Flinx Transcendent_ A Pip & Flinx Adventure - Alan Dean Foster [69]
“I don't feel honored,” Flinx replied in his usual self-possessed tone. “I feel hot and itchy. No matter how hard it tries to keep me comfortable and how much I work with the interior lining, some part of this simsuit always grates.”
Lord Eiipul gestured second-degree exasperation. “Truly, you are an unclassifiable example of your ssad, ill-fated sspeciess. Desspite having sshared the dreadful experience you promissed and having thereby become convinced of the truth of your outrageouss assertionss, a part of me sstill findss you to be afflicted with a deep and dissturbing madness.”
“That makes two of us,” Flinx told him.
Eiipul looked up sharply. “Thiss iss not the time or place to tell me ssuch a thing.”
Flinx had to smile. Recognizing the expression as one that had no proper AAnn analog, the simsuit's programming and mouth-servos did not try to reproduce it.
“I'm waxing sarcastic.” He hastened to reassure his already nervous host. “Madness would be too easy an excuse for my actions and some of the things I've done in my life. Repeated excursions into idiosyncrasy and the inexplicable sometimes mark me as eccentric but—I'm not mad. It would be too painless an excuse.”
His host relaxed—slightly. “Pleasse remember if you would, trazzakk, that more than jusst your expendable ssoftsskin life iss at sstake here.”
“That's true,” Flinx agreed. “The lives of everyone are at stake here.” Able to see over the heads of the majority of swarming, deliberating AAnn, he strained for a better view of the Emperor. “How do we present ourselves?”
A much-relieved Eiipul was able to turn thoughtful again. “We are very near, truly. From here on we musst take our time and proceed with caution. Every etiquette musst be obsserved. Converssations cannot be ignored.” He nodded forward. “As iss normal, otherss will try to engage uss in debate with an eye toward denying uss access. Attemptss will be made to divert uss from our preferred coursse. I will do my besst to facilitate our final approach, employing all of my sskillss at missdirection and evassion. With time and patience we will be able to …” He broke off to gape at the visitor. “What are you doing?”
“Saving time,” Flinx told him calmly. “Mother Mastiff always did scold me about never having any patience.”
In the center of The Eye of the Nye, within shouting range of the greatly beloved and most exalted Emperor Navvur W and surrounded by hundreds of the most eminent representatives of the AAnn Empire, any one of whom would be eager to acquire immediate status by tearing a presumptuous softskin to pieces, Flinx systematically began to disrobe….
While it was a certainty that in the course of its belligerent history and aggressive expansion the Empire of the AAnn had suffered shocks greater and more debilitating, surely none were more intimate than the one that rippled through the great hall called The Eye of the Nye on that fine third-season morning. A horrified Lord Eiipul IX edged away from Flinx, though he was all too aware that no matter what he did, in such close confines and subject to such intense scrutiny he did not have time or distance to edge far enough away. Halting in his retreat, eyes flashing, he drew himself up to his full height. He had cast in his lot with this softskin no matter what the creature did and no matter how outrageous its behavior.
Flinx's straightforward strip accomplished its intended purpose. As he exposed himself he quickly drew the attention of every double-lidded eye within range of his naked, incontestably human form. It required