Logos Run

by William C. Dietz

  The facilitator took a sip of wine before replying. “That’s a good question, Citizen Rebo. . . . As you have surmised by now, we not only have a pretty good idea where the rector and his flock are at any given moment, we have the capacity to bring their wanderings to an end whenever we choose.”

  “Then why wait?” Hoggles inquired.

  Though blunt, the question was understandable given the nature of the heavy’s injury, Okanda smiled sympathetically. “I understand how you feel—and regret what happened to you. But I, along with the other facilitators, have a responsibility to the planet as a whole. The rector is like a magnet to which tiny slivers of iron are inevitably drawn. Once all, or the vast majority of them are clumped together, we’ll sweep them up.”

  “And then?” Phan inquired skeptically. Not only were her hands sore, they were slightly swollen, which would have made it difficult to handle weapons. If she had had weapons—which she didn’t. Had the decision been up to her, the rector and his entire flock would have been crucified and left to die. Men, women, and children.

  “The present plan is to march the antitechnics to the great salt sea and transport them to a remote island, where they will be free to live without benefit of technology,” Okanda answered smoothly. “A fitting punishment—and one that will serve to protect the rest of the population from their fanaticism.”

  Norr heard the facilitator’s words, but what she “saw” was something different. Based on the dark, slowly morphing thought forms that hovered around Okanda, it appeared that while some of the flock might be transported, others would almost certainly be lost at sea. The rector being one of them. She shivered, tugged at the shawl she had been given, and was grateful for the additional warmth.

  The rest of the meal passed pleasantly. The main course was followed by a delicious dessert, wine, and a selection of local cheeses. And it was then, as Rebo thanked Okanda for his hospitality, that the facilitator invited the travelers to attach themselves to a government convoy that was slated to leave for Feda in three days. It was a generous offer, and one that would go a long way toward solving one of the group’s most pressing problems, so the runner was quick to accept on behalf of both his companions and himself.

  “Good!” Okanda said heartily as he rose from the table. “The matter is settled. Now, if you would be so kind as to follow me, I would like to show you through the citadel’s museum. We have a collection of techno artifacts that is second to none. Something that interstellar travelers such as yourselves are uniquely qualified to appreciate.”

  Rebo was feeling a bit sleepy after all the wine and food, and would have preferred to go to bed, but couldn’t think of a graceful way to excuse himself. So the runner followed the facilitator to the far end of the hall, through an iron-strapped door, and down a circular flight of stairs. Norr, Hoggles, and Phan brought up the rear.

  Electric lights came on, apparently of their own volition, as Okanda led his guests out into a room that would have been equal in size to the hall above except for the fact that the ceiling was a good deal lower. Whereas the Great Hall was open, and sparsely furnished, this space was filled with row after row of glassed-in display cases, with only narrow aisles between them.

  Faced with the prospect of what looked like a long march, combined with what promised to be a boring narrative, Rebo uttered a silent groan as Okanda led his guests into the first passageway. It was filled with a mind-boggling array of small household appliances. As the government official led them down the corridor, the visitors were shown machines that the ancients used to toast bread, dry their hair, listen to music, talk to each other, heat their food, and remove unwanted body hair. It was a truly amazing display.

  However if that section was of interest, the next was even more so, since it was focused on a subject of more than passing interest to at least three of Okanda’s guests. Rebo, Phan, and, to a lesser extent, Hoggles stared in openmouthed lust as they were invited to eyeball case after case of neatly racked weapons. There were knives, pistols, rifles, machine guns, and hand grenades, all displayed along with accessories where appropriate, and quantities of ammunition.

  Fortunately, Okanda failed to notice the longing looks, or regarded them as understandable, because he was in no way offended when the previously taciturn Phan peppered him with all manner of technical questions having to do with the weapons laid out before her. But all good things must come to an end, so it wasn’t long before the facilitator led the group into the next corridor, which was even more intriguing in its own way. “This,” Okanda announced importantly, “is the section of the museum dedicated to artifacts that we don’t understand fully and probably never will. But our scientists continue to study the more promising specimens in hopes that we will be able to bring some of them back to life.”

  The official wanted to say more, would have said more, had it not been for the fact that one of the objects in front of him chose that particular moment to activate itself. Glass shattered as the metal sphere shot upward, hovered in midair, and made a beeline for Norr. Okanda was startled, but not so startled as to be rendered immobile, and was in the process of bringing a small device up to his lips when Logos spoke from the vicinity of Norr’s neckline. “He’s calling for help! Stop him!”

  Phan had bandages on both hands, but there was nothing wrong with the assassin’s feet, and her right boot made contact with Okanda’s head as the young woman performed a So-Lai, or high spin-kick. The official staggered backward, the communicator flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor.

  Then, before Okanda had time to recover, Hoggles was there to wrap the norm in a muscular embrace. In the meantime Norr had intercepted the metal sphere and was holding it with both hands. It was smooth and pleasantly warm. “It’s a gate seed!” the sensitive exclaimed. “Just like the one we had on Ning!”

  “Correct,” Logos said laconically. “Which means that we can depart for Haafa without further delay.”

  “Haafa?” Rebo inquired doubtfully. “We’re going to Socket.”

  “Yes,” the AI agreed, “we are. After we go to Haafa . . . So stop wasting time, and take me elsewhere. I will need about fifteen minutes in which to prepare the network.”

  “Listen!” Norr cautioned. “Can you hear that beeping sound? It’s some sort or alarm.”

  “That’s correct!” Okanda said, his eyes flashing. “My guards are on the way. . . . I don’t know what sort of machine Citizen Norr has concealed beneath her clothing, but it belongs to the government, and I suggest that you surrender it now.”

  There was anger in the facilitator’s voice, and Rebo understood why. “Look,” the runner said, “I’m sorry. I truly am, but we’re going to take some of your weapons, and the sphere. Bo, tie him up. . . . Everyone else, let’s go shopping!”

  With no rope or cord at hand the heavy had no choice but to remove the official’s belt and use that to bind Okanda’s wrists to his ankles. The heavy was still working on the project when more glass shattered. Rebo was still looking for some sort of tool when Phan broke into the cases with a series of very efficient elbow strikes. The runner watched in amazement as the young woman plucked a wide assortment of knives, pistols, and other artifacts out of the displays. So many items that he doubted her ability to carry them all.

  Still, it was none of his business, so even as the distant Klaxon continued to bleat mournfully, Rebo went about making some selections of his own. The rapid-fire Crosser and the long-barreled single-shot Hogger made for an effective combination in the past. But, as the runner ran his eye over rows of gleaming handguns, the familiar shapes were nowhere to be seen.

  So, being unfamiliar with many of the pistols racked in front of him, Rebo chose a matched set of stainless-steel semiautomatic Kobos, both because they would fire the same ammunition, and he could cannibalize one of them for parts should that become necessary. Fortunately, the clothes he had been given came equipped with plenty of pockets, which the runner proceeded to fill with spare clips p
lus all the ammo he could lay his hands on.

  Then, having cinched his belt in order to keep his heavily weighted pants up, the runner eyed the case again. There weren’t any holsters for the Kobos, but those associated with a neighboring display looked like they might work, so he grabbed two of them and draped the gun belts around his neck.

  Conscious of the fact that he had short-term needs as well, and that, without his glasses, he wouldn’t be able to hit anything with a rifle, the runner snatched a pump-style shotgun out of a rack and opened the drawer below. It contained four boxes of ammunition. Rebo slid shells into the underside of the receiver as Norr caught his eye. A newly acquired sword was slung across the sensitive’s back, and she held the gate seed with both hands. “They’re coming, Jak! I can feel them!”

  “All right,” Rebo shouted, so that everyone could hear. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Norr led the way, followed by Rebo, Hoggles, and Phan. The door appeared to be promising, but when the sensitive went to open it, the barrier refused to budge. “It’s locked!” Norr exclaimed, and turned to look at the runner.

  “Move back,” Rebo ordered grimly, and brought the shotgun to bear on the lock mechanism. The trigger gave, wood shattered, and a resounding boom reverberated through the hall. The runner gave the door a kick, saw it swing open, and pushed his way through.

  Meanwhile, the first of Okanda’s guards entered the museum, spotted the thieves, and opened fire. Phan paused to fire her new rifle and had the satisfaction of seeing a dragoon fall. A fusillade of bullets splintered the area adjacent to the door as the assassin ducked into what turned out to be a circular stairwell. An iron door blocked access to the level below, so Phan went upward, her footsteps ringing on metal treads. The guards entered seconds later, yelled a series of incoherent orders at one another, and began to climb. Meanwhile, in the bell tower high above, the bells began to toll.

  Thousands of stars twinkled in the clear night sky as Shaz, Kane, and the metal men neared the fifteen-foot-high stone wall that protected the citadel. The party paused to look upward as bells began to peal. Having followed the road into the village below and spent some time in the local tavern, it had been easy to establish the fact that a sensitive, a heavy, and two norms had been taken to the government complex on the hill above. And, while Shaz took comfort from the fact that the man in charge of the fortress was said to favor technology, the official’s protechnic stance implied a potential downside as well. What if the facilitator was to discover the true nature of the garment Norr was wearing? He would want to keep the AI, and if sufficiently knowledgeable, might try to use the device. That was why Shaz was determined to enter the complex and take whatever action might be appropriate. “That sounds like gunfire,” Kane observed mildly, as something went pop, pop, pop beyond the walls.

  “All the more reason to find out what’s going on,” Shaz replied as he got off his mount. “Stay here if you can . . . Otherwise, return to the village. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I would feel more comfortable if I had a weapon,” Kane said suggestively.

  “I’m sure you would,” the combat variant replied, as two of the metal men joined hands, and Shaz stepped up into the V-shaped aperture. Then, before the disincarnate could reply to the variant’s comment, the androids launched Shaz high into the air. And such was the operative’s natural athleticism that he was able to execute a forward somersault that carried him over the top of the wall. With that accomplished, he had only to extend his legs at the right moment in order to land squarely on both feet.

  Meanwhile, not hearing any signs of alarm from within the fortress, Kane assumed that the combat variant was all right. The spirit entity felt a fluttering sensation as Dyson made still another attempt to dislodge him and laughed out loud. The metal men, eyes glowing, watched impassively. Biologicals were not only a mystery beyond their comprehension—but as changeable as the weather. As the last bell tolled, more gunfire was heard, and the battle raged on.

  There was a cacophony of sound within the circular stairway as boots rang on metal treads, guards shouted from below, and Phan fired the occasional shot to slow them down. Though still suspicious of the young woman, Rebo was grateful as well, as she continued to fight an effective rearguard action.

  Norr had the lead. There were occasional windows, albeit narrow ones, that looked out onto the well-lit fortress. That was how the sensitive came to realize that she and her companions were trapped in the bell tower rather than some other structure. An impression that was confirmed when Norr finally arrived at the top, where three thick ropes hung from above, and an elderly bell ringer cowered in a corner.

  Norr gestured for the oldster to stay where he was and paused to look around. A single electric light lit the area, but that was sufficient to illuminate the perfectly matched bells that were suspended above and the arched slits that opened to the outside. The sensitive could see her own breath as she turned toward the stairs. Hoggles had arrived by that time, and was quickly followed by Rebo and Phan. “Warn the guards,” Norr instructed. “And send the bell ringer down. Tell him to take his time.”

  Rebo nodded, motioned for the old man to come forward, and followed him to the top of the stairs. “Hey, you!” the runner shouted. “Don’t fire! The bell ringer is coming down.” A largely incomprehensible reply was heard from below, and having been cautioned to take his time, the old man began the steep descent.

  Meanwhile, having worked with Logos to activate a gate seed once before, the sensitive knew what to do. Like all its kind, the globe had a dimple on top and one on the bottom. The trick was to press on both at the same time, and having done so, to maintain the pressure for a full sixty seconds— something most of those who came across a gate seed failed to do.

  Once the requisite minute had elapsed Norr felt something give—and knew that was her cue to twist both hemispheres in opposite directions. They gave, a crack appeared, and multiple beams of light shot outward. “Let go,” Logos commanded sternly, and the sensitive was happy to obey as the globe not only hovered in midair but began to oscillate. “Remove your outer clothing,” the AI instructed. “I need to ‘see.’ ”

  Phan looked on in openmouthed amazement as Norr pulled the loose-fitting dress up over her head to reveal a garment the likes of which the assassin had never seen before. It shimmered the way sunlight shimmers on a wind-ruffled lake. Here, right in front of her, was the thing that she was supposed to protect.

  That was the moment, perhaps the only moment, when Rebo could successfully approach Phan from behind. And even though the runner knew she had been untruthful, and might even be employed by the Techno Society, Rebo felt a sense of regret as his gun made contact with the assassin’s head. Because, strange though it might have seemed, Phan had become a member of their odd little family. But it had to be done, and Rebo was there to catch the woman and lower her unconscious body to the floor.

  “Don’t tell me,” Hoggles rumbled. “Let me guess . . . You want me to tie her up.”

  “That would be nice,” the runner agreed. “Because she’s going to be real pissed when she wakes up—and she’s armed to the teeth.”

  The time for conversation was over as the bell ringer passed the guards and they pushed their way upward in an attempt to reach the platform above. The treads were narrow, which meant the soldiers were forced to advance two at a time, and without the benefit of covering fire. Rather than simply slaughter them, which would have been easy to do, Rebo fired over their heads. The shotgun sounded like a cannon within the enclosed space, and some of the guards were struck by ricocheting pellets, but none fatally. That forced them to pause and look upward. “Hold it right there!” the runner shouted down to them. “Or die where you stand!”

  “I think that got their attention,” Hoggles observed as he peered over the rail. “I’ll keep an eye on them. . . . Lonni wants a word with you.”

  Rebo turned to discover that the sphere had disappeared into hyperspace, where, if the dev
ice was functioning properly, Logos would make use of it to contact subordinate computers on Socket. The runner felt suddenly nauseous, a sure sign that the AI was busy sucking power out of the fusion reactor located below the museum and channeling the energy where it needed to go. “We’re close,” Norr cautioned. “Pull Bo back from the rail.”

  Rebo returned to the rail, fired a blast at the opposite wall, and heard metal clatter as the troops retreated down the stairs. Then, having grabbed hold of the heavy’s arm, the runner pulled him back toward the sensitive and the center of the platform.

  Phan came to at that point, attempted to get up, and discovered that she’d been bound hand and foot. She felt a combination of shame, anger, and self-pity as Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles hugged each other, and the air began to shimmer. There was an audible bang as air pressure equalized, and the device Phan had been hired to protect disappeared.

  The lights in the Grand Hall were still on when Okanda returned to find that while the remains of the recently completed meal had been removed, the wine service was still available. He had already poured himself a glass, and collapsed into his chair, when a pair of guards entered carrying Phan between them. The assassin was still bound, and therefore helpless, when the soldiers dumped her onto the surface of the table and took up positions a few feet away.

  Even though Okanda was furious, he chose not to say anything right away and sipped some wine instead. And, rather than complain, Phan was silent as well. But their eyes made contact—and something like respect passed between them. “So,” the official said finally, “they tricked you as well.”

  Phan shrugged, or attempted to, although it came off as a jerk. The right side of her head was swollen and hurt like hell. “Yes, and no.”

  The facilitator’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Which means?”

  “Which means,” a male voice replied out of nowhere, “that while Phan knew about the artificial intelligence, she wasn’t aware that the others were on to her.”