Runner (29 page)

A fact that Valpoon took full advantage of by hoisting a faded red pennant on the end of a lance. The chieftain's sixth son, who had been shadowing the caravan from the start, saw the signal and raced in from east. Rather than riding one of the ponderous L-phants, he was mounted on a smaller, more graceful angen. The warrior arrived with a minimum of noise, listened to his father's orders, and was gone two minutes later. Valpoon had prepared a cover story, in case one of the off-worlders awoke while the messenger was present, but never had to use it.

Outside of the occasional farmhouse or pile of ancient ruins, there wasn't much to see, except for the increasingly arid land. Finally, as the shimmery sun made contact with the western horizon, the caravan wound its way up onto a low hill, circled a fire pit that had served thousands of nomads over the years, and came to a noisy stop as the humans, angens, and dogs all began to shout, grunt, and bark at the same time.

However, in spite of the apparent chaos Norr noticed that the women put up the clan's tents with remarkable efficiency even as their children took the L-phants off to a nearby spring, and the men stood guard. Or supposedly stood guard, since the hilltop provided an excellent view of the surrounding countryside, and the sensitive thought it unlikely that so much as a hopper would be able to approach the encampment without being spotted a full hour before it arrived.

But the roles were fixed, which meant that the males watched while the women worked, and the age-old process of preparing dinner began. Children collected the now-desiccated rounds of L-phant dung left by the last caravan to pass through and stacked them next to the glowing cook fire, where they would soon be used as fuel. Women put water on to boil, dumped all manner of dried ingredients into what would eventually become a communal stew, and dropped dollops of freshly prepared dough into pans half-filled with hot oil. The sensitive offered to help but was immediately rebuffed. With nothing else to do, she and her companions turned their attention to setting up their own tents and preparing their beds.

Meanwhile, as the stew started to burble, Valpoon approached his second wife. “Here,” the chieftain said, as he handed her a vial made out of blue glass. “When it comes time to serve the indibi (human trash), transfer their food to a separate pot and empty this into the stew. Stir it well, because the taste is bitter, and be sure to use
all
of it. Do you understand?”

The woman, who was already looking forward to sorting through Norr's belongings, smiled coyly. “Of course . . . It shall be as you say.”

Valpoon, who had a soft spot for his number two wife both because of her skill at making love
and
her utter reliability, patted her behind. “I know it will . . . Come to my tent after dinner to receive your reward.”

Pleased by the fact that at least two of her peers had witnessed the interchange, and were certain to be jealous, the woman returned to work. As for the indibi, well, they were indibi, and of no concern to her.

Rebo was not looking forward to sharing a meal with Valpoon and his extended family, and was therefore pleased
rather than offended when two of tribe's scrawny women arrived supporting a pot of stew between them. A pair of girls followed. One bore a platter of fry bread while the other carried a pot of green tea.

“It looks like we'll be eating by ourselves,” Hoggles observed, once the females had departed.

“Which is fine by me,” the runner responded, eyeing the aromatic stew. “I don't know about you, but I'm hungry! Let's dig in.”

Though not entirely sure of what was in it, Norr decided that the stew was good, and surprised herself by eating an entire bowl. Her male companions, all of whom were equipped with healthy appetites, consumed two portions each. Hoggles even went so far as to use of the last piece of flatbread to clean out the inside of the pot, washed the morsel down with a mouthful of tea, and issued a mighty belch to signal his satisfaction.

It wasn't long before a flock of girls arrived to retrieve the pot, platters, and plates. Lee started to yawn shortly thereafter, went to bed uncharacteristically early, and was soon followed by Norr. Rebo developed a stomachache, which when combined with a sudden wave of fatigue, caused him to retire as well. “Be sure to keep your eyes peeled,” the runner advised. “Valpoon and his family have been on their best behavior so far, but these are early times, and you never know.”

“Don't worry,” the heavy replied reassuringly, and patted the war hammer that lay by his side. “Anyone who tries to approach one of our tents is going to have one helluva headache in the morning.”

Rebo grinned. “Good! Wake me at midnight.”

Hoggles nodded, the runner disappeared into his tent, and a chorus of loud whistles and grunts signaled the fact
that the children were herding the L-phants up onto the lee side of the hill, where they would spend the night. Stars glittered above, a light breeze blew in from the west, and the heavy tried to suppress a gigantic yawn.

Although Rebo had slept soundly, his rest had been riddled
with unpleasant dreams, some of which were genuine nightmares. In spite of his desire to wake up, the runner was unable to do so, until some very sharp teeth nipped at his arm. That caused the off-worlder to cry out, and flail around, or
try
to flail around, since it wasn't long before Rebo discovered that try as he might he couldn't move his arms
or
legs more than half an inch or so.

But the effort had the desired effect, because as the runner opened his eyes, the pointy-nosed quadrupeds commonly referred to as Ning dogs drew back to see what would happen next. That was when the runner realized he had what felt like a hangover, his wrists and ankles hurt, and he had a pressing need to urinate.

Thoughts swirling, Rebo struggled to absorb what had occurred, and swiveled his head. The first thing he saw was that leather thongs had been used to secure his wrists to sturdy stakes. Other than the rocks that circled the hilltop like jewels in a rustic crown, and the slow drift of smoke from the abandoned fire pit, there was nothing else to see. The tents had disappeared, as had the angens, and the nomads themselves. In fact, except for Hoggles, who lay not ten feet away, the runner was alone. Rebo shouted Norr's name, followed by Lee's, but received no response.

First came a crushing sense of guilt, quickly followed by an almost overwhelming sense of grief, since there was every reason to believe that both of his missing companions had been murdered.

But those emotions were nothing compared to the anger that Rebo felt as he swore at the Ning dogs, jerked at his bonds, and attempted to free himself. The runner's struggles were to no avail, however, since Valpoon's warriors had soaked the leather strips in water prior to using them, which meant the thongs were getting tighter as they dried. The intent, or so it seemed, was to ensure that Rebo's death was as slow and painful as possible. The runner's efforts did produce one benefit, however, which was to wake Bo Hoggles from his drug-induced stupor. The heavy was understandably disoriented, but eventually came around and gave his bonds an experimental tug. Then, angered by what lesser beings had done to him, the giant sat up. Two three-foot-long tent stakes were plucked out of the ground as if they were little more than toothpicks. They flew all about as Hoggles bent down to access the thongs attached to his massive ankles. The heavy stood a few seconds later, undid the last of his bonds, and made his way over to where Rebo lay. “The stew,” Hoggles said thickly. “The drug must have been in the stew.”

“Yeah,” Rebo agreed somberly, as the thongs were released. “The possibility that they might slip something into our food didn't occur to me, but it sure as hell should have. I'm an idiot.”

“We're
both
idiots,” Hoggles said darkly. “I must have fallen asleep without even realizing it. That's when they staked me out.”

Rebo checked for his weapons, wasn't surprised to find that both of them were missing, and gave a sigh of relief when he found his glasses. With his spectacles firmly in place the runner chose a likely-looking rock and threw it at the nearest Ning dog. The missile hit its target, the animal uttered a startled yip, and took off running. More missiles,
all thrown by Hoggles, were sufficient to send the rest of the scavengers scurrying for cover as well.

“All right,” the runner said grimly, “let's take a look around. If Lee and Norr are here, we need to find them.”

Hoggles didn't expect to find the other two, not alive at any rate, but decided to keep his opinion to himself. Together, the two men scoured the surface of the hill, but the effort didn't turn up anything beyond two dozen piles of L-phant dung and the heavy's massive hammer. It was lying a fair distance from the spot where the off-worlders had pitched their tents. That suggested that having appropriated the weapon, one of the nomads had quickly grown tired of its weight and decided to leave the object behind. A decision the variant clearly approved of as he brought the hammer down on top of an imaginary head and produced a guttural war cry.

Though disappointed by their failure to find either Norr or Lee, Rebo chose to take hope from the fact that they hadn't found any bodies, which meant that the twosome might be alive. But if so, why? Not for ransom, since Valpoon knew they had no families on Ning, so there must be another reason. What if he and his companions hadn't escaped Zand unseen? What if the technos had located Norr? Or the black hats had identified Lee? Either group might have paid Valpoon to kidnap the person they were interested in.

Of course that possibility raised still another possibility. Why would the nomads take
both
people? Unless they had been paid to do so—which implied some sort of pact between the Techno Society and the black hat sect! The runner felt a sudden sense of hope and swore out loud. “I think they're alive, Bo. All we have to do is follow the piles of angen dung. Then, once we know where they are, we'll figure out what to do next.”

“I
know
what to do next,” the heavy said, as he swung his hammer. “Let's go.”

It took less than five minutes to pick up the caravan's well-marked trail and follow it toward the southeast. Jog for five minutes, then walk for five minutes. That was the pace Rebo set and the heavy followed. Ning's gravity weighted heavily on them and eroded their strength. The sun warmed their shoulders, the wind caressed the surrounding grass, and time slowed to a crawl.

When Norr awoke it was to the rhythmic sway of an
L-phant on the move, the musky odor that clung to the angen's nearly hairless skin, and the realization that she had been secured facedown across the animal's broad back. All she could see was the L-phant's wrinkled skin, which had turned white in response to the heat from the sun and was broken by a thousand tiny lines. Her head hurt, a foul taste had taken up residence in her mouth, and the sensitive felt nauseous.

It took a while, but after a number of muffled requests, Valpoon finally vacated his well-cushioned seat long enough to free the sensitive. Once that was accomplished, the nomad invited his prisoner to join him, which forced wife number four to jump down from the still-moving L-phant, and walk alongside it. Norr rubbed her wrists as she sat down. “Where are my husband and son? And Citizen Hoggles?”

“He isn't your son,” the chieftain answered reprovingly, “but the boy is on the animal behind us. He's been awake for some time now and is doing well.”

Norr turned to look, saw Lee wave, and raised her arm by way of acknowledgment. In the meantime she took note of the fact that somehow, the means wasn't clear, Valpoon
had discovered that two of them weren't related. “And the others?”

The nomad shrugged and looked up at the sky, as if the answer might appear there. His tone was matter-of-fact. “Dead I'm afraid . . . since there was no reason to keep them alive.”

Norr experienced a horrible sinking feeling and bit her lower lip. “You murdered them—but allowed us to live. Why?”

“Because the Techno Society is willing to pay for you,” Valpoon answered pragmatically. “And the black hats want the boy. I can see that bothers you, but after you've had time to think about it, I think you'll realize it's better than the alternative.”

Norr wasn't so sure of that, not if meant being separated from the one man she might have been able to love and what amounted to slavery. But was it true? The sensitive tried to reach out, tried to make contact with Rebo's spirit, but was unable to do so. That left her with some hope . . . but an empty feeling as well. “Where are we headed?”

“To Station 46,” the nomad replied curtly. “That's where your indibi friends will come to pick you up. And that's enough of your questions . . . Women are for screwing, washing clothes, and cooking. Not for asking questions.”

Norr wanted to ask about the gate seed, but figured the nomads had the object and would deliver it to Kane. And, if by some miracle, they had thrown the artifact away, there was no point in bringing the device to their attention.

There was a brief stop for lunch, followed by a long, lurching ride, as the caravan continued its journey toward the southeast. There was no way to be sure, but Norr figured that the destination had been chosen by Valpoon rather than his clients and helped put him in control. But whatever the
reason the journey continued until a shout was heard, one of the warriors pointed his rifle toward the horizon, and Norr saw what looked like a tiny black blob. As the caravan drew closer the black blob gradually resolved into a group of three low-lying domes. They were all of different sizes and sat clustered together next to a metal mast. It was at least fifty feet tall, and some sort of mechanism was mounted at the very top of it. Part of the device rotated in response to a sudden breeze, then stopped when the wind died away. The purpose of the installation was a mystery until the L-phant brought the sensitive close enough so she could read the faded white letters that had been painted on the metal structure hundreds of years before. The second “o” in
METEOR LOGICAL
had been worn away, but that didn't matter. What had once been Meteorological Station 46 still stood.