Runner

by William C. Dietz

  A cheer went up all around the city as the citizens of Zand paused to celebrate another seven hours of electricity, spent a few moments wondering if it would be their last, and returned to whatever they had been doing prior to eight o’clock. In the case of those seated all around Jevan Kane, that was eating, drinking, and talking.

  The restaurant sat on a hill overlooking the city and was packed at that time of day. The technologist had a good spot, and was enjoying a glass of truly excellent white wine, when a functionary named Ros Cayo wound his way between the tables. The functionary was a short, bandy-legged man who affected a pencil-thin mustache, expensive clothes, and shoes designed to make him look two inches taller than he actually was—just one of the many individuals who worked for the Techno Society but weren’t part of the core leadership group. He smiled uncertainly. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I have news.”

  Kane raised his eyebrows. “Good news? Or bad news?”

  Cayo’s expression brightened. “Good news . . . Or so it seems to me.”

  Kane nodded agreeably. “Excellent! Please pull up a chair. What would you like to drink?”

  Cayo, who had every reason to believe that Kane would pay the bill, ordered the most expensive drink he could think of and savored the moment. For once, maybe the first time in his life, he was in the right place, at the right time. Hopefully, assuming everything went well, he would receive a rather substantial raise and have the funds required to rent a three-room apartment.

  “So,” Kane said deliberately, “what have you got for me?”

  Cayo swirled a mouthful of the expensive liquor around the inside of his mouth before letting the liquid trickle down the back of his throat. “Well, sir,” the functionary began, “it’s like this. There’s a tomb raider, a fellow named Garth, who offered to sell me a number two.”

  Kane frowned. “A number two? Sorry, I don’t follow you.”

  “The second item on the Techno Society’s high-priority procurement list,” Cayo responded tactfully. “A gate seed.”

  Kane felt his pulse start to quicken. According to research carried out by Milos Lysander prior to his death, such seeds had once been common. During the early days, before the system of star gates had been fully established, runners had been employed to carry the small spheres to distant worlds, where they were “planted.” Once activated, the seed sent out a signal that the computer called Logos could use to knit the new location into the overall network. Once that was accomplished, the necessary equipment was installed, the new portal was christened by the local politicos, and a star gate was born.

  So, second only to finding Logos itself, the acquisition of an intact gate seed was at the very top of the society’s procurement list. Partly because such a find would provide the society’s scientists with the means to make copies—but also because Lysander believed that the seed could be employed to find Logos. Assuming that the AI remained on-line somewhere. But was the opportunity real? There had been many false alarms, and Kane was determined to maintain his cool. “That’s interesting. So where is it?”

  “I don’t have it yet,” Cayo admitted. “But I have Garth, and that’s just as good.”

  “No,” Kane replied softly, “it isn’t ‘just as good.’ There’s no substitute for the actual item. This Garth person could be lying to you . . . But I take your point. Assuming this individual has a genuine gate seed, and assuming it turns out to be operational, then I shall be very happy indeed. If he doesn’t, I fear that my spirits will plunge, causing me to become extremely cranky. Do I make myself clear?”

  The liquid that tasted so good only a few moments earlier suddenly went sour, and Cayo struggled to get it down. “Yes, sir. You do.”

  “Excellent,” Kane said as he finished his wine. “I assume that Citizen Garth is sequestered nearby?”

  “Yes, sir!” Cayo responded eagerly. “He offered to sell the seed, but set the price too high and refused to come down. I ordered some of my, I mean your functionaries, to put him under lock and key, hoping that would change his mind.”

  “Oh, he’ll change his mind all right,” Kane said confidently, as he tossed a handful of coins onto the table. “Or he’ll be very sorry indeed.”

  Kane’s voice was cold, very cold, which caused Cayo to wonder what he had gotten himself into. Unlike the off-world operative, who appeared to believe in the techno crap that the metal men preached on street corners, Cayo was in it for the money. But now, ever since Kane had stepped through the local star gate, the little man had become increasingly uneasy. There were advantages to being a nobody, not the least of which was staying well clear of people like Kane, something he would strive to do a better job of in the future.

  After the power came on, the shops, factories, and other businesses that lay dormant during the day came back to noisy life, and the narrow, twisting streets filled with people who were on their way to work. As Kane followed Cayo he was conscious of the fact that every step he took required more energy than it would have on Anafa or Pooz. Not a lot more, but enough to leave him exhausted at the end of a typical day, even though he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. Locals, on the other hand, people like Cayo, had developed musculature that enabled them to cope with the planet’s gravity. Most were a bit shorter than norms on other worlds were, had stocky physiques, and looked like weight lifters. After thousands of years, the A-strain had started to adapt.

  Once the two men arrived in the commercial quarter a broad flight of well-worn stairs led them down into the maze of passageways that lay just below Zand’s surface. A dangerous place where visitors were well advised to watch their step, but civilized when compared to the “deeps” that lay even farther down.

  There was no need for the twosome to descend that far, because the complex of rooms that comprised the Techno Society’s station were located only one level down. So, having descended four flights of stairs, and having made their way along a dimly lit corridor, Kane and Cayo neared a well-guarded door. Two metal men, both of whom were armed with carbines, stood aside so that the humans could access a print-sensitive lock. Cayo pressed his palm against the smooth surface, waited for the resulting click, and gave the door a push. The interior was cool, clean, and well lit. Though happy to take advantage of the public grid during the hours that it was operational, the technologists had their own source of power, which had been brought in via the local star gate.

  Cayo led Kane back to what was labeled CONFERENCE ROOM but actually served a darker purpose. Once the door was unlatched, and light flooded the previously darkened room, Kane could see the sturdy-looking hooks mounted on the ceiling, eyebolts that were evenly spaced along the walls, and the butcher block table that squatted at the center of the rectangular space. It was eight feet long and equipped with a variety of hardware. In fact, judging from the way the naked prisoner was spread-eagled on the stained wood, the off-world operative assumed that each of his four limbs was attached to a pulley. An effective way to keep him under control and in a psychologically vulnerable position.

  The man named Garth raised his head and turned toward the spill of light. His eyes blinked in an attempt to penetrate the glare, and his voice was little more than a croak. “Cayo? Is that you? I need some water.”

  “And you can have some water,” Kane answered, as he paused to examine the gleaming surgical instruments laid out on a side table. “But only if you tell us what we need to know.”

  “I can’t,” the tomb raider replied plaintively, wondering who the new voice belonged to. “Not unless you pay me.”

  “We offered to pay you,” Kane countered patiently as he selected a razor-sharp scalpel. “But you raised the price. That was a stupid thing to do.”

  “Yes! I know that now,” Garth agreed eagerly. “Free me and I will accept the original offer.”

  “Sorry, but it’s too late for that now,” Kane replied, as he turned to survey the body in front of him. It was covered with welts, bruises, and abrasions. “Now we want
the information for free.”

  “But if I provide it, you’ll kill me!” the tomb raider wailed miserably.

  “Maybe, and maybe not,” Kane responded calmly as he placed the very tip of the scalpel at the point just below the prisoner’s zyphoid process. Garth screamed as the off-world operative made a shallow incision that led all the way down to the base of his penis. A thin scarlet line appeared, Cayo felt nauseous, and the tomb raider screamed. A beating, that was one thing, but this was something else.

  “So,” Kane continued, as he put some additional pressure on the tip of the blade, “what will it be? Would you like to tell me where the artifact is? Or should I keep on cutting?”

  “I’ll tell you!” the prisoner answered desperately. “Whatever you want to know.”

  Kane was slightly disappointed, or that’s the way it looked to Cayo, as the off-worlder lifted the scalpel off the tomb raider’s skin. “Okay, tell us . . . Where is the gate seed hidden?”

  “It’s down in the catacombs,” the prisoner answered. “The only place where I knew it would be safe. Release me, and I’ll take you there.”

  “Release him,” Kane instructed. “If we die, then so will he.”

  A large lump grew to occupy the back of Cayo’s throat. He managed to swallow it but not without difficulty. What had originally seemed a coup, an accomplishment that would catapult him into the upper levels of the society’s management structure, now threatened to cost him his life. Still, there was nothing that the functionary could do other than to release Garth’s restraints and help the prisoner down off the table.

  Thirty minutes later a heavily armed party that consisted of Kane, Cayo, Garth, and two metal men left Techno Society headquarters and made its way through a warren of passageways to the point where a slime-covered ramp sloped downward. One of the city’s many graffiti artists had painted a realistic-looking mouth around the entrance to the ramp, and the odor that wafted up out of the depths was so foul that Cayo felt as if he and his companions were passing into the belly of a carnivorous beast.

  There were electric lights underground, but very few, which was why Kane and Cayo carried oil-burning lamps, while the robots projected beams of light through their “eyes.” Soft, buttery light swept across green-black walls, momentarily glazed the bas-relief artwork of a bygone age, and sent armies of hungry vermin chittering toward their well-hidden nests.

  The ramp turned in on itself, and spiraled downward, its surface slick with runoff from the storm drains and broken sewers above. Cayo noticed that there was a lot less graffiti now that they were at least three stories below street level, and that the piles of trash were smaller, a sure sign that only the most desperate of people spent time there.

  Even Kane, whom Cayo had previously assumed to be fearless, sounded strained as he used his shotgun to jab Garth in the back. “How much farther?”

  “We’re almost there,” the prisoner assured his captors, as he shuffled forward. His body hurt all over, the shackles that linked his ankles together made it difficult to walk, and he needed to pee. Would all the noise attract the attention of the half-human creatures who roamed the lowest levels of the catacombs? They hadn’t attacked him in the past, but a dozen heavily armed guards had accompanied Garth on his previous visit, and the cannibals had a healthy respect for modern firearms.

  Kane jabbed the prisoner again. “We’d better be . . . Because you’ll be sorry if we aren’t.”

  The tomb raider was already sorry, but knew that his captors didn’t care and felt an ever-increasing sense of dread as he led them around a corner and into what had once been a small square. A mythical beast dominated the ornate fountain that claimed the center of the open area. Its mouth was open as if to roar, but it had been a long time since water had issued forth from it and splashed into the large circular basin below. “This is the place,” Garth said hopelessly. “The artifact is over there . . . Inside the beast’s mouth.”

  A brooding silence surrounded the square, and the lamplight left most of the area in darkness. Kane didn’t like the subterranean cityscape, not one little bit, and struggled to hide his fear. “Cayo . . . Go get it.”

  The functionary winced and wished that he had the courage to say, “No,” but knew he didn’t. So, with his lantern held high, Cayo approached the fountain. He climbed up onto the knee-high containment and felt the trash in the basin give under his weight. Something crackled as it broke and Cayo felt his heart leap up into his mouth.

  Then, with the lantern held aloft, the operative made his way over to where the beast sat on its well-sculpted haunches. The stone was cold and felt coarse under his fingertips, as Cayo placed a foot on top of a chipped paw and pushed himself up so he was level with the statue’s yawning mouth. Anything could have made itself at home inside the black hole, and it required all of the courage that the functionary could muster to reach down into the cavern and feel around.

  However, much to the operative’s relief, nothing bit his hand, and it soon became apparent that nothing would. Moreover, once he had pulled a fistful of debris out of the way Cayo’s fingers encountered something that was round, smooth, and inexplicably warm. It was the gate seed! Momentarily jubilant, the functionary withdrew the object from its hiding place and raised the sphere for the others to see. “I have it!”

  Kane’s face lit up. “Good job! Toss it to me. Then we’ll get out of here.”

  Cayo did as he was told and hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it. Because now that Kane had the device in his possession, the off-world operative didn’t need anyone else. That shouldn’t make any difference, however, not so long as the invaders departed the catacombs quickly, which Kane had already started to do.

  Cayo hurried to clear the fountain, and had just joined the tail end of the procession, when the clacking sound began. The noise wasn’t all that loud at first, but soon grew in intensity and seemed to come from every direction at once. “What the hell is that?” Kane demanded, as he paused to look around.

  “It’s the night people,” Garth replied huskily, “banging leg bones together. They use them as clubs.”

  “Not human leg bones I hope,” Cayo put in, but the answer was obvious, and the rest of the party ignored him.

  “We need to buy some time,” Kane said coldly. “Secure the prisoner to that grating. Perhaps he will distract them for a while.”

  Garth turned to run, but the shackles made that difficult, and the metal men were on him within seconds. The tomb raider started to gibber as a pair of handcuffs were used to lock him in place—and darkness swallowed him up. The screams started shortly thereafter and ended so suddenly that there was very little doubt as to the prisoner’s fate.

  Meanwhile, the intensity of the clacking sound continued to increase as Cayo followed the others up the slippery ramp. Now, as they fought their way toward the surface, the functionary realized how stupid they had been. Unlike the metal men, who could generate their own beams of light, both he and Kane were burdened with unwieldy lanterns, which would make it difficult if not impossible to fire his pump-style shotgun.

  But that thought was driven from the functionary’s mind by the sudden impact of the body that fell on him as he passed below an old ventilation shaft. Cayo had no choice but to drop the lantern in order to reach up and grab a fistful of rags. A simple jerk was sufficient to snatch the eight-year-old attacker off his back and dump the youth onto the ramp. A single blast from the shotgun took care of the rest, but the lantern had gone out by then, and it was pitch-black.

  Although the muzzle flash had obliterated Cayo’s night vision, he could still back up the ramp and fire the shotgun at the same time. Each boom, and the subsequent flash of light, was followed by a clacking sound as the functionary pumped a new shell into the chamber. But the tubular magazine held only eight rounds, and as the operative prepared to fire his final shell, he knew there wouldn’t be enough time to fumble in his pockets for more. “Kane!” the operative shouted. “Help me!” But the o
ff-world operative had abandoned his own lantern by then, clipped a cell-powered flashlight to the barrel of his shotgun, and was busy following the robots up toward the dimly seen light above. Ning’s gravity made it more difficult to move, and his breath came in short, desperate gasps.

  Cayo knew he had been abandoned when his weapon clicked empty, then something snarled and a femur struck him across the shoulders. Mercifully the next blow connected with the side of the functionary’s head, which allowed him to exit his body prior to the butchery and the subsequent feast. Eventually, after the night people had claimed what was theirs and returned to the stink of their dens, silence was restored. It settled into place like a thick blanket, which was made all the more oppressive by the insistent drip, drip, drip of water and the occasional rumble of ancient pipes. One secret had been recovered, but there, deep within the ancient darkness, lay many more.

  Aboard the starship Hewhotravelsthroughtime

  In spite of the fact that most of the great starships were nearly identical in terms of basic design, they did have a variety of personalities, which made themselves manifest in unexpected ways, something Norr became acutely aware of as she threw more fuel onto the fire around which the group was huddled. “It’s freezing in here!” the sensitive exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

  Rebo, who was seated on the opposite side of the blaze, took a sip of tea. “Different ships handle the problem in different ways, but it’s my guess that the trip is nearly over, and Hewhotravels wants his passengers to pack up and board the shuttle.”