Flinx in Flux (24 page)

Beyond lay a vast cavern roofed with low-intensity light tubes. They shone dully on neat rows and shelves of brightly hued plastic crates and cylinders. It was the main warehouse beneath the port facilities that Sowelmanu had described to them earlier.

“Still no signs of fighting,” the thranx whispered hopefully. “Perhaps Security has at least retained control of this portion of the installation. It would be among the most heavily defended and the last to surrender.”

“I don’t see any guards.” Clarity followed Flinx through the crack in the limestone wall.

Nothing moved in the spacious chamber, not even shipping and sorting robots. Except for the heavy whisper of air pushed along by ventilator fans and pumps, there was no noise save what little they made themselves.

“They would be mounting a successful defense somewhere above,” Sowelmanu speculated. “If they had been driven back this far, the battle would be as good as lost. I believe we can ascend in confidence.”

“I’d rather ascend in caution,” Flinx muttered as he studied the deserted stairway that flanked the service elevators.

They kept to the shadows of the largest crates, huge containers full of drilling and excavating equipment. Each package was color coded as to eventual destination. A few were clad in the crimson of the United Church or the aquamarine of the Commonwealth.

Sowelmanu led the way. Though Clarity had been on Longtunnel longer than the thranx, she had never had occasion to visit the main warehousing facility. Everything was unwrapped, acknowledged, accounted for, and delivered by the time it reached her lab.

The armed man whirled but lowered his rifle as soon as he recognized Sowelmanu. “You’re with the Hivehom geofoods team, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed. Are the authorities still in control of this portion of the installation?”

The guard relaxed and slung his weapon over his shoulder. “Sorry about this. Thought you might’ve been some of those veginodes left behind. We’re in control of a lot more than just this portion,” he declaimed with grim satisfaction.

“You said ‘left behind’?” Flinx was trying to see past him. “What happened? We’ve been in hiding and out of touch.”

“Then I’ll start from the start, right? The slip-suited bastards came at us out of the walls, like rats. They made a lot of noise and set off a lot of demo charges before we could organize and regroup, but they were lousy shots. Unprofessional, you know?

“As soon as he realized the outpost was under fullscale attack, Lieutenant Kikoisa pulled a bunch of us together and organized a counterattack. They must’ve had a shuttle some idiot actually managed to set down beyond the strip. As soon as we plowed back into ’em, they broke and took off for it. That’s the rumor, anyways. Haven’t seen any of ’em for a couple of days.”

“Then everything’s all right?” Clarity asked. “You drove them away?”

“Not all of ’em. There’s plenty scattered around the corridors they didn’t cave in. But they’re a problem for the burial squad, not me. Who the hell do you suppose they were?”

“I think I know,” Clarity said.

“No shit?” The sentry’s eyes widened. “Hell, you better get yourself to the lieutenant or somebody, because everybody’s been asking themselves that ever since they came at us. They didn’t leave any wounded behind, and the dead don’t have any identification on ’em. Not even labels on the chameleon suits they were wearing. Kikoisa’s definitely gonna want to talk to you, Ms. . . .”

“Clarity Held. I’m with Coldstripe.”

The guard made a face and looked elsewhere. “Coldstripe, huh? That’s tough. They really powdered your whole setup. Got there first and did it down right. Nobody’s gonna be doing any work over there for a long time, and I’m afraid some of your buddies ain’t gonna ever be doing it again, either.

“We all thought they’d go for Communications and the hangar first, but they didn’t. They hit Coldstripe, then started in on your neighbors. Damnedest thing. Like they didn’t care about anything except morbidizing the labs.” He looked up at Sowelmanu.

“Yours, too, though I think I heard that your friends got out in time.”

“Blessings upon the Hive.”

“Some of the labs are just rooms full of rock. You’d never know to look at ’em that there was ever anything in there.”

Clarity’s throat was tight. “Where—where do I go to find out about survivors?”

“I dunno. I’m just walking sentry here. Try the dispensary staff. I’ll bet they’re set up for inquiries by now. Everything’s been a lot more organized since we shot the last of the bastards.”

Flinx put a comforting arm around Clarity’s shoulders, forcing Scrap to squirm out of the way. “Maybe the loss of life doesn’t match up with the physical destruction. If they had mass murder on their minds, they wouldn’t have taken so much time and care with the demolition charges.”

“You hope,” she muttered.

“We all hope,” he told her. “Let’s go and see.”

Chapter Fourteen

Her depression did not lift until they found Amee Vandervort lying in bed in a private alcove, curtained off from the rest of the wounded. The head of Coldstripe had one arm encased in spray-plastic and locked at her side. Her face was bruised and battered, but she sat up promptly when the three of them entered.

Sowelmanu paused outside. “Now I must find out if my good fortune equals your own.” He extended both antennae, and they touched fingers to feathery tips in the thranx manner of parting. “Perhaps we shall see each other again. This is a small place. In that event I would be honored to buy you both the best human meal remaining on Longtunnel.”

“Only if you let me pay for the drinks,” Flinx told him.

They watched as their injured companion of many lightless days hobbled off toward the thranx wing of the dispensary, an enclosed compartment of higher humidity and temperature. Only after he was out of earshot did it occur to Flinx that he had gone, to check on his comrades’ welfare before seeking medical attention for his amputation. That was the thranx for you. Quiet, unassuming to a fault, desperately polite, and always concerned about the fate of others. It was partly their personalities and partly the lingering hive mentality, where everyone looked out for everyone else.

Alynasmolia Vandervort extended her one functional hand. “Clarity, dear!” She embraced the younger woman, then turned her probing gaze on Flinx. “I see you still have your charming and precocious young man with you. When you were not brought in with the other wounded, you were listed among the missing. That was days ago. We’d all long since resigned ourselves. This is the second time you’ve surprised us. I am so pleased, so very pleased you are alive and well. How did you escape the fighting?”

“We went out another way,” Clarity said tersely. “Down instead of up. And we found,” she added after a quick glance in Flinx’s direction, “some interesting things.”

Vandervort’s eyebrows rose. “You were running for your lives and you made time for research?”

“I’m not sure that we weren’t the ones being researched. Our assumptions about Longtunnel are going to have to be revised, along with everything else. There’s a sentient race living here. In the lower caverns.”

“I’d say that was impossible. But I said that about your Verdidion Weave until I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You’ll see these, too, if we can find a way to look at each other that won’t harm them. They’re as phototonic as you’d expect. I don’t know about their sensitivity to infrared. They call themselves Sumacrea. I’ll prepare a formal report later. Probably several reports. The important thing is for you to rest and get better.”

“Heavens, girl, I’d be out of here now if it wasn’t for the damn doctors.”

“What happened at Coldstripe?”

They listened intently as the older woman told the story of the battle for Longtunnel. How some of them heard or saw the attackers coming and managed to flee in time. How the crazed assailants ignored retreating people in favor of destroying labs and records and demolishing rooms and connecting corridors.

Several of their colleagues had shown more bravery than common sense by trying to intervene and stop the destruction. For their trouble they were shot. Most survived. Others perished accidentally when they were caught in the collapse of ceilings and walls obliterated by the invaders. They might never know exactly who lay buried beneath the tons and tons of limestone.

Eventually port Security had collected its men, arms, and wits and struck back. None of the invaders had been seen alive for several days. It was assumed they had all been killed or had fled by a hitherto unsuspected exit to other caverns or to the surface. The fight had ended as abruptly and mysteriously as it had begun.

“I’m pretty sure I know who they were,” Clarity said.

“The same bunch that abducted you? Yes, my dear, we know now. They inquired among their temporary captives about certain personnel. Fortunate you had gone to ground elsewhere. Equally lucky, Jase had escaped to a secured sector early on in the battle. Maxim was not so fortunate. According to witnesses they brought him in wounded, made a rambling, barely coherent speech about meting out justice to the most serious offenders, and shot him on the spot. None of our other people thought they were going to get out of this alive. But when they fled, they simply left everyone they’d rounded up behind. They asked for me, too, you see. They were only interested in making object lessons of key personnel. In some ways we were very lucky.”

“They want to shut us down. Like I told you. But I never thought . . .”

“Nobody ever thought, my dear. We don’t build SCAAM projectiles here. Coldstripe isn’t involved with munitions. There are no war industries on Longtunnel. Who would have expected a military-style assault? Fanatics, the lot of them. A previously unknown group, well organized if not militarily efficient. For which we can all be eternally grateful. The first supply ship that goes into orbit will carry news of their outrage to the rest of the Commonwealth. The peaceforcers will round them up in short order, hopefully before they can wreak this kind of damage on some other unsuspecting, innocent colony.

“If as you said their aim was to stop our work here, then in that they certainly succeeded. It’s going to take a very long time to reconstruct even a shadow of what we had here. But they didn’t think things through. True, they destroyed all our equipment, all our specimens, but as a matter of routine we put all our records out in duplicate. We should be able to access most of what they think they obliterated. As for a facility, we will simply develop a new, untouched cavern. It’s not as if they destroyed a structure. It’s simply a matter of ordering in new instrumentation and setting up in a new location. We’ll be back in business sooner than they believe possible, though I don’t mean to demean the severity of our loss. Reconstruction will be limited by our existing capitalization until we can go outside for new funds.” She turned her attention back to Flinx.

“The fact that there is a sentient race living here will change many things. I believe our research will be allowed to continue. The interest of the Church and sector government will be piqued. We may be able to tap into Commonwealth development funds.”

“I know I’m being premature, but you don’t have any ideas about doing gengineering on the Sumacrea, do you?”

Vandervort frowned at him, obviously puzzled by such a question. “Why would we want to do anything like that? They’re people, if your observations of them are accurate. They’re not fungi. If we were to even attempt something like what you infer, anyone involved would be an instant candidate for mindwipe. You don’t turn intelligent beings into products. Usually the simpler the animal, the greater its potential for gengineering. Complex creatures generally make poor subjects.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I know you have a lot to talk about, and I have to get Pip something to eat.” He extended his arm toward Clarity, and Scrap fluttered across to join him. “They’ve been surviving on concentrates and what they were able to catch below. Their diet requires certain minerals. I’d prefer to take care of dietary problems before they occur. See how pale Pip is?”

The flying snake looked the same to Clarity, but who was she to argue with its master?

“The port commissary wasn’t touched. I’m sure they’ll be able to accommodate the needs of your pets.”

Both women watched Flinx depart. It was Vandervort who spoke first.

“What an extraordinary young man. A pity he has no interest in biomechanics. I think he’d train well for any field.”

“That’s just the beginning,” Clarity told her. “You’ve heard about the emotional bond that can form between humans and Alaspinian flying snakes?”

“No, but I take it from what you say now that such is the case with our friend and his animals.”

“There’s more to it than that. These Sumacrea we discovered are also empathic telepaths. That’s how they communicate. They also use a rudimentary kind of speech, but their emotional language is much more highly developed.”

The older woman considered thoughtfully. “If what you say is true, dear, the budget for research on Longtunnel will be quadrupled by every organization with the slightest interest in its future. It’s not a commercially exploitable discovery, but the fallout will be of benefit because there will be a multifold expansion of government facilities that can only aid in Coldstripe’s growth. As a fellow scientist I applaud your industry. There are no proven telepathic races of any kind anywhere in the Commonwealth, the Empire, or our contiguous borders. But you say they are not telepaths in the accepted sense?”

“That’s right. They’re only telepathic on the emotional level. Like the flying snake and our remarkable Flinx.”

Vandervort smiled indulgently. “Now, child, just because he has a bond of affection with a primitive flying creature doesn’t mean there is anything more to him than that.”

“No, no, it’s much more than that. Amee, he communicated
with
the Sumacrea. That’s how we found our way back to the outpost. He spoke with them, engaged in some kind of intricate emotional discourse, made friends, and had them lead us back to safety.”

“Sheer nonsense! You’re simply misinterpreting the available data. Instead of communicating, he was only broadcasting his emotions, much as you and your thranx companion were doing. These Sumacrea, as you call them—”

“That’s their name for themselves.”

“Whatever. They latched on to what you were feeling, your longing to return to your home, and thoughtfully escorted you back to us.”

“I’m sorry, Amee, but it wasn’t like that at all. Flinx is a true emotional telepath, just like the Sumacrea. He can do it with people, too. He can tell what I’m feeling at any given moment, or you, or anyone else.”

Vandervort’s expression darkened. “That cannot be, my dear. Mankind has been studying the concept of telepathy for well over a thousand years, and there simply are no such things as telepaths, not even on the empathic level. It may be that he can project his feelings more strongly than others, but read them? No, you must have it wrong.” She had sat up straight in the bed and then leaned back, shaking her head and carefully favoring her injured arm. “He is simply a very perceptive, and perhaps persuasive, young man.”

Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment, perhaps only a desire to convince. For whatever reason, Clarity rushed on. “He’s been altered. Did you ever hear of a banned organization called the Meliorare Society?” If anyone would understand that reference and make the right connections, it ought to be Amee Vandervort, a woman with forty years of experience in gengineering, biomechanics and related fields, and administration.

She was not disappointed. Vandervort reacted as if she had been stung, sitting up straight and staring at her cleverest employee hard for a long moment before slowly lying back against the cushion rest. She started to steeple her fingers, then stopped in irritation when she realized her injured arm would not be able to participate. Her tone was cool, polite, unemotional.

“What makes you think this?” No “dear” or “my girl” now. She was all business.

“Because he told me so.” She smiled, reminiscing. “We’ve become close. I think he wanted to confide in someone. No, I think he
needed
to confide in someone. Each year it gets harder and harder for him to hold it all in.”

“So my best gengineer has a little of the amateur psychologist in her, eh? You know he could be making all this up to impress you, not to mention to give false substance to his story.”

Clarity shook her head. “He didn’t say it to try to impress me, and he has better evidence to back up his claims than clever words. I think he actually did it because he felt we were growing too close, to try to put some distance between us.”

“A fine young man.” Vandervort spoke thoughtfully. “He’s right, of course. You do need to distance yourself from him. Don’t get too close to him, my dear. Don’t get involved with him personally.”

It was the younger woman’s turn to be confused. “Why not? What could be wrong with that? Just because some renegade bunch of neeks fiddled a little with his DNA before he was born doesn’t make him a monster. You’ve said yourself how extraordinary he is: quiet, polite, thoughtful, and good-looking in the bargain, though he doesn’t think so. Brave and courageous—he put himself in danger to help me. I don’t find anything in that to be afraid of. True, it’s a little disconcerting to think that the man you’re with always knows what you’re feeling, but it’s not as if he can read minds. If he is what he claims to be, an emotional telepath, I don’t see why I should fear that.”

“You make a good case for him, Clarity. And you’re right. If all he is is an emotional telepath, there is no reason to fear. But we don’t know that. We don’t know, can’t imagine what else he might be. Something he’d prefer not to admit to being. Something he’s chosen not to reveal to you. Or even something he’s not aware of himself. Just as importantly, no one including himself knows what he might become—besides admirable.”

“You’re saying that you think he might—change? Into someone dangerous?”

“I’m saying that where the products of the Meliorares’ work is concerned, nothing is certain, nothing is predictable. They were among the most brilliant gengineers who ever lived. Also the most unbalanced. They tried things nobody else thought of trying, without much of an idea of what the results would be. The majority of their results were unpleasant to contemplate. A few were salvageable as human beings. A very, very few went unaccounted for.

“This young man’s mind and body are a genetic time bomb that could go off at any time. He may be almost normal now, depending on how much of this empathic talent he lays claim to having he actually possesses. He may remain normal for many years. Then,” she added ominously, “unexpected changes in mind, body, personality may abruptly manifest themselves. Why do you think the work of the Meliorares has been so efficiently suppressed?”

“Because the practice of human eugenics is proscribed by the Church.”