fate. “How’s Zezula—and Missi?”
The gang leader weighed his follower’s words, his voice a soft murmur. If he detected anything more in Subar’s tone than formal concern for Zezula, he didn’t show it. “They’re still at Kolindu’s clinic, getting patched up. Every time Zez feels her nose, she wants to go out and kill the first bug she sees.” His hard gaze rose to meet Flinx’s quiet stare. “How about you, longsong? How you feel about killing bugs?”
Unlike with Subar, Flinx perceived that there was nothing ambivalent about the one the younger boy had called Chal. Had he been the one caught in the grasp of the fighting thranx, Flinx would not have raised a hand to help him. The emotions that flowed forth from him embodied everything Flinx had come to despise in his own kind: greed, selfishness, a nasty delight in the discomfiture of others, a raw craving for power, and more. His two companions were little better, with the larger of the pair possibly being an exception. The bulky youth’s emotions were as flat and dull as the rest of him.
Subar, now—there might be some hope for Subar. And if there was hope for him, perhaps also for the rest of civilization, insofar as Flinx’s further involvement with its uncertain future was concerned.
As one hand slipped into a pocket, Chaloni took a step into the room. “I asked you how you feel about killing bugs, scrawn.”
Flinx had to put up a hand to restrain Pip, whose perception of the gang leader was no less exact than that of her master. “Depends on where they are.”
Chaloni halted, perplexed and trying not to show it. “‘Where’? What do you mean, ‘where’?”
“Whether they’re in my gut, my bed, my food, or my head.”
Dirran laughed. It was more of a sharp expectoration, like spit, than a sincere chuckle. Chaloni hesitated, then found himself smiling. “True, true. Spoken like someone who’s had plenty of experience of both.” A glint of light bounced off the cylindrical device he withdrew from his pocket. Gray and tapered, it was not sharp. It did not have to be.
“You know what this is, scrawn longsong?” Chaloni was clearly enjoying himself.
Flinx nodded slowly. “Sonic stiletto.”
The gang leader pushed out his lower lip, his expression and tone approving. “You
have
had some experience. So you know the wave form it emits will punch through almost anything.” He flicked the tip in the direction of Flinx’s shoulder. “Including that wingthing weighing down your neck, if it tries to bite me.”
“Pip doesn’t bite,” Flinx informed him truthfully. “Neither do I.”
“That remains to be decided, doesn’t it?” Chaloni started forward.
Internally, Subar was a mass of conflicting emotions. If he didn’t react to intercede on behalf of the visitor, Chaloni was surely going to cut him—if only to demonstrate that he could. If he
did
try to talk the bigger, older youth out of the hostile, Chaloni would not forget whose side Subar had taken. Unable to decide what to do, he did nothing. Let the visitor get himself out of it, if he could. Chaloni wasn’t angry—he just wanted to make a point. He probably wouldn’t cut the stranger bad.
Then a strange thing happened. Chaloni stopped. Just stopped, as if he had run into an invisible wall. There was no wall: Subar could tell that much when Sallow Behdul advanced beyond where the gang leader was standing. Then he, too, halted. Both boys started twitching slightly, as if afflicted with sudden chills. They were joined by Dirran a moment later. Mouth agape, Subar leaned forward to glance up at the visitor. Flinx’s eyes were half closed but otherwise fixed on his would-be assailants. He, too, looked paralyzed.
No, not paralyzed, Subar corrected himself. Deep in thought. He considered asking his guest what was going on. Realizing that for the moment he, at least, was
not
twitching, the younger boy wisely decided to keep quiet and out of the way.
Normally, the
The gang leader weighed his follower’s words, his voice a soft murmur. If he detected anything more in Subar’s tone than formal concern for Zezula, he didn’t show it. “They’re still at Kolindu’s clinic, getting patched up. Every time Zez feels her nose, she wants to go out and kill the first bug she sees.” His hard gaze rose to meet Flinx’s quiet stare. “How about you, longsong? How you feel about killing bugs?”
Unlike with Subar, Flinx perceived that there was nothing ambivalent about the one the younger boy had called Chal. Had he been the one caught in the grasp of the fighting thranx, Flinx would not have raised a hand to help him. The emotions that flowed forth from him embodied everything Flinx had come to despise in his own kind: greed, selfishness, a nasty delight in the discomfiture of others, a raw craving for power, and more. His two companions were little better, with the larger of the pair possibly being an exception. The bulky youth’s emotions were as flat and dull as the rest of him.
Subar, now—there might be some hope for Subar. And if there was hope for him, perhaps also for the rest of civilization, insofar as Flinx’s further involvement with its uncertain future was concerned.
As one hand slipped into a pocket, Chaloni took a step into the room. “I asked you how you feel about killing bugs, scrawn.”
Flinx had to put up a hand to restrain Pip, whose perception of the gang leader was no less exact than that of her master. “Depends on where they are.”
Chaloni halted, perplexed and trying not to show it. “‘Where’? What do you mean, ‘where’?”
“Whether they’re in my gut, my bed, my food, or my head.”
Dirran laughed. It was more of a sharp expectoration, like spit, than a sincere chuckle. Chaloni hesitated, then found himself smiling. “True, true. Spoken like someone who’s had plenty of experience of both.” A glint of light bounced off the cylindrical device he withdrew from his pocket. Gray and tapered, it was not sharp. It did not have to be.
“You know what this is, scrawn longsong?” Chaloni was clearly enjoying himself.
Flinx nodded slowly. “Sonic stiletto.”
The gang leader pushed out his lower lip, his expression and tone approving. “You
have
had some experience. So you know the wave form it emits will punch through almost anything.” He flicked the tip in the direction of Flinx’s shoulder. “Including that wingthing weighing down your neck, if it tries to bite me.”
“Pip doesn’t bite,” Flinx informed him truthfully. “Neither do I.”
“That remains to be decided, doesn’t it?” Chaloni started forward.
Internally, Subar was a mass of conflicting emotions. If he didn’t react to intercede on behalf of the visitor, Chaloni was surely going to cut him—if only to demonstrate that he could. If he
did
try to talk the bigger, older youth out of the hostile, Chaloni would not forget whose side Subar had taken. Unable to decide what to do, he did nothing. Let the visitor get himself out of it, if he could. Chaloni wasn’t angry—he just wanted to make a point. He probably wouldn’t cut the stranger bad.
Then a strange thing happened. Chaloni stopped. Just stopped, as if he had run into an invisible wall. There was no wall: Subar could tell that much when Sallow Behdul advanced beyond where the gang leader was standing. Then he, too, halted. Both boys started twitching slightly, as if afflicted with sudden chills. They were joined by Dirran a moment later. Mouth agape, Subar leaned forward to glance up at the visitor. Flinx’s eyes were half closed but otherwise fixed on his would-be assailants. He, too, looked paralyzed.
No, not paralyzed, Subar corrected himself. Deep in thought. He considered asking his guest what was going on. Realizing that for the moment he, at least, was
not
twitching, the younger boy wisely decided to keep quiet and out of the way.
Normally, the
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