Logan: A Trilogy

by William F. Nolan

  You’ve killed before. You can kill again.

  And if I don’t, Logan told himself, I’ll be the one to die. I’ll never live to see my son…

  Do it!

  Hennessey regarded him with flat, opaque eyes. No fear. No recognition of impending death. Logan raised the burnweapon. And fired.

  The heat charge struck the big man at shoulder level and the body exploded into ruin, toppling to the chamber floor. A thin gray smokemist hovered above the charred corpse as Logan calmly returned Sturdivent’s weapon to the desktop.

  “Thank you, Logan 3,” said the Master, turning from the group and walking out of the room.

  “You may leave now,” said the guide robot.

  Logan did not look back at Hennessey’s body as they exited the jeweled chamber.

  * * *

  THE DREAM QUARTER

  That night: a celebration.

  “To welcome you and the other new Gods,” the unit robot told them as the skycity pulsed with light. The radiant domes and illuminated towers bathed them in brightness as a flowbelt took their group along a central passway toward the Palace of Celebration.

  Logan felt numb; the kill he’d been forced to perform for Sturdivent left him depressed and enervated. He regretted killing Hennessey. I should have turned the gun on Sturdivent, Logan told himself; he’s the one I must destroy to end this thing.

  But the robots would have burned me down if I’d attempted it. His guards would never have allowed me to kill him. You don’t shoot God with his own gun. I’ll have to find another way to deal with him.

  Another way…

  At the Palace of Celebration—an open-court, triple-tier structure in the heart of the city—Logan was impressed with the number of “Gods” in attendance.

  Sturdivent’s plan for world domination seemed sure to succeed; here were gathered over a thousand ex-Sandmen, best of the best, each of them pledged body and soul to Sturdivent’s service.

  The new Gods were toasted with wine, and formally welcomed to Sturdivent’s kingdom by the DS men of senior status. To Logan, the celebration was a travesty and a perversion—since all its participants remained in a mind-drugged state. They ate and drank and conversed in emotionless, mechanistic fashion. And in the midst of such a distorted celebration Logan’s depression deepened.

  Suddenly Francis was beside him, a wineflask in hand. He offered the wine to Logan. “Safe to drink it,” he said quietly. “It’s not drugged.”

  Logan was startled. “You’re—”

  “Normal.” Francis nodded. “Their drug didn’t affect me. I’ve been able to resist it. But I wasn’t sure about you. Not until earlier today—when you killed the Sandman.”

  “How could you tell I wasn’t drugged?”

  “I was observing you closely,” said Francis. “You hesitated for a fraction of a second just before you fired. No one else in that room would have hesitated. That’s when I was sure of you.”

  “Did Sturdivent notice my hesitation?”

  “I’m certain he didn’t. He’s too secure in his own massive egocentricity. After all, you did kill the man. That was enough for Sturdivent. Your act was foolproof.”

  “Well, you haven’t been doing so bad yourself,” said Logan. “I was convinced you were like all the others. How did you overcome the drug?”

  Francis smiled. “We’re both strong men, Logan—stronger than Sturdivent counted on. The elixir produced hallucinations, but I came out of them—just as you did. We’re special, Logan. Two of a kind.”

  But, Logan responded silently, I had the shielding, and you didn’t. How did you manage to do what no other DS man has done?

  “We can work together,” Francis was saying. “Since we’re among Sturdivent’s ‘elite’ we have much more freedom and flexibility than the others.”

  “How do you know Sturdivent isn’t having us watched?”

  “Oh, he is—but superficially. At night, in our units. Basic wallscreen observation. But we’re free to roam the city. Without observation.”

  “You’ve done it.checked it out?”

  “Absolutely. No one’s bothered me or followed me or questioned me. We’re safe from suspicion so long as we act like the others.”

  “What about the robots?”

  “They’ve been programmed to leave us alone unless we violate a basic city-law,” said Francis. “If we’re careful, they’ll be no problem.” He looked hard at Logan. “The main thing is, Sturdivent must be stopped. He’s out to destroy DS.”

  Logan’s depression lifted; he was no longer alone. Francis, for whatever his reasons, was going to help him accomplish the aliens’ mission. They would work together again as a team. And together, on this Earth or Logan’s, they had been unbeatable. If Sturdivent could be stopped, they’d stop him.

  “Do you have a plan?” asked Logan.

  “First, we have to escape the city,” said Francis. “And I think I’ve found a way out. If we can steal two antigrav units we can exit through the Dream Quarter.”

  “What’s that?”

  “At the far end of the city. Come on, I’ll show you. But keep the act up. Move slowly. And don’t say anything to me on the street.”

  “Right.” Logan nodded.

  They crossed the wide night city, riding the belts in silence, allowing the domed buildings to flow past them in luminous procession.

  Logan had been mentally charting the days, sunrise to sunset, since the aliens had sent him to Earth.

  He was running out of time. Less than twenty-four hours remained before he’d be abandoned here forever, with no hope of returning to his home world.

  To Jess and Fennister and Mary-Mary, to the Wilderness People at Maincamp, I’m already dead, thought Logan. Lost in the sky, gone without a trace. He knew that Jess would be grieving for, him, desolate that Jaq would never know his father. Therefore, one thought was a twisting knife in Logan’s mind, repeating itself over and over: I must get back to them…I must get back to them…

  Francis stepped from the belt, Logan following. They waited in shadow until a unit robot had passed, then entered a squat copper-colored utility structure built over a complex cross-hatching of wide metalloid struts.

  “These support the solar powerhousing,” said Francis when they were inside. He tapped one of the struts. “This one leads directly to a booster cone that has a utility-repair exit port. Once we have the flybelts, we can leave through the port without attracting attention. Sturdivent will never know we’re gone.”

  “When we’re out—what then?”

  “We alert central DS to the truth about what’s going on up here,” said Francis. “Once we’ve shattered the Godbirth myth, with a few squads of armed DS in skybugs we can knock out this city and finish Sturdivent.”

  Logan was uncertain. “And what happens to all the brainwashed ex-Sandmen?”

  “They die, of course,” said Francis flatly.

  “And the Dreamers with them.”

  “Dreamers?”

  “That’s why they call this area the Dream Quarter. Because of them.”

  “You know a lot that I don’t,” said Logan. “Who are these Dreamers?”

  “Sturdivent’s special slaves,” said Francis. “Kept down here away from the other Gods. One of the robots told me about them.”

  “Are they ex-DS?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know.”

  “I want to see them,” said Logan.

  “But, Logan—”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Yes, but it might be dangerous,” Francis objected. “We can’t afford to risk—”

  “I want to see them,” Logan repeated.

  They did not have far to go. The Dreamers were housed in a subterranean section of a building directly adjoining the main utility block.

  “What about guards?” Logan asked in a whisper as they moved along a narrow metal walkway leading to the ventilation tunnel.

  “According to the robot, they keep two. One inside
with the Dreamers, and another outside the door. We can avoid them if we use the tunnel.”

  At the ventilation shaft, they loosened a wallplate, pried it off, and quickly climbed inside. The shaft tunnel was high enough to permit them to move rapidly through it in a running half-crouch.

  “What we’re doing is crazy, Logan. We should be using this time to prepare our exit from the city. Why are you so determined to do this?”

  “Because I have a hunch about the Dreamers,” said Logan. “I don’t think they’re DS men.”

  And they weren’t.

  “Women!” marveled Francis, peering down at the dreaming figures. The ventilation tunnel passed directly through the large, dim-lit Dream Chamber—affording Logan and Francis a clear view of the Dreamers below. Fifty of them. Lying in easy-breathing rows of five, their nude bodies in fetal position, supported by webbed straps. A delicate mesh of golden wiring encased each of them, from throat to ankles, in a pulsating electronic womb.

  “I know those faces!” whispered Francis. “I’ve seen them before.”

  “On scanboards at DS.” Logan nodded. “Runners who got away.”

  “So they didn’t vanish after all!”

  No, thought Logan, they’re here—all of them—taken up to this skycity by Sturdivent’s “Gods” to satisfy the Master’s sexual desires.

  All of them…

  Including Jessica!

  She lay just below him, her body cocooned in metal filaments, her eyes closed in dreaming sleep.

  A robot guard walked the rows, checking, adjusting body-contact points, making certain that each female was properly tuned to the machine that spun out endless electronic dreams.

  Logan gestured Francis toward the exit.

  Back on the walkway, Logan did not mention having recognized Jessica, but his face was tight-set; he knew he must find a way to release her. He could not abandon her here.

  “Change of plan,” he said. “We don’t leave the city.”

  Francis stared at him. “But that’s the only way! If we don’t alert DS to what’s happening up here—then Sturdivent wins! He’s ready to make his move.”

  “There’s another way,” said Logan. “We’ll do it another way.”

  The two unit robots assigned to guard the Dreamers were Q-9 W2 models, the latest in the Q-Series Defense Machine development line. In outer appearance they were identical to earlier models: wide, reinforced steelloid bodies with featureless mirror-bright faces behind which computerized relays directed their actions. In overall design, however, they were much more sophisticated.

  If what you told a robot didn’t compute, Logan knew, you had to destroy it in order to move forward. And destroying a Q-9 at this point vas out of the question. Logic, computable logic, was the best weapon.

  The Q-Series machine at the entrydoor leading to the Dream Chamber asked Logan and Francis why they wished to enter.

  “The Master has sent us,” Logan told the robot. “We are to take one of the Dreamers back to his quarters under our personal escort.”

  “I have not been notified in advance,” said the robot. “That is customary. I am always notified.”

  “In this case prior notification is not required,” said Logan. “Not when one of the Elite Gods is given a direct order by Sturdivent. We were given that order and we are obeying it. Admit us.”

  Logic.

  The robot admitted them.

  Inside, as they moved toward the rows of sleeping women, the inner guard approached them. He had been cleared to deal with them automatically.

  “I must warn you,” be said, “that when a subject is removed from Dreamstate she must undergo a revival period of one hour in order to restore full physical and mental capability.”

  “Understood,” said Logan.

  “Might I then suggest,” said the robot, “that you make your selection and return in one hour for her. She will then be totally receptive and functional.”

  “Sturdivent wants her now,” said Logan. “The revival period must be bypassed. We are under direct orders to bring her to the Master without delay.”

  “Very well,” said the machine. “But she will not be immediately responsive to sexual stimulation. You are willing to assume total responsibility for this?”

  Logan nodded.

  “Then please make your selection.”

  They moved along the rows, past the sleeping women, each young, firm-breasted, beautiful. “This one,” said Logan, touching Jessica’s shoulder.

  “Number 43.” The guard nodded. “I shall disconnect, and bring her to you.”

  And as the robot began the process of dream-disconnection, Francis questioned Logan: “Why choose Doyle’s sister? I thought you told me you weren’t involved with her.”

  “Why not choose Doyle’s sister?” Logan answered in a hard tone. “It makes no difference which woman we take. The idea is to reach Sturdivent.”

  “Your idea,” Francis reminded him. “I liked mine better.”

  Logan realized he was pushing Francis. Ease off, he told himself; you can’t afford to alienate him. This won’t work without him. You can’t do it alone.

  Logan modified his tone, still speaking quietly but with the edge removed. “This will work. I know it will. Trust me, Francis.”

  “We’ll see.”

  And he measured Logan with a long, hard glance.

  Jessica was theirs now. Dressed erotically in a scented loverobe, wearing soft slippers, her hair loose and free-falling, she walked with Logan and Francis in hazed half-sleep, her mind still fogged, eyes unfocused. She did not speak as they guided her into the waiting sky vehicle.

  Logan wanted to hold her, comfort her; to eliminate the mental barrier between them—but could do none of these things. To Francis, she was an escaped runner, marked for death after her use as a key to Sturdivent. I’ll have to kill him to save Jess, Logan knew. But not yet.

  Francis had been most resourceful in stealing the skycraft. By morning, when it would be missed, this would all be over, one way or another.

  Logan appreciated the irony, in their situation: Sturdivent is using us; or thinks he is; I’m using Francis and Francis is using Jessica. And, behind it all, the aliens are using me.

  Madness. A game of life and death, played across two worlds, with the final resolution at hand.

  * * *

  THE WOUNDED BEAST

  Inside, as the skycraft moved swiftly through the night city on the way to Sturdivent, Francis brought out two burnguns, handing one to Logan.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Weapons storage,” replied Francis. “Same place I got the skybug. You said we’d need weapons.”

  “I told you we’d take them from Sturdivent once we’re there.”

  “Too risky. We might have to shoot our way in. I figure he’ll be a tough man to reach.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Logan. “Here, in his little kingdom, he has absolutely nothing to fear. Who’s going to harm the Master? Every human in Nirvana is brainwashed, and no robot is going to attack him. And that’s what will make my plan work. He’s prepared, defensively, for a possible outside assault but we hit from inside.”

  “We just walk right in.”

  “Exactly.” Logan put aside the burngun. “Jessica will get us to Sturdivent. And when we go in, we go in clean. No guns.”

  With a shrug, Francis took the burner from his belt and laid it beside Logan’s weapon.

  On the roof, as they left the skycraft, Sturdivent’s chief house robot formally questioned their arrival. The robot was most polite to these Elite Gods, but he was confused. It was not uncommon that a Dreamer be brought to the Master for late-night pleasure, but the female was always accompanied by other robots. Gods did not accompany Dreamers. As the robot carefully explained, this was not customary.

  “The Master personally directed us to bring this Dreamer to him,” Logan said in a flat tone, keeping all emotion out of his voice. It was essential that the robot continue
to believe them under basic mind-control.

  “Not customary,” repeated the house machine.

  “It is his will and our duty,” Francis added. “It would be most unwise if you did not take us to the Master. He would be greatly displeased.”

  The robot reacted to these key words, and the questioning ended. They were led into the main building, through a labyrinth of corridors, to the personal night chambers of Sturdivent.

  Jessica moved with them, docile, easily controlled. Logan looked into her eyes, sought for a flicker of recognition there, but her expression remained vacant, tranquil, childlike. Her body was here, but her mind was with the machine.

  I’ll get you through this, Jess, Logan silently promised her; I’ll get you back to Earth safely, and I’ll smash the system that tried to kill you! The aliens picked me for this job, and I’ll do it!

  The house robot reached toward a metal stud set into a tall bronzed door. “I shall inform the Master that you have arrived.”

  “That will not be necessary,” said Logan. “He is expecting us. Just open the door.”

  “The Master’s door is never locked, but no one may enter unannounced. It is the rule, and the rule cannot be—”

  The metallic voice ceased abruptly as Francis fired a prime heatcharge into the robot’s back.

  “I figured you might be wrong about the guns.” Francis grinned. “I brought mine along.”

  Logan eased open the bronze door. “We could have made it inside without killing the robot,” he said tightly. “Now we’ve lost our advantage.”

  Francis pushed Jess in ahead of him. “We can use her as a shield, let her take the first shot. Save us killing her later.”

  Logan glared at him, said nothing. He wouldn’t let that happen, even if he had to—

  Suddenly they were facing the Master.

  Sturdivent stood in a thickly draped archway, in a jeweled nightrobe, a heatgun in his right hand. Logan stepped toward him, smiling. “What’s happening here?” Sturdivent asked.