For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [19]
“It will be necessary to isolate the subject from the mother.” Haithness was thinking out loud. “Given the nature of the subject’s observed Talents, if our information is accurate, it may be that within a limited geographical area he might be able to trace our activities. We will naturally need an uninterrupted period with the surrogate,” she hesitated only briefly, “to persuade her to cooperate with us.” A thin smile did little to alter her expression.
Cruachan nodded. “That should not be difficult to arrange. Fortunately for us, Moth is lightly populated. Technology is not unknown, but the level varies widely according to location. We should be able to establish ourselves and the necessary equipment at a sufficient distance from the metropolis where the subject and his parent are living to ensure our privacy and standard security.”
The communicator turned from his instrumentation and interrupted them without hesitation. “Brora reports that at least half of the newly arrived agricultural experts are armed.”
“That’s that, then,” Cruachan murmured with a resigned sigh. Another hurried move, another dash to still another strange world.
“Nyassa-lee, make certain that this information is transferred to ship storage. Haithness, you—”
“I know what needs to be done, Cruachan.” She turned from him and calmly began transferring data from main storage to a portacube.
The communicator leaned back in his chair and frowned at his instruments. “I won’t have time to break down much and move it out to the shuttle.”
“It doesn’t matter, Osteen,” Cruachan assured him. “We have some duplicate equipment already aboard. I don’t like abandoning more than we have to any more than you do.” He indicated the expensive electronics with which the room had been paneled. “But we don’t have a choice now. Regardless, something promising, truly promising, has come to our notice. After all these years, it appears that we have relocated one of the most promising of all the subject children.”
“That’s good news indeed, sir.” Osteen was one of the few young men in the Meliorare Society. Cruachan would have prefered a man with more vision as prime communicator, but such individuals were scarce. Osteen at least was loyal and efficient. It was not his fault that he was intellectually inferior to the Society’s original membership. But then, such a collection of visionary minds was not likely to join together again in Cruachan’s lifetime, he knew.
Unless . . . unless the Society could put forth a shining testament to their noble ideals in the person of a single successful subject. This boy, perhaps, might be their vindication. They had to get to him quickly. During the past several years, they had had less and less time in which to work as the Commonwealth closed in on the remnants of the Society. Their survival rate did not bode well for the future: natural attrition was beginning to damage the cause as much as government interference.
The three of them, along with the sharp-eyed Brora, who had sounded the latest warning, represented the largest surviving group from the original membership. The trust of all who had perished devolved upon them, Cruachan thought. They must not fail with this boy.
And he must not fail them.
Chapter Four
Loneliness had never bothered Flinx before. He knew what it was, of course—the condition had been with him all his short life. In the past, he’d always been able to distance himself from its pain, but this feeling—this empty aloneness—was different from any loneliness he’d ever experienced before. It was a physical reality, stabbing at him, creating an ache in a mysterious, new part of his brain. It was different not only from his own loneliness but from the aloneness he’d occasionally sensed in others via his unpredictable Talent.