Logos Run (40 page)

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.

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 floor 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 fleet, 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 flowers 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 flagship 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 flagship. The dull
boom
was like an afterthought as it rolled across the bay. That was the signal for the assemblage of fishing 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 fleet to sort itself out and finally 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 commandant didn’t fly 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 fleet 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.

lt was dark by the time the much-battered revenge fleet
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 fleet, 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 fleet 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 fore-deck as the smudge of land appeared ahead. Each of the skeletal humans carried a bag made of netting as he or she flapped 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 first 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 fleet 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 fight, 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 fire, 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 first 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 rifle, 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 confirmed 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 traffic, 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 forty-two 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 gruffly, as he reached out to take the sensitive’s hand. “We’re almost there.”