Patrimony (2 page)

Each individual landmass consisted largely of rugged mountain ranges that had been squeezed up from the planetary crust by grumbling tectonic forces. There should be active volcanism, Flinx mused as he studied the surface that was rising swiftly toward him. Indeed, in the course of the descent he spotted several confessional plumes, their telltale trails stretching out straight and sharp as white feathers amid the rest of what was an otherwise typically anarchic atmosphere.

As the shuttle automatically leveled off on final approach, he marveled at the landscape that spread out in every direction. Valleys cutting through the incessant mountain chains flashed churning rivers. Bright flashes of alpine lakes lay strung like shards of shattered mirror among the green. And, startlingly, the blue. There was an inordinate amount of undeniably blue vegetation, he saw, in every imaginable shade and variation. In addition, the snow that capped the higher peaks and lay like cotton in shadowed vales and chasms was tinted a distinctive pink that occasionally deepened to rose. There must be something unique in the composition of the local precipitates, he reflected.

Finding one’s way around such country would be next to impossible without modern technology. As the
Teacher
’s shuttle sped over valley after valley, dropping gradually lower and lower, he saw that one rocky, tree-fringed gorge looked much like another. Infrequently, a cluster of structures indicating organized habitation impinged briefly on his vision. Even at the shuttle’s rapidly diminishing landing speed, these came and went too fast for him to tell if their origin was human or indigenous.

According to Gestalt’s galographics, population centers of any kind were few and far between. Both the native Tlel and the humans who had settled among them favored their privacy. It was a trait inborn among the natives and elective among the humans.

The shuttle’s voice, a modest echo of its starship parent, advised him to prepare for touchdown. It was a warning he always took seriously, even when preparing to land on a developed world. He had been prepared for touchdown ever since he had first settled into the seat. Sensing his heightened anticipation, Pip tensed slightly beneath the cold-climate jacket.

Only a few valleys on Gestalt were wide and flat enough to allow for the siting of a shuttleport. Tlearandra was located on the other side of the planet. Since it was also home to the offices of Gestalt’s Commonwealth representative and the preponderance of potentially inquisitive secondary officials, Flinx had prudently chosen to land at Tlossene, the other principal metropolitan area.

Used to touching down at ports that were located well outside the boundaries of the major conurbations they served, he was startled when it appeared as if the shuttle was heading for the center of the city itself. Though eventually realizing this was an illusion born of descent velocity and angle of approach, he was still relieved when his craft made primary contact with an actual landing strip instead of the cluster of buildings whose rooftops it seemed to barely clear. The shuttleport was situated in a region of hard, dried river bottom that struck him as perilously close to inhabited areas. While it was true that Gestalt exported only small manufactures and conversely boasted only modest imports, thus negating any need for extensive port servicing facilities, the proximity of port to population struck him as irresponsible. He intended to inquire about the choice. Even though he could not think of one, doubtless there was a good reason why the port had been placed so close to the community.

It did not occur to him that maybe nobody cared.

Arrival formalities on the ground proved to be as thankfully unceremonious and perfunctory as they had been when the
Teacher
had first settled into orbit and been contacted by landing control. He had only to state his name (falsified), ship identification (falsified), and purpose of visit (conducting research on behalf of a company that for reasons related to commercial security preferred to remain unnamed—also falsified). It was thus under multiple fictitious pretenses and with considerable confidence that Flinx requested directions to the usual subterranean pedestrian accessway.

“This is Gestalt,” an inordinately relaxed male voice informed him via the shuttle’s internal communications system. “Nothing is paid for that receives insufficient use. That includes costly underground conveniences. We don’t get many private craft here. There are no subterranean amenities for travelers such as yourself. Your landing craft’s present orientation is positioned clear on my readout. Step out of your vessel and turn west. You’ll see the main terminal. It’s a short walk across the tarmac.” A brief pause, then, “Weather’s good today. If you’re not properly equipped for the climate, you shouldn’t be here. The valley in which Tlossene is located is almost three thousand meters up, you know. Or you do now, if by some odd chance you didn’t prior to touchdown.”

The controller’s tone suggested someone chatting casually with a friend instead of that of a government official conducting formal business attendant on offworld arrival. The easy tenor, the absence of attitude, the lack of ceremony were truly refreshing compared with the flood of restrictive regulations and formal procedures Flinx so often was forced to follow when landing on other worlds.

But—step out and turn west?

“We only have two subsurface accessways,” the controller explained in response to the new arrival’s uncertainty, “both of which are currently in use by the pair of cargo shuttles you can see working off to the east.”

Peering out the foreport in the indicated direction, Flinx could see the two much larger, bulkier craft parked on the indicated section of tarmac. Clunky robotic haulers and more agile automated loaders swarmed around several gaping service bays. No humans or Tlel were in view, and the industrious mechanicals paid no attention to the new arrival.

“Okay, I’ll walk,” he informed the controller. “What about Customs and Immigration?”

“Someone will meet you.” A tinge of humor colored the rest of the reply. “It’ll give SeBois something to do.”

Flinx did not have to secure the shuttle—the ship would see to such mundane safety measures on its own initiative. As soon as the landing ramp was deployed, he made sure the skin-sensitive soft-sealing collar of his jacket was snug around his neck and over Pip, and exited through the lock.

The cold hit him immediately. Prepared for it, he was not surprised. If anything, the ambient temperature was less bracing than the shuttle’s readout had led him to expect. No doubt the chill was mitigated by the intensity of Gestalt’s sun at this altitude. His well-being was further enhanced by the planet’s slightly denser-than-Terranorm atmosphere, which helped to compensate for the altitude. Inhaling deeply and deliberately, he could not tell any difference from sea-level breathing on any Earth-normal world. Beneath his jacket, Pip twitched slightly against him but was otherwise untroubled by the sharp drop in temperature. As long as she could find enough food to power her dynamic metabolism, she would be fine.

At the moment, food held no particular appeal for Flinx, since he had eaten prior to departing the
Teacher
. But he decided that if available, he wouldn’t turn down a hot drink. While the emergency reserve that did double duty as a component of his jacket insulation could supply that, he preferred not to access its limited volume unless he had to. Besides, it was always nice to try something local.

Across the pavement and beyond the line of port buildings, the city of Tlossene crawled up a pair of opposing mountainsides that funneled into a sloping canyon in the distance. At the city’s higher elevations, poured and fabricated structures gave way or filtered into blue and green alien forest. None of the structures was taller than half a dozen stories. Though a real city with a population in the hundreds of thousands, Tlossene was no grand metropolis. Many of the central buildings he could see clearly looked weathered but tasteful. Their external appearance fit what he knew of the history of Gestalt’s settlement by humans. Scattered among them were distinctively dimpled domes and bulging egg-shaped constructions that hinted at a nonhuman sense of design. If these eye-catching edifices had not been built by the indigenous Tlel, they had at least been inspired by them.

In the far distance beyond the city soared peaks whose heights Flinx could only estimate. If he needed to know exact altitudes, he could always check with the communit on his belt that had been loaded with all the information on this world that was available to the
Teacher
. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, he headed away from the shuttle, strolling in the designated direction.

The pounding at the back of his head had nothing to do with the slight change in pressure from ship to surface. Such sometimes debilitating headaches were no stranger. As always, he would ignore the throbbing pain and attendant discomfort unless it became genuinely disabling. Only at such times did he reluctantly resort to medication or meditation. Sensing her master’s discomfort, Pip shifted uneasily against his shoulder. There was nothing she could do but empathize.

If he were back on Arrawd, where the locals were in much more than one way of similar mind, his mind would be at peace. Or even if he were somewhere within that strange rain-forest-swathed world Midway—no, Midworld, he corrected himself. In all the Arm, those were the only two planetfalls he had made where he knew he could be reasonably certain of finding mental peace. Lips pressed tightly together against the pain, he strode grimly on. Learning the truth of the Meliorare Cocarol’s last revelation would go a long way toward easing any discomfort he felt while on Gestalt.

He forgot about the all-too-recurrent pain in his head as he caught sight of something coming across the tarmac toward him.
Someone will meet you,
the amiable port controller had assured him. Flinx’s gaze narrowed. Whatever was coming toward him—and it was coming fast—was no genial representative of local officialdom. It was neither human nor Tlel. As it, or rather they, sped in his direction, they were sending out silent feelings of fear, anxiety, and confusion.

They didn’t even have legs.

The lack of visible limbs in no way hampered their progress. In fact, as they loomed larger in Flinx’s vision, it was apparent that legs would only have hindered their chosen method of locomotion. There were at least a dozen of the bizarre creatures tumbling and rolling rapidly in his general direction. Tumbling and rolling frantically, if his perception of the primitive emotions they were generating was correct. About the size of a human head, each of the roughly spherical creatures was completely covered in mottled white and brown fur. Longer, denser bristles stood out to the sides like oversized whiskers. They propelled themselves across the tarmac with four arms that terminated in wide, flat, fleshy pads. Working in unison, these grabbed at the hard surface and pushed off powerfully. Somewhere beneath all that fur, he imagined, must be nostrils, a mouth or trunk, and possibly eyes and ears. For all that they appeared blind and dumb, they did not roll into one another.

Pursuing them was something much larger, far more ominous, and uncompromisingly threatening in appearance. As if to reinforce its menacing aspect, it was generating emotions that were as primitive as its obvious intentions. Hulking and bearish, it nonetheless traversed the pavement with a speed and grace that belied its bulk. Unlike its intended prey it did not roll, but instead lumbered forward on several dozen short, muscular legs that terminated in sharp-hoofed feet. White fur decorated with irregular splotches of pink combined to create an incongruously feminine façade. This initially disarming impression lasted only until one noticed the mouth. Almost as wide as the creature was broad, the protruding appendage skimmed along just above the ground, its horizontal maw gaping open. An enormous, trifurcated nostril set atop the blocky skull supplied the necessary air intake and outflow for the galloping carnivore, serving not only to fill its predatory lungs but also to allow the spatulate mouth to suction up anything in its path.

That explained the visible absence of teeth or bony ridges inside the flexible jaws, Flinx realized. The meat-eater didn’t bite its victims, or crunch them, or bring them down with fang and claw. It simply, efficiently, and bloodlessly vacuumed them up. This particular alien carnivore, Flinx reflected, sucked.

The distance separating the desperate dozen of the round, rolling creatures and the whistling predator shrank as he looked on. That this frenetic display of local predation was taking place right out on the tarmac of one of the planet’s main shuttleports would have been sufficiently surprising all by itself, even without the fact that the entire screeching, howling menagerie was bearing down on him at impressive speed. Perceiving the threat, Pip struggled to take to the air—only to find herself constrained by the soft-seal of her master’s jacket.

Quadruple arms flailing wildly, a pair of the rolling furballs bounded past Flinx on his right. A trio shot past on his left. All five stank profoundly, emitting a pungent musk that was an olfactory reflection of their terror. It occurred to him that their route, rather than being arbitrary, might have been chosen with the intent of possibly placing a diversion into the path of their ravenous pursuer.

That, he realized a bit late as he reached for the pistol holstered at his service belt, would be him.

He had plenty of time to adjust the weapon’s setting. The trouble was, the gun was properly secured in its holster. The holster was attached to his service belt. His service belt was fastened comfortably around his waist—beneath the jacket, whose front was snugly sealed against the local climate. Sharing some of the emotional tumult of the last roller as it swerved wildly past him, Flinx began to fumble a bit more hurriedly with the seal that kept the hem of his coat snug against his upper thighs. Oblivious to his concerns, the lumbering oncoming predator continued to head straight toward him. Flinx felt fairly sure that, unlike the rollers, it had no intention of going around. The broad, flattened, energetically suctioning mouth was more than capacious enough to vacuum him up as easily as it would have any of the fleeing, multiarmed furballs. Fumbling faster with the jacket’s lower seal, he tried projecting feelings of uncertainty onto the onrushing meat-eater. When that had no effect, he strove to project fear. Too primitive or too preoccupied with the hunt to respond, the creature took no notice of his increasingly harried mental efforts.