“What about the authorities?” the sensitive wanted to know. “How do they feel about the conflict?”
“The evil ones bought them off!” the priest responded angrily. “Metal men guard the palace . . . Need I say more?”
The sensitive wanted to ask more questions, but a group of rock throwers turned toward the building at that point, and the priest accompanied them. There was a loud rattling noise as dozens of missiles struck the Techno Society’s façade followed by a ragged clatter as the rocks fell to the ground.
Shaz, who had been watching the mob for some time by then, steadied the telescope against the wooden window frame. The operative didn’t even flinch as a stone flew through the same opening and hit the wall behind him. “There they are,” the combat variant commented, before handing the brass tube across to Phan. “Just to the left of the burning effigy.”
Some of the antitechnics bore a replica of a metal man fashioned from straw. They lit the figure on fire and held it aloft on poles. Thanks to the additional light that the flaming figure produced, the assassin could see all three of the people she’d been hired to deal with. “You were correct,” Phan commented, as she lowered the scope. “They came to look. . . . When will they attack?”
“Tomorrow,” Shaz predicted calmly. “In the morning.”
“We’ll be ready,” the assassin said confidently.
“Yes,” the combat variant agreed. “We certainly will.”
A storm front had moved in over New Wimmura during the hours of darkness, bringing precipitation with it. The rain announced itself by drumming on the steel over Rebo’s head until the runner groaned and rolled out of the narrow bed. There were no windows, which made it necessary to light a candle in order to see, and that brought Hoggles up off the floor, where he’d been forced to sleep. There were very few beds that could accommodate his enormous frame, and the one on the opposite side of claustrophobic room wasn’t one of them. Once both men were up and packed, they emerged to find that Norr was waiting for them. “I couldn’t sleep,” the sensitive explained. “Not with all of that noise.”
What Norr didn’t say was that earlier, before the rain began to fall, she had experienced a bad dream. Nothing specific, not that she could remember at any rate, but the kind of nightmare that continued to resonate after she awoke. But, without anything specific to share, the sensitive chose to remain silent.
Assuming that the raid on Techno Society headquarters was successful, the travelers would be on another planet within a matter of hours, so they paid for their rooms, sought some advice regarding the local eateries, and made their way down the water-slicked ramp to the badly churned muck below. The plateaulike benches were paved, thanks to the efforts of the local store owners, but the bottom of the pit was a morass of mud and hand-dug drainage channels that were filled to overflowing with sluggish brown water.
There were planks, however, that the already damp threesome followed to a bank of mud-smeared ladders, which they had no choice but to climb if they wanted to access the ledge above. It was hard work hauling both themselves and their packs up the nearly vertical incline to the point where a small army of rain-drenched street urchins waited to greet them. “Hey mister!” one of them shouted. “You can wash your hands in my bucket!” “Over here,” another insisted, “I’ll scrape the mud off your boots!” “Ignore them,” a third youngster counseled, “I have an umbrella . . . Where would you like to go?”
Five minutes later, having been serviced by at least half of the eager children, the travelers made their way into a local restaurant, where Hoggles ordered an enormous meal and complained about what he maintained were minuscule portions.
Then, with breakfast out of the way, it was time to climb up to the next bench. Once there, it was a short walk to Techno Society headquarters. True to the prediction put forward by the young priest the night before, the crowd that previously controlled the area had disappeared, leaving nothing more than hundreds of scattered stones and the charred remains of the previous evening’s effigy to mark their nocturnal protest. “Okay,” Rebo said as he pulled Logos on over his jacket. “You know the drill . . . We go in fast, locate the decontamination chamber, and lock ourselves inside. The techies will attempt to shut the gate down, but Logos will override the controls, and we’ll make the jump. Questions? No? Then follow me.”
A short flight of stairs led up to a brand-new door. It opened to reveal a large space that still showed signs of the black powder explosion that had gone off in the room weeks before. A brace of cudgel-wielding metal men moved forward to greet the visitors. Having already drawn the Crosser, Rebo was ready for them. “Good morning!” the runner said cheerfully, as he shot the first android between the eyes. Fast though its electronic brain was, the second robot was still processing the other unit’s unexpected demise when a second slug drilled a hole through its alloy skull. The android fell in a heap.
Having seized the initiative, Rebo knew it was important to maintain it as he went up the steps two at a time. Hoggles had entered by that time—and the entire staircase shook under his considerable weight. “Down!” Rebo shouted, as a male functionary appeared above him. “Get down or die!”
The man went facedown and remained in that position as the runner stepped over his prostrate body, turned a corner, and entered a long hallway. A woman appeared, as if to see what had caused all of the ruckus, and went facedown when Rebo ordered her to do so. Hoggles, war hammer at the ready, followed behind.
Each time Norr came across one of the staff members, she ordered them to keep their heads down, placed a bony knee in the smalls of their backs, and proceeded to bind both wrists and ankles with precut lengths of cord. The technos would be able to free themselves eventually—but the variant knew it wouldn’t matter once she and her companions had control of the gate.
In the meantime, Rebo was making good progress. So much progress that the runner was beginning to believe that the plan to hijack the gate might actually work. Logos, by contrast, was not so sanguine. A gate was present, that much was certain, but assuming the data now flooding in through his sensors were correct, the power accumulators were off-line! And the gate wouldn’t be operational without them.
But it was too late to cancel the raid, as Rebo ordered another functionary to the floor, gave thanks for the fact that none of the technos had chosen to put up a fight, and entered the room that provided access to the decontamination chamber. That was when the runner saw the chair and the half-naked woman who had been tied to it. She sat slumped against her bonds, a long rope of bloody drool hanging from her mouth, seemingly unconscious.
The runner grabbed a fistful of silky black hair, pulled the norm’s head back, and saw that she’d been beaten. One eye was swollen shut, her upper lip was split open, and her left cheek was purple. Du Phan looked up at Rebo through the eye that still worked, gave thanks for the fact that the runner was on time, and decided that he was handsome in an unshaven sort of way. That seemed like a good time to groan, partly for effect, but mostly because her face hurt.
Rebo looked down into the woman’s bloodied face, wondered what she’d done to deserve such treatment, and let her head fall forward again. That was when he caught sight of the tattoos on her shoulders. Hoggles was present by then, as was Norr, and both were staring at Phan when Logos spoke. His voice was stern. “The gate is off-line! We need to get out of here—and I mean now.”
It didn’t seem fair, not after all they had done to break in, but there was no other option. Not if the AI was correct about the gate—and Rebo had no reason to doubt that he was. “Damn,” the runner said regretfully, “the techno freaks are going to be pissed.”
“That’s for sure,” Hoggles agreed fervently. “Come on . . . Let’s go.”
“In a minute,” the runner promised, as he produced a folding knife and flicked it open. “We’re taking the woman with us.”
Norr looked on as Rebo began to cut Phan free. Now, when it was too late to do any good, the
dream came flooding back. She had seen the room and the bloodied face before. And, for reasons she wasn’t sure of, the variant knew that the woman in front of her was evil. “I think you should leave her,” the sensitive suggested emphatically. “She’ll slow us down.”
“That’s right!” Logos interjected shrilly. “Leave the woman where she is! We have no need for her.”
The runner heard the words but continued to saw at one of two ropes that crisscrossed Phan’s naked chest. The male part of him couldn’t help but take note of the fact that the woman in question had shapely breasts. The whip marks were plain to see. “Normally I would agree,” Rebo replied evenly, “but she’s a runner.”
The sensitive frowned. “A runner? How can you tell?”
“Take a look at her back,” Rebo replied as a piece of rope fell away. “See those tattoos? Each one represents a successful run. Okay, Bo . . . Can you carry her? Thanks.” Then, with Rebo leading the way, the four of them, five counting the semiconscious woman who had been slung over the heavy’s shoulder, exited the building. There was no resistance.
Shaz, who had stationed his team in the passageway that ran between Techno Society headquarters and rug merchant next door, watched them leave. He wasn’t looking forward to the long trek that lay ahead, but that couldn’t be helped, and Phan would be there to protect Logos from harm. It was a good plan, one worthy of Tepho himself, and Shaz was confident of success as he led Dyson and a small band of heavily robed androids out into the icy rain.
The animals snorted, and the cart creaked as the travelers followed the narrow road down out of the hills and onto the plain beyond. The area was far too rocky for farming, which meant that what few huts there were belonged to lonely angen herders or antitechnic hermits. Once on level ground, the ancient thoroughfare ran straight as an arrow toward the point where the light gray sky met the eastern horizon. Winter had arrived, frost glazed any rock not directly exposed to the hazy sun, and cold air nipped at their faces as Rebo, Norr, Hoggles, and the woman named Phan put the last of the hills behind them.
Three days had passed since the raid on Techno Society headquarters, and a great deal had changed. Having purchased a large quantity of supplies in the market, plus a two-wheeled cart to carry them in, the group left New Wimmura during the cover of darkness. The plan was to make the long trek to the city of Feda, where the original foursome intended to access the local star gate or lift on the next ship.
But that was a couple of months away. In the meantime there was a potentially hostile environment to deal with— not to mention a shift in the way members of the group related to each other. And, as Norr and Hoggles sat side by side on the cart’s bench-style seat, the cause of that change could be seen riding stirrup to stirrup with Rebo, chatting about who knew what. Runs probably, since both were members of the runner’s guild, or were they?
According to Phan she had been hired to bring a small techno artifact to a wealthy merchant who lived in New Wimmura, a medical device, if the runner’s suspicions were correct, that could be used to relieve the headaches that plagued his wife. But Phan arrived too late. The woman was dead and buried by the time Phan landed, the merchant was no longer willing to bear the risk of owning a proscribed object, and the runner was left holding the bag. So, being in need of funds to live on, and with no likely customer other than the Techno Society, Phan approached them.
But, rather than purchase the object as she hoped, they took the runner prisoner in hopes of learning more about the artifact and its origins. And that’s where Phan had been, locked in a dark room, when the shuttle landed and lifted again. Fortunately for her, or so Phan claimed, Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles chose to invade Techno Society headquarters while she was being tortured. Otherwise, they might never have been aware of her. That’s what the woman claimed anyway, but the dull colors that ebbed and flowed around the runner suggested that she was lying. Of course no one could see that except Norr, which meant there was no way to substantiate her suspicions, leaving the sensitive feeling frustrated.
The cart lurched as the team of two draft animals pulled the right wheel up over one of many ridges in the ancient pavement. The sensitive swayed and made a grab for her armrest, as the boxy conveyance rolled onto a smooth section of road. Then, with Hoggles handling the reins, Norr pulled the gray woolen cloak around her shoulders. There were two problems to contend with. The first problem was Phan herself, meaning the possibility that the runner was lying, and the second problem was the way Norr felt about the other woman. What was her motivation anyway? A legitimate concern regarding Phan’s veracity? Or just a case of plain old jealousy?
Not that the sensitive had any rights where Rebo was concerned, because even though she felt sure the runner had feelings for her, the exact nature of the relationship had never been spelled out. Worse yet was the fact that she couldn’t talk to Rebo about it, since the runner was almost sure to interpret her concerns as a manifestation of jealousy, thereby nudging him toward the very relationship the variant feared. Norr’s musings were interrupted by Hoggles, who raised a massive arm to point at an object beyond the riders ahead. “Look! Could that be the bridge?”
The sensitive looked, failed to see anything, and came to her feet. The cart swayed, Norr put a hand out to steady herself on the heavy’s shoulder, and shaded her eyes. Finally, by squinting just so, the variant thought she could see what looked like a tiny ladder. “I think you’re right, Bo. . . . Although it’s too far away to be sure.”
An hour later Norr was sure, and so were her companions, as two pillars of rusty steel rose to silhouette themselves against the darkening sky. A series of cross braces linked the uprights together, making the structure look like a gigantic ladder. A framework that had successfully withstood more than a thousand years of wind, rain, and snow, it stood as a mute testament to long-lost knowledge and skill.
Then, as Rebo and Phan paused to wait for the cart to catch up with them, Norr saw that a cluster of stone-walled huts had grown up around the approach to the bridge, one of which leaked tendrils of dark gray smoke. The scene appeared serene, but it didn’t feel right, and the sensitive said as much as the cart came to a stop. “I don’t like the feel of it, Jak. . . . Something’s wrong.”
The runner knew better than to ignore her premonitions and nodded. “Let’s hope for the best—and be ready for the worst.”
If Phan was concerned about what might lie ahead, the runner gave no indication of it. The bruises and cuts had already begun to heal, revealing a very pretty face and an inner centeredness that made Norr feel inferior somehow. Phan wore a long black riding cloak that served to hide the rest of her body, but the sensitive already knew it to be more curvaceous than her own and resented that as well. Meanwhile, if the other woman harbored feelings about her, they were well hidden because her face remained empty of all expression. “Good,” Norr affirmed, hoping that her demeanor was equally cool. “We’ll follow your lead.”
Meanwhile, more than a thousand yards away, Mia Tova allowed a cold stone wall to accept most of her considerable weight as she used a splinter of bone to pick at her badly yellowed teeth. One of them ached and needed to be pulled, but that would have to wait. Thanks to the fact that the bandit chieftain had excellent vision, she could see that only two of the approaching travelers were male. Of those she figured that the heavy posed the most significant threat since he’d be difficult to take down. But only if the group put up a fight. Fortunately, most of the pilgrims, merchants, and other travelers who had passed through the checkpoint during the last few days had been relatively cooperative. The others were dead.
Satisfied that she knew what to expect, the bandit turned to enter the fuggy warmth of the hut behind her. It smelled of unwashed skin, wet wool, and the angen stew that bubbled in an iron pot. Earlier, prior to her arrival, the stone cottage had been home to a group of four antitechnic monks stationed at the bridge to absolve travelers of sins automatically incurred as they crossed the high-tech marvel. In
exchange for a fee of course, since it was impossible to fight evil without money, which the church had no choice but to extract from its adherents. Of course the friars were dead now, having been forced to surrender their pot of grubby gunnars, prior to stepping off the very artifact they had been assigned to guard. All but one of them had gone gladly, thrilled to join the ranks of the antitechnic martyrs, shouting God’s name as they plunged into the canyon below. The single exception soiled himself as he was hoisted out over the abyss and was blubbering for his mother when the downward journey began. A sad affair and one that Tova planned to report to the next vizier who happened along.
A fire glowed within a well-blackened fireplace, and a ceiling-hung lamp provided what light there was. Half a dozen shaggy heads turned away from a game of throw-bones as Tova pushed the leather curtain out of the way, thereby allowing a wave of cold air to enter along with her. “All right,” the chieftain proclaimed loudly. “Grab your weapons and make sure they’re loaded. . . . There’s only four of them, so even a group of worthless scum like yourselves should be able to handle the situation. Watch the heavy, though. . . . He could give us some trouble.”
There were grunts of assent, followed by the sound of someone’s flatulence, and gales of laughter as five men and one woman prepared themselves for battle. “Stay out of sight until the cart is right outside or I call for you,” Tova instructed. “And don’t kill anyone unless I tell you to. . . . Who knows? Maybe we can ransom one or more of them. Understood?”
The brigands had heard the lecture before, but such was the force of Tova’s personality that there was a minimum of grumbling as they took up positions to either side of the door, and she went out to stand in the middle of the road. The lead riders were almost upon the bandit as Tova hooked her thumbs into the leather belt that encircled her thick waist. That put the norm’s hands in close proximity to the twin single-action revolvers that protruded butts forward from their cutaway holsters.
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