Logos Run (11 page)

Okey was a voluble man who, having survived the ambush, never stopped talking about it. The merchant was of medium height, and wore a red fez, matching jacket, and baggy pantaloons. The blunderbuss that he held cradled in his arms was almost sure to kill the man next to him if it went off, but Rebo was relieved to see that Okey’s right index finger was clear of the brass trigger. “I don’t know,” the merchant said doubtfully. “Wouldn’t it be better to hole up
here
, rather than go looking for the bandits?”

“It might be,” the runner allowed patiently, “but consider this. . . . When the shuttle landed on Thara it was empty. Then, when we arrived in the hold, there weren’t any fires. Not even hot coals. What would that suggest?”

It was a middle-aged woman who offered an answer. Though dressed in plain clothes, she wore a small fortune in gold jewelry. “It suggests that they murdered all of the previous passengers,” the woman stated. “In spite of whatever precautions they took when people began to disappear.”

“Exactly,” Rebo agreed. “So, rather than sit and wait for the bandits to pick us off one at a time, I say we hunt the bastards down. They must have a lair, a place where they feel secure, and that’s where we will attack them.”

“Yeah! He’s right!” a male passenger proclaimed.

That was followed by a chorus of similar comments and calls for action. “Let’s track the scum down,” a burly blacksmith added, “and give them what they deserve!”

There was a chorus of assent, and it was all Rebo could do to bring a modicum of organization to the mob before it surged out into the corridor. Okey was at the head of the column, with a reluctant runner at his side, while Hoggles brought up the rear. The beast master plus a dozen of his friends had agreed to participate in the hunt, so even though Norr had been left behind to guard the faucet by herself, the runner felt reasonably confident that she would be okay.

Rebo knew there was no possibility of stealth given the caliber of his troops, so he allowed the vigilantes to make as much noise as they wanted to so long as they stayed in front of Hoggles and behind him. In the meantime, as the posse comitatus put more distance between itself and the hold, Okey had become increasingly loquacious. “We were exploring,” the merchant explained. “I opposed entering this particular corridor, but Runsus insisted, and took over the lead.”

Rebo held his torch up over his head. The light surged ahead to reveal a nearly featureless overhead, graffiti-covered walls, and a litter-strewn deck. “There it is!” Okey said excitedly. “Up on the right. . . . That’s where the bone room is located.”

Perhaps it was the steel bulkheads that seemed to press in from both sides, or Okey’s choice of words, but whatever the reason, Rebo kept one hand on his talisman as the two of them stopped in front of an open hatch. “Look in there,” Okey instructed, eyes averted. “And see for yourself.”

Rebo caught the first whiff of what could only be described as an overwhelming stench—and resolved to breathe through his mouth as he approached the open door. Torchlight danced across grimy walls as the runner peered into what had become a charnel house. Whatever else the compartment might have contained had long since been submerged beneath a five-foot-high heap of human bones. Arm bones, leg bones, clavicles, rib cages, spinal columns, and skulls were piled helter-skelter, as if thrown from the door. And adding to the stomach-turning horror of it was the fact that bits of rotting meat still clung to some of the bones. “Look!” Okey said excitedly, “there’s Runsus!” And turned to throw up.

Rebo ignored the sudden spew of vomit, struggled to keep his own lunch down, and saw that the head to which Okey had referred was still recognizable. Now, for the first time since leaving the hold, the runner felt truly frightened. Judging from the size of the bone pile,
scores
of people had been slaughtered over a long period of time. And that implied that whoever, or whatever, had killed them was very formidable indeed. So much so that the runner didn’t believe that his undisciplined group of passengers was likely to challenge them and win. In fact, based on what he’d just seen, Rebo was about to order a return to the hold when the beast master yelled, “Look! There’s one of the bastards now! Get him!”

Rebo shouted, “No!” but the mob ignored him and thundered up the corridor in hot pursuit of whatever the circus performer had seen. The norm, with Okey close on his heels, found himself running next to Hoggles. “I couldn’t hold them,” the heavy panted, as he pounded along. “They’re crazy.”

As if to prove the variant’s point the leaders of the mob turned a blind corner and started down a wide-open stretch of hallway. The runner saw a sign that read, SECURITY CONTROL CENTER, and the norms who were standing directly below it. He shouted, “Get down!” But, by the time the passengers in the front rank saw the danger and began to react, Mog, Ruk, and Tas had already opened fire. They had armed themselves with machine pistols, and it was only a matter of seconds before people in front of them began to jerk and fall. Thanks to his position toward the front, the beast master was among the first to take a bullet, immediately followed by a mime and a clown, as the runner raised the long-barreled Hogger. The weapon bucked in his hand, made a resonant
boom
, and sent a bullet spinning toward one of three possible targets.

Tas felt a sledgehammer strike his chest, lived long enough to register a look of surprise, and slammed into the hatch behind him before sliding to the floor. That came as a considerable surprise to the outlaw’s siblings, who had preyed on other people for years without suffering any negative consequences themselves. But there was no time to grieve, not yet at any rate, as Rebo opened up with the Crosser and bullets pinged all around them.

Mog answered with a burst of well-aimed automatic fire, but the runner was already falling, with Hoggles on top of him, which meant that the bullets were high. That gave the surviving cannibals sufficient time to slap the controls, grab their brother’s ankles, and drag the body through the hatch. The door closed with a definitive
thud
and the battle was over.

The heavy rolled off Rebo, the runner fought to suck air back into his lungs, and allowed the variant to pull him up off the deck. The hallway looked like a slaughterhouse. A quick check confirmed that five passengers were dead, and three were wounded, including the beast master. It was difficult to tell, given all the blood, but it appeared that a bullet had creased the performer’s skull and knocked him unconscious.

Some of those who had escaped returned when the firing stopped, and there were cries of grief as dead friends and relatives were located. Then, with astounding speed, sorrow turned to anger. “This is
your
fault!” Okey insisted, as he pointed a long skinny finger at Rebo’s chest. “You led us here!” The accusation wasn’t fair, or true, but elicited a chorus of agreement from the rest of the passengers nonetheless.

Rebo considered trying to defend himself, decided that it would be a waste of time to do so, and returned the Crosser to its holster. “I suggest that we carry the wounded back to the hold—and organize a burial party. Or, would you like those bastards to snack on your friends?” Okey’s face turned gray at the thought. He turned to the others, barked some orders, and the evacuation began.

Two hours later Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles were inside their shelter, sitting around a tiny oil-fed blaze. That left the water supply unguarded, but given the fact that the beast master was temporarily out of commission, the runner figured it would be okay. The sensitive, who was just back from treating the wounded, cupped her mugful of tea with both hands. It was eternally cold in the hold, and the warmth felt good. “I’m sorry, Jak. . . . They were wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s right,” the heavy agreed stolidly. “Especially since they disobeyed every order you gave them.”

“Yeah? Well, tell it to all those dead people,” the runner replied bitterly.

“I will, if I happen to run into one of them,” Norr responded calmly.

“So what are we going to do?” Hoggles inquired.

The question had been directed to the sensitive, but rather than answer it, her face went suddenly blank. Nerveless fingers released the mug, which fell and shattered against the metal deck. The lamp flickered as droplets of tea hit the yellow flame.

“Uh-oh,” Rebo said, dispiritedly. “Lysander is about to pay us a visit.”

But even as Norr was forced to make way for another entity, the sensitive knew it wasn’t Lysander, but another spirit named Kane. The same person who had been her brother in a previous lifetime, pursued her on behalf of the Techno Society during his most recent incarnation, and been killed by Rebo. Although Kane had a preference for male vehicles, such was his affinity for the physical plane that he found Norr’s body to be not only acceptable but rather interesting. In fact, if the opportunity arose, the invading spirit thought it would be fun to offer the female vessel to one or both of the attending males.

Norr “heard” the thought and tried to dislodge Kane but discovered that his grip on her was too strong. The sensitive’s eyes blinked, her lips moved, and a raspy voice was heard. “Greetings . . . This is Jevan Kane.”

Rebo’s eyes grew bigger. “Kane? I thought I killed you!”

“You
did
,” the spirit entity grated. “And I will find a way to even that score one day. . . . In the meantime I am compelled by certain agreements to help protect you and your fellow cretins. And that’s why I’m here. . . . To inform you that the person you know as the beast master intends to kill the body I occupy now. A rather shapely form with which I sense that you are well acquainted.”

The Crosser appeared as if by magic as Rebo came to his feet. Norr looked up into the gun barrel and smiled serenely. “Yes!” Kane hissed. “Shoot me! I’d like that.”

“Don’t do it!” Hoggles interjected, and had just started to rise as the Crosser was withdrawn.

“Say whatever you came here to say, and get the hell out of Lonni’s body,” Rebo said through gritted teeth.

“I already have,” Kane replied smugly.

“But
how
?” Hoggles demanded. “How does the beast master plan to murder Lonni?”

“I don’t know,” the spirit entity replied honestly. “A thick veil separates our worlds. But his intent is clear.”

Meanwhile, Norr struggled to reassert control over her body. Bit by bit she gathered the necessary energy, shaped it into a coherent desire, and gave the necessary order. Her physical form responded, and the unanticipated action took Kane by surprise as his/her hand jerked forward.

Rebo saw the sensitive stick her hand into the lamp’s open flame, and was still processing that, when Norr’s body gave a convulsive jerk, and Kane was forced to leave. Then, having regained control, the young woman removed her hand from the fire. The burns hurt . . . but the pain was worth it. “Lonni?” the runner inquired tentatively. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Norr whispered hoarsely. “I’m back.”

Meanwhile, on a girder high above, the Slith snake sampled the air with its tongue, identified the scent it was searching for, and resumed its long, arduous journey.

The suite, which was the best that the hotel had to offer, sat on the topmost level of the city and looked out over the lake that claimed one end of the kidney-shaped open-pit mine. It was a lofty perch, and as Shaz stood on his private veranda, it was like looking down on a nest of insects as thousands of people crisscrossed the plaza to the north, wound their way along the various plateaus, or climbed ladders that led from one bench to the next. A number of days had passed since the night when unit A-63127 had been terminated—and the antitechnics had launched their attack against Techno Society headquarters. During the interim it had been determined that the same explosion that caused extensive damage to the station’s first floor had destroyed the facility’s power accumulators. That meant the local portal was not only out of service but would remain so until a functionary could travel to the distant city of Feda, where they could access a star gate, and travel to Anafa. Worse yet was the fact that Logos and his human companions would be unable to use the gate, thereby playing hell with Chairman Tepho’s plan, and causing even more problems. There was a solution,
had
to be a solution, but the operative had yet to figure out what it was.

Such were the combat variant’s thoughts as a slight disturbance of the surrounding air caused him to whirl. But, rather than the antitechnic cutthroat that the operative expected to see, Du Phan emerged from behind the diaphanous curtain that separated the suite from the veranda. The assassin was naked, delightfully so, and cupped her breasts suggestively. “I’m yours,” she said. “
If
you’re man enough to take me.”

What ensued was more like hand-to-hand combat than an act of lovemaking, but that was what both of them wanted and unreservedly enjoyed. Finally, physically spent, and still intertwined with an exhausted Phan, Shaz discovered that his subconscious mind had been hard at work. A plan was ready and waiting. It was a good plan, no, a
brilliant
plan, and one so devious that even Tepho would admire it! The thought pleased him—and the combat variant drifted off to sleep.

The scene within the shelter was grim as Norr removed Logos from her pack and held the coat up for Rebo to slip his arms into. “What’s going on?” the computer demanded. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready to go for a little walk,” the runner replied soothingly, “and I thought you’d want to come along.”

“A walk?” Logos inquired suspiciously. “Why would I want to go for a walk? Especially on a primitive tub like this one?”

“Because,” Rebo answered patiently, “you might prove useful for once.”