Though never a true skeptic, he was far too superstitious for that, the runner's faith in Norr's psychic abilities had not
only increased over the last few weeks, but reached the point where he had a somewhat exaggerated notion of what the sensitive was capable of. Something Norr intended to talk to him about at the right moment. But right then, with Lee's welfare on the line, she chose to lie. “Yes. Someone told me.”
“Excellent!” Rebo replied, as he came to his feet. “We'll make a stretcher. Two of the Dib Wa can carry it. The others will remain here to protect our supplies.”
It was a good plan, and Norr said as much. There was a flurry of activity as orders were given, materials were gathered, and construction got under way. The stretcher party was ready to go fifteen minutes later. Lee had slipped into a semiconscious state by then, had taken to calling Norr Momma, and was clearly in pain.
Most of the other passengers were hunkered down around tiny fires, and there wasn't a whole lot for them to do, so most turned to watch as the stretcher party zigzagged its way across the hold. The majority assumed that the boy had passed away and, as was the prevailing custom on starships, would be entombed in some distant part of the hull. Not only was such a death sad, but it reminded many of their own mortality and caused them to turn back toward the warmth of their fires.
Having made use of the lift less than an hour before, Norr had no difficulty leading the others to the graffiti-covered door, where she pressed her palm against cold steel and waited for the audible
click
. That was followed by the steady whine of servos as the rarely used hatch cycled open. “All aboard,” the sensitive ordered, as she gestured toward the dimly lit interior and followed the rest of the stretcher party onto the lift.
The door closed, the elevator rose, and Rebo pulled the
Crosser out of its holster by way of a precaution. While Norr seemed to assume that the person or persons who had taken up residence in the ship's artificial garden would welcome visitors, he wasn't so sure.
The lift jerked to a halt a few seconds later. The runner motioned for the others to stay where they were, sniffed the moisture-laden air, and thought he detected a trace of smoke. Then, eyes probing ahead, Rebo stepped out into a compartment that was clearly identical to the one in which Lee had been pursued by the black hat assassin. Except that this garden was relatively orderly, and while the atmosphere was humid, the sprinklers remained off.
Rebo followed a well-trodden path away from the elevator, and had just passed between a pair of fruit-laden bushes, when someone grabbed hold of him from behind. One hand went to his collar, a second to his belt, and the runner had just started to react when his entire body was lifted off the ground. Then, similar to the way a farmhand might heave a bag of grain up onto a cart, Rebo was literally thrown through the air.
Bo Hoggles uttered a victorious roar as the norm crashed through a thicket of dead branches and hit the ground beyond. That was when the heavy realized that this intruder was different from the one who had invaded his domain earlier in the “day,” and started to turn. However it was too late by then, and Norr's staff made a solid
thwack!
as it connected with the side of the other variant's head and sent the giant to his knees.
But the blow didn't render Hoggles unconscious, and if it hadn't been for the Dib Wa warriors who had piled onto his back, the heavy might have been able to rise. Fortunately, the weight of the red hats, plus that of Rebo's body was sufficient to keep him down. Norr knelt next to the variant's
head. “Hello!” she said cheerfully. “I'm sorry I had to hit you . . . I suppose it's hard to believe, but we don't mean you any harm. In fact, depending on how much you know about the ship, we might even pay you for some advice.”
Rebo frowned. Like Norr, he was perfectly willing to pay if that would help Lee, but resented the way she continually took him for granted. But the runner knew it wasn't a good moment to broach the subject, so he let it go.
Hoggles, who had assumed that the intruders were there to rob him of his food and take his home, blinked in surprise. His hair was ragged as if large fistfuls of it had been hacked off with a knife. He had a mostly symmetrical face, an even nose, and a massive, stubble-covered jaw. Like many of his brethren, the giant was often assumed to be stupid but nothing could have been further from the truth. “Tell your friends to get off my back, and we can talk about it.”
Norr looked at Rebo. “Let's give him a chance.”
The runner grimaced, traded the Crosser for the more powerful Hogger, and backed away. The Dib Wa, both of whom were careful to stay out of the line of fire, did likewise. One of them went to check on Lee.
The heavy got to his feet, touched the quickly swelling lump on the side of his head, and made a face. His clothes were a uniform gray color, had been mended countless times, and were ragged around the edges. “It's hard to keep track, but I think I've been aboard for about three years now, and I guess that makes me something of an expert.”
“Three years?”
the runner said incredulously. “You must have been to every planet on the ship's itinerary at least two times . . . Why stay aboard?”
“That's none of your business,” the variant replied haughtily, and stared out from under craggy brows. “Suffice it to say that I have my reasons.”
“Fair enough,” Norr said agreeably. “Based on your knowledge of the vessel, can you tell us where the ship's medical facility is located? Our son is ill,
very
ill, and needs immediate attention.”
Hoggles looked at the stretcher and the red hat who knelt next to it. “No, I can't, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. I have found ways into most areas of the ship but not all of them.”
Rebo directed a look at the sensitive. “You told me that he would
know,
” the runner said accusingly. “This is a waste of time! Lee is dying while you lead us all over the ship.”
If the conflict bothered Hoggles, he gave no sign of it. “Of course there is someone who would know,” the variant said. “
If
you can get him to talk, which will be difficult to do, since he tends to regard beings such as ourselves as little more than barbarians.”
Norr knew that Rebo was frustrated, not to mention annoyed at her, and understood why. The runner was worried about Lee and knew that time was running out. “Okay,” she said, “who is this individual? Let's have a talk with him.”
“He calls himself
Hewhotravelsthroughtime,
” Hoggles answered, “and he's all around us. In fact, you could say that we're riding him, like fleas on a dog.”
In spite of the fact that he had traveled aboard at least two dozen spaceships, and knew that they were sentient, Rebo had never spoken with one of the constructs. Perhaps that was why he thought of them as machines rather than people, and had never taken the time to consider how one of them might regard his or her passengers. But one thing was for sure . . . If anyone would know where the onboard medical facility was located, the ship itself would. “So, what are we waiting for?” Rebo inquired eagerly. “Let's get going.”
The heavy remained where he was. “I believe there was some mention of pay.”
Some quick negotiations ensued, and Hoggles was able to secure a substantial fee. Then, with the first half of the sum safely secured in an otherwise empty purse, the ragged heavy led the stretcher party back along rows of well-tended hybrid corn, past a pair of metal tanks, to a sealed hatch. “I spent weeks punching numbers into this keypad before I finally came up with the correct combination,” Hoggles commented, as his huge, sausagelike fingers mashed a series of buttons. “Fortunately the code was set locally or
Hewhotravels
would have changed it on me.”
Servos whined as the hatch cycled open. That allowed the huge variant and his clients to enter a maze of dimly lit passageways. Rebo managed to give the good luck amulet that hung around his neck a surreptitious squeeze before pulling the Crosser and holding it down along his right thigh. The corridors hadn't been vandalized thanks to the fact that no more than four or five people had passed through them over the last thousand years. They were dusty, though, and hung with long, ropelike filaments of dust and festooned with lacy cobwebs. However, thanks to the heavy's size, and the fact that he had created what amounted to a tunnel during his previous explorations, those who followed along behind were able to avoid most of the accumulated material. Nonetheless, Norr felt compelled to lay a handkerchief across Lee's face to protect the boy from the stuff that fell from above.
Finally, after numerous twists and turns, Hoggles led the stretcher party through a door and out onto a suspended platform. It was nearly dark within the globular chamber, and what light there was emanated from thousands of tiny
lights, all moving slowly relative to the ship. That was when Rebo realized that he was looking at a map, a
star
map, of whatever part of the galaxy the ship was traversing at the moment.
A quick glance over the edge of the platform revealed that the chart extended downward as well, a sight that caused the runner's stomach to flip-flop and left him wondering why there weren't any handrails.
The heavy, who had been there before, made straight for the bulky-looking chair that sat perched at the very edge of the black abyss. “The ship's architects had a great deal of faith in their AIs,” Hoggles explained, “but made provisions for a biological pilot too. More to reassure skittish passengers than for any other reason, or so
Hewhotravels
claims, and I tend to believe him. In any case that's what the chair is for . . . All you have to do is sit down, and you'll be in contact with his eminence, assuming he's in the mood to receive guests. So, who will it be?”
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.”