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%20Mother-Not.txt (38 of 96) [1/16/03 6:42:13 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Foster,%20Alan%20Dean%20-%20Flinx%201%20-%
20For%20Love%20of%20Mother-Not.txt claws the length of Flinx's own fingers.
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The slim, brown-and-black-striped body was built low to the ground. It spent
the majority of its life burrowing, searching out other, herbivorous
burrowers, but it occasionally would erupt from its hole in an attempt to snag
and drag down some larger prey.
The critter had evidently mistaken the comparatively light footsteps of the
stupava for those of a much smaller animal. The bird squawked and wrenched at
its reins while Flinx fought to bring it under control. At its master's surge
of alarm. Pip had instantly leaped clear and now hovered menacingly over the
occupied burrow.
The squook favored the minidrag with an impressive snarl but could only glare
at its airborne nemesis. Though the riding bird was clearly afraid of it, the
squook still had a healthy respect for the bird's long, powerfully muscled
legs. Still, if it could just get its teeth around one of those legs, it could
bring the large meal to the ground.
But it wasn't so sure about the human perched on the bird's back. Though
uncommon thereabouts, humans were not unknown to the inhabitants of that part
of the great forest. A squook could kill a human, but the reverse was also
true. And then there was that peculiar and utterly unfamiliar humming thing
that darted through the air overhead. That made three opponents, one alien
and unpredictable, the other two potentially dangerous. Letting out a last,
disgruntled snarl, the squook backed into its burrow and expanded to fill the
opening. With only its muzzle showing, it sat there and set up a steady
warning bark.
Flinx finally got the stupava back under control and urged it forward. The
angry calls of the squook receded slowly behind him.
There had been no real danger, he thought. On the other hand, if he had lost
his saddle and fallen off-he recalled clearly the long, toothy snout of the
carnivore and watched the forest with more respect.
Nothing else emerged to menace them. They encountered nothing larger than the
many soaring rodents which Inhabited that part of the forest. Pip amused
itself by flying circles around them, for they were natural gliders rather
than true fliers. They could do nothing but squeak angrily at the intruder as
it executed intricate aerial maneuvers in their midst. Those that chattered
and complained the loudest, the flying snake selected for lunch.
"That's enough. Pip," Flinx called out to the gallivanting minidrag one day.
"Leave them alone and get down here." Responding to the urgency of its
master's mind, the flying snake stopped tormenting the flying rodents and
zipped down to wrap itself gently around Flinx's neck.
The inn they were approaching was one of hundreds that formed an informal
backwoods network in the uninhabited parts of the vast forests. Such
establishments provided temporary home to hardwood merchants and cutters,
sightseers, fishermen and hunters, prospectors, and other nomadic types.
There were more inns than a casual observer might expect to find because there
were more nomads.
They liked the endless forest. The trees concealed many people and a
comparable quantity of sin.
Flinx tethered the stupava in the animal compound, next to a pair of muccax.
The inn door sensed his presence and slid aside, admitting him. Smoke rose
from a central chimney, but the stone fireplace was more for atmosphere than
for heating. The latter was handled by thermal coils running beneath the inn
floors. Many of the structures dotting the forest were rustic only in
appearance, their innards as modem in design and construction as the
shuttleport outside Drallar.
The offworlder tourists who came to Moth to sample the delights of its
wilderness generally liked their rough accommodations the same as their
liquor: neat.
"Hello." The innkeeper was only a few years older than Flinx. "You're out by
yourself?" He glanc'ed at Pip. "That's an interesting pet you have."
"Thanks," Flinx said absently, ignoring the first comment. "What time do you
serve midday meal?"
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He looked longingly toward the nearby dining room, calculating what remained
on his credcard. At the present rate, he would starve before he could catch up
to his quarry.
"You don't want a room, then?"
"No, thanks." He would sleep in a tube tent in the forest, as usual.
Exhaustion made him sleep as soundly these days as any soft bed.
"What about your animal?" The innkeeper gestured toward the animal compound
outside.
"He'll be all right."
The young innkeeper looked indifferent. A pleasant enough sort, Flinx thought,
but sheltered-like so many of his potential friends back in Drallar.
"You can get a meal here anytime. We're all autoserve here. This isn't a fancy
place. We can't afford a live kitchen."
"The machines will be fine for me," Flinx told him. He walked through the
entry area and on into the dining room. Other people were already seated
about, enjoying their food. There was a young
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