For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [57]
“It’s simple, then,” Flinx said. “You’re a chronic antisocial.”
She shrugged indifferently. “I’m me. Lauren Walder. I’m happy with what I am. Are you happy with what you are?”
His smile faded. “I don’t know what I am yet.” He dropped his gaze and brooded at the tracker, his attention focused on the nearing yellow dot that indicated their quarry.
Odd thing for a young man like that to say, she thought. Most people would’ve said they didn’t know who they were yet. Slip of the tongue. She let the remark pass.
The gap between pursued and pursuer shrank rapidly on the tracker. It wasn’t long before Flinx was able to gesture excitedly over the bow and shout, “There they are!”
Lauren squinted and saw only water and cloud, then glanced down at the tracker. “You’ve got mighty sharp eyes, Flinx.”
“Prerequisite for survival in Drallar,” he explained.
A moment later she saw the mudders also, skittering along just above the waves and still headed for the northern shore. Simultaneously, those in the mudders reacted to the appearance of the boat behind them. They accelerated and for a moment moved out of sight again. Lauren increased the power. This time they didn’t pull away from the jet boat.
She nodded slightly. “I thought so. Standard mudder engines, no surprises. I don’t think they’re hiding anything from us.” She glanced at her companion. “Think you can drive this thing for a little while?”
Flinx had spent the past half hour studying the controls as well as the image on the tracker. The instrumentation was no more complex than that of his mudder. On the other hand, he was used to driving over land. “I think so,” he said. This was not the time for excessive caution.
“Good.” She slid out of the pilot’s chair and waited until he slipped in and took control over the wheel. “It’s very responsive,” she warned him, “and at the speed we’re traveling, even a slight turn of the wheel will send us shooting off in another direction. So watch it.”
“I’ll be okay,” he assured her. He could feel the vibration of the engine through the wheel. The sensation was exhilarating.
A flash of light suddenly marked the fleeing mudders, but it dissipated well shy of the jet boat’s bow. Flinx maintained the gap between the three craft. The flash was repeated; it did no more damage to the boat or its crew than would a flashlight beam.
“No long-range weapons,” Lauren murmured. “If they had ’em, now’d be the time to use ’em.” Flinx saw she was hefting the dart rifle. It was nearly as tall as she was. She settled it onto a vacant bracket and bent over to peer through the complex telescopic sight. In that position, it resembled a small cannon more than a rifle.
Two more flares of light shot from the mudders, futile stabs at the pursuing jet boat. “I can see them,” Lauren announced as she squinted through the sight. “They look confused. That’s sensible. I don’t see anything but hand weapons. Two of them seem to be arguing. I don’t think they expected this kind of pursuit.”
“They didn’t expect to see me in the dining room, either,” Flinx said confidentially. “I’ll bet they’re confused.”
She looked over from the sight. “You’re sure they weren’t looking for you to follow?”
“I doubt it, or I’d never have come this close to them.”
She grunted once and returned her eyes to the sight. “At this range, I can pick their teeth.” She moved the rifle slightly. “Hold her steady, please.” She pushed the button which took the place of a regular trigger. The gun went phut! and something tiny and explosive burst from the muzzle.
“Warning shot,” she explained. “There—someone’s pulling the dart out. I put it in the back of the pilot’s chair. Now they’re gathering around and studying it, except the driver, of course. Now they’re looking back at us. One of them’s keeping two hands on a little old lady. Your mother?”
“I’m sure,” Flinx said tightly.