Sliding Scales (P&F 08) by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Flinx (Fictitious Character), Space Opera, Fiction, Science Fiction, Humanx Commonwealth (Imaginary Organization), Adventure, General
ISBN: 9780345461582
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2005-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER

9

A thoroughly frustrated Flinx felt as if he were living in two worlds. The most prominent, the one he knew for certain he was living in, was ordered and stately, populated by busy bipeds who looked nothing like him but with whom he for some reason shared language, some common references, and a growing empathetic bond whose depth was a continual surprise to him. This world was also home to the small flying creature whose name was Pip, the minidrag being one of the few certainties he could cling to. That, and his ability to know, most of the time, what those around him were feeling. While unable to make up for his poor manners, his strange accent, his lack of claws, decent teeth, or tail, he was still able to insinuate himself with those around him through the use of that veiled talent.

The other world he inhabited was one of fog and shadows, of memories that were nothing but ghosts and spirits. Occasionally there were glimpses of that alternate reality. Memories of an old woman coddling him one moment and swearing at him the next. Strange shapes that seemed to speak to him but were more like the small arthropods that skittered across the sands outside the Tier’s compound. Wise voices speaking in a language other than that of his smooth-scaled rescuers. Angry voices utilizing the same tongue. Endless searching of he knew not what, and by means he could not identify. And always questions, questions, questions.

None of which Chraluuc or any of her apologetic brethren could answer.

Since the collective opinion among the members of the Tier held that he was still recovering from his ordeal, and since his mental state was still self-evidently precarious, he was largely left to himself. He took to wandering the grounds of the compound, inquiring as to the purpose of this building or the function of that decoration. Only rarely were his queries ignored, his requests to observe denied. Though never entirely able to vanquish their suspicions of the human who had tumbled into their midst, the more time he spent among them, the more the members of the Tier came to believe that the tall softskin represented a different kind of human. Of his empathy there could be no doubt. In some ways, and with the passage of time, he was becoming more like them than his own kind. To the members of the Tier this slow metamorphosis was at once gratifying, puzzling, and exhilarating.

Flinx did not regard it so because he was not aware of it. He was simply trying to fit in. It was the least he could do, the polite thing to do, to thank those who had saved his life. Though accounted a human by everyone he met, he did not feel particularly human. He did not feel especially anything, except alive. At first, that had been enough. But as the days passed and he ate and talked and slept among the Tier, life without memory or meaning was beginning to pale.

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