Read Online Reunion by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alan Dean Foster
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unapologetic display, eyed him approvingly. Her torso was maybe twenty, her eyes ten years older.
“Your cred, visitor.” The stocky man who had stepped out from behind the bin motioned nervously in Flinx’s direction. His sedate squirming was a consequence not of unease but of the drugs in his system. “Clothes, ident, everything. Right now.” He gestured sharply at the ground.
“Hait.” Another, even younger woman was grinning. “Let’s see wot you got, boy-o.” Her emotions and those of her companions stank of predation.
Traveling with weapons was a good way to attract the immediate attention of the authorities. They inevitably marked the bearer as worthy of closer attention. So Flinx disdained guns and vibraknives and similar mechanisms of extermination. That did not mean he was unarmed. There were a lot of them, though, and the alley was narrow.
He started backing up the way he had come. The police whose attentions he needed to avoid should be elsewhere by now. “I’m going to leave. I need what little I have, and you don’t. Please, don’t try to stop me.”
“Hi-o, he’s polite as well as pretty.” Stepping forward, supple muscles visible within the webwork of her outfit, the tall young woman produced a sharply finned dart. She juggled it easily in one hand, flipping it in casual circles. “After I waft him out, can I play with what’s left?”
Her stocky companion grunted. “Just get it over with.” Peering past Flinx and the three mougs behind him, he tried to scrutinize the distant street. “I hate it when they don’ cooperate.”
The woman’s grin widened. “I like it.” The dart paused in her hand, held casually in throwing position. Flinx wondered what chemical cocktail it contained.
“Don’t throw that.” His voice was composed, unruffled.
The woman’s smile faded slightly. She wanted him to be afraid, and though tense, he clearly was not frightened. It unnerved her more than she cared to show. Maybe Marvilla was right. Time to get it over with. Business first, play-o later.
Reading her rising emotions, Flinx knew that despite her indifferent attitude and the fact that she was looking at her male companion and not in his direction, she was preparing to throw the dart. As the synchronous emotional outbreak began to rise within her, he threw himself to one side, into the pile of discarded plasticine containers. Cool from lying in the dark alley, their accumulated bulk masked his body signature. Seeking human heat, the flung dart whizzed through the space where he had been standing. He heard the startled oath from one of the three mougs who blocked the outlet as the dart struck home. There was a brief, crude flare of panic from the youth, then nothing as the illicit pharmaceuticals shut down his system. Paralyzed, he crumpled to the ground.
As Flinx had hurled himself sideways, something small, winged, superfast, and angry exploded from within the folds of his shirt. Brightly hued and reptilian of aspect, it was in the woman’s face before she could draw a second dart from its holder. Emitting a startled scream, she stumbled backward, tripped, and fell on the half-exposed dart she was holding. With a moan, she reached down to pull it free of her left buttock, only to crumple onto her side as the soporific cocktail of enhanced animal tranquilizers it contained took effect.
Raising his pistol, the leader of the pack took aim at his girlfriend’s assailant. Or tried to. In the dimly lit alley it was difficult to focus on anything so small, particularly when it seemed to be moving in every direction at once. The shot misfired. The minidrag’s response did not. A few droplets of incredibly caustic venom struck the man in his right eye. Dropping his weapon he staggered backward, slammed into the brick, and sat down, clawing at the eye from which a thin stream of corrosive smoke was rising.
Rolling to his feet, Flinx assumed a defensive posture with the bin at his back. The two
“Your cred, visitor.” The stocky man who had stepped out from behind the bin motioned nervously in Flinx’s direction. His sedate squirming was a consequence not of unease but of the drugs in his system. “Clothes, ident, everything. Right now.” He gestured sharply at the ground.
“Hait.” Another, even younger woman was grinning. “Let’s see wot you got, boy-o.” Her emotions and those of her companions stank of predation.
Traveling with weapons was a good way to attract the immediate attention of the authorities. They inevitably marked the bearer as worthy of closer attention. So Flinx disdained guns and vibraknives and similar mechanisms of extermination. That did not mean he was unarmed. There were a lot of them, though, and the alley was narrow.
He started backing up the way he had come. The police whose attentions he needed to avoid should be elsewhere by now. “I’m going to leave. I need what little I have, and you don’t. Please, don’t try to stop me.”
“Hi-o, he’s polite as well as pretty.” Stepping forward, supple muscles visible within the webwork of her outfit, the tall young woman produced a sharply finned dart. She juggled it easily in one hand, flipping it in casual circles. “After I waft him out, can I play with what’s left?”
Her stocky companion grunted. “Just get it over with.” Peering past Flinx and the three mougs behind him, he tried to scrutinize the distant street. “I hate it when they don’ cooperate.”
The woman’s grin widened. “I like it.” The dart paused in her hand, held casually in throwing position. Flinx wondered what chemical cocktail it contained.
“Don’t throw that.” His voice was composed, unruffled.
The woman’s smile faded slightly. She wanted him to be afraid, and though tense, he clearly was not frightened. It unnerved her more than she cared to show. Maybe Marvilla was right. Time to get it over with. Business first, play-o later.
Reading her rising emotions, Flinx knew that despite her indifferent attitude and the fact that she was looking at her male companion and not in his direction, she was preparing to throw the dart. As the synchronous emotional outbreak began to rise within her, he threw himself to one side, into the pile of discarded plasticine containers. Cool from lying in the dark alley, their accumulated bulk masked his body signature. Seeking human heat, the flung dart whizzed through the space where he had been standing. He heard the startled oath from one of the three mougs who blocked the outlet as the dart struck home. There was a brief, crude flare of panic from the youth, then nothing as the illicit pharmaceuticals shut down his system. Paralyzed, he crumpled to the ground.
As Flinx had hurled himself sideways, something small, winged, superfast, and angry exploded from within the folds of his shirt. Brightly hued and reptilian of aspect, it was in the woman’s face before she could draw a second dart from its holder. Emitting a startled scream, she stumbled backward, tripped, and fell on the half-exposed dart she was holding. With a moan, she reached down to pull it free of her left buttock, only to crumple onto her side as the soporific cocktail of enhanced animal tranquilizers it contained took effect.
Raising his pistol, the leader of the pack took aim at his girlfriend’s assailant. Or tried to. In the dimly lit alley it was difficult to focus on anything so small, particularly when it seemed to be moving in every direction at once. The shot misfired. The minidrag’s response did not. A few droplets of incredibly caustic venom struck the man in his right eye. Dropping his weapon he staggered backward, slammed into the brick, and sat down, clawing at the eye from which a thin stream of corrosive smoke was rising.
Rolling to his feet, Flinx assumed a defensive posture with the bin at his back. The two
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