Logos Run

by William C. Dietz

  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

  The spaceship Shewhoswimsthevoid

  To those who preach the benefits of technology—I say look at the ruins of Wimmura! The ancients gloried in the dark arts, and God struck them down! So teach the Book of Abominations to your children, and do battle with your unclean thoughts, or give yourself to the flames of purification.

  —Grand Vizier Imbo Moratano, Church of the Antitechnic God

  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.

  Fortunately, the trip was relatively short, which meant that after only a few hours of suffering, Shewhoswims guided the tiny extension of herself into an open docking bay. There was the barely heard whine of hidden machinery, followed by the sudden restoration of gravity, and a dull thud as the transport was captured and locked into place. “And here it is,” Rebo said to no one in particular. “Home sweet home.”

  An especially long five minutes passed before servos whined, the aft hatch hit the deck outside, and those closest to the opening were given access to the ship’s decontamination chamber. It was smaller than the shuttle’s cargo bay, so only a third of the passengers could enter before the hatch closed and a thick mist fogged the air. The runner, sensitive, and heavy had been expecting the antibacterial spray, but some of their fellow passengers weren’t. Some screamed and started to thrash about, while others attempted to calm them. Rebo took the opportunity to confer with his companions. “I figure about thirty to thirty-five members of the Circus Solara were on the shuttle. Maybe half that number are here in the decontamination chamber. It’s pretty clear that the whole group has been planet-hopping for years— and is familiar with the way the ships operate. That’s why I expect the advance party to make a run for the hold, secure a corner, and wait for the rest to arrive with the baggage.”

  “That’s what I would do,” Hoggles agreed stolidly. “And it will work. They have more arms and legs than any other group aboard.”

  “Exactly,” Rebo agreed. “And once they get established, they’ll come after us. So, rather than grab a wall slot or try for a corner, I suggest that we seize control of the water supply instead.”

  Norr was visibly surprised. “But that’s public property! No one does that.”

  “Oh, they try,” the runner replied. “I encountered the problem once. A group of toughs set up camp right in front of the faucet and charged each passenger a gunnar per bucket of water, until the rest of the passengers banded together and put a stop to it. Five people were killed during the battle.”

  Hoggles frowned. “So why would we want to put ourselves in a position to get killed?”

  “We’ll go about it differently,” Rebo answered. “Rather than demand money from our fellow passengers, we’ll provide them with water for free so long as they don’t attack us. But if
they do, we’ll cut them off.”

  “You’re pretty smart for a norm,” Norr said admiringly. “No wonder I hang out with you!”

  “You may feel differently later on,” the runner replied soberly. “It won’t be easy to guard that faucet constantly. . . . But it’s worth a try.”

  The heavy nodded. “So, what happens when the hatch opens?”

  “Lonni and I will make a run for the hold,” Rebo replied, as the mist began to dissipate. “You bring up the rear with the packs, or if they’re too heavy, guard them. One of us will come back to lend a hand.”

  The hatch had already begun to open when the sensitive freed herself from her pack and, staff in hand, prepared to follow Rebo out into the corridor beyond. The twosome wasn’t the first to exit the decontamination chamber, that honor fell to a young man who rolled under the steadily rising door, but the couple were able to secure a position toward the front of the pack.

  That advantage, significant though it was, couldn’t make up for the fact that the Circus Solara performers had superior numbers. The beast master, the strongman, and a particularly well-built rigger led a phalanx of twelve people who pushed the rest of the passengers out of the way. The beast master took particular pleasure in elbowing Norr as he passed by her, thereby throwing the sensitive into a durasteel bulkhead and effectively putting her out of the race.

  But Rebo wasn’t so easily deflected, and, while unable to block the circus performers, did manage to keep up with them. Elbows flew, poorly directed blows were deflected, and the air was thick with grunts and heartfelt swear words as the mob surged down the filthy passageway to the point where a hatch had been welded shut more than a thousand years before. At that point the group had no choice but to turn left. The bullet-pocked bulkheads to either side of them were covered with grime, peeling paint, and countless layers of head-high multicolored graffiti. Below that, barely visible beneath the grime, phrases like WATCH YOUR STEP! hinted at a more civilized past.

  Then they were through a large opening and in the ship’s main hold, a space that the earliest passengers would never have been allowed to visit, much less live in. But that was back before Shewhoswims had been forced to seal off most of her vast body lest the now-barbarous humans do even more damage to her precious operating systems. What light there was originated from high above, and rather than the still- smoldering campfires the previous set of passengers typically left, there was nothing to see but piles of rubbish. And the gloom that circled beyond.

  True to common practice, and the runner’s predictions, the beast master and the rest of his flying squad immediately struck out for a distant corner. Once in their possession, and with more than thirty people to call upon, the triangular section of deck would be relatively easy to defend compared to a spot out in the middle of the hold.

  Once Rebo confirmed that the troupe didn’t have plans to seize control of the water supply themselves, he let out a sigh of relief and took the opportunity to drag some likely looking debris over to the point where the faucet protruded from the steel bulkhead. A large puddle had formed there— and it shivered in sympathy with the vibration produced by the ship’s power plant. Then, as more people flooded into the cavernous hold, the runner was forced to forgo scavenging in order to take up a defensible position next to the faucet. Norr arrived shortly thereafter—followed by a heavily burdened Hoggles. “Damn,” the variant said, as he dropped the packs next to the puddle. “Those things are heavy.”

  “Uh-oh,” Norr said, as she rewrapped her fingers around the long wooden staff. “Here comes our first set of visitors.”

  Rebo already had the four men under surveillance and nodded politely as they approached. They had the look of merchant adventurers, a common breed aboard the great ships, and were well armed. “What’s the deal?” the largest member of the group demanded as he eyed the pistols that dangled at the runner’s sides. “What are the weapons for?”

  “There are more than thirty members of the Circus Solara on this ship,” Rebo explained patiently. “They threatened to attack us.”

  “But they won’t if you control the water,” the man ventured.

  “That’s the idea,” the runner agreed.

  “So, what about us?” the smallest of the group wanted to know.

  “You can take all the water you want,” Rebo replied evenly, “so long as you don’t pass any along to members of the troupe. If you do, we’ll cut you off.”

  “And you don’t plan to charge us?”

  “Nope . . . That would be wrong.”

  “It sure as hell would be,” the first man commented fervently. “We’ll be back with our canteens.”

  “Sounds good,” Rebo replied. “We’ll see you later.”

  The men left, word spread quickly, and it wasn’t long before a large contingent of circus performers had threaded their way between the newly created encampments to form a semicircle in front of the water faucet. The rest of the passengers saw the action and stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch. Not because they favored one faction over the other, but because the question of who controlled the water was important, and everyone had a stake in the conflict.

  Most of the troupe were in mufti, but a few wore full makeup, which made them look more menacing somehow. The beast master had chosen himself as spokesman for the group. His voice was little more than a growl, and his eyes seemed to glow with hatred. “Give the woman to us, leave the area, and we’ll let you live.”

  Rebo nodded gravely. “Generally speaking, I like a man who comes right to the point—but I’m afraid that you constitute the exception to that rule. I suggest that you return to your corner.”

  “Or what?” the beast master demanded belligerently. “Do you think you can shoot all of us?”

  “No,” the runner replied evenly. “That would be unrealistic. I am pretty fast however, so I think I can kill five or six of you before you can close with us. Then, given Bo’s expertise with that war hammer, two or three more will go down. Oh, and don’t forget the woman you want so much. . . . She’s good for at least a couple more. That puts the price for water at ten people. So, if that’s acceptable to you, make your move. Which one of you clowns would like to die first?”

  But, before any of the performers could reply, Norr pointed upward. “Jak! Look!”

  The runner looked up into the maze of girders that crisscrossed the top of the hold, spotted a figure silhouetted against one of the lights, and knew he’d been suckered. Even as the beast master kept him busy one of the troupe’s trapeze artists had worked his way into position and was about to fire a long-barreled rifle.

  But Rebo carried the long single-shot Hogger for exactly that sort of situation—and knew he could make the shot with his spectacles on. Unfortunately the runner’s spectacles were stored in his pack, and the would-be assassin amounted to little more than an out-of-focus blur. That’s what the runner was thinking as he brought the long-barreled pistol up into position and the acrobat fired. There was a flash, followed by a loud report and a clang, as the lead ball nipped the top of Rebo’s right shoulder and flattened itself against the bulkhead behind him.

  Thanks to the fact that the sniper was armed with a muzzle-loader rather than a repeater, there was no follow-up shot—which provided the runner with the opportunity to return fire. The momentary pain, followed by the sudden rush of adrenaline, combined to produce an instinctive response. The big handgun jerked in Rebo’s hand, the 30-30 slug flew true, and the out-of-focus blob seemed to wobble. Then, as the loud boom echoed back and forth between the ship’s steel bulkheads, the trapeze artist fell. There was a sickening thump as his body hit the deck. That was followed by a clatter as the muzzle-loader shattered, and the force of the impact sent pieces of the weapon skittering far and wide.

  “So,” Rebo said, as he lowered the still-smoking Hogger. “He went first. . . . Who would like to go second?”

  The beast master and a couple of others might have taken their chances, but the
rest of the crowd had already begun to back away, and that forced the more ardent performers to withdraw as well.

  “You can have all the water you want so long as you leave us alone,” Rebo told them coldly. “But the next time you try something like this we will cut you off. And, oh by the way, when you want water send one person to get it. And send the same person each time.”

  “We’ll get you for this!” the beast master threatened, as he backed away.

  “That will cost you twenty hours without water,” the runner replied mildly. “Would you like to double that?”

  There was no reply as the performers faded into the surrounding murk, although Norr could “see” the thought forms they had created and knew the danger was far from over.

  “Damn,” Hoggles said, as he peered up into the latticework of beams and girders above their heads. “We need eyes on the top of our heads.”

  “Yeah,” Rebo agreed soberly. “We do. Maybe we can build a shelter with a bulletproof roof.”

  Norr took a look around. “At least there’s plenty of materials. Let’s get to work.”

  None of the three noticed the ancient security camera mounted high on the opposite bulkhead, or the fact that it panned slightly as if in response to some invisible hand before zooming out to a wide shot.

  In the meantime, Shewhoswims broke orbit, accelerated out toward the edge of the solar system, and began to calculate the next jump. She was only vaguely aware of what the humans were up to, and so long as they did minimal damage to her body, was not especially interested in their activities. The stars were not only more compelling but a good deal more predictable, and that was a virtue in her opinion. The AI hummed while she worked.