Logan's Search (13 page)

“Left it off,” said Francis. “For lighter weight.”

“We can both use mine,” said Logan, slicing through the final wedge of steel. The job was done—but they were a long way from safety.

Logan’s suit unit propelled them steadily up toward the silo’s hatch in a froth of blood bubbles. Francis was barely conscious, a dragging bulk for Logan to maneuver; his arms and legs dangled, puppetlike, and through the intercom Logan could hear his labored breathing. The upper hatch loomed closer.

“We’re almost there,” said Logan. “Once we reach the cat, I can get us away fast.” 

“Not…fast enough,” said Francis weakly. “No…chance.” And his eyes closed.

“Hang on!”

“No…use…can’t…” He lapsed into coma.

At the hatch, Logan paused. Better check the area before taking him out there, Logan told himself. I’ll leave Francis here, linked to the inner ladder; the silo will protect him.

As Logan cleared the open hatch he drew back his lips in a grimace of shock.

The dragons were here.

Barracuda.

A pack of them. Two dozen at least, circling the tall silo in darting, nervous impatience, excited by the blood spoor.

The sea was filled with swimming death.

Logan choked back revulsion and fear. The laser-cannon would stop them. Get to a cat and use the cannon on them.

But the killer fish, with their ugly reptilian snouts and brute eyes, were between him and the Seacats— both of which were moored at the lower end of the silo.

Gripping a section of ladder outside the hatch, Logan attempted to clear his thoughts, pushing the fear away, mentally gearing himself for affirmative action. His mind raced:

Maybe I could fight my way through to one of the cats—but I can’t leave Francis alone inside the silo. They’d go in after him, be on him before I could use the cannon; they’d tear him apart in seconds, and his damaged suit wouldn’t stop them.

If I could just get
one
of them, then maybe.

Logan had the laserspear up, spring trigger at firing position. He had no expertise with a sea spear, had never fired one at an underwater target—and the erratic, darting ‘cuda were extremely elusive.

Yet he must try.

He sighted on a huge, sheen-gray monster who seemed to be bolder than his fellows in that he swam much closer, in tighter circles, multirowed teeth shining whitely in his wide-hinged, killing jaw. Of all dangerous fish, the ‘cuda was supreme in speed and deadliness—capable of cutting through the water at fifty miles per hour. Even its
tongue
had small, cruel teeth!

I’d rather face a school of shark than these devils, Logan thought, watching them glide closer. They don’t fear me. They don’t fear anything.

He triggered the speargun—and with a soft popping explosion the spearhead flashed toward the big gray devilfish.

And missed.

The point passed behind the ‘cuda, lasering through a large sea boulder. Logan realized that he had failed to compensate for the angle of water-mass deflection. Aim ahead of the target, he told himself. Let the fish swim
into
the spearpoint.

Logan had fumbled a reload from his belt and was inserting it in the speargun when he was hit by the big gray. The barracuda’s razored teeth raked furiously along the right side of his suit. The armor held —but he was thrown back against an upper edge of the silo, the speargun violently jolted from his grasp.

In desperation, he lunged for it, closing his gloved fingers around the trigger haft just as a second ‘cuda struck at him, at his flippered left boot. The entire rubberized tip was sheared away, but the armor resisted penetration.

Logan swung the speargun back into firing position, noting that the pack was much closer now. They were tightening the death circle!

His second shot also missed, but by a much narrower margin. Logan had just one more reload for the weapon; the others were in the cat. If I miss this time.

Another monster charged him—but Logan dipped back behind the silo ladder as the ‘cuda’s teeth rang on the steel rung next to his head, scoring the metal.

Last shot. Must not miss. Look at them. Not afraid of me. Figure I can’t hurt them. Lucky so far. Suit won’t hold in mass attack. Closer to me. What’s wrong? Taking too long to load. Hands not working. Breathing difficult. Oxygen giving out. Can’t think. Weak. Coordination going…

Logan was on the edge of blackout; his breatherpac was nearly empty. He felt dizzy, uncertain; the moving ‘cuda were gray-green blurs.. .wavering…

Focus! Concentrate!

The big gray was coming at him, obscene jaws gaped wide as Logan slowly brought up the speargun. He fired, head-on, at the swift slicing deathshape.

The spearpoint flashed, imbedding itself in the barracuda’s underslung jaw lasering him neatly in half. A rush of spilled red flesh, an explosion of organs and entrails…

The pack went mad.

In a blood frenzy, they attacked their dying leader, totally ignoring Logan as he tossed aside the empty speargun. Fighting to breathe, he pulled Francis out through the open hatch doors, activating the suit propulsion unit.

They arrowed down toward Logan’s moored Seacat.

Around them, in erupting crimson, the maddened fish struck wildly at one another, ripping and tearing.

Having reached the cat, Logan used his last breath to snap a fresh pac into his suit. The flowing rush of oxygen was incredibly sweet!

At the controls, with Francis locked into the cockpit next to him, he engaged full power. The Seacat jetted forward in a bubbled rush, while behind them, in the red froth of sea, the dragons clashed.

“Gone?” Logan stared at the smiling man. “She can’t be gone.”

“I tell you, mon, she go!” He spread his dark_ hands. “Look all afraid. Ve-ry unhappy.” 

“She must have left some kind of message!”

The attendant frowned. “Message?” Then he smiled again, nodding with sudden vigor. Digging into his bushjacket, he withdrew a folded square of white paper. “Oh, sure, man! I forget she leave this.” His smile gleamed. “Fine message!”

Logan hurriedly unfolded the note.

     Logan,

     Francis can’t help me now. No one can. 

     I’m on Lastday. Please don’t try to find me. 

     Seeing you again would bring only sadness. 

     I hope you find your Jessica.

There was a four-word postscript:

     I’m going to run.

“Hey, mon, she tell you where she go?” 

“No,” said Logan quietly, “she didn’t tell me.”

He walked from the room to the open patio. Edged between dark clouds, the moon was hammered gold. It cast a pale yellow glow on the night beach beyond the trees. A heavy odor of damp earth rose from the jungle.

Logan walked through the trees toward the sea, holding the note in his hand. On the beach he read it once more…
I
hope you find your
Jessica
…then dropped the paper into the damp sand. The reflecting sea traced a faint wetness on his cheeks.

He’d lost them both—the two Jessicas. Both of them. And he knew now, admitting it to himself for the first time, that he loved the Jessica of this Earth just as he continued to love the Jessica of his own world. One lost in time and space, the other fleeing a death she could never outrun.

Logan felt a sudden chill. The moon was buried in a bulked mass of cloud. The jungle darkened.

And the rain began.

Francis took a day to heal. His right arm was badly wrenched but not broken, and his other injuries were minor. Within thirty-six hours he was in a mazecar with Logan, heading back to California.

Logan was returning to Angeles Complex as a fugitive in the custody of Francis, who assured him that Phedra’s story would soon be discredited.

“You saved my life at Dragon Bay,” said Francis. “Now I’ll save yours.”

“Have I lost Godbirth?” Logan asked him as the mazecar bore them swiftly through deep-earth darkness.

“No,” said Francis. “You’ll be eligible again once the computer clears you.” He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, old friend, well make Godbirth together. I guarantee it!”

And what of Jessica? Logan asked silently. What will happen to Jess when Lastday is over and the Sandmen go after her?

Don’t think about her. You can’t do anything to help her now—so quit thinking about her. Shut down your mind to her. She’s gone. She never belonged to your world.

But I love her!

“You’re going to be asked about that sister of Doyle’s,” Francis was saying to him. “And I’m personally curious.Why did you get involved with her?”

“I didn’t,” said Logan flatly. “Then how do you explain?”

“I was checking her out as a possible subversive when Phedra became jealous of us and manufactured that drug story.” Logan spread his hands. “Then we were condemned to the Serengeti. When the Masai let us go, I was forced to take her along.”

“Forced?”

“What else could I do? I had no reason to believe she’d run.” 

“Have any idea where she might be?”

“No,” said Logan. “Does it matter?”

“Every runner matters.”

“They aren’t our problem anymore,” said Logan. “Or have you forgotten?” Francis smiled thinly…”It’s hard to quit thinking like a Sandman.” 

“Sure,” said Logan. “It takes a while.”

Under pressure, at DS Headquarters, with Federal officers standing witness, Phedra confessed that she had lied about the drug. It was assumed that she had also planted the DD-15 on Logan that evening in Arcade..

“But I didn’t,” she protested.

“You lied before, you’re lying again,” said an officer.

“No, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know how the Dust got into Logan’s jacket.” 

“Take her away,” the officer said. “She is to be executed.”

“Clarify your full relationship with Jessica 6,” directed the computer as Logan’s interrogation continued.

“I’ve told you everything.”

“It is to be repeated,” said the computer.

And Logan repeated it all.

“Again,” said the computer. And Logan repeated it again.

Each answer was weighed and balanced and cross-checked for logic and accuracy.

“He is my friend. He is loyal to the system. He has never associated with subversives. His record with DS is exemplary. He is worthy of Godbirth.” It was Francis, true to his promise, testifying on Logan’s

behalf.

The verdict was swift and positive: “Cleared of all charges.”

That night Logan returned to DS Headquarters. He knew that Jessica’s Lastday had ended. Her palmflower was now black. Death black. Sleep black.

Had
she run?

The DS man in cenfile was young and in awe of Logan 3. His name was Bruce 11, and he had just graduated DS training; with his first hunt still ahead of him. The game was fresh and new and exciting to Bruce and he hoped, someday, to equal the proud kill-record of Logan 3. This was his secret, abiding goal—and he was delighted with the opportunity to serve this legendary Sandman. It was an honor.

What information, Logan asked him, did he have on a possible runner, female. Name: Jessica 6.

“Got her…she’s on the board,” said Bruce. “Flower blacked at 0612. She’s somewhere in the Muir Woods area, near New Sanfrancisco.”

Then she’s run, just as she said she would, thought Logan. And into an area that is under water on my world, quake-sunken and lost. Nothing left but part of the bridge. Quake took all the rest—but here, now, Muir Woods is real and wild and Jess is running there, like a trapped animal before the hunters.

“Who’s on the assignment?”

“Ummm, let’s see…” Bruce checked a faxsheet. “Miles and Gregory have it.” He smiled in assurance. “Both good men. They’ll get her.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Logan. “I’d appreciate it if you’d forget I asked about her. I have my reasons.” 

“Certainly” Bruce nodded. “And…uh…” 

Logan stared at him.

“I…just wanted to say…how much I respect you,” the young man stammered. “Your record will be hard to match. I…envy you.”

“You don’t really know me,” said Logan.

“I know you were a great Sandman,” said Bruce, his voice rising. “No Sleep for you…You’ve earned it. You’ve earned Godbirth!”

And the young man’s eyes shone with the word.

At shiftchange, when Miles 7 emerged from DS Headquarters, Logan was waiting for him near the hoverpad.

“I have a personal interest in the runner you hunted today,” he told the DS man. “Jessica 6.”

“What about her?” said Miles. He was bulky, hard-faced, a veteran. Logan’s record didn’t impress him. Nothing impressed Miles 7 except certain exotic favors he’d received at a local glasshouse.

Logan didn’t want to ask the question that had to be asked. He drew in a breath, fighting to maintain a surface calm. The muscles in his cheeks were rigid.

“Is she dead?”

The DS veteran shrugged. “We had her totally blocked. No way out of the woods. She was locked on the scope-less than a mile ahead of us. But when we closed in.” He shrugged again. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve heard of them. We all have. Runners who disappear. Females. They just vanish. That’s the only word for it.”

“She was gone when you closed in?”

“That’s what I said. Gone. No trace of her.” 

“Maybe there is a Sanctuary,” said Logan softly.

The DS man raised an eyebrow. “Sanctuary?” He stared at Logan. “What’s that?”

With his fears for Jess eliminated (She wasn’t homered! She may be alive somewhere on this Earth!) Logan gave himself over to Godbirth.

For Logan and Francis and the ten others in their group, it was the Time of Ritual. Their robot guide was tall and faceless and unapproachable and would answer no questions. He was there only to direct them; they must do precisely what he ordered.

They rode in tense silence through the maze.

Logan experienced a sense of renewed confidence. Against all odds, he had survived to make this journey. Perhaps he
could
uncover the world powerhead and defeat it; perhaps he
could
return to his own Earth, to Jess and their new son…