For Love of Mother-Not - Alan Dean Foster [88]
Their fear of danger from survivors was unfounded. The few men and women who wandered out of their way were too stunned by the catastrophe to offer even a challenging question. The majority of them had been administrative or maintenance personnel, quite unaware of the importance of Flinx or Mother Mastiff.
The Devilopes were gone. The power station was hardly damaged, perhaps because it lay apart from the rest of the encampment, perhaps because it operated on automatic and did not offer the herd any living targets. None of the camp personnel materialized to challenge their use of the station’s recharge facility, though Lauren kept a ready finger on the trigger of the dart rifle until a readout showed that the skimmer once again rode on full power.
“I don’t think we have to worry about pursuit,” she declared. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone left to pursue. If the leaders of this bunch got caught in that trampled hangar as you say, Flinx, then we’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I didn’t get my answers,” he muttered disappointedly. Then, louder, he said, “Let’s get out of this place.”
“Yes,” Mother Mastiff agreed quickly. She looked imploringly at Lauren. “I be a city lady. The country life doesn’t agree with me.” She grinned her irrepressible grin, and Flinx knew she was going to be all right.
Lauren smiled and nudged the accelerator. The skimmer moved, lifting above the surrounding trees. They crusied over several disoriented, spent Devilopes and sped south as fast as the skimmer’s engine could push them.
“I didn’t learn what this was all about,” Flinx continued to mutter from his seat near the rear of the cabin. “Do you know why they abducted you, Mother? What did they want with you?”
It was on her lips to tell him the tale the Meliorares had told her the previous night—was it only last night? Something made her hesitate. Natural caution, concern for him. A lifetime of experience that taught one not to blunder ahead and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how true it might be. There were things she needed to learn, things he needed to learn. There would always be time.
“You’ve said ’tis a long story as to how ye managed to trace me, boy. My tale’s a long one, too. As to what they wanted with me, tis enough for ye to know now that it involves an old, old crime I once participated in and a thirst for revenge that never dies. Ye can understand that.”
“Yes, yes I can.” He knew that Mother Mastiff had enjoyed a diverse and checkered youth. “You can tell me all about it after we’re back home.”
“Yes,” she said, pleased that he had apparently accepted her explanation. “After we’re safely back home.” She looked toward the pilot’s chair and saw Lauren gazing quizzically back at her.
Mother Mastiff put a finger to her lips. The other woman nodded, not fully understanding but sensitive enough to go along with the older woman’s wishes.
Chapter Fourteen
Several hours passed. The air was smooth, the mist thin, the ride comfortable as the skimmer slipped southward. Mother Mastiff looked back toward the rear of the craft to see Flinx sound asleep. His useful if loathsome pet was, as usual, curled up close to the boy’s head.
She studied the pilot. Pretty, hard, and self-contained, she decided. Night was beginning to settle over the forest speeding by below. Within the sealed canopy of the skimmer, it was warm and dry. “What be your interest in my boy?” she asked evenly.
“As a friend. I also had a personal debt to pay,” Lauren explained. “Those people who abducted you slaughtered a couple of rare animals who were long-time companions of mine. ‘Revenge never dies.’ ” She smiled. “You said that a while ago, remember?”
“How did ye encounter him?”
“He appeared at the lodge I manage on a lake near here.”
“Ah! The fight, yes, I remember. So that place was yours.”
“I just manage it. That’s where I’m heading. I can help you arrange return passage to Drallar from there.”
“How do ye know we’re from the city?”
Lauren gestured with a, thumb back toward the