Runner (16 page)

It hadn't always been like that of course, because back in the beginning, when Tra was founded, the wind-powered generators had been used as a supplemental rather than primary source of electricity. But, after the fall of the Imperium, and the destruction of the technocracy that followed, the city's power core eventually wore out. And, not having the parts to repair it, one of the Shah's ancestors had commissioned additional wind-driven generators to make up the difference. A comparatively simple technology local machine shops could support. Some even hoped to reactivate the monorail one day, but there wasn't enough
surplus power for that, and the Shah was rumored to oppose it. He liked the way things were, or so the wags said, and perhaps they were right.

Now, slowed to little more than a crawl by the weight of all the extra passengers, the
Zephyr
rolled through a gleaming forest as a persistent breeze caused the gigantic propellers to turn. The enormous structures rumbled so loudly that they stole the sound of the wind—and seemed to converse with each other in a language that mere humans could never understand.

Eventually, as the train slowed to a crawl, some of the passengers got off in order to lighten the load and stretch their legs. Rebo was among them, as was Lee, who walked at the runner's side. “So,” Rebo shouted to make himself heard over the wind-driven generators, “how's the Divine Wind?”

“Don't call me that,” Lee said crossly. “While I doubt that I'm anyone other than myself, your sarcasm would be inappropriate if I were the Divine Wind.”

“Sorry,” the runner replied contritely. “Please allow me to rephrase the question. The people all around us believe that you are very special. How does that make you feel?”

“It scares me,” the boy replied honestly. “They think I'm Nom Maa so they believe I'm wise. But it isn't true. Yes, I can repeat what the great masters said, but so what? That makes me fit to follow rather than lead.”

“I don't know about that,” Rebo said thoughtfully. “Take yesterday, for example. You certainly held your own during those ceremonies.”

“Yes,” Lee agreed soberly, “because I was raised to do so. Rituals can be conducted by anyone willing to take the time to memorize them. But the spiritual understanding that lies behind them? That comes from within.”

The runner placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. “What about what you just said? It sounded like wisdom to me . . . So where did
that
come from?”

“I don't know,” Lee said miserably. “But the fact remains, if I'm Nom Maa, then I should know it! What if we arrive at the city of CaCanth, and I fail the test? The black hats will take control.”

Rebo shrugged. “All you can do is try. While I admit that the black hats seem like a rotten bunch, they've been in charge before. Or am I wrong?”

“No,” Lee allowed thoughtfully. “You're correct.”

“And the religion survived,” the runner observed, pausing to step over a pile of manure.

“Yes, I guess it did,” the boy agreed hopefully.

“So, do your best and let the chips fall where they may,” Rebo advised. “That's all any of us can do.”

The youngster took a moment to think about it, looked up into his bodyguard's face, and grinned broadly. “That sounds like good advice. Perhaps
you
should have been a monk.”

Rebo would have replied, but Brother Larkas chose that moment to begin one of his chants, and the sound of human voices merged with the rumble of a thousand propellers to create a deep humming sound. The sun inched a bit higher, the city of Tra shimmered in the distance, and Pooz continued to turn.

The crowd that turned out to meet the
Zephyr
was dominated
by red-clad religious adherents. They insisted on scattering flower petals all about the platform while burning incense in tiny brass pots and chanting some sort of religious nonsense as they greeted friends and relatives who had completed the pilgrimage. But there were others as well, including a brace of tax collectors, a squad of lancers, and a
swarm of vendors, beggars, and pickpockets. And there, hidden among them, was an informer named Mik Stipp, a man always on the lookout for potentially valuable information that he could sell to a variety of clients.

Stipp, who often posed as a beggar, elbowed his way to what looked like a good spot and wrestled a felt hat out of his coat pocket. Once opened, the heavily creased article of clothing was instantly transformed into a serviceable beggar's bowl, which the informer held out before him. “Can ya spare a gunar for the poor? A crust of bread for the hungry? A kind word for a man who can barely see? Oh, bless you, ma'am, and your children as well.”

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.