Logos Run (8 page)

Fortunately, the trip was relatively short, which meant that after only a few hours of suffering,
Shewhoswims
guided the tiny extension of herself into an open docking bay. There was the barely heard whine of hidden machinery, followed by the sudden restoration of gravity, and a dull
thud
as the transport was captured and locked into place. “And here it is,” Rebo said to no one in particular. “Home sweet home.”

An especially long five minutes passed before servos whined, the aft hatch hit the deck outside, and those closest to the opening were given access to the ship’s decontamination chamber. It was smaller than the shuttle’s cargo bay, so only a third of the passengers could enter before the hatch closed and a thick mist fogged the air. The runner, sensitive, and heavy had been expecting the antibacterial spray, but some of their fellow passengers weren’t. Some screamed and started to thrash about, while others attempted to calm them. Rebo took the opportunity to confer with his companions. “I figure about thirty to thirty-five members of the Circus Solara were on the shuttle. Maybe half that number are here in the decontamination chamber. It’s pretty clear that the whole group has been planet-hopping for years— and is familiar with the way the ships operate. That’s why I expect the advance party to make a run for the hold, secure a corner, and wait for the rest to arrive with the baggage.”

“That’s what I would do,” Hoggles agreed stolidly. “And it will work. They have more arms and legs than any other group aboard.”

“Exactly,” Rebo agreed. “And once they get established, they’ll come after us. So, rather than grab a wall slot or try for a corner, I suggest that we seize control of the water supply instead.”

Norr was visibly surprised. “But that’s public property! No one does that.”

“Oh, they try,” the runner replied. “I encountered the problem once. A group of toughs set up camp right in front of the faucet and charged each passenger a gunnar per bucket of water, until the rest of the passengers banded together and put a stop to it. Five people were killed during the battle.”

Hoggles frowned. “So why would we want to put ourselves in a position to get killed?”

“We’ll go about it differently,” Rebo answered. “Rather than demand money from our fellow passengers, we’ll provide them with water for
free
so long as they don’t attack us. But if they do, we’ll cut them off.”

“You’re pretty smart for a norm,” Norr said admiringly. “No wonder I hang out with you!”

“You may feel differently later on,” the runner replied soberly. “It won’t be easy to guard that faucet constantly. . . . But it’s worth a try.”

The heavy nodded. “So, what happens when the hatch opens?”

“Lonni and I will make a run for the hold,” Rebo replied, as the mist began to dissipate. “You bring up the rear with the packs, or if they’re too heavy, guard them. One of us will come back to lend a hand.”

The hatch had already begun to open when the sensitive freed herself from her pack and, staff in hand, prepared to follow Rebo out into the corridor beyond. The twosome wasn’t the first to exit the decontamination chamber, that honor fell to a young man who rolled under the steadily rising door, but the couple were able to secure a position toward the front of the pack.

That advantage, significant though it was, couldn’t make up for the fact that the Circus Solara performers had superior numbers. The beast master, the strongman, and a particularly well-built rigger led a phalanx of twelve people who pushed the rest of the passengers out of the way. The beast master took particular pleasure in elbowing Norr as he passed by her, thereby throwing the sensitive into a durasteel bulkhead and effectively putting her out of the race.

But Rebo wasn’t so easily deflected, and, while unable to block the circus performers, did manage to keep up with them. Elbows flew, poorly directed blows were deflected, and the air was thick with grunts and heartfelt swear words as the mob surged down the filthy passageway to the point where a hatch had been welded shut more than a thousand years before. At that point the group had no choice but to turn left. The bullet-pocked bulkheads to either side of them were covered with grime, peeling paint, and countless layers of head-high multicolored graffiti. Below that, barely visible beneath the grime, phrases like WATCH YOUR STEP! hinted at a more civilized past.

Then they were through a large opening and in the ship’s main hold, a space that the earliest passengers would never have been allowed to visit, much less live in. But that was back before
Shewhoswims
had been forced to seal off most of her vast body lest the now-barbarous humans do even more damage to her precious operating systems. What light there was originated from high above, and rather than the still- smoldering campfires the previous set of passengers typically left, there was nothing to see but piles of rubbish. And the gloom that circled beyond.

True to common practice, and the runner’s predictions, the beast master and the rest of his flying squad immediately struck out for a distant corner. Once in their possession, and with more than thirty people to call upon, the triangular section of deck would be relatively easy to defend compared to a spot out in the middle of the hold.

Once Rebo confirmed that the troupe didn’t have plans to seize control of the water supply themselves, he let out a sigh of relief and took the opportunity to drag some likely looking debris over to the point where the faucet protruded from the steel bulkhead. A large puddle had formed there— and it shivered in sympathy with the vibration produced by the ship’s power plant. Then, as more people flooded into the cavernous hold, the runner was forced to forgo scavenging in order to take up a defensible position next to the faucet. Norr arrived shortly thereafter—followed by a heavily burdened Hoggles. “Damn,” the variant said, as he dropped the packs next to the puddle. “Those things are heavy.”

“Uh-oh,” Norr said, as she rewrapped her fingers around the long wooden staff. “Here comes our first set of visitors.”

Rebo already had the four men under surveillance and nodded politely as they approached. They had the look of merchant adventurers, a common breed aboard the great ships, and were well armed. “What’s the deal?” the largest member of the group demanded as he eyed the pistols that dangled at the runner’s sides. “What are the weapons for?”

“There are more than thirty members of the Circus Solara on this ship,” Rebo explained patiently. “They threatened to attack us.”

“But they won’t if you control the water,” the man ventured.

“That’s the idea,” the runner agreed.

“So, what about
us
?” the smallest of the group wanted to know.

“You can take all the water you want,” Rebo replied evenly, “so long as you don’t pass any along to members of the troupe. If you do, we’ll cut you off.”

“And you don’t plan to charge us?”

“Nope . . . That would be wrong.”

“It sure as hell would be,” the first man commented fervently. “We’ll be back with our canteens.”

“Sounds good,” Rebo replied. “We’ll see you later.”

The men left, word spread quickly, and it wasn’t long before a large contingent of circus performers had threaded their way between the newly created encampments to form a semicircle in front of the water faucet. The rest of the passengers saw the action and stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch. Not because they favored one faction over the other, but because the question of who controlled the water was important, and everyone had a stake in the conflict.

Most of the troupe were in mufti, but a few wore full makeup, which made them look more menacing somehow. The beast master had chosen himself as spokesman for the group. His voice was little more than a growl, and his eyes seemed to glow with hatred. “Give the woman to us, leave the area, and we’ll let you live.”

Rebo nodded gravely. “Generally speaking, I like a man who comes right to the point—but I’m afraid that you constitute the exception to that rule. I suggest that you return to your corner.”

“Or
what
?” the beast master demanded belligerently. “Do you think you can shoot
all
of us?”

“No,” the runner replied evenly. “That would be unrealistic. I am pretty fast however, so I think I can kill five or six of you before you can close with us. Then, given Bo’s expertise with that war hammer, two or three more will go down. Oh, and don’t forget the woman you want so much. . . . She’s good for at least a couple more. That puts the price for water at ten people. So, if that’s acceptable to you, make your move. Which one of you clowns would like to die first?”

But, before any of the performers could reply, Norr pointed upward. “Jak! Look!”

The runner looked up into the maze of girders that crisscrossed the top of the hold, spotted a figure silhouetted against one of the lights, and knew he’d been suckered. Even as the beast master kept him busy one of the troupe’s trapeze artists had worked his way into position and was about to fire a long-barreled rifle.

But Rebo carried the long single-shot Hogger for exactly that sort of situation—and knew he could make the shot with his spectacles on. Unfortunately the runner’s spectacles were stored in his pack, and the would-be assassin amounted to little more than an out-of-focus blur. That’s what the runner was thinking as he brought the long-barreled pistol up into position and the acrobat fired. There was a flash, followed by a loud report and a
clang
, as the lead ball nipped the top of Rebo’s right shoulder and flattened itself against the bulkhead behind him.

Thanks to the fact that the sniper was armed with a muzzle-loader rather than a repeater, there was no follow-up shot—which provided the runner with the opportunity to return fire. The momentary pain, followed by the sudden rush of adrenaline, combined to produce an instinctive response. The big handgun jerked in Rebo’s hand, the 30-30 slug flew true, and the out-of-focus blob seemed to wobble. Then, as the loud
boom
echoed back and forth between the ship’s steel bulkheads, the trapeze artist fell. There was a sickening
thump
as his body hit the deck. That was followed by a
clatter
as the muzzle-loader shattered, and the force of the impact sent pieces of the weapon skittering far and wide.

“So,” Rebo said, as he lowered the still-smoking Hogger. “He went first. . . . Who would like to go second?”

The beast master and a couple of others might have taken their chances, but the rest of the crowd had already begun to back away, and that forced the more ardent performers to withdraw as well.

“You can have all the water you want so long as you leave us alone,” Rebo told them coldly. “But the next time you try something like this we will cut you off. And, oh by the way, when you want water send
one
person to get it. And send the
same
person each time.”

“We’ll get you for this!” the beast master threatened, as he backed away.

“That will cost you twenty hours without water,” the runner replied mildly. “Would you like to double that?”

There was no reply as the performers faded into the surrounding murk, although Norr could “see” the thought forms they had created and knew the danger was far from over.

“Damn,” Hoggles said, as he peered up into the latticework of beams and girders above their heads. “We need eyes on the top of our heads.”

“Yeah,” Rebo agreed soberly. “We do. Maybe we can build a shelter with a bulletproof roof.”

Norr took a look around. “At least there’s plenty of materials. Let’s get to work.”

None of the three noticed the ancient security camera mounted high on the opposite bulkhead, or the fact that it panned slightly as if in response to some invisible hand before zooming out to a wide shot.

In the meantime,
Shewhoswims
broke orbit, accelerated out toward the edge of the solar system, and began to calculate the next jump. She was only vaguely aware of what the humans were up to, and so long as they did minimal damage to her body, was not especially interested in their activities. The stars were not only more compelling but a good deal more predictable, and that was a virtue in her opinion. The AI hummed while she worked.

The ship’s Security Control Center had once been home to
a force of fifty—men, women, and androids—charged with everything from crime prevention to crowd control. As such, the interconnected compartments included an office for the watch commander, a ready room complete with six bunks, a lounge that boasted its own auto chef, a well-stocked armory, and a high-tech surveillance facility where the video provided from more than five hundred cameras was constantly monitored.

But those days were long gone by the time the brothers Mog, Ruk, and Tas moved into the facility and took up residence. More than two standard years had passed since the day when Mog experimentally entered his birth date into the keypad outside the Security Center and watched in openmouthed amazement as the much-abused hatch cycled open. A more philosophical person might have marveled at his good fortune, or wondered how many thousand such attempts had failed prior to his, or pondered why that particular sequence of numbers had been chosen to protect the facility.

But Mog wasn’t much of a thinker—nor were his half brothers Ruk and Tas. What they were was criminals, who— having botched a robbery—were on the run from the law when they happened upon the crowd that had gathered to watch a shuttle lift from the Planet Derius, and impulsively dashed up the ramp. But, not having prepared themselves for the trip, the siblings soon discovered that they had exchanged one life-threatening situation for another.

Still, the ship carried a plentiful supply of the one thing criminals can’t get along without, and that was victims. Because, while many of the merchants, religious pilgrims, and other travelers were armed against the possibility of petty theft, they weren’t prepared to deal with ruthless predators like Mog, Ruk, and Tas.