Unlikely duo Pip and Flinx return to right another wrong in this all-new sci-fi adventure from one of the genre’s living legends. Fans of fun, fast-paced, imaginative science fiction adventure, rejoice! #1 New York Times bestselling author Alan Dean Foster returns to his much-loved Commonwealth series with a new novel starring the indefatigable Flinx and his venomous minidrag, Pip. Facing danger and doing good is their business . . . provided the price is right. The unexpected return of an old friend draws Flinx and Pip to the backward planet of Largess, whose seal-like denizens’ primitive technology and fractious clan politics have kept a wary Commonwealth from a profitable trade relationship. But now a rogue human employing forbidden advanced weaponry threatens to ignite a war among the Larians. And Flinx is just the man to stop it before it starts. But once on Largess, Flinx discovers that his empathic abilities—usually his greatest asset—are rendered useless by the natives’ unique language, which is sung rather than spoken. Worse, the abduction of a powerful chieftain’s daughter has raised tensions to the boiling point. Now Flinx must depend on his own mettle—and of course Pip, the devoted minidrag with the deadly edge—to right wrongs, mend fences, and battle a cold-blooded adversary armed with enough firepower to blow them all away . . . and destroy the chance for peace in Largess forever. Advance praise for Strange Music “Adventure-loving readers new to the series, as well as old fans, will enjoy [Alan Dean] Foster’s return to Commonwealth space.” — Publishers Weekly Advance praise for Strange Music “Adventure-loving readers new to the series, as well as old fans, will enjoy [Alan Dean] Foster’s return to Commonwealth space.” — Publishers Weekly Alan Dean Foster has written in a variety of genres, including hard science fiction, fantasy, horror, detective, western, historical, and contemporary fiction. He is the author of several New York Times bestsellers and the popular Pip & Flinx novels, as well as novelizations of numerous films, including Transformers, Star Wars, the first three Alien films, and the most recent one, Alien: Covenant . Foster and his wife, JoAnn Oxley, live in Prescott, Arizona, in a house built of brick that was salvaged from an early-twentieth-century miners’ brothel. He is currently at work on several new novels and media projects. “There’s a whale here to see you.”
   The pale pink sunsuit covered Clarity Held from neck to feet. Lighter than gossamer, it was akin to wearing a moderate blush. Photosensitive, it did what was necessary to allow the body to produce vitamin D while simultaneously preventing the wearer’s epidermis from burning. Brilliant as the work of any jeweler, the slender emerald coils of the dozing Alaspinian minidrag Scrap lay draped around her neck.
   Though Flinx wore a similar suit for similar reasons, his was all but transparent. As his olive-hued skin was much darker than Clarity’s, he required proportionately less protection from Cachalot’s burning tropical sun. The bright yellow star beamed down through a smattering of scattered cumulus that hung like cotton in a baby-blue sky.
   Though there was some moderate wave action beneath them, it did not jostle the platform that sustained their home. Hydrophobic construction materials kept it sufficiently elevated so that only the occasional breaking crest splashed against the underside. Small high-efficiency wave generators moored aft of their residence combined with solar coatings and energy storage to provide ample power for their needs irrespective of the weather.   With a sigh Flinx set aside his imported antique fishing pole, careful not to make contact with the thumbnail-size stunbar that hung at the end of the high-test line. So far the day’s catch consisted of a pair of tubular o’otts, slick with the extruded oil that let them shoot through the tepid water, and a single migratory thamm . Not much more than a drifting brown mouth lined with electrified nodules, the thamm would be suitable only for the soup pot.   Not much of a fisherman, he told himself. Not even after living on Cachalot for a year. His risible efforts were a running joke among the local dolphins.   A brilliant crimson, blue, and green shape spiraled down to wrap itself around the hoop mast that served as a wind stabilizer for the extended dwelling. Though Pip seemed far more at home on Cachalot than any human, the truth was that to survive here she needed something only humans could provide: a dry surface. Unlike many of the Terran snakes she so closely resembled, she was not a particularly good swimmer. And her formidable arsenal of corrosive neuro- toxin was useless for defense underwater.   It served superbly for bringing down native aerial lifeforms, however.   Squinting at the mast, Flinx saw that she had caught a wispl . Little more than airborne fragments of netting with ey