Read Online Flinx in Flux by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
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she’s yours, my friend. You can do what you want with her. Wait till she gets well, take her with you, or just scram. But it’s your decision. I don’t want anything to do with it.” He indicated the resting minidrags. “I don’t have a couple of lethal empaths to keep an eye on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other business to attend to. I’ll get back to you if I find out anything about your mystery lady. Howie and I are discussing the price of a theoretical load of Sangretibark extract.”
Flinx said nothing. It was illegal to export Sangretibark. For some it worked as a powerful aphrodisiac. In others it had unwanted side effects—such as cardiac arrest. But then, it was none of his business. Jebcoat was a friend so long as you treated him with respect. He would make a bad enemy.
He tried a couple of other contacts, with equal lack of success. No one knew anything about the woman he described. Once his query was met with an openly hostile response, but only verbally. Pip’s presence prevented anyone from dealing Flinx anything stronger than a harsh word.
That afternoon he wandered back to the hotel, discouraged and puzzled. The woman lay where he had left her. At the moment she was lying on her back. As he eyed her, it occurred to him that while he had done wonders for her wounds, her appearance remained unchanged. She still wore plenty of dirt and grime.
He spent an hour cleaning her face, shoulders, arms, and legs with a washcloth. Thin red streaks had replaced the weals on her legs where the millimite bugs had dug, and the drill bug holes were already closing. The worst of her bruises were almost gone.
He lay down for a short nap, exhausted from the journey out of the Ingre and his efforts on her behalf. He might have slept through the night if the screaming had not awakened him.
Chapter Four
Instantly he was up and searching. Looking every bit as beautiful awake as she had while asleep, his guest stood across the room. In her right hand she clutched a small but wicked little knife. Her eyes were wild.
Pip hovered before her, little more than a couple of meters from her face and well within attack range. Scrap flew nervous circles around his mother. The young minidrag’s constant movement was unsettling the woman more than Pip’s hovering.
Flinx took it all in in a second and wondered what the hell was going on. The knife did not make any sense. Neither did Pip’s threatening posture, unless you assumed the knife had been aimed at her master. But why would she want to threaten him while he slept?
That was when she noticed him sitting up on the bed. Her eyes barely flicked away from the flying snake. “Call them off, damn you, call them off!”
Flinx did so with a casual thought. Pip darted back to the bed.
The woman’s breathing slowed, and the arm holding the knife dropped. “How did you do that?”
“All Alaspinian minidrags are emotional telepaths. Sometimes they’ll bond with a person. Pip is mine—she’s the adult. The adolescent’s name is Scrap.”
“Cute,” she said tensely, “real cute.” Then she shuddered and lowered her head. “I don’t know how you found me. What now? Are you going to beat me up again? Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with? I’ve answered all your questions.”
Flinx’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t beat you up, and I have no intention of killing you. If I held any malign intentions toward you, d’you think I’d have fixed you up?”
Her head came up quickly. She studied him for a long moment. “You aren’t one of them?” she asked hesitantly.
“No I’m not, whoever ‘them’ are.”
“Deity.” She let out a long sigh, at which point her legs turned to rubber and she had to lean against the wall for support. The knife clattered silently on the hardwood floor.
Flinx slid off the bed and started toward her, halting when she stiffened. She still did not trust him, and after what she had been through, he
Flinx said nothing. It was illegal to export Sangretibark. For some it worked as a powerful aphrodisiac. In others it had unwanted side effects—such as cardiac arrest. But then, it was none of his business. Jebcoat was a friend so long as you treated him with respect. He would make a bad enemy.
He tried a couple of other contacts, with equal lack of success. No one knew anything about the woman he described. Once his query was met with an openly hostile response, but only verbally. Pip’s presence prevented anyone from dealing Flinx anything stronger than a harsh word.
That afternoon he wandered back to the hotel, discouraged and puzzled. The woman lay where he had left her. At the moment she was lying on her back. As he eyed her, it occurred to him that while he had done wonders for her wounds, her appearance remained unchanged. She still wore plenty of dirt and grime.
He spent an hour cleaning her face, shoulders, arms, and legs with a washcloth. Thin red streaks had replaced the weals on her legs where the millimite bugs had dug, and the drill bug holes were already closing. The worst of her bruises were almost gone.
He lay down for a short nap, exhausted from the journey out of the Ingre and his efforts on her behalf. He might have slept through the night if the screaming had not awakened him.
Chapter Four
Instantly he was up and searching. Looking every bit as beautiful awake as she had while asleep, his guest stood across the room. In her right hand she clutched a small but wicked little knife. Her eyes were wild.
Pip hovered before her, little more than a couple of meters from her face and well within attack range. Scrap flew nervous circles around his mother. The young minidrag’s constant movement was unsettling the woman more than Pip’s hovering.
Flinx took it all in in a second and wondered what the hell was going on. The knife did not make any sense. Neither did Pip’s threatening posture, unless you assumed the knife had been aimed at her master. But why would she want to threaten him while he slept?
That was when she noticed him sitting up on the bed. Her eyes barely flicked away from the flying snake. “Call them off, damn you, call them off!”
Flinx did so with a casual thought. Pip darted back to the bed.
The woman’s breathing slowed, and the arm holding the knife dropped. “How did you do that?”
“All Alaspinian minidrags are emotional telepaths. Sometimes they’ll bond with a person. Pip is mine—she’s the adult. The adolescent’s name is Scrap.”
“Cute,” she said tensely, “real cute.” Then she shuddered and lowered her head. “I don’t know how you found me. What now? Are you going to beat me up again? Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with? I’ve answered all your questions.”
Flinx’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t beat you up, and I have no intention of killing you. If I held any malign intentions toward you, d’you think I’d have fixed you up?”
Her head came up quickly. She studied him for a long moment. “You aren’t one of them?” she asked hesitantly.
“No I’m not, whoever ‘them’ are.”
“Deity.” She let out a long sigh, at which point her legs turned to rubber and she had to lean against the wall for support. The knife clattered silently on the hardwood floor.
Flinx slid off the bed and started toward her, halting when she stiffened. She still did not trust him, and after what she had been through, he
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