For Love Of Mother-Not Part 7

"Not necessarily," Flinx said, "if you follow my meaning."

"Oh." The man smiled understandingly. "Just a moment I'll check for you." He worked a keyboard out of Flinx's view. "Yes, there was a number of arrests made last night, several of them including women. How old is your mother?"

"Close to a hundred," Flinx said, "but quite lively."

"Not lively enough to be in with the group I was thinking of," the clerk responded. "Name?"

Flinx hesitated. "I always just called her Mother Mastiff."

The man frowned, then studied his unseen readout. "Is Mastiff a first name or last name? I'm a.s.suming the 'Mother' is an honorific."

Flinx found himself staring dumbly at the clerk. Suddenly, he was aware of the enormous gaps that made up much of his life. "I-I don't know, for sure."

The bureaucrat's att.i.tude turned stony. "Is this some kind of joke, young man?"

"No, sir," Flinx hastened to a.s.sure him, "it's no joke. I'm telling you the truth when I say that I don't know. See, she's not my natural mother."

"Ah," the clerk murmured discreetly. "Well, then, what's your last name?"

"I-" To his great amazement, Flinx discovered that he was starting to cry. It was a unique phenomenon that he had avoided for some time; now, when he least needed it, it afflicted him.

The tears did have an effect on the clerk, though. "Look, young man, I didn't mean to upset you. All I can tell you is that no woman of that advanced an age is on last night's arrest recording. For that matter, no one that old has been reported in custody by any other official source. Does that help you at all?"

Flinx nodded slowly. It helped, but not in the way he'd hoped. "Th-thank you very much, sir."

"Wait, young man! If you'll give me your name, maybe I can have a gendarme sent out with-" The image died as Flinx flicked the disconnect b.u.t.ton. His credcard popped from its slot. Slowly, wiping at his eyes, he put it back inside his s.h.i.+rt. Would the clerk bother to trace the call? Flinx decided not. For an instant, the bureaucrat had thought the call was from some kid pulling a joke on him. After a moment's reflection, he would probably think so again.

No one of Mother Mastiff's age arrested or reported in. Not at Missing Persons, which was bad, but also not at the morgue, which was good because that reinforced his first thoughts: Mother Mastiff had been carried off by unknown persons whose motives remained as mysterious as did their ident.i.ty. He gazed out the little booth's window at the looming, alien forest into which it seemed she and her captors had vanished, and exhaustion washed over him. It was toasty warm in the corn booth.

The booth's chair was purposely uncomfortable, but the floor was heated and no harder. For a change, he relished his modest size as he worked himself into a halfway comfortable position on the floor. There was little room for Pip in the cramped s.p.a.ce, so the flying snake reluctantly found itself a perch on the com unit. Anyone entering the booth to make a call would be in for a nasty shock.

It was well into morning when Flinx finally awoke, stiff and cramped but mentally rested. Rising and stretching, he pushed aside the door and left the com booth. To the north lay the first ranks of the seemingly endless forest, which ran from Moth's lower temperate zone to its arctic. To the south lay the city, friendly, familiar. It would be hard to turn his back on it.

Pip fluttered above him, did a slow circle in the air, then rose and started northwestward. In minutes, the minidrag was back. In its wordless way, it was reaffirming its feelings of the night before: Mother Mastiff had pa.s.sed that way. Flinx thought a moment. Perhaps her captors, in order to confuse even the most unlikely pursuit, had carried her out into the forest, only to circle back into the city again.

How was he to know for certain? The government couldn't help him further. All right, then. He had always been good at prying information from strangers. They seemed to trust him instinctively, seeing in him a physically unimposing, seemingly not-too-bright youngster. He could probe as facilely here as in the markeplace.

Leaving the booth and the sawmill block, he began his investigation by questioning the occupants of the smaller businesses and homes. He found most houses deserted, their inhabitants having long since gone off to work, but the industrial sites and businesses were coming alive as the city's commercial bloodstream began to circulate. Flinx confronted the workers as they entered through doors and gates, as they parked their occasional individual transports, and as they stepped off public vehicles.

Outside the entrance to a small firm that manufactured wooden fittings for kitchen units, he encountered someone not going to work but leaving. "Excuse me, sir," he said for what seemed like the hundred thousandth time, "did you by any chance see a group of people pa.s.s through this part of town last night? They would have had an upset old lady with them, perhaps restrained somehow."

"Now that's funny of you to mention," the man said unexpectedly. "See, I'm the night guard at Koyunlu over there." He gestured at the small building that was filling up with workers. "I didn't see no old woman, but there was something of a commotion late last night over that way." He pointed at the road which came to a dead end against the nearby trees.

"There was a lot of shouting and yelling and cursing. I took a look with my nightsight-that's my job, you know-and I saw a bunch of people getting out of a rented city transport. They were switching over to a mudder."

The watchman appeared sympathetic. "They weren't potential thieves or young vandals, so I didn't watch them for long. I don't know if they were the people you're looking for."

Flinx thought a moment, then asked, "You say that you heard cursing. Could you tell if any of it was from a woman?"

The man grinned. "I see what you thinking, son. No, they were too far away. But I tell you this: someone in that bunch could swear like any dozen sewer riders."

Flinx could barely contain his excitement "That's them; that's her! That's got got to be her!" to be her!"

"In fact," the watchman continued, "that's really what made it stick in me mind. Not that you don't see people switching transports at night-you do, even way out here. It's just a bad time to go mudding into the woods, and when it is done, it's usually done quietly. No need that I can see for all that yelling and shouting."

"It was them, all right," Flinx murmured decisively. "It was her swearing-or her kidnappers swearing at her."

"Kidnap-" The man seemed to notice Flinx's youth for the first time. "Say, son, maybe you'd better come along with me."

"No, I can't." Flinx started to back up, smiling apologetically. "I have to go after them. I have to find her."

"Just hold on a second there, son," the watchman said. "I'll give a call to the police. We can use the company coms. You want to do this right and proper so's-"

"They won't do anything," Flinx said angrily. "I know them." On an intimate basis, he could have added, since he'd been arrested for petty theft on more than one occasion. He was probably on their question-list right now. They would hold him and keep him from going after Mother Mastiff.

"You wait, son," the watchman insisted. "I'm not going to be part of something-" As he spoke, he reached out a big hand. Something bright blue-green-pink hissed threateningly. A triangular head darted menacingly at the clutching hand. The man hastily drew it back.

"d.a.m.n," he said, "that's alive!"

"Very alive," Flinx said, continuing to back away. "Thanks for your help, sir." He turned and dashed toward the city.

"Boy, just a minute!" The watchman stared after the retreating figure. Then he shrugged. He was tired. It had been a long, dull night save for that one noisy bunch he'd seen, and he was anxious to be home and asleep. He sure as h.e.l.l didn't need trouble himself with the antics of some kid. Pus.h.i.+ng the entire incident from his thoughts, he headed toward the company transport stop.

Once he was sure he was out of sight of the watchman, Flinx paused to catch his breath. At least he knew with some certainty that Mother Mastiff had been kidnapped and taken out of the city. Why she had been carried off into the great northern forest he could not imagine In addition to the hurt at the back of his mind, a new ache had begun to make itself felt. He had had nothing to eat since the previous night. He could hardly go charging off into Moth's vast evergreen wilderness on an empty stomach.

Prepare yourself properly, then proceed. That's what Mother Mastiff had always taught him. I'll go home, he told himself. Back to the shop, back to the marketplace. The kidnapers had switched to a mudder. Such a vehicle was out of Flinx's financial reach, but he knew where he could rent a stupava running bird. That would give him flexibility as well as speed.

His legs still throbbed from the seemingly endless run across the city the previous day, so he used public transport to return home. Time was more important than credits. The transport chose a main spoke avenue and in minutes deposited him in the marketplace.

From the drop-off, it was but a short sprint to the shop. He found himself half expecting to see Mother Mastiff standing in the entrance, mopping the stoop and waiting to bawl him out for being gone for so long. But the shop was quiet, the living s.p.a.ce still disarranged and forlorn. Nonetheless, Flinx checked it carefully. There were several items whose positions he had memorized before leaving; they were undisturbed.

He began to collect a small pile of things to take with him. Some hasty trading in the market produced a small backpack and as much concentrated food as he could cram into it. Despite the speed of his bargaining, he received full value for those items he traded off from Mother Mastiff's stock. With Pip riding his shoulder, few thought to cheat him. When anyone tried, the minidrag's reactions instantly alerted its master and Flinx simply took his trade elsewhere.

Flinx switched his city boots for less gaudy but more durable forest models. His slickertic would serve just as well among the trees as among the city's towers. The outright sale of several items gave his credcard balance a healthy boost. Then it was back to the shop for a last look around. Empty. So empty without her. He made certain the shutters were locked, then did the same to the front door. Before leaving, he stopped at a stall up the street.

"You're out of your mind, Flinx-boy." Arrapkha said from the entrance to his stall, shaking his head dolefully. The shop smelled of wood dust and varnish. "Do you know what the forest is like? It runs from here to the North Pole. Three thousand, four thousand kilometers as the tarpac flies and not a decent-sized city to be found.

"There's mud up there so deep it could swallow all of Drallar, not to mention things that eat and things that poison. n.o.body goes into the north forest except explorers and herders, hunters and sportsmen-crazy folk from offworld who like that sort of nowhere land. Biologists and botanists-not normal folk like you and me."

"Normal folk didn't carry off my mother," Flinx replied.

Since he couldn't discourage the youngster, Arrapkha tried to make light of the situation. "Worse for them that they did. I don't think they know what they've gotten themselves into."

Flinx smiled politely. "Thanks, Arrapkha. If it wasn't for your help, I wouldn't have known where to begin."

"Almost I wish I'd said nothing last night," he muttered sadly. "Well, luck to you, Flinx-boy. I'll remember you."

"You'll see me again," Flinx a.s.sured him with more confidence than he truly felt. "Both of us."

"I hope so. Without your Mother Mastiff, the marketplace will be a duller place."

"Duller and emptier," Flinx agreed. "I have to go after her, friend Arrapkha. I really have no choice."

"If you insist. Go, then."

Flinx favored the woodworker with a last smile, then spun and marched rapidly toward the main avenue. Arrapkha watched until the youngster was swallowed up by the crowd, then retreated to his own stall. He had business to attend to, and that, after all, was the first rule of life in the marketplace.

Flinx hadn't gone far before the smells of the market were replaced by the odors, heavy and musky, of locally popular native transport animals. They were usually slower and less efficient then mechanized transport, but they had other advantages: they could not be traced via their emissions, and they were cheap to rent and to use.

In a licensed barn, Flinx picked out a healthy-looking stupava. The, tall running bird was a good forager and could live off the land. It stood two and a half meters at its bright orange crest and closely resembled its far more intelligent cousins, the ornithorpes, who did not object to the use of ignorant relatives as beasts of burden. Flinx haggled with the barn manager for a while, finally settling on a fair price. The woman brought the bird out of its stall and saddled it for the youngster. "You're not going to do anything funny with this bird, now?"

"Just going for a little vacation," Flinx answered her blithely. "I've finished my studies for the year and owe myself the time off."

"Well, Garuyle here will take you anywhere you might want to go. He's a fine, strong bird." She stroked the tall bird's feathers.

"I know." Flinx put his right foot in the first stirrup, his left in the second, and threw his body into the saddle. "I can see that from his legs."

The woman nodded, feeling a little more relaxed. Evidently, her youthful customer knew what he was doing. She handed him the reins.

"All right, then. Have a pleasant journey."

Flux had indeed ridden such birds before, but only within the city limits and not for any length of time. He snapped the reins, then gave the bird a serious whistle. It hooted back and started off, its long legs moving easily. Guiding it with gentle tugs of the reins and sharp whistles, Flinx soon had the stupava moving at a respectable rate up the first spoke avenue, jostling aside irritated pedestrians and avoiding faster public vehicles. The stupava seemed undisturbed by Pip's presence, a good sign. It would not do to head into the great forest on an easily spooked mount.

In a gratifyingly short time, Flinx found they had retraced his frenzied marathon of the night before. A sawmill pa.s.sed by on his left, the corn booth that had sheltered him somewhere behind it. Then only the forest loomed ahead. Trees, a hundred meters tall and higher soared above scattered smaller trees and bushes. Where the pavement vanished there was only a muddy trail. The stupava wouldn't mind that-its splayed, partially webbed feet would carry them over the bogs and sumps with ease.

"Heigh there!" he shouted softly at the bird, following the command with a crisp whistle. The stupava cawed once, jerked its head sharply against the bridle, and dashed off into the woods. The regular flap-flap flap-flap from beneath its feet gave away to an irregular from beneath its feet gave away to an irregular whacking whacking sound broken by occasional splashes as it spanned a deeper puddle. Sometimes they touched thick moss or fungi and there was no sound at all. In no time, the immense trees formed a solid wall of bark and green behind Flinx, and the city that was his home was for the first time completely out of his sight. sound broken by occasional splashes as it spanned a deeper puddle. Sometimes they touched thick moss or fungi and there was no sound at all. In no time, the immense trees formed a solid wall of bark and green behind Flinx, and the city that was his home was for the first time completely out of his sight.

Chapter Seven.

Joppe the Thief thought sure he had found himself a couple of fleurms. The man and woman he was stalking so intently looked to be in their midthirties. Their dress was casual, so casual that one not interested in it might not have identified them as offworlders. Their presence in that part of Drallar's marketplace late at night proved one of two things to Joppe: either they had a great deal of confidence in their ability to pa.s.s unnoticed, or they were simply ignorant. Joppe guessed they were searching for a little excitement.

That was fine with Joppe. He would happily provide them with some excitement, something really memorable to relate to the neighbors back home on some softer world like Terra or New Riviera. They did not look like the kind who would be awkward about it. If they were, then they might have more than merely an interesting encounter to talk about.

Joppe was hungry. He had not made a strike in over a week. He regarded the strolling, chatting couple with the eye of a covetous farmer examining a pair of his prize meat animals.

As it was still comparatively early, not all the lights had been extinguished in that part of the marketplace, but enough of the shops had closed to give Joppe hope. The nature of his work required privacy. He did not rush himself. Joppe had an instinctive feel for his work. He had to balance waiting for more shopkeepers to retire against the possibility of the couple's realizing their error and turning back toward the more brightly lit sections of the market.

The couple did not seem inclined to do that. Joppe's hopes continued to rise. He could hear them clearly, talking about some sight seen earlier in the day. Joppe's hand closed around the handle of the little needler in his pocket, and he started forward, closing the distance between himself and his prey.

By now the couple had reached the end of the cul-de-sac and had stopped in front of the last shop, which was shuttered and dark. They seemed to be debating something. Then the man bent to the shop's door and took several objects from his pockets. He started manipulating something out of Joppe's view.

The thief slowed, the needler only halfway out of his holster pocket, and stared in confusion. What were they up to? He moved a little nearer, still clinging to the shadows. He was close enough to see that the door was sealed with a palm lock, which required the imprint of all five of the shop owner's fingers, in proper sequence, to release. The little black disk that the tourist had attached to the palm lock was a very expensive, sophisticated device for decoding and solving such locks. The man's fingers roved over the keys, and he examined the readout with the att.i.tude of someone who not only knew exactly what he was doing but who had done it frequently.

While the man worked at the door, his companion stood watching him, hands on hips, obviously intent on what he was doing. Abruptly, she glanced away from her husband, and Joppe found himself staring straight at her.

The matronly giggle she had affected all evening was abruptly gone from her voice. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed soft. The unexpected transformation, accomplished solely by a change in posture and tone, was shocking. "I'm sorry we had to waste your evening, friend, but we needed a good screen to keep away the rest of the rabble. Thanks for that. Now turn around, call it a bad day, and look elsewhere. We don't have time for you right now. Oh, and leave that gun where it won't do you or anyone else any harm, okay?' Then she smiled pleasantly.

Too startled to react, Joppe just stood there, his hand still clutching the needler. He could take this one, he thought momentarily. However, something in her stance held him back. The proximity of a weapon was clearly implied, as was the intent to use it. Her companion had paused in his work and crouched before the doorway in a waiting position.

This was all very wrong, Joppe thought. He was not an especially imaginative individual, but he was an intent observer, and he was good at putting things together.

Here stood an offworld couple dressed for an evening out, calmly working a lock decoder on an unprepossessing stall doorway at the end of a side street on a dark and damp night. That, plus the way the woman had spoken to him, did not add up.

Joppe let go the needler and took his hand from his pocket. Slowly, his fingers spread so that they could see he held nothing in them. He nodded once, smiled a twisted, fleeting smile at the woman, and backed away. She returned his smile. He backed away until the shadows engulfed him once again and he stood behind a protective stone wall. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. His pulse was racing. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he turned and just peeked around the edge of the wall. The woman had not budged, and was still staring after him. The man had returned to his work.

Joppe was well out of his depth, and he knew it. Without another backward glance, he turned and jogged off toward the main avenue, disappointed with his luck and still hungry for a strike. As to the purpose of the peculiar couple, he gave it not another thought. Such folk operated on a level far above that of Joppe and his ilk and were better forgotten.

"Sensible, that one," the woman said thoughtfully. She turned her attention from the distant street to her companion's work. "I thought he might give us trouble."

"Better that he didn't," her companion agreed. "We don't need to fool with such silliness. Not now." His fingertips danced lightly over the keys set into the black disk.

"How you coming?" the woman asked, peering over his shoulder.

"How does it look like I'm coming?"

"No need to be sarcastic," she said easily.

"It's an updated twenty-six," he informed her. "I didn't expect anyone in this slum would take the trouble and expense to keep updating something like this. Someone sure likes his privacy."

"Don't you?"

"Very funny." Suddenly, the disk emitted a soft beep, and the numbers on the readout froze. "That's got it." The man's tone was relaxed, methodical. There was no pleasure in his announcement, only a cool, professional satisfaction. He touched b.u.t.tons set at five points s.p.a.ced evenly around the black disk. It beeped again, twice. The illuminated numbers vanished from the readout. Unsealing the disk, he slid it back inside his coat. There were a number of pockets inside that coat, all filled with the kinds of things that would raise the hackles of any police chief. The man put a hand on the door and pushed. It moved aside easily. After a last, cursory glance up the narrow street, the two of them stepped inside.

The center section of the man's ornate belt buckle promptly came to life, throwing a narrow but powerful beam of light. It was matched a moment later by a similar beam projected from his companion's brooch. They wandered around the stall, noting the goods on display and occasionally sniffing disdainfully at various overpriced items. Inspection led them to an inner door an its simpler locking mechanism.

Both stood just inside the second doorway and gazed around the living area. "Someone put up a h.e.l.l of fight," the man commented softly.

"The boy-or his adoptive mother, do you think?" The woman moved in, stooping to examine an overturned end table and the little silver vase that had tumbled from it. The vase was empty. She carefully replaced it where it had fallen.

"Maybe both of them." Her companion was already inspecting the larger of the two bedrooms. They went through the area methodically: kitchen, bedrooms, even the hygiene facilities.

When they had finished-and it did not take them very long-and when fingerprinted samples of air and dust and tiny bits of hopefully significant detritus had been relegated to the safety of tiny storage vials, the man asked his companion, "What do you think? Wait for them here?"

The woman shook her head as she glanced around the kitchen-dining area. "They obviously left under duress- and you know what that suggests."

"Sure, that's occurred to me. No way it couldn't. But there's no guarantee."

She laughed, once. "Yeah, there's no guarantee, but what do you think think?"

"The same as you. I'm just saying we shouldn't jump to conclusions."

"I know, I know. Isn't it odd, though, that both of them are missing? That surely suggests something other than a common break-in."