Runner (22 page)

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.

A cheer went up all around the city as the citizens of Zand paused to celebrate another seven hours of electricity, spent a few moments wondering if it would be their last, and returned to whatever they had been doing prior to eight o'clock. In the case of those seated all around Jevan Kane, that was eating, drinking, and talking.

The restaurant sat on a hill overlooking the city and was packed at that time of day. The technologist had a good spot, and was enjoying a glass of truly excellent white wine, when a functionary named Ros Cayo wound his way between the tables. The functionary was a short, bandy-legged man who affected a pencil-thin mustache, expensive clothes, and shoes designed to make him look two inches taller than he actually was—just one of the many individuals who worked for the Techno Society but weren't part of the core leadership group. He smiled uncertainly. “I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I have news.”

Kane raised his eyebrows. “Good news? Or bad news?”

Cayo's expression brightened. “Good news . . . Or so it seems to me.”

Kane nodded agreeably. “Excellent! Please pull up a chair. What would you like to drink?”

Cayo, who had every reason to believe that Kane would pay the bill, ordered the most expensive drink he could think of and savored the moment. For once, maybe the first time in his life, he was in the right place, at the right time. Hopefully, assuming everything went well, he would receive a rather substantial raise and have the funds required to rent a three-room apartment.

“So,” Kane said deliberately, “what have you got for me?”

Cayo swirled a mouthful of the expensive liquor around the inside of his mouth before letting the liquid trickle down the back of his throat. “Well, sir,” the functionary began, “it's like this. There's a tomb raider, a fellow named Garth, who offered to sell me a number two.”

Kane frowned. “A number two? Sorry, I don't follow you.”

“The second item on the Techno Society's high-priority procurement list,” Cayo responded tactfully. “A gate seed.”

Kane felt his pulse start to quicken. According to research carried out by Milos Lysander prior to his death, such seeds had once been common. During the early days, before the system of star gates had been fully established, runners had been employed to carry the small spheres to distant worlds, where they were “planted.” Once activated, the seed sent out a signal that the computer called Logos could use to knit the new location into the overall network. Once that was accomplished, the necessary equipment was installed, the new portal was christened by the local politicos, and a star gate was born.

So, second only to finding Logos itself, the acquisition of an intact gate seed was at the very top of the society's procurement list. Partly because such a find would provide the
society's scientists with the means to make copies—but also because Lysander believed that the seed could be employed to find Logos. Assuming that the AI remained on-line somewhere. But was the opportunity real? There had been many false alarms, and Kane was determined to maintain his cool. “That's interesting. So where is it?”

“I don't have it yet,” Cayo admitted. “But I have Garth, and that's just as good.”

“No,”
Kane replied softly, “it isn't ‘just as good.' There's no substitute for the actual item. This Garth person could be lying to you . . . But I take your point. Assuming this individual has a genuine gate seed, and assuming it turns out to be operational, then I shall be very happy indeed. If he doesn't, I fear that my spirits will plunge, causing me to become extremely cranky. Do I make myself clear?”

The liquid that tasted so good only a few moments earlier suddenly went sour, and Cayo struggled to get it down. “Yes, sir. You do.”

“Excellent,” Kane said as he finished his wine. “I assume that Citizen Garth is sequestered nearby?”

“Yes, sir!” Cayo responded eagerly. “He offered to sell the seed, but set the price too high and refused to come down. I ordered some of my, I mean
your
functionaries, to put him under lock and key, hoping that would change his mind.”

“Oh, he'll change his mind all right,” Kane said confidently, as he tossed a handful of coins onto the table. “Or he'll be very sorry indeed.”

Kane's voice was cold,
very
cold, which caused Cayo to wonder what he had gotten himself into. Unlike the off-world operative, who appeared to believe in the techno crap that the metal men preached on street corners, Cayo was in it for the money. But now, ever since Kane had stepped through the local star gate, the little man had become
increasingly uneasy. There were advantages to being a nobody, not the least of which was staying well clear of people like Kane, something he would strive to do a better job of in the future.

After the power came on, the shops, factories, and other businesses that lay dormant during the day came back to noisy life, and the narrow, twisting streets filled with people who were on their way to work. As Kane followed Cayo he was conscious of the fact that every step he took required more energy than it would have on Anafa or Pooz. Not a lot more, but enough to leave him exhausted at the end of a typical day, even though he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Locals, on the other hand, people like Cayo, had developed musculature that enabled them to cope with the planet's gravity. Most were a bit shorter than norms on other worlds were, had stocky physiques, and looked like weight lifters. After thousands of years, the A-strain had started to adapt.

Once the two men arrived in the commercial quarter a broad flight of well-worn stairs led them down into the maze of passageways that lay just below Zand's surface. A dangerous place where visitors were well advised to watch their step, but civilized when compared to the “deeps” that lay even farther down.

There was no need for the twosome to descend that far, because the complex of rooms that comprised the Techno Society's station were located only one level down. So, having descended four flights of stairs, and having made their way along a dimly lit corridor, Kane and Cayo neared a well-guarded door. Two metal men, both of whom were armed with carbines, stood aside so that the humans could access a print-sensitive lock. Cayo pressed his palm against the smooth surface, waited for the resulting
click,
and gave
the door a push. The interior was cool, clean, and well lit. Though happy to take advantage of the public grid during the hours that it was operational, the technologists had their own source of power, which had been brought in via the local star gate.

Cayo led Kane back to what was labeled
CONFERENCE ROOM
but actually served a darker purpose. Once the door was unlatched, and light flooded the previously darkened room, Kane could see the sturdy-looking hooks mounted on the ceiling, eyebolts that were evenly spaced along the walls, and the butcher block table that squatted at the center of the rectangular space. It was eight feet long and equipped with a variety of hardware. In fact, judging from the way the naked prisoner was spread-eagled on the stained wood, the off-world operative assumed that each of his four limbs was attached to a pulley. An effective way to keep him under control and in a psychologically vulnerable position.

The man named Garth raised his head and turned toward the spill of light. His eyes blinked in an attempt to penetrate the glare, and his voice was little more than a croak. “Cayo? Is that
you?
I need some water.”

“And you can
have
some water,” Kane answered, as he paused to examine the gleaming surgical instruments laid out on a side table. “But only if you tell us what we need to know.”

“I can't,” the tomb raider replied plaintively, wondering who the new voice belonged to. “Not unless you pay me.”

“We offered to pay you,” Kane countered patiently as he selected a razor-sharp scalpel. “But you raised the price. That was a stupid thing to do.”

“Yes! I know that now,” Garth agreed eagerly. “Free me and I will accept the original offer.”

“Sorry, but it's too late for that now,” Kane replied, as he
turned to survey the body in front of him. It was covered with welts, bruises, and abrasions. “Now we want the information for free.”

“But if I provide it, you'll kill me!” the tomb raider wailed miserably.

“Maybe, and maybe not,” Kane responded calmly as he placed the very tip of the scalpel at the point just below the prisoner's zyphoid process. Garth screamed as the off-world operative made a shallow incision that led all the way down to the base of his penis. A thin scarlet line appeared, Cayo felt nauseous, and the tomb raider screamed. A beating, that was one thing, but this was something else.

“So,” Kane continued, as he put some additional pressure on the tip of the blade, “what will it be? Would you like to tell me where the artifact is? Or should I keep on cutting?”

“I'll tell you!” the prisoner answered desperately. “Whatever you want to know.”

Kane was slightly disappointed, or that's the way it looked to Cayo, as the off-worlder lifted the scalpel off the tomb raider's skin. “Okay, tell us . . . Where is the gate seed hidden?”

“It's down in the catacombs,” the prisoner answered. “The only place where I knew it would be safe. Release me, and I'll take you there.”

“Release him,” Kane instructed. “If we die, then so will he.”

A large lump grew to occupy the back of Cayo's throat. He managed to swallow it but not without difficulty. What had originally seemed a coup, an accomplishment that would catapult him into the upper levels of the society's management structure, now threatened to cost him his life. Still, there was nothing that the functionary could do other than to release Garth's restraints and help the prisoner down off the table.

Thirty minutes later a heavily armed party that consisted of Kane, Cayo, Garth, and two metal men left Techno Society headquarters and made its way through a warren of passageways to the point where a slime-covered ramp sloped downward. One of the city's many graffiti artists had painted a realistic-looking mouth around the entrance to the ramp, and the odor that wafted up out of the depths was so foul that Cayo felt as if he and his companions were passing into the belly of a carnivorous beast.

There were electric lights underground, but very few, which was why Kane and Cayo carried oil-burning lamps, while the robots projected beams of light through their “eyes.” Soft, buttery light swept across green-black walls, momentarily glazed the bas-relief artwork of a bygone age, and sent armies of hungry vermin chittering toward their well-hidden nests.

The ramp turned in on itself, and spiraled downward, its surface slick with runoff from the storm drains and broken sewers above. Cayo noticed that there was a lot less graffiti now that they were at least three stories below street level, and that the piles of trash were smaller, a sure sign that only the most desperate of people spent time there.

Even Kane, whom Cayo had previously assumed to be fearless, sounded strained as he used his shotgun to jab Garth in the back. “How much farther?”

“We're almost there,” the prisoner assured his captors, as he shuffled forward. His body hurt all over, the shackles that linked his ankles together made it difficult to walk, and he needed to pee. Would all the noise attract the attention of the half-human creatures who roamed the lowest levels of the catacombs? They hadn't attacked him in the past, but a dozen heavily armed guards had accompanied Garth on his
previous visit, and the cannibals had a healthy respect for modern firearms.