Read Online Patrimony by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
Ads: Link
beyond a location on a topological abstract. There was no description of the inhabitant of said location or his occupation; no mention of any family or category of abode. Like so many of his fellow settlers, the secretive Anayabi had elected to disclose nothing about himself beyond what was necessary to identify and record him as resident on the planet.
Was this notable lack of information simply typical of Gestaltian reclusiveness, Flinx pondered restively, or just possibly indicative of a man with something to hide?
As it turned out, it would take him at least one additional day to find out.
The headache that woke him before sunrise the following morning defeated his every effort to moderate the pain. The medications he always carried with him, the precisely programmed neural stimulator he wrapped around his head—nothing worked. He spent the morning, then the afternoon, then the evening lying in bed, alternately medicated to a stupor and uncomfortably asleep, as wasted as the day itself.
As always during such excruciating episodes, a fretful Pip watched over him. Though she had witnessed her master in the throes of cerebral agony many times before, she suffered through such repetitive episodes with as much concern as she had when he had first experienced them as a child. By the time both the pain in his brain and the side effects incurred from his efforts to mute it had diminished sufficiently for him to function normally again, night had fallen, along with any hope of accomplishing anything of significance in the small remnant of what had been a thoroughly dissipated day.
Even though he awoke the next morning feeling physically drained but otherwise all right, he held off proceeding until he was reasonably sure his head was not about to launch from his neck. Such punishing events would not drive him from Gestalt, and they would not deter him from his goal. Though it was hardly a reassurance, he knew he could die from a cerebral hemorrhage just as easily on Earth or Moth or New Riviera as he could on Gestalt. History and experience had taught him that no medical treatment extant could alleviate his condition.
However crippling his headaches became, he was not leaving Gestalt until he had exhausted every possibility attendant on the dying Cocarol’s words. Though he would resume by investigating the lead Rosso Eustabe had given him, it by no means represented the only prospect. Anayabi was not the only eccentric living in isolation on this world. Further digging might well turn up others.
The skimmer that arrived at the hotel in response to his requisition was not new, but it looked perfectly serviceable. He could have called forth his own transport, bringing it into town from its docking bay in the shuttle, but such a display of obvious independent wealth might have occasioned unnecessary and unwanted comment. No youthful, midrange fieldworker for an offworld company would be likely to have access to such an extravagance. Instead, it would be expected that he would have to hire the necessary vehicle locally. So that was what he had done.
Preliminary research had also suggested that it would be good form, as well as socially proper, for him to engage a native escort. He did not need a guide, of course. Once the coordinates Eustabe had supplied had been entered into its AI, the skimmer would navigate its own route to the described destination. While Flinx would have preferred making the journey on his own with only Pip for company, his extensive travels had demonstrated on more than one occasion not only how important it was to adhere to local customs, but how frequently they tended to prove unexpectedly useful as well.
The rented skimmer was not as fast as his own, nor as straightforward in its construction and controls, but it was built with an eye toward the terrain and climate where it was deployed. The familiar transparent plexalloy shield was heavier than usual and double-strength, both to protect against the
Was this notable lack of information simply typical of Gestaltian reclusiveness, Flinx pondered restively, or just possibly indicative of a man with something to hide?
As it turned out, it would take him at least one additional day to find out.
The headache that woke him before sunrise the following morning defeated his every effort to moderate the pain. The medications he always carried with him, the precisely programmed neural stimulator he wrapped around his head—nothing worked. He spent the morning, then the afternoon, then the evening lying in bed, alternately medicated to a stupor and uncomfortably asleep, as wasted as the day itself.
As always during such excruciating episodes, a fretful Pip watched over him. Though she had witnessed her master in the throes of cerebral agony many times before, she suffered through such repetitive episodes with as much concern as she had when he had first experienced them as a child. By the time both the pain in his brain and the side effects incurred from his efforts to mute it had diminished sufficiently for him to function normally again, night had fallen, along with any hope of accomplishing anything of significance in the small remnant of what had been a thoroughly dissipated day.
Even though he awoke the next morning feeling physically drained but otherwise all right, he held off proceeding until he was reasonably sure his head was not about to launch from his neck. Such punishing events would not drive him from Gestalt, and they would not deter him from his goal. Though it was hardly a reassurance, he knew he could die from a cerebral hemorrhage just as easily on Earth or Moth or New Riviera as he could on Gestalt. History and experience had taught him that no medical treatment extant could alleviate his condition.
However crippling his headaches became, he was not leaving Gestalt until he had exhausted every possibility attendant on the dying Cocarol’s words. Though he would resume by investigating the lead Rosso Eustabe had given him, it by no means represented the only prospect. Anayabi was not the only eccentric living in isolation on this world. Further digging might well turn up others.
The skimmer that arrived at the hotel in response to his requisition was not new, but it looked perfectly serviceable. He could have called forth his own transport, bringing it into town from its docking bay in the shuttle, but such a display of obvious independent wealth might have occasioned unnecessary and unwanted comment. No youthful, midrange fieldworker for an offworld company would be likely to have access to such an extravagance. Instead, it would be expected that he would have to hire the necessary vehicle locally. So that was what he had done.
Preliminary research had also suggested that it would be good form, as well as socially proper, for him to engage a native escort. He did not need a guide, of course. Once the coordinates Eustabe had supplied had been entered into its AI, the skimmer would navigate its own route to the described destination. While Flinx would have preferred making the journey on his own with only Pip for company, his extensive travels had demonstrated on more than one occasion not only how important it was to adhere to local customs, but how frequently they tended to prove unexpectedly useful as well.
The rented skimmer was not as fast as his own, nor as straightforward in its construction and controls, but it was built with an eye toward the terrain and climate where it was deployed. The familiar transparent plexalloy shield was heavier than usual and double-strength, both to protect against the
Similar Books
