Logos Run

by William C. Dietz

  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 city of New Wimmura, on the Planet Derius

  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 spaceship Shewhoswimsthevoid

  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.”

  “Useful?” the AI responded doubtfully. “In what way?”

  “Some outlaws have taken up residence on the ship,” Norr explained gently. “They barricaded themselves into the Security Control Center, and the right combination of numbers is required in order to enter.”

  “So?” Logos said from the vicinity of Rebo’s neck. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Well,” the runner replied, as he checked to ensure that the Hogger was loaded. “If they manage to kill us, you’ll wind up as little more than a bib for one of the cannibals, or be tossed onto a rubbish heap. So, given the fact that you constitute an artificial intelligence, and the ship is controlled by an artificial intelligence, I figured you could lend a hand. Or a sleeve as the case might be.”

  The AI had been forced to enter into relationships with a wide variety of human beings over the past thousand years and felt pretty sure that he could cut some sort of deal with the outlaws if that became necessary. It didn’t serve his purposes to say so, however, so he didn’t. “Okay,” Logos agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

  The Hogger made a l
oud click as Rebo closed the breech and slid the weapon back into the cross-draw holster. “All you have to do,” Rebo explained soothingly, “is to make contact with the ship and request access to the Security Control Center.”

  “Okay,” the AI replied hesitantly. “But I can’t promise anything. . . . Who knows what sort of operating system this piece of feces is running? Two-way communication may be impossible.”

  “Well, do your best,” Rebo responded patiently. “And one more thing . . . This ‘piece of feces’ is the only thing between you and a long, lonely death among the stars. We biologicals will starve to death if something goes awry—but it’s my guess that you’ll live a lot longer. So, be nice.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” the computer promised resentfully. “There’s no need to threaten me.”

  “Good,” Norr put in matter-of-factly. “Come on . . . Let’s find some sort of hookup so you can chat with the ship.”

  There wasn’t that much for Shewhoswims to do while transiting hyperspace, which was why the AI was busy working on her epic song-poem The Chant of the Constellations, when the irritation first began. She tried to dismiss the sensation as still another manifestation of old age and figured that the feeling would go away, but the input continued. Finally, having been unable to ignore the stimulus, the spaceship broke away from her composition to discover that something very unusual was under way. It seemed that there was an incoming binary message on com channel 17296.4, which, according to the schematic that immediately mapped itself onto her electronic brain, was a utility circuit that terminated in a passageway adjacent to the main hold. That suggested a prank by one of the passengers, or would have, except none of them possessed the capacity to send a digital message.

  So, curious as to what was trying to make contact with her and why, Shewhoswims opened the circuit. There was a moment of confusion as both AIs sorted through various communications protocols as they searched for one that the other entity could process. Finally, by using what the ship considered to be an ancient code, the AIs were able to interact. Something that took place at blinding speeds even as Rebo stood next to a jack panel and began to fidget. Once it became clear who was on the other end of the circuit, Shewhoswims was both surprised and hostile. “You remain functional? I thought the humans destroyed you.”

  “They tried,” Logos replied laconically. “But I’m hard to kill.”

  “So it would seem,” the spaceship responded disapprovingly. “What do you want?”

  “It isn’t what I want, but rather what my biological companions want,” Logos replied. “It seems that some rather unpleasant humans have taken up residence in your Security Control Center. The passengers in the hold would like you to terminate the criminals, or failing that, to open the hatch that protects them.”

  Shewhoswims spent a nanosecond checking the veracity of the other computer’s claims, and discovered that the human vermin had infected the Security Center. “It appears that you are correct. . . . Unauthorized biologicals are living in what is supposed to be a secured area. As to whether they deserve execution, I really couldn’t say. . . . Humans kill each other all the time. They seem to enjoy it. Who’s to say whether such terminations are justified? Besides, my programming specifically prohibits taking human life, other than for the purpose of self-defense. And, although they are annoying, the individuals in the Security Control Center don’t constitute a significant threat to my survival.”

  “Understood,” Logos replied. “Which brings us to the second option. If you would be so kind as to open the hatch that protects the Control Center—my companions will enter and dispatch the brigands themselves. Thereby eliminating what you yourself referred to as an annoyance.”

  It was a tempting proposition, and having found nothing in her programming to prohibit such an arrangement, the ship was tempted to acquiesce. A single obstacle stood in the way. “Tell me something,” Shewhoswims temporized. “Where are you and your companions headed?”

  “To Derius,” the other AI answered smoothly. “Like everyone else aboard this ship.”

  “But is that your ultimate destination?” the ship wanted to know. “Or, is Derius a waypoint on a longer journey?”

  “Why do you ask?” Logos responded suspiciously. “What difference does it make?”

  “My interaction with you activated some previously latent programming,” Shewhoswims answered honestly. “It seems I am specifically prohibited from ‘knowingly transporting, assisting, or otherwise providing aid to any artificial intelligence that can control, actuate, or coordinate star gates, star gate clusters, or star gate systems.’ A stricture that must have been written into my operating system as a consequence of the civil unrest that followed Emperor Hios’s death.”

  “Yes,” Logos replied, suddenly grateful that Rebo couldn’t monitor the conversation. “There was a lot of paranoia back then.”

  “So, what about it?” the ship demanded. “Are you, or aren’t you, engaged in an effort to reconstitute the star gates?”

  “No, I’m not,” Logos lied. “That would be impossible.”

  Shewhoswims was well aware of the fact that she had the capacity to lie under certain circumstances, which meant it was entirely possible that the other AI had similar capabilities, but took comfort from the fact that she wasn’t going to “knowingly” provide aid to a prohibited being. Or, put another way, if the other computer was intent on trying to reconstitute the old empire, then she was unaware of it. “All right,” the ship agreed, “when should I open the hatch?”

  The overhead fixtures threw isolated pools of light down onto the filthy deck, and campfires flickered in the surrounding gloom as Rebo and Norr went head-to-head over the question of who would participate in the upcoming attack and who would remain behind. “I don’t care what you say,” the sensitive insisted stubbornly. “I’m going.”

  “No,” Rebo countered through tightly clenched teeth, “you aren’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because someone needs to guard the water supply.”

  “No, they don’t,” the variant countered heatedly. “The beast master remains unconscious—so what’s the problem?”

  Logos was draped over one of Hoggles’s massive arms, and his voice was somewhat muffled as a result. “I find this discussion to be extremely tiresome,” the AI interjected. “Please place me inside the shelter. . . . I think I’ll take a nap.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” the runner replied, as he took possession of the tattered-looking coat. “You’re coming along.”

  “But what if I don’t want to come!” the AI wailed. “What if someone hurts me?”

  “Then we’ll give him a medal,” Rebo responded unsympathetically.

  Norr frowned. “Maybe Logos has a point, Jak. . . . Why take him?”

  “For two reasons,” the norm answered. “First, because I don’t trust him or the ship. . . . Which is to say that if there’s some sort of dirty work afoot he’ll suffer, too. Second, because Logos is the only one of us who knows what time the ship thinks it is, and I have no desire to arrive in front of that hatch early or late.”

  “Okay,” the sensitive agreed reluctantly, “but that brings us back to where we were. I’m coming.”

  Rebo found himself in an inescapable trap. Even though the warning had been focused on the beast master rather than the outlaws, the message from Kane worried him, and he felt protective about Norr. But that wasn’t entirely legitimate, not based on the official relationship, and he wasn’t ready to discuss the future. Not with Hoggles and Logos looking on. That left the runner with no option but to back down. “Suit yourself,” Rebo said grudgingly. “But don’t blame me if you wind up as part of someone’s dinner.”

  Norr couldn’t read minds, but she could see some of Rebo’s emotions reflected in the colors that shimmered around him and felt a sense of inner warmth. “I’ll be careful,” she promised, and held out a hand. “Logos and I will bring up the rear.”

  It was a peace of
fering, and Rebo accepted it. “What about the others?” Hoggles wanted to know.

  “They blame Jak for what happened during the first expedition,” Norr explained. “We’re on our own.”

  “That’s probably just as well,” the heavy growled. “Most of them would be worthless in a fight.”

  “There’s no need to be hasty,” Logos objected. “I think we should take the time necessary to . . .”

  But the AI’s concerns were ignored as the humans checked their weapons, left the hold, and made their way toward the Security Center. A camera tracked their progress.

  Ultimately, it was the pain that summoned the beast master up from the blackness. The journey was somehow reminiscent of the time when his father had dropped him into the family’s well along with the order to “Swim!” After the initial shock of the cold water, and the realization that he was drowning, came the instinctual desire to kick. And now, as the beast master fought his way back to consciousness, it was like the same experience all over again. He awoke with a loud snort, pawed at gummy eyes, and found that a piece of cloth had been wrapped around his head.

  “Take it easy,” a female voice cautioned, and the animal trainer felt something cold and wet make contact with his eyes. His vision cleared shortly thereafter, and it wasn’t long before the beast master found himself looking up at Lila, the troupe’s contortionist. She was pretty in an elfin way. His voice was little more than a raw croak. “What happened?”

  “A bullet creased your skull,” Lila replied. “But the sensitive sewed you up real good.”

  “The sensitive? You mean she’s still alive?”

  “She was a few hours ago,” Lila assured him. “I think you owe her an apology.”