Sliding Scales (8 page)

As they rose higher into the morning sky, the tens of thousands of softly twittering, spherical living mirrors began to disperse, riding the east-flowing breezes. In the evening, Takuuna detailed, the wind in this part of the province of Qwal-Dihn would predictably reverse, bearing the sated and tired barrunou back to their sheltering canyon.

“The brilliantly reflective sscaless that cover their lifting ssacss did not evolve for the delectation of ssightsseeerss ssuch as oursselvess,” the AAnn went on to explain. “Individually, they are flasshed to attract matess. Collectively, they function to dissorient and confusse attacking carnivoress. As iss ussually the ssituation with predatorss, there iss one in particular, the wulup, that hass developed a way to largely counter thiss communal defensse.”

“How does it do that?” Flinx found that he still had to shield his eyes from the glare in order to be able to look at the slowly scattering flock.

Takuuna drew a clawed hand over his face. It gave Flinx the opportunity to study the delicate engravings that had been etched into the knuckle scales of his guide's fingers. “Through the use of sspecial chromatophoress, the wulup hass the ability to darken or lighten itss eyecoveringss as necessary. Thiss allowss it to purssue the barrunou without being blinded. And they have other predatorss as well.” Teeth flashed. “A food ssource of thiss ssize would not be long ignored by the evolving carnivoress of any world.”

Flinx nodded to himself. “It's spectacular. Truly spectacular. Thank you, Takuuna, for bringing me out here to see it.” The AAnn said nothing. Moving nearer to the edge, Flinx leaned forward slightly to peer into the depths of the chasm. “There's so much to see here, so much to learn. What are their nesting sites like? How do all the different species that live down there get along with one another? Is there ongoing competition for the best resting places? Are there predators who specialize in hunting the canyon-dwellers at night, when they're sleeping? Or is predation on Jast strictly limited to the sunlit hours, when most of the fauna is airborne?”

Questions, questions, the administrator thought. And not one of them that interested him. Perhaps because a single question continued to dominate his thoughts. What was he to do? Continue to play guide and driver to this disagreeable human? Give up in disgust, return to Skokosas, and defy the directive he had been given ordering him to do just that? Or follow through on his thinking of the night before? And if the latter, then when, and how? He had yet to resolve in his mind the matter of whether this human was guilty of anything save being human, or if that small detail should be allowed to affect his intentions.

The wind changed slightly, bringing to the AAnn's
sensitive nostrils the full, undiluted scent of the creature standing before him. It was a thick, pungent, wholly mammalian stink, and it disgusted him. Whirling away from it, he lashed out instinctively with his tail. Whether he struck blindly or with full intent, he himself was not sure. But the result, and the consequences, were the same.

Flinx never felt it coming. Did not sense it even though his talent was functioning, because the surge in emotion he felt from his host was one of overpowering disgust, not aggression. When he did finally perceive the full force of the AAnn's underlying animus, the sense that there might be something more at work in Takuuna's mind than the usual simple straightforward animosity, it was too late.

He had excellent balance, but he was too near the rim and leaning just a little too far over the edge so that he could see better. The powerful swipe of the administrator's tail caught him behind both legs. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance—to no avail. Pip was at his side in an instant, drawn to him by the sudden fear and panic in his mind. She could do nothing but follow him down as he toppled over the edge.

For better or worse, Takuuna realized as he watched his charge plummet out of sight, a decision had been taken. He rushed to the rim in time to see the softskin land hard on the first sloping ledge below. The tall, lanky frame continued to bounce and roll until it disappeared out of sight over a sheer inner wall.

The administrator waited there for a while, his attention shifting occasionally to this or that interesting ballooning creature rising from the chasm's depths or drifting down into it. A hive of faunal activity, the canyon provided the opportunity to observe numerous interesting inhabitants of Jast, including one or two that were new to him. What he did
not
see during the course of his extended sightseeing was any further sign of the human.

Their soft bodies were not durable to begin with, he knew. He decided that there was no way, above or below the sand-that-shelters-life, that the softskin could have survived such a fall. Even if it somehow could have managed to do so, it would be broken and severely damaged. Unable to crawl, much less climb, out of the steep-sided, rubble-strewn canyon. He felt badly for the gullible and trusting human. This feeling did not last long.

A pity, he thought as he rose on powerful legs and turned back to the waiting aircar. But such was the fate that awaited spies and agents determined to undermine the peaceful objectives of the Empire. His superiors, he knew, would understand everything once he had explained it all to them, and would praise him for his quick and decisive action.

The aircar hummed to life without hesitation, rose, and turned back toward distant Skokosas. Within minutes it was lost to sight from the canyon's edge. From beneath a pile of broken rock and the dull orange houluwub bush that sheltered it, a hesitant and curious vopolpa emerged. The strange and frightening long-winged thing that had been hunting it had gone. Inflating the pair of thumbnail-sized airsacs attached to its back end, the black-and-purple vopolpa wept its urine and, relieved, drifted off in a direction that would take it away from the canyon.

Below the rim, all was quiet. Shattered stones that had been broken loose from their resting places lay still. Venting the last cool of the night, fecund soil began to vomit forth small, migrating spores. Those small creatures incapable of flight crept furtively from stone to shadow, bush to jaleeb vine. A finger-long wonudu stole out from beneath the shelter of a multi-trunked but dead sarobbis. Eyeing the ripe, grape-sized molk buds nearby, it scrabbled on its dozen legs in the direction of a hearty, pale
pink breakfast. From above, the wonudu looked like a large, dead twig blowing in the wind.

That did not fool the patrolling jolahoh. Spotting the movement on the rocky slope below, it instantly voided the gas contained within all four of its lifting sacs. Dropping like a stone, it landed directly on top of the skittering wonudu, slamming into the tiny herbivore hard enough to break its back. The thick, fleshy pad that ran the length of the jolahoh's belly cushioned the impact, as did the layers of fat surrounding its internal organs. Legs kicking spasmodically, the mortally injured wonudu struggled to bring its sucking mouthparts to bear on its attacker. Pinned beneath the weighty mass of the jolahoh, it was unable to do so. Ignoring the feebly striking head, the jolahoh proceeded to feed on its still-living victim. As a predator it needed neither fang nor claw nor poisonous stinger to hunt and kill: it simply fell out of the sky to land crushingly on top of its prey.

Both quarry and killer ignored the much larger motionless form that lay nearby. A small flock of yobulbul, their single gas sacs each no larger than a thumbnail, hovered above the pool of blood that trickled from the body's forehead, their long, needle-like proboses allowing them to feed on the crimson puddle without landing. Striking from the other side of the body, a furious serpentine shape inhaled several of them before they could scatter, the dwarf nozzles located at the rear of their tiny forms venting gas as rapidly as their panicked, miniscule muscular contractions could manage it.

Sharp eyes searching for any other threat to her master, Pip relaxed her pleated wings and settled down on his back. Though she sensed no emotions emanating from Flinx, she could feel his heart pumping beneath her scales. He was still alive. Unconscious and bleeding, his clothing torn and his survival belt ripped away and gone, but alive.
Frantic with concern, she had been unable to do anything to break his fall, could only parallel his uncontrolled descent as he crashed and bounced from one ledge to another. Perhaps it was just as well he was insensible. It kept him from seeing that one booted foot dangled over a sheer drop of several hundred meters. Another bounce, another roll, and Pip would no longer have a companion to keen over.

Perched on his back, the flying snake settled down. There was nothing more she could do. She was empathetic, but not sentient. She could not go for help, or conjure up the emergency medical kit that filled one of the pouches fastened to her master's lost belt, or gather soft fur or other material to staunch his wounds. She could only lie, and wait, and wish, in the quiet but devoted manner of minidrags, for her companion to come to his senses.

She stayed that way for hours, leaving only once, and then but fleetingly, to find a natural cistern in the rocks and drink her fill. As she was returning, she noticed movement around her master's body. He himself was not moving, but several large, ominous shapes around him were.

There were four of the hasaladu. They were by far the biggest animals Pip had encountered since she and Flinx had arrived on Jast. Though even the largest weighed no more than twenty kilos, they were longer and wider than her master. Just one of them could have covered him like a pale blue blanket. That was what they were trying to do now, though their intentions had nothing to do with keeping him warm.

Three membranous protrusions, more like stiffened airfoils than wings, protruded from the sides and distal end of each body. Supported and extended by straw-like bones, these fan-like appendages allowed the predatory
hasaladu to glide whereas the majority of Jastian fauna could only travel by means of their inflatable lifting sacs. So in addition to utilizing the three balloon-like spheres on their backs to rise and descend, the hasaladu could deflate them completely and glide on columns of air, allowing them to strike swiftly at potential prey.

There was no need to employ that particularly deadly maneuver now. In addition to not moving, their intended quarry lay immobile on the rocks beneath them. Foot-long clawed mouthparts twitched as one flier, venting gas to slowly descend, prepared to wrap the large volume of motionless meat in its membranous embrace. Its companions crowded close, each eager to snatch a portion of the easy meal.

Her wings a blur of pink and blue, Pip spat a stream of venom at the one that was preparing to envelop the unconscious Flinx in its carnivorous clinch. An observing human might have wondered if Alaspinian neurotoxin would have any effect on the fauna of a far-distant world such as Jast. No such biological concerns restrained the flying snake. She reacted instinctively and without restrictive forethought.

Her venom might or might not have affected the hasaladu nervous system, but its corrosive effects were universal. Bending on their supporting stalks, the predator's eyes rose in time to catch the full force of the minidrag's poison. One eye dissolved instantly in a burst of hissing decomposition while the other was badly damaged. Letting out a weird, gargling yowl, the hasaladu rapidly inflated its lifting sacs and rose in panic. By then, Pip was in among the others, darting and striking.

Though far quicker and more maneuverable than the fastest hasaladu, she was still outnumbered. A pair of hooked mouthparts wrapped around her lower body and threatened to drag her down. A single sharp twist and
turn pulled her free. Though strong, the hasaladu's grip suffered by comparison to that of a human's five-fingered hand.

The first predator she had struck now had disappeared over the rim into the inner canyon. Eyeless, a second now lay flopping in mortal agony not far from Flinx's head, battering its inflexible wings against the rocks. Another struggled to stay aloft, having lost one of its wings and proximate lifting pouches to Pip's caustic venom.

She did not have an unlimited supply of toxin, and in fact the poison sac inside her mouth was empty when the two surviving hasaladu decided that the edible bounty lying on the ledge was not worth further fighting with the small, superfast creature so determined to defend it. Fully inflating their airsacs, they curved their stiffened airfoils downward as far as possible and rose straight up into the sky, leaving their injured comrade to beat out the remainder of its life against the rocks below.

Utterly exhausted, Pip did not even have enough strength remaining to fly down to rejoin her comatose master. Spreading her pleated wings wide, she could only manage to glide to a landing on his shoulders. Mouth agape and tongue hanging to one side, she sought to vent excess body heat. Despite having folded her wings against her side, she was still unable to settle into a comfortable position. This doubtless had something to do with the fact that no matter how she arranged the coils of her body she could not find a stable perch. Far from unsettling her, the continuing instability set off a burst of internal exhilaration. Forcing herself to raise her wings, she rose painfully into the air long enough to flutter to one side.

Beneath her, Flinx was regaining consciousness.

H
is head hurt. No, he corrected himself.
Everything
hurt. Sitting up required the kind of coordination between bruised brain and battered muscles he was not sure he possessed. The effort caused one particular place on his forehead to shout with pain. Wincing, he reached up and felt the abraded flesh. When he brought his fingers down he saw that they were covered with a sticky, largely dried mixture of grit, dirt, and some reddish material. From his wrist hung a shattered bracelet. What was the latter's purpose? Odd. He could not assign a name to it. As his thoughts began to unspool, he found that he could not assign names to a great many things. Himself, for example.

Who am I? he found himself wondering. The clearer his thinking became, the more that utter bewilderment replaced the aches and pains that seemed to vibrate through every part of his body. Where am I? What is this place? Strive though he might, he found only a great gray void where knowledge ought to be. Though many things around him
felt
familiar, he could not assign them specific names. He knew, for example, what a rock was, but when he searched his addled thoughts for a word to apply to the object, none was forthcoming. He knew all about rocks, he felt instinctively. He just couldn't put names to them. He even felt that he knew what was wrong with
him, but he could no more call up the term than he could remember where he was, or where he had come from.