Logan Trilogy (20 page)

"I have a son," said Logan. "He's eight, and dying. He needs Sterozine. The drug's no good to you. No one uses it. No one trades for it. But, right now, it can save my son's life. I don't want anything else from you or from the city. You can keep it all. Just let me go."

As he talked, Logan knew it was useless, that his words were empty and meaningless to a group of amoral savages—but, for Jaq's sake, he had to try.

"Aren't you afraid of us?" asked Dakk quietly. "Tell us you're afraid."

"I'm afraid of you," said Logan.

"That's good to know." Dakk turned to the: others and smiled broadly. "Shall we let him go?"

They smiled back at him, a wolf pack numbering more than twenty, all young, all lean and feral and dressed to fit their name—in scavenged clothing plucked at random from the cities. Dakk was typical: he wore the boots of a Sandman, the gleaming, scaled bodysuit of a glassdancer; the sash around his head, keeping long, blond, uncut hair from his eyes, had belonged to a Wilderness girl he'd trapped and killed in Arcade. She'd been looking for her brother, who'd been trapped and killed by another pack.

Now Dakk regarded Logan with mounting interest. This invader was strong and healthy; he should provide good sport for them.

"All right, you can go," said Dakk with a shrug. "But only if you tell me how you got this far. It's something I'd really like to know."

"I came in through a maze tunnel at Level Six," Logan told him. "Used a slidechute from DS to Arcade, kept to shadows, walked soft. Satisfied?"

"You're good—very, good," nodded Dakk. "The others who came in, they knocked over things, made a lot of noise. You deserve to go." He smiled again, spreading his hands in an open gesture. "So go."

Logan knew it was a trick. They'd never let an invader leave the city alive. It was to be a game with them, running him down before he could find a way out. They were the sharks, and it was their sea. If this pack didn't catch him, another pack would—since he'd have no time for caution, no chance to run on his own terms. But he'd known the odds before coming in to the city. Now he'd live—or die—with them.

So Logan ran.

And Dakk, smiling, watched him go.

"It's almost dark, and Logan isn't back."

"Go to sleep, Jaq."

"You keep saying that. But I can't, Jessica, I told you I can't."

"He'll come soon, I know."

They were after him already, didn't want to lose him to another pack. But Logan had used his ten-second head start to good advantage. Normally, an invader would be expected to go for the nearest direct route leading outside—but Logan circled, came in behind the nursery, entered the structure again, doubling back on a reverse line.

Which bought him some time.

He thought of finding a safe spot and settling in until morning. But that was no good. By then every pack in the city would be looking for him, and with full light to trap him by. No, he'd have to get out now, the best way he could.

Sleepshop! Logan smiled to himself. Each shop had its own unique exit—a chute which led directly to the atomic burnbins at the bottom level of the city. When a citizen was put to sleep in a shop his effects were placed in a wall canister, bearing his name and number; then his corpse was chuted for burndown. The furnaces were dead now, and safe for Logan. Once there, he could slip easily out of the city-complex.

Where was the nearest Sleepshop? None in Arcade; too depressing for joy-bent citizens. But since this nursery was just beyond Arcade a shop should be close.

Logan found one, moving like a drift of smoke along the inner walkways, avoiding the belts, keeping alert for Scavengers. He reached the shop, ducked quickly inside.

He paused to listen—and could hear the pack, several quads away, frustratedly hunting him.

Dakk was angry. Mainly at himself. He had no business giving this invader a ten-second head start.

The fellow was clever, or he never would have been able to reach Nursery. I should have kept him in sight all the way, Dakk told himself. You don't gamble with the smart ones; they can fox you. If we lose him for good, Ritter might make his bid for control of the pack. He's been itching to take my

place. They might even…

Dakk turned his thoughts away from what the pack might do to him if this invader actually escaped the city. It was his job to catch him, kill him. And he would.

"…not in this area," Ritter was saying to the others. He walked over to Dakk—a soft-faced, slack-jawed bully, with small pig's eyes, soft and wet. Dakk hated Ritter.

"Any ideas?" he asked Dakk. The tone was bitter, mocking.

"This one's different. He'll make for a place we wouldn't think of looking," Dakk improvised. His thoughts raced: where, where, where?

Ritter grinned. "And just where would that be?"

Suddenly Dakk relaxed; a wave of relief and triumph swept through him. "I think I know," he said.

Jessica saw them coming, jetting up from the Potomac. Outlanders. They'd want food, any goods of value.

She stepped onto the pillared veranda.

I can handle them, she told herself. It will be all right. When they see I have nothing they'll leave.

The cycles flamed out, into silence. Lucrezia dismounted, withdrew a longsword from her saddle, raised it. The tall blade captured the rays of dying sun, flashing.

She looked regally at Jessica. Her voice was commanding. "l, Lucrezia, daughter of Alexander the Seventh, wife of Alfonso, duke of Ferrara, sister to Cesare, duke of Valentinois, do herewith, on this day, claim thy castle, and all within it, as mine own."

She lowered the sword, a signal for the others to dismount.

Jessica found herself amused at this theatrical display of pomp. She shook her head. "You're welcome to the place—but there's nothing of value here for you to claim."

"We'll decide that for ourselves," said Lucrezia, mounting the wide wooden steps of the veranda.

Prince and the others followed.

"We have some water, a small amount of food—and little else," said Jess.

Prince stopped, gave Jessica a long stare. "I want her," he said to Lucrezia.

"Then she's yours."

Jessica stepped hastily back, toward the inner hallway. Her amusement had given way to a pervasive feeling of terror.

"I'm mated," she said, "My pairman is Logan." His name put sudden strength in her voice. "We have a son."

"Ah…" Lucrezia nodded. "And where is he, this son of yours?"

"Inside sleeping."

"And your Logan…Is he inside, too?"

It was no use lying to them. They could find out the truth easily enough by searching the mansion.

"He's…gone. To get medicine for our boy."

"How long will he be gone?" asked one of the females. She was willow-tall, with sensuous eyes. Her name was Ris. She, too, looked at Jessica with a special hunger.

"He's due back any time now," said Jessica. "If you try to harm me…"

Ris swayed her body close to Jessica. Her mouth was pouting. "We won't harm you. We just want to—"

Prince pushed her roughly. "She's mine! You heard Lucrezia." He turned to the leader. "Can I take her now?" He fondled Jessica's hair, grinning as she flinched away from his touch.

"Of course, darling," said Lucrezia. She placed the needle tip of a dagger playfully against Jessica's throat. "Though you may have to share. Ris seems to want her. And we must not forget Ariosto, who allowed you to share his mount."

"No sharing on this one! I won't!"

Ariosto chuckled, nodding his large head. He was square, burly-faced and viciously stupid. "You will, Prince, you will. If she says so, you will."

Lucrezia smiled, pleased at the shock and despair on Jessica's face. "We'll just have to see who takes you, won't we?"

And she kissed Jessica deeply, with an open, wet tongue.

Logan had to exert extreme muscular control in negotiating the narrow burnchute. It did not operate on antigrav, which meant he could easily lose his footing and tumble all the way down into the furnace many levels below. Exhausted when he finally reached the floor of the furnace, he staggered, bracing himself, on the way to the exit hatch.

Before he could reach out to disengage the holdrod, the hatch was jerked abruptly open from the other side.

Dakk was there, grinning at him. "We were both smart," he said to Logan. "You for choosing this way out and me for figuring you would."

Logan slumped back against the metal wall of the furnace. "You've won your game," he said tightly.

"But it isn't over yet," said Ritter.

The others, clustered in a circle around the furnace, murmured agreement.

"We have a little gift for invaders," said Dakk, producing a small blue pellet from a tooled leather wrist pouch. He handed Logan the pellet.

"Swallow it," said Baxter 2. He stood behind Ritter.

"Poison?" asked Logan.

"No," smiled Dakk. "We're not going to kill you so soon. You heard what Ritter said: the game's still on." His voice took on hardness. "Now swallow it."

Logan knew he had no choice.

He swallowed the pellet.

DEATH

And Albert 6 was there, talking to him. A nice surprise for Logan.

"I love you, Loge."

Albert sat on his lap. "What'll we talk about today?"

"What we always talk about," said Logan to the small, serious-eyed figure.

"Oh, that again."

"But it's fun to talk about being a Sandman!"

"For you, maybe, but not for me. I can never be one. I'm just a puppet. When you leave they'll put me away in a box."

Suddenly, Albert fell over.

"What's wrong?"

"You killed him," said Dakk. "You killed your little friend. Now you have no one. You're all alone."

Logan began to sweat. "I need to get out."

"You'll never get out," said Warden. "You're in Hell. And no one gets out of Hell. I'm in charge. I ought to know."

"It's a long way down," Lilith told him. "You have to be careful."

A mile-deep emptiness yawned beneath him. He didn't trust Lilith. "You don't believe I'm running, do you?"

"You're a Sandman," said Ballard. "Why should anyone believe a Sandman?"

Karenya 3 put her hand on his groin. She caressed him there in a slow, sensuous rhythm, arousing

him to full erectness. "Lie back," she said, her lips close to his. "Just lie back and see what I can do for you."

She was nude, her perfect body bathed in gold.

And green.

And red.

And blue.

And yellow.

"I have to get to Headquarters. Francis is waiting."

"No, Francis is dead," she whispered. "Here…touch my breasts."

"Do as she says," Dakk told him.

Logan cupped her left breast; it was like cool marble. He lowered his mouth to it, laved it with his tongue. It tasted of honey.

Jessica groaned. "Take me, Logan, take me now!"

And he entered her in a long, flowing movement, filling her, his weight pressing her slim ivory back into the foam.

"It's all right," said Doyle. "She's my sister, and she loves you. I don't mind. Go right ahead."

"Thank you," said Logan—and began thrusting deeply, withdrawing, thrusting again. Until his groans matched hers, until the pressure building within could no longer be denied.

"Wild me, Sandfella!" screamed Graygirl.

And Logan cried out sharply as his seed spurted into the warm depths of her body.

"That was good, wasn't it?" asked Ritter.

"Yes," said Logan.

"Don't move," crooned Box. "Let me capture the moment, let me immortalize it." His cutting hand moved in a blur of blue ice.

Logan grabbed Francis, held him by both shoulders. "There's no use to any of it, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"This whole rotten business. We hunt and we kill and we hunt again. Until we die or someone hunts us."

"We're the elite, Logan." Francis smiled, his thin lips drawn back tightly. "We have the best of everything…jewels…food…women…"

Whale laughed at this, his immense belly quaking. "For how long, though? Ask him that, Logan. For how much longer?"

And Box said, "Done!" He looked at Logan. "You may leave now."

"But where can I go?"

"That's up to you. Nobody can tell you that."

"Come with me," said Holly. "You can have a new face."

"I don't want to change," said Logan.

"Everyone changes," Holly smiled. "It's the thing to do."

"She's right," said Dakk.

"Do it!" said Rutago.

But he didn't want to lie down on the Table.

"Relax," said Doc. "Just close your eyes."

"Not permitted;" said the Autogoverness. "You'll have to leave."

"Why?" asked Logan.

"I need not give reasons," she said. "I'm in total control."

"You're a machine!"

"Of course," said the Watchman. "And I'm programmed to destroy anyone who comes here. Why did

you come here?"

"I had nowhere else to go."

The Watchman had no face, so Logan could not find a common level of communication.

"You'll be all right," said the girl in glitterskins. "But watch out for Francis. He'll try to kill you."

Harry 7 had the ice dagger, but Logan did not feel its chill. He felt great heat. Hazed smoke flowed and billowed around him. His lungs burned and he could not catch his breath.

"Don't fight it, citizen," warned the burning man beside him. "Enjoy it."

Logan looked down at his body. It was bathed in flame.

"Fire galleries are enchanting," said the girl in glitterskins. "They cleanse one completely. And you need to be cleansed, Logan."

"Of your sins," said Ballard. "Do you believe in sin, Logan?"

"No," said Logan. "It's an ancient concept created to control men's minds. Manipulation through guilt."

"I think the only sin lies in hurting others," said Chaney Moon.

"I don't hurt anyone," said Logan.

"You use the Gun," said Doyle, with bitterness. "You hunt and kill with it."

"My job. My duty."