• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Truzenzuzex did not take Flinx's hand, but he could gesture first-degree sympathy and understanding. “Expecting little, I am neither surprised nor disappointed by your response. At our end, nothing has changed for us or for those few others who know the secret. Despite much pondering and theorizing by minds better than Bran's and mine, the massive disguised weapons platform of the extinct Tar-Aiym that you encountered and interacted with still presents the only means and method any of us consider worth pursuing as a possible defense against the overwhelming extragalactic threat that approaches.”

Tse-Mallory nodded agreement. “Not only is nothing humanx-derived perceived as even remotely capable of affecting something so vast as the Great Evil, we cannot even envision or imagine anything capable of doing so.”

In the ensuing silence Truzenzuzex proceeded to voice what he and Tse-Mallory had so far been reluctant to ask. “Are Bran and I correct in assuming from the time and manner of your return to Nur that you have been unable to reestablish contact with the greatly sought-after artifact in question?”

The philosoph's assumption relieved Flinx of having to confirm what was plainly an anticipated disappointment. “I'm afraid so. But,” he added quickly to forestall their deepening disillusionment, “it's not like I spent all these past months looking for it, either.”

Tse-Mallory's gaze narrowed. “Then what have you been doing—boy.”

Flinx flinched, but otherwise accepted the scold without comment. From a commonsensical standpoint Tse-Mallory was entirely correct in voicing the censure. Flinx would have been the last one in the room to claim that during the past year or so he had behaved in a wholly rational manner.

“I needed—I had to find out some things.” He looked for support to Clarity, to whom he had already confessed the reasons behind his wandering. “About myself, about intelligence in general, about worthiness.”

“Dear me,” Truzenzuzex murmured, “and is it now safe to believe that with the fate of the galaxy and all sentience at stake you have finally managed to satisfy your personal requirements?”

“I think so.” Flinx was too abashed to respond directly to the philosoph's sarcasm. Though in the past months he had dealt efficiently with murderous humans and belligerent AAnn, with hostile environments and would-be assassins, in the presence of the two senior scientists who had been his mentors since his early youth he felt like little more than a wayward child.

“You ‘think’ so, kijaa!kt?” Truzenzuzex harrumphed. “To think that the fate of everything should rest on the shoulders of one so young, self-centered, and unstable!”

Clarity had heard all she could stand. Locking her arm in Flinx's and leaning protectively against him she glared at the philosoph, unintimidated by either his considerable accomplishments or fearsome reputation.

“That's enough! What about everything Flinx has gone through on behalf of this lunatic quest you sent him on? What about the recurring headaches that sometimes nearly kill him? He doesn't know what a normal life is and he hasn't had any peace since he was a child—and even then he sometimes had to steal just to eat.” Her gaze swung back and forth between the two scientists. “You're both famous, successful, honored representatives of your respective species. You have the freedom to go wherever you want, when you want.” As Scrap adjusted his position on her shoulder she pressed close against the man beside her.

“Everyone wants something from Flinx: private individuals, companies, the great families, government agencies. Or else they want to kill him. Or dissect him.” She looked up at the young man who had already lived several lifetimes. “All he wants is to be left alone—and maybe to be happy, just simply happy, for a little while before he dies. You can't, any of you, imagine the pressures he is under every moment of every day.”

Peering down at Clarity, Flinx swallowed hard. He had been right to come back