly is the one who stands to learn the most.

CHAPTER

5

When it came to learning languages, Flinx had two advantages. His travels had exposed him to a great many varieties of communication, including some that were only borderline verbal, and the ability to read the emotional outpourings of others allowed him to understand the substance of a phrase even as he struggled to reproduce it aloud. Under Ebbanai and Storra’s kindly tutelage, he made impressive progress.

His hosts, of course, were astonished at his facility—as they were by other abilities of their guest that were only gradually revealed. For example, so rapidly did his injured ankle recover that one could practically see it healing. As his leg became stronger, their guest began to demonstrate physical abilities that were commensurate with his mental talents.

On the day before he had indicated he was going to return to his machine, which was truly a vessel for traveling between worlds, he tested his leg by taking a short run around the homestead. With his flying pet accompanying him all the way, the alien covered ground with bounding strides of such length that his hosts were left staring in stunned disbelief. Fences that would have stymied even Ebbanai’s athletic neighbor Tebenrd were cleared with ease. Breathing effortlessly, the alien even tried to jump over the house. He did not make it, sliding down its curving flanks while laughing loudly to himself, but he came nearer accomplishing the seemingly impossible feat than could any Dwarra.

“It’s because the gravity is stronger on the world where I matured than it is on Arrawd,” he explained yet one more time to his awestruck hosts.

“That expression again.” For a second time Storra struggled with the untranslatable term, which clearly had as much to do with the matter of weight as it did with the weight of matter, but which she did not understand. If this “gravity” forced the alien to become heavier, then how was it he could move about more easily on Arrawd? Shouldn’t the opposite be the case? Though she prided herself on her intelligence, clearly there was some alien concept here that would require much mental struggling to properly comprehend. She was determined to manage it, however, as was Ebbanai.

Understanding would require a greater effort on the part of her mate. Ebbanai was a fine, upstanding, devoted male, but in matters involving mental as opposed to physical resolution, he tended to leave the decision making to her. That only showed how smart he really was. There is no greater sign of high intelligence than realizing that another person is cleverer than you, and having the strength of character to rely and act on their opinion.

So she was reasonably confident of convincing him of the course of action they needed to take when she confronted him in the baryeln barn later that afternoon. The alien was out studying vermin in the verdure, an activity she found revolting as well as pointless. Still, she made an effort to understand the why of it. Comprehending the alien’s motivations was vital to her intentions.

“Flinx says its leg is almost fully healed and that it intends to leave us tomorrow morning.”

Her mate looked up from where he was tapping imv-nine, their second-best producer. The mature baryeln stood quietly as the sweet, high-protein, glucose-rich fluid it secreted upon external stimulation flowed glutinously into several dozen waiting catchments.

“I know. A shame, really.”

“It need not be.” She did not lower her voice. The alien had many abilities, but it had already demonstrated that its hearing was not exceptional. Whether it could detect at such a distance what she was feeling at the moment, she did not know. She could only try to control her emotions and hope that her true feelings were passing unnoticed. Moving closer, she entwined Sensitives with Ebbanai’s so that he would know exactly what was going through her as she spoke.

“I don’t understand.” This close together, Sensitives locked, he had nowhere to look but into her eyes.

“If we are to gain anything from our acquaintance with this visitor, we must find a way to make it remain among us.” Behind them the indifferent, placid baryeln continued its consumption of silage and secreting of gryln, its complex internal organs turning the harvested one into the profitable other.

Ebbanai’s eyes contracted slightly, indicative of skepticism. “And how are we to do that?” He looked suddenly alarmed. “You cannot be thinking of restraining the alien by force! Surely it possesses advanced means of harming as well as of healing.”

She gestured with all eight gripping flanges. “Of what use would it be to us even if we could somehow take it and hold it prisoner? To make use of the alien, we need its willing cooperation. An attempt to forcibly detain it would only have the opposite affect.”

Ebbanai’s eyes contracted until they were reduced in their sockets to the size of marbles. “Then how can we possibly manage to obtain both its continued presence and its cooperation?”

Storra’s mouth expanded in the Dwarran equivalent of a smile. “By throwing our humble selves on its mercy and appealing to its instincts as a greatly superior being.”

Her mate remained unconvinced. “I don’t see how that will be sufficient to convince it to stay with us.”

“It will, when we beg it to help with your injury.”

“My injury?” Ebbanai’s uncertainty increased. “But I am not... oh. I see. I will fake an injury, and we will appeal to the alien to help us as we helped it.”

“Not exactly.” She spoke slowly, methodically, so he would be sure to understand and so that she would not have to pause to correct any misconceptions. Keeping their Sensitives entwined helped. “Remember that the alien can read our emotions as if they were an open book. It would instantly detect any attempt at propounding such a thorough falsehood. Any pain of injury cannot be faked. It must be real. Your suffering must be genuine, the damage perceptible, or this subterfuge will not work.”

He twitched one pair of arms. “Yes, you’re right, Storra. As always. I see that it has to be that way. One question.” His eyes met those of his mate. “Why me?”

Anticipating the query—she would have thought less of her mate had he failed to ask it—she had readied an answer. “While one of us is laid up, the other will be busy working to make use of the accident. We both know which of us would be the better at that.” When Ebbanai did not disagree, she continued. “Also, since you were the first to encounter the alien, I believe it may feel more responsible for anything you may suffer as a consequence of its presence among us than it would if I was the unfortunate one.”

Her mate pondered the prospect for another moment before reluctantly conceding his concurrence. “Very well, Storra. I will suffer the injury.” He hesitated. “Looking always ahead, I assume you have something already in mind. Something that will be convincing but hopefully not too painful?”

“Not if it is executed properly,” she told him.

He did not sound entirely assured. “I wish you would have chosen another way of putting it.”

They were in the barn examining the baryeln. Their visitor had expressed an interest in learning more about the animals that supplied so much nutrition in such a peculiar manner, and Ebbanai had agreed to further enlighten him. Storra remained behind, in the house, while her mate gave the alien a thorough explanation of baryeln anatomy and history.

“You see how many gryln collectors can be placed on a single animal.” Ebbanai indicated ijv-three, their best producer.

As he took mental notes on the relevant biology and process, a curious Flinx could not keep from mentally substituting the term
lactation
for
secretion,
even though nothing about the practice had anything to do with milk. “If manual stimulation is required to start the animal producing, how to you persuade them to keep it up? Do you have to continuously work the herd, going from one to another?”

“Exactly.” Ebbanai proceeded to demonstrate, moving from one animal to the next. As he did so, a curious Pip hummed along overhead, alternating her attention between the activity taking place below and the interesting alien vermin that infested the upper reaches of the building.

Flinx studied the Dwarra’s hectic movements. “There ought to be a way to automate the process,” he murmured, more to himself than to his host.

“Automate?”
Working a fourth animal, Ebbanai wondered at the alien’s thought processes. In order to induce them to produce lavishly, baryeln required constant attention and care. How did one automate attention and care?

Its focus elsewhere, the alien’s pet dropped in his direction. Flinx seemed momentarily distracted, closely examining the most recent animal Ebbanai had stimulated. Time to act, Ebbanai realized. Tilting back his head, he glanced upward more sharply than was necessary. As he did so, his eyes expanded and he began waving his forearms over his head and shouting wildly.

A surprised Flinx turned toward the native. “It’s all right, Ebbanai! You know she won’t hurt...”

Stumbling around in a panicky semi-circle as the “frightened” Ebbanai sought to avoid the minidrag’s “attack,” both of the native’s right forelegs slammed up against the back legs of the baryeln he was working with. Knowing he might not get a second chance, he made sure to throw his legs solidly against the animal’s much sturdier hind limbs. The startled baryeln uttered a sharp grunting noise and hopped a couple of steps forward. One hind limb came down on Ebbanai’s outer right foreleg. This unforeseen reaction had a consequence that was undeniably beneficial, though Ebbanai would have preferred to have avoided it. At least he was spared the need to try to force the appearance of discomfort.

The slender foreleg snapped as it was stepped on.

He screamed; a high-pitched whistling sound that had nothing of the forced or fake about it. Flinx was at his side immediately. As the heavy-bodied alien biped hauled his softly caterwauling host out of the stall, the wounded Ebbanai was yet again made conscious of the alien’s physical strength. Whether due to lower “gravity” or something else, those otherworldly muscles handled his broken body effortlessly.

Storra joined them quickly—almost too quickly. She had been waiting for the yell, though its volume and intensity had surprised her. Rushing from the house toward the barn, she mentally complimented her mate on the veracity of his screams—until she saw his leg. Before she could even think to prevent it, or modify it, a mix of sympathy and admiration flowed out to him. Since their Sensitives were not in contact, Ebbanai didn’t receive it.

Flinx did. It puzzled him. What, exactly, was the native female feeling? Compassion for her injured mate, certainly. But he was picking up indications of something else. Something almost contradictory. It made no sense.

He had no time to analyze it. There was no ambivalence about his own emotions. He felt terrible. His friendly, obliging host had been seriously injured while taking time to accommodate the wishes of his guest. Flinx eyed Pip disapprovingly. The flying snake was not intelligent enough to understand what, if anything, had gone awry. She had no sense of having done anything wrong. She perceived only that her master was unhappy with her. Fluttering above all the sudden activity, she did not know what to do except stay out of the way.

A detailed examination of her mate’s second right foreleg was not required to tell Storra what had happened. “It’s broken,” she announced immediately. Given the unexpected extent of the injury, she did not have to fake surprise. “How did this happen, Ebbanai?”

Through pain considerably greater than that which he had expected to have to experience, Ebbanai grimaced at her. His prepared speech fell by the wayside as he found himself speaking the actual truth, as opposed to the one he and his mate had so carefully rehearsed.

“I was working with three when our friend’s pet dove down and startled me. It caused me to kick ijv-three’s back legs, which upset it, and in trying to get away it stepped on me.”

Flinx looked on anxiously. “Is there anything I can do?”

This was going to be easier than they had planned, Storra thought—except for the fact that Ebbanai’s leg actually was broken, instead of merely strained as they had intended.

“Our business requires my presence in the city tomorrow.” All four forearms indicated her collapsed, injured mate. “But I can’t leave Ebbanai alone like this.” She turned what she hoped were soulful, pleading eyes on their alien guest. “I know you intended to leave us very soon, but if you could see your way to remaining for just another few days, to watch over Ebbanai, I could successfully conclude our business in town and return to take up his care.”

It was not the kind of request Flinx had expected. “By offering to help, I meant with his actual injury. I have a device called a beam-healer that promotes a body’s ability to repair itself, by encouraging the increased production of calcium, and...”

Seeing that they were staring at him uncomprehendingly, he trailed off. Anyway, while the beam-healer could to a certain extent be adjusted, he would first have to analyze the composition of Dwarran bone before it could be recalibrated to the appropriate setting. Dwarran skeletal structure might incorporate more silicon and less calcium than human bone, for example, in which case stimulating the injured area to produce more calcium might do more harm than good.

Just hanging around for another couple of days would not require the serious recalibration of anything but his travel plans, which were themselves in a state of flux. While he did not warm to the idea, there were still things here to be learned, and acquiescing to the request would be comparatively painless. After all they had done for him, openly and without complaint, he could hardly refuse such a simple request.

If only the feelings he was perceiving were less ambiguous. There was no mistaking the authenticity of poor Ebbanai’s injury and the emotions that flowed from him. But the more the three of them talked, especially Storra, the more Flinx sensed an underlying current of eagerness that seemed at odds with his host’s undeniable pain and discomfort.

Still, a request was a request, and a simple one at that. If all they wanted from him was a little of his time, that he could certainly spare.