by Unknown
"What?"
"Why didn't Evans supply you with information on where Gant has Jessica? We could blunder around for miles in there!"
"My fault, really," admitted Jonath. "When he told me she was alive I was so anxious to reach you with the news that I failed to question him fully."
"Doesn't matter," said Logan. "If Jess is alive in there I'll find her…no matter how far we go or how long it takes."
THINKER
They had agreed to converse only out of necessity once they were inside the mountain—and now they moved in silence between pressing walls of deep-winding rock. Downward.
Toward the Thinker.
Built in the 1980s on a massive research grant, and symbolizing one of the high points of human scientific achievement, it had never been designed to rule Earth. Its final installation here, in the Crazy Horse caverns in 1991, opened a whole new research era, promising an end to disease and poverty. The truly immense computer-complex, with its mechanical cells numbering ten raised to the seventeenth power, was a natural extension of the space-probe computers of the 1970s, but with much vaster potential.
Until the Little War.
When the young took charge of world government, they also took over the Thinker—re-programming it to their own ends, setting up the Death-at-21 society with this supreme god-computer as their major arm of enforcement. The cities of Earth lived in its metallic grip, becoming totally dependent upon it.
The Thinker's multi-million arteries became the world's prime root system, feeding power and control to each city around the globe.
As knight slays dragon, Ballard had killed the computer. It lay now, acres of blackened, inert metal, an endless cemetery of silent relays and ruptured cables, stretching for becalmed miles beneath the granite bulk of Crazy Horse.
But even in death, the Thinker inspired awe.
"It was alive when I was here with Jess," said Logan softly, as he and Jonath stood on a wide ledge overlooking the complex. Fissured cracks in the rock walls of the mountain allowed thin spears of light to cut across the vast, dead-metal plain of linked computer banks.
"It goes on forever!" marveled Jonath. He started moving toward the floor of the caverns. Logan caught him just before his foot touched the dust-dulled surface, pulled him back abruptly.
"What's wrong? Gant isn't in this section."
"Not Gant," said Logan. "The Watchman."
"Watchman?"
"Another robot kill-device. Programmed to react instantly to the slightest pressure on the floor's surface." Logan picked up a small pebble, tossed it onto the flooring.
Silence. No alarms. No movement.
"We're all right," sighed Logan. "It's dead." He grinned at Jonath. "Believe me, you don't want that thing coming after you."
"Which way now?" asked Jonath.
"I'm not sure," said Logan, looking down a long row of silent computer banks. "Did Evans say why Gant picked Crazy Horse as his headquarters?"
"No. Just that he was here."
"He's probably rigged up some kind of auxiliary power—for light and heat. Using parts of the Thinker. Once we locate the power source we've found Gant."
"This thing spreads out for miles."
"Best chance is to head for the Central Core. Gant could have tapped into it for his power. If so, his headquarters will be close to the Core."
"But I thought this was dead…all of it."
"The components still exist," said Logan. "Gant might have found a way to partially reactivate some of them." He took out the canister of water, opened it. "Want some?"
"My throat's been dry ever since we got here," admitted Jonath, taking several swallows. Logan drank, then stowed the canister back in his tunic. "Let's go. And walk softly all the way."
Weapons in hand, they headed for the Core.
ALIVE
Theoretically, Logan knew where the heart of the Thinker was located, but he'd never seen it.
However, if his reasoning was correct regarding Gant's use of this potential power center, the Core would soon reveal itself. A live hum of energy alerted them as they moved down one of the mile-long corridors. A golden wash of light haloed the darkness ahead of them.
Logan spoke in a low whisper to Jonath: "Gant's men could be anywhere in this area. Keep close to the banks."
The sound increased.
"Crawl," directed Logan, dropping to his stomach. "We're almost there."
They inched forward, emerging onto a spiral of balcony which overlooked the glowing mass of the Central Core.
It was huge—an interlinking of incredibly-complex electronic columns, rising into the upper level of the mountain, each golden column pulsing with incalculable energies. At least half of the columns were "alive."
Logan was stunned. The display of computer power astonished him. In reactivating this much of the Core Gant had accomplished far more than Logan had believed possible. To what purpose? Surely he had harnessed considerably more power than his personal use required.
"I want to get closer," Logan told Jonath. "You stay here while I—"
"Closer?" an amplified voice boomed and crashed around them. "A simple wish, Logan 3. One that I shall be happy to grant."
A cluster of pinbeams raked the balcony as Logan and Jonath sprang back, guns ready.
Logan blinked into the glare: "Are you Gant?"
"I am," the voice crackled.
"Where's Jessica?"
"Where indeed!" And the voice boomed in laughter. "Why should I tell you anything?"
"We're armed," Logan warned. "We can do a lot of damage here."
A dark figure advanced on them along the curving balcony. "That's an empty threat," said a voice that Logan recognized immediately.
"Evans!"
"Been a long time, Logan. When you made it to Argos I thought we'd never see you again. Yet…" And he smiled. "Here you are!"
Jonath was trembling with rage. "You used me—to get Logan here. Everything you told me…lies! All lies!"
"Not everything," said Evans smoothly, covering them with his Gun. "I said that Gant was here, which he is. And that he'd taken Jessica. Also true."
Jonath's eyes blazed. He raised the Fuser. "You filthy—"
Evans Gunned him. Ripper. In a sudden eruption of heat Jonath's body was blown apart. The remains of his charred corpse sprawled at Logan's feet.
"You are surrounded, Logan," boomed Gant's voice. "My men have been pacing you since the moment you entered Crazy Horse. Now, if you wish to see Jessica alive you'll hand your weapon to Evans 9."
"Do it," snapped Evans.
Face tight, eyes hard on his ex-friend, Logan handed the Fuser to Evans.
Other Sandmen materialized around him. One of them tapewired Logan's hands behind his back; another quickly looped a chokechain around his neck, affixed it to his wrists, snugged it tight.
During this, Logan remained silent.
With a tight smile, Evans said, "Welcome back, friend."
Logan spat in his face.
GANT
Seven feet tall. Bare-waisted. Dark, burnished skin. Deep-sunk, luminous eyes. A shark's slash of mouth.
Gant.
Logan stood before him, flanked by two Sandmen.
"Down," said Gant to one of them.
In response, the Sandman jerked fiercely on Logan's chokechain, forcing him to his knees.
Gant walked around him in a slow circle. "Your body's in good condition." He prodded Logan's shoulder. "Solid muscle tone. I'm happy to see that you've maintained yourself. So many ex-Sandmen go slack, allow their bodies to—"
"Where—is—she?" Logan's voice was edged, the words spaced with cold anger.
"You'll see her," said Gant. "I give you my absolute promise that the two of you shall soon be reunited."
"Have you…harmed her?"
Gant looked down at Logan and, for the first time, smiled at him. The smile was grotesque. The tall man had replaced his teeth with rubies. They glittered like blood in Gant's
wide jaw.
"I never harm a thing of value," he said. "And Jessica has been of immense value to me." Again the jeweled smile. "She brought me you."
He gestured to the Sandmen. Logan was dragged up, pushed into a couch facing Gant's desk. The tall man eased into a lifeleather chair, folded his hands and leaned across the mirrored expanse of desk. "This mountain is mine, Logan. It was Ballard's once. But he got careless." Logan found it all but impossible to listen to Gant, talk to him with any degree of calm; he wanted, with every ounce of his conscious being, to launch himself at the man's throat.
"You smashed the Sanctuary Line at Steinbeck," said Logan. "…and followed Ballard here."
"That's correct. But I was a bit late in arriving. Before I killed him Ballard had time to destroy a large part of the Thinker. Fortunately, not all. As you can see, he left the greater part of the Core intact."
Logan remained silent as Gant fingered a large, square-cut ruby, one of several on the desk. He studied his captive, turning the ruby slowly in his fingers. "Now I have the Central Core, and you. A double bonus."
"All these years…you've been brooding about my escape."
"You dishonored me as a Sandman!"
"You have no honor, Gant! You've never had it. All you're after is revenge."
"An honorable goal in itself," said Gant. "Many great men have sought it." He chuckled. "In fact, when you killed at Steinbeck you were seeking exactly that against the Borgias. Revenge."
"I wanted Jess back. I went there to find her—but it was you behind it all. You had her taken!"
"No, I'm afraid I can't claim credit for that. The outlanders happened upon her, didn't realize the prize they'd found. I was able to purchase her for a very modest price. But the price didn't matter…"
He stood up, walked casually over to Logan, buried his right fist in his hair and savagely jerked Logan's head back. "I wanted you, Logan." His voice was cold iron. "Wanted you here!" Then he smiled again, releasing his grip, moved back to his desk. "Actually, until Jessica was put on the Market, I was not aware that you'd returned to Earth. But once I found her it made everything simple. Buy her. Hold her. Get word to you. Wait for you. All very simple."
"How do I know you haven't killed her?"
"You don't," said Gant. "I thought carefully about it, thought about bringing you here and showing you her corpse…but decided on a richer plan. One that will…satisfy me more."
"Were you…satisfied with Jonath's death?" asked Logan bitterly.
"He was brandishing a weapon. There was no other course of action possible."
"Look…" Logan drew in a breath. "We've had our talk. When do I see Jess?"
"Soon. As I promised," smiled the tall man. "I note, by the way, that you seem to find my smile unusual. Rubies happen to be a personal vanity of mine. I visited a New You and had these put in. I rather like the effect."
"Why can't I see Jessica now?"
Gant's face tightened. "Because I say you can't. First…there's a special room you must visit. Of my own design. I think you'll find it…stimulating. After your visit there you'll be reunited with Jessica."
"If you're lying to me, Gant…If she's dead…"
"What will you do?"
"I'll kill you. Somehow, I'll kill you"
Gant laughed, a booming sound in the room. "As a Sandman you never lacked bravado, Logan. Always full of drive, self-confidence…But, in your present situation, threatening me is an empty and ridiculous gesture." He took a Fuser from his desk, moved quickly to press the flanged barrel against Logan's forehead. "I could burn you in an instant."
"I don't deny it," said Logan. His eyes met Gant's, locked on them. "But you heard what I said."
Gant flung aside the weapon, abruptly turned his bronzed back on Logan. He raised a hand. "Take him away."
And Logan was dragged from the room.
STORM
In the six years since the death of the cities Gant had built his personal kingdom at Crazy Horse.
Stripping the Thinker itself for raw materials, he'd constructed a miniature city beneath the mountain. Logan saw only parts of it as they marched him down hallways, past labs and crew quarters, through a courtyard, past food-storage lockers…but he was impressed.
Yet he did not ask questions. His curiosity about Gant was canceled by his consuming desire to see Jessica, to hold her again…She's here, he told himself, here in one of these buildings… Escape, at this point, was a useless hope. In addition to the chokechain and tapewire, the four Sandmen who walked with him (one leading, one to either side, another following) all carried Guns in their hands.
He would do as they instructed. If Gant had not been lying, he'd be allowed to see Jess after whatever torture the man had set up for him to endure. And Logan had endured much in his life. He would endure this—and hope.
Jess, Jess…I love you!
"Stop here," said the lead Sandman.
They had reached a wide duralloy door, set flush into the corridor's end. The door was solid metal, and smelled of oil. One of the Sandmen unlocked it, swung it back. "Inside," he said.
Logan entered—and the heavy door crashed shut behind him.
Soft laughter in the corridor, and the Sandmen were gone.
Logan was alone.
The chamber was large, perhaps twenty by twenty feet, of bolted metal, totally bare. Not a single item of any kind—just metal walls, ceiling, floor. And, as Logan tested the surface, cool to the touch.
There were round holes of varying size punched into the ceiling, scores of them. And as many in the floor. The walls were vented, top to bottom.
Am I to be gassed in here? Is that Gant's plan? Ironic. Saved in New York from the same fate I'll suffer here…Will Gant really allow me to see Jess? Will I leave this room alive?
Logan raised his head, tensing his body; he swung around abruptly.
Someone was touching him!
No, not someone. Something: a slight draft of currented air, touching at his face, his hair…emanating
from the vents. Fresh. Not gas. Fresh air.
But subtly increasing, gradually becoming stronger.
A soft, pattering sound—and Logan felt wetness against his skin. Slow drops of water, dripping down on him from a multitude of ceiling holes.
A muted rumble from the room, a faint, far-distant sound, like the throb of giant drums.
The current of air had become a breeze, blowing chill against Logan's rapidly-dampening uniform.
The patter of drops from the ceiling intensified, became a steady downfall, soaking Logan's hair and clothing.
The breeze soon mounted to a wind, whipping at Logan in cold gusts from the wallvents surrounding him.
The downpour increased to a fierce curtain of iced sleet, and the muted drum-rumble boomed into full thunder, assaulting Logan's eardrums.
He staggered back, dazed, helpless—as the wind punished him, building in force by the second.
Now another frightening element manifested itself in the chamber: firebolts of lightning danced and crackled around him, first at one wall, then at the next.
Logan clapped both hands to his ears to muffle the thunder's brutal roar, his mouth gaping in shocked agony.
A solid gust of wind slapped him to the floor. He rose to his knees, fighting for balance on the rainslick metal, crawled toward a corner to lessen the storm's impact—but a sizzle of heat-lightning forced him back to the room's center.
The wind was a demon's shriek, the thunderclaps now impossibly loud in the metal chamber. Something began cutting at Logan's skin, drawing blood along his cheek. Hailstones—sharp-edged pellets of cold ice which pounded and slashed at his unprotected head and shoulders.
Now the wind suddenly reversed direction, taking Logan by surprise; under its gale force, he was toppled and slammed into the wall. Again the hurricane blast abruptly reversed direction, and Logan was hurled across the slippery floor into the opposite wall, striking the metal with bonecrushing impact.
<
br /> Again.
And again.
And again.
Viciously pelted and buffeted, Logan lay gasping on his back, blood running from a dozen wounds, the hail and rain drumming his flesh.
He opened his mouth and cried out, but his voice was swallowed up in the cruel, unending din, as the storm raged.
REUNION
"Do you think he's ready now?" asked Evans 9.
Gant nodded. "Tell them to kill the storm, then have Logan brought to Room K…" His smile glowed red….where I shall keep my promise to him."
Evans turned to leave when Gant's voice stopped him.
"One thing I'd like to know."
"Yes?"
"I'm curious," said Gant. "What made you betray him? You were friends once…yet you set the trap that brought him here."
"I'm a proud man," said Evans. "Logan kept me in his shadow. In DS he assumed a position of superiority. He was arrogant, self-serving. He never tried to understand me. Even took our friendship for granted. Thought it was a privilege for me to be his friend! But I was never his friend! I knew someday I'd best him. And I have."
"Indeed you have," nodded Gant. "It seems we share similar emotional attitudes toward Logan. Which helps bind us in the venture."
"I want him dead," said Evans flatly.
And he left.
When they opened the door Logan did not move, did not look at them. Water dripped languorously from the ceiling, draining away along the floor.
The storm was over.
Logan lay in a far corner of the chamber, knees drawn up tight against his body, head sunken against his chest, eyes closed. His breathing was irregular. His soaked, torn uniform was spotted with blood. Two Sandmen walked over to him, lifted him by the elbows, dragging him toward the door. He moved in a broken child's stumble, his eyes glazed, unfocused. Small, mewling sounds issued from his mouth.
The Sandmen smiled at one another as they led him away from the stormroom.