Logos Run (36 page)

But could paid agents be trusted? They were norms, after all, therefore automatically suspect. Pontho had very little choice but to trust them, however, since it was almost impossible for a phib to pass as a norm and vice versa. The mayor’s reverie came to an end as a series of beeps came in over her headset. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a male voice said respectfully, “but one of our security came in with a couple of pirates in tow.”

Pontho felt a twinge of annoyance. Couldn’t they handle anything without her? “So?”

“So, they’re somewhat unusual,” the functionary responded evenly. “And the master-at-arms wants you to participate in the interrogation.”

Pontho took a look at her wrist term. She had a million things to do. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“The pirates claim to be from another planet,” the voice added. “And they’re looking for the island of Buru.”

“
Buru?
” Pontho demanded. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell the master-at-arms that I’m on my way.”

Like most such facilities, the interrogation chamber had
dingy walls, a floor that could be hosed clean, and harsh overhead lighting. What didn’t show, was the fear that had been etched into the ceiling, walls, and tiled floor. It couldn’t be
seen
, not in the usual way, but it was real nonetheless. In fact Norr could “hear” the screams as they echoed back through the years, “feel” the hopelessness of the prisoners who had been tortured there, and even “see” one of them standing in a corner. He was crying, and judging from the thought forms that surrounded him, had been for a hundred years. But there was nothing Norr could do to help the hapless entity because both she and the runner hung suspended in midair, clasped within the embrace of a force field they couldn’t see.

Rebo tried to speak, to tell the phibs what he thought of them, but couldn’t move his lips. The guards thought that was funny and laughed. The master-at-arms stood with arms crossed over a well-muscled chest. He smiled grimly. “Save your energy, pirate. You’re going to need it.”

Norr’s attention was elsewhere. With one exception, all of their belongings were spread out on a table, where they had been repeatedly inventoried. But now, as new guards arrived, the female was about to depart with Sogol still wrapped around her arm! Would the master-at-arms approve? No, the sensitive didn’t think so, but he didn’t know. And, since Norr was unable to speak, the variant did the one thing that she could: She made an attempt to reach out with her mind.

The 9mm pistol was heavier than any object that she had ever tried to levitate, but if were she to succeed, Norr felt confident that the ensuing ruckus would be sufficient to hold the female guard for a bit longer. So in spite of the difficult circumstances—the sensitive sought to find the peaceful place within. Once there, the variant summoned all her mind-force, shaped it into an invisible pseudopod, and directed the newly formed limb over to the table. Then, having wrapped the weapon in a cocoon of psychic energy, Norr ordered it to rise. But nothing happened as the female security officer paused to say something to the burly master-at-arms, laughed as if in response to a shared joke, and turned to leave.

Desperate now, the sensitive bore down, and sent even
more
energy out into the center of the room. That was when she heard a cry of astonishment. Norr’s eyes were open, and had been throughout, but now she “looked.” Everyone in the room, master-at-arms included, stood frozen in place as the pistol floated, barrel upward, two feet above the surface of the table!

And that was the tableau that met Mayor Pontho’s eyes as she entered the chamber. “And what,” she wanted to know, “is going on here?”

The gun fell, hit the table with a loud
bang
, and fell to the floor. And, because Sogol was the only one free to answer, it was she who spoke. “My name is Logos 1.2,” the AI responded assertively, “and I need your help.”

THIRTEEN

When Sogol spoke, no one was more surprised than the
woman who had the snake-shaped AI wrapped around her left biceps. She reacted by tearing the serpent off and tossing it onto the table, where it wiggled, rolled over, and slid to a stop. And that was the point when Logos 1.2 coiled her body as if to strike and hissed.

The master-at-arms looked from the snake to the woman and back again. That was the moment when he realized that rather than turn the snake in, as the security officer was supposed to do in situations like that one, the female had been about to steal it. Even worse was the fact that the other members of her team were willing to tolerate such behavior! His jaw tightened, orders flew, and all three of the miscreants were led away.

Though not particularly interested in the details surroundingthe way in which the security officers would be disciplined, Mayor Pontho
was
interested in floating guns, talking snakes, and the prisoners suspended in front of her. Especially since they were looking for the island of Buru, a place currently occupied by a force of wings on behalf of the norms. “Release the prisoners,” she ordered. “And bring some chairs. . . . I have no idea what’s going on here—but it should be interesting to find out.”

Though not especially pleased by the manner in which the mayor had taken control of the interrogation process, the master-at-arms had no choice but to acquiesce. Ten minutes later, both Norr and Rebo were seated at the table and, much to the sensitive’s delight, were clutching mugs of tea. “Okay,” Pontho began. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? Where are you from? And why are you interested in Buru?”

Norr looked at Rebo, saw the runner shrug, and knew it was up to her. And, given the fact that Sogol had already spoken, she saw no alternative but to tell a truthful but abbreviated version of their adventures, starting on the Planet Seros and culminating in their recent arrival on Zeen.

It took more than an hour to tell the tale, and when it finally came to an end, Pontho shook her head in amazement. “That’s quite a story. . . . One that’s pretty hard to believe.

Especially the part about your snake, the so-called star gates, and our moon. But who knows? Strange tales are true at times. I will ask one of our scholars to look into the matter—and perhaps he or she will find a way to authenticate your tale. In the meantime I think it would be best to keep both you, and, ah Sogol, under lock and key.”

“No!” Norr objected. “That would be a terrible mistake! Techno Society operatives may already be on Zeen, but if they aren’t, they soon will be. And when they arrive, they will bring professional killers, metal men, and killing machines with them. Then they’ll head for Buru.”

“Wait a minute,” the mayor interrupted. “Did you say ‘killing machines’? Describe one.”

So Rebo began to describe what a raptor looked like, and was only halfway through, when the master-at-arms came to his feet. “That’s it!” he proclaimed. “That sounds like the machine that attacked our forces in Wattl!”

Pontho experienced a sudden sense of exultation mixed with an equal measure of fear. While she was glad to hear that Arbuk and his cronies weren’t in the process of building two-legged killing machines, it was clear the land-lords had a new ally, and a dangerous one at that.

For the first time, the mayor forced herself to address the snake. She felt silly, talking to what looked like a piece of jewelry, but what if the creature was
real
? What if it really could control the moon, open star gates, and whisk people from one planet to another? “So tell me, Sogol,” she said, as she made eye contact with the object in front of her, “what will happen next?”

“That depends on
you
,” the AI replied unhesitatingly. “Lonni is correct. An earlier iteration of myself entered into an alliance with the Techno Society. If allowed to do so, Logos and his human functionaries will travel to Buru, where they will enter a star gate and transfer to Socket. Once aboard the satellite, Logos 1 will reinstall himself, seize control of the star gates that remain in operation, and begin the process of reseeding the planets that were served in the past. Once that process is complete, they will
control
humanity rather than serve it. But only if you let them. . . . If you take us to the island of Buru, we will board Socket and block the Techno Society.”

“It
sounds
good,” Pontho allowed cautiously, “but here’s the problem . . . No,
two
problems. The first problem is that all we have is your word for what’s going on. Maybe you and your companions are the ones we should be worried about— and the other people are trying to chase you down.”

“What about the killing machine?” the AI countered. “And the casualties you suffered?”

“Maybe they didn’t know who we were,” the politician replied warily, “and fired in self-defense.”

“That’s a fair question,” Norr put in, “but we have a character witness. Someone you trust—and will vouch for the truth of what we say.”

Pontho lacked eyebrows, but she had large double-lidded eyes, and they widened slightly. “Really?” she inquired skeptically. “And who would that be?”

Norr’s features went slack, and Rebo looked worried as a spirit entity took control of the sensitive’s body. “Hello, honey,” a female voice said. “It’s Aunt Cyn. . . . Remember the toothfish? And how it nipped your calf when you were seven? I had a hard time explaining that one to your mother! She never let me take you outside the dome again. These people are real, hon. . . . They aren’t perfect, none of us are, but they’re trying to make things better. And remember, those who wind up in control of Socket will have the power to
move
the satellite, which would eliminate the tides.”

“The generators,” Pontho put in. “That would shut them down.”

“Exactly,” the disincarnate agreed. “So do what you can to help them. You won’t be sorry.”

Then, just as quickly as the spirit had arrived, she was gone, and Norr was in control of her body once again. The mayor appeared stricken—and tears rolled down her face. “There are sensitives on land, so I have heard of such contacts, but never experienced one myself. A toothfish took a chunk out of my leg—and I have the scar to prove it. And, since there’s no way that you could have possibly been aware of that incident, I’m inclined to believe you.

"But I told you that
two
problems stand in the way of your plan. The first has been resolved—but the second is much more difficult. The land-lords, which is to say the people who control all of the landmasses, occupy the island of Buru, which means that you won’t be able to set foot on it.”

“That’s true,” the master-at-arms allowed. “But we control the sea all around them—so it’s a standoff.”

“
Was
a standoff,” Rebo said grimly. “Things are about to change.”

It was dark outside, and rain splattered against thick glass, as the two men stood in front of a huge wall-mounted map. “The island of Buru is right
there
,” Lord Arbuk said, as he covered a tiny dot with the tip of a pudgy finger. “About seventy-five miles off the coast.”

In spite of the fact that he and his subordinates qualified as prisoners, such were the freedoms allowed them that Tepho felt rather comfortable within the nobleman’s castle-like home. Because in spite of the rude comments made about him in Wattl, Arbuk had been extremely courteous since, and the two men had a great deal in common. Both were analytical, ambitious, and completely ruthless. All of which was likely to make for a good alliance, so long as they continued to desire the same things, and there was no shortage of loot. “And you control it,” the technologist commented, as he stared at the tiny brown blob.

“Yes,” Arbuk replied honestly, “I do. The surrounding waters are a different story however. The phibs control those.”

Tepho frowned. “Then how do you transport supplies to the island?”

“Wings,” the nobleman answered laconically. “A healthy wing can fly about a hundred miles without resting, so Buru is well within their range, so long as they aren’t overburdened. And, since they grow most of their own food, my staff are quite self-sufficient.”

Logos had been listening intently and chose that moment to enter the conversation. Arbuk, who had grown accustomed to the AI by then, remained unperturbed. “What about the transfer station? Is it intact?”

“I honestly don’t know,” the land-lord replied, as he lumbered toward a massive armchair. “I’ve never been there. . . . Where is it?”

“Toward the center of the island.”

“Ah,” Arbuk replied, as he sank into the well-padded comfort of his favorite chair. “Then I think we’re in luck. . . . The wings believe that those who spend too much time in the island’s interior sicken and die. That’s superstitious nonsense of course, but variants aren’t as intelligent as we are, which makes them susceptible to ridiculous beliefs. Odds are that the transfer station is much as you left it.”

Both Tepho and Logos knew good news when it was placed in front of them. If wings who ventured in toward the center of Buru became ill, it was probably because the star gate’s power core was up and running, but neither entity saw any reason to share that piece of intelligence with the local.

“Good,” Tepho said blandly, as he stood with his back to the crackling fire. “So, given the fact that the phibs control the waters around Buru, how should we proceed?”

Arbuk had already given the matter some thought. Because if the weird little cripple and his talking shirt really could transport themselves up to the moon and reactivate a network of star gates, then he intended not only to benefit from the technology but control it. So, as the land-lord locked his hands together across the vast expanse of his belly, the essence of a plan had already been formed in his mind. “It’s dangerous to build ships in coastal towns,” the nobleman explained, “because the phibs have a tendency to come ashore and burn them.