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the force of a mechanical press. Nolly’s fingers, which happened to be wrapped around the needler, suffered a similar fate, and a single shriek of pain preceded unconsciousness.
    Small Symm ducked to clear the top of the portal, dropping the limp human shape to one side. Simultaneously a long lean shape settled easily about Flinx’s shoulders, and a single damp point flickered familiarly at his ear. Reaching back, Flinx scratched under the minidrag’s jaw and felt the long muscular form relax. “Thanks, Pip.”
    Rising from the chair, he moved around the table-safe and played with the controls on the other side. Before very long he succeeded in lighting the entire room.
    Where Nanger had crashed and stumbled, the expensive furnishings lay broken and twisted. His body, already growing stiff with venom-inspired death, lay crumpled across one bent chair. The unmoving form of his companion was slumped to one side of the doorway. A mangled hand oozed blood.
    “I was wondering,” Flinx informed Symm, “when you’d get here.”
    “It was difficult,” the bartender apologized, his voice echoing up from that bottomless pit of a chest. “Your pet was impatient, disappearing and then reappearing when I fell behind. How did he know how to find you?”
    Flinx affectionately eyed the now somnolent scaly head. “He smelled my fear. Life-water knows I was broadcasting it loud enough.” He held out manacled wrists. “Can you do something about these? I have to go after Challis.”
    Symm glanced at the cuffs, a look of mild surprise on his face. “I never thought revenge was part of your makeup, Flinx.”
    Reaching down with a massive thumb and forefinger, Symm carefully pinched one of the narrow confining bands. A moment’s pressure caused the metal to snap with an explosive
pop.
Repeating the action freed Flinx’s other hand.
    Looking at his right wrist as he rubbed it with his left hand, Flinx could detect no mark—nothing to indicate the intense pain that the device had inflicted.
    He debated how to respond to his friend’s accusation. How could he hope to explain the importance of Challis’ remark to this good-natured hulk? “I think Challis may know something of my real parents. I can’t simply forget about it.”
    The unaccustomed bitterness of Symm’s answer startled him. “What are they to you? What have they done for you? They have caused you to be treated like chattel, like a piece of property. If not for the intervention of Mother Mastiff you’d be a personal slave now, perhaps to something like Challis. Your real parents—you owe them nothing, least of all the satisfaction of showing them you’ve survived!”
    “I don’t know the circumstances of my abandonment, Symm,” Flinx finally countered. “I have to find out. I
have
to.”
    The bartender, an orphan himself, shrugged massively. “You’re an idealistic misfit, Flinx.”
    “And you’re an even bigger one,” the boy shot back, “which is why you’re going to help me.”
    Symm muttered something unintelligible, which might have been a curse. Then again, it might not. “Where did he get out?”
    Flinx indicated the hidden doorway, and Symm walked over to the spot and leaned against the metal panel experimentally. The hinging collapsed inward with surprising ease. Beyond, they discovered a short corridor, which led to a small private lift that conveyed, them rapidly to the base of the luxurious tower.
    “How did you get in, anyway?” Flinx asked his friend.
    Symm twitched. “I told the security people I met that I had an appointments pass, the usual procedure in an inurb like this.”
    “Didn’t anyone demand to see it?”
    Symm didn’t crack a smile. “Would you? Only one guard did, and I think he’ll be all right if he gets proper care. Careful now,” the giant warned as the lift came to a stop. Crouching to one side, he sprang out as soon as the door slid open sufficiently to let him pass. But there was no ambush awaiting them.