Free For Love of Mother-Not by Alan Dean Foster

companion needed rest as well aswarmth. How he knew that, he could not have explained; but he knew it as clearly as he recognized his own exhaustion.
    Flinx did not for a moment debate the snake’s future. Its presence on his shoulder as well as in his mind was too natural for him to consider parting with it—unless, of course, some owner appeared to claim it. Clearly, this was no wild animal. Also, Flinx was well-read, and if this creature was native to the Drallarian vicinity, it was news to him. He had never seen or heard of such an animal before. If it was some kind of valuable pet, its owner would surely come looking for it, and soon. For now, though, the snake was clearly as much an orphan as Flinx himself had once been. Flinx had experienced too much suffering in his own life to ignore it in anything else, even in a lowly snake. For a while, it was his charge, much as he was Mother Mastiff’s.
    She had wanted to know his name on that first day long ago. “What do I call you?” he wondered aloud. The sleeping snake did not respond.
    There were thousands of books available to Flinx via the library chips he rented from Central Education. He had only read a comparative few, but among them was one with which he had particularly identified. It was pre-Commonwealth—precivilization, really—but that hadn’t mitigated its impact on him. Those characters with the funny names; one of them was called—what? Pip, he remembered. He glanced back down at the sleeping snake. That’ll be your name unless we learn otherwise one day.
    As he started back for the shop, he tried to tell himself that he would worry about that proverbial “one day” if and when it presented itself, but he could not. He was already worried about it, because although he had only had contact with the creature for less than an hour, it seemed a part of him. The thought of returning the snake to some indifferent, offworld owner was suddenly more than he could bear. Since he had been an infant, he couldn’t recall becoming so deeply attached to another living creature. Not even Mother Mastiff had such a lock on his feelings.
    Feelings. This creature, this snake-thing, it
understood
what he was feeling, understood what it meant to have the emotions of strangers flood unbidden into one’s mind, interrupting one’s life and making every waking moment a potential abnormality. That was what made it special. He knew it, and the snake knew it, too. No longer were they individuals; they had become two components of a larger whole.
    I will not give you up, he decided then and there in the cold morning rain. Not even if some wealthy, fatuous offworlder appears to lay claim to you. You belong with me. The snake dozed on, seemingly oblivious to any decisions the human might make.
    The street fronting the shop was still deserted. The lock yielded to his palm, and he slipped inside, glad to be out of the weather. Carefully, he relocked the door. Then he was back in the dining area where the glow light still shone softly. Using both hands, he unraveled the snake. It did not resist as he slid the coils from his shoulder. From the bedroom to his right came Mother Mastiff’s steady snores, a drone that matched the patter of rain on the roof.
    Gently, he set the snake down on the single table. In the glow lamp’s brighter light he could see its true colors for the first time. A bright pink and blue diamondback pattern ran the length of the snake’s body, matching the pleated wings. The belly was a dull golden hue and the head emerald green.
    “Exquisite,” he murmured to the snake. “You’re exquisite.”
    The creature’s eyes—no, he corrected himself, Pip’s eyes—opened in lazy half sleep. It seemed to smile at him. Mental projection, Flinx thought as he slipped out of the slickertic and hung it on its hook.
    “Now where can I keep you?” he whispered to himself as he glanced around the small living area. The stall out front was out of the question.