Insofar as he knew, Flinx was the first unofficial, uninvited representative of his species to set foot on the AAnn homeworld of Blasusarr. Very few humans and even fewer thranx had ever been formally accredited to do so. Only the minimum number essential to facilitate those few diplomatic exchanges where electronic representations were insufficient and face-to-face conversation was demanded had ever been allowed actual physical access. The idea that a single human operating entirely on their own might somehow succeed in penetrating the elaborate and extensive defenses that redundantly englobed Blasusarr was sufficiently ludicrous to promulgate all by itself entirely new orders of cognitive absurdity. Everyone knew that no non-AAnn ship could so much as approach the outskirts of the homeworld system without being challenged -- or blown to bits.
However, the AAnn scientists and engineers who had designed and built those impressive planetary defense systems had never envisioned a ship like the Teacher. But then, neither had anyone else.
The energetic and enthusiastic Ulru-Ujurrians, using all of their exponentially developing skills, imbued the entire body of Flinx's vessel with a chameleonic ability.
The ship could so completely transform its appearance that one moment it could present the perfect likeness and detection signature of a private passenger craft, and the next that of a heavily armed military escort. Now settled in unobtrusive orbit around the AAnn homeworld, it displayed the convincing aspect of a minor clan AAnn cargo vessel.
Furthermore, it was not the only persuasive transformation to have taken place in that vicinity. There was also the elaborate and difficult provisional makeover Flinx had devised for himself.
So accomplished was the result that he had been on Blasusarr for a local teverravak, or sixteen days, without drawing more than the occasional casual glance. Perfectly fashioned though it was, the simsuit that enveloped him completely would have been inadequate to sustain the ruse had he not been so knowledgeable in the ways of the quasi-reptilians among whom he moved. He knew how to emulate the loping AAnn gait, which involved bending slightly at the knees and invigorating each step with a slight hopping motion; was intimately familiar with their eloquent repertoire of communicative hand gestures; could eat their food (though the profoundly carnivorous diet was beginning to have adverse effects on his waistline); and, through the use of tiny but powerful integrated servos lodged in the suit's hindquarters, was even able to satisfactorily manipulate its integrated lightweight tail. Built-in nanoneuromatics operated the suit's double eyelids. Having to view the world through their slitted pupils somewhat restricted his peripheral vision, but the result was more than adequate. He saw everything that threatened to trip him.
Thus camouflaged and experienced, he passed freely if cautiously among his unknowing hosts, the loose spaces and the specially constructed sleeping pocket within the suit providing ample room for Pip to both rest and move about while retaining a certain amount of freedom.
Not even the operators of the subsurface transient burrow where Flinx had rented living space suspected that he was anything but a nye: a fully mature adult AAnn.
Utilizing a mastery of his hosts' language that was rare among his kind, while keeping conversation to a minimum, he found himself accepted by his fellow burrow-dwellers as one of their own. He even took care to make appropriate use of the sand room in his quarters, remembering before departing each day to leave the suitably scaly impression of his simsuit on the heated surface.
Thankfully, the suit's thermosensitive cooling system was up to the task of coping with Blasusarr's demanding climate. The AAnn had evolved on a desert world. While Flinx normally would have had no trouble tolerating the dry forty-degree heat, any other kind of completely enclosed suit would have rendered it unbearable. Cocooned within its technologically advanced confines he stayed cool and reasonably comfortable, and could do most anything an AAnn could do without revealing his human identity. Eating, drinking, and voiding were the chief exceptions. He sustained his masquerade by making sure to perform such necessary functions only in private and under carefully controlled conditions.
According to the readback the call-in was coming from Clarity's communit. But the visage that took shape above his wrist was not that of Flinx's beloved. Instead, he found himself gazing back at the countenance of a pleasant-faced, slightly rotund middle-aged man. Confused, he switched the image from full dimensional to flat.
"Who are you? And where's Clarity Held, the owner of the unit you're calling from?"
"All will be explained," the man replied soothingly. "My name is not important. All you need to know about me is that more than a year ago you tried to kill me at a regional shuttleport. You did succeed in killing or injuring several of my close friends and associates. Of course, we were at the same time trying to kill you, so it would be futile to waste time debating the situational ethics. At least, we feel so. We were not at all certain we would have the chance to kill you again. We thank you for returning to New Riviera so that we might have the opportunity to realize our earlier intentions." Delivered in a calm, all but tranquil tone, this was such a dumbfoundingly frank declaration that Flinx found himself momentarily speechless. When he did finally manage to reply, it was to repeat the name he had already spoken.
 "Clarity." This time his tone was ominous instead of uncertain.
"Certainly," the man responded briskly. "It is implicit that you will do nothing in the absence of confirmation."
The image rotated as the other communit's visual pickup was realigned. It was plain from the way the viewpoint shifted that the unit itself was being held loosely and was not presently on someone's wrist, least of all that of the portly individual who had greeted Flinx.
Very soon the scene steadied. It was clear and, as verified by his own unit, natural and unaltered. Clarity sat in a chair in the center of the image. Her arms were secured behind her. She looked -- bad. Her hair was a mess, the very modest amount of makeup she utilized daily was blurred and streaked in spite of the fact that contemporary cosmetics were designed to prevent such distortions, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her clothes were distressed. It was obvious she had been seriously mistreated.
There was no blood, no visual evidence of anything as primitive as breaking or cutting.
Whoever had abused her was too subtle for that. Her captors' methods were efficient, not prehistoric.
Raising her head from his shoulder, Pip straightaway began searching for the source of her master's sudden distress. That it was nowhere to be sensed only served to unsettle the minidrag further.
"You're from the Order of Null." The accusation emerged from between clenched teeth. The allusion to multiple killings and the shuttleport location also fit the time frame the caller had cited. There was no doubt in Flinx's mind who he represented. The other man proceeded to confirm it.
"We are of the Order of Null." More than a touch of self-importance tinged the terse correction as Flinx's view of Clarity was once more replaced by the face of the implacable speaker. "We have neither the need nor the desire to kill your partner. Her location will be provided to you. You will come there now, immediately, without detour or hesitation. If you bring another soul with you, if you attempt to contact anyone for misguided assistance, if you try to notify the authorities down to and including the city sanitation department, we will cut her throat. Even as we speak, you are being watched and your personal communications are being monitored. You will not attempt to utilize them in any way, shape, or fashion. That extends to and includes the need for you to shut down any emergency beacons or locators." Flinx did not bother to look around. "Your subsequent movements and actions will be recorded to the best of our abilities. These I assure you are extensive."
Another voice reached Flinx via the remote aural pickup. Though dimmed by distance, its source was unmistakable.
"Don't do it, Flinx!" Clarity was yelling. "They'll kill me anyway after they kill you.
Call the police and &hellip; !"
Her words were interrupted by a sharp sound. She fell silent. Flinx fought hard to keep his breathing steady. There was nothing he could do from the opposite end of a communications link. He could not reach through the tiny pickup and clutch the self-righteous speaker by the throat.
"Don't hurt her," he swallowed, "any more. I'll do whatever you ask."
"Of course you will." The speaker's voice brimmed with confidence. "You're a young man in love. Your heart and your hormones command your brain. You are convinced that you will somehow rescue her and avenge her treatment -- none of which, I assure you, exceeded that which was necessary to advance the cause of this conversation. Who knows? Perhaps you will succeed. Perhaps subsequent to your arrival here we will somehow find a way to reach an accommodation satisfactory to all." His voice dropped slightly.
As a fully anointed padre in the Security Services of the United Church, Sylzenzuzex never traveled anywhere without the personal armaments that were part of her private kit. She would have felt naked without them. Opportunely, though each was designed to be manipulated by small, four-digited thranx hands, at least one of the weapons was sufficiently undemanding that Clarity could operate it.
With their ordnance tuned for in-ship combat, the two females used the entry portal for cover as they fired repeatedly into the control chamber. Their fully-charged shockers brought down several members of the Order of Null before the survivors managed to find some cover of their own and return fire. Adding to the confusion, Scrap had launched herself from Clarity's shoulder. Streaking around the bridge just below the ceiling, dodging the panicky shots of increasingly flustered Order members, the flying snake spat death at those attempting to conceal themselves.
Holding herself aloof from and ignoring the pandemonium swirling around her, Mahnahmi's eyes narrowed as she sought the source of the unexpected counterattack.
But dominant as she was, she was no different from her brother in at least one respect: she could only concentrate on one threat at a time. As she prepared to squeeze Clarity's mind to a lump of enflamed meat incapable of conscious thought, a heavy male body slammed into her from behind. Though as an offensive strategy the primitive assault harkened back to tactics that had been employed since dawn of humankind, it was still uncompromisingly effective. As chaos and death filled the ship's control chamber and raged around them, Tse-Mallory and Flinx's half sister went down in a heap.
His awareness that something was amiss having been stimulated by the arrival and subsequent actions of his half sister, Flinx had little by little grown dimly aware of the confrontation that had now given way to out-and-out combat onboard his ship. While a small part of him continued to agonize over the conflict that was physically out of his reach, the bulk of his concentration remained focused on sustaining the bonds that were beginning to stir the incomprehensibly vast forces swirling around him.
With Flinx and Pip at its core, the triangle of concentration held firm and continued to function.
On board the Teacher, an enraged Mahnahmi let loose the full fury that was herself.
The uncontrolled ferocity picked up Tse-Mallory and tossed him aside as if he had been flicked away by a giant invisible hand. Reaching out with her misshapen mind, she came down hard on Sylzenzuzex with the mental equivalent of a blow from a hammer.