Free Orphan Star by Alan Dean Foster Page B

desire. Does it matter more than your life to know who your parents were?”
    “We don’t have the tradition of a general hive-mother that I could trace myself to and through,” Flinx explained. “Yes, it matters that much to me.”
    The insect shook his double-lobed head. “Then I wish you musical hunting in your mad quest. In another time, another place, I would maybe be your clanmate.” Leaning forward, he extended antennae. After a moment’s hesitation, Flinx touched his own forehead to the proffered protrusions. He straightened, gave the slight thranx a warning look.
    “Try,” he said to Bisondenbit, “to keep your truhands to your own thorax.”
    “I don’t know why my activities should concern you, as long as you are not affected,” the thranx protested. He was almost happy, now that it appeared Flinx wasn’t going to murder him. “Are you going to report me to the authorities?”
    “Only for procrastination,” Flinx said impatiently. “You still haven’t told me where Challis is.”
    “Send him a tape of your request,” the thranx advised.
    “Would you believe it?”
    Bisondenbit’s mandibles clicked. “I understand. You are a strange individual, man-boy.”
    “You’re no incubator yourself, Bisondenbit. Where?”
    Shoulder chiton moved to produce a ruffling sound, like cardboard being scraped across a carpet. Bisondenbit spoke with a modicum of pride.
    “I’m not one of Challis’ hired grubs—I’ll tell you. You drove him from Moth, it seems; and now you’ve chased him off Hivehom. The Challis Company’s home office is in Terra’s capital, and I presume that’s where he’s fled. No doubt he’ll be expecting you, if he hasn’t died of fright by now. May you find him before the many-who-pursue find
you.”
He started to leave, then paused curiously.
    “Good-bye, Bisondenbit,” Flinx said firmly. The thranx started to speak, but spotted the minidrag moving and thought better of it. He walked away, looking back over his shoulder occasionally and muttering to himself, unsatisfied. For his part Flinx felt no guilt in letting the pickpocket go free. It was not for one who had performed his fair share of borderline activities to judge another.
    Why wouldn’t Challis believe that his purpose in seeking him out was for nothing so useless and primitive as revenge? Challis could understand only his own kind of mind, Flinx decided.
    Somehow, he would have to find a way around it.
     
    From Hivehom to the Commonwealth’s second capital world of Terra was a considerable journey, even at maximum drive. But eventually Flinx found himself drinking in a view of it from another shuttlecraft port as the little transfer ship dropped free of the freightliner.
    This was the green legend,
Terra magnificat,
spawning place of mankind, second capital of the Commonwealth and home of the United Church. This was the world where once a primitive primate had suddenly risen to stand on hind feet to be nearer the sky, never dreaming he would one day step beyond it.
    And yet, save for the royal blue of the oceans, the globe itself was unremarkable, mostly swirling white clouds and brown splotches of land.
    He hadn’t known what to expect . . . golden spires piercing the cloudtops, perhaps, or formed crags of chromium backing against the seas—all that was at once absurd and sublime. Although he couldn’t see it, Terra possessed both in munificent quantities, albeit in forms far more muted than his grandiose visions.
    Surely, Flinx thought as the shuttle dropped into the outer atmosphere, the omnipresent emerald of Hivehom was more striking and, for that matter, the lambent yellow ring-wings of Moth were more sheerly spectacular.
    But somewhere down there his great to the second or third power grandfather had lived and died. . . .

 
    Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Descending on a west-to-east path, the shuttle passed over the big approach station at Perth before beginning its final powerglide over the