Logos Run (7 page)

Just to the rear of the cranes was an extremely busy thoroughfare that the cart men used to transport newly arrived goods, even as hundreds of people swirled around them. There were red hats, black hats, bakers, soldiers, scribes, metalsmiths, townspeople, tailors, heavies, herbalists, and gangs of schoolchildren all weaving a transitory tapestry of thought, language, and color. It made for a heady atmosphere and one which Norr, who rarely got a chance to spend time with Rebo, enjoyed. Because right then, as the couple strolled hand in hand, they could interact in a way that just wasn’t possible when others were around.

Having entered the market proper, Rebo and Norr found themselves following one of two dozen aisles that converged on the center of the pie-shaped floor plan. That was where all of the food vendors were forced to gather so that their smoke could be channeled up through a single hole at the center of the domed roof. The odors of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and brewed caf combined to make Rebo’s stomach growl. But it was too early for lunch—and there was work to do. “The first thing we need is a gunsmith,” the runner mused, as they paused at an intersection. “It will take them time to crank out five hundred rounds—so the sooner they get going the better.”

“That makes sense,” Norr agreed. “Then we’ll shop for fuel, dried food, and personal items.”

And so it was agreed. It took half an hour to find a gun-smith who could perform the work to Rebo’s specifications plus an hour to gather up the other items they needed. And it was then, while Norr was waiting for the runner to return from a consultation with a Ju-Ju master, that Norr ran into the old crone. She was a sensitive by the look of her, albeit an ancient one, who told fortunes for a living. Her booth consisted of little more than panels of blue cloth stretched over a wood frame. She had straggly white hair and, judging from the wrinkled skin that hung around her face, had once been heavier than she was now. Cataracts clouded her eyes, but her second sight remained clear, and she could sense the young woman’s presence. “Come over here, dear. I won’t hurt you,” the old woman said reassuringly. “Even though there are others who would!”

Norr felt sorry for the seer and found the last statement to be intriguing. “Here,” the sensitive said, as she pressed a coin into the oldster’s palm. “Tell me more.”

The contact caused the old crone to cock her head to one side and frown. “What is this?” she demanded. “Some sort of trick? You have the gift . . . Tell your own fortune.”

“No,” Norr replied gently as she took her place on the low stool that fronted the oldster’s well-worn chair. “You know what they say . . . The seer who looks to his own future is blind.”

“What you say is true,” the older sensitive replied, as she revealed some badly decayed teeth. “And I know what it is to be blind! Give me your hand.”

Norr reached out to take the fortune-teller’s hand. It was extremely warm. “Ah,” the old woman said knowingly. “You are but halfway through a long journey . . . and the greatest dangers lie ahead.”

“What sort of dangers?”

“Beware of the thief,” the seer cautioned importantly. “Lest you lose that which is most precious.”

Norr nodded. “Go on.”

“There will be a battle,” the other woman predicted. “And when it comes you must seek that which you already have.”

While the first message seemed like an obvious reference to Logos, the second didn’t make any sense at all, but Norr was polite nonetheless. “Thank you,” the younger sensitive replied. “I will keep that in mind.”

“And there’s something more,” the fortune-teller added, her eyes seemingly focused on something Norr couldn’t see.

“Yes?”

“An angel is watching over you. A
dark
angel but an angel nonetheless. There is a momentary alignment between you. It cannot last but could be helpful in the short run. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Norr replied. “It doesn’t . . . Not right now. But perhaps later it will.”

The reading came to an end shortly after that, Norr went to lunch with Rebo, and a metal man followed the couple back to the guildhall.

The spaceport, or what
had
been the spaceport, had been
transformed into a huge crater some 4,216 years earlier, when an ark ship crashed there. Most of the ship’s hull had been salvaged and converted into tools, implements, and construction materials that were still being recycled and used. But a few pieces of riblike metal continued to curve up toward the sky and harkened back to days only dimly remembered. A sobering reminder of what could happen to those who traveled among the stars. But that didn’t stop thousands of runners, merchants, thieves, holy men, assassins, romantics, con artists, scholars, and lunatics of every possible description from gambling their lives each year. A fact made apparent by the long column of heavily burdened people who wound their way down out of the elevated city of Tryst to follow a narrow footpath out toward the crater.

Of course, some of the people were spectators, children in tow, who would return to their homes by nightfall. But those who wore packs, or carried bundles between them, were intent on boarding the shuttle if it landed. Those who were veteran travelers, individuals like Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles, carried just what they needed, while neophytes had a tendency to neglect essentials like fuel, food, and medicine in favor of frivolous items like folding furniture, elaborate shelters, and fancy clothing—much of which would either be stolen by their fellow passengers, converted into fuel to ward off the cold, or abandoned as impractical.

For his part Rebo felt pretty good about the provisions the three of them carried, especially the locally made fuel tablets, packets of dried food, and the hand-loaded ammunition acquired the day before. And, adding to the runner’s sense of well-being was the powerful talisman that he had purchased to supplement the much-stressed amulet that had seen him through the last few months. Norr believed such things were silly, not to mention superstitious, but Rebo knew better. He was alive, wasn’t he? Even though plenty of people wanted him dead. That spoke for itself.

The runner’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound similar to rolling thunder as a wedge-shaped shuttle broke the sound barrier and circled high above. There was a shout of jubilation as spectators and travelers alike paused to celebrate the ship’s return. They couldn’t see
Shewhoswims
, of course, since the vessel was far too large to negotiate a planetary atmosphere, but the sight of the shuttle was wondrous enough, especially for those who had never seen a flying machine before. And there were at least a thousand pilgrims, many of whom had walked hundreds of miles in hopes of bearing witness to a landing and thereby confirming what some people said. Out beyond the darkness lay
other
planets, populated by humans just like them, all having a common ancestry. The visitors were understandably excited as the fantastic apparition lost altitude and prepared to land.

Horns sounded, drums rattled, and bells tolled as the long, colorful procession followed the seldom-used path down into the crater and the mound of hard-packed earth that dominated the center of it. For it was there, on what amounted to a huge pedestal, that the space black shuttle would put down.

Even though her central processing unit remained in orbit,
Shewhoswims
could “see” via the shuttle’s sensors and felt a deep sense of regret as she looked down on what amounted to a grave. Not for one of her brother-sister ships, because the wreckage predated them, but for a lesser vessel that had succumbed to mechanical failure, human error, or entropy.

“So,” Norr said, as the shuttle settled onto its skids, “do you think he’ll board the ship with us?”

There was no need for the runner to ask who the sensitive was referring to, since the unseen combat variant had been on all of their minds since the break-in and Lysander’s visitation. In fact, though he wouldn’t have been willing to admit it, Rebo had spent a good deal of time looking over his shoulder during the last couple of days. “It beats me,” the runner replied. “But I doubt it. . . . Logos claims that the local star gate is buried deep underground. But there must be a way to access it, or this Shaz character would be on the incoming shuttle. That would suggest that he’s on Derius by now . . . waiting for us to complete the trip the hard way.”

But the Techno Society operative
wasn’t
on Derius. Not yet and wouldn’t be for weeks. First he had to ensure that the troublesome trio actually boarded the shuttle, then he was scheduled to return to Anafa, where Chairman Tepho was waiting for a report. Then and only then would the variant make the jump to Derius.

The brass telescope had been rented from one of the many vendors who had positioned themselves along the crater’s rim and allowed Shaz to monitor their progress from a safe distance as the threesome left the bottom of the depression and wound their way up onto the landing pad. Boarding had yet to begin, and wouldn’t, until such time as
Shewhoswims
sent the necessary signal. That left the would-be passengers to mill around the recently arrived ship and jockey for position.

Those who had never been aboard a spaceship before were pushing and shoving, hoping to be among the first to enter the vessel, while veterans like Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles were careful to hang back, secure in the knowledge that the last people to board the shuttle would be among the first to exit, thereby positioning themselves for the subsequent race into the main hold. And it was then, while they were waiting to enter the ship, that Hoggles tapped Rebo on the shoulder. “Jak . . . See the man with the beard? He looks familiar somehow.”

Rebo eyed the man in question and frowned. “Yeah, he does look familiar. . . . But I can’t place him. Lonni, how ’bout you?”

The sensitive looked, then looked again. “Uh-oh,” she said ominously. “I think we’re in trouble.”

“In trouble?” the runner inquired mildly. “Why?”

“That isn’t a man, or maybe it is, but the last time I saw him he was dressed as a woman and was throwing hatchets at the local prefect!”

Rebo took another look, realized that Norr was correct, and scanned the faces around the person in question. It was hard to tell, since the circus performers had been wearing heavy makeup the last time he’d seen them, but the runner thought he recognized an acrobat, a clown, and the strongman that Logos had zapped.

It was then, as the ramp began to deploy, that the travelers came to understand the full extent of their misfortune. Not only were they about to risk their lives on an extremely uncertain journey—they were going to be locked inside a durasteel hull with the full cast of the Circus Solara!

And, as if to underscore that fact, a man with a horribly scarred face lurched out of the crowd. He had tiny little eyes and green teeth that went on full display as he smiled at Norr. “Remember me?” the beast master demanded. “No? Well I remember
you.
It’s a long way to Derius, sweetheart— and your friends will have to sleep sometime. But don’t worry, my friends and I know how to treat a lady, especially one who looks like you do!”

That elicited a series of guffaws from the beast master’s cronies, some of whom bore obvious injuries acquired during the melee in the arena and were eager for revenge. And they might have moved in on the threesome right then had it not been for Hoggles. The heavy unlimbered his rag-wrapped war hammer and took a giant step forward. That sent the troupe scuttling, if only for the moment, and Norr uttered a sigh. “Maybe we should wait for the next ship. . . . Or forget the whole thing.”

“I would agree with you,” the runner responded, “except for the Lysander problem. He won’t leave you alone until Logos reaches Socket—and I promised him I would make the delivery.”

“And don’t forget the gates,” Hoggles added. “Once people can step from planet to planet, knowledge will spread, lives will be saved, and conditions will improve for billions of people.”

“Or so Lysander claims,” Rebo replied cynically, “but that’s the hope. So I reckon we should board.”

“I’m in,” Norr announced, fingers wrapped around her staff.

“Me too,” Hoggles agreed.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Logos interjected. “If those ruffians hurt you, they could hurt
me
, and that’s unacceptable. We must return to Tryst, where we will await the next ship!”

“I’ll take that,” Rebo said, as he lifted Norr’s pack off her shoulders. “Now, if you remove that raggedy-looking coat, I think you’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

Logos, his voice ever more strident, was still talking when the sensitive rolled the AI into a ball and shoved him down into the depths of her pack. The ramp hit the ground at that point, and rather than the outpouring of passengers that Rebo expected, no one appeared. That was a surprise, but there wasn’t much time to think about what if anything the phenomenon might mean, as the first-time passengers nearly trampled one another in their eagerness to board. The voyage was about to begin.

THREE

One hundred and fourteen people, that was how many
crowded their way into the shuttle and were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder as the ship forced its way up through Thara’s atmosphere. Some of them cheered, some of them cried, and at least a dozen threw up as the shuttle left the planet’s gravity well. Had they been free to do so, the passengers would have free-floated through a galaxy of vomit globules. But the tightly packed bodies held the travelers in place, and while that was claustrophobic, it helped to prevent injuries. Those who knew to do so wore bandit-style bandannas that filtered most of the vomit out of the air. But no one could completely escape the vile mist that found its way into their hair and clothes.