Runner

by William C. Dietz

  The red hats proved to be in a generous mood, and it wasn’t long before a scattering of coins lined the bottom of Stipp’s hat, providing the informer with what amounted to a bonus for his labors. Then horns began to sound, shouts were heard, as the heavily laden Zephyr pulled into the station. There was total chaos as those standing on the platform tried to board the train while those on the flatcars sought to get off. That provided Stipp with plenty of time to scan the incoming passengers, spot the sensitive, and empty the coins into the palm of his hand. Ten minutes later, with the hat pulled down to conceal the upper part of his face, the informer followed Norr in toward the center of town.

  Like any good businessman, Stipp knew what his clients wanted and what such information was worth. And while of little interest to most people, the informant knew one individual who would pay good money to hear about the sensitive’s arrival, and would almost certainly want to meet her. The knowledge lifted his spirits, put a spring in Stipp’s step, and brought a smile to his face. Some days were better than others—and this one looked as if it would be very good indeed.

  SIX

  The Planet Pooz

  By encouraging communications between systems, planets, and people, the ancients sought to bind their empires together. But those who wish to rule must divide populations rather than unify them. The ancients are gone. We rule in their place.

  —The Shah of Pooz,

  in a letter to his sons

  While even the newest of Tra’s skyscrapers was hundreds of years old, and not even the Shah had the resources required to construct a new one, the citizens had been busy modifying the buildings they had. The most obvious result of their tinkering was the multiplicity of sky bridges that linked the mostly vertical structures together. The spans came in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Some were enclosed, some were open, and some incorporated aspects of both. Most were fairly substantial and capable of carrying a heavy load, but others consisted of little more than four cables and some planks to walk on. Those were used as shortcuts by the city’s young people, who scampered across the chasms that separated the high-rise buildings as if they were only a few feet off the ground, and seemed to delight in the risks they took. And not just at one level, but at many, so that when Rebo looked upward it was through a maze of crisscrossing structures that split the sky into small geometric shapes.

  However, diverse though they certainly were, the sky bridges all had a common purpose: to enable the local citizens to travel between the skyscrapers without taking the long, tedious journey down into the crowded thoroughfares, where open-air stalls lined both sides of the streets, piles of angen manure awaited collection, and the air was thick with the acrid odor of burning charcoal.

  The combination of sky bridges above and streets below made it difficult for newcomers to find their way around. Based on the research he had carried out back on Anafa, Rebo knew that unlike Gos, the city of Tra boasted a full-fledged branch of the runner’s guild. That meant a secure environment in which he and his companions could hole up. But where the hell was it? He hated to ask, since doing so would identify him as a stranger, but the alternative was to wander the streets forever.

  The runner scanned the street ahead, spotted one of the many cart men sipping a cup of tea, and waved. Eager to earn a gunar or two the laborer swallowed the last of the lukewarm liquid and returned the cup to the tea vendor in exchange for a copper. Then, having retrieved his hand truck, the cart man made his way over to the spot where his perspective customers were waiting. “We just arrived from Gos,” Rebo proclaimed, “and we’re tired of carrying these packs.”

  “Where to?” the cart man wanted to know, as he loaded the packs onto his conveyance and roped them into place.

  “The runner’s guild.”

  The cart man gave a perfunctory nod and took off. Rebo, Norr, and Lee tagged along behind. Mik Stipp watched the byplay from fifty yards away and hurried to follow. The newcomers weren’t going anywhere too fancy he hoped, because while his clothes were fine for the street, they wouldn’t pass muster above the tenth floor of all but the most disreputable buildings.

  Their guide led the threesome into a metal-sheathed building, through a crowded lobby, and into a packed elevator. The cart man got off on level six. Rebo, Norr, and Lee followed their luggage through a maze of corridors and out onto an open sky bridge. It seemed sturdy enough, but Lee could see down through the metal grating and felt his stomach go flip-flop. It seemed natural to reach out for Norr’s hand, and, once he had, to think of his mother.

  For her part the sensitive felt uneasy, as if someone was watching her, but try as she might Norr had been unable to spot a threat. So the sensitive took comfort from Rebo’s presence, kept a good grip on the youngster’s hand, and tried to ignore the prickly sensation between her shoulder blades.

  It turned out that the runner’s guild occupied the entire twenty-third floor of a respectable building. Each branch of the organization had its own distinct personality, and while the building on Anafa was impressive, the availability of wind-generated power meant that the one on Pooz had more amenities.

  Interstellar runners didn’t pass through Tra all that often, so there was a stir when Rebo identified himself, verified his identity by answering questions kept on file at every branch, and requested a suite. Such was the resulting swirl of activity that none of the newly arrived travelers noticed the small commotion as Stipp tried to talk his way past security and was turned away.

  An apprentice led the runner and his party to a suite that looked out onto the eastern part of the city. It consisted of two bedrooms, two baths, and a central sitting room.

  What remained of the day was spent turning the lights on and off, taking long hot showers, and flushing toilets. Finally, after a dinner that had been brought up to their room, the travelers retired. Rebo and Lee settled into one room while Norr took the other. It took the sensitive a while to get to sleep, but eventually she did, and was soon lost in a confused jumble of dreams.

  All three of them awoke feeling rested and refreshed the next morning. Rebo ordered a large breakfast, and by the time it arrived, everyone was ready to eat. Rebo had established that three days remained before the next ship was scheduled to arrive. The question was what to do with the intervening time? Lee wanted to explore the city, and Norr agreed, but the runner had something else in mind. “We’ll do that later,” Rebo said, pausing between bites. “First, we have some research to do.”

  Norr sipped her tea. “What kind of research?”

  “Lysander claimed that he had an incarnation as a man named Nilo Hios and that you were his daughter.”

  The sensitive made a face. “I was trying to forget.”

  “Not to mention the artificial person that he referred to,” the runner continued. “Who knows? Maybe we can find some mention of him in the history books. For example, where was Logos when the Imperium fell? If we’re going to find him, we need a place to start.”

  Norr frowned. “I appreciate the thought. I really do. But you have responsibilities.”

  “Yes, he does,” Lee agreed, speaking for the first time. “I don’t know who this artificial person is, but our trip remains on hold until the ship arrives, so we have time. Let’s do some research, then go out and explore the city.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Rebo said approvingly. “Now finish your breakfast. With any luck at all some of the information we need is right here in this building. Most branches employ a historian. I consulted the one back on Anafa while planning this trip. In my profession it pays to learn about the place you’re headed before you get there.”

  Half an hour later the three of them had left the suite, made their way through the halls, and were standing in front of the reception desk. The runner told the clerk what he wanted and saw the other man nod agreeably. “Of course, sir. There isn’t enough room to house them here, so the archives are stored down in the third subbasement. Our historian lives down there and should be up and around
by now. He was a runner once. His name is Wiley.”

  Two different elevator trips were required to reach the third subbasement. One that transported them to street level and a second that dropped them below street level.

  Rebo, Norr, and Lee had the elevator entirely to themselves by the time it stopped in the third subbasement and understandably so. Unlike levels one and two there were no cross-connections to other buildings on three, the corridors were only dimly lit, and there were occasional puddles where water dripped from overhead pipes.

  Rebo approached a door with the words RUNNER’S GUILD—ARCHIVES printed on it and gave it a push. The room that lay beyond was relatively small, and he noticed that regularly spaced holes dotted the walls as if to allow for some sort of fixtures that had subsequently been removed. Strangely, from his perspective at least, three large drains had been set into the floor.

  The next door seemed to sense his presence and slid out of the way on its own. That allowed the runner and his companions to enter a circular chamber before being confronted by another barrier. It was crude when compared to the first two, and judging from the damage to the tile work around it, had been added at a later date. It was locked, which forced Rebo to bang on it. “Hello? Is anybody home?”

  The runner’s words were still echoing back and forth as Norr wet a forefinger and used the moisture to rub the grime off one of the surrounding tiles. Her finger was soon black with dirt, but part of a picture appeared, along with the word VARGA. It sounded familiar somehow, but the sensitive couldn’t quite place it, and the door opened before she could mention what she had discovered to Rebo.

  The man who peered out at Rebo had long, straggly hair, slightly bulging eyes, and a pasty complexion. He was clearly annoyed. “Yes? What do you want?”

  “I’m a runner,” Rebo answered evenly. “I’d like to do some research.”

  The archivist shifted his gaze to Norr followed by Lee. “And who are they?” he inquired suspiciously.

  “The woman is my wife, and the boy is my son,” the runner lied smoothly. “Now, will you open the door? Or will I have to go all the way upstairs and talk to the man at the front desk?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man replied grudgingly. “My name is Wiley. You and your family can come in, but be sure to close the door behind you. All sorts of riffraff find their way down into the third subbasement, and I get tired of chasing them away.”

  Rebo looked at Norr, raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Is this guy strange or what?” and followed the archivist into his private kingdom. The runner, who had been hoping for shelves loaded with neatly bound books à la the branch on Anafa, was in for a big disappointment. There were shelves all right, what looked like hundreds of them, but rather than the volumes Rebo had envisioned they were filled with stacks of clearly unorganized papers, piles of tightly rolled manuscripts, and boxes filled with what might have been electronic storage modules. “Sorry about the mess,” Wiley said defensively, “but this is what my predecessor left me. I plan to organize all of it, but I have to read everything first, and I’m only halfway through.”

  “How long have you been at it?” Norr inquired, as she bent over to rescue a crumpled manuscript from the floor.

  “About twelve local years,” the clerk responded, as he brushed a strand of dirty hair out of his face. “But enough of my problems . . . What can I do for you?”

  The last was delivered in such an ingratiating manner that the runner decided that he preferred the hostile Wiley. “I’m looking for some general information about the Imperium, a leader named Nilo Hios, and an artificial person called Logos. Can you help me?”

  “He can’t,” a deep booming voice replied, “but I can.”

  All three of the visitors looked around in an effort to find the source of the voice, but it seemed to originate from everywhere at once. Wiley looked peeved. “I’m the archivist here! And you’re just a machine. So shut up.”

  Rebo raised a hand. “Wait a minute . . . Did you say a ‘machine’? I’d like to hear more.”

  “Of course you would,” the voice said confidently. “Wiley couldn’t find his ass with both hands, as you can plainly see. I am a Gate Keeper model 517B, and in so far as I know, the only one of my kind still in operation. Friends call me Fil.”

  “Okay, Fil,” the runner said cautiously, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Jak Rebo. This is my wife Lanni and my son Dor. Pardon my ignorance, but what does a Gate Keeper 517B do?”

  “That’s a good question,” Fil answered cheerfully. “But before I answer it, a short history lesson is in order. More than a thousand worlds belonged to the empire during the final days of Emperor Hios’s rule. The starships used to find and settle the member planets were considered obsolete by then and relegated to the status of mere curiosities. Hard though it may be for you to believe, interplanetary travel was carried out via a vast network of star gates. Portals like the one that you passed through as you entered the archive.”

  Norr remembered the tile, the picture she’d seen, and the name Varga. Of course! The planet Varga, which had been mentioned in some of the texts she had read as a child and was supposedly home to a large colony of sensitives.

  “And Hios?” the runner inquired. “How did he wind up as emperor? Did he invent the technology behind the star gates?”

  “Yes, and no,” the computer replied. “Hios was part of a team that created the technology, and being the most ambitious of the lot, took advantage of his position to seize power.”

  This was, or had been her father that Fil was talking about, and Norr was naturally curious. “So, how did he do that? Seize power I mean?”

  “Hios controlled an artificial intelligence named Logos,” the computer replied, “and Logos controlled more than a thousand lesser AIs such as myself. So, given the fact that interplanetary commerce depended on the star gates, anyone who controlled them controlled the flow of information, the shipment of goods, and the movement of troops.

  “Many observers, including myself, believe that his original intentions were good. By tying the worlds together, Hios was creating the means by which mankind could take what he called ‘the next step,’ to a higher level of civilization. Or that’s what he said.

  “But, you’re probably familiar with the old saying that ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ and such was the case. Over a period of about ten years the emperor’s decisions became so self-serving, and so capricious, that many thought him mad. A resistance movement was born, heretofore obsolete spaceships were refitted, and rebellious runners began to carry messages back and forth between the planets.

  “Runners like you!” Lee said proudly, his hand tugging at Rebo’s jacket.

  “Yes,” Fil agreed, as he resumed his narration. “And Hios was angered by such activity. So angered that the runner’s guild was outlawed, star gates were used to deliver nuclear weapons onto rebel planets, and entire cities were leveled. The citizenry rose up, or tried to, but thanks to his ever-growing network of portals Hios could move his brutal security troops around very quickly, and the resistance fighters lost every battle. Finally, when things were so dark that it seemed that all hope was lost, it was a member of the emperor’s own family who brought the madness to an end.”

  Norr remembered what Lysander had said, that she was the one who had ended the emperor’s life, and felt a chill run down her spine. Rebo remembered, too—and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  The AI had no way to know about the sensitive’s relationship to Hios and continued his narration. “No one witnessed the murder, but it’s said the emperor’s daughter left her quarters via an open window, negotiated the ledge that ran the circumference of the building, and jumped down onto her father’s private balcony.”

  Although Norr had entered trancelike states thousands of times during her lifetime, she had never experienced anything like what happened next. Instead of stepping halfway out of her body, as she normally did, the sensitive found he
rself entering another vehicle, one that felt different. It was smaller, but very athletic, something she gave thanks for as her feet smacked against the stone tiles of her father’s balcony.

  Outside of the door to his private suite, which was heavily guarded, the balcony represented the only other entrance to her father’s bedroom. So far so good. But could she complete the task she had assigned herself? Her father was clearly evil, so the justification was there, as was the need to take action. Because no one except for a member of the emperor’s immediate family would have the opportunity to kill him. Not with combat variants guarding him around the clock.

  But to sneak into his bedroom, tiptoe up to his bed, and sink a knife into her own father? That was a lot to ask of any daughter, even one who was ashamed of what had been done in her family’s name and desperately wanted the horror to end.

  Still, that was the task that Princess Cara had set for herself, and that was what she was determined to accomplish no matter the price. High-quality synsilk whispered softly as the young woman made her way to the entrance, tried the handle, and felt it give. The well-lubricated hinges were silent as the door swung open and she entered the cavernous bedroom. She paused, listened for signs of alarm, but heard none. Light, such as it was, emanated from the slightly luminescent baseboard that circled the room.

  Then, having removed the hunting knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh, the princess advanced on the bed. There were two forms under the covers, one of which represented her father, while the other belonged to whatever woman he had chosen to sleep with the evening before. Just the latest in a long string of lovers he had taken since his wife’s death three years earlier.