The Tar-aiym Krang Read Online Free PDF Page A

his card in the little black meter. The compact machine hummed softly and the amount, one-oh-oh-zero-zero, clicked into place on its tiny dial. There was a brief pause and then it buzzed once, the red light on its top glowing brightly. It noted that the amount of so-and-so, card number such-and-such, was good for the amount dialed, and that credits numbering one hundred (100) had been transferred to the account of one Philip Lynx (his given name in the city records) in the Royal Depository of the sovereign Republic of Moth. Flinx returned the box to its place in his pouch and looked back to the two expectant men.
    “Ask your question, sirs.”
    “My companion and I are searching for a man . . . a friend . . . whom we know to be somewhere in this part of the city, but whom we have been unable as yet to contact.”
    “What is there distinctive about him?” Flinx asked from under closed eyes.
    The other man spoke for the first time. His voice revealed an impatience that his mind confirmed. It was brusque and low-pitched. “He is not tall . . . thin, has red hair like yourself, only darker and tightly curled. Also his skin is not so dark as yours. It is mottled, and he has wet eyes.”
    That helped. Redheads were not plentiful in Drallar, and the reference to “wet eyes” indicated a man with a high sexual potential. The combination ought to be easy to locate. Flinx began to feel more confident. Still, Drallar was large. And there was the shuttleport to consider, too.
    “Not enough. What else?”
    The two looked at each other. Then the bigger one spoke again. “This man is dressed in navigator’s clothes. He has with him . . . probably on his person a small map. A star map. It is hand-drawn and very unprofessional looking. He usually keeps it in his blouse, which bulges slightly in consequence.”
    Flinx concentrated harder. So, a shift in the internal abstract, an angle resolved. . . . He opened his eyes, looked up in surprise. His gaze roved over the rear of the silent crowd and came to rest on an individual at the back. A redheaded man, not tall, with mottled skin, wet eyes, and a slight bulge over his heart. Not surprisingly, Flinx sensed paper therein. As soon as their eyes met the man’s went wide. He broke and plunged into the market mob. At the ensuing commotion the big man turned his head and strained to see through the mass. He clasped a hand on his companion’s shoulder and pointed urgently. They started off in the direction of the disturbance, forcing the other members of the assembly out of their way with far more strength than tact.
    Flinx almost called to them, but the action turned to a shrug instead. If this form of an answer satisfied the two, he certainly wasn’t going to argue the matter. A hundred credits! Without even committing himself. And the loose coin on the dais for Mother Mastiff. He waved an impulsive hand at the crowd.
    “Thank you ever so for your attention, gentlebeings. For today, at least, the show is over.”
    The assemblage began to melt back into the flow of traffic, accompanied by not a few groans of disappointment from would-be questioners. With the unexpected dramatic build-up he had been given by the two strangers he probably could have milked the remainder for a pile, but his gift was capricious and possessed of a tendency to tire him quickly. Best to halt with an unchallanged success. This windfall entitled him to a serious celebration, and he was already impatient to get on with it.
    “Pip, if we could take in what we took today on a regular basis, the king would make me royal treasurer and you his official guardian.” The snake hissed noncommitally, the jet-black eyes staring up at him. Ink boiled in those tiny poolings. Apparently government work didn’t have much appeal.
    “And you are no doubt hungry again.” This produced a more positive hiss, and Flinx chuckled, scratching the minidrag under its leather-soft snout. “That’s what I thought.