The Tar-Aiym Krang by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Fiction, Science fiction; American, Science Fiction, Flinx (Fictitious character), Pip (Fictitious character: Foster), Space Opera, Humanx Commonwealth (Imaginary organization), Adventure
ISBN: 9780345302809
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 1981-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

On Earth lived a wealthy man named Endrickson, who recently seemed to be walking about in a daze. His family was fond of him and he was well liked by his friends. He also held the grudging admiration of his competitors. Endrickson, though he looked anything but sharp at the moment, was one of those peculiar geniuses who possesses no creative ability of his own, but who instead exhibits the rare power to marshal and direct the talents of those more gifted than himself.

At 5:30 on the evening of the 25th of Fifth Month, Endrickson moved more slowly than usual through the heavily guarded corridors of The Plant. The Plant had no name—a precaution insisted on by nervous men whose occupation it was to worry about such things—and was built into the western slope of the Andes.

As he passed the men and women and insectoid thranx who labored in The Plant, Endrickson nodded his greetings and was always gratified with respectful replies. They were all moving in the opposite direction, since the work day had ended for them. They were on their way—these many, many-talented beings—to their homes in Santiago and Lima and New Delhi and New York, as well as to the Terran thranx colonies in the Amazon basin.

One who was not yet off duty came stiffly to attention as Endrickson turned a corner in a last, shielded passageway. On seeing that the visitor was not his immediate superior—a gentleman who wore irritation, like his underwear, outside his trousers—the well-armed guard relaxed. Endrickson, he knew, was everyone’s friend.

“Hello . . . Davis,” the boss said slowly.

The man saluted, then studied him intently, disturbed at his appearance.

“Good evening, sir. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, thank you, Davis,” Endrickson replied. “I had a last-minute thought . . . won’t be long.” He seemed to be staring at something irregular and shiny that he held cupped in one palm. “Do you want to see my identity card?”

The guard smiled, processed the necessary slip of treated plastic, and admitted Endrickson to the chamber beyond which contained the shop, a vast cavern made even vaster by precision engineering and necessity. This was the heart of The Plant.

Moving with assurance, Endrickson walked down ‘the ramp to the sealed floor of the enlarged cavern, passing enormous machines, long benches, and great constructs of metal and other materials. The workshop was deserted now. It would remain so until ‘the early-morning shift came on five hours later.

One-third of the way across the floor he halted before an imposing door of dun-colored metal, the only break in a solid wall of the same material that closed off a spacious section of the cavern. Using his free hand while still staring at the thing in his other hand, he pulled out a small ring that held several metal cylinders. He selected a cylinder, pressed his thumb into the recessed area at one end of it, then inserted the other into a small hole in the door and shoved forward. A complex series of radiations was produced and absorbed by the doorway mechanism.

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