Runner (19 page)

“Others have made similar claims,” the nobleman responded skeptically. “How can we tell which claims are true?”

“Those who have genuine talents can provide evidence of that fact,” the sensitive responded. “Information that only a real channel could produce.”

“Can you give us an example?” Princess Sema inquired as she lifted her son up onto her lap.

“Yes,” Norr replied as her eyes lost focus, “I think I can. Please remember that while I see images of people from time to time, they can change their appearance just as we can, which means that a picture may or may not resemble the way a particular entity looked during his or her most recent incarnation. Furthermore, some of the things that I am shown are symbolic, which means that while they have little significance for me, they may be meaningful to you.

“For example,” the sensitive continued, as she stared at a point above the prince's head, “I see a three-headed snake. It's at war with itself as each head attempts to inject venom into the others. In the background I hear laughter, as if someone is watching the battle, and thinks it's funny.”

“Your
father,
” the princess said, spitting the second word out as if it might be poisonous.

Palo refused to take the bait but eyed the sensitive instead. “You call that
proof?
” he demanded cynically. “Everyone knows that my father takes pleasure in setting his sons against each other. You could have obtained that information on any street corner.”

“Wait, sire,” the sensitive cautioned, “there's more. I see the figure of a man. I can't discern his features, but I sense that he's older than you are, and a little bit taller. He stands with both hands extended palms up. A crescent moon floats above one—and a sphere hovers over the other. As I watch I see his fingers close around the sphere. I don't know what those symbols mean, but a voice tells me that you do.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the mention of the crescent moon, and Sema brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Her husband nodded as if in agreement. “Zaster, my eldest brother, was born with a red crescent on his ankle. Such a mark is said to portend evil. No one beyond the members of immediate family is aware of it.”

“The sphere starts to crumble as his fingers close around it,” Norr continued, “and what looks like sand falls away.”

“It's the planet,” the princess whispered. “He plans to control it.”

“Yes,” the sensitive agreed. “The voice agrees with you . . . But the scene changes again as a dagger shimmers, only to be transformed into the likeness of a man. A man who extends one hand in greeting while keeping the other hidden behind his back.”

And it was then, just as Norr was about to continue, that Lysander launched a surprise attack. Suddenly, without warning, the sensitive felt the discarnate entity push her out and was forced to go along for the ride as the spirit who had
once been known as Hios charged across the room. Simms saw the sensitive coming, but it was too late by then, and the majordomo collapsed as Norr-Lysander fell on top of him. “He has a gun!” Lysander yelled at the top of Norr's lungs. “Help me!”

But the prince had pulled on a cloth-covered rope by then, and Norr was little more than a distant observer as half a dozen bodyguards entered the room, and jerked her body up off the floor. Palo was on his feet by then and furious. “This is your proof? An unprovoked attack on one of my servants? Take her away.”

“No!” Lysander insisted. “He has a gun! And look at his right ankle. That's where you will find the mark of his
true
master.”

The prince was about to refuse when the doors to the garden were thrown open and four red-clad Dib Wa entered. They were armed with razor-sharp swords and, judging from the way they moved, knew how to use them. The royal bodyguards were just starting to turn toward the new threat when Rebo appeared. Both of his weapons were drawn, and he leveled them at the guards. “Hold it right there . . . I don't want to shoot anyone, but I will if I have to.” Lee emerged from behind the runner and stood with one knife ready to throw.

Norr, who was still “standing” slightly outside of her body, felt a sudden sense of warmth suffuse her being. Rebo
had
come to her rescue, in spite of the fact that it was stupid to do so and would almost certainly result in disaster.

“That's right,” Lysander declared righteously. “Hold it right there. Now, search that man and take his weapon. Once he's disarmed take a look at his right ankle.”

The lead bodyguard made eye contact with the prince, saw the royal nod, and turned to his men. “All right . . . Search him.”

Simms turned to flee but was brought down by a flying tackle. A struggle ensued, the now-desperate servant was brought under control, and one of the guards emerged from the melee holding a pistol. “Look! He
was
armed! Just like the seer said!”

“That's not all,” a second bodyguard proclaimed. “Look at this!”

Prince Palo frowned as he made his way over to the spot where one of his most senior servants lay pinned to the floor. Though already shocked to discover that the majordomo was carrying a weapon, the nobleman was completely taken aback when he saw the man's bared ankle and the red crescent moon that was tattooed there. The same mark that his eldest brother had been born with, subsequently adopted as his personal sigil and placed on all his property. No wonder his brother always seemed to be two steps ahead of him. He knew everything in advance!

The prince could hear the blood pounding in his ears and was so angry that he felt a bit dizzy as he extended a hand. “The pistol . . . Give me the pistol.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity as the princess sent her personal maid and both of her children out of the room. The previously haughty spy was sobbing by then, as the prince wrapped his fingers around the weapon and felt for the trigger. The royal had brought the handgun around, and was holding the barrel only inches from the traitor's head, when a hand touched his arm. “No,” the princess said. “Don't do it.” Her eyes, which were normally so soft, looked like chips of stone.

The prince spoke through gritted teeth, and Simms whimpered as he wet his trousers. “Why not? The bastard deserves to die.”

“That's true,” the princess responded evenly, “but what if
you turn the dog against its master? Your brother will believe everything that the misbegotten whoreson says. For a while at least . . . And that's all you need.”

There was a moment of silence as the prince absorbed the meaning of her words. A smile grew as he lowered the gun. “You make an excellent point, my dear. This is an interesting opportunity indeed.” The nobleman's head swiveled toward the senior guard. “Lock the scoundrel up. No one is to speak to him without my permission. And both you and your entire detail will remain on the palace grounds until further notice. Not only must we must take all the steps necessary to ensure that there was only one spy—but we must do everything necessary to prevent word of what took place from leaking out.

“Now,” the royal said, turning toward Norr. “It seems that I owe
you
an apology. More than that a position within my household. Your talent is not only genuine but extremely useful. So much so that it would be unfortunate if you were to fall into the wrong hands.”

Norr struggled to speak but discovered that Lysander still had control of her vocal cords. “Thank you, sire,” he said huskily, “but my companions and I are already committed to an extremely important task. One that requires us to depart Pooz on the next ship.”

The prince raised his eyebrows. “And if I object?”

Rebo waved the Hogger. “No offense, sire. But that wouldn't be a very good idea . . . We hold the high ground at the moment, and while you could chase us down after we withdraw, there's your new secret to consider. If you allow us to leave the planet, it will be safe, but force us to stay, and the information will go straight to your brother.”

The proud nobleman felt another surge of anger and was about to respond accordingly, when the princess touched his
arm. “What about the red hats?” she demanded, gesturing toward the Dib Wa. “Will they leave the planet as well?”

Rebo looked at Lee, and the boy nodded. “Yes. You have my word.”

The prince started to question the assertion, especially since it had originated from a mere youth, but something about the authoritative manner in which the boy spoke caused him to hesitate. Finally, having heard no objection from his wife, the nobleman agreed. “All right. But only if two members of my staff accompany you until the ship lifts—and you will agree to join my household if the vessel fails to appear.”

Lysander was about to refuse when Norr managed to wrestle control away from him. “Thank you, sire,” she said. “We agree.”

Rebo hadn't agreed to anything and resented the manner in which the sensitive had spoken for him, but decided that it would be best to raise the issue later. He motioned for Norr to back out through the door. “We're staying at the runner's guild. You can send your men there.” Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, the intruders were gone.

SEVEN
The Planet Anafa

There have always been some who could communicate with those in the next world, but it was only when the ancients found scientific proof of an afterlife that such individuals were accepted, then studied. Later, by means of techniques no longer understood, an entire subspecies of highly specialized human beings was brought into existence. Not to comfort the bereaved or access the wisdom of those who had passed into spirit, but to make money. And so it was that our ancestors were created for commercial rather than spiritual purposes—and came to be regarded with suspicion rather than respect. A curse that follows us to this day.

—Grand Vizier Horga Entube,
The History of My People

Soft white light flooded the circular conference room and
threw hard dark shadows down across the highly polished concrete floor. All of the council members were present, but Omar Tepho had yet to arrive, and Jevan Kane had little choice but to wait for him. Having failed to capture Norr on Pooz, and under pressure to get results, the operative had returned to Anafa and the city of Seros. His task, which was to establish communications with Lysander, remained the same. But rather than use Norr as the channel, the technologist planned to employ the services of a more cooperative sensitive.

His name was Arn Dyson, and he was seated within the embrace of the keyhole-shaped slot that ran in toward the
center of the round table. The variant was older rather than younger, and possessed shoulder-length white hair, which he wore in a ponytail. He had a deeply lined face, hooded eyes, and a strong chin. Though not the most famous of seers, Dyson had a solid reputation and, unlike the flighty Norr, demonstrated a willingness to serve. All of which boded well. Which was good, because Chairman Tepho and certain council members had grown decidedly restive of late.

There was a stir as the scientist entered, exchanged greetings with his fellow council members, and took his seat. The chair had been specially designed to accept Tepho's spinal deformity and sighed softly. In the meantime, Shaz appeared behind the chairman. He eyed Kane, treated the operative to one of his caninelike grins, and disappeared. “All right,” Tepho said, “let's get on with it.”

Kane sought to swallow the lump that had formed in the back of his throat and opened the meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen, all of you know why we're here, so we might as well get this session under way. Citizen Dyson? What can we do to help?”

The sensitive smiled reassuringly as he looked from face to face. “It would be helpful if those of you who actually knew Milos Lysander during his most recent incarnation would visualize his features, summon up a positive memory of him, and focus on that. In the meantime the rest of the group can send welcoming thoughts and do their best to remain open. Please turn the lights down—and don't touch me after I go into trance.”

Kane ordered that the lights be dimmed, managed to summon up an image of Lysander's face, and sorted through his memories of the man, looking for one that was positive. There were a few, but not that many, even though the two of
them had been close during the years prior to the founder's premature death, something Tepho continued to resent.

Lysander was a hard man to please, and even though Kane had worked extremely hard to do so, he had rarely been successful. The operative selected one of the rare occasions on which he had been praised, focused his mind on that, and hoped that the thought would function as a beacon.

Meanwhile, Milos Lysander's ethereal body shivered, began to dissipate, and came back together again as the discarnate entity paused to revisualize it. This was something he and every other spirit had to do occasionally in order to maintain a consistent appearance. Of course there were some individuals who couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing and looked like blobs of constantly shifting light. The scientist didn't care for that, however, and liked to maintain an appearance similar to that of Emperor Hios.

Now, as Lysander forced his way down through increasingly dense layers of reality, he soon found himself among the beings who liked to wallow about in the thick, glutinous muck that surrounded the physical plane, or were there on an errand of some sort. A few, like the scientist, were responding to a specific call. Some contacts were intentional, as when a sensitive attempted to communicate with a specific entity, but most were accidental. Lysander had experienced many of those. Someone, members of the Techno Society were the most frequent offenders, would think or talk about him for an extended period of time and unknowingly pepper him with thought forms.

The scientist normally ignored such signals, but some were too strong to filter out or were associated with someone he cared for. Jevan Kane in this case, the same entity who had been his son during his incarnation as Emperor
Hios and was most likely to help him now. Which was why the discarnate decided to follow the energy back to its source. And the closer he got, the stronger the attraction became, until it became a palpable force.

Finally, Lysander found himself at the source of the energy, the place where a group of people were gathered around an individual who was focused on trying to bring him through. Looking into the physical plane was like peering through thick folds of gauze, but the scientist recognized some of those who had gathered to speak with him. Among them were Kane, Eby, and Tepho. A brilliant mind, but one so distorted by his childhood experiences that it had become as monstrous as his body and was capable of anything. Still, Tepho was determined to reestablish the star gates, and that, at least, was good.

The words seemed to come from a long ways off, but once he focused in on them, Lysander discovered that he could hear most of the conversation. A sensitive, the person seated at the very center of the group, was speaking. He was male, well past middle age, and slightly nervous. “He's here . . . I can sense his presence.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tepho demanded imperiously. “He tried to communicate with Kane on Pooz a short time ago. Bring him through!”

“I'm trying,” the sensitive responded defensively, “but it's up to
him
. Discarnate entities have free will. I can't force him to communicate with you.”

Lysander circled the assemblage. What Tepho said was true. He
had
attempted to communicate with Kane, although he wasn't sure about the exact time line, since the whole concept of time was little more than an intellectual abstraction on the spirit planes. So, given the fact that he
wanted
to impart certain information to the group, and a channel was available to do so, what was holding him back?

As with so many other things the answer was complicated. Thanks to the strange bond that existed between them it was easier to communicate through Norr, but there was more to it than that. Yes, it was his goal to see the system of star gates restored, but with an important difference. Having misused the portals during his incarnation as Emperor Hios, he had returned to the physical as Milos Lysander, intent on putting things right. But without the memory of past lives to guide him, the scientist soon strayed from the path, and had it not been for his premature death would have committed the same errors all over again.

All of which brought Lysander back to the present and an extremely important decision. Should he ally himself with the organization he had created, and Tepho's twisted mind, or with the woman who had murdered him?

In the final analysis the decision was easier than Lysander thought it would be. He felt increasingly drawn to the woman he still thought of as Cara. She didn't like him, Lysander knew that, and was glad of it. Knowing where he had gone wrong in the past, and with Norr as a sort of auxiliary conscience, perhaps he could put things right.

“Lysander is here,” Dyson reiterated confidently. “I can see his energy circling the room. But he shows no interest in making contact, and it looks like he's about to leave.”

“Well, hold him!” Kane ordered angrily. “We need him, damm it! The whole thing was
his
idea!”

Lysander knew that Kane had been his son during his incarnation as Emperor Hios, and as the outburst echoed through the foglike substance that swirled around him, the scientist was struck by the extent to which the two of them
were alike. Or had been, since Lysander was determined to correct his past mistakes and repair at least some of the damage he had done.

The discarnate was already in the process of directing his energy elsewhere when Kane rose to address Tepho and the council. His voice was hard and cold. “I apologize for wasting your time. It won't happen again! The old bastard is playing hard to get. I propose that we redouble our efforts to capture Norr; failing that, we'll kill her. At that point the old coot can either come through Dyson here or forget the whole thing. I believe that he will cooperate rather than sacrifice his dream.”

All eyes gravitated to Tepho. Some of the council members approved of the proposed plan while others didn't. But none of them were willing to express their opinions until the chairman weighed in with
his
. And Tepho was silent as he stared at Kane and watched tiny beads of perspiration appear on the operative's forehead.

Tepho didn't like Kane and never had. Partly because of the other man's good looks, partly because of his close relationship with Lysander, and partly because of his latent ambition. But to surrender to such emotions would be a weakness. Because Kane, like every other person in the room, was a tool. And when a cut fails to meet its intended mark the fault lies with the carpenter not the saw. “The plan makes sense,” the chairman said. “Keep me informed.”

Lysander heard the interchange, shook his head sadly, and left Anafa behind.

Aboard the starship
Hewhotravelsthroughtime

Having broken orbit around Pooz, the ship named
Hewhotravelsthroughtime
had scarcely entered hyperspace when Lee
fell seriously ill. It began with a vague discomfort in the area around the boy's navel that gradually developed into an intense pain on the lower right sight of his abdomen which was accompanied by a fever, nausea, and vomiting.

Rebo responded to the crises by breaking out his medical kit and brewing up one of the ready-made poultices he had acquired back on Anafa. The herbalist who had sold the preparation to the runner had promised him that it would be effective for a broad range of medical problems ranging from gunshot wounds to certain forms of venereal disease.

But even a thick application of the noxious stuff did nothing to relieve Lee's symptoms, and by the time Norr returned from a scouting mission, Rebo was quite concerned. Having been fortunate enough to emerge from the confrontation with Prince Palo without being sent to the royal mines, his client was at risk once again, only this threat was even more difficult to counter. “As far as I can tell this ship is virtually identical to the last one,” the sensitive commented, as she took a seat in front of the small fire. “I even found the lift that takes you up to the garden. This one is in better shape, though, and judging from appearances, someone or something has been working to maintain it. My guess is someone, since a robot wouldn't need to cook anything, and I came across the remains of a fire. The embers were still warm.”

Rebo nodded politely, but the sensitive could see that his attention lay elsewhere. “Lee is feeling even worse than he was before. I put a poultice on his belly, but it hasn't made a noticeable difference.”

Norr frowned, got up, and went over to where the boy lay. Once she was kneeling by his side, it quickly became apparent that the youth wasn't asleep as she had supposed, but very, very ill. His forehead felt warm, his knees were
drawn up toward his stomach, and his eyelids fluttered when she said his name.

The poultice that Rebo had secured around the lower part of Lee's torso stank so badly that the sensitive pulled her knife, cut the pouch free, and tossed it over her shoulder. The dressing landed next to one of the Dib Wa warriors who had been forced to accompany the threesome. He swore in Tilisi and threw the offensive item out into the surrounding murk. There were other passengers—but none close enough to object.

“So,” Rebo whispered, as he knelt at Lee's side. “What do you think?”

“I don't know,” Norr said doubtfully, as she poured water onto a handkerchief and arranged it on the boy's hot forehead. “He needs a medico.”

“We don't have one,” the runner replied. “But you're a sensitive,” he added hopefully. “Maybe you could heal him.”

“I would if I could,” Norr replied regretfully. “But I lack that particular talent. There is someone who might be able to help us however.”

“Really?” the runner inquired. “Who?”

“The person who is living in the garden,” Norr replied, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder.

“Why? Do you think he or she is a medico?”

“No,” the sensitive responded. “But we know that the ship was originally designed to carry passengers as well cargo. So it's my guess that there is a highly automated medical facility on board. Probably in one of the many areas that we don't have access to.”

Rebo looked hopeful. “It's your ‘guess'? Or did one of your invisible friends tell you that?”