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than-civil intentions.
Throwing aside his cloak to give himself maximum mobility, he turned, hunting
for the source of the request. As if in response, a figure emerged from the
fog around him. It approached on four legs, foothands and truhands all
extended in a pose of insectoid placation. Vast compound eyes shone bright
with reflected light from the street illuminators.
Mormis took in the shiny, exfoliating chiton, the deep purple coloring. But
neither the thranx's obvious age nor his conciliatory manner served to relax
him. He hadn't had any dealings with a thranx in some time. Not that they
didn't own slaves. For all their vaunted logic, the thranx were still a race
of individuals, some of whom were as subject to vice as their human
counterparts were.
So he retreated from the advancing figure and ordered his manservant to take
defensive action.
When the insect was pinioned, then, perhaps, he would talk.
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The massive, blue-cloaked golemite lumbered forward. The slaver was not eased
in mind when the fragile-looking insect stood his ground. "Really, Char
Mormis," he observed in the delightfully musical voice of the thranx,
"inhospitality is hardly the mark of a successful businessman. I am
disappointed. And this looking for a hidden weapon on my person...."
Mormis was about to interrupt to say that it was the thranx who was about to
be disappointed when his fears were partially confirmed. A second figure
emerged from the fog to intercept his servant.
The new figure was human, somewhat taller than average but slim and
unimpressive. His advanced age was belied by the suppleness of his movements.
He looked like an ambulatory birch tree. Gray hair, cavernous wrinkles, and
other age signs were held at bay by eyes that were coal-black shards.
This steely-looking scarecrow blocked the advance of the servant, who reacted
rapidly and directly. A short but furious scuffle followed in the middle of
the street. The great mass of
Mormis's servant seemed to obliterate his opponent, but when movement ceased,
it was to reveal the tall, lanky stranger standing over the motionless bulk of
the golemite.
The tall man, part Oriental, shook his left arm. There was an audible popping
sound as joints rear-
ranged themselves. When he spoke it was without panting, and in the same
reassuring tone as that used by the watching thranx; "I have not injured him.
He will wake soon, after we have finished."
Mormis's left eyelid tvntched uncontrollably. His fingers quivered.
"You would not reach the beamer," the thranx told him, in a voice so confident
that Mormis lost all hope. "Please be so kind as to refrain from such
irrational hostilities and listen to what we have to ask."
The slaver considered. Then he slowly slid his hand away from the concealed
weapon within his shirt. He consoled himself with the fact that this odd pair)
what- ever their intentions, looked neither brutal nor immune to some
common-sense reasoning. So he tried to calm himself as the elderly thranx
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moved toward him. The slim human, he noted with relief, remained next to the
motionless body of his servant.
The thranx was tall for one of his kind, Mormis observed, tall enough so that
the rainbow-hued compound eyes were nearly level with the slaver's own. The
thranx was bundled tightly against the chill, though Mormis knew the dampness
was to the insect's liking. They were hothouse-world creatures. He could hear
the soft puffing as air moved through the insect's spicules.
"You have me at a disadvantage," he declared, dropping his hands to his sides.
"J can do nothing but what you wish." Meanwhile he searched for identifying
signs. Both sets of vestigial wings were present, protruding from shiny wing
cases on the thranx's back. A never-mated bachelor, then.
The insect noted the slaver's gaze, "No, you do not know me. We have never met
before. Char [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]