For Love Of Mother-Not Part 17

The Devilopes were gone. The power station was hardly damaged, perhaps because it lay apart from the rest of the encampment, perhaps because it operated on automatic and did not offer the herd any living targets. None of the camp personnel materialized to challenge their use of the station's recharge facility, though Lauren kept a ready finger on the trigger of the dart rifle until a readout showed that the skimmer once again rode on full power.

"I don't think we have to worry about pursuit," she declared. "It doesn't look like there's anyone left to pursue. If the leaders of this bunch got caught in that trampled hangar as you say, Flinx, then we've nothing to worry about."

"I didn't get my answers," he muttered disappointedly. Then, louder, he said, "Let's get out of this place."

"Yes," Mother Mastiff agreed quickly. She looked imploringly at Lauren. "I be a city lady. The country life doesn't agree with me." She grinned her irrepressible grin, and Flinx knew she was going to be all right.

Lauren smiled and nudged the accelerator. The skimmer moved, lifting above the surrounding trees. They crusied over several disoriented, spent Devilopes and sped south as fast as the skimmer's engine could push them.

"I didn't learn what this was all about," Flinx continued to mutter from his seat near the rear of the cabin. "Do you know why they abducted you, Mother? What did they want with you?"

It was on her lips to tell him the tale the Meliorares had told her the previous night-was it only last night? Something made her hesitate. Natural caution, concern for him. A lifetime of experience that taught one not to blunder ahead and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how true it might be. There were things she needed to learn, things he needed to learn. There would always be time.

"You've said 'tis a long story as to how ye managed to trace me, boy. My tale's a long one, too. As to what they wanted with me, tis enough for ye to know now that it involves an old, old crime I once partic.i.p.ated in and a thirst for revenge that never dies. Ye can understand that."

"Yes, yes I can." He knew that Mother Mastiff had enjoyed a diverse and checkered youth. "You can tell me all about it after we're back home."

"Yes," she said, pleased that he had apparently accepted her explanation. "After we're safely back home." She looked toward the pilot's chair and saw Lauren gazing quizzically back at her.

Mother Mastiff put a finger to her lips. The other woman nodded, not fully understanding but sensitive enough to go along with the older woman's wishes.

Chapter Fourteen.

Several hours pa.s.sed. The air was smooth, the mist thin, the ride comfortable as the skimmer slipped southward. Mother Mastiff looked back toward the rear of the craft to see Flinx sound asleep. His useful if loathsome pet was, as usual, curled up close to the boy's head.

She studied the pilot. Pretty, hard, and self-contained, she decided. Night was beginning to settle over the forest speeding by below. Within the sealed canopy of the skimmer, it was warm and dry. "What be your interest in my boy?" she asked evenly.

"As a friend. I also had a personal debt to pay," Lauren explained. "Those people who abducted you slaughtered a couple of rare animals who were long-time companions of mine. 'Revenge never dies.'" She smiled. "You said that a while ago, remember?"

"How did ye encounter him?"

"He appeared at the lodge I manage on a lake near here."

"Ah! The fight, yes, I remember. So that place was yours."

"I just manage it. That's where I'm heading. I can help you arrange return pa.s.sage to Drallar from there."

"How do ye know we're from the city?"

Lauren gestured with a, thumb back toward the sleeping figure behind them. "He told me. He told me a lot."

"That's odd," Mother Mastiff commented. "He's not the talkative kind, that boy." She went quiet for a while, watching the forest slide past below. Flinx slept on, enjoying his first relaxed sleep in some time.

" 'Tis an awful lot of trouble you've gone through on his behalf," she finally declared, "especially for a total stranger. Especially for one so young."

"Youth is relative," Lauren said. "Maybe he brought out the maternal instinct in me."

"Don't get profound with me, child," Mother Mastiff warned her, "nor sa.s.sy, either." Ironic, that last comment, though. Hadn't she once felt the same way about the boy many years ago? "I've watched ye, seen the way ye look at him. Do ye love him?"

"Love him?" Lauren's surprise was quite genuine. Then, seeing that Mother Mastiff was serious, she forced herself to respond solemnly. "Certainly not! At least, not in that that way. I'm fond of him, sure. I respect him immensely for what he's managed to do on his own, and I also feel sorry for him. There is affection, certainly. But the kind of love you're talking about? Not a chance." way. I'm fond of him, sure. I respect him immensely for what he's managed to do on his own, and I also feel sorry for him. There is affection, certainly. But the kind of love you're talking about? Not a chance."

"'Youth is relative,'" Mother Mastiff taunted her gently. "One must be certain. I've seen much in my life, child. There's little that can surprise me, or at least so I thought until a few weeks ago." She cackled softly. "I'm glad to hear ye say this. Anything else could do harm to the boy."

"I would never do that," Lauren a.s.sured her. She glanced back at Flinx's sleeping form. "I'm going to drop you at the lodge. My a.s.sistant's name is Sal. I'll make some pretense of going in to arrange your transportation and talk to him. Then I'll take off across the lake. I think it will be better for him that way. I don't want to hurt him." She hesitated. "You don't think he'll do anything silly, like coming after me?"

Mother Mastiff considered thoughtfully, then shook her head. "He's just a little too sensible. He'll understand, I'm sure. As for me, I don't know what to say, child. You've been so helpful to him and to me."

"'Revenge,' remember?" She grinned, the lights from the console glinting off her high cheekbones. "He's a funny one, your Flinx. I don't think I'll forget him."

"Ye know, child, 'tis peculiar," Mother Mastiff muttered as she gazed out into the clouds and mist, "but you're not the first person to say that."

"And I expect," Lauren added as she turned her attention back to her driving, "that I won't be the last, either."

The mudder circled the devastated encampment several times before leaving the cover of the forest and cruising among the ruined buildings. Eventually, it settled to ground near the stump of what had been a central tower.

The woman who stepped out was clad in a dark-green and brown camouflage suit, as was the man at the vehicle's controls. He kept the engine running as his companion marched a half-dozen meters toward the tower, stopped, and turned a slow circle, hands on hips. Then they both relaxed, recognizing that whatever had obliterated the installation no longer posed any threat. No discussion was necessary-they had worked together for a long time, and words had become superfluous.

The man killed the mudder's engine and exited to join his a.s.sociate in surveying the wreckage. A light rain was falling. It did not soak them, for the camouflage suits repelled moisture. The field was temporary, but from what they could see of the encampment, they wouldn't be in the place long enough to have to recharge.

"I'm sick of opening packages, only to find smaller packages inside," the man said ruefully. "I'm sick of having every new avenue we take turn into a dead end." He gestured toward the destruction surrounding them; crumpled buildings, isolated wisps of smoke rising from piles of debris, slag where power had melted metal.

"Dead may be the right description, too, judging by the looks of things."

"Not necessarily." His companion only half heard him. She was staring at a wide depression near her feet. It was pointed at one end. A second, identical mark dented the ground several meters away, another an equal distance beyond. As she traced their progress, she saw that they formed a curving trail. She had not noticed them at first because they were filled with water.

She kicked in the side of the one nearest her boots. "Footprints," she said curtly.

"Hoof prints," the man corrected her. His gaze went to the mist-shrouded woods that surrounded the camp. "I wish I knew more about this backwater world."

"Don't criticize yourself. We didn't plan to spend so much time here. Besides, the urban center is pretty cosmopolitan."

"Yeah, and civilization stops at its outskirts. The rest of the planet's too primitive to rate a cla.s.s. That's what's slowed us up from the beginning. Too many places to hide."

Her gaze swept the ruins. "Doesn't seem to have done them much good."

"No," he agreed. "I saw the bones on the way in, same as you did. I wonder if the poor monster died here, too?"

"Don't talk like that," she said uneasily. "You know how we're supposed to refer to him. You don't watch yourself, you'll put that in an official communique sometime and find yourself up for a formal reprimand."

"Ah, yes, I forgot," he murmured. "The disadvantaged child. Pardon me, Rose, but this whole business has been a lousy job from the beginning. You're right, though. I shouldn't single him out. It's not his fault. The contrary. He isn't responsible for what the Meliorares did to him."

"Right," the woman said. "Well, he'll soon he repaired."

"If he got away," her companion reminded her. he got away," her companion reminded her.

"Surely some of them did," the woman said.

The man pointed toward several long walls of rubble that might once have been buildings. "Speak of the devil."

A figure was headed toward them. It took longer than was necessary because it did not travel in a straight line. It attempted to, but every so often would stagger off to its right like a wheel with its bearings out. The man's clothes were filthy, his boots caked with mud. They had not been changed in several days. He waved weakly at the newcomers. Save for the limp with which he walked, he seemed intact. His stringy hair was soaked and plastered like wire to his face and head. He made no effort to brush it from his eyes.

He seemed indifferent to the ident.i.ty of the new arrivals. His concerns were more prosaic. "Have you any food?"

"What happened here?" the woman asked him as soon as he had limped to within earshot.

"Have you any food? G.o.d knows there's plenty of water. That's all this miserable place has to offer is plenty of water. All you want even when you don't want it. I've been living on nuts and berries and what I've been able to salvage from the camp kitchen. Had to fight the scavengers for everything. Miserable, stinking hole."

"What happened here?" the woman repeated calmly. The man appeared to be in his late twenties. Too young, she knew, for him to be a member of the Meliorare's inner circle. Just an unlucky employee.

"Caster," he mumbled. "Name's Caster. Excuse me a minute." He slid down his crude, handmade crutch until he was sprawled on the damp earth. "Broke my ankle, I think. It hasn't healed too well. I need to have it set right." He winced, then looked up at them.

"d.a.m.ned if I know. What happened here, I mean. One minute I was replacing communications modules, and the next all h.e.l.l opened up. You should've seen 'em. G.o.dd.a.m.n big as the tower, every one of 'em. Seemed like it, anyhow. Worst thing was those dish-size b.l.o.o.d.y eyes with tiny little black specks lookin' down at you like a machine. Not decent, them eyes. I don't know what brought 'em down on us like they came, but it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't a kind providence."

"Are you the only survivor?" the man asked.

"I haven't seen anyone else, if that's what you mean." His voice turned pleading. "Hey, have you got any food?"

"We can feed you," the woman said with a smile. "Listen, who were you working for here?"

"Bunch of scientists. Uppity bunch. Never talked to us ordinary folk." He forced a weak laugh. "Paid well, though. Keep your mouth shut and do your job and see the countryside. Just never expected the countryside to come visiting me. I've had it with this outfit. Ready to go home. They can keep their d.a.m.n severance fee." A new thought occurred to him, and he squinted up at the couple standing over him.

"Hey, you mean you don't know who they were? Who are you people, anyway?"

They exchanged a glance; then the woman shrugged. "No harm in it. Maybe it'll help his memory."

She pulled a small plastic card from an inside pocket and showed it to the injured man. It was bright red. On it was printed a name, then her world of origin: Terra. The eyes of the man on the ground widened slightly at that. The series of letters which followed added confusion to his astonishment.

FLT-I-PC-MO. The first section he understood. It told him that this visitor was an autonomous agent, rank Inspector, of the Commonwealth law enforcement arm, the Peaceforcers.

"What does 'MO' stand for?" he asked.

"Moral Operations section," she told him, repocketing the ident. "These scientists you worked for-even though you had little or no personal contact with them, you must have seen them from time to time?"

"Sure. They kept pretty well to themselves, but I sometimes saw 'em strolling around."

"They were all quite elderly, weren't they?"

He frowned. "You know, I didn't think much about it, but yeah, I guess they were. Does that mean something?"

"It needn't trouble you," the man said soothingly. "You've said you haven't seen anyone else around since this horde of beasts overwhelmed you. That doesn't necessarily mean you're the only survivor. I a.s.sume some form of transportation was maintained for local use here. You didn't see anyone get away in a mudder or skimmer?"

The man on the ground thought a moment, and his face brightened. "Yeah, yeah I did. There was this old lady and a younger one-good-looking, the younger one. There was a kid with 'em. I didn't recognize 'em, but there were always people coming and going here."

"How old was the kid?" the woman asked him.

"d.a.m.ned if I know. I was running like blazes in one direction, and their skimmer was headed in the other, so I didn't stop to ask questions. Kid had red hair, though. I remember that. Redheads seem scarce on this ball of dirt."

"A charmed life," the older man murmured to his companion. There was admiration as well as frustration in his voice. "The boy leads a charmed life."

"As you well know, there may be a lot more than charm involved," the woman said tersely. "The old woman he refers to is obviously the adopting parent, but who was the other?" She frowned, now worried.

"It doesn't matter," her companion said. He spoke to the injured man. "Look, how well do you remember the att.i.tudes of this trio? I know you didn't have much time. This younger woman, the attractive one. Did she give the appearance of being in control of the other two? Did it seem as if she was holding the boy and old lady under guard?"

"I told you, I didn't get much of a look," Caster replied. "I didn't see any weapons showing, if that's what you're talking about."

"Interesting," the woman murmured. "They may have enlisted an ally. Another complication to contend with." She sighed. "d.a.m.n this case, anyway. If it didn't carry such a high priority with HQ I'd ask to be taken off."

"You know how far we'd get with a request like that," her companion snorted. "We'll get 'em. We've come so d.a.m.n close so many times already. The odds have to catch up with us."

"Maybe. Remember your packages inside packages," she taunted him gently. "Still, it might be easy now." She waved at the ruined camp. "It doesn't look like many, if any, of the Meliorares got away."

"Melio-Meliorares?" The injured man gaped at them. "Hey, I know that name. Weren't they the-?" His eyes widened with realization. "Now wait a second, people, I didn't-"

"Take it easy," the man in the camouflage suit urged him. "Your surprise confirms your innocence. Besides, you're too young. They've taken in smarter folk than you down over the years."

"We shouldn't have that much trouble relocating the boy." She was feeling confident now. "We should be able to pick them up at our leisure."

"I wish I were as sanguine," her a.s.sociate murmured, chewing on his lower lip. "There's been nothing leisurely about this business from the start."

"I didn't know," the injured man was babbling. "I didn't know they were Meliorares. None of us did, none of us. I just answered an ad for a technician. No one ever said a word to any of us about-!"

"Take it easy, I told you," the older man snapped, disgusted at the other's reaction. People panic so easily, he thought. "We'll see that your leg is set properly, and there's food in the mudder. One thing, though: you'll have to undergo a truth scan. There's no harm in that, you know. And afterwards, it's likely you'll be released without being charged."

The man struggled to his feet, using his crutch as a prop. He had calmed down somewhat at the other's rea.s.suring words. "They never said a word about anything like that."

"They never do," the woman commented. "That's how they've been able to escape custody for so many years. The gullible never ask questions."

"Meliorares. h.e.l.l," the man mumbled. "If I'd known-"

"If you'd known, then you'd never have taken their money and gone to work for them, right?"

"Of course not. I've got my principles."

"Sure you do." He waved a hand, forestalling the other man's imminent protest. "Excuse me, friend. I've developed a rather jaundiced view of humanity during the eight years I've spent in MO. Not your fault. Come on," he said to the woman named Rose, "there's nothing more for us here."

"Me, too? You're sure?" The younger man limped after them.

"Yeah, you, too," the Peaceforcer said. "You're sure you don't mind giving a deposition under scan? It's purely a voluntary procedure."