Runner

by William C. Dietz

  It had been four days since the travelers had won the battle at Weather Station 46, reclaimed most of their possessions, and resumed the journey to Cresus. Rebo carried a rifle in addition to his handguns—and Norr had reacquired both her staff and the gate seed. The supplies that Omar had helped them obtain, plus extras that the heavy had appropriated from the nomads, completed the loads secured to the angens’ broad backs.

  Strangely, from Rebo’s perspective at least, the days were getting cooler rather than warmer as all of them had been led to expect. The proximal cause was obvious. After following the well-established trail across a grassy plain, the party had been forced to climb a series of steadily rising switchbacks toward the jagged mountains beyond and what promised to be a snowy pass. That suggested that the badlands, and the heat associated with them, lay somewhere to the south.

  All of them were accustomed to the back-and-forth side-to-side sway of the L-phants by then and had grown genuinely fond of them. Lee handled the beasts best, but Norr came in a close second, followed by Hoggles and Rebo. So when they paused for lunch, the boy and the sensitive took care of the animals, while the heavy prepared a simple meal.

  Rebo, who was eternally concerned about security, took the opportunity to backtrack. The pinnacle of wind-worn rock had plenty of handholds and it wasn’t long before the runner had pulled himself up onto a ledge where previous lookouts had carved their names into the soft sandstone. The runner was out of breath by then, but felt better than he had the week before and knew he was getting stronger.

  Then, with his back pressed against the warm stone and having brought his knees together to form a crude bipod, Rebo removed Valpoon’s four-foot-long brass telescope from its hand-tooled leather case, and aimed it across the plain below. The large fluffy clouds cast shadows down onto a sea of amber grass. And there, cutting across the prairie, stretches of trail could be seen. Not all of it, since there were places where the path dipped into ravines, but enough to suit the runner’s purposes.

  The off-worlder started in close, then tilted upward, as he scanned for what he knew would be there. More than five minutes passed before he spotted the momentary glint of reflected light as a metal man topped a rise, paused to survey the terrain ahead, and took up the chase once more. Four additional machines followed. Not the everyday androids that spent most of their time preaching on street corners, but something new and a lot more dangerous. They were shaped like animals rather than humans and ran on all fours. Tirelessly, in so far as Rebo could determine, although they were no closer than the day before.

  Why? Because they’re not even trying to catch up, the runner thought to himself. Having arrived at the Weather Station only to discover that Norr and Lee were gone, the technos and their black hat friends had dispatched the machines to ensure that the fugitives remained on the trail to Cresus. The question was why—and there was no way to know. Rebo returned the telescope to its case and reslung the instrument across his back prior to returning to the camp. Was it his imagination? Or did the two L-phants already look a little skinnier since departing the rich grasslands to the north? It was one more problem to worry about.

  Lunch was ready by the time the runner returned, and Hoggles handed him a mug of tea. Norr was present, too, as was Lee, and three of them were waiting to hear Rebo’s report. He blew steam off the surface of the drink, took a tentative sip, and let the soothing liquid slide down the back of his throat. “They’re still on our tail.”

  Norr frowned. “Are they any closer?”

  The runner shook his head. “No. But you’ve seen them run . . . They could catch up to us if they wanted to.”

  “Maybe we should lay an ambush for the bastards,” the heavy commented darkly.

  “We could,” Rebo allowed, “but for what? Even if we manage to destroy them, and that would be far from certain, we’ll still be headed for Cresus. The technos and the black hats know that. So, where’s the gain?”

  Lee had heard the entire conversation before and knew how it would come out. He smiled. “Teon had a saying . . . ‘He who spends his life in future denies the present.’ Let’s eat!”

  The adults laughed, food was served, and the journey continued.

  The temperature fell as Rebo and his companions climbed higher. The trail skirted the edge of an ancient landslide. The rocks were brown, marbled with streaks of dark blue, and sharply jagged. Some were the size of a hut, but most were smaller, and the crevices between them served as a labyrinthine highway system for dozens of small furry creatures who surfaced occasionally, swiveled their heads to the right and left, and chittered at each other.

  The slope was steep, and the humans could hear how labored the L-phants’ breathing had become as jets of vapor shot out of their long flexible trunks. Rock clattered as it slid out from under enormous feet, leather harnesses creaked under the strain, and the lead angen grumbled as Lee urged it up the slope.

  The ice revealed itself slowly at first, hiding in the shadows cast by the larger rocks, hinting at what lay ahead. Then, as the group moved even higher, the small, nearly translucent patches of ice grew steadily larger, even going so far as to venture out into the wan sunlight, as if testing to see whether it could survive.

  Then, as the group passed a final cluster of trees, the real ice field appeared. It glistened pure white, like a shroud for the dead, which it certainly was. Because as the snow-ice mix crunched under the L-phants’ combined weight, the tail end of an ancient caravan appeared. There was no way to know the exact nature of what had taken place but the general outline of the tragedy was obvious. It had been early spring or late fall when the travelers set out. But an unexpected storm had swept in and caught the group so high on the slope that a retreat was impractical. The snow blinded the nomads, layered their clothing in white, and conducted the chill deep into their bones.

  Some of the travelers were weaker than the rest. They fell first, unintentionally bringing the caravan to a halt as their companions paused to gather them up. Then, even more heavily burdened than before, those who could continued their climb. But not for long. One by one, they, too fell, were covered with a thick layer of snow, and frozen into place. Now, more than a thousand years later, they were still there, ravaged by the slow-motion effects of geologic time, their leathery brown bodies blurred by the intervening ice.

  Another hour of hard slogging brought the party to the pass itself, which was nearly bare of vegetation and home to a weatherworn granite obelisk. Empty bolt holes suggested that a plaque had been attached to the monument at one time, but that had been stolen, leaving the marker mute. It might have been interesting to pause and see what other curiosities the pass had to offer, but a battalion of clouds chose that moment to sweep over the summit and release a freezing mist. Lee urged the first L-phant forward, and it was eager to comply.

  The balance of that day, and the first half of the next, were spent on a steep trail that switchbacked down the mountainside and into the foothills below. Thanks to the unique nature of their physiologies, the L-phants had a better view of the trail than anyone else, but still found it difficult to find their footing and were sometimes forced to skid stiff-legged while dropping their haunches onto the slope behind them. Those moments were the worst, when it seemed like the huge animals would lose control, and there was nothing the humans could do except trust them.

  But the L-phants didn’t lose control, the trail eventually leveled out, and the travelers found themselves high in the southern foothills. A fortress, or what remained of one, crowned a neighboring summit, as the increasingly gaunt animals followed the rocky path around the flank of a lightly forested hill and onto something entirely unexpected. Though partially obscured by countless rockfalls, the two-lane duracrete road was not only intact, but continued for almost two miles before disappearing into the maw of an ancient tunnel. It was the perfect place for an ambush, and Rebo had no intention of entering the passageway without scouting it first. “That’s far enough,” he told Lee. �
��Let’s pull up and give the angens a rest.”

  The boy brought the first animal to a halt and ordered it to kneel. The runner removed a lantern from the pile of equipment behind him, slid to the ground, and made his way down the road. Hoggles, rifle at the ready, stood by to provide covering fire should that be necessary.

  The runner paused long enough to light the lantern, drew the Crosser, and eased his way into the tunnel. Buttery lanternlight slid over grimy walls, illuminated the remains of a campfire, and revealed the graffiti that layered the walls. As Rebo advanced, lantern held high, he heard something squeal as it ran away, felt a few drops of cold water hit the back of his neck, and eventually saw daylight as he rounded a gentle curve and the far end of the tunnel appeared. A short walk was sufficient to confirm that the way was clear. Fifteen minutes later the L-phants emerged from the tunnel’s cool interior and it wasn’t long before Rebo found himself removing his jacket, knowing that the additional warmth was but a taste of the heat to come.

  The night was spent on a gently rounded hilltop, which though exposed and bereft of water, was encircled by a hand-built stone wall and had clearly been used for that purpose before. Lee was none too happy about the need to carry water up from the stream below, but understood the threat that the robots posed and took advantage of the opportunity to practice mindful understanding by consciously transmuting the resentment he felt into a state of willing acceptance.

  The next day followed what had become a regular routine as the foursome emerged from their tents, made breakfast, and repacked their gear. Norr looked forward to such moments as an opportunity to work side by side with Rebo. Nothing had been said, not directly at least, but the battle at the weather station had deepened the bond between them. To what extent was not apparent, since there was no way to know what the future might hold, but Norr chose to ignore that.

  The group set out as they usually did, with Rebo and Lee riding the lead angen. As the L-phant topped a rise the runner caught a glimpse of the famed badlands off in the distance and was amazed by what he saw. For as far as the eye could see, there were the steep hills and deep gullies that resulted from thousands of years worth of erosion. The mechanics of the process were clear. Rain fell in the mountains, rushed down through a myriad of streams, and gushed through the foothills and out into the lands beyond. That was when the flash floods carved their way through weakly bonded layers of rock creating a maze of interconnecting ravines and a landscape so tortured it looked as if a gigantic knife had been used to hack at it.

  Then the vision was gone as the angen started down again, and a final rank of foothills screened the land beyond. Hoggles had told the other three that they would pass through the village of Urunu prior to entering the badlands and was soon proven correct. It wasn’t long before dozens of terraced gardens appeared. Though relatively small, the well-tended plots were protected by walls of dry, fitted rock, and serviced by a cleverly engineered system of miniaque-ducts and carefully maintained irrigation ditches. Each and every patch was protected by brightly colored prayer ribbons that did double duty by scaring foraging flyers away while simultaneously drawing God’s attention to both the crops and the farmers who depended on them. The pennants fluttered from poles, fences, and even ropes that had been suspended over the road.

  Lee felt his heart jump when he saw the ribbons because they signaled the presence of people who followed the way and believed as he did. But which sect did they hold dear? The red hats as Hoggles claimed? Or the black hats? There was no way to tell from the ribbons alone, and in spite of the fact that the crops were well tended, not a single farmer could be seen. A strange state of affairs, which the boy brought to Rebo’s attention. Thus alerted, the runner drew the bolt-action rifle from its scabbard, checked to ensure that a cartridge was seated in the chamber, and signaled Hoggles to do likewise.

  But, ready though they were, the travelers weren’t prepared for the sight that greeted them as they rounded the next bend and paused on a section of relatively flat road that overlooked the village of Urunu. It consisted of a main street lined with sturdily built stone homes that led up to a domed temple. The building had an organic appearance, as if it had been extruded from the earth, which wasn’t far from the truth since it had been constructed with tailings from the mine located behind it. An ancient enterprise which, while played out, still served the villagers as both a granary and communal tomb. Farther down the hillside, unseen but not unheard, a river roared its way through a narrow canyon.

  But it was the brightly attired crowd that had gathered in front of the temple that claimed Rebo’s attention, not to mention the temporary gallows that had been established there and the frail little girl who stood with a noose looped around her neck. “They’re wearing red hats,” Rebo observed dryly. “I assume that qualifies them as friends of yours.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lee replied, as he stepped up onto the surface of the seat in order to get a better view. “They plan to kill that girl! You must stop them! And that’s an order.”

  Whatever else he might or might not be, Lee was a ten-year-old boy and in no position to give orders. But such was the authority in his voice that Rebo hesitated for a moment, and had just opened his mouth to put the youngster in his place, when the second L-phant drew up alongside the first. “I think you should listen to him,” Norr put in. “They plan to kill a little girl! It isn’t right.”

  Rebo’s mouth closed, then opened again. “Are the two of you crazy? We could bring the entire population of the village down on us . . . Besides, how the hell would I stop them? We’d never get down there in time.”

  “Shoot the rope,” Lee replied pragmatically. “You can do it if you wear your glasses. Please,” the boy implored him. “Trust me.”

  The runner looked into Lee’s eyes and would have sworn that the personality reflected in them was different somehow. Rebo mumbled to himself as he laid the rifle across his knees and fumbled for his glasses. Then, with the spectacles firmly planted on his nose, he looked down through the open sights. A cheer went up as a red-robed monk finished exhorting the crowd, and a man with a wooden mallet prepared to knock a plank out from under the girl’s slipper-clad feet.

  The off-worlder needed time, a lot of it, but knew he wouldn’t get any. Steadily flapping prayer pennants pointed in the direction that the wind was blowing and the runner made a tiny adjustment to compensate for it. As the executioner pulled the mallet back, and the little girl closed her eyes, Rebo fired. The hammer hit the plank, the bullet nicked the rope, and the youngster fell. Norr gave an audible gasp, but the girl’s weight was sufficient to break the remaining strands of fiber, and the prisoner was still alive when she landed on the flagstones below.

  The crowd flinched as the gunshot echoed back and forth between the hillsides before turning to see where the bullet had come from. The monk shouted something incomprehensible and pointed up at the L-phants. “She isn’t out of danger yet,” Lee said grimly, as an old man hobbled forward to help the girl up. “Take me down there.”

  “Sure,” Rebo replied sarcastically. “Why force the villagers to climb the hill? Let’s go down where they can dismember us more easily.”

  But the boy was determined, and truth be told, having saved the little girl once, the runner wasn’t about to let the locals hang her again. So the crowd swirled as the L-phants lumbered down into the village. Weapons appeared, and Rebo began to sweat. They might be farmers, but the villagers were tough enough to keep bandits at bay, and it wasn’t long before he and his companions were completely surrounded by rifle-wielding locals. The angens came to a halt, and Lee stood on the seat. His hands were on his hips and his anger was plain to see. “You!” he said as he pointed at the red-robed monk. “What is your name? And what is going on here?”

  The words were in Tilisi, and delivered with such authority, that a stir ran through the crowd. The holy man’s long, narrow face darkened, his eyes seemed to converge on each other, and his voice was stern. “My
name is Fas Fadari,” the local replied. “Who are you?”

  “Switch to standard,” Rebo ordered, his eyes sweeping the crowd. “We need to understand what’s being said.”

  “My name is Nom Maa,” the boy replied confidently. “I hold the rank of Prelate, and as such, expect to be treated with the respect due a person of my seniority.”

  Due to the fact that the L-phants stood side by side Rebo and Norr were seated only a few feet apart. They looked at each other in amazement as the boy with whom they had been traveling laid claim to both an attitude and a title they hadn’t been exposed to before.

  The monk appeared to be a little less sure of himself at that point but remained defiant. The contempt that was visible on his face extended to his voice. “Oh, really? Well, your highness, perhaps you would be so good as to prove your identity.”

  Lee was at a complete loss. He carried no badge of office, no symbolic scepter, nothing beyond the testimony of his personal bodyguard, which the monk was sure to disregard. Suddenly what had previously seemed so simple, so obvious, wasn’t any longer. The silence had grown long and thin by that time, and it was clear that Fadari was about to dismiss the youth as an imposter, when Norr came to Lee’s rescue. “Tell him that you can see an old man with a long white beard standing at his right side,” the sensitive whispered from a few feet away. “Tell him that the old man is saddened by what nearly took place.”

  So Lee did, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than a loud murmur ran through the crowd, and every man, woman, and child bowed. Because the man the boy described could be none other than the hermit who once lived in the hills above and passed away the year before. Fadari looked stricken. “Ona (truth giver) Hybok is here? Beside me?”