"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 10 - Sliding Scales" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Flinx 10 – Sliding Scales
Alan Dean Foster

Chapter One


I am in danger of becoming permanently, irrevocably, and unrescuably moody, Flinx found himself
thinking. He knew unrescuably wasn’t a word, but the mangled syntax fit his melancholic state of
mind. Forced to leave a badly injured Clarity Held behind on New Riviera in the care of Bran Tse-
Mallory and Truzenzuzex, pursued now by a newly revealed clutch of fatalistic end-of-the-universe
fanatics who called themselves the Order of Null (whose existence he might be responsible for),
sought by Commonwealth authorities and others for reasons multifarious and diverse, he could be
forgiven for sinking into a mood as black as the space that enveloped the Teacher.

Sensing his mood, Pip did what she could to cheer him. The flying snake whizzed effortlessly among
the garden and fountains of the lounge, occasionally darting out from behind leaves or bushes in an
attempt to startle her master—or at least rouse him from the lethargy that had settled on his soul ever
since their forced flight from Nur. Recognizing the effort she was making on his behalf, he smiled and
stroked her. But he could no more hide his frame of mind from the empathetic minidrag than he could
from himself. Emotionally, she knew him better than anyone, Clarity Held included.

Clarity, Clarity, Clarity, he murmured softly to himself. When will I be able to see you again? After
years of wandering, to have finally found someone he felt truly understood him and he might be able to
spend the rest of his life with only to lose so soon was almost more than he could bear. Instead of
having her to comfort him, he had agreed to spend who knew how long and how much precious time
searching for an ancient weapons platform fabricated by an extinct race that might not even prove
useful or usable in diverting an oncoming peril of incalculable dimensions and intent.

If that wasn’t enough to depress someone, he could not imagine what was. At least his recurring
headaches had not bothered him for a while.

Even some of the live plants in the relaxation chamber seemed to sense his melancholy, brushing his
seated form with branches and flowers. The exotic scents of several blossoms refreshed but did not
inspire him. The striking foliage could touch, even caress, but could not converse. That ability
remained the province of the Teacher’s ship-mind. To its credit, in its limited, formalized, electron-
shunting fashion, it tried to help.

“My medical programming informs me that extended periods of depression can affect the health of a
human as seriously as a bacterial infection.”

“Go infect yourself,” Flinx snapped irritably.

“It also,” the ship continued briskly, “is detrimental to the well-being of any unlucky sentiences who
are compelled to function in the vicinity of the one so depressed.”

Slumped in the lounge chair, Flinx glanced sideways in the direction of the nearest visual pickup. “Are
you saying that my mood is contagious?”

“I am saying that anything that affects you also affects me. Your continuing mental condition is not
conducive to the efficient functioning of this vessel.”