Runner

by William C. Dietz

  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, jerk
ing 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?”

  Though never a true skeptic, he was far too superstitious for that, the runner’s faith in Norr’s psychic abilities had not only increased over the last few weeks, but reached the point where he had a somewhat exaggerated notion of what the sensitive was capable of. Something Norr intended to talk to him about at the right moment. But right then, with Lee’s welfare on the line, she chose to lie. “Yes. Someone told me.”

  “Excellent!” Rebo replied, as he came to his feet. “We’ll make a stretcher. Two of the Dib Wa can carry it. The others will remain here to protect our supplies.”

  It was a good plan, and Norr said as much. There was a flurry of activity as orders were given, materials were gathered, and construction got under way. The stretcher party was ready to go fifteen minutes later. Lee had slipped into a semiconscious state by then, had taken to calling Norr Momma, and was clearly in pain.

  Most of the other passengers were hunkered down around tiny fires, and there wasn’t a whole lot for them to do, so most turned to watch as the stretcher party zigzagged its way across the hold. The majority assumed that the boy had passed away and, as was the prevailing custom on starships, would be entombed in some distant part of the hull. Not only was such a death sad, but it reminded many of their own mortality and caused them to turn back toward the warmth of their fires.

  Having made use of the lift less than an hour before, Norr had no difficulty leading the others to the graffiti-covered door, where she pressed her palm against cold steel and waited for the audible click. That was followed by the steady whine of servos as the rarely used hatch cycled open. “All aboard,” the sensitive ordered, as she gestured toward the dimly lit interior and followed the rest of the stretcher party onto the lift.

  The door closed, the elevator rose, and Rebo pulled the Crosser out of its holster by way of a precaution. While Norr seemed to assume that the person or persons who had taken up residence in the ship’s artificial garden would welcome visitors, he wasn’t so sure.

  The lift jerked to a halt a few seconds later. The runner motioned for the others to stay where they were, sniffed the moisture-laden air, and thought he detected a trace of smoke. Then, eyes probing ahead, Rebo stepped out into a compartment that was clearly identical to the one in which Lee had been pursued by the black hat assassin. Except that this garden was relatively orderly, and while the atmosphere was humid, the sprinklers remained off.

  Rebo followed a well-trodden path away from the elevator, and had just passed between a pair of fruit-laden bushes, when someone grabbed hold of him from behind. One hand went to his collar, a second to his belt, and the runner had just started to react when his entire body was lifted off the ground. Then, similar to the way a farmhand might heave a bag of grain up onto a cart, Rebo was literally thrown through the air.

  Bo Hoggles uttered a victorious roar as the norm crashed through a thicket of dead branches and hit the ground beyond. That was when the heavy realized that this intruder was different from the one who had invaded his domain earlier in the “day,” and started to turn. However it was too late by then, and Norr’s staff made a solid thwack! as it connected with the side of the other variant’s head and sent the giant to his knees.

  But the blow didn’t render Hoggles unconscious, and if it hadn’t been for the Dib Wa warriors who had piled onto his back, the heavy might have been able to rise. Fortunately, the weight of the red hats, plus that of Rebo’s body was sufficient to keep him down. Norr knelt next to the variant’s head. “Hello!” she said cheerfully. “I’m sorry I had to hit you . . . I suppose it’s hard to believe, but we don’t mean you any harm. In fact, depending on how much you know about the ship, we might even pay you for some advice.”

  Rebo frowned. Like Norr, he was perfectly willing to pay if that would help Lee, but resented the way she continually took him for granted. But the runner knew it wasn’t a good moment to broach the subject, so he let it go.

  Hoggles, who had assumed that the intruders were there to rob him of his food and take his home, blinked in surprise. His hair was ragged as if large fistfuls of it had been hacked off with a knife. He had a mostly symmetrical face, an even nose, and a massive, stubble-covered jaw. Like many of his brethren, the giant was often assumed to be stupid but nothing could have been further from the truth. “Tell your friends to get off my back, and we can talk about it.”

  Norr looked at Rebo. “Let’s give him a chance.”

  The runner grimaced, traded the Crosser for the more powerful Hogger, and backed away. The Dib Wa, both of whom were careful to stay out of the line of fire, did likewise. One of them went to check on Lee.

  The heavy got to his feet, touched the quickly swelling lump on the side of his head, and made a face. His clothes were a uniform gray color, had been mended countless times, and were ragged around the edges. “It’s hard to keep track, but I think I’ve been aboard for about three years now, and I guess that makes me something of an expert.”

  “Three years?” the runner said incredulously. “You must have been to every planet on the ship’s itinerary at least two times . . . Why stay aboard?”

  “That’s none of your business,” the variant replied haughtily, and stared out from under craggy brows. “Suffice it to say that I have my reasons.”

  “Fair enough,” Norr said agreeably. “Based on your knowledge of the vessel, can you tell us where the ship’s medical facility is located? Our son is ill, very ill, and needs immediate attention.”

  Hoggles looked at the stretcher and the red hat who knelt next to it. “No, I can’t, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. I have found ways into most areas of the ship but not all of them.”

  Rebo directed a look at the sensitive. “You told me that he would know,” the runner said accusingly. “This is a waste of time! Lee is dying while you lead us all over the ship.”

  If the conflict bothered Hoggles, he gave no sign of it. “Of course there is someone who would know,” the variant said. “If you can get him to talk, which will be difficult to do, since he tends to regard beings such as ourselves as little more than barbarians.”

  Norr knew that Rebo was frustrated, not to mention annoyed at her, and understood why. The runner was worried about Lee and knew that time was running out. “Okay,” she said, “who is this individual? Let’s have a talk with him.”

  “He calls himself Hewhotravelsthroughtime,” Hoggles answered, “and he’s all around us. In fact, you could say that we’re riding him, like fleas on a dog.”

  In spite of the fact that he had traveled aboard at least two dozen spaceships, and knew that they were sentient, Rebo had never spoken with one of the constructs. Perhaps that was why he thought of them as machines rather than people, and had never taken the time to consider how one of them might regard his or her passengers. But one thing was for sure . . . If anyone would know where the onboard medical facility was located, the ship itself would. “So, what are we waiting for?” Rebo inquired eagerly. “Let’s get going.”

  The heavy remained where he was. “I believe there was some mention of pay.”

  Some quick negotiations ensued, and Hoggles was able to secure a substantial fee. Then, with the first half of the sum safely secured in an otherwise empty purse, the ragged heavy led the stretcher party back along rows of well-tended hybrid corn, past a pair of metal tanks, to a sealed hatch. “I spent weeks punching numbers into this keypad before I finally came up with the correct combination,” Hoggles commented, as his huge, sausagelike fingers mashed a series of buttons. “Fortunately th
e code was set locally or Hewhotravels would have changed it on me.”

  Servos whined as the hatch cycled open. That allowed the huge variant and his clients to enter a maze of dimly lit passageways. Rebo managed to give the good luck amulet that hung around his neck a surreptitious squeeze before pulling the Crosser and holding it down along his right thigh. The corridors hadn’t been vandalized thanks to the fact that no more than four or five people had passed through them over the last thousand years. They were dusty, though, and hung with long, ropelike filaments of dust and festooned with lacy cobwebs. However, thanks to the heavy’s size, and the fact that he had created what amounted to a tunnel during his previous explorations, those who followed along behind were able to avoid most of the accumulated material. Nonetheless, Norr felt compelled to lay a handkerchief across Lee’s face to protect the boy from the stuff that fell from above.

  Finally, after numerous twists and turns, Hoggles led the stretcher party through a door and out onto a suspended platform. It was nearly dark within the globular chamber, and what light there was emanated from thousands of tiny lights, all moving slowly relative to the ship. That was when Rebo realized that he was looking at a map, a star map, of whatever part of the galaxy the ship was traversing at the moment.

  A quick glance over the edge of the platform revealed that the chart extended downward as well, a sight that caused the runner’s stomach to flip-flop and left him wondering why there weren’t any handrails.

  The heavy, who had been there before, made straight for the bulky-looking chair that sat perched at the very edge of the black abyss. “The ship’s architects had a great deal of faith in their AIs,” Hoggles explained, “but made provisions for a biological pilot too. More to reassure skittish passengers than for any other reason, or so Hewhotravels claims, and I tend to believe him. In any case that’s what the chair is for . . . All you have to do is sit down, and you’ll be in contact with his eminence, assuming he’s in the mood to receive guests. So, who will it be?”