Runner (7 page)

The crowd never got to hear what it would be possible to do, because while passive in many respects, the empress took an active interest where her power was concerned. That's why her so-called monitors attended every event of any size and took steps to intervene when would-be dissidents stepped out of line. Ten of her operatives had pushed their way into the crowd and were intent on reaching the platform, when they were intercepted by three heavily robed metal men. Wood clanged on metal as the government agents brought their nightsticks into play, and both contingents were attacked by the rowdier members of the crowd.

Seeing an opportunity not only to wreak revenge, but to reclaim his personal property, the mime jumped Lysander from behind. The unexpected attack was sufficient to loosen
the invading spirit's grip on Norr's body, thereby giving the sensitive the opportunity she'd been hoping for. Norr pushed Lysander out of her body, slammed the door behind him, and fell onto the mime. The impact knocked the breath out of the unfortunate performer. Norr took advantage of the opportunity to regain her feet, gather her belongings, and fade into the crowd. Had anyone sought to follow they would have come across a wig, a gob of wax that had been shaped into a bulbous nose, and a dusty black robe. Search as they might, the crone had ceased to exist.

Out beyond the edge of Anafa's atmosphere the fabric of
space parted just long enough for an object to leave the dimension called hyperspace and enter the system. Though large by human standards, the ship was tiny when compared with the planet's moons, or the world itself, a fact not lost upon the artificial intelligence who thought of herself as
Shewhoswimsamongthestars.
Because as time passed, and she grew gradually weaker, everything seemed more threatening than it had been thousands of years before. So much so that the AI had even considered dropping into orbit around a stable planet and placing her systems on standby as other members of the brother-sisterhood had done. But to retire, to truly retire, would be to exist without purpose. Something the starship couldn't countenance.

So, ignoring the painlike feedback that trickled into her brain from hundreds of ailing components
Shewhoswims
slid past a half-slagged weapons platform, a space station that had gone off-line more than six hundred years before, and a mothballed in-system liner before dropping into a stable orbit. A quick scan of the standard communications frequencies was sufficient to confirm what the AI already knew: The planet Anafa and the people who lived on it were still on the
long sad slide back into technological barbarity—the only kind of barbarity that mattered to the spaceship, since there was only one thing that could save
Shewhoswims
and her sisters from eventual dissolution, and that was for the humans to rediscover the wonders of science.

The AI allowed herself the electronic equivalent of a sigh, sent the usual messages to passengers waiting in her belly, and prepared the only shuttle she had left. There had been four originally, but the others had been taken out of service over the years and been cannibalized for parts.

Once the shuttle was loaded
Shewhoswims
shifted a portion of her intelligence to the smaller ship, took command, and broke away. While most of Anafa's surface was tan, it was broken here and there by the occasional patch of blue, with white frosting at both poles. Armadas of clouds swept across the planet's surface and rose to envelop the shuttle as it bumped down through the atmosphere and sent a sonic boom rolling across the city of Seros.

People shaded their eyes, pointed toward the sky, and tracked the speck as it circled the spaceport. The ship was back! The news raced through the streets. And while of interest to everyone, the shuttle's reappearance had a galvanizing effect on those gathered at the spaceport, as the cessationists began to wail and the metal men took advantage of the opportunity to reemphasize the virtues of technology.

Then, once the spaceship put down, and its passengers began to disembark, the crowd swirled as everyone sought to catch a glimpse of the daring, or possibly desperate people, who had gambled their lives and won. The group made its way down the battered ramp and squinted into the bright sunlight, before passing through the corridor that opened before them, was disparate to say the least. Some carried boxes between them, rare merchandise most likely,
acquired on some distant world and soon to grace wealthy homes on Anafa. But most arrived with little more than the packs on their backs, eyes darting this way and that, still marveling at the fact that they were alive. A few faces lit up with joy as family members rushed forward to greet them, but most of the travelers went unrecognized and were soon lost in the crowd.

Then, once the last person had disembarked, an equally interesting procession began. Although there was no charge for boarding the ship, and hadn't been for hundreds of years, people were admitted through the main hatch on a first-come, first-served basis. That meant those who wanted to take their chances on the ship were motivated to arrive early. Because while some shuttles lifted half-empty, others were unable to accommodate all the people who wanted to leave, and many decades had passed since a ship had returned for a second or third load.

So, eager to secure their places in the ship's belly, a steady stream of travelers boarded the shuttle. All were heavily burdened because it had been a long, long time since anyone had been served a meal aboard a starship, and those who failed adequately to provide for themselves could starve or be forced into virtual slavery by the more provident.

Most of the onlookers were simply curious and stared at the departing passengers with the same morbid fascination normally reserved for condemned criminals. There were others, however, like the father on the lookout for his run-away daughter, a merchant who wanted to ensure that an employee boarded safely, and the monk assigned to watch for a very special little boy. An assignment that he believed to be a complete waste of time since black hat spies had spotted the so-called Divine Wind taking his daily lessons on the roof of the red hat monastery that very morning, a
fact that suggested that the would-be imposter and his corrupt supporters were too frightened to board the ship and make the long, dangerous journey to the city of CaCanth. A trip that the
real
Nom Maa had begun—some six months earlier.

With that in mind, Brother Wama leaned on his staff, enjoyed the warmth of the sun, and eyed the departing passengers. A merchant's second son passed, complete with an entourage and enough supplies to sustain a small army. The merchant and his retinue were followed by a couple whose possessions hung under the pole that was stretched between them, a young man bent nearly double under the weight of his pack, and a sad looking fellow followed by an expensive coffin and four pallbearers, laborers from the look of them, who would exit the shuttle as soon as they had been paid.

The monk's thoughts were interrupted as one of his superiors appeared at his elbow, a rather nasty sort who aped humility but clearly aspired to higher office. “How's it going?” Brother Fiva inquired, eyeing the steady stream of passengers. “Have you seen any sign of the imposter?”

“No,” the monk replied cautiously. “Not so far. In fact, come to think of it, I haven't seen any children at all.”

“Not that you know of anyway,” Fiva said critically. “For example, who, or what is hidden in the bundle that those people are carrying on that litter? You can't tell from here.”

“That's true,” Wama admitted. “But I don't see . . .”

“No,” Fiva interrupted. “I'm sure you don't. But there will be plenty of time to meditate on your shortcomings during the trip to Pooz. Someone must make the journey, and you were chosen. It's unlikely, but if the imposter's supporters managed to smuggle the little rascal aboard, the boy will be forced to reveal himself during the journey. If that occurs, it will be your task to kill him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the monk replied doubtfully. “But the trip will take weeks, I have no supplies, and . . .”

“On the contrary, your supplies are ready and waiting,” the older man replied, and toed a pack Wama hadn't noticed before. “Good luck with your pilgrimage,” Fiva added sanctimoniously. “Our prayers will be with you.”

That was when Wama realized that Fiva was taking advantage of the situation not only to place an agent on the ship but to open a slot for one of his toadies. The monk opened his mouth to object, saw that two members of the Dib Wa had materialized behind Fiva's back, and bowed. “Can I have a weapon?”

“You'll find a weapon in your pack,” Fiva replied gravely. “Make good use of it should you have the chance. Otherwise, report to the brothers on Pooz. They will find appropriate work for you to do.”

Mas Wama considered making a run for it, knew the Dib Wa would catch him, and was forced to accept his fate. His family would wonder what had happened to him, but he would attempt to send a message back. He bent over, lifted the pack, and hoisted it up onto his back. Then, without so much as a backward glance, the monk boarded the ship.

Brother Fiva smiled thinly, waited for another five minutes, and had the pleasure of watching
another
member of the black hat sect follow Wama into the waiting shuttle. The young woman was extremely well trained, and if she noticed his presence, gave no sign of it. A single long black braid hung down the nun's back, she was dressed in inexpensive clothes, and carried a fat satchel in each hand. They were heavy and scraped the ground occasionally. In the unlikely event that the imposter
had
been smuggled onto the ship, it was safe to assume that the boy would be accompanied by at least a couple of Dib Wa bodyguards. They would
almost certainly identify Wama as belonging to the black hat sect—and could be counted on to reveal their true identities by killing the unfortunate monk.

If the young woman could neutralize both the bodyguards and the boy by herself, then she would. If not, she would keep the party under surveillance and request assistance from the black hat monastery on Pooz. It was a good plan, which was to say a convoluted plan, and Brother Fiva was satisfied that it would work.

A final announcement was made, and just as the shuttle's hatch started to close, a man with blond hair pushed his way out of the crowd. He said something to the metal men that accompanied him and pointed toward the shuttle. Metal clanged on metal as the robots ran up the ramp and slipped aboard just seconds before the hatch closed.

Then, having used her external loudspeakers to warn the crowd,
Shewhoswims
fired her repellers and pushed the planet away. With that accomplished, it was a simple matter to engage her drives, gain the necessary altitude, and return to the blackness of space. That was her purpose—and it felt good to be alive.

THREE
The Planet Anafa

Even third-class passengers will enjoy comfortable quarters, fine food, and a wide variety of entertainment. Please join us as we celebrate the addition of a
new
ship to the company's fleet, establish a
new
link to the civilized planets, and place a
new
star in the heavens.

—Excerpt from the promotional holo distributed to the Interplanetary News Association (INA) on the day that the sentient vessel
Shewhoswimsamongthestars
officially went into service

Shewhoswimsamongthestars
guided the shuttle into its
docking bay with the ease of a beggar pocketing a coin. Rebo, Lee, and all the rest of the passengers felt a distinct thump as the smaller vessel's skids made contact. That was followed by the muffled whine of unseen machinery. Different people reacted in different ways. Those who had never been on a ship before, and Rebo sensed that was the majority of them, were round-eyed with fear, while the runner and a few like him focused on the next step in the process. Lee, who had only recently been allowed to exit the coffin in which he had been brought aboard, listened as the runner spoke into his ear. “You'll notice we're positioned next to the hatch. There's a reason for that. Right now the ship is pumping air into the compartment where the shuttle is
stored. Once that process is complete the hatch will open, and we will be allowed to enter a decontamination chamber. A thick mist will be pumped into the compartment, but it won't hurt you. A second hatch will open a few minutes later. That's the good news. The bad news is that we'll have to tow the coffin, plus the supplies stored inside it clear into the hold. Got it?”

“Yes,” Lee replied sotto voce. “But why should I concern myself with such details? That's what I pay
you
to do.”

Rebo's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained level. “You should remember such things for
two
reasons. First, because it's what my son would do, and the best way to
play
a part is actually to live it. And second, if someone manages to kill me, you'll be on your own. Or perhaps that thought hadn't occurred to your supreme highness.”

In all truth the thought
hadn't
occurred to Lee, and now that it had, the boy wondered if Brothers Babukas and Qwa should have sent a force of Dib Wa warriors to protect him as well. Still, true or not, that didn't give Rebo the right to be sarcastic. The youngster was about to say as much when the hatch opened, and everyone shuffled into a sterile-looking compartment. There were cries of alarm as jets of greenish mist were pumped into the chamber. It penetrated their clothing, found its way into even the most tightly wrapped packages, and made everything damp. However, thanks to the calm, nonchalant manner in which the more experienced travelers reacted, the rest were reassured and began to relax.

Then, once the decontamination process was complete, a final hatch opened to admit a wave of fetid air. The runner said, “Come on!” and pulled on the heavily loaded coffin. Lee had no choice but to do likewise. Two small wheels, both set into the foot of the box, allowed it to be towed so
long as the surface beneath the coffin remained relatively flat. Two or three individuals dashed out of the shuttle ahead of them, but Rebo and his youthful charge were still able to establish a lead on the majority of the passengers, all of whom were burdened with supplies. Some of the ship's lights were functional, but not half as many as Rebo would have preferred, leaving the passengers with no choice but to make their way down a gloomy corridor, through widely spaced pools of blue-green light, and into a huge hold where thousands of cargo modules had once been stored. If one looked carefully it was still possible to see yellow grid lines under the filth that covered the deck, along with reference numbers on the bulkheads that were practically invisible beneath layers of head-high graffiti.

The runner paused to get his bearings, spied what he was looking for, and pointed to the far side of the hold. “Over there, son. Where that big beam hits the deck. That's where we want to go.”

Though determined to help, Lee found it difficult to keep up, and quickly discovered that if he wanted to pull, rather than be pulled, it was necessary to jog rather than walk. Added to their difficulties was the fact that the cleverly concealed wheels were too small to pass over obstacles more than a couple of inches high. That meant the pair had to weave their way between cook fires that had only recently been extinguished, piles of trash that the ship's overworked maintenance bots had yet to remove, and the makeshift shelters left by the last group of passengers. All of which added a considerable amount of distance to the trip.

Even worse was the necessity to stop and lift the heavy container over a series of man-made barriers that looked as though they had been erected as a way to define someone's territory. Rebo swore mightily as he jerked the wooden box
over the last waist-high wall and dragged the object toward the darkly shadowed corner ahead. The runner glanced back over his shoulder, saw that one of the merchants had dispatched a uniformed employee to secure the same spot, and realized that the other man was coming on strong. Rebo turned to Lee. “Run, boy! Put yourself in that corner and pull your knife! I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Lee looked back, spotted the threat, and took off. He was a good runner, a
very
good runner, and flew across the intervening space. It wasn't until he had arrived and turned to face his pursuer, that the boy remembered to pull the belt knife. He felt scared as the full-grown man skidded to a halt not six feet away and laughed. He raised a cudgel over his head. “Skedaddle, runt . . . Or shall I drive your head down through your ass?”

The youngster was busy trying to summon some brave words when there was a loud report, the man pitched forward onto his face, and slid six inches across the deck. The boy looked up and saw Rebo lower the long gun that he carried across his belly. The runner turned to scan the immediate area. Then, satisfied that no one else was inclined to attack, the runner broke the Hogger open. A spent shell casing popped out. It took less than three seconds to insert a new cartridge and return the weapon to its holster. A wheel started to squeak as he took the coffin under tow.

It was the first time Lee had been exposed to a violent death, and he was still staring at the dead body when the runner arrived. “You k-k-killed him,” Lee stuttered accusingly as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Yes,” Rebo agreed. “Just like he would have killed
you
. Or me for that matter. That's how things are.”

“But you shot him in the back!” Lee objected hotly. “That was why you told me to pull the knife, wasn't it? Not
because you thought it would stop him, but so he would look at
me
rather than you!”

“So, what are you saying?” the runner inquired patiently. “That there's something inherently virtuous about shooting people from the front? I don't think so. Dead is dead. Speaking of which, search the body. Take anything of value.”

Lee shook his head. “
No.
I won't.”

“Yes,” Rebo insisted. “You
will.
You promised to obey me. Remember?”

“Only if what you told me to do was moral,” the boy replied stubbornly. “And stealing isn't moral.”

“Oh really? Well, I suggest that you give the matter some additional thought . . . Let's say this guy has five gunars in his pocket. There isn't any way for you to convey the money to his family, and if we don't take them, then another passenger will. Plus, four months from now, while staying in some flea-bitten inn, we might need five gunars to buy food. Now, do as I told you.”

As with all prime campsites the corner had been occupied recently and as Rebo went to work clearing the accumulated rubbish away, Lee stood over the corpse thinking about what the runner had said while trying to work up the courage required to touch the body. The way Rebo spoke to him was strikingly similar to the way Qwa lectured him, and distasteful though the situation was, the boy could see the logic involved.

Finally, after about five minutes had passed, he knelt next to the quickly cooling cadaver and apologized as he rifled through the dead man's pockets. “I'm sorry,” the little boy said, “and I hope that was your last incarnation. But if enlightenment lays ahead rather than behind you, then I
pray that you will find the experience that your soul needs most, and I apologize for my role in your death.”

The search yielded two gunars rather than five, and the coins felt heavier than they should have. The journey had barely begun—but Lee felt as if he had traveled a long way.

In addition to the physical sensations associated with
docking, Lanni Norr felt a confusing mixture of emotions wash around her. Anticipation, dread, hope, fear, joy, and sorrow all battered her senses and made it difficult to think. The sensitive did the best she could to block the input and focused her attention on those passengers who seemed to know what they were doing. She had never been off-planet before, but there were bound to be strategies that could be employed to gain small advantages, and the sensitive was determined to identify them.

But, as the shuttle touched down, Norr had other things to worry about. Primary among them was the fact that two metal men had boarded the shuttle and appeared to be looking for someone. And, given the fanatical way the machines had reacted to Lysander's speech, the sensitive had a pretty good idea of who that someone might be. The new disguise had fooled the robots up to that point—but how long before they saw through it? Based on the conversations taking place around her, it sounded as if the voyage would last for weeks, if not months. A long time in which to pose as a man.

The sensitive's thoughts were interrupted as the hatch opened, her fellow travelers poured into the larger ship, and Norr joined the stampede. Based on conversations she had overheard, and the speed with which the more experienced travelers exited the shuttle, it was clear that they hoped to claim the best spots for themselves.

But Norr's pack was extremely heavy, which meant that a lot of people arrived in the hold before she did and were already settling into their chosen nooks and crannies by the time she paused to look around. The sensitive noticed that while corridors led off into other parts of the ship, no one seemed interested in following them, and figured that there was a reason for that.

So what to do? That was when the sensitive noticed the maze of interlocking girders that crisscrossed the area above her head and spotted a black rectangle that might have been some sort of platform. And not just a platform, but the equivalent of a nest, which would be difficult for intruders to access.

Eager to find a way up, before someone else spotted the aerie, Norr followed a filthy bulkhead to one of the supporting members. Holes had been cut into the beam to make it lighter, and judging from the way they were spaced, would serve as a fairly efficient ladder.

Knowing the pack was too heavy to climb with, the sensitive dumped it onto the floor and fumbled for the fifty-foot length of cord that was included among her supplies. Then, having tied one end to the pack and slung her staff across her back, the young woman swarmed up the beam. A few moments later she was crouched on a beam thirty feet above the deck below.

One of the other passengers, a scruffy-looking male of indeterminate age, had just spotted the seemingly unguarded pack, and was in the process of making his way over to inspect it, when the object in question suddenly rose three feet into the air, and started to twirl. The would-be thief realized what was about to take place, produced a large folding knife, and flicked it open as he ran. In the meantime, someone fired a gun, and the resulting
boom
reverberated
back and forth between the steel bulkheads as another property dispute was settled.

Norr saw the movement, hauled on the cord, and managed to heave the pack up over the ruffian's head. He jumped, attempted to slash the cord, and missed. The sensitive pulled again, had the satisfaction of seeing her belongings surge upward, and soon had them beside her. The thief offered a rude gesture and wandered away.

The twelve-inch beam led Norr out toward the middle of the hold, where a makeshift platform had been established. Four sheets of metal had been removed from some other part of the vessel, hoisted into place, and secured to the girders. The surface was surprisingly clean, which Norr took as a good omen, and helped finalize her decision. The sensitive knew she would have to find a place to hide her valuables while she went to fetch water, but that was a problem that could no doubt be solved, especially if she made some friends.

Of more concern were the metal men, who, unburdened by supplies or a need for territory, could be seen roaming the deck below. Norr knew that the machines would eventually focus their attention on her. That left the sensitive with two choices: She could cede the initiative to the robots and wait for the automatons to find her, or she could go after them. The second alternative was clearly the more appealing of the two—and the hunt was on.

The shuttle had landed aboard the ship, and passengers
were streaming off, when a man and a boy towed a coffin past Brother Mas Wama. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the boy had been transported in the coffin, but why? Because he was the imposter? Or for a more mundane reason? A custody dispute perhaps—or something of that sort.
The second theory seemed more likely, especially since the boy lacked a retinue of bodyguards and boasted a full head of black hair. Still, members of the red hat sect's Dib Wa could be hidden among the other passengers, and there was the possibility of a wig. Wama resolved to investigate the matter once things settled down.