Logan Trilogy (26 page)

The Missouri River rolled below him, brown and sluggish. A few speedtugs, a private sailjet or two, otherwise the river was undisturbed. It didn't worry about runners or callboxes or backups or devilsticks or Sleep. Old Man River…just keeps rolling along.

Logan had been correct in his calculations. He spotted the stolen paravane just past Jefferson. Moving at full bladepower.

The runner saw Logan bearing in, swung his ship to face the new threat.

He's bringing up the Fuser! Time to show him what you can do with a stick.

The runner fired.

And missed.

And fired again.

Logan was a sun-dazzled dragonfly—darting, dipping, swooping erratically. An impossible target.

He unholstered the Gun.

The paravane rushed at him.

Logan had the charge set at nitro. Now!

The runner and his ship erupted into gouting, blue-white flame. The stricken craft tipped over and down, diving into Missouri earth with a roar.

Logan brought the stick in, dismounted, checked the runner. Nothing left of him but his right arm and hand, jutting grotesquely out of the flame-charred control pod.

Centered in his palm: a black flower.

"Any change?" asked Lacy.

"He's worse," said Stile. "Into severe muscle convulsions. Skincount's up. And his heart is taking a beating."

"He can't go on, then?"

"He's a hard man," Stile said. "He might surprise you."

They were waiting at Darkside, where their rocket was being readied for the jump to Argos—and Logan held Jessica close, telling her how much he loved her, telling her he'd never known that it was possible to experience such intense emotion, such care-bonding.

"We're free now," she told him. "We can live without fear, build a life together, raise children, be thirty, forty, fifty…"

He smiled, touched at her hair. God, but she was lovely!

"I want a son," he told her.

"We'll have him," she said, squeezing Logan's hand.

"And he'll have children of his own…and we'll be…what did they call them?"

"Grandparents," she said. "Grandma and Grandpa,"

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "That's hard to believe, to accept. No dreams. No fantasies. A real life ahead of us on Argos."

"Ballard said it wouldn't be easy there," she reminded him. Her eyes clouded "I wish—"

"What?"

"—that Ballard could have come with us. We need a man like that on Argos."

"He's needed more on Earth," said Logan. "To handle the Sanctuary Line. To help more runners."

"I know," she nodded. "We owe him our lives."

"Everybody here owes him the same debt," said Logan.

And, touching, they stared out beyond the port, at the chalked, lifeless horizon of the Moon.

When Jaq was five Logan and Jess gave him a special party. Only the spaceborn were invited—those who had been conceived on Argos and who, like Jaq, had never known their mother planet.

Logan told the children about Earthgames he'd played in Nursery, about vibroballs and teeter-swings and talk puppets. It seemed they could never hear enough about Earth.

"Were there really Sandmen who chased you?" asked a girl of six.

Logan nodded.

"And were the Sandmen really bad?" asked the little girl.

"Yes," said Logan. "But they were taught to be. Some of them changed…They didn't all stay bad."

"You were one, weren't you?" asked a ten-year-old, eyes alight.

"I was one," admitted Logan.

"And were you bad?"

"For awhile."

"No!" screamed little Jaq, running across the chamber to his father, hugging him fiercely. "Logan was never bad!"

The boy was sobbing.

Jessica came to them, held them both. She kissed Logan's cheek.

In the sudden, strained silence a six-year-old tugged at Logan's wrist.

"Can we play now? Can we?"

"He's calmer," said Stile. "Relaxed. Almost tranquil. His mind seems to have found what it was looking for. He's in very deep."

Lacy looked pensive. "What do you think a Sandman's Gun would bring on the Market?"

"A great deal. But it would have to be de-fused, the pore-pattern detonation device neutralized."

"Can that be done?"

"It can be. It's a very delicate procedure."

She paced the room, thinking.

"He'll never trade or sell the Gun," said Stile.

"I know," she said. "It won't be possible to negotiate with him." She stopped, looked directly at Stile.

"We'll have to kill him."

OUT

Sprawled face-down across the mat, deep in his mental dreamworld with Jessica and Jaq, Logan was not aware that the room had changed, that something was being added to the atmosphere. From a small opening under the door a colorless substance was being piped into the chamber.

Tetrahyde. Toxic and totally effective on human body tissue. Once absorbed into the lungs, it destroyed them with deadly efficiency.

Logan breathed in…breathed out…breathed in…

He had exactly ten more minutes of life.

Logan, Logan, do you hear me?

I…hear you.

You are in great danger. You must come out!

No. Here with Jessica…with Jaq.

Listen to me, Logan. It's Dia.

How? How did you find me?

Jonath. When you didn't return to the camp he sent word to me. He knew no one else could reach you.

Where are you now?

Close to you. Close to the Giant. I knew they'd never let me see you—so I'm sending my mind to you, my thoughts…You must come out to me!

No. Won't come out.

They're killing you, Logan.

Not true. They help me, give me water…

All that's over. The woman, Lacy, she has made up her mind to take the Gun. I know her thoughts…

she wills you dead. Poison is in the air. You must come out, now! I'll help you…our two minds, together…Only minutes remain!

Logan willed his body to fight the drug—and Dia linked her mind to his; the images inside Logan's head began to mix, break up…

…and Jessica was…

the Loveroom, and "Mother loves you," said Ballard…

who was Francis, who was…Jaq, only five,

but already he…

kissed her deeply, knowing they were never going to…

Harder! Try harder, Logan!

Trying. Can't. No use.

Fight! Break free!

…because Box was…in the cave…falling…

and love was…falling…

everything was falling…No. Too deep…too far in…

But you're doing it…we're doing it together…you're almost…

…out!

Logan blinked stupidly; his head pounded—as if a thousand hot needles had been driven into his skull.

Only a few seconds left! Use the Gun, Logan! Use it!

Logan fumbled dizzily at his belt holster, his nostrils filled with the acid odor of Tetrahyde…The gas was upon him. He held his breath, pulled the Gun free…

Fired.

The nitro charge exploded the door from its hinge-locks, flooding the liftroom with fresh air.

Logan staggered to his feet, plowed across the mat toward the gaping exit.

Where are you, Dia?

Outside. On the street just below the Giant. You'll see me.

I'll be there. Soon.

Stile was in the corridor, running toward Logan, a weapon in his hand.

Gun on ripper.

Logan fired, tearing him apart.

Lacy saw this, darted back into her chambers. The firebirds cawed and fluttered.

Gaining strength by the second, Logan swept past her, reached the outside door, raced for the roofport.

Behind him, Lacy was screaming: "Stop him! Stop—"

Three guards tried to—without success. Logan chopped them aside with blows from Gun and body.

Lacy appeared in the roof door, Fuser in hand, firing as Logan reached his paravane. Her first beam-blast sheared away a section of alum sheeting next to Logan's head.

He swung bitterly toward her, triggered the Gun, on tangler.

The swift whirl of steelmesh filament engulfed her and she fell back, clawing at the choking, constricting coils of metal.

Dia was not alone when Logan reached her. The man from the Wilderness camp who had flown her to New York was there.

"How did you find another paravane?" Logan asked him.

"There are still a few around," the man told him. "Found this one in West Virginia. She needed a new gyrounit, but she's fine now."

"Tell Jonath how grateful I am," said Logan.

"He'll be glad to hear you're all right."

Thanks to you
, Logan thought, looking at Dia.

And she smiled at him.

"Will you be following me back?" the man asked Logan.

No. We're going west. Together.

"No," said Logan. "We'll be going west."

The two men shook hands. "Good trip," said Logan. With Dia, he watched the ship fade into night sky.

Where now
? asked Logan.
 
How far west
?

All the way to the Coast
, she told him, sitting beside him in the humming paravane. The New York Territory unrolled below them, night-black and massive.

I want to take you home, Logan
. She smiled, her hands touching gently at the planes of his face.
 
West, to
 
my home
.

As heat is felt on skin, Logan felt the passion radiating from her mind.

He owed her his life, but could he give her something more than gratitude? Was he capable, now, of a greater commitment to her?

Logan wasn't sure.

He would know when the time for knowing was at hand.

EYES

Liath was waiting for them on the shore.

Before he saw her, Logan received her warm thoughts, reaching into the sky to greet him: 
Welcome,
 
Logan…Welcome to our home
!

The paravane, sweeping over her, whipped Liath's long hair in a silver halo around her delicately-sculptured face and neck. The smokegown she wore billowed up in a swirl of mistsilks, revealing a lithe, cat-muscled body. She waved happily at them.

Is she not beautiful
?
 
Yes—as you are, Dia
.

Logan set down in the sand at the ocean's edge. The Pacific lifted sleeves of bluegreen lace and spilled them at their feet as Dia and Logan climbed free of the ship.

The two sisters embraced, holding one another tightly.

There was no hesitation in their movements, no blind fumbling—yet they were sightless!

No, we see, Logan
.

And with a clarity much greater than yours
.

You steal my thoughts
!

Both girls smiled, a double radiance. It was early morning and the sun made a bronze shield of the ocean; the sky was newly-washed with wind, and flowed like another iron blue sea, free of clouds, to the horizon. The sharp odors of brine and kelp reached Logan, mixed with the cry of an overhead gull, circling and curious.

Liath took Logan's hand.
 
I am glad you are safe
, she told him.

Your sister…She reached me when no one else could
.

They walked along the wet sand.

Dia took Logan's other hand, and the sisters guided him inland, toward a rising cliff of pink coral.

Our home
, nodded Dia.

Our castle
! enthused Liath.

It was literally that: an immense castle of fibrous pink-and-white coral rising sheer from the sand. Sun spangled its daggered edges.

Careful…Walk where we walk
, warned Dia.
 
The coral is very sharp
.

Logan followed them along a path of beaten stone which wound up into the depths of the structure.

They emerged, finally, into a wide, sun-splashed chamber, lined with thick, tufted flowcloth. Here every coral edge was softened by resilient layers of cloth, by pillowrugs and foamcushions.

Watch
!

Delightedly, Liath skipped across the room to a large, coral-crystal pillar. She placed her hand on the pillar and, slowly, a series of silver curtains hushed down from the ceiling, forming a protective tenting over their heads.

These are weather shells
, Dia told him.
 
We are not like father. Our skin grows cold at night. They protect us
 
from wind and fog
.