Logos run

TWELVE

The Planet Zeen

Those who swim the sea must ride the currents, for to opposethem is to challenge the planet itself, and therefore the stars.

—Saylo Imono, phib philosopher,

Currents

The elders had been hung by their thumbs from the framework that normally served to smoke meat during the fall months, when the entire village labored to make itself ready for winter, and the dogs grew fat from eating scraps. The villagers’ bare feet had been weighted with rocks, and hung only six inches above the coals, which meant that those who were conscious could smell their burning fl?esh. All because the village’s chief had been so brave, or so stupid, as to spit on the crippled man.

But, in spite of the systematic torture, the locals refused to surrender their secrets. Or so Tepho assumed, as he ordered one of the metal men to throw another bucket of water onto Subchief Milo Vester, in hopes that the shock would revive him. The water hit the villager’s smoke-blackened face, brought him back into full consciousness, and provoked an explosion of steam as it hit the hot coals. The subchief screamed, or tried to, but produced a strange choking noise instead.

Meanwhile, those villagers lucky enough to survive the spitting incident stood in a sullen group with downcast eyes. Tepho made use of the dead chief ’s hand-carved totem stick to point at Vester’s badly charred feet. “You think that’s painful?” the off-worlder demanded contemptuously.

“You know nothing of pain. . . . I was born in pain, have lived with pain every day of my life, and know what real pain is. And so will you unless you answer my questions truthfully.”

“But I have,” Vester protested pitifully. “There is no island of Buru, not that I’m aware of, so how can I tell you about it?”

Tepho slapped his leg with the totem stick and was about to order one of the metal men to put more wood on the fi?re, when Logos spoke. Because the AI’s voice seemed to originate from Tepho, the villagers assumed that two spirits occupied the stranger’s twisted body. They stirred uneasily and sketched protective symbols into the air. “He could be telling the truth,” Logos suggested. “I doubt any of these people have been more than a couple of hundred miles from the village—so their knowledge of geography is bound to be somewhat limited. Not to mention the fact that the island could have been renamed during the years I’ve been absent.”

Vester wasn’t sure where the second voice was coming from, but sensed a potential ally and was quick to agree.

“That’s right!” the subchief said desperately. “We’re ignorant people here. . . . We know nothing of such important matters.”

Tepho tapped his cheek with what had become a swagger stick. “Then who would?” the technologist inquired mildly.

“Lord Arbuk would!” Vester answered eagerly. “He rules from the city of Esperance.”

Tepho turned to the assembled villagers. “Is that true?”

Heads nodded, and a number of voices answered in the affi?rmative.

The administrator eyed their grimy faces. “Who among you has been to Esperance?”

After a pause, and some whispering, three slightly hesitant hands went up. Tepho turned to Shaz and Phan. “Put them in shackles. Kill the rest.”

Rather than waste ammunition on a planet where it could be diffi?cult to obtain more—the combat variant ordered the metal men to carry out the executions with their clubs. Some of the villagers tried to fl?ee, but were quickly run down and dispatched on the spot.

Vester passed out at some point during the bloody process but was returned to consciousness when the rain hit his face. The off-world killers had departed by then, so even though the subchief wanted to die, no one remained to grant his wish. Tendrils of steam rose around the subchief, raindrops fell like tears, and Socket passed high above.

The Planet Haafa

There was a loud crash as the battering ram made contact with the operating room’s door, followed by the sound of splintering wood, and a prolonged screech as two burly policemen pushed the heavy storage unit out of the way. Once the path was clear the chief of police and Ulbri Alzani stepped into the surgery and paused to look around. They saw the operating table, the nude woman who lay facedown on it, and the man who stood next to her. Then there was a fl?ash of light, followed by a miniature clap of thunder, and the tableau disappeared. The table, the woman, and the man vanished into thin air, as did part of the nearest wall, a sizeable chunk of the tiled fl?oor, and the Alzani family’s prized lamp. The reality of that, the fi?nality of it, brought the old man to his knees. And that’s where Ulbri Alzani was, still sobbing, when his number three son came to take the patriarch home.

The Planet Zeen

When Rebo came to he was drowning. The water was crystal clear, which meant he could see the operating table, Norr, and all manner of other objects as they drifted toward the sandy bottom. The runner wanted to breathe more than he had ever wanted anything before. But if he needed to breathe, so did Norr, who continued to sink toward the bottom in spite of her feeble efforts to swim. It felt as if his lungs were on fi?re as Rebo fought his way down to the variant, grabbed a fi?stful of her hair, and kicked as hard as he could. Bubbles raced them to the surface, spray exploded away from the runner’s head, and Norr emerged a second later.

Both spluttered as they gasped for air. Rebo spotted an island, wrapped an arm around Norr’s torso, and kicked for shore. The bottom came up quickly, Rebo found his feet, and cradled the sensitive in his arms as he marched up out of the water toward the smokestack-shaped construct that dominated the center of the island. Norr winced as the runner laid her down in the shade. Rebo saw the grimace, rolled the sensitive onto her side, and saw that her wound had reopened. A rivulet of blood was running down her back. The runner unbuckled his weapons harness, hurried to remove his shirt, and worked to wring as much water out of the wet garment as he could. Norr made a face when the cold, salty fabric came into contact with her wound but knew Rebo was doing the best he could.

Satisfi?ed that the makeshift pressure dressing would stop the bleeding, the runner set about gathering driftwood for a fi?re. Thankfully, there were more than a dozen wax-coated matches in one of his belt pouches. The fi?rst stick broke off just below the head, but the second produced a wisp of smoke, followed by a bright yellow fl?ame. Twigs crackled as they caught fi?re, larger pieces of wood burst into fl?ame, and it wasn’t long before waves of welcome heat rolled over Norr. The shaking stopped soon thereafter, her color improved, and her respirations evened out. And that was when Rebo realized that Sogol was missing. The last time he’d seen the AI she had been coiled up on Norr’s back. The runner wondered where the construct was now. . . . Back on Haafa? But he had more pressing problems to deal with, starting with the fact that Norr still looked pale, and he had very few items to work with. That was when the runner remembered seeing the operating table drift toward the bottom of the sea—and wondered what else might be laying around out there? There was only one way to fi?nd out. Rebo added more wood to the fi?re, knelt next to Norr, and was about to tell her about his plan, when the runner realized that the sensitive was either asleep, or unconscious, a possibility that made his mission that much more urgent.

A quick scan revealed that outside of what might have been another island, and a sail on the far horizon, there was nothing else to be seen other than a nearly cloudless sky and the sea below. Or was it a lake? No, he was a fi?sherman’s son, and knew that the line of seaweed and other debris that ran horizontally around the island represented the high-tide mark, the presence of which implied at least one moon.

Having left both his weapons and boots piled next to Norr and equipped himself with the remains of a broken plank, Rebo retraced his earlier steps down into the sea. Besides providing additional fl?otation, the plank’s other purpose was to help the runner bring salvaged materials back to the beach, assuming he recovered any. The fi?rst objective was to fi?nd the operating table, which, being the largest object transferred, would also be the most visible. Then, assuming the water wasn’t too deep, he would dive to retrieve whatever he could.

Rebo stretched out on the plank, paddled his way out to what he hoped was the correct area, and rolled off into the salty water. Then, with his face down and one arm thrown across the length of wood, he kicked with his feet. Thanks to the fact that the water was extremely clear, he could see all the way to the sandy bottom. There were outcroppings of rock, along with spiral-shaped plants, that swayed from side to side as the runner passed over them. Fish, if that’s what the pancake-shaped creatures could properly be called, fl?ed ahead of the human, their pale bodies undulating as they hurried to escape the dark menace above.

It was all very pretty, but Rebo couldn’t tell whether he was cruising over the correct area, and that led to a lot of fruitless swimming before the runner spotted the gleam of what might have been metal. He didn’t have any way to secure the plank, but the water was relatively calm, so he fi?gured the length of wood wouldn’t drift very far while he went down to investigate.

Rather than the operating table, which the off-worlder expected to fi?nd fi?rst, the object in question turned out to be Norr’s sword. Rebo carried the weapon up to the surface, where he laid it on the plank. More dives produced more treasures, including the bone saw that the runner had discarded back on Haafa and both of their packs. So, knowing that the sensitive kept a small fi?rst-aid kit among her things, the runner battled to bring the waterlogged leather sacks up to the surface. Once there, he hung them below the plank, which was partly awash by then. Finally, by dint of considerable kicking, Rebo pushed all of his loot ashore. The fi?re was still burning, albeit much lower by then, as the runner made his way up out of the water. He was encouraged to see that Norr had not only raised herself into a sitting position but managed a wave. That was when Rebo saw the light refl?ect off gold, realized that Sogol had come ashore on her own and wrapped herself around the variant’s arm. “Hey, there,” the runner said, as he dropped the packs next to Norr. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” the sensitive replied. “Look! Sogol brought me this!”

The sensitive opened her fi?st to reveal the tiny scarab. The machine turned circles on the palm of her hand as it searched for something to repair. “It was what you humans would call luck,” the AI said modestly. “I ran into the scarab on the bottom, and it was small enough to hold in my jaws, so I brought it along. End of story.”

“Not quite,” Norr objected. “One-Two put the scarab into my wound—and I feel better as a result.”

“Let’s take a look,” Rebo said, and knelt to lift her shirt. The runner was no expert, but the wound had been reclosed, and there was no sign of bleeding. “It looks good,”

Rebo confi?rmed, “but take it easy. What you need is a rest. What can I get for you?”

“More clothes would be nice,” the sensitive said sweetly, and gestured toward her pack.

“Maybe I like you half-naked,” Rebo replied mischievously. And that was when the ground shook, a loud roaring sound was heard, and Rebo turned toward the structure that stood behind him. It was fl?at black, stood about twenty feet tall, and looked like a smokestack. There hadn’t been enough time to investigate whatever the thing was previous to that point, not with Norr to tend to. But now, what with the roaring sound, the runner felt the need to fi?nd out what it was. “You’d better take your guns,” the sensitive suggested, and lifted the harness partway off the ground.

“You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fi?ne,” Norr said, as she pulled her pack in close.

“Check on the noise, come back, and fi?x me a seven-course meal. I’m hungry.”

Rebo grinned. If the sensitive was hungry, that was a very good sign indeed! He buckled the guns on over bare skin, climbed the sandy slope that led up to what he had already begun to think of as “the stack.” As he got closer, the runner realized that the structure was made out of metal. He circled the stack, discovered that a ladder had been bolted to the far side, and scrambled upward. Once on top, he peered down the tube into the poorly lit tunnel below. It was quite a drop, but thanks to the maintenance ladder that was attached to the inside surface of the stack, Rebo was able to descend without mishap.

A pool of sunlight marked the bottom of the ladder, and Rebo could feel residual heat from the machine that had passed twenty minutes earlier. As the runner peered down from the service platform, he could see two metal tracks, both of which were shiny from continual use. That suggested that the underground trains ran fairly frequently. But where did the machines come from? Where were they going? And to whom did they belong? The last question was the most troubling, since there was no way to know what the owners were like or how they would respond to trespassers. It seemed as if the best thing to do was lie low, give Norr time to heal, and fi?nd a way off the island.

But had Rebo been aware of the camera that followed each step of his progress as he made his way back up the ladder, he would have known that it was too late to escape notice. Because the people who owned the tunnel, as well as the train that ran through it, already knew exactly where to fi?nd him.

Having worked hard all morning, Lord Arbuk rose from his desk, lumbered over to the side table where a carafe of steaming caf stood waiting for him, and fi?lled a ceramic mug. Not one of the silver vessels that populated the ornate tray at his elbow, but a lowly piece of pottery, which, though homely, would keep the liquid hot. A must insofar as the land-lord was concerned, since he viewed lukewarm caf with the same contempt reserved for phibs, which the nobleman looked on as little more than walking-talking angens.

Mug in hand, Arbuk strolled out onto his private balcony. A sheer wall fell away to stone buildings that stairstepped down to a rocky beach and the half-empty harbor beyond. The city of Esperance had intentionally been built next to the sea, where it could benefi?t from shipping. But that was back before the phibs took control of the planet’s oceans and thereby prevented land-lords such as himself from transporting raw materials, manufactured goods, or people across what the freaks liked to refer to as “their sacred waters.” But not forever, because Arbuk and his peers had a surprise in store for the phibs, one that would reestablish Esperance as a seaport!

In spite of the sun’s warmth, the land-lord felt a sudden chill and turned to discover that his private secretary, a sensitive named Hitho Mal, was standing three feet behind him. Arbuk was a big man, and his jowls took on a purplish cast as blood rushed to his face. “Dammit, man! Announce yourself. . . . I hate people who skulk about.”

Mal, who had long prided himself on his ability to skulk about, was unmoved. He had the long, narrow face typical of his kind, sunken cheeks, and thin lips. The upper one remained stationary as he spoke. “Yes, sire, sorry, sire. I know you’re busy, but there’s someone I would like you to meet. His name is Milo Vester, and assuming that he’s telling the truth, something very strange took place in the village of Kine.”

Arbuk struggled to remember the place, was unable to do so, and concluded that Kine must be one of the many small villages that marked the outskirts of his holdings. He took another sip of caf. “ ‘Strange’? How so?”

“If your lordship would indulge me,” Mal replied respectfully, “I prefer that you take the tale from Vester’s own lips. Especially since you are almost certain to ask questions that I would be unable to answer.”

Knowing that Mal rarely requested anything not in his employer’s best interest, Arbuk was willing to comply. That didn’t mean it was necessary to do so gracefully however. Which meant there was a good deal of grumbling as the robed sensitive led his rotund employer down a twisting staircase—and into the rather primitive medical facility that occupied one corner of the building’s basement. But what waited within was suffi?cient to silence even the land-lord who, as a member of the ruling class, had not only witnessed his full share of brutality but been responsible for some of it himself. Vester, who had suffered greatly during the interminable wagon trip to Esperance, had been laid out on a bed. The crisp white sheets had the effect of accentuating the villager’s fi?lthy body, smoke-blackened clothes, and badly charred feet. The patient’s eyes were closed, but fl?uttered as the sensitive touched his arm, and remained open thereafter. “Tell him,” Mal ordered gently. “Tell Lord Arbuk what happened to your village.”

The villager’s voice was faint, so it was necessary to bend down in order to hear him, and Vester’s breath was so bad it caused Arbuk to gag. But the story was well worth listening to, especially the description of the blue killing machine, which sounded as if it might be a twin to the heavily damaged Raptor II that presently occupied a place of honor in Arbuk’s personal war museum. “Tell me,” the nobleman said, as he pinched his nostrils. “The people who accompanied the killing machine . . . were they norms? Or phibs?”

“Most were norms,” Vester replied, “although some were machines that looked like humans.”

Arbuk was surprised. “Machines . . . you’re sure of that?”

“Yes, sire,” Vester maintained staunchly. “I’m sure.”

“How very interesting,” Arbuk said to no one in particular, as he straightened up. “You were correct, Mal. . . . Subchieftain Vester is well worth listening to. I don’t know who these people are, but I want them found, and quickly, too.”

The lord and his secretary turned, and were about to depart, when Vester produced a croaking sound. Arbuk turned back. “Yes?” the nobleman inquired, “is there something more?”

“Kill me!” Vester begged pitifully. “Please kill me.”

Arbuk glanced at Mal. “Do you have everything you need?”

The sensitive had a clipboard. Vester’s recollections had been written down. “Yes, sire,” the variant answered. “I have every word.”

“Good,” Arbuk replied, as he turned back to Vester.

“Your request is approved.”

The land-lord was halfway back to his offi?ce when the muffl?ed thump of a gunshot was heard, and Vester was free to return to Kine, where the rest of his family had already been buried.

It had been dark for quite a while, and Rebo was asleep in the lean-to that he and Norr had constructed next to the ventilation stack, when the sensitive nudged his arm. “Jak!

Wake up! Where’s the light coming from?”

The runner was already reaching for a weapon when his eyes popped open, and he saw the rays of white light that were streaming down through the cracks in their steeply slanted roof. Pistol at the ready Rebo rolled out onto the brilliantly lit sand and looked upward. The illumination was more concentrated than moonlight—and appeared to originate from space. Norr had emerged by then, which meant Sogol was present as well. “Look!” the variant exclaimed. “I think it’s moving!”

Rebo looked out across the brightly lit water and realized that Norr was correct. It appeared that they were standing in a pool of light that was gradually creeping toward the west. “Of course it’s moving,” Sogol put in matter-of-factly, as she slithered up onto the sensitive’s shoulder. “What you’re seeing is sunlight refl?ected from a mirror aimed at the planet’s surface.”

“But where’s the mirror?” Rebo wanted to know. “And what’s the point?”

“Socket is an artifi?cial planetoid,” the AI explained patiently. “The engineers took many things into account when they constructed it. The creation of tides on a planet where none previously existed led to a variety of problems. Massive public works projects were required to cope with fl?uctuating water levels. That made some sectors of the population unhappy. But, back before Emperor Hios succumbed to his lust for power, he was a capable politician. By providing the citizens of Zeen with low-cost power generated by tide-driven turbines—he overcame their objections to Socket.”

“That’s all very interesting,” Norr commented, as she continued to stare up into the sky. “But what does all that have to do with the light?”

“There were lots of construction projects back in those days,” Sogol answered. “Many of them ran around the clock. So, in order to further ingratiate himself with the planet’s populace, Hios ordered that a steerable mirror be installed on Socket. A mirror that could bounce sunlight down onto the dark side of the planet—and thereby illuminate the project with the highest priority.”

“So, what’s happening now?” Rebo inquired. “Why point the mirror at mostly empty ocean?”

“Like so many other functions on Socket, the solar mirror is simply drifting out of control,” the AI replied sadly.

“And, were I to take control of the refl?ector, Logos would know.”

“It’s best to leave it alone then,” the runner said feelingly.

“We have enough problems already.”

Norr nodded her agreement and held hands with Rebo, as the massive blob of light continued its journey toward the west. Finally, once the darkness had been restored, they went back to bed.

Omar Tepho and his force of humans and robots had traveled a quarter of the way to the city of Esperance when they stopped to spend the night in a fi?shing village called Wattl. A not-very-distinguished gathering of stone-and-wood buildings that was home to a population of norms who liked to refer to themselves as “fi?shermen” but actually made their livings as pirates. Something Lord Arbuk was willing to tolerate so long as the villagers limited their predations to the phibs, who liked to trawl the coastal waters for slat fi?sh, even though that made them vulnerable to the speedy eight-oared cutters crewed by the residents of villages like Wattl.

So, when Tepho guided his raptor into town, closely followed by six metal men and a contingent of twenty-fi?ve heavily armed humans, the locals were torn between fear and greed. But there was scant opportunity for skullduggery as the strangers took control of the only inn, displaced the previous guests, and established a defensive perimeter through which none of the locals were permitted to pass. Meanwhile, as if drawn to Wattl by a conjunction of planetary infl?uences, other forces were in motion as well. Because even as the red-orange sun descended toward the gently rolling sea, a water-slicked head surfaced out in the harbor, and a cross-shaped wing circled high above. Each served a different master, and, while neither was aware of the other, they soon would be.

Except for one massive deluge, the weather had been mild up to that point, which was fortunate indeed. But each dawn was accompanied by the need to gather both food and water. Which was why Rebo began each day by stripping off his ragged clothes, strapping a sheath knife to his right calf, and carrying the homemade spear down to the edge of the water. It felt cold at fi?rst, too cold, but a combination of thirst and hunger urged him on. Based on a process of trial and error, the off-worlder knew that while the pancakeshaped “fl?oppers” were relatively easy to spear, they were bony and didn’t taste very good. That was why the runner typically went looking for what he thought of as “zip fi?sh”

because of their ability to dart from place to place and the black streaks that ran the length of their silvery bodies. They made for good eating, but they were hard to hit, and it took at least two of them to make a decent meal. On that particular morning, the runner was fortunate, and managed to nail three of the speedy animals in a span of fi?fteen minutes. Having strung the fi?sh together on a piece of cord, Rebo swam out to what he thought of as “the well,”

where, in order to meet nutritional requirements of its own, one species of seaweed produced fi?st-sized bladders fi?lled with desalinated seawater. Then, having harvested six containers of water, it was the runner’s habit to put his face down and swim straight in. Once ashore the fi?sh would be roasted over the fi?re, while Norr attempted to squeeze one more mug of tea from an already exhausted bag, and Rebo watched from a few feet away. And later, once breakfast was over, it would be time to resume work on their partially built raft.

But that morning was to be different, as quickly became apparent when the runner brought his head up and put his feet down. Because, as Rebo stood, he saw that Norr’s hands were bound in front of her, and three heavily armed phibs were waiting for him on the beach. The runner knew that the amphibians, like sensitives, heavies, and wings, were the result of genetic tinkering carried out thousands of years before. In this case the goal had been to create a strain of humanoids equipped to more fully exploit the water worlds that the ancients had colonized, thereby lowering the costs associated with construction, mining, and aquaculture.

Later, once that goal had been accomplished, some phibs had migrated to worlds like Zeen, where they not only took up residence in the oceans, rivers, and lakes, but where they frequently displaced thousands of norms who made their livings on or near the water.

The phibs had sleek, hairless skulls and double-lidded eyes that helped them see underwater. They also had respiratory systems that could extract oxygen from water, as well as streamlined bodies, and webbing that bridged both fi?ngers and toes. The phibs also had shapely breasts, or at least one of them did, which identifi?ed her as female. Sogol, who had apparently been mistaken for a piece of expensive jewelry, was wrapped around the woman’s left biceps. The amphibians wore what amounted to G-strings and watched impassively as the nude male made his way up out of the water. “I’m sorry,” Norr said miserably. “I was asleep.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” the runner replied stoically.

“Drop the spear,” one of the males said, as he pointed the 9mm pistol at its previous owner. Like members of many local populations, the phib spoke with what the runner regarded as a thick accent although he knew the man with the gun would perceive the situation differently. There was nothing Rebo could do but drop the fi?sh, the water pods, and the spear.

“Now the knife,” the female added sternly. The runner, who had begun to wish that he’d gone swimming with his clothes on, bent to remove the knife from its sheath.

“This is a waste of time,” the second male said irritably.

“They’re pirates. . . . Shoot them and be done with it.”

“That’s what the norms would do to us!” the female added emphatically.

Norr could see the dark, threatening thought forms that swirled around the other variants and felt frightened as a result. But the fi?rst male, the one who seemed to be in charge, refused to acquiesce. “We’re supposed to be better than they are . . . remember? Not to mention the fact that the spooks will want to interrogate this pair. So shut the hell up, grab their belongings, and destroy the lean-to. It could attract even more pirate trash. . . .”

Rebo was tempted to engage the fi?rst male in conversation, in the hope that he could convince the local that they weren’t pirates, but he decided to let the opportunity pass when Norr gave a subtle shake of her head. The runner knew the sensitive could see things that he couldn’t—and had reason to trust her judgments.

Fifteen minutes later the phibs and their prisoners were seated in a miniature version of the larger trains that blasted through the tunnel twice each day. Rebo had been allowed to pull on some pants by that time, but was otherwise unclothed, as both he and Norr were strapped into their seats. Though still a little bit sore, the variant’s wound was mostly healed, which meant she could move without pain. When the minitrain took off, it departed with near-necksnapping acceleration, and was soon traveling so fast the tunnel’s walls were little more than a gray blur. The offworlders were on their way—But to where?

The attack on the village of Wattl came in the early hours of the morning when most of the citizens were still asleep. There were watchmen of course, posted on the ancient breakwater to warn their fellow villagers should the phibs launch an assault on the sleeping town, but two had been drinking and passed out. The third saw dozens of waterslicked heads break the surface of the water, and was about to ring the warning bell, when a beam of coherent energy drilled a hole through his chest. A smoke ring rose from the circular wound as he fell, and the fi?rst wave of heavily armed variants marched up the stony beach. Having lost three fi?shing boats and seven people to the shore-based pirates over the last thirty days, the local amphibians were extremely angry. That’s why all of the cutters that were drawn up on the beach were holed, nets were piled up to be burned, and even the wharf dogs were shot down. But, unbeknownst to the phibs, they were attacking the Techno Society as well. And even though Wattl’s watchmen failed to deliver a timely warning, a sharp-eyed robot had detected the presence of multiple heat sources before the phibs surfaced, and radioed a warning to Shaz.

Once alerted, Tepho rolled out of bed and was already shouting orders as sleepy attendants hurried to dress him. Then, having made his way downstairs, the technologist rushed to climb into his raptor. Shaz and Phan were already present, along with a dozen heavily armed mercenaries. They followed the bipedal machine as servos whirred, weapons swiveled, and death stalked the streets. Some of the villagers were up by then, fi?ring projectile weapons at the oncoming horde or running for their lives as their fellow citizens were cut down by blue death. Formerly solid walls exploded, wood houses burst into fl?ame, and angens screamed as they tried to escape from their pens. But then, just when it appeared that the phibs would destroy the entire village, Tepho guided the raptor around a corner and opened fi?re. In spite of the fact that the raiders possessed energy weapons, too, surprise combined with superior fi?repower made it possible to cut the variants down. Tepho, who was secure within the comfort of his armored cockpit, laughed out loud as blips of blue light raced the length of the waterfront to snatch phibs off their feet. Others came apart so that heads, arms, and legs pinwheeled through the air. But most of the invaders were simply incinerated as bolts of blue energy wiped them away, leaving little more than black streaks to mark the places they had stood. The raptor took hits, half a dozen of them, but the shoulder-fi?red weapons didn’t pack enough of a wallop to hole the machine, so the surviving variants had no choice but to retreat into the harbor, where the water would protect them from further harm. Tepho continued to fi?re as the amphibians pulled back, but Shaz ordered his mercenaries to conserve their ammo and was the fi?rst to take notice of the fact that some additional combatants had arrived on the scene. The combat variant saw the wings sweep in from the south, circle above, and fi?re down at the phibs. Then, just as Shaz was about to warn Tepho, what looked like a yellow comet arced high above the village and exploded at the center of the harbor. There was a boom, as a huge geyser of water shot up into the air and hung there for what seemed like a minute but was actually little more than a second or two. The column of water was translucent, which meant that Shaz could see the phib bodies suspended within the spout, along with what might have been large sea creatures and the remains of fractured boats. Then, as the geyser started to collapse, the combat variant realized what would happen next. He yelled, “Run!”

and turned in order to follow his own advice. The tidal wave ramped up the steeply shelving beach, exploded over the seawall that had been built to protect the village, and sent fi?ngers of frothy seawater raging up Wattl’s streets. Tepho had just started to turn the raptor around when the water hit, lifted the machine off its pods, and carried the construct a good thirty feet before putting it down again. But the water would be forced to return, the technologist knew that, which was why he directed the raptor into a side street and took refuge behind a sturdy stone house. The seawater ran back toward the harbor a few moments later, where it poured over the seawall, taking most of the dead phibs along with it.

Tepho knew his machine couldn’t stand up to a comet like the one that had just caused so much destruction, and was already in the process of making a run for it, when a detachment of Lord Arbuk’s wings dropped a wire net over the raptor. It might have been possible to blow holes in the mesh with his energy weapons, but that was before a team of twelve angens appeared at the other end of the waterfront, wheeled to bring a huge mortar to bear, and were immediately released. Tepho took one look at the artillery piece, knew that it had produced the comet, and tilted his weapons up toward the sky. Or tried to, since the netting got in the way and kept the administrator from opening the canopy as well. Once it became clear that both the phibs and the strangers had been neutralized, Arbuk’s carriage rattled through the village and down onto the seawall, where with some help from Hitho Mal, the fat man was able to exit the coach. The netting had been removed from the raptor by then, thereby revealing a machine ten times better than the one that resided in his war museum. “Look at that,” the nobleman said approvingly, “it’s practically new! And who, pray tell, is the strange-looking cripple?”

Tepho, who had heard every word, stood trapped between two members of Arbuk’s household guards. And rather than mount a suicidal attack on the nobleman’s troops, Shaz, Phan, and all the rest of the administrator’s mercenaries had allowed themselves to be disarmed.

“I’m told that the cripple was piloting the machine,” the sensitive whispered into his superior’s ear. “And, judging from the thought forms that hover around him, he’s very angry. It seems he’s sensitive about his appearance, which, interestingly enough, bears a close resemblance to the man who leveled the village of Kine.”

Arbuk nodded. “Yes, I can see the resemblance. Still, anyone who likes to kill phibs can’t be all bad, so let’s see what the rascal has to say for himself. We’ll put him on the rack if he proves to be too obstreperous.”

That being said, the nobleman waved Tepho forward.

“My name is Arbuk, Lord Arbuk, and you are?”

“Tepho, sire, Omar Tepho,” the off-worlder responded carefully. The comments about his body, plus the fat man’s tendency to talk about him as if he wasn’t there, were infuriating. But the technologist was powerless to do anything about it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Arbuk replied evenly. “Or it might be, depending on what you’re up to. Now, if you would be so good as to enter my carriage, we will retreat to a more comfortable location. Once there I’m going to ask you where you came from, how you got here, why you chose to destroy the village of Kine, and what makes the island of Buru so important to you. Shall we?”

Having been stripped of all power, Tepho had no choice but to agree. Especially given the fact that the fat nobleman was very well informed. A pair of footmen boosted the off-worlder up into the coach. Arbuk and Milo followed. Once inside, the nobleman couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself. But what Arbuk didn’t know, was that Tepho was wearing the real prize, who, thanks to his ability to link up with Socket, was watching the whole scene from the very edge of space. The carriage jerked into motion, wings wheeled high above, and the villagers of Wattl began to bury their dead.

Lassa Pontho swam up into one of the bubblelike meditation pods that fl?oated in and around the city of her birth, sat on the curvilinear seat, and took air straight into her lungs rather than through her gills. Spread out around her, in a valley between two undersea plains, lay the city of Shimmer. It consisted of fourteen domes of various sizes, each having dozens of locks and a variety of purposes. Seen from a distance, and bathed in shafts of sunlight that slanted down from the surface, the city looked like something from a fantastic dream. Gardens of brightly colored plants swayed in the cleansing current that fl?owed through the valley, shoals of tame fi?sh patrolled the rocky bottom, and sleek sea sleds came and went, each trailing its own stream of bubbles. Shimmer had been built hundreds of years before, back when the artifi?cial satellite called Socket had fi?rst been commissioned, and thousands of phibs had been brought in to work on projects related to the newly created tides. And, thanks to the power provided by their precious tidal generators, the variants had been able to sustain their underwater culture during the years since.

But the land-lords were not only jealous of what the phibs had but determined to bring their society down and profi?t in the process. That fact had everything to do with the disastrous raid on the village of Wattl, a raid that had been justifi?ed by the loss of phib fi?shing boats but was actually part of a larger effort to keep the norms landbound, lest they build ships and use them to attack phib cities. But even more worrisome was the fact that those who survived the raid reported that the land-lords had deployed a new weapon, a machine that walked upright on two legs and was equipped with powerful energy weapons. All of which suggested that the norms were in the midst of an unprecedented technological resurgence.

Further evidence of that could be seen in the reports submitted by paid agents. They claimed that three ironclad warships were being built inland, where they were safe from coastal raids, and would eventually be transported to Esperance by rail. And once the vessels arrived, Lord Arbuk and his cronies would probably launch them as quickly as possible and immediately put to sea. There was no way to know which phib city they would attack fi?rst—but Shimmer was closest to the harbor.

But could paid agents be trusted? They were norms, after all, therefore automatically suspect. Pontho had very little choice but to trust them, however, since it was almost impossible for a phib to pass as a norm and vice versa. The mayor’s reverie came to an end as a series of beeps came in over her headset. “Yes?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a male voice said respectfully, “but one of our security came in with a couple of pirates in tow.”

Pontho felt a twinge of annoyance. Couldn’t they handle anything without her? “So?”

“So, they’re somewhat unusual,” the functionary responded evenly. “And the master-at-arms wants you to participate in the interrogation.”

Pontho took a look at her wrist term. She had a million things to do. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“The pirates claim to be from another planet,” the voice added. “And they’re looking for the island of Buru.”

“Buru?” Pontho demanded. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell the master-at-arms that I’m on my way.”

Like most such facilities, the interrogation chamber had dingy walls, a fl?oor that could be hosed clean, and harsh overhead lighting. What didn’t show, was the fear that had been etched into the ceiling, walls, and tiled fl?oor. It couldn’t be seen, not in the usual way, but it was real nonetheless. In fact Norr could “hear” the screams as they echoed back through the years, “feel” the hopelessness of the prisoners who had been tortured there, and even “see” one of them standing in a corner. He was crying, and judging from the thought forms that surrounded him, had been for a hundred years. But there was nothing Norr could do to help the hapless entity because both she and the runner hung suspended in midair, clasped within the embrace of a force fi?eld they couldn’t see.

Rebo tried to speak, to tell the phibs what he thought of them, but couldn’t move his lips. The guards thought that was funny and laughed. The master-at-arms stood with arms crossed over a well-muscled chest. He smiled grimly.

“Save your energy, pirate. You’re going to need it.”

Norr’s attention was elsewhere. With one exception, all of their belongings were spread out on a table, where they had been repeatedly inventoried. But now, as new guards arrived, the female was about to depart with Sogol still wrapped around her arm! Would the master-at-arms approve? No, the sensitive didn’t think so, but he didn’t know. And, since Norr was unable to speak, the variant did the one thing that she could: She made an attempt to reach out with her mind. The 9mm pistol was heavier than any object that she had ever tried to levitate, but if were she to succeed, Norr felt confi?dent that the ensuing ruckus would be suffi?cient to hold the female guard for a bit longer. So in spite of the diffi?cult circumstances—the sensitive sought to fi?nd the peaceful place within. Once there, the variant summoned all her mind-force, shaped it into an invisible pseudopod, and directed the newly formed limb over to the table. Then, having wrapped the weapon in a cocoon of psychic energy, Norr ordered it to rise. But nothing happened as the female security offi?cer paused to say something to the burly master-atarms, laughed as if in response to a shared joke, and turned to leave.

Desperate now, the sensitive bore down, and sent even more energy out into the center of the room. That was when she heard a cry of astonishment. Norr’s eyes were open, and had been throughout, but now she “looked.” Everyone in the room, master-at-arms included, stood frozen in place as the pistol fl?oated, barrel upward, two feet above the surface of the table!

And that was the tableau that met Mayor Pontho’s eyes as she entered the chamber. “And what,” she wanted to know, “is going on here?”

The gun fell, hit the table with a loud bang, and fell to the fl?oor. And, because Sogol was the only one free to answer, it was she who spoke. “My name is Logos 1.2,” the AI responded assertively, “and I need your help.”

THIRTEEN

The city of Shimmer, on the Planet Zeen

And in the 226th year of the 3rd epoch, strange machines willwalk the land, those who live in the deeps will rise up, and theemperor will return from the dead.

—The seer Sumunda,

Visions in a Glass

When Sogol spoke, no one was more surprised than the woman who had the snake-shaped AI wrapped around her left biceps. She reacted by tearing the serpent off and tossing it onto the table, where it wiggled, rolled over, and slid to a stop. And that was the point when Logos 1.2 coiled her body as if to strike and hissed.

The master-at-arms looked from the snake to the woman and back again. That was the moment when he realized that rather than turn the snake in, as the security offi?cer was supposed to do in situations like that one, the female had been about to steal it. Even worse was the fact that the other members of her team were willing to tolerate such behavior!

His jaw tightened, orders fl?ew, and all three of the miscreants were led away. Though not particularly interested in the details sur-292

rounding the way in which the security offi?cers would be disciplined, Mayor Pontho was interested in fl?oating guns, talking snakes, and the prisoners suspended in front of her. Especially since they were looking for the island of Buru, a place currently occupied by a force of wings on behalf of the norms. “Release the prisoners,” she ordered. “And bring some chairs. . . . I have no idea what’s going on here—but it should be interesting to fi?nd out.”

Though not especially pleased by the manner in which the mayor had taken control of the interrogation process, the master-at-arms had no choice but to acquiesce. Ten minutes later, both Norr and Rebo were seated at the table and, much to the sensitive’s delight, were clutching mugs of tea.

“Okay,” Pontho began. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? Where are you from? And why are you interested in Buru?”

Norr looked at Rebo, saw the runner shrug, and knew it was up to her. And, given the fact that Sogol had already spoken, she saw no alternative but to tell a truthful but abbreviated version of their adventures, starting on the Planet Seros and culminating in their recent arrival on Zeen. It took more than an hour to tell the tale, and when it fi?nally came to an end, Pontho shook her head in amazement.

“That’s quite a story. . . . One that’s pretty hard to believe. Especially the part about your snake, the so-called star gates, and our moon. But who knows? Strange tales are true at times. I will ask one of our scholars to look into the matter—and perhaps he or she will fi?nd a way to authenticate your tale. In the meantime I think it would be best to keep both you, and, ah Sogol, under lock and key.”

“No!” Norr objected. “That would be a terrible mistake!

Techno Society operatives may already be on Zeen, but if they aren’t, they soon will be. And when they arrive, they will bring professional killers, metal men, and killing machines with them. Then they’ll head for Buru.”

“Wait a minute,” the mayor interrupted. “Did you say

‘killing machines’? Describe one.”

So Rebo began to describe what a raptor looked like, and was only halfway through, when the master-at-arms came to his feet. “That’s it!” he proclaimed. “That sounds like the machine that attacked our forces in Wattl!”

Pontho experienced a sudden sense of exultation mixed with an equal measure of fear. While she was glad to hear that Arbuk and his cronies weren’t in the process of building two-legged killing machines, it was clear the land-lords had a new ally, and a dangerous one at that. For the fi?rst time, the mayor forced herself to address the snake. She felt silly, talking to what looked like a piece of jewelry, but what if the creature was real? What if it really could control the moon, open star gates, and whisk people from one planet to another? “So tell me, Sogol,” she said, as she made eye contact with the object in front of her, “what will happen next?”

“That depends on you,” the AI replied unhesitatingly.

“Lonni is correct. An earlier iteration of myself entered into an alliance with the Techno Society. If allowed to do so, Logos and his human functionaries will travel to Buru, where they will enter a star gate and transfer to Socket. Once aboard the satellite, Logos 1 will reinstall himself, seize control of the star gates that remain in operation, and begin the process of reseeding the planets that were served in the past. Once that process is complete, they will control humanity rather than serve it. But only if you let them. . . . If you take us to the island of Buru, we will board Socket and block the Techno Society.”

“It sounds good,” Pontho allowed cautiously, “but here’s the problem . . . No, two problems. The fi?rst problem is that all we have is your word for what’s going on. Maybe you and your companions are the ones we should be worried about—

and the other people are trying to chase you down.”

“What about the killing machine?” the AI countered.

“And the casualties you suffered?”

“Maybe they didn’t know who we were,” the politician replied warily, “and fi?red in self-defense.”

“That’s a fair question,” Norr put in, “but we have a character witness. Someone you trust—and will vouch for the truth of what we say.”

Pontho lacked eyebrows, but she had large double-lidded eyes, and they widened slightly. “Really?” she inquired skeptically. “And who would that be?”

Norr’s features went slack, and Rebo looked worried as a spirit entity took control of the sensitive’s body. “Hello, honey,” a female voice said. “It’s Aunt Cyn. . . . Remember the toothfi?sh? And how it nipped your calf when you were seven? I had a hard time explaining that one to your mother! She never let me take you outside the dome again. These people are real, hon. . . . They aren’t perfect, none of us are, but they’re trying to make things better. And remember, those who wind up in control of Socket will have the power to move the satellite, which would eliminate the tides.”

“The generators,” Pontho put in. “That would shut them down.”

“Exactly,” the disincarnate agreed. “So do what you can to help them. You won’t be sorry.”

Then, just as quickly as the spirit had arrived, she was gone, and Norr was in control of her body once again. The mayor appeared stricken—and tears rolled down her face.

“There are sensitives on land, so I have heard of such contacts, but never experienced one myself. A toothfi?sh took a chunk out of my leg—and I have the scar to prove it. And, since there’s no way that you could have possibly been aware of that incident, I’m inclined to believe you.

“But I told you that two problems stand in the way of your plan. The fi?rst has been resolved—but the second is much more diffi?cult. The land-lords, which is to say the people who control all of the landmasses, occupy the island of Buru, which means that you won’t be able to set foot on it.”

“That’s true,” the master-at-arms allowed. “But we control the sea all around them—so it’s a standoff.”

“Was a standoff,” Rebo said grimly. “Things are about to change.”

The city of Esperance

It was dark outside, and rain splattered against thick glass, as the two men stood in front of a huge wall-mounted map. “The island of Buru is right there,” Lord Arbuk said, as he covered a tiny dot with the tip of a pudgy fi?nger. “About seventy-fi?ve miles off the coast.”

In spite of the fact that he and his subordinates qualifi?ed as prisoners, such were the freedoms allowed them that Tepho felt rather comfortable within the nobleman’s castlelike home. Because in spite of the rude comments made about him in Wattl, Arbuk had been extremely courteous since, and the two men had a great deal in common. Both were analytical, ambitious, and completely ruthless. All of which was likely to make for a good alliance, so long as they continued to desire the same things, and there was no shortage of loot. “And you control it,” the technologist commented, as he stared at the tiny brown blob.

“Yes,” Arbuk replied honestly, “I do. The surrounding waters are a different story however. The phibs control those.”

Tepho frowned. “Then how do you transport supplies to the island?”

“Wings,” the nobleman answered laconically. “A healthy wing can fl?y about a hundred miles without resting, so Buru is well within their range, so long as they aren’t overburdened. And, since they grow most of their own food, my staff are quite self-suffi?cient.”

Logos had been listening intently and chose that moment to enter the conversation. Arbuk, who had grown accustomed to the AI by then, remained unperturbed. “What about the transfer station? Is it intact?”

“I honestly don’t know,” the land-lord replied, as he lumbered toward a massive armchair. “I’ve never been there. . . . Where is it?”

“Toward the center of the island.”

“Ah,” Arbuk replied, as he sank into the well-padded comfort of his favorite chair. “Then I think we’re in luck. . . . The wings believe that those who spend too much time in the island’s interior sicken and die. That’s superstitious nonsense of course, but variants aren’t as intelligent as we are, which makes them susceptible to ridiculous beliefs. Odds are that the transfer station is much as you left it.”

Both Tepho and Logos knew good news when it was placed in front of them. If wings who ventured in toward the center of Buru became ill, it was probably because the star gate’s power core was up and running, but neither entity saw any reason to share that piece of intelligence with the local.

“Good,” Tepho said blandly, as he stood with his back to the crackling fi?re. “So, given the fact that the phibs control the waters around Buru, how should we proceed?”

Arbuk had already given the matter some thought. Because if the weird little cripple and his talking shirt really could transport themselves up to the moon and reactivate a network of star gates, then he intended not only to benefi?t from the technology but control it. So, as the land-lord locked his hands together across the vast expanse of his belly, the essence of a plan had already been formed in his mind. “It’s dangerous to build ships in coastal towns,” the nobleman explained, “because the phibs have a tendency to come ashore and burn them.

“However, unbeknownst to the degenerate freaks, three steam-powered ironclads are nearing completion about twenty miles inland from Esperance. Within days, a week at most, we can bring those ships west by rail. Then, before the phibs can stop us, we will set sail for Buru. What do you think of that?”

Planning was best of course, but Tepho was grateful whenever good luck came his way, and he smiled crookedly as he spoke. “I think you’re brilliant.”

The city of Shimmer

The water at the center of the council chamber was chest deep, which made it diffi?cult to walk around, but allowed the phib politicians to sit half-supported by the water, fl?oat on their backs, or, in the case of those who felt the need to move about, swim out into the deep end and tread water. In the meantime, Mayor Pontho and representatives from the other city-states were seated on a stage above the deep end, where they were three hours and twenty minutes into a discussion of whether the city of Shimmer would be left to tackle Arbuk’s forces alone or would receive assistance from the other communities. The subject was rather controversial because the other mayors, who were understandably reluctant to upset the delicate status quo, had their doubts regarding the entire notion of star gates and wanted to know what was in it for them and their constituencies. Rebo, who had been forced to remain immersed in the water while waiting for the seemingly endless debate to end, was busy looking at his pruny hands when Pontho fi?nally called his name. Norr, who was half-fl?oating beside him, had to jab the runner in the ribs in order to get his attention. “Jak . . . she called your name!”

The phibs watched in amusement as Rebo churned his way across the deep end of the chamber to a set of stairs that led up onto the stage. The runner was wearing a pair of cutoffs, but still felt naked as he padded across the platform and left a trail of wet footprints to mark his progress. There were nine mayors, including Pontho, and all had seats at the oval table. None wore anything more elaborate than a genital pouch, and some were completely naked. Five of the politicians were female, which meant that four were male, all of whom appeared to be older rather than younger. There was a raised bench on which guests could sit, but the norm chose to stand. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Jak Rebo,” Pontho said. “Some of you have expressed concerns where Lord Arbuk’s new ironclads are concerned. They are by all reports powerful vessels that could interfere with an attack on Buru. . . . However, thanks to military expertise acquired on other planets, Citizen Rebo is ready with a plan that could neutralize the threat. Citizen Rebo?”

Rebo didn’t have any military expertise, not really, but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to say that. So, with all eyes upon him, the runner proceeded to outline his plan.

“As you know, Mayor Pontho’s agents report that three steam-powered warships are presently being constructed about twenty miles inland from the coastal city of Esperance, and will be ready within a matter of days.”

That was the projectionist’s cue, and the map appeared on the ceiling, where those who were fl?oating on their backs could see it, as well as on all three of the walls around the stage. But unlike the maps used ashore, this one ignored all but the most important roads to focus on the capillary-like network of streams and rivers that fed the oceans. A pistol-shaped electronic pointer had been left for Rebo’s use. After pointing the device at the wall, the runner pressed the fi?ring stud and was immediately rewarded with a red dot. It slid up to the point where the name esperance marked a large bay. And there, fl?owing into the harbor, was a narrow fi?nger of blue. “This is the Otero River,” the offworlder said. “What I propose to do is lead a party of raiders upstream, march a mile overland to the point where the ironclads are being constructed, and destroy them before the locals can transport them to Esperance. Then, with the steamships out of the way, we can attack Buru.”

It was a simple plan, but still worthy of another hour’s debate, and Rebo was back in the water fl?oating on his back when the fi?nal decision was made. A fi?nding that ultimately had more to do with a widely shared desire to destroy Arbuk’s warships than any particular enthusiasm for the offworlders, their talking snake, or the system of star gates they were so obsessed with. “Thank you,” Pontho said sincerely, as the results of the unanimous vote were announced.

“You won’t be sorry.”

Rebo wasn’t so sure about that, but hoped it was true, and let his hand stray to the good luck amulet that he wore around his neck. Except that the object wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for some time, even though he was going to need it more than ever.

Norr, who knew the runner pretty well by then, and could

“see” the doubts that swirled around Rebo, took his hand in hers. Nothing was said, and nothing needed to be. The end of the journey was near, and if they could survive the trials ahead, a much more pleasant journey was about to begin.

The village of Wattl

Inu Harluck was drunk, or had been, back before he stumbled out of the Evil Eye tavern, entered the adjacent stable, and passed out. It was a blissful state, and one that the fi?sherman-pirate preferred to remain in for as long as possible, which made the pain that much more annoying. But there was no escaping it, so Harluck was forced to surface and open his eyes. Shaz saw the man’s eyelids fl?utter, uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and removed the knife tip from the local’s neck. A single drop of blood welled up to mark the point where the surface of the drunk’s skin had been broken. “It’s time to wake up,” the combat variant said contemptuously. “There’s money to be made.”

What little light there was emanated from a lantern that was hanging a good ten feet away. So, as the fi?sherman looked upward, and saw the man-shaped image shimmer, he began to fl?ail his arms and kick with his legs in a futile attempt to escape what could only be a spirit. A murdered phib, perhaps, returned from the depths, ready to cut his throat. But when Phan threw a full bucket of water in his face, Harluck’s head began to clear. “Who are you people?” the pirate spluttered.

“And why pick on me? I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

“No,” Shaz agreed, “you haven’t. But this is your lucky day. . . . We want to hire you, your crew, and your boat. Not the cutter—but the sailboat. The one you stole from the phibs.”

“I didn’t steal it,” the local objected hotly, “I found her. Empty she was, just drifting, pretty as you please.”

“That’s not what your brother-in-law told us,” the combat variant responded. “But save it for the local constable. We don’t care how you came into possession of the boat. What we do care about is an early start. So stand up, pull yourself together, and round up your crew.”

Harluck stood, made a futile attempt to brush some of the fi?lth off his clothes, and looked from one person to the other. He had scraggly hair, furtive eyes, and a pointy chin.

“I don’t believe I caught your names.”

“I’m Shaz,” the variant replied, “and this is Phan.”

“Well, Citizen Shaz,” the fi?sherman said offi?ciously, “my services don’t come cheap.”

“No,” Shaz agreed sardonically, “I’m sure they don’t. This coin was minted elsewhere, but it’s solid gold and worth more than you would normally make in a year.”

Lanternlight refl?ected off the crono as it arced through the air. Harluck intercepted the gold piece and weighed the object in the palm of a callused hand, before running a cracked nail across the face of a man who had been dead for more than two hundred years. Then, not having detected any lead, the pirate tucked the coin away. “So what kind of contraband are you smuggling?” he wanted to know. “And where are we headed?”

“There isn’t any contraband,” Shaz replied evenly. “As for our destination, that’s the island of Buru.”

The pirate turned pale. “Buru? No, way! The phibs will kill us.”

“Maybe,” the combat variant allowed. “But that’s the chance we take.”

Harluck looked from one hard face to the other. “What if I say ‘no’?”

“Then I’ll kill you,” Phan replied cheerfully. “Take your pick!”

Both of the strangers thought that was funny and laughed out loud. Harluck wanted to run, but knew they would catch him, and cursed his miserable luck. Because even though the gold coin lay heavy in his pocket—there wasn’t much chance that he would live to spend it.

The city of Esperance

Viewed from water level, out in the bay, the city of Esperance glittered like a necklace of diamonds laid across a piece of black velvet. It was nighttime, and had been for hours by then, but most of the city’s residents were still up and blissfully unaware of the raiders who had already penetrated their defenses. Fortunately for them, the sleek webfi?ngered commandos had no designs on the city itself. Their goal lay twenty miles upriver, where a short hike would take them to the village of Prost, where three warships rested on specially made rail cars, waiting for their trip to the sea. Like young people everywhere, the phib warriors were eager to begin the journey.

But Rebo felt different. Unlike the genetically engineered phibs, and in spite of the skin-suit they had given him to wear, the runner was cold. More than that he was tired. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the powered sled on which his body rested, Rebo knew he would never have made it that far. Now, as he and his commandos lay doggo among the swells, a team of scouts were probing the point where the Otero emptied into the bay. The mouth of the river was sure to be guarded, or so it seemed to Rebo, so he wasn’t especially surprised when a bright-eyed phib arrived to tell him as much. What little light there was emanated from the city beyond—and both men rose and fell with the swells.

“They have a net stretched across the Otero,” the youngster whispered. “And guards on both banks. It would be easy to kill the pigs though . . . just give the word.”

“No,” Rebo said emphatically. “No killing. . . . Not unless absolutely forced to do so. The bodies would be discovered—and the norms would rush to protect the ships.”

“Then what should we do?” the scout wanted to know.

“Stay in the water,” the runner instructed. “And cut two holes in the net. Keep them small, no larger than a sled, and mark them with radio beepers. Then, once everything is ready, let me know.”

The youngster said, “Yes, sir!” and sank below the surface. Then, as Rebo and the rest of his raiders continued to bob up and down, a light detached itself from those that lined the shore and gradually grew brighter. That was accompanied by the rhythmic splash-creak of oars and the low rumble of conversation. A noncom surfaced next to the runner, whispered, “Guard boat!” and hooked his thumb downward. The runner nodded, took the rubber mouthpiece between his teeth, and goosed the sled’s electric motor. It purred softly as short wings cut into the water, and the sled slid beneath the waves. Because he didn’t have gills, Rebo was forced to rely on oxygen stored within the cylindrical sled, and had already grown used to the metallic taste. The tiny instrument panel in front of him glowed green, and once the submersible was about fi?fteen feet under the surface, the runner leveled out. Other green lights could be seen to the right and left, but none was bright enough to be visible from above, as the guard boat passed over their heads.

Fifteen long minutes passed after that—a near eternity in which there was plenty of time to wonder whether the scouts had been discovered, the alarm had been given, and the entire plan revealed. Time, too, in which to wonder how much oxygen he had left and feel the relentless cold creep into his bones. But fi?nally, with the surety of someone who had practiced underwater navigation his entire life, the scout appeared out of the gloom. And, at the young man’s urging, Rebo directed the sled upward.

There was a feeling of relief as the city’s slightly blurred lights appeared, because even though it was dangerous on the surface, it felt good to be in his rightful element again. The scout had extremely white teeth, and they appeared to glow in the strange half-light. “We’re ready, sir!” he proclaimed. “Follow me.”

So Rebo followed, and it wasn’t long before the lights grew brighter, and were split by a canyon of darkness where the river entered the bay. The entire force slid beneath the waves at that point, formed two columns, and was subsequently guided upriver by a combination of low-frequency voice commands, homing beacons, and watchful scouts, one of whom was there to shepherd the runner through one of two holes in the net. The passage was anticlimactic in a way, since it had taken so much effort to prepare for the moment, yet nothing went awry.

Once upstream of the net and the guards, things began to change. The water was fresh, there was a strong current to contend with, and lots of obstacles. Having scraped a bridge support, and come close to colliding with a boulder, Rebo tucked in behind one of the more experienced phibs. Then, by following the noncom’s glowing ankle bracelets, the norm made his way up the fi?rst section of the river without further incident.

But it wasn’t long before the commandos encountered the fi?rst of what would prove to be a number of challenges. The face of the dam stood at least fi?fteen feet high, which meant the raiders would have to climb it and hoist their sleds up after them. Strong though the amphibians were, even they couldn’t swim twenty miles upstream and still have suffi?cient energy for what lay ahead.

Fortunately, there weren’t any guards other than the mill keeper’s dog, which barked twice, then collapsed with a sling-launched spear through its throat. The body was hidden, and guards were posted even as specially fabricated swing arms were deployed. It wasn’t long before the fi?rst sled was lifted onto the top of the dam and more followed. Eager for something to do, and cognizant of how important it was to set an example, Rebo took charge of the crew that was working to drop the newly arrived sleds into the lake that lay pent-up behind the dam. Then, as the fi?nal units were hoisted up and over, the moon began to rise. Except that the runner knew that the half-seen orb wasn’t a moon, at least not a natural one, which meant he was looking at Socket. Rebo wondered if Norr could see it but thought that was doubtful since the sensitive was in Shimmer. But there was no opportunity to pursue the thought, as the last sled went over the side, and the commandos made clean dives into the moonlight-streaked water below. The runner tried, but was responsible for a sizeable splash, much to the amusement of his water-dwelling subordinates. Then the journey continued, as commandos pushed their way up to the head of the long, narrow lake, where they were forced to portage around a hundred-foot-wide ledge where the Otero spilled into the water that was backed up behind the dam. That task consumed forty-fi?ve precious minutes and left Rebo wondering whether they would arrive at the objective on time or be caught by the rising sun—an almost certain disaster given the fact that the phibs would be many miles inland, open to attack from above, and vulnerable to Arbuk’s ground troops.

But it was too late to turn back, so all Rebo could do was push such thoughts away and keep on going. The next stretch of river was relatively benign. It consisted of a long series of gentle S-curves that acted to slow the current and make progress somewhat easier. Rebo couldn’t see the land to either side but imagined it to be fertile and bordered by neatly kept farms. The commandos made good progress through that stretch, thereby regaining some of the time lost earlier and raising the runner’s fl?agging spirits. Finally, having reached the railroad bridge that crossed the Otero just east of Prost, it was time to disable the sleds, sink them out in the middle of the river, and hike crosscountry. The artifi?cial moon had arced most of the way across the sky by then, and even though Rebo welcomed some light to see by, the off-worlder knew that it could betray his command as well. One by one the phibs shouldered their various loads, scrambled up the steep riverbank, to assemble on the tracks above. The rails gleamed with refl?ected moonlight and made a gradual turn toward the west. The runner gave a series of orders, waited to make sure they would be followed, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the phibs spread out along both sides of the line.

Navigation became relatively easy at that point, since all they had to do was follow the track to the village of Prost and the warships that waited there. The rest would be simple. Or that was the way it seemed until the runner heard the mournful sound of a steam whistle, knelt to place a hand on cold steel, and felt it start to vibrate. A train was on the way! But which one? A routine freight? Or the train.

Meaning the one that was supposed to haul the ironclads to Esperance.

The phibs nearest to the runner turned to him for orders, the whistle blew again, and Rebo struggled to decide. Should he attack the train? It could be loaded with troops?

Or allow it to pass? Only to face what could be even more opposition when he entered the village of Prost? The seconds ticked by, his heart beat faster, and a big round light loomed out of the darkness.

On the great sea

The sailboat’s bow dipped, broke through a foam-topped wave and threw a fi?ne mist back over the cabin and open cockpit. Shaz, who was standing just aft of the cabin, put out a hand to steady himself as he watched what he knew to be Socket drop below the western horizon. Hopefully, within a matter of days, he would set foot on the artifi?cial satellite and be present when Logos took control of it. At that point a number of choices would present themselves. If the opportunity arose, the combat variant could kill Tepho and claim the star gates for himself. Or he could continue in his present role, wait for the norm to make a mistake, and pick up the pieces. Fortunately, either strategy would deliver the results the variant wanted. But that was then, this was now, and Shaz had work to do. The plan, which had been conceived by Tepho and approved by Arbuk, was to sail the phib vessel to Buru. Once Shaz landed, he would present his credentials to the commandant and lead a party into the island’s interior, where he was supposed to locate and secure the star gate. That was the plan, anyway, but there were plenty of things that could go wrong, including the weather. A bank of clouds had been visible off to the southwest just before the moon set, the breeze had stiffened within the last few minutes, and Harluck’s crew was pulling the jib down. None of it boded well, but the off-worlder tried to take comfort from the fact that bad weather could provide the boat with some much-needed cover and help keep the phibs at bay. And that was the case, or seemed to be, until a dim, barely seen sun rose, and Harluck announced the bad news.

“There they are!” the pirate proclaimed, as he pointed to the west. “Phibs! Three of them! All trying to cut us off!”

It was bad news, but Harluck sounded triumphant, as if glad to be right even if the phibs were to sink his boat. The combat variant couldn’t see anything at fi?rst, but fi?nally, by squinting just so, Shaz was able to make out three tiny triangles of sail, all on a course to converge with Harluck’s tiny vessel. “All right,” the off-worlder said calmly,

“maintain the course you’re on.”

“But there’s three of them,” the pirate objected. “They’ll cut us to pieces!”

“No,” Shaz maintained stolidly. “They won’t. Not if you do what you’re told.”

Harluck was ready to put the helm over at that point and make a run for the mainland, but looked up to discover that Phan was aiming a pistol at him. It winked red as the bow collided with a wave, the deck lurched, and the targeting laser dipped. That left Harluck with no choice but to maintain the course he was on even if it meant that a violent confrontation was almost certain. The next few hours seemed to creep by, as all four of the boats continued to converge, and the low-lying island of Buru appeared in the distance. It was little more than a shadow at fi?rst but gradually took on additional substance, as mile after mile of ocean passed beneath the single-masted boat’s keel.

By that time the other vessels were clear to see, and when viewed through a small pair of binoculars, were clearly intent on intercepting Harluck’s boat. But why? The phibs didn’t know who was aboard it. Yes, there was the possibility the fi?shing boat had been recognized as stolen, and the phibs were determined to intercept it for that reason, but the combat variant didn’t think so. No, it was almost as if they were on their way to Buru for some other reason, spotted the fi?shing boat and wanted to fi?nd out what it was up to. There was no further opportunity for analysis as the lead vessel produced a fl?ash of light and a brown-edged hole appeared in Harluck’s fully infl?ated sail. “The next one will hit our hull,” the pirate predicted glumly. “The whole thing will be over soon.”

The combat variant heard the words but didn’t bother to reply, as Phan fi?red her rifl?e. It was an enormous affair, almost as long as she was, and chambered for .50 caliber ammunition. It had been diffi?cult to fi?nd a good spot for the weapon, but having settled on the bow, the assassin lay prone, with the barrel resting on a bipod. The trick was to compensate for the fact that both vessels were in constant motion, not something the average marksman could do. But the assassin was far from average. There was a loud crack as Phan squeezed the trigger, followed by a whoop from one of Harluck’s crew members, as a fi?st-sized hole appeared in the other boat’s hull. The fi?rst slug hit above the waterline, but the second struck below it, as did the third. The phibs fi?red in return, and their aim was good, but while still lethal, their energy weapons lacked the punch that the projectile weapon had, and they were soon forced to shear away as half a dozen wings appeared overhead and fi?red down on them from the sky. Phan worried that the variants might attack Harluck’s boat, too, but they didn’t, which seemed to suggest that a warning had been sent out from Esperance via winged courier. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been shooting at their enemies. Whatever the reason, the blast-scarred fi?shing boat was allowed to enter the island’s only harbor, where the pirate dropped the anchor and went in search of a bottle. He had been sober for more than half a day by then—and had every reason to get drunk.

Near the village of Prost

The train had already started to slow in preparation for the stop in Prost when a man appeared up ahead. He stood in the middle of the track and waved both arms. The engineer swore, blew the train’s whistle, and pulled the brake lever. Metal screeched as the drive wheels locked up, sparks fl?ew, and the locomotive fi?nally began to slow. It wasn’t going to stop in time, though, that’s what the engineer was thinking, when he looked up to discover that the man had disappeared.

Then, before the engineer and his fi?reman had time to absorb that, a pair of heavily armed phibs entered the cab, one from each side. They put strange-looking pistols to the men’s heads, ordered the engineer to increase speed, and watched to make sure that he actually did so. Meanwhile, behind the locomotive, and the half-full coal car, the rest of the commandos had clambered up onto a single fl?atcar. Rather than the troops that Rebo feared, it was loaded with kegs of what purported to be black powder, which was probably intended for the ironclads. A rather volatile load should Arbuk’s troops decide to shoot at it, which was why the runner detailed two phibs to study the coupling and fi?gure out how to release it. But time was passing, and the outskirts of Prost had already appeared by then, which meant that the train was only a minute or two from the yard and the steamships that waited there. Lights could be seen up ahead, lots of them, which made sense if Arbuk’s forces were assembled and waiting. The sun had begun to rise as well, sending rays of rosy pink light up over the eastern horizon, as if to herald its own coming. And now, for the fi?rst time since he had put the plan forward, Rebo felt genuinely frightened. Because events had started to overtake him, and he had no military training to fall back on.

But there was no time to consider such things as the train pulled into Prost, a reedy cheer went up from the soldiers gathered along both sides of the track, and a civilian fi?red a hunting rifl?e into the air. The phibs on the fl?atcar were hidden in amongst the explosives. And even though they had been given orders not to fi?re unless fi?red upon, they were understandably nervous, and once the rifl?e went off a dozen fi?ngers mashed down on a dozen fi?ring studs. Rebo shouted “No!” as the fi?rst energy beam lashed out, but it was too late as blue death stuttered out to cut the troopers down. Their weapons weren’t loaded, and they threw up their hands in a vain attempt to block the blue bolts. But it didn’t work, and by the time the train rolled past the station, a heap of brown-clad bodies lay sprawled on the scorched platform. There wasn’t much return fi?re since the survivors were still in the process of loading their weapons, but what few shots there were missed both the phibs and the kegs of black powder stacked on the fl?atcar. The slaughter made Rebo sick to his stomach, but it was already too late to stop it, as a blunt stern appeared up ahead. The ship it belonged to was sitting on a siding, as were two additional vessels, as the train pulled up alongside them. A phib ordered the engineer to stop the locomotive next to the ironclads so a squad of commandos could hop off the fl?atcar and burn the warships.

Only now Rebo saw an opportunity not only to improve on the original plan, but to reassert control over his troops and regain the initiative all at the same time. “Stay in the cab,” he told the phibs, “and watch the prisoners. We’re going to need them.”

One of the commandos nodded grimly, and the other grinned. Satisfi?ed that the train would stay where it was, the runner ducked out of the locomotive’s cab and followed an iron walkway back toward the coal car.

Meanwhile, the soldiers who had been fortunate enough to survive the unexpected onslaught at the train station had recovered by then, reinforcements had been summoned, and Rebo could hear the steady bang, bang, bang of semiautomatic rifl?e fi?re as he made his way along the coal car. Bullets pinged as they shattered against the locomotive, produced a whapping sound when they hit wooden barrels, and whined as the runner successfully jumped across the gap and landed on the fl?atcar.

The phibs had emerged from their hiding places by then and were about to launch their assault on the warships when Rebo ordered them to stop. “You two,” he said, pointing at a likely-looking pair, “unhook the fl?atcar. I want everyone else on the coal carrier. Now!”

As the commandos moved to obey, a bullet spun one of them around, causing him to fall into the gap between the two cars. Another projectile hit a noncom from behind, exited through his chest, and still packed enough velocity to kill the private who stood facing him. Meanwhile, geysers of dirt shot up into the air, beginning their inexorable march toward the fl?atcar, as a machine gun began to chatter. But even as some of the phibs fell, dozens poured across the gap, and climbed up onto the coal car, where they turned to fi?re on their tormentors. Machinery began to clank, enormous puffs of smoke issued from the locomotive’s black stack, and steam shot forth from both sides of the behemoth as it got under way.

Rebo was beginning to wonder if the fl?atcar would ever be decoupled and was just about to go after it personally when he heard a phib yell, “She’s clear!” and felt the train jerk. Then came the mad scramble to jump the quickly widening gap, a moment of gut-wrenching fear as the runner felt himself begin to fall backward, and a profound feeling of relief as strong fi?ngers wrapped themselves around his wrist.

Then, having been pulled up onto the fi?lthy coal car, Rebo heard someone shout and turned to see that a single phib had been left on the fl?atcar. It was the scout who had spoken with him back in the bay, and judging from the blood that was pouring down the soldier’s right leg, the youngster had been hit. Now, with slugs whistling all around him the commando lit one of the incendiary fl?ares issued for use on the ironclads, raised his right hand by way of a salute, and let the fi?ery tube fall.

The result was even more effective than what Rebo had originally hoped for. There was a fl?ash of light, followed by a near-deafening boom, and a series of secondary explosions as ordnance already aboard the ironclads went off as well. Smoke boiled up to stain the early-morning sky, chunks of wood, iron, and fl?esh cartwheeled through the air, and the station’s telegraph began to chatter. News of the phib raid would arrive in Esperance within a matter of minutes, Arbuk’s wings would take to the air shortly thereafter, and troops would be sent to intercept the hijacked train. Rebo knew all of that, and knew he would eventually have to deal with it, but not for a few minutes yet. Because right then, as if burned onto his retinas by the force of the blast, he was still staring at the image of the scout, the fl?are, and the nameless boy’s fi?nal salute.

The city of Shimmer

The council of mayors had been reconvened, and at Norr’s request, was about to hear from a very distinguished guest. Ever since Norr brought a message through from Mayor Pontho’s disembodied aunt, the politician had been very deferential toward the sensitive. And now, as the other variant entered a trance, the phib looked on with an expression of awe as Norr’s chin touched her chest and a deeper voice was heard. “Greetings,” the disincarnate said, as the sensitive’s head came up. “My name is Lysander, Milos Lysander, but like the rest of you I have been known by other names as well. Once, during a lifetime as a man called Hios, I brought your people to Zeen, helped them establish their great underwater cities, and gave them the gift of tides.

“Back in those days we worked together to create the planet’s infrastructure, which had it not been for my many errors, would probably be intact today. But I was foolish, very foolish, and hope to make things right. Thanks to you, and your support, that process is already under way. In fact my spirit allies tell me that your commandos were successful, the ironclads were destroyed, and even as I speak your warriors are battling their way back to safety. That will be diffi?cult, however, since Lord Arbuk’s wings will attack them along the way, and ground troops will be sent against them as well.”

There was muttering, as all of the mayors tried to speak at once, and Pontho called for silence. Norr’s head nodded jerkily. “Yes,” Lysander said, “I understand your concern.

Fortunately, there is something we can do to help! But, by taking action, we will reveal the full extent of our powers and thereby elicit what is sure to be a desperate response.”

The politicians listened intently as Lysander outlined his plan. And when asked, Sogol, who had been silent up until then, agreed that the scheme was theoretically possible. Although the AI went on to point out that not only would the timing would be iffy, but the results would be unpredictable and possibly dangerous to the very people they were trying to save.

Then, having heard from a dead man and an artifi?cial intelligence, the politicians did what they were best at, which was to talk, and talk, and talk some more. Until Pontho became frustrated, insisted on a vote, and fi?nally got one. The plan was approved. But could the scheme be implemented quickly enough to save Rebo and his commandos? The clock was ticking.

FOURTEEN

Near the village of Prost, on the Planet ZeenLike the ripples generated when a pebble falls into a pond, asingle historical event can send waves of change out to touchthe far shores of human civilization, where the effects will befelt for many years to come.

—Artifi?cial Intelligence Borlon 4,

A History of My Creators

Once clear of Prost, the track followed the Otera river valley west. Thanks to the gun at the engineer’s head, plus the fi?reman’s frantic efforts to feed the hungry boiler, the locomotive was traveling at full speed by then. Thick black smoke poured out of the stack, the engine made a steady chugging sound, and the wheels clacked rhythmically as they passed over evenly spaced expansion joints. But Rebo took little pleasure in the train’s speed. He stood on the narrow walkway that ran along the side of the locomotive’s boiler and eyed the track ahead. Since Arbuk’s troops knew where the engine had to go, they would move to block it. The original plan, which involved a return trip down the Otero River, incorporated the same fl?aw—although the water route might have offered more protection from the wings. Had he been wrong to abandon the fi?rst plan? Would a real military offi?cer have chosen a third course? Rebo feared the answer might be yes.

Space was at a premium. Commandos clung to both sides of the locomotive, squatted on top of the cab just behind the stack, and were crammed into the coal car as well. Most of the smoke passed over their heads but not all of it.

“There they are!” one of the phibs exclaimed, and pointed to the west. Rebo looked, saw the formation of dots, and knew they were wings. The runner faced two choices. He could order the engineer to stop the train, pull his troops together, and respond to the coming attack with massed fire. That technique would probably be effective against the winged variants but would give Arbuk plenty of time in which to bring ground troops against the stationary train. The other possibility was to keep going, accept some causalities, and hope to break through whatever obstructions lay ahead. Finally, for better or worse, the runner chose the second option. The commandos on the roof were attempting to engage the winged variants at extreme range by then but with little success. Rebo turned to one of the noncoms. “Put your best marksmen where they can fi?re on the wings—but tell them to hold off until the bastards come in closer. There’s going to be a hellacious battle within the next couple of hours, and we’re going to need every power pack we have. . . . Tell everyone else to safe their weapons and seek any cover they can fi?nd.”

The phib said, “Yes, sir,” and began to work his way back to the cab. It wasn’t long before some of the commandos came down off the roof while those with a reputation for marksmanship went up to replace them. Then, just as the train passed through the point where the valley narrowed, the airborne warriors attacked. And, thanks to the fact that they had been practicing such maneuvers for years, some of their shots went home.

One of the phibs who was hugging the side of the locomotive looked surprised, let go of the handrail, and fell away from the train. A marksman jerked as a bullet struck his chest. He released his weapon, and toppled back into the coal car, where a commando called for help. A medic stood, lost the top of his head, and collapsed in a heap. The commandos were quick to return fi?re, and a cheer went up as one of the wings spiraled out of the sky, but the phibs were going to take more casualties. Not only that, but Rebo was pretty sure that something worse lay ahead.

Lord Arbuk was angry. Very angry. Which was why he didn’t want to simply stop the phib raiders, he wanted to crush them, even if that meant destroying a valuable locomotive in the process. That was why no less than six cometfi?ring artillery tubes and a thousand troops lay in wait as the train rolled down out of the low-lying foothills and was momentarily lost from sight as it passed through a dip in the terrain.

A platform, complete with awning had been established on a likely-looking rise, and that was where Arbuk, Tepho, and two dozen government offi?cials were waiting to view what promised to be a magnifi?cent slaughter. In the meantime, there was music, refreshments, and an absolute orgy of posturing as the colorfully clad functionaries attempted to outdo one another.

And it was during that period that Tepho slipped away to inspect the high-tech mortar tubes. Since a counterattack was unlikely if not impossible, very little effort had been made to protect the weapons, other than to place them in freshly dug pits. The comets, which had the appearance of inoffensive spheres until they were fi?red, were nestled in protective boxes.

The technologist had numerous questions where the mortars were concerned, not the least of which was why Arbuk’s mostly steam-age culture possessed such advanced weapons, yet lagged in other areas? And it was while visiting with a voluble artillery offi?cer that the technologist learned the answer. It seemed that fi?ve years earlier, while attempting to reopen an ancient mine, Arbuk’s engineers stumbled across a cache of weapons believed to be more than fi?ve hundred years old.

It was interesting stuff, and Tepho was about to ask some follow-up questions, when Logos spoke from the vicinity of his collar. “Sorry to interrupt, but I suggest that you return to the raptor and clear the area as quickly as possible.”

The artillery offi?cer looked dumbfounded as a third voice came out of nowhere. But before he could ask the obvious question, a plume of dark smoke appeared in the distance, a bugle sounded, and it was time for the offi?cer to return to his duties.

Tepho, who was alone now, wished Logos was standing in front of him. “Leave? Why?”

“Because Iteration 1.2 has temporary control of Socket, and if I’m not mistaken, intends to use the satellite’s solar mirror as a weapon.”

Tepho looked up into the sky, realized how stupid that was, and began to waddle up out of the emplacement. There was a loud whump, as the nearest weapon fi?red, followed by a hearty cheer as the ball of highly concentrated energy arced across the sky. The human experienced a combination of fear, confusion, and anger. “Well, if you know about it, then stop it!”

“I’m trying,” the AI responded calmly. “But Sogol has the upper hand at the moment. So rather than pepper me with questions, I suggest that you run.”

Tepho couldn’t run. Not like most people. But he was able to manage a sort of rolling walk, which when he tried hard enough, took on the appearance of a poorly coordinated jog. The raptor, which he had been encouraged to bring so that Arbuk could show the machine off to his toadies, sat fi?fty feet away from the reviewing stand. Because his back was turned, the technologist didn’t see where the fi?rst comet landed, but having heard a second cheer, assumed the shot had been close to the target if not right on it. Then he was there, struggling to enter the control pod without assistance, and fl?ipping switches like a madman once he had succeeded. “Hurry!” Logos insisted urgently.

“Sogol is about to fi?re!”

Tepho wondered who Sogol was but knew the question would have to wait as the raptor came up to speed. “Now!”

Logos shouted. “It’s coming now!” And fi?re fell from the sky.

As the locomotive topped the rise, Rebo saw the comet soar up into the sky, pause as if deciding where to fall, and plunge downward. For one split second he thought the munition was going to make a direct hit on the locomotive, but much to his relief the ball of pent-up energy landed off to the right. It exploded on contact, throwing tons of debris into the air and creating a crater large enough to drop the coal car into. The train swayed as the shock wave struck it, but managed to remain upright, as the descent began. Off in the distance, Rebo could see a rise topped by a gaily striped awning, some carefully prepared troop positions, and freshly turned earth where weapons emplacements had been dug. Not only that, but logs had been placed across the track in an attempt to block it. The engineer saw the obstacle, pulled back on the brake, and hung on to it as metal began to screech.

Rebo realized there was nothing he could do but surrender, and was just about to give the necessary orders when a beam of bright light caressed a stand of stickle trees. They immediately burst into fl?ames. Then, like a ray of sunshine through a magnifying glass, the orbital weapon drew a black line across the rocky landscape. There was a massive explosion as the energy beam slashed across a mortar emplacement, followed by a series of fl?ares as an entire squad of troops was incinerated, and a series of high-pitched screams as the death ray began to close in on the reviewing stand. Arbuk was on his feet by then, screaming obscenities at the beam of light, but to no avail. Dignitaries, including Hitho Mal, jumped off the platform and ran, each intent on saving him-or herself from the devastating weapon. But Arbuk was slow, too slow to make his escape, and there was a loud pop as the norm’s bodily fl?uids burst through his skin and were incinerated a fraction of a second later. Then the rest of the platform disappeared as the ray of concentrated energy burned a hundred-foot-long trench into the rock and soil before suddenly ceasing to exist. A few moments later the entire area was empty of people as everyone who still could ran for cover. The rest lay where they had fallen. The locomotive was still a good fi?fteen feet from the log barrier when it fi?nally screeched to a halt—and Rebo said what everyone else was thinking. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” a phib answered pragmatically, “but we’re still a good fi?ve miles from the ocean. Let’s move those logs and get the train going again before the norms can regroup.” It was excellent advice, and Rebo took it. By easing the train forward they were able to nudge two timbers off the track—leaving the commandos to muscle the third out of the way.

Five minutes later Arbuk’s soldiers began to emerge from hiding, but they were too disorganized to mount a coordinated attack, so could do little more than take potshots at the train as it pulled away from them. Meanwhile, having withdrawn to the top of a low-lying hill, Tepho eyed the scene via the raptor’s optics. He was angry—no furious—

and his voice quavered as he spoke. “Are we safe here?”

“We’re safe,” Logos allowed cautiously. “And now that I know Sogol is present, I can prevent her from taking control of Socket again. Unless she fi?nds a way to get aboard before we do, that is—which would be extremely unfortunate.”

“How very nice,” the technologist said sarcastically. “I want to know everything there is to know about Sogol—

and I want to know it now.”

The ensuing conversation was quite acrimonious, and still under way, when Tepho brought the raptor to a halt not far from all the carnage. Not to check on Lord Arbuk, as the nobleman might have hoped, but to secure the unexploded comets. Because even though the ironclads had been destroyed, and a second AI had appeared out of nowhere, Tepho was still in the race. And if Buru was the lock—then the comets were the key.

The island of Buru

During the hundreds of years since most of the star gates had been taken off-line, and humanity began the long, backward slide toward barbarity, the surrounding vegetation had closed in on what had been a two-lane highway until it was little more than a game trail. That meant Shaz, Phan, and the pirates they had engaged to accompany them were forced to whack at all manner of runners, vines, and branches as they fought their way up the path. All of them took turns, but it was exhausting work and left them soaked with sweat.

However, the same holes in the canopy that allowed sunlight to reach the jungle fl?oor provided the small party with frequent glimpses of the sky and the wings that circled above. Sightings that would have been a lot more comforting had it not been for the lackadaisical commandant who welcomed the foursome ashore with what could only be described as unconcealed resentment. Because poor though the posting was, the wing was in charge and saw the mainlanders as a threat.

But orders were orders, and once the commandant read the instructions issued by Lord Arbuk himself, there had been little choice but to provide what assistance he could. That, after some discussion, turned out to be a succession of airborne guides who were to make sure that the party remained on course and report back should they run into trouble. A virtual certainty from the local’s perspective, since the strangers had chosen to ignore his warnings regarding jungle sickness and enter the interior anyway. All of which had been documented, sealed into a pouch, and sent to the mainland. So that when Arbuk’s agents turned up dead, as they almost certainly would, the commandant would be in the clear. The variant took pleasure in the thought and went to lunch.

The day after the raid on Prost dawned clear, and with only moderate winds, conditions were perfect for the relatively short trip to Buru. The norms didn’t have any large ships to speak of, since the phibs were almost certain to sink anything that attempted to cross one of “their” oceans, thereby placing severe limits on the shipbuilding business.

But there were some sizeable coastal vessels, which were at the very heart of the so-called revenge fl?eet, still being assembled in Esperance Bay. The concept, as put forward by Tepho, and subsequently communicated to Arbuk’s functionaries by Hitho Mal, was to punish the enemy by attacking the phib stronghold of Buru. And, such was the anger at those who had come ashore to destroy the ironclads, and even gone so far as to unleash a secret weapon on Arbuk’s troops, that no one in a position of power chose to question the plan. Even though every one who was familiar with Buru knew that while the waters around the island were thick with phibs, none of them lived ashore.

But only the most courageous wags gave voice to such doubts as the citizens of Esperance turned out to line the cobbled streets, threw fl?owers at the passing sailors, and cheer them on as the raggedly stalwarts rowed out to their ships.

There were no cheers for Tepho, however, thanks to the fact that he, along with his entire staff, had been loaded onto one of the smaller vessels during the dead of night. They stood in the stern and watched as the surviving members of Arbuk’s personal staff were ferried out to the largest ship, which by virtue of its size and the colorful bunting that Tepho had purchased for it, would serve both as the fl?agship and the enemy’s primary target. Meanwhile, lesser craft, such as the brig that the technologist had chosen for himself, were likely to be ignored. That was the plan at any rate—and the technologist saw no reason it wouldn’t work. Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the bay, and a band played atop the seawall as a puff of gray smoke appeared next to the gaily decorated fl?agship. The dull boom was like an afterthought as it rolled across the bay. That was the signal for the assemblage of fi?shing boats, coastal luggers, and other craft to get under way, and Tepho watched with considerable amusement as dingy sails were hoisted, boats collided with one another, and a tubby ketch ran aground. It took more than an hour for the poorly organized fl?eet to sort itself out and fi?nally leave the bay, with Tepho’s vessel bringing up the rear. Word of the armada’s departure, not to mention its well-publicized destination, arrived in Shimmer minutes later. The war for Buru, if that’s what it could properly be called, was under way.

The island of Buru

The commandant didn’t fl?y as much as he once had, which explained the small potbelly that hung over his belt and his somewhat labored breathing as his leathery wings beat at the air. But by nosing into one of thermals that rose off Buru, the administrator was able to get some additional lift. His scouts had warned him of an unusual amount of phib activity, and once the commandant reached an altitude of two hundred feet, he saw why. Phib warriors had always been easy to spot once they ventured into the shallows, and dozens of dark shadows could be seen patrolling offshore. The question was why? Did the sudden interest in Buru have something to do with the combat variant and his emaciated companion? Or, and this seemed more likely, were they waiting for the so-called revenge fl?eet that was on the way?

The whole notion of which made no sense to the wing—since Buru was the last place to go looking for large concentrations of phibs. Or was he wrong about that? Because the inshore waters were suddenly thick with phibs! So maybe the high muckety-mucks knew what they were doing for once. Tired by then, and happy to glide most of the way to base, the commandant did what any successful bureaucrat would do. He dispatched a message to his superiors, told his subordinates to keep an eye on the situation, and went off to take a nap.

It was dark by the time the much-battered revenge fl?eet neared Buru island. Sadly for the citizens of Esperance, the once-proud armada was only half of its former size by the time it made landfall. Consistent with Tepho’s predictions, all of the larger vessels had been sunk by enterprising phibs, who made use of their motorized sleds to get out in front of the oncoming fl?eet, where they could wait for the ships to pass overhead. Once a vessel obliged, it was a simple matter to attach a mine to the hull and detonate the explosive charge from a safe distance.

Not Tepho’s brig, however, which because of its diminutive size, and position at the tail end of the armada, remained unharmed. That vessel’s luck wasn’t likely to hold however, both because it was increasingly visible as the size of the fl?eet was diminished, and because word had arrived that a large concentration of phibs was lying in wait just off Buru’s harbor.

But, having been made aware of Sogol and her alliance with the variants, the technologist had anticipated such a move and made preparations to counter it. A dozen wings, all recruited with Hitho Mal’s help, were waiting on the foredeck as the smudge of land appeared ahead. Each of the skeletal humans carried a bag made of netting as he or she fl?apped up into the air, and each container held a bomb, which, if the makeshift fuses worked like they were supposed to, would open a pathway through which Tepho’s ship could pass. If that provided the norms with the revenge they sought, then so be it, although the technologist didn’t care. He watched the wings until they were little more than dots, ordered the ship’s master to hoist more sail, and went below to prepare. He was in radio contact with Shaz, and based on the reports received, the journey up to the transfer station was going to be tough.

Rebo and Norr were no more than half a mile away when the fi?rst wing let go of his lethal cargo and allowed it to fall. None of the phibs were aware of the comet until the ball of concentrated energy dropped through the ocean’s surface and exploded underwater. The resulting shock wave sent a huge column of water up into the air, killed everything within a quarter-mile radius, and sent four-foot-high waves out in every direction.

Both of the off-worlders felt the force of the underwater concussion, and Norr “heard” a communal scream, as thousands of living organisms passed into the spirit world. Then came the second explosion, and the third, and more after that, until a total of six energy bombs had been detonated, hundreds of phib warriors lay facedown in the water, and what remained of the revenge fl?eet was free to enter the bay of Buru.

Rebo, Norr, and Sogol had surfaced by then, and were part of the much-diminished phib force that was about to invade the island. “Tepho survived,” Norr said glumly. “At least that’s what Lysander tells me.”

“And so did Logos,” Sogol added, having wrapped herself around the sensitive’s neck. “And he’s communicating with Socket.”

“Can you stop him?” the runner wanted to know.

“I can interfere with his efforts,” the AI replied. “Just as he can interfere with mine.”

“Then let’s go,” Norr said grimly. “We need to reach Socket before they do.”

The wings put up a fi?ght, but not much of one, as hundreds of phibs marched up out of the light surf. That was partly because the winged warriors were badly outnumbered, partly because they were vulnerable to massed ground fi?re, and partly because their hearts weren’t in it. Given the absence of other leadership, it was the commandant’s duty to lead a single mostly symbolic sortie, which he did. But having lost a quarter of his total force during the fi?rst ten minutes of battle, and with no ground forces to provide support, the old soldier was soon forced to withdraw. That left the way clear for the phibs to claim Buru as their own—and for the off-worlders to invade the jungle. A trip they would have to undertake alone, since the phibs had captured their objective and were still reeling from all the casualties they had suffered.

Rebo had supplemented his pistols with a phib energy rifl?e, along with a bag of grenades. And Norr, who had been reunited with her sword, carried the phib equivalent of a sawed-off shotgun plus a power pistol, which was strapped to her thigh.

With only light packs to burden them, the twosome marched up trail. And it wasn’t very long before Rebo, Norr, and Sogol confi?rmed what they already suspected. Not only had Tepho preceded them, but judging from the deep pod prints, the technologist was behind the controls of his raptor. And, as if that wasn’t disturbing enough, there were plenty of smaller footprints, some of which had been left by metal men.

Truth be told, Rebo might have called it a day right then had the runner been on his own, but Norr wasn’t prepared to give up yet, nor was Sogol. So they continued the march, and thanks to the bushwhacking carried out by those who preceded them, made excellent progress. As if aware of their presence, and holding its breath to see what would happen next, the normally noisy jungle had lapsed into a brooding silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing, the occasional clink of metal, and the intermittent splash of water as they crossed a stream.

It made for a pleasant rhythm. But hours later, as the light began to fade, Sogol became increasingly agitated. Rather than wrap herself around Norr’s biceps, as was her normal practice, the AI began to roam from one place to another. That was annoying enough—but the steady diet of intercepted intelligence was even worse. “Logos is communicating with Socket. . . .” “Two of Tepho’s people have arrived at the transit station. . . .” “The main party is almost there. . . .”

Finally, unable to take any more, Norr ordered Sogol to,

“Shut the hell up,” and threatened to stuff the computer into her backpack. That served to silence the AI for a while, but eventually, as the vegetation-covered butte loomed ahead, Sogol broke her silence. Her snakelike body was wrapped around one of the sensitive’s pack straps by that time—which put her triangular head only inches from Norr’s ear. “Based on their radio traffi?c, it’s clear that Tepho, Logos, and the rest of the party are standing directly outside the transfer station,” the AI announced. “The gate appears to be operational—and they are about to make the jump.”

That brought the sensitive to a momentary halt. And when Rebo heard the news, he said, “Damn!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Norr added. “So, assuming the gate works, what will happen next?”

“They’ll arrive on Socket,” the AI predicted dispiritedly,

“where they will transport Logos up to level three, where the nexus is located. Once in position, he will begin to reinstall himself.”

“And how long will that take?” Rebo wanted to know.

“There’s no way to know what conditions are like,” Sogol answered. “If they’re good, then the technos could reach nexus within a matter of minutes. But judging from my contacts with Socket, I get the impression that they may encounter problems. As for the second part of the process, well, I can be fairly precise about that. Given the fact that subsystems have to be conditioned while installation takes place, the process will take three hours, twelve minutes, and fortytwo seconds. Give or take half a second.”

The sensitive felt the full impact of Rebo’s personality as his eyes made contact with hers. He was there because of her, because she believed in the star gates, and because he was sworn to protect her. Even if that meant dying for her. Something passed between them at that moment, as a promise made before either one of them had been born was kept and their fates forever joined. “Come on,” Rebo said gruffl?y, as he reached out to take the sensitive’s hand. “We’re almost there.”

The transit station was made of carefully joined blocks of limestone, which had been eroded by the weather and almost entirely hidden by a blanket of green foliage. The raptor, which Tepho had sealed against intruders, crouched off to one side. And right in front of the structure, where a parking lot had existed once, there was a fl?at area. And that was where the assassin stood as she looked out over the verdant jungle to the sparkling sea beyond. Phan had never been one to spend much time looking at nature, but as the light started to fade, and a golden glow settled over the island, even she had to take notice of the beauty that surrounded her. Then, just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. And when darkness fell, it fell quickly, as if eager to claim its full share of the day. And that was when the assassin was forced to confront the fact that while Tepho, Logos, Shaz, and the rest of the party had been transported to Socket, she along with two metal men, had been left to guard what the combat variant called, “the back door.”

It shouldn’t have mattered, not so long as she was being paid, but it was diffi?cult to ignore the power-core-induced nausea, or the feeling of disappointment that resulted from having participated in a long, diffi?cult journey only to be left behind just short of the fi?nal goal. But such maunderings were unprofessional, not to mention unproductive, and therefore dangerous. With that in mind, Phan forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

Logos claimed that the runner, the sensitive, and the second AI were not only present on the island of Buru, but determined to reach Socket. Having traveled with the humans, the assassin didn’t doubt it. She knew from personal experience that Rebo and Norr were not only tough but tenacious. So they would come. . . . The question was when? Neither one of them liked to travel at night. She knew that, but what if they did? Phan could survive on very little sleep, but she couldn’t go without any at all, and that suggested that some sort of early-warning system was in order. Fortunately, the metal men were perfect for that role, because while the cudgel-toting robots had limited combat capabilities, they could literally see in the dark thanks to their sophisticated sensors. With that in mind, the human led the machines out to positions in front of the transfer station, where their sensors would overlap, thereby establishing an invisible wall between the jungle and herself. Once the machines were properly positioned, Phan withdrew to the point where a fl?ight of stone steps led up into the building and settled in for the night. Somewhere out in the jungle an animal made a strange, gibbering noise, Socket topped the eastern horizon, and ghosts roamed the land.

The transfer station was no more than a hundred feet ahead—and Sogol wanted to enter it with every atom of her electromechanical body. And, had she been equipped with a vehicle that could push buttons located approximately four feet off the fl?oor, might have rushed to do so, even if that meant leaving the humans behind. The need to reach Socket and fulfi?ll her purpose was that strong. But, just as Emperor Hios and his engineers had been careful to craft Logos 1.1 so that he couldn’t leave Socket without human assistance, the same limitation had been placed on her. Still, Sogol took satisfaction from the fact that she could assist the humans by snaking her way forward to discover what sort of defenses lay between them and the transfer station. Dead leaves rustled as the AI slipped between thickly growing plants, slithered over an enormous tree root, and “sensed” electromechanical activity ahead. That shouldn’t have been a surprise, since Sogol knew that the Techno Society often made use of robots, but it was because the AI had been on the lookout for human sentries. There was barely enough time to electronically cloak herself before the android’s sensors began to ping the area around her. But the metal man had been too slow, and after thirty seconds of intensive probing, reverted to standby. Farther back, located about halfway between the androids, the AI “saw” a blob of heat and knew it to be of human origin. Sogol’s fi?rst impulse was to return to the others, report what she had discovered, and wait for them to handle the problem. But then a more daring option occurred to the construct. One that, if successful, would not only be more effi?cient but save a signifi?cant amount of time as well. Still protected from prying sensors, the snakelike AI slipped noiselessly along the ground, circled around behind one of the two androids, and coiled herself into the shape of a spring. Then, having launched herself into the air, Sogol managed to fall across a crooked arm. The reaction was almost instantaneous as the robot sought to shake off whatever it was. But the AI was already up on the machine’s shoulder by then, searching for what she felt sure would be there. And the receptacle was there—right at the base of the metal man’s alloy skull.

Sogol’s head morphed to fi?t the hole, darted inside, and locked itself in place. For one brief moment the computer thought she might be able to take control of the robot and thereby secure a larger body for herself, but quickly discovered that the other machine’s systems were too primitive for her architecture. That left the AI with no choice but to lock the robot’s joints, erase most of its CPU, and withdraw. There was only the faintest thump as Sogol hit the ground and wriggled her way over to the point where the second metal man stood gazing out into the darkness. Sixty seconds later that machine was off-line, too, and the AI was back on the ground, snaking her way back to the point where the humans were waiting.

Both Rebo and Norr listened intently as the construct delivered her report—and the runner was already in the process of rechecking his weapons when Norr touched his arm. “No, Jak. I can ‘see’ in the dark . . . Remember? And, given the fact that there’s only one guard, I should be able to handle this one alone.”

Rebo didn’t like the proposal but, knowing what the sensitive said about being able to see the guard’s aura was true, reluctantly agreed. “Okay, but be careful, and don’t hesitate to call for help.”

“I won’t,” Norr assured him, and proceeded to dump her pack along with the stubby shotgun. Then, having checked to ensure that none of her equipment would creak, rattle, or otherwise betray her, the sensitive planted a kiss on Rebo’s whiskered cheek and vanished into the night. Foliage slid past Norr’s shoulder, a small animal scuttled away, and the light refl?ected off Socket seemed to glaze the area ahead. The robots were invisible, or would have been if the variant hadn’t known where to look. But, thanks to Sogol’s report, she could see a faint glint off to the right, and a place where the darkness seemed even darker over on the left. Now, with her senses focused on the area between the machines, the sensitive crept forward. She perceived nothing at fi?rst, other than the multiple pinpoints of life force that represented a host of fl?ying insects, but it wasn’t long before a dim glow became visible. Based on the aura’s size and shape Norr knew she was looking at a human. And not just any human—but one she knew quite well. It was Phan!

Left to guard the star gate.

Norr felt a momentary surge of fear, because she knew what the female warrior was capable of and felt certain that Phan could best her. But, not at night, the variant told herself, not when the assassin couldn’t see. Phan was leaning against her pack, which was supported by the transfer station’s door, when she awoke from a light sleep. A night sound perhaps? Or a surreptitious bug bite?

It must have been something of that sort the assassin reasoned—or the metal men would have warned her. It was tempting to illuminate the machines with her cell-powered torch, but that would be childish, not to mention potentially fatal. Because if Rebo and Norr were lurking in the darkness, trying to spot her position, a single fl?ash of light would provide them with everything they needed. So Phan closed her fi?ngers around the grip of her submachine gun and let her head rest on the door behind her. Sleep swept in and was just about to pull her down when a soft breeze touched her face. With it came a strange yet familiar scent. Strange, because it was foreign to that environment, yet familiar, because Norr wore that particular perfume every day!

The assassin rolled right, moonlight gleamed off the razor-sharp blade as it passed through the area just vacated, and the automatic weapon stuttered as Phan fi?red a quick burst. Not because it would hit Norr, but to intimidate the sensitive and prevent a follow-up. But that was a mistake, since the muzzle fl?ash left afterimages dancing in front of the assassin’s eyes, just when she needed her night vision the most. Where were the robots, Phan wondered? And why hadn’t the machines given some sort of warning? But there was no time for further thought as the norm heard three soft footsteps and felt cold steel caress her right cheek. The cut burned as Phan rolled again, slammed into a wall, and bounced to her feet. The stairs made for uncertain footing, but the norm soon regained her balance and was back in the fi?ght. Having lost the advantage of surprise and missed her target twice, Norr felt a surge of fear as Phan activated the torch. The light pinned the sensitive to the stairs, feet planted, sword ready to strike. The assassin saw the fear in Norr’s eyes, paused to savor it, and felt something nudge her chest. Once, twice, then three times as an energy weapon winked at her from the jungle. Rebo! How could I have forgotten Rebo? Phan wondered. But the question went unanswered as what looked like a thick gray fog rolled in to engulf her—and the fi?rst of more than a hundred of Phan’s victims arrived to greet the assassin. Having holstered his weapon, Rebo emerged from the bush carrying both packs and Norr’s shotgun. “Here you go,” the runner said lightly. “And the next time you call for help—speak a little louder.”

Norr was about to reply when Sogol interrupted. As before, the AI had wrapped herself around the sensitive’s arm.

“Tepho’s party ran into trouble! We still have time! Let’s go!”

Rebo wanted to ask, What kind of trouble? but was left to follow as Norr mounted the steps, took hold of the massive door handle, and pulled the slab of metal open. Hinges squealed as the rich odor of decay pushed out to greet the newcomers. Then, as the sensitive moved forward, she nearly tripped over a pile of bones. It was impossible to tell if the remains were human, but their very presence was cause for concern since the gate was supposed to be sealed against all intruders.

“Look at this,” Rebo said, as he sent the light from Phan’s torch down the tunnel in front of them. That was when Norr saw that vines, some as thick as her wrist, had forced their way down through the ceiling and into the passageway. But why? Unless . . . Having sensed their presence, a motion detector activated a long series of glow panels, some of which remained dark. Here was the light the creepers would need—but what would trigger the motion detector? And do so with suffi?cient regularity?

The answer became apparent as something dropped out of an overhead vent, landed on Rebo’s right shoulder, and went for the runner’s jugular. The norm felt needle-sharp teeth penetrate his skin and made an ineffectual grab for the creature. But it was Norr who got a grip on the attacker’s pointy tail, jerked the reptilian beast free, and smashed it against the nearest wall.

Whatever it was fell, jerked spasmodically, and produced a tendril of black smoke. “It’s some sort of machine!” Norr exclaimed, her shotgun at the ready.

“Not ‘some sort,’ ” Sogol put in. “The guardian in question is a Porto Industries 8812-B specially enhanced mechanimal. Back when Socket was fi?rst commissioned, thousands of security robots were introduced to the satellite’s crawl spaces and air ducts.”

“Then why did it attack you?” Rebo wanted to know.

“It didn’t attack me,” Sogol replied tartly. “It attacked you. Which would explain why Tepho and his party are having so much trouble. Come on . . . let’s make the jump!”

“Oh, goody,” Rebo said, and he followed the other two down the corridor. “That should be fun.”

Norr felt as if she was going to throw up as the radiation produced by the power core grew even stronger. Because the mechanimals were machines, they lacked auras, which meant the sensitive was just as vulnerable as Rebo was. But the shotgun imbued the variant with a sense of confi?dence and seemed to fi?re itself when a sleek body launched itself off a ledge, only to disintegrate in midair. The rotary magazine made a clacking sound as the next shell was advanced.

“Nice shooting,” the runner said approvingly, as they entered what had once been a standard decontamination chamber but had long since been converted into what looked like a hothouse for exotic plants. The invaders lined both sides of the chamber, and judging from the bits of bone that stuck up out of the dirt, had originally been sustained by a corpse. Perhaps a wing, who, curious as to what might lie behind the outer door, had been so foolish as to venture inside.

Some of the plants glowed as if lit from within, some turned to track Norr’s progress, and one of them sent a stream of fl?uid squirting into the air. It fell short of the sensitive, but made a sizzling sound as it hit, and left another burn mark on the fi?lthy fl?oor. Rebo gave the plants a wide berth, heard something move over his head, and fi?red three energy bolts into the ceiling. The noise stopped. The star gate itself was no better. The actual platform had been cleared of debris, but all sorts of vegetation had grown in and around it, and Sogol didn’t like the looks of what she saw. “I think other life-forms may have passed through long before Tepho and his party arrived,” the AI warned. “Socket has been contaminated.”

“Terrifi?c,” Rebo said sarcastically. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

Norr pushed the only button there was to push, but it wouldn’t budge. But then, as she stepped out onto the transfer platform, the now-familiar female voice started into its usual spiel. That meant anything could have passed through the gate over the years. The sensitive held the shotgun with one hand and extended the other to Rebo. “Come on, hon,” Norr said, “we’re almost there.”

It was the fi?rst and only time that Norr had ever called Rebo “hon,” and there was something about the way it felt that caused Rebo to step out onto the platform and take her hand. The recording was followed by a fl?ash of light and a long fall into nothingness.

FIFTEEN

Aboard Socket

Those individuals who choose to use the Elior IndustriesIS472-B hyperspace transporter do so at their own risk, and byusing said transporter agree not to hold Elior Industries or anyof its subsidiary companies liable for incomplete transfers, trau-matic injuries, radiation-induced illnesses, psychotic episodes,or death.

—Standard disclaimer engraved into durasteel plaques welded to each transport platform

Rebo absorbed the shock with his knees, nearly fell, but managed to keep his balance. Norr arrived on the platform a fraction of a second later, went facedown, but broke the fall with her hands. “Uh-oh,” the sensitive said as she came to her feet. “Look at that!”

Rebo looked and didn’t like what he saw. The body that lay sprawled in front of the blood-splashed platform had a machete clutched in its right hand. The corpse looked as though something, or a number of somethings, had been gnawing on it. “The guardians killed him,” Sogol remarked.

“Be careful, there are more of them.”

“Words to live by,” the runner said grimly, as he eyed the dismembered mechanimals that lay scattered about.

“This guy’s dressed like a fi?sherman,” Norr remarked, as she bent over the body.

“How much would you like to bet that Tepho sent him through fi?rst?” Rebo inquired cynically. “Just to see what would happen.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the sensitive agreed. “Look!

There are some dead mechanimals over by the hatch . . . except they have bullet holes in them.”

“Which suggests that Tepho and his crowd shot them,”

the runner concluded.

“I’m picking up some jumbled radio traffi?c,” Sogol announced. “The technos are one level up. They’re battling a group of enforcers.”

“Enforcers?” Rebo asked. “How are they different from guardians?”

“They’re larger, more heavily armed, and they can fl?y,”

the AI responded simply.

“I should have known,” the runner commented darkly.

“Can you turn them off ?” Norr inquired hopefully.

“Yes,” Sogol responded. “But only if I control Socket . . . so let’s go.”

As Rebo and Norr stepped over the bodies heaped around the hatch, it was clear that the robots had been cut down as they attempted to enter the compartment. Reinforcements perhaps? Summoned after the fi?sherman had been killed? Yes, the runner thought that was likely. But, unfortunately for the robots, it looked as though they had arrived after the main party materialized on the platform. Now, as Rebo entered the corridor, he found himself in an environment that was reminiscent of the great starships. Med kits, fi?re extinguishers, and emergency pressure suits could be found at regular intervals along the metal bulkhead, along with directional signs that pointed toward destinations like maintenance, personnel, and medical.

But unlike all of the starships that Rebo had been aboard, Socket had yet to be looted, and there was no graffi?ti to be seen. “Take the next left,” Sogol ordered. “That hallway leads to the lift.”

Rebo approached the intersection with care, paused to peek around the corner, and was glad that he had. Judging from the bullet-scarred bulkheads, and the burn marks that crisscrossed the decks, Tepho and his party had been attacked as they transited the hall. But based on heaps of dead mechanimals that littered the fl?oor, it was clear that the technos had been able to successfully defend themselves. Except for a hapless metal man, that is, who lay with his arms outfl?ung, sensors staring sightlessly at the overhead. It appeared that the mechanimals had been able to open the robot’s belly, because the android’s electronic entrails lay splayed across his waist, where many of the fi?ber-optic cables had been severed. Norr “felt” a life force behind her, whirled, and fi?red. The shotgun went boom, clack, boom, clack, as a dozen of the chittering guardians rushed her. Green animatronic fl?uid splattered the bulkheads as the fi?rst wave of mechanimals came apart. But farther down the hall, beyond the scope of the present battle, more lithe bodies were spilling out of ducts, chittering madly as their claws fought for purchase on the metal deck, each robot communicating with all the rest by radio.

Having spotted the oncoming wave, Rebo readied one of the energy grenades that the phibs had given him, thumbed the fuse, and tossed the weapon down the corridor. The bomb bounced once, went off with a silent fl?ash, and blew at least fi?fteen mechanimals to smithereens.

In the meantime Norr pulled the trigger again, heard nothing more than a metallic click, and grabbed for the power pistol. There was no recoil as the bolts of blue energy struck the remaining robots and reduced most to little more than badly burned carcasses. But even though the rear portion of its body was missing, the front half of a guardian continued to drag itself toward the sensitive, its jaws snapping at empty air. Another energy bolt put the beast down for good, but the experience left Norr shaken, and the sensitive’s hands trembled slightly as she reloaded her weapons.

“Good job,” Rebo said reassuringly, as he administered the coup de grace to a twitching robot. “Come on . . . Let’s get down that next stretch of hallway before the little bastards can regroup.”

Norr followed the runner as he turned the corner, glanced at a hatch marked emergency access ladder, and made his way past the same metal man he’d seen before. Meanwhile, having been attacked from behind once, the sensitive didn’t want the same thing to happen again, and was walking backward when she passed the robot. That’s why the variant didn’t realize the android was still alive until steely fi?ngers wrapped themselves around her ankle. There was a single boom-clack combination as Norr blew the robot’s head off. Rebo whirled, ready to fi?ght, but concluded that Norr was getting jumpy, and turned back again. The runner arrived at the end of the corridor, followed the main lift sign to the right, and spotted the door ahead. A few seconds later he was standing in front of the polished metal door pushing on the up button. Once the indicator light appeared, Rebo started to back away, and motioned for Norr to do likewise. And it was a good thing, too, because when the lift chimed and doors parted, a Porto Industries 8813-B Enforcer opened fi?re on them. The sphere-shaped machine fl?oated two feet off the deck and was armed with an energy cannon. A cluster of three energy bolts passed between the humans as they opened fi?re. Even though Rebo scored three hits with the energy rifl?e, and Norr blasted the robot with her shotgun, the machine remained unaffected. That was when the robot swiveled toward Rebo, and Norr stepped into the gap between them. There was a loud clatter as the shotgun hit the fl?oor. Rebo shouted, “No!” and the sensitive went for her sword.

But, rather than blowing Norr in half, the enforcer moved as if to bypass the female. That was when the runner remembered what Sogol had said earlier—and realized that the construct couldn’t attack the sensitive so long as the AI was wrapped around her arm. Come to think of it, the guardians they had encountered earlier had probably been after him.

There was a metallic fl?ash as the sliver of steel fell, followed by a loud ka-ching, as the supersharp blade sliced down through the robot’s armor casing to lodge itself somewhere inside. The sensitive tried to free her weapon, discovered it was locked in place, and was forced to place a foot on the enforcer’s casing in order to pry the sword free. Then, just as Norr was about to take another cut at the robot, sparks spurted out of the gash in its casing. The machine shuddered, hit the deck with a thud, and rolled for two feet before coming to a stop next to a bulkhead. The sensitive returned the sword to its sheath, bent to retrieve her shotgun, and broke the weapon open. “Damn,” the runner said fervently, as he watched his companion pluck empties from the weapon’s rotary cylinder. “That was close! You scared the hell out of me.”

“I was never in any danger,” the variant replied smugly.

“Yeah? Well, you soon will be,” Rebo replied darkly.

“Tepho and his people would be more than happy to shoot you.”

“They are entering nexus!” Sogol hissed urgently.

“Hurry!”

The humans entered the lift, the runner touched the button that said, level three, and felt the car jerk into motion. “Why three?” Norr wanted to know. “Nexus is on two.”

“Which means they’ll be waiting for us on two,” the runner predicted. “By going up to three and going down the emergency access ladder to level two, we might be able to surprise them.”

The elevator stopped, the doors parted, and the runner eyed the corridor. It was blessedly empty, for which Rebo gave thanks as he jogged down the hall to the point where the vertical emergency access ladder sign had been stenciled onto the bulkhead. He opened the hatch, heard a gentle hiss as pressures were equalized, and entered what amounted to a vertical tunnel. “I’ll go fi?rst,” the runner announced, as he positioned himself on the ladder. “And remember, we don’t have friends down there, so shoot anything that moves.”

Then Rebo was gone, his boots sliding along the outside surface of the rails, the energy rifl?e hanging across his chest. The runner braked when he saw the numeral 2 appear, transferred his weight to a small platform, and was already turning toward the hatch when Norr began her descent. Cognizant of the fact that the hall was probably occupied, Rebo opened the hatch, tossed a grenade through the gap, and pulled the door closed again. There was a muffl?ed scream, followed by the dull rattle of automatic fi?re and a series of unintelligible shouts. That was Rebo’s cue to toss a second energy bomb into the corridor. He pulled the door closed, counted to four, and pushed his way out into the hall. The badly pulped remains of at least three bodies were scattered about, and two humans plus a metal man were crouched not thirty feet up the corridor. Judging from the way some of the norms held their weapons, they weren’t too familiar with them. A couple of Tepho’s attendants perhaps? There was no way to know. But when they fi?red, the runner fi?red back, and it was his bullets that struck home. The robot went down fi?rst, quickly followed by both humans, one of whom took a burst of bolts from behind.

That surprised the runner until he saw something shimmery was standing farther down the hall, weapon in hands, fi?ring through his own men. And that was the last thing Rebo saw as Shaz shouted an order, the lights went out, and the combat variant made his way forward.

Norr had cleared the hatch by then, and even though the corridor was nearly pitch-black, the sensitive “saw” the manshaped blob of color coming her way. The shotgun roared, the aura staggered, and the variant felt a moment of elation. But that was when the target recovered, changed course as if to avoid a potential follow-up shot, and continued to advance. Some sort of armor perhaps? Yes, the sensitive thought so, and suspected that the oncoming combatant could see her as well.

Everything appeared green through the night-vision goggles, but both of his opponents were clear to see as Shaz pulled the trigger. That was when the variant felt something cold slither up his right leg and make straight for his genitals. Shaz couldn’t resist the urge to stop and attempt to grab whatever the thing was.

And it was then, as Shaz paused to deal with Sogol, that Norr removed her opponent’s head. The combat variant felt something tug at his neck, “saw” his head bounce off the fl?oor, and knew the rest of his body was in the process of falling. And that was when the man once known as Hoggles appeared in front of him. His form was different now, but powerful nonetheless, and there was nothing friendly about his smile. “Welcome to the spirit world, friend. . . . It turns out that there are worse things than dying . . . as you are about to fi?nd out.”

In the meantime, the lights came back on as the surviving members of Tepho’s force emerged to celebrate what they assumed to be the combat variant’s victory. Except that it wasn’t. All fi?ve of them were armed, but none was ready, and that was a mistake. One fell to Norr’s sword and the rest of them were still fumbling with their weapons when Rebo cut them down. Sogol made her way back to Norr, the humans reloaded, and the entrance to nexus was clear.

The only way Tepho could obtain sex was to purchase it from the whores of Seros. But pleasurable though such encounters had been, they didn’t even begin to compare with what the technologist felt as he sat in the thronelike chair and gazed at the 360-degree holo projection that encircled him.

The panorama had been conceived to look as it should when viewed from Zeen. All of the suns that had once been part of the Imperium were represented, complete with their planetary attendants, each orbiting exactly as it should. And some of those worlds, the ones fortunate enough to boast a star gate, were further identifi?ed by what looked like green jewels. One for each portal that remained operational. Sadly, in light of what had once been, such lights were few and far between. Although Tepho was pleased to see that the vast majority of remaining portals were under the Techno Society’s control, which was to say his control, given that the organization belonged to him. Still, the extent to which the once far-fl?ung network of star gates had deteriorated meant that the opportunity before him was that much greater. As Tepho stared at the panorama he could envision himself as humanity’s savior, the emperor who returned mankind to its rightful place in the galaxy and thereby earned himself a revered place in history. The sudden pressure of a gun barrel against the back of Tepho’s head brought the glorious dream to an abrupt end.

“Stand up,” Rebo grated. “And remove the vest.”

But Logos 1.1, who was busy downloading himself from the vest via a wired connection, didn’t want to be interrupted. Especially given the fact that the transfer was percent complete. “Remain where you are,” the AI ordered tersely, his voice booming through the overhead speakers. Fortunately, Rebo was standing so close to Tepho and Logos that when the hidden weapon pods began to fi?re it was impossible to score a direct hit on the runner without harming the AI as well. The norm felt a momentary sensation of heat as a ruby-red energy beam scorched his right sleeve, struck the deck beyond, and etched a black line into the steel plating.

“Stay close to Tepho!” Norr shouted, and was reaching for the power pistol when Sogol attempted to jump free. Not in an attempt to fl?ee, but to reach the console, where the AI hoped to download herself into Socket’s CPU. But Norr managed to grab hold of the construct before she could escape, said, “Oh, no you don’t,” and took aim at the nearest laser pod. The automated weapons couldn’t fi?re back, not so long as the sensitive had Sogol to protect her, which left the variant free to destroy the energy projectors one at a time. It typically required at least three energy bolts before a given turret would explode in a fl?ash of yellow light. And that meant precious seconds were coming off the clock.

Once Norr had neutralized all the pods, and Rebo was able to step away from Tepho, the sensitive carried Logos 1.2 over to the console. There was a small metal-rimmed hole off to one side, which was intended for her, and the AI went in headfi?rst. The variant saw Sogol’s tail wiggle for a moment, then disappear as the construct sought the evil twin within.

Tepho felt the gun barrel jab the base of his neck again.

“Stand up,” Rebo growled, “or I will blow what passes for your brains all over that console.”

The technologist stood, mind racing, while the runner tugged at the vest. Never in his wildest imaginings had Tepho visualized a situation like this one. But there had to be a way out, some means to escape the couple who had caused him so much trouble, and return with reinforcements. What neither man realized was that by the time the technologist passed the vest over to Rebo, Logos was no longer resident within it, which made them vulnerable. A fact that quickly became apparent as the surround rippled and three of the spherical enforcers appeared. The fi?rst energy bolt punched a hole through the garment that dangled from Rebo’s hand, the second took a chunk out of Tepho’s left arm, and the third severed the top of the chairman’s thronelike chair.

Tepho ducked behind the console while the others turned to engage the enforcers. Having already learned that the energy rifl?e didn’t have the power required to punch holes in the robot’s armor, Rebo dropped that weapon in favor of the dart gun, which he removed from its shoulder holster.

And, while Norr was ready with her sword, the sensitive was so busy ducking and dodging it was impossible to use it. The variant’s opportunity only came when the runner fi?red—and the fi?rst explosive round hit the enforcer nearest him. There was a loud boom, the robot belched smoke, and the acrid stench of ozone fi?lled the air.

Then, as the other machines turned to concentrate their fi?re on Rebo, Norr managed to roll under one of them. That turned out to be a mistake however, because the downward pressure generated by the enforcer’s onboard repulsor unit was suffi?cient to pin her down, and the machine clearly intended to crush her. But, thanks to the fact that the sensitive’s sword was pointed upward, the enforcer wound up impaling itself on the supersharp sliver of steel rather than killing the human being it was after. Norr felt the pressure disappear as the repulsor went off-line, knew the robot would fall, and hurried to roll out of the way. The variant felt the machine’s metal casing brush her arm as it fell. There was a loud clang as armor hit the steel deck followed by the gentle moan of released air. Meanwhile, the battle between Rebo and the remaining enforcers continued. The good news was that the explosive darts were effective against the big spheres. The bad news was that the fi?rst unit the runner attacked sustained three separate hits before fi?nally suffering signifi?cant damage to its onboard guidance system. A few moments later the construct powered its way through the surrounding holo curtain, smashed into the bulkhead beyond, and crashed to the deck.

Now, having taken cover behind the wreckage of the fi?rst enforcer, the runner was attempting to get a bead on the third robot. Unfortunately for Rebo, the machine had the capacity to learn. And, having observed what had happened to the other units, had taken evasive action. By going up to its maximum altitude of twelve feet, the robot had positioned itself against the dark overhead, making it diffi?cult to see. Although Rebo could see the energy bolts as they fl?ashed down at him, it was impossible to know which way the machine would move next. All of which explained why the last three shots had missed their mark. But the enforcer’s plan, good though it was, failed to take the second biological into account. A fact that became evident when the robot passed under a crossbeam and felt something land on top of it. Then, even as the machine readied an electric shock designed to counter that sort of attack, the weight dropped away. The enforcer bobbed upward, and was still in the process of analyzing what had occurred, when the phib energy grenade went off.

Since she knew next to nothing about the robot’s design, and was eager to jump off the machine as quickly as possible, Norr had been content to shove the little bomb into any aperture she could fi?nd. Which, as it turned out, was an intake vent. And once the grenade detonated, the duct channeled hot gases directly into the enforcer’s high-tech guts, where they triggered a secondary explosion. Rebo heard a dull thump, saw fl?ames shoot out through multiple cracks in the machine’s armor, and watched the construct as it fell on the far end of the kidney-shaped console.

Rebo’s fi?rst thought was for Tepho. Had the technologist been killed? The runner sincerely hoped so, but crossed the room only to discover that the slippery bastard was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, deep within the surreal universe of Socket’s CPU, an entirely different kind of war was being fought. A desperate confl?ict in which bolts of logical lightning illuminated a bleak landscape, multicolored lights glittered as they cascaded down tiers of memory into rivers of molten data, and mountainous subroutines vanished only to magically reappear as twin titans battled for control. But dramatic though the contest was, there was never any doubt as to which AI would emerge victorious. By the time Sogol entered Socket’s Central Processing Unit Logos was so fi?rmly entrenched that a miracle would have been required to dislodge him. And there were no miracles within the space station’s CPU, just calculations, which the older AI controlled. So, even as Sogol continued to fi?ght, she knew what the ultimate outcome would have to be. And though not capable of human emotion, processed a sense of profound noncompletion, which was analogous to regret.

Norr had just learned of Tepho’s escape when Sogol’s voice came over the speakers. “I will hold out as long as I can, but Logos 1.1 will ultimately seize control of Socket, and therefore humanity itself.”

“No!” The word was formed by Norr’s lips and delivered from her mouth, but had been spoken by someone else. The sensitive felt a surge of something akin to electricity as the entity once known as Emperor Hios took control of her body. “This is Lysander. . . . Hold Logos 1.1 off as long as you can! There is a way to destroy Socket . . . a code that I took to my grave. Once I enter it into the console, my channel will have ten minutes to evacuate. Then, once the power core blows, the entire satellite will be destroyed.”

Rebo watched Lysander walk Norr’s body over the badly ravaged console. There was an audible whir as a section of seemingly solid material opened in response to her touch, and a keypad was revealed. Slim fi?ngers danced over white buttons as a string of potentially lethal numbers were entered and Logos 1.1 immediately sought to neutralize them. But the AI couldn’t interfere with the ultimate safeguard, not so long as his programming was intact, but was quick to express his frustration. “No! Are you insane? When Socket dies, everything you built, everything you worked for will die with it!”

“That’s true,” the onetime emperor intoned. “But it’s better than allowing entities like Tepho and you to control humanity! Perhaps someone will reinvent the star gates one day. . . . If so, I can only hope that they do a better job of it than I did.”

Then, as if to underline Lysander’s words, a klaxon began to bleat. Norr staggered as the spirit entity released its grip on her, felt Rebo take her hand, and heard him yell, “Run!”

Tepho tripped, fell, and threw out his hands in a last second attempt to protect himself. Having added still more bruises to the collection he already had, the technologist struggled to his feet and limped ahead. The shoulder wound was painful, but the fl?esh had been cauterized by the same bolt of energy that injured it, so there wasn’t any blood. Of more concern were the robots that wanted to kill him. But not if he made it to the star gate fi?rst!

Armed with a pistol taken off Shaz’s headless torso, the technologist was on level one, making his way down a long stretch of corridor, when a klaxon began to bleat. Emergency beacons began to fl?ash soon after that, and it became obvious that something was wrong.

But the administrator was already running as fast as he could, so there was nothing more that he could do as a synthesized female voice began the fi?nal countdown. “Time remaining for evacuation nine minutes, thirty seconds. All personnel who wish to exit the station prior to detonation are ordered to leave Socket now. . . . Time remaining for evacuation nine minutes, twenty-fi?ve seconds. All personnel . . .”

Tepho lost track of the announcement as a loud chittering sound was heard, hundreds of guardians poured out into the hallway in front of him, and the technologist was forced to stop. The pistol jumped in the administrator’s hand as he fi?red into the oncoming mob. Tepho had the momentary satisfaction of seeing more than a dozen robots go down. But then he was out of ammo, and with no backup clips to call on, the norm could do little more than throw the empty gun at the roiling mass of electromechanical bodies before him. Just as Tepho was about to surrender to the inevitable, a dart whizzed past his right ear, struck one of the mechanimals, and exploded.

“So, we meet again,” Norr observed, as she stepped up to fi?re her shotgun.

The technologist felt something warm seep down along his legs, and looked down to discover that he had peed himself, even as Rebo fi?red three explosive rounds into what remained of the horde. “Time remaining for evacuation, eight minutes, fi?fteen seconds,” the voice announced calmly. “All personnel who wish to exit the station . . .”

“That would be us!” Rebo exclaimed, and reached out to help Norr through the electromechanical gore that covered the deck.

“But what about me?” Tepho wailed miserably, as the others left him behind.

“It looks like you’re screwed!” Rebo shouted cheerfully, as Norr rounded the corner ahead, and he followed. The couple were in the fi?nal stretch by that time, and racing through the area where an earlier battle had been fought, when Sogol was forced to capitulate. There was a symbolic explosion deep within Socket’s CPU, as the eternally shifting computational landscape was momentarily illuminated by a brilliant fl?ash of light, and operating system 1.2 was eradicated. And it was then, even as the countdown fell to six minutes, twenty seconds, that Logos chose to close all of the station’s airtight, blastproof doors in hopes that he could trap Rebo and Norr in the main corridor. Rebo saw the steel barriers begin to deploy and urged Norr to greater speed, but knew it was hopeless. They were still fi?fteen feet away from the nearest hatch when metal clanged on metal. Socket was going to blow, the countdown continued, and the star gate lay on the other side of the hatch. Rebo felt his spirits plummet as both he and the sensitive were forced to put on the brakes, and were still struggling to slow themselves, when they threw up their hands.

“Damn,” the runner exclaimed as his hands made contact with cold steel. “What now?”

“Time remaining for evacuation, fi?ve minutes, thirty seconds,” the voice put in emotionlessly. “All personnel who wish . . .”

Norr had no answer, and was just about to say as much, when a third person spoke. “Perhaps I can help,” Tepho said calmly. They turned to fi?nd that the technologist had approached them from behind. The front of his pants remained wet—but the technologist was otherwise composed. “As with any habitat of this size,” Tepho continued carefully, “there is more than one way off. Come . . . I’ll show you.”

So saying, the administrator turned and limped back the way he had come. Rebo looked at Norr, and the sensitive shrugged. With no other options to choose from, the twosome had very little choice but to follow Tepho a short distance to a newly opened hatch and the bright red decal located beside it. The sign was directly opposite the area where the fi?rst battle with the guardians had been fought—

which explained why the runner failed to see it earlier. Simple though they were the words caused his heart to leap: escape pod three.

Norr peered through the opening and saw that a short ladder led up to another smaller hatch. The sensitive looked at Tepho and frowned. “Why come get us? You could be clear by now,” the variant commented suspiciously.

“Because I can’t climb the ladder by myself,” the technologist answered honestly. “Please help me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Rebo responded angrily.

“After everything you’ve done? I don’t think so. Come on, Lonni, let’s get out of here.”

“No,” the sensitive objected stubbornly. “It wouldn’t be right. Boost him up there . . . Or would you like to be standing there arguing with me when Socket blows?”

Rebo made a face, urged Tepho through the fi?rst hatch, and muscled the other man up the ladder. And it was there, on the escape pod’s threshold, that the technologist launched his backward kick. The blow struck the runner in the face, which caused him to lose his grip, and fall backward into the corridor.

Tepho laughed triumphantly as he scooted into the fourperson pod, and was reaching for the controls, when Norr fi?red the power pistol up through the open hatch. She wasn’t an especially good shot, not by Rebo’s standards, but the range was short. The energy bolt punched a neat little hole through the technologist’s throat and left him gasping for air. Rebo had recovered by then. He scrambled up the ladder, grabbed the front of Tepho’s shirt, and jerked him out through the hatch. There was a meaty thump as he hit the deck.

Norr felt no sense of guilt as she was forced to step on Tepho in order to access the ladder and join Rebo inside the vehicle. They heard the voice begin to announce that one minute and twenty seconds remained, but the sound was cut off as the hatch cycled closed, and an even shorter countdown began. There was barely enough time to strap themselves in before the escape vehicle blew itself free of Socket, and the couple became weightless.

Meanwhile, back aboard the space station, Tepho struggled to breathe. He was still trying to come up with a plan to extend his life when Socket exploded into a million pieces. There was chaos on the surface of the planet as the tides ceased to exist, the phib tidal generators failed, and the oceans went on a rampage. Eventually, after all of the destruction, the phibs and norms might be forced to contemplate some sort of truce and fi?nd ways to cooperate with each other.

But for Rebo and Norr, there were other problems to consider. Would they travel to Esperance? And attempt to backtrack the technos to their hidden star gate? Or was that a waste of time without Socket to facilitate the transfer?

And what about the great starships? Could they take passage aboard one of them? And thereby fi?nd their way back to Seros? That seemed like the best hope.

Finally, after a rough-and-tumble journey through the planetary atmosphere, a red chute deployed. The escape pod slowed and rocked back and forth before it fi?nally smacked down on an azure ocean. Fresh air fl?ooded the tiny cabin as the off-worlders opened the top hatch, stood on their seats, and eyed their surroundings. The escape pod rose as a huge swell rolled in to lift it up, and it managed to remain stubbornly upright as the mountain of water fell away. Days, if not weeks would pass before the ocean found its new equilibrium, and the tidal storms stopped. Rebo could see fl?uffy white clouds, a circling seabird, and a point of land off in the distance.

Norr thought about Seros, the hand-to-mouth existence she had led there, and wondered if she would see the planet again. Or even wanted to see the planet again. But then, as Rebo put his arm around her shoulders, the sensitive knew it didn’t really matter. Finally, having wandered halfway across the galaxy, she was home.