Logan's Search (2 page)

“What do you want with me?” Logan asked them.

We have chosen you for a mission. If you accomplish it successfully, you will be released, sent back to Earth—to your woman and your son.

“Then.you know about Jessica…about Jaq?”

Of course.

“Is she aware of what’s happened to me?”

No one knows. You are free to tell them when you return
. There was a slight pause.
If you return. The chance for failure is high, since the mission is quite dangerous.

“What does it involve?”

You will replace another human from Earth. 

“For what purpose?”

Your questions will be answered after you have undergone alteration.

Logan recoiled from the thought: they were going to change him, use their technology to alter his body and personality.  A form of death.

He must escape!

Escape!
The alien voice seemed to mock him.
There is absolutely no escape from us. Surely you realize how totally unrealistic such a concept is in these circumstances?

Logan nodded wearily. Again, they were right. There was no escape. He would do exactly as they bade him.

He would accept alteration.

A transfer machine will take you to our mothercraft, where you will proceed through the alteration process.

Logan blinked. “Then—this isn’t your ship?”

Only one of our smaller drones, equipped to enter your atmosphere.

Small! Logan had been amazed at the gigantic size of the craft. What must the mothership be like? 

You will soon see for yourself.

And the sun-bright beings flowed back through the wall. Their radiance was gone. The crystal reshaped itself.

The cone lifted away from his body.

And Logan was alone once more in humming darkness.

The transfer machine that came for Logan resembled a large, highly glossed seashell from the beaches of Earth. The forward section of its opalescent shell-surface folded back—and Logan settled warily into an organic passenger seat that molded itself to the contours of his body.

The shell sealed itself around him and glided into silent motion, moving smoothly through an exit port and along a narrow tongue of metal that linked the drone to the mothership.

Although Logan was completely encased within the machine, he had a clear field of vision through its transparent forward surface—and the effect was awesome.

Indeed, the drone craft was minuscule in comparison to its great mother. The titan’s subtly curved interior seemed limitless, rolling above and below Logan for miles—a metallic world of shining alien substance far beyond human engineering.

They moved faster.

As the shell’s momentum continued to build, outside details coalesced into a swift blur of silver gray. They were now rushing through this mammoth, hollow world at mind-numbing velocity.

Logan closed his eyes…experienced dizziness…nausea.In the violent onslaught of speed his body was thrust inexorably back into the contoured seat; he was assaulted by forces that threatened to burst his bones, sunder his flesh.

Relief came in the form of a cool needle-stab, rendering him instantly unconscious.

When he awoke, the alteration process had been painlessly completed.

Logan sat up on the ship’s medtable. He was wearing the black uniform of a Sandman.

Behind their protective wall of shimmering crystals, the three alien light-forms pulsed and merged, sending their words into Logan’s newly awakened mind:
You are displeased, Logan?

Because the crystal wall muted their radiance, Logan was able to look directly at his captors without shielding his eyes. They were like miniature suns, flickering cores of flame, without solid form.

“You didn’t tell me I was replacing a Sandman,” he said. “The system’s dead. This uniform is meaningless now on Earth.”

Not where you go.

“The Thinker’s dead, and the world is free,” declared Logan. “The Sandmen are finished.” 

Same reply:
Not where you go.

Logan was confused; he reached up to finger the bones of his chin.his cheeks and forehead…seeking the new shape of flesh. But it was impossible to tell what they had done to him.

“Who am I? I want to see myself. A mirror—do you have one?”

In the adjoining chamber.

To Logan’s right, a tall silver slidepanel whispered back. 

Your mirror is there.

Logan entered the chamber, the panel sliding closed behind him. He stood in total darkness, nervous and uncertain.

What would he see? Whose face did he wear? Would it be a Sandman he’d known at DS Headquarters?

A sudden pillar of light. Inside the pillar, suspended between floor and ceiling and supported by clusters of floating diamonds, was the naked figure of a sleeping man.

Logan moved closer to stare in silent shock at the Earthman he was to replace.

Your mirror, Logan 3.

He was staring at himself!

Logan slowly circled the figure. “Is this…some kind of robot?” 

He is quite real. A human of flesh and blood, as you are.

Logan studied the face of the sleeping man: his own. The hands: his own. The body: his own. Hair, mouth, curvature of cheek and chin: his own.

“You’ve altered another man to look exactly like me!”

The reverse is true
, the aliens told him.
We have altered you to look exactly like him. Since he is over a decade younger than you, we had to erase certain lines in your face, subtly rework your body flesh, alter the pores of your fingers to match his. Now the two of you are identical.

The pillar gradually dimmed as the Logan mirror-figure dissolved in a soft flicker of diamonds. Fading…gone…swallowed in blackness.

The silver wallpanel once again hushed open behind Logan, and he walked numbly back into the medchamber.

He faced the aliens.

It was necessary for you
to
see him in order to understand your mission.

Logan’s jaw was hard-set; he glared at the flickering flame shapes. “Damn you! What kind of trick is this?”

No trick, Logan. The man you saw is a younger version of yourself. 

“Version?”

From another Earth. A parallel world, in which Sandmen still pursue runners. On that world he was fanatically loyal to the system of computer-directed death at twenty-one—the same system you helped end forever on your own planet.

Logan felt himself caught in a dream from which he could not wake—yet he knew this was no dream. It was real. It was all actually happening to him. To maintain his base of emotional sanity, he had to keep telling himself this, over and over. No dream…no dream.

From the wall, a shapechair appeared.

Sit down, Logan. Watch what we show you. Watch—and listen.

Without choice, Logan obeyed. The chair shaped itself around him as the room darkened.

Holographic images materialized: an emerald universe of endless depth. Like a mute god, Logan sat surrounded by an infinity of stars and planets, silver-dusted galaxies, exploding nebulae.

The cool, emotionless voice of the aliens entered his mind:
Each planet in universal space is paralleled by many other near-identical worlds. We are concerned in monitoring certain of these alternate worlds, utilizing basic vibrations in the space-time continuum to effect a passage from one world to another on a direct line. This direct line limits our activities and knowledge on any given world.

“Just what does that mean?”

It means we cannot enter the past or future of any world. We can monitor them only in their current, present-time status.

As the aliens spoke, their words were enhanced for Logan within the holographic universe. A tiny craft, representing the alien starship, hovered above a twin solar system on a direct line between two Earths. The configurations of the planets were identical.

With the elimination of a computerized death system, your Earth has now stabilized. It is this second planet that now concerns us. We know that some thing—or someone—controls its world-computer programming. A dark force, possibly supernatural, guides the system.

One of the two tiny Earths darkened, as if denied the light of the sun.

This dark force must be rooted out and destroyed. We feel that you are uniquely qualified for this mission. For you, it will be much like a time trip—a return to your yesterdays.

Now the holographic show was over. The images died.

Logan swung back to face the aliens.

We sense confusion. You have many questions. Ask them.

“I’m just one man. How can I change a world?”

You changed your own.

“I don’t see the logic of this. With the powers you possess, why not simply brainwash the other me and send him back to change his own planet?”

Our powers are limited. We have no way of effectively overcoming young Logan’s lifelong conditioning. You must take his place.

“And do exactly what?”

Prior to our removing him, young Logan had been preparing for a ritual known as Godbirth, which for certain Sandmen of high rank is an alternative to Deep Sleep. We think that through Godbirth you will be able to penetrate the planet’s central power base.

“Will I be given any special weapons?”

No weapons. But, since there appears to be a form of indoctrination connected with this ritual, we have provided mental shielding. You are now immune to any mind technique they may attempt to employ.

Logan found the concept of a double world hard to assimilate: the same, yet not the same. 

“Is there a Ballard on this Earth?”

Ballard does not exist. No Sanctuary Line. No base in Washington. No escape rockets at Cape Steinbeck.

“Then—there’s no Sanctuary for runners!”

A few female runners seem to have vanished, but we have not been able to determine their fate. They may still be alive somewhere on the planet. There is much we do not know.

“What of Francis? If Ballard does not exist—”

Each world has its own structure, Logan. Francis is very real on this world, a key Sandman, a Master of the Gun. He has also been selected for Godbirth, and will accompany you through the ritual.

“But as a fanatic to the system, won’t he be dangerous?”

Not at first. He is young Logan’s best friend. Thus, he will trust you. Eventually, of course, you will have to kill him.

“And just what becomes of young Logan?”

We shall return him safely to his world as we shall return you to yours. But only if your mission is a success. His life, therefore, depends on you.

Logan’s emotions toward his duplicate were mixed: he didn’t want to be responsible for the death of this young man. He would, in effect, be killing himself. Yet, face to face, one would be forced to destroy the other, runner against Sandman. A paradox, the two of them—exactly the same, yet so different. Literally, worlds apart.

New questions kept crowding into Logan’s mind; there was so much he needed to know. Was there another Jessica on this new Earth? Would she recognize him?

The reply came instantly:
She exists. But Jessica and Logan have never met. Your strong emotional ties to your own Jessica make it imperative that you avoid contact. Keep away from her. Jessica need not concern you—and is no part of your mission.

“How do I contact you from this new Earth?”

Contact will not be possible.

“You mean, I can’t—”

We never leave this environment. We were always here. We will always be here.
 

The enigmatic reply failed to satisfy Logan.

“But what if I need help?”

A man named Kirov 2, who works at CenControl in Moscow, may be able to assist you in case of emergency. There is no one else.

“What about the place and time of my pickup if I succeed?” 

Leave this to us. A hesitation. There is a limitation.

“Yes?”

We have no control over the spatial time shift that dictates the reality phase of the two planets. Eventually, these parallel worlds will cease to exist on the same cosmic plane. We cannot maintain our dual-world position indefinitely.

“How long?”

Fourteen Earthdays. If you have not exposed and destroyed the planet’s power source within this period, we will be forced to abandon you.

“Impossible!” raged Logan. “It took years to destroy the Thinker…I don’t even know who or what I’m searching for!”

Fourteen days, Logan.

And a rolling, milky substance, like white smoke, began to fill the chamber. The aliens faded…the walls rippled…Logan felt himself losing consciousness.

He was on an endless chute, plunging down…down…and down.

To another life.

To another Earth.

New California.

A full-moon summer midnight in the swarming sprawl of the Angeles Complex. And, within the life swarm:

A glasshouse, where citizens seek voyeuristic sexual release in the rainbow-tinted night…

A hallucimill, dispensing dream-lifts to the jaded.

A nursery, with its robot tended rows of hypno-sleeping children.

Sleepshops, where silver darts deliver oblivion to those whose Lastday has ended.

DS Headquarters, a hive of black-garbed Sandmen, intent on their death-duty to the system.

Arcade, a fire-dazzle of blazing lights and frenzied pleasure.

The maze, with its swift, deep-tunnel beetle cars converging from a thousand major cities of the world…

And in the heart of the midnight city, in one of the glittering boxbeam lifeunits, an off-duty Sandman stirs to the sensual play of soft fingers caressing the skin of his chest…