Norr turned to look at Rebo. “Go ahead, Jak. You’ve had more experience with machines than I have.”
The runner shook his head. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, “but you’re more of a talker than I am. And that’s what this situation calls for.”
If the comment was intended as a compliment, it didn’t come across as one, but the sensitive thought it best to let the issue slide. “Okay,” she replied philosophically. “It’s worth a try.”
The others watched as Norr laid her staff on the platform, circled the chair, and put her foot on the first of three steps that led up to the thronelike position above. Then, having mounted the short flight of stairs, the sensitive turned and lowered herself into the well-padded chair. A puff of dust billowed up, hung suspended in the air, and started to settle. The seat was huge, as if made to accommodate even the largest member of the A-strain, and the sensitive felt lost in it.
“Slip your hands and arms into the tunnels located on both sides of the seat,” Hoggles instructed. “Then, depending on what sort of mood his excellency is in, he might be willing to communicate with you.”
Norr examined both sides of the seat, verified the presence of twin holes, and slowly inserted her hands into the apertures. And it wasn’t long before her fingers began to tingle. Though slightly uncomfortable, like the pins-and-needles sensation caused by a lack of circulation, the feedback wasn’t too bad, and Norr left her extremities where they were.
A minute, that’s how long the sensitive intended to put up with the prickly feeling, unless the AI made contact. She started to count off the seconds, and had just hit fifty-six, when a basso voice thundered all around her. “You don’t belong here! I don’t like you! Go away.”
The effect was startling, and might have been sufficient to send another person packing, but the sensitive was not so easily intimidated. “You are correct,” Norr agreed. “I don’t belong here . . . But I need your help. Provide me with the information I need, and I will leave.”
Rebo bit his lower lip. Lee’s forehead was so hot that damp cloths no longer had the capacity to cool it, and the boy moaned constantly. Now, with nothing to do, the runner regretted the decision to let Norr interact with the ship. What if she made a mistake? What if the aggressive approach made the AI angry? But it was too late to switch, and all he could do was stand by and hope for the best.
Norr held her breath as the silence stretched long and thin. Finally, just as the sensitive had come to the conclusion that the conversation was over, Hewhotravels spoke once more. “What do you want?”
The sensitive took a deep breath. “One of our party is ill,” she replied. “And we think he’s going to die.”
“So?” The single word echoed back and forth between steel walls and was heavy with disdain.
“So, we believe there’s a medical facility on board this ship,” Norr answered. “And you could tell us how to access it.”
“You are correct,” Hewhotravels responded smugly. “There is such a facility, but it has been closed for thousands of years, and it shall remain so.”
“But why?” the sensitive demanded resentfully. “You were created to serve humanity, to enable them to travel among the stars, and to do so safely. So why would you deny medical care to one of your passengers?”
“For a number of reasons,” the AI responded easily. “Starting with the fact that while it’s true that your ancestors were responsible for creating beings such as myself, that was before the race surrendered to entropy and began the long slide back into ignorance, savagery, and barbarism. Any obligation that my brothers, sisters, and I may have are to what your kind once were. Not what you have become. And, were I to open those areas that are presently restricted, the vermin camped within my holds would destroy what remains of my once-magnificent body, a fate that may have befallen some if not all of the ships no longer in service.”
Norr remembered the brutish audience that had torn her childhood mentor apart and knew exactly what Hewhotravels was referring to. It seemed that knowledge had surrendered to ignorance, and though no longer capable of building a starship, there were plenty of human beings who would be happy to destroy one.
“There is truth in what you say,” Norr admitted gravely. “But I’m not asking you to open every nook and cranny of your hull to the people camped in the hold. Just to one little boy . . . A spirit who, if his followers are correct, might grow up to be a great teacher one day. The sort of man who could set humanity back on the path to greatness.”
Rather than dismiss the comment, as she half expected him to, the AI seemed intrigued. “A boy you say . . . And who, pray tell, is this paragon of virtue?”
“We call him Lee,” the sensitive replied. “However those who lead the red hat sect believe that he is the reincarnated spirit of a teacher named Nom Maa. The truth or falsity of that assertion will be determined in the city of CaCanth on the planet Thara. But only if he lives long enough to get there.”
So realistic was the panorama of stars projected on the inner surface of the control room that Rebo was taken aback when it suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a hundred competing scenes. Each featured the same man, who in spite of the fact that he appeared to be at least fifty feet tall, still managed to look benign. Perhaps that was the result of his shaved head, open moon-shaped face, and the simple green robe that hung from his roly-poly body. Or perhaps it was an ineffable something that radiated from within. Whatever the reason the runner recognized the backgrounds as being typical of what the interior of a great starship might have looked like millennia before. There were bulkheads crowded with art, compartments filled with luxurious furnishings, and throngs of well-dressed passengers, many of whom bowed as the man with the cherubic face walked past.
“You are looking at Nom Maa,” Hewhotravels announced dramatically, “during a voyage when I had the honor of transporting his Excellency from Pooz to Ning. Please take note of the fact that while both the red and the black hats claim to follow his teachings, he opposed such groupings as counterproductive, and always sought to promote unity. That was why he wore green robes rather than red or black.”
There was a moment of silence as Rebo, Norr, and the crimson-clad Dib Wa all struggled to absorb what they had heard, and eyed the larger-than-life images that loomed around them. But interesting as all of it was, Norr was acutely aware of how important the passage of time could be and forced the AI back to the subject at hand. “So, you agree with me. There is hope . . . And Nom Maa was a great man.”
“Yes, he was,” the ship admitted. “But who is to say that the man lives in the boy? You are a sensitive . . . Can you assure me that they are one and the same?”
“No,” Norr answered honestly. “Back when I first met him I requested that information and was refused. Because if I knew the answer, I might tell the boy, causing him to not only act on the knowledge but bypass certain experiences that he needs to have. But Lee could be Nom Maa—and his life is at risk.”
The mosaic of moving images was replaced by the star field, and a long moment of silence ensued. Finally, as Norr prepared to pull her arms out of the control sleeves, Hewhotravels spoke. “Follow the arrows. Use the facility. Save him if you can.”
“Thank you,” the sensitive said humbly. “Thank you very much.”
The strange tingling sensation stopped the moment that Norr removed her hands from the control sleeves, and while there was no outward sign to confirm it, the sensitive thought she detected a change to the surrounding atmosphere. It was as if the AI’s personality had substance, and once withdrawn, left a vacuum in its wake.
“Look!” Rebo exclaimed, pointing to a previously blank bulkhead. “An arrow!” It was light blue and seemed to glow from within.
Norr’s boots made a clanging sound as they hit the steel deck. “All right . . . Let’s get going.”
Hoggles took the lead as the stretcher party followed a series of blue arrows through various twists and turns before finally arriving in f
ront of a hatch that bore a large red cross. Rebo was about to palm the lock but the barrier hissed out of the way before he could do so.
Norr assumed that Hewhotravels was monitoring their progress via sensors of some sort and looked around in a futile attempt to make eye contact with one of them. “Thank you.”
A series of lights flickered on as the heavy led his companions through a dusty waiting area, past the stainless-steel desk where long-dead staff had listened to an endless list of complaints put forward by often cantankerous passengers, and into the well-equipped surgery that lay beyond. Dozens of highly specialized machines, none larger than the runner’s fist, could be seen crawling across the overhead and surrounding bulkheads. Each cut a damp swath through layers of accumulated grime before turning to circle the room again. A freshly scrubbed operating table crouched under a battery of overhead lights, and Norr pointed to it. “Put him there.”
Lee groaned pitifully as the Dib Wa warriors strapped him to the table before stepping back out of the way.
“Now what?” Rebo inquired of no one in particular, as the cleaning robots put the finishing touches to the room.
As if to answer the runner, a female voice issued from what seemed like every corner of the operating theater. “All nonessential personnel must exit the surgical suite. I repeat, all nonessential personnel must . . .”
“Okay, okay,” Rebo said irritably. “We get the idea. Come on . . . Let’s see if we can find the way back behind that window over there. Maybe we can watch.”
Norr whispered something into Lee’s ear, kissed him on the forehead, and followed the runner out of the room.
As it turned out, the observation room was quite small, so Hoggles accompanied the red hat warriors out into the waiting room, leaving Rebo and Norr to monitor the situation alone. Having already seen the machines that crawled over the walls and heard the disembodied female voice, neither observer was especially surprised when the table sprouted mechanical arms. They cut the boy’s clothes off, made use of a liquid disinfectant to prep his skin, and placed a self-adhesive drape over his abdomen.
Once that was accomplished a long flexible tube snaked down from the overhead to make contact with the inner surface of Lee’s left arm. They boy jerked as a needle penetrated a vein, went limp as the relaxant began to take effect, and offered no visible resistance when a second tube arrived. It took a peek into his mouth, found the passageway to its liking, and dived into the youth’s airway.
Meanwhile, the table on which the youth lay extruded other leads that made their various connections and fed data regarding Lee’s vital signs to the computer that ran the medical facility. It sent a mix of oxygen and anesthetic into the boy’s lungs, waited for the mixture to have the desired effect, and gave itself permission to operate.
Still another tube deposited a handful of machines onto Lee’s abdomen. One of the robots cut a tiny hole through the patient’s skin, while others strained to pull the margins of the wound apart, and the rest dashed hither and yon cauterizing bleeders. Three minutes later the youth’s badly inflamed appendix had been located, isolated, and cut free.
In spite of the fact that they had been watching intently, neither Rebo nor Norr were aware that the operation had even begun when a small piece of tissue materialized on top of his skin, and the procedure was over.
Fifteen minutes later the appendix had been suctioned away, Lee’s incision had been closed, and the anesthetic had started to wear off. “Keep the wound clean, and notify me if you notice any fever, drainage, or significant pain,” the computer ordered, as Rebo and Norr reentered the surgical suite.
The runner said, “Sure,” but doubted that Hewhotravels would allow any of them to reenter the facility once they left it.
The other passengers, all of whom had expected Rebo and Norr to return without their son’s body, were visibly surprised when a heavy they had never seen before led the stretcher party back into the hold. However, such was the wary “mind your own business” culture that prevailed in the bowels of the ship, they turned back to their fires without voicing the questions that begged to be asked.
After consulting with Rebo, Norr invited Hoggles to stay, but the heavy refused. No reason was given, but the sensitive assumed that the big hermit was on the run from something, and looked him in the eye. “Okay, Bo, but let us know if you change your mind.”
The variant nodded. “Thanks, I will.”
The sensitive’s eyes rolled slightly out of focus. “And Bo . . .”
“Yes?”
“Does the name ‘Dak’ mean anything to you?”
Hoggles looked surprised. “Yes . . . Dak was my best friend. He was killed in an accident.”
Well, Dak says that, ‘if you’re going to beat it, you’ve got to face it.’ Does that make any sense to you?”
The variant’s eyes narrowed, and he backed away. “No, it doesn’t,” the heavy lied, “but thanks anyway.”
Norr put out a hand as if to stop Hoggles, but the heavy had turned by then and was walking away. Rebo had seen the interchange and appeared by the sensitive’s side. “What got into him?”
Norr shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Ah well,” the runner said philosophically. “We already have plenty of problems without adding any more.”
The sensitive knew Rebo was correct, but couldn’t help but wonder who the entity named Dak was and what Hoggles was running from.
Lee recovered quickly, and the next few ship days passed without incident, which had a meritorious effect on the on-again, off-again relationship between Rebo and Norr. So much so that the twosome had even gone for a walk together, and rather than discuss their current difficulties, focused on happier times instead. The runner described what it was like to grow up within the topsy-turvy world of a guild, and the sensitive reminisced about the idyllic days before the night plague turned her into an orphan.
Perhaps that was why the runner not only dreamed about Norr but wasn’t all that surprised when she came to him during the period that most of their fellow passengers accepted as night within the eternally darkened hold. The runner awoke as the sensitive entered his privacy shelter on her hands and knees, saw who the intruder was, and removed his hand from the Crosser.
Norr crawled forward, straddled Rebo’s hips, and allowed her hair to fall forward as she looked down on him. The runner reached up to cup her breasts, saw her lips part, and was ready for an openmouthed kiss when the sensitive spoke. Her voice was low and coarse. “Greetings, runner . . . This is Milos Lysander. We meet again.”
Rebo jerked his hands off Norr’s breasts, fervently wished that the sensitive wasn’t seated astride him, and looked up into amused eyes. “Lysander? Get the hell off me! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing like what you were hoping for,” the discarnate entity answered dryly. “Not that I blame you . . . But enough. I came here to warn you. Because I refuse to use the channel they selected for me, the Techno Society decided to redouble their efforts to capture my daughter, or failing that, to kill her. You must stop them.”
“Me?” Rebo objected, as he tried to buck Norr off. “Why me?”
“Because you have the necessary skills, your fate is somehow linked with hers, and you love her.”
“Love?” the runner demanded. “Who said anything about ‘love’? Besides, she’s bossy, presumptuous, and annoying.”
“Which is exactly what some people say about you,” the spirit responded. “Now, remember what I said and be ready. They know you’re on this ship, and their agents will be waiting when the shuttle lands.”
Rebo felt a sense of alarm mixed with frustration as he leaned back against his elbows. “Hey, I have idea . . . If you’re so worried about Norr, all you have to do is cooperate with the Techno Society! You invented the bastards.”
“We want some of the same things,” Lysander admitted cautiously, “but for different reasons. Take care of my daughter, and I will help when I ca
n.”
Then Lysander was gone and Norr awoke to find herself straddling Rebo. “Jak? Is that you? What’s going on?”
“Lysander decided to hijack your body and came by for a visit,” the runner answered disgustedly. “He says that the Techno Society will be waiting for you when we land.”
The sensitive frowned. “Was that all?”
“Yeah,” Rebo lied, “except for this, which is my idea.”
Norr felt the runner’s hands settle on her shoulders and allowed him to pull her down. There was plenty to worry about, but that was in the future, and this was now. Their lips met, their bodies touched, and two became one.
Lysander smiled, thought about where he wanted to be, and left the ship behind.
EIGHT
The Planet Ning
Although the gravity on Ning is not so severe as to prevent norms from living there, it acted to limit the number of A-strain colonists who wanted to settle the world, and gave the heavies something of an advantage. They flourished on the planet—but have yet to gain the political power they feel entitled to.
—Tuso the Wise,
A History of Ning
For reasons known only to the thousand-year-old computer that lay buried many stories beneath the city, the power came on at exactly eight each evening and remained on until exactly 3:00 A.M., when it went off. No one knew how the power was generated or how long it would continue to be available, which meant that each working day ended in a moment of suspense. Was this the day when the power would fail? Or would the ancient system continue to operate for another seven hours? There was no way to know, a fact that robbed would-be inventors of their motivation, prevented the prices charged for electroartifacts from rising, and kept the city of Zand in an eternal state of suspense.
But, when the power came on, it was truly something to see. A fact that attracted pilgrims from thousands of miles away. Just as darkness settled over the city, and thousands of lanterns were lit, there was a loud bang! as power flowed through underground lines, encountered a multiplicity of breaks, and followed the path of least resistance to the metal pylons that had once been part of a citywide system that broadcast power through the air. Unable to follow its proper path, man-made lightning made the jump from pylon to pylon illuminated the city with a series of strobelike flashes, and bounced thunder off the surrounding hills. Then, once the display of pyrotechnics was over, and equilibrium was restored, those who desired to do so could operate whatever electrical equipment they owned.
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