Runner

by William C. Dietz

  Meanwhile, as a joyous couple left the shelter of the cupola and began their journey down the mountain, a pair of attendants urged the runner and the sensitive toward a table and the metal box that rested on top of it. It was getting cooler as the sun started to slip over the horizon, and Norr shivered as gravel crunched beneath her feet.

  “Insert your hand in the box,” one of the attendants instructed for what might have been the millionth time. “You will feel a pinprick. Once you do, please remove your hand.”

  There was something ominous about the gray metal box and the circular hole. Rebo frowned. “Are you sure this is necessary?” The attendant nodded wearily. “It is if you want to know whether your children will be healthy. And you do, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Norr answered firmly. “We do.”

  Once the sensitive stepped forward and inserted her hand into the box, the runner had no choice but to do the same. It felt like shoving his hand into a warm glove. It seemed to shrink around his fingers and held them in place. Then, consistent with the warning they had been given, the machine sampled his blood.

  “All right,” one of the attendants intoned pompously, “the oracle will see you now. May the gods bring you the news that you desire to hear.”

  With those words the couple was ushered into the structure, where a woman waited to greet them. She had thick black hair, some of which was swept back over her shoulders, while the rest curved forward and down. Although her face was perfectly symmetrical, and therefore beautiful, her eyes were strangely opaque. The birth defect made her a living symbol of what every couple hoped to avoid.

  But, riveting though she was, the oracle was nothing when compared to the ankle-length coat that she wore. It had long sleeves, shimmered as if lit from within, and seemed to be invested with a life of its own. But where was Logos hiding? There were no machines in sight.

  The woman opened her mouth, but much to the couple’s surprise, it was a male voice that greeted them. The woman’s lips moved, but seemed to lag behind the voice, as if repeating what had already been said. That was when Rebo realized the truth—and nudged Norr. “Logos was built into the coat,” he said sotto voce, “the woman is nothing more than a person to hang it on.” Norr’s eyes grew larger, and she nodded in agreement.

  “It’s my pleasure to announce that the signs are propitious,” the voice continued. “Although one of you has a unique genetic inheritance that won’t be passed on to your children, they will be healthy nevertheless.”

  It wasn’t what they had come for, and they weren’t a couple, not in the official sense, but Norr felt a sudden rush of happiness. Rebo remained focused on the task at hand. “Is your name Logos?” the runner demanded bluntly. “Because if it is, we were sent to collect you.”

  There was a moment of silence as the oracle’s lips moved soundlessly. Once it resumed the voice was harsh and demanding. “Who sent you? And why?”

  “I sent them,” Lysander replied, as his personality rolled in to claim Norr’s body.

  “Hios?” the voice inquired disbelievingly. “Is that you?”

  “Yes,” the discarnate replied emphatically. “It is. Although I go by a different name now. The time has come for you to return to work.”

  “I am at work,” the AI responded tartly. “Thanks to my efforts birth defects are practically a thing of the past on Etu.”

  “That’s just lovely,” Lysander commented sardonically, “except for the fact that other planets are not so fortunate. That’s why you must return to the work for which you were originally designed. By helping me to reestablish the star gates, you can put all of the planets back into contact with each other once again. Knowledge will spread like wildfire, conditions will improve, and the slide toward barbarism will end.”

  “That’s what you said last time,” Logos replied cynically. “But look what happened. You built an empire based on the star gates, used it to enslave billions of people, and became the proximal cause of all the destruction that followed.”

  “Yes,” Lysander admitted sadly. “And you were part of the problem. So, work with me and put things right.”

  Logos processed both the words and their meanings. While satisfying to the extent that his role as a DNA Gate Keeper helped fulfill his inherent need to coordinate a large system, the AI’s current function paled in comparison to the significance of the task that the biological had offered him, and that was tempting. Still, one thing bothered him. “Let’s say I accepted,” the AI temporized. “What assurance would I have that you won’t revert to your old ways?”

  “That’s simple,” Lysander responded. “I’m dead. The only way I can communicate with those on the physical plane is through sensitives like this one—and she’s about to force me out. The plan is to reestablish the gates, run the network independently of whatever governments may arise, and let the increased interconnectivity have its predictable effects.”

  Logos could see potential problems, lots of them, but such were his personal priorities that he chose to put all of them aside. That was when an attendant entered. He looked annoyed and was armed with a cudgel. “Your time is up . . . Please exit through the back.”

  “There is nothing to be concerned about,” Logos said reassuringly. “This turned out to be a rather complicated consultation.”

  Such occurrences were rare but not unknown. The attendant bowed respectfully and withdrew. The oracle stared sightlessly ahead as the AI’s voice issued from the collar of her coat. “Camp at the foot of the mountain. I will find you there . . . That will be all.”

  Rebo didn’t like the AI’s somewhat imperious tone, or the prospect of adding even more complexity to an already difficult situation, but knew that so long as Norr continued to be tied in with Logos, Lysander, and the Techno Society then he would be, too.

  FOURTEEN

  The Planet Etu

  Only I, and I alone can look into the future, and see that which awaits.

  —The Oracle of Mount Pama

  Torches had been lit as the sun descended over the western horizon and spaced along the trail so that those making their way down the mountain could find their way to the encampment below. But the torchlit areas were separated by pools of darkness that made it advisable to watch one’s step. It was chilly, and Norr was grateful when Rebo draped his red leather jacket over her shoulders, and wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

  Dozens of campfires could be seen on the plain below. They appeared to blink as people walked in front of them and sent gouts of sparks whirling up into the air whenever one of the pilgrims added a piece of wood. Just the sight of them made the sensitive warmer, or maybe it was the feel of the runner’s body next to hers; but whatever the reason, she enjoyed the steep decent and was sorry when it was over.

  Lee and Hoggles stood waiting at the foot of the trail. Other reunions were taking place all around them as the foursome came back together. “What was it like?” the boy wanted to know. “And where’s Logos? You found him, didn’t you?”

  Conscious of the fact that there were people all around them, some of whom were well within earshot, Rebo herded his companions off to one side before inviting Norr to give her report. Hoggles shook his head in amazement once she finished. “Logos is a machine? That you can wear like a coat? It’s hard to believe.”

  “Where is he?” Lee demanded excitedly. “I want to wear him!”

  “We don’t know,” Rebo replied evenly. “He told us to camp at the bottom of the mountain . . . Which makes sense since it’s dark. Maybe he’ll show up, but we have a ship to catch, so be ready to leave first thing in the morning. Coat or no coat.”

  Norr understood the need to keep moving—but hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to leave the AI behind. That was why the sensitive kept a sharp eye out for strangers as she and her companions laid claim to a vacant campsite, purchased a bundle of wood, and lit a fire. But none of the people who swirled around them showed the least bit of interest in the foursome, so the sensitive, t
he heavy, and the boy slid into their makeshift sleeping bags while Rebo kept watch.

  Even though Norr was fully dressed, and sandwiched between a pair of wool blankets, she felt cold. But the sensitive was so tired that she fell asleep anyway. She dreamed of being warm, dreams that were so real that when Lee woke her four hours later, an act of will was required to crawl out of her toasty sleeping bag. And it was then, after the sensitive was up on her feet, that she turned back toward her bed and saw the quilt that had been laid on top of her sleeping bag. “Lee . . . Where did the quilt come from?”

  The boy, who had just completed a two-hour watch, was looking forward to slipping between his own blankets. He turned to look at her sleeping bag. “Quilt? What quilt? That looks like a coat to me.”

  Norr looked down to discover that what had been a quilt had mysteriously transformed itself into a coat. And a rather disreputable-looking garment at that. The sensitive felt something cold trickle into the pit of her stomach as she knelt next to the mysterious object. “You had the watch, Lee . . . Who left it?”

  The boy shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know. I took a trip to one of the latrines about an hour ago . . . Maybe someone left it there while I was gone.”

  “You should have woken someone,” the sensitive replied sternly. “You know the rules.”

  Lee hung his head. “Everyone was tired. I was back in a matter of minutes.”

  Norr ran her fingers over the coat before picking it up. The garment was warm to the touch and surprisingly light. “I know your intentions were good, they always are, but a trained assassin could slit our throats in a matter of seconds. Remember that.”

  “I will,” Lee promised contritely. Then, after a short pause, his head came back up. “Wait a minute . . . Is that it? Is that Logos?”

  The sensitive had slipped her arms into the generously proportioned sleeves by then—and allowed the coat to settle onto her shoulders. “Yes,” the AI replied emphatically, “it is. I was reactivated the moment the sensitive put me on. Quickly now . . . It’s time to leave! I sent my previous host home—and hundreds of people are waiting to see her. Once, the sun comes up it will be obvious that she’s missing! Everyone will be suspect, including you. I strongly recommend that you get well clear of the area before the madness begins.”

  The voice seemed to issue from the vicinity of the coat’s collar, and Norr found the AI’s rather authoritarian personality to be somewhat reminiscent of Lysander’s. That was when the sensitive realized that rather than deal with just one disembodied personality, she would have to cope with two, both of whom were somewhat obnoxious. But the AI was correct, or so it seemed to Norr, who hurried to wake her companions. It took five minutes to convince them that Logos was resident in what appeared to be a ratty overcoat, twenty minutes to pack their gear, and another five to melt into the night. Then, with Mount Pama at their backs, the group set out for the spaceport at Overa.

  A stable hand rousted Pala an hour before dawn, gave her a bowl of the same slops that he fed to the farmer’s angens, and offered the heavy a gunar in return for sex. One of his friends had been part of a group that had gang-raped a heavy and never stopped talking about how much fun it was.

  Pala refused, the stable hand kicked the bowl out of her hands by way of punishment, and stomped out of the barn. Disgusting though the slops were the variant knew that she would need the food in order to survive and took the only action she could. The nearly hairless prots were slightly larger than the average dog and made grunting noises as the variant forced them to make room in front of the trough. Then, having knelt in front of the long narrow box, the heavy scooped double handfuls of warm semiliquid mush into her mouth. The taste didn’t matter. The important thing was to eat her fill, because Pala knew that once Kane climbed up into the sling-saddle, she would need every ounce of strength she could muster just to get through the day.

  Fifteen minutes later there was a stir as a door opened, voices were heard, and Kane entered the barn. His blond hair was damp from a shower, his clothes were as clean as the farmer’s wife could make them, and his stomach was full of hearty food. Pala had finished eating by then and stood at something akin to attention as the operative circled her. He wrinkled his nose. “You stink,” the norm observed critically, “but we’ll be crossing some rivers later in the day, and that should be sufficient to wash some of the filth off you. Now, kneel, so I can saddle you.”

  Pala wanted to grab the norm and break him in half. But he wore two guns, both of which were easily accessible, and there was the farmer to consider. Even if she managed to kill Kane, the rest of the norms would fetch weapons and quickly put her down.

  The heavy knelt, waited while the operative fastened half a dozen straps in place, and felt the additional pull as the saddle took the norm’s weight. “All right,” Kane said as the variant came to her feet. “Let’s hit the road. I hope to reach Mount Pama by noon.”

  The heavy exited the barn, slogged through the mix of mud and manure that surrounded it, and started to walk. Then, with Kane’s spurs already nipping at her hips, Pala began to jog. It wasn’t long before the twosome passed the farmer. He offered a cheerful wave, but having no further need for the local or his hospitality, Kane saw no reason to respond. Based on anecdotal evidence accumulated along the way, it appeared that the sensitive and her companions had departed the highway that would have taken them to Overa for the less-traveled route that swung past Mount Pama. Not that it made much difference to the technologist so long as he caught up with them.

  Time passed, the sun arced across the sky, and it was midafternoon by the time the exhausted heavy lumbered out onto the plain that surrounded the cone-shaped mountain. The first thing Kane noticed was the fact that hundreds of people were milling around the tent city at the bottom of the mountain. Some were locked into animated conversations, while others sobbed hysterically, as they clung to each for support. Meanwhile dozens of downcast couples had packed their belongings and were streaming away.

  It took interviews with a number of people in order to sort out what had taken place. It seemed that an oracle inhabited the top of Mount Pama, or had until the night before, when she mysteriously disappeared. Prior to that the blind woman had been known far and wide for her ability to predict whether a prospective couple would produce healthy children.

  Kane only half listened to the accounts at first, fearful that he might miss his quarry in the mass of people around him, but paid more attention when it became clear that the predictions issued by the missing oracle were considered to be infallible. A level of reliability that could only be ascribed to a machine. And once that thought crossed his mind, it wasn’t long before the Techno Society operative remembered Lysander’s interest in the AI called Logos and knew what had taken place. Either by choice or happenstance, the computer had washed up on the planet Etu hundreds of years before and established itself as an oracle. Lysander had somehow gotten wind of that, guided the sensitive to Mount Pama, and convinced her to steal the AI.

  But, unlike the crowd that surrounded him, Kane knew, or thought he knew, where the thieves were headed. So, assuming that he could catch up with the fugitives, the operative could retrieve the gate seed and Logos. That would not only restore his reputation within the Techno Society—but might vault him onto the council as well.

  Tired though the operative was, he felt reenergized as he steered Pala over to the stockade where two dozen slaves were waiting to be sold. It took less than twenty minutes to purchase a second heavy, switch the saddle to his broad back, and climb aboard. Then, with Pala on a twenty-foot lead, Kane spurred his new mount toward the southwest. By switching back and forth between the two slaves, and traveling fifteen out of every twenty hours a day, the operative thought he could catch up. Then, with Norr in his sights, the rest would be easy.

  It had taken three days of hard walking to reach Overa. Rather than having been built, the city had been carved out of a two-hundred-foot-high cliff and looked out
over a vast expanse of glittering water. The approaches to the city were guarded, but none of the lightly armored soldiers saw any reason to stop the man with the homely wife, young son, and heavily burdened slave.

  So, having paid the so-called gate fee and been allowed to round the headland that gave access to the Bay of Overa, the travelers followed a heavily trafficked road up onto the strip of land that fronted the multitiered cliff dwellings and sloped down to the rocky beach below. It was littered with piles of cordage, fishing nets, and upturned boats.

  Wings could be seen out beyond the surf, circling above multicolored boats before they dived down into the water and disappeared for up to three minutes at a time before bursting up out of the sea with fish wriggling on their barbed spears. The variants looked as if they were free, but when Rebo, Norr, Lee, and Hoggles paused to buy water from one of the beach stalls, they soon learned differently. Though not fettered by the sort of chains Hoggles wore, the airborne variants were far from free. Each wing knew that if he or she were to turn and fly away, a parent, sibling, or child would be put to death. A cruel but effective system of restraints that kept all but the most uncaring variants under control.

  Farther out, almost invisible from shore, something else could be seen. It was huge, at least half a mile across, and clearly made of metal because nothing else would have been strong enough to withstand countless storms. Rebo thought he knew what the structure was for, and the vendor confirmed it. Assuming that the spaceship it served was still alive, and if weather conditions allowed, an atmosphere-scarred shuttle would land on the platform the following day. That was when those crazy enough, or desperate enough, could go aboard. Others, those who were content to remain on Etu, would watch from the beach. They would buy things, the beach vendors would enjoy a very profitable day, and life would subsequently return to normal.