Free Flinx's Folly by Alan Dean Foster Page A

activated the booth. The wall opaqued, shielding him from sight. A privacy bubble snapped silently into place. He could now neither be observed nor heard.
    Never leaving anything to chance, he pulled a small device from his service belt that confirmed the security of his present situation. It also assured him that the terminal in front of him was not compromised. He attached two other devices designed to prevent eavesdropping and prove to authorities that he was doing nothing illegal. Finally activating it with a credcard, he proceeded to embark on a legal search.
    He found the person he was looking for within a couple of minutes, but since the information given was sparse, he proceeded to dive deep into the box in a scan that quickly became more than slightly illegal. His two devices embedded their systems in the box itself, and prevented the terminal from notifying the relevant authorities that its usage was being unlawfully compromised. Working quickly, Flinx proceeded to acquire as much information as he could.
    As it grew steadily more realistic, the prospect of actually seeing the person he sought was generating within him feelings he had not felt in a long time. Along with an unexpected excitement was trepidation. Their final parting had been ambiguous at best. What if his visit were not welcome? What if he were met with hostility instead of the sympathy and understanding he so desperately sought? His nervousness increased in direct proportion to the amount of restricted information he was accessing.
    The planetary box provided him with a steady flow of supposedly secure information. He learned that the individual lived in one of Sphene’s outer urbs and worked for a large company called Ulricam. His circumspect info thieving reminded him of his happier, more innocent days as a child on Moth when the most extravagant thing he had strived to steal was a used entertainment cube or a child’s mutating twinkler—and occasionally, when times were hard, food for himself and Mother Mastiff.
    As opposed to such tangibles, mere information was less tactile but in many ways more valuable. If he was discovered, he knew that his action in accessing the restricted personal files of a Nurian citizen could land him in the local rehab for a year or more, possibly sentenced to mind adjustment. At the very least it would certainly be enough get him deported without any chance of ever returning. Though cautious as always in his activities, he was not too concerned. He had successfully penetrated far more confidential files than this, most recently from the depths of the Terran box itself, and he had slipped away without being caught.
    As he continued to search there was still no indication that his incursion had been detected. What limited information there was on his objective flowed freely and without restriction through the tap he had attached to the terminal. The privacy bubble remained intact around him. With each detail, his excitement grew. He noted with unexpected relief one especial bit of demographics that was not present.
    Why should that matter? It didn’t, he tried to tell himself—not very convincingly. Bemused by her master’s atypical confusion, Pip stirred uneasily against his neck and shoulder. Flinx always knew what he wanted—or did he? This emotional turmoil was a bit much for a simple minidrag to cope with.
    It did not take long for the search to run dry. Carefully shutting down the terminal, Flinx removed his highly illicit attachments, rose, readied himself for anything that might be waiting, switched off the privacy bubble, and stepped out of the cubicle.
    No gendarmes stood outside, weapons drawn, to challenge him. No irate official awaited his appearance prepared to itemize the visitor’s inventory of outrages against public decorum. Privacy bubbles darkened a couple of the other cubicles. Otherwise, all was as it had been. Feeling more cheerful than he had at any time in recent memory, he strolled out