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downward. One smooth hand came up and slapped Flinx’s palm. Flinx drew his hand back sharply, more surprised than hurt. As if in admonition, another hand came around and slapped at the one which had struck Flinx. Apparently enchanted, the alien commenced slapping its four palms together, entirely ignoring Flinx.
    The alien palm had been hard, flat, and cool to the touch.
    The owner was speaking again. “Ab will eat just about anything except,” he finished with a smile, “me and thee.” Rising, he walked up to Ab and booted the creature hard. It ceased slapping itself and resumed mumbling steadily, like an idling engine. “C’mon, sit down for a while, you stupid monstrosity.”
    Showing no sign of pain, Ab sat down on the ground and began cleaning its feet with all four hands. In that position it looked like a demented triclops trying to pull its toes off. Again Flinx found himself grinning unintentionally.
    “Have to do that when I’m not watchin’ ‘im,” the man explained, “or he’ll wander off.”
    “I can see why you use Ab in a comedy act,” Flinx observed readily. “What I can’t understand is why anyone, least of all a Qwarm, would want to kill it.”
    At the mention of the assassin clan the trainer lost his composure, his emerging friendliness, and most of the color in his face.
    “Qwarm?” he stammered.
    “Two of them,” Flinx elaborated. He nearly turned and indicated the building with its window facing on the stage. Then he thought better of it. “I don’t know why they changed their minds,” he lied, “but I know for a fact that they want your pet dead.”
    “Qwarm?” the man repeated. At that moment, Ab appeared to be the more balanced of the two. Looking around frantically, the man grabbed a small black satchel. A couple of coins fell from a half-open pocket. He ignored them.
    “You train aliens too?” he bleated hurriedly. “Good. He’s all yours now, boy.”
    “Wait a minute!” Flinx protested. Things were happening too quickly again. “I don’t want to—”
    “ ‘Bye and luck to you, boy!” the man shouted back to him. He put out a hand, vaulted a nearby railing, and vanished on the run into the milling crowd nearby.
    “Hey, hold on!” Flinx shouted, rushing to the railing. “Come back, I can’t take care of—”
    There was a tentative honk from behind. Flinx turned and saw Ab staring blankly at him while mumbling steadily. When he turned back to the crowd, the trainer was out of sight, though his terror still lingered like the scent of cloves.
    Flinx stared over and down at the striped blue alien. “Now what am I going to do with you?” The fix he now found himself in was his own fault, of course. If he had taken care not to mention the Qwarm by name . . . Well, no matter now. He started to walk away. A fresh, louder honk stopped him.
    Ab had stood up and was following Flinx. At the sight of that utterly open, helpless face, Flinx’s coldness shattered. Whatever else he did he couldn’t leave the poor thing alone. It would probably remain where it was, cleaning itself, until someone took charge of it or it starved to death.
    Served him right. He had started the day in an attempt to find out something about himself. Instead, he’d killed two Qwarm and acquired an alien simpleton by default.
    “I can’t keep you,” he told the bubbling creature, “but we’ll find a place for you as quickly as possible.” One big eye blinked disarmingly at him.
    “Mur’til hurtill?” he sang.
    “Yeah, come on,” Flinx instructed. “I’m going to finish the day the way I should have started it.” He started off; a glance behind showed the creature following dutifully, weaving on its four legs. Spouting sing-song nonsense, it trailed Flinx through the crowd, apparently as happy with its present master as it had been with the former one.
    Flinx was not happy with the stares his strange companion drew, but there was nothing that could be done about it. As soon as