Runner (30 page)

Norr knew that scientists had been able to predict the weather with a high degree of accuracy at one time, and if some stories were to be believed, actually control it to some extent. That capability had been a boon to farmers and city folk alike. So, assuming that was true, it would have been necessary to gather data, which was where Weather Stations 1–46 came in. Or, had there been more? Yes, the sensitive decided, there must have been.

Shortly after the L-phants came to a halt and were ordered to kneel, Norr and Lee were reunited. Although the boy had comported himself with a dignity that would have made both Qwa and Rebo proud, he had been very frightened and was happy to take Norr's hand as the two of them were ushered into the main dome via a shattered doorway. There was no way to tell whether the damage had taken place during the civil unrest that followed the fall of the last interstellar government—or whether it was the work of the tomb raiders who still eked out a living by digging up
ancient bits of technology. But it hardly mattered. The facility had been stripped, occasionally used as a barn by local herdsmen, and eventually reduced to little more than an empty, litter-strewn shell.

By remaining alert and staying to the narrow path that ran down the center of the main hallway, the prisoners were able to avoid the worst of the filth that covered the once-pristine floor. They turned left, into a corridor that circled the dome, and passed under a series of filthy skylights. Cubicles, which might have once functioned as offices, lined the outside wall. There were round windows, which though covered with accumulated grime, still managed to admit some light.

Eventually they came to a room that had been equipped with a grill instead of a window, was furnished with built-in shelving, and boasted a door. A sturdy affair made of interwoven rods. There was a loud
clang
as it closed behind them. The sensitive watched as the nomad she thought of as Scarface secured the door with a padlock normally used to protect the L-phants from thieves. Then, having placed the six-inch-long key on a ledge that ran along the far side of the walkway, the warrior turned to confront the teenager who had been assigned the role of jailer. “Keep a close eye on the prisoners,” the nomad admonished, “and don't open the door without obtaining permission first. Do you understand me?”

The boy, who was nearly a man, drew himself up straight. “Yes, sir! You can count on me!”

“That remains to be seen,” Scarface answered cynically, “but do your best. Dinner will be brought to you. And one other thing . . . If the indibi slut offers to have sex with you, don't accept. Not unless you would like to see me wearing your balls as a necklace.”

“No, sir! I mean yes, sir!” the youth exclaimed. “I won't listen to anything she says.”

“That's the spirit!” the warrior replied. “I'll see you later.” And with that he left.

Norr, who hadn't even considered offering herself to the boy, made a face and looked for a reasonably clean place to sit. They were going to be in the onetime storage room for a while, or that's the way it looked, so she might as well get comfortable. Or as comfortable as she could be, knowing that two of her friends were dead and the future looked bleak. Suddenly the memory of the train trip between Gos and Tra came flooding back. The sensitive remembered holding Rebo's hand in hers and tracing the curve of his life-line. Rather than wrapping itself clear around the base of his thumb as it should have the crease ended well above his wrist. Palmistry was anything but reliable, but now it seemed as if the prediction had been borne out, ending not just his life but what could have been hers as well. A tear ran down her cheek, Lee watched miserably solemnly from his place in a corner, and the light started to fade.

Being a thief himself, Valpoon had a healthy respect for
the other criminals who roamed the surface of Ning and never failed to post sentinels during the night. The purpose of the outermost ring of warriors was to spot a potential threat early enough to call for help, thereby summoning the rest of the clan's males. The problem with the strategy was that the family was too small to effectively guard the entire perimeter, which meant that if an enemy attacked two or even three points at once, they stood a good chance of success.

However, thanks to the fact that the tribe was extremely
poor and were seldom entrusted with a cargo worth stealing, they weren't targeted often. Perhaps that accounted for the fact that Rebo and Hoggles were able to crawl with a few yards of one of the sentries. The nomad was sitting on a boulder and humming to himself as he picked at his bare feet.

The waist-high grass provided excellent cover, and large though he was, Hoggles made very little noise as he advanced to within four feet of the unsuspecting nomad's back. And, if it hadn't been for the direction of the wind, and a whiff of body odor that was markedly different from his own, the warrior might never have noticed. The clansman wrinkled his nose, let go of his right foot, and made a desperate grab for his long-barreled rifle.

But death was already falling by that time as the variant brought the ten-pound hammer head down on the top of the clansman's skull. There was a sickening
thud,
followed by a sudden exhalation of breath, and little more than a whisper as the grass parted to accept the dead body.

The off-worlders paused to see if some sort of alarm would be raised, but the nearest lookouts were a thousand yards away, and neither had witnessed the incident. Rebo intercepted the nomad's rifle before it could hit the ground. What little light there was came from the stars, which made it difficult to examine the weapon in detail, but there was no need to. After running his fingers over the long gun, Rebo knew it was one of the Ning-made bolt-action rifles that many of Valpoon's warriors carried. It had a wooden stock, an integral box-style magazine that had a capacity of five rounds, and open sights. Not his first choice in armament—but a whole lot better than nothing.

It took less than a minute to release the dead man's
cartridge belt, appropriate his dagger, and take a long pull from his water flask before handing it to Hoggles. It had been a long, tiring day, with nothing to eat and only two opportunities to scoop water out of streams. But neither man had faltered since both were driven by a powerful need for revenge. Now, within shouting distance of the domes, they burned with a common resolve. They would find Norr and Lee if they were alive—and woe be to anyone foolish enough to get in the way.

As Hoggles took one last swig of water, Rebo counted the cartridges on his newly acquired belt and opened the pouch attached to it. It was filled with wax-coated matches, the kind made for the caravan trade and carried by nomads everywhere. The runner was just about to close the pouch when an idea occurred to him. Hoggles listened intently as the smaller man whispered into his ear, nodded eagerly, and wrapped his sausagelike fingers around a handful of the phosphorus-tipped sticks.

Then the giant was gone, the grass flattened where he had passed, the stars twinkling above. Rebo placed the rifle across the inside surface of his arms and elbowed his way forward. Death stalked the night.

A lantern had been hung outside, but there was very little
light, and it was nearly dark within the cell. Lee was sound asleep, and had been for the better part of an hour, when someone shook his shoulder. His eyes flew open, and rather than the scar-faced warrior that dominated his dreams, the youth saw Norr glaring down at him. Her voice was low, and rather husky, but the youngster had no difficulty recognizing it as belonging to Lysander rather than the sensitive herself. “Bestir yourself, boy! I will depart . . . But my daughter will continue to sleep. Wake her . . . Tell her that
Rebo is alive! He will attack soon, but the two of you could be used against him, which is why you must hide.”

Lee had questions, lots of them, but never got to pose them, as the spirit entity exited Norr's body. The sensitive's face went blank, and she sat on a storage unit. The boy touched her arm. “Lanni! Wake up! Jak is alive!”

Norr blinked uncomprehendingly. “Alive? What are you talking about? Jak's dead.”

“No!” Lee replied insistently. “He isn't! Not according to Lysander. He told me to tell you that Jak's coming, but we need to escape, or Valpoon will use us as hostages.”

Though still groggy from sleep, as well as the trance that Lysander had imposed on her, the sensitive began to come around. She also felt renewed hope. Even the chance that Rebo was alive was well worth acting on. She took hold of Lee's hands. “That's wonderful, hon . . . But
how?
” she whispered urgently. “Did Lysander tell you
that?
”

The boy shook his head. “Yeah, that's what I figured,” the sensitive said cynically. “The old bastard loves to give orders but isn't much good when it comes to actually getting the job done.”

“No,” Lee agreed solemnly, “but you can do it! I know you can.”

Perhaps it was the boy's faith in her, or a moment of inspiration, but whatever the reason Norr had an idea. An unlikely idea, given the circumstances, but an idea nonetheless. “The key,” she whispered. “Is it still on the ledge? Quietly now.”

Lee tiptoed over to the door, peered through one of the four-inch squares, and returned. “Yes,” he said, “it is. But it's behind the guard.”

“What's he doing?”

“Cleaning his rifle.”

“Okay,” Norr said thoughtfully, “here's what I'm going
to do . . . I will reach out with my mind, lift the key off the ledge, and float it through one of the holes in the door. The moment it clears I want you to grab it.”

Lee's eyes were huge. “Really? You can do that?”

“Sometimes I can,” the sensitive temporized. “But not always. It takes a clear mind, perfect concentration, and some luck.”

“Okay!” the boy responded eagerly. “I'll be ready.”

“Good,” Norr whispered as she closed her eyes. “Don't disturb me until you have the key in your hand.” It was going to be difficult to muster the concentration necessary to transport the key across the corridor and into the cell, but public demonstrations were stressful, too, and if the sensitive could handle one, then why not the other?

Thus reassured, Norr worked to gather energy in around her, shaped it into an invisible pseudopod, and sent the carefully fashioned tool out to do her bidding. The guard felt his scalp tingle, ran an unsuspecting hand through his hair, but continued to focus on the rifle. He was proud of the single-shot breechloader and never tired of manipulating its well-machined parts. Now, as the key rose straight into the air, the teenager pushed the trigger mechanism down into the slot where it belonged.

Lee, his eyes locked on the piece of floating metal, found himself holding his breath as the all-important object glided out over the floor and floated toward his waiting fingers. Then, with only a couple of feet left to go, a door slammed. Norr lost her concentration, and the key fell, just as a girl called out to the guard. “Teo! I brought your dinner!”

One part of the teenager's hormone-soaked brain heard the tinkle of metal making contact with the floor, but the part that was hooked up to his raging libido heard the melodious sound of Sisa's voice, and that had priority. Had she
been sent by her mother? Or chosen to come on her own? He hoped for the latter, but there was no way to know. The teenager stood, placed the rifle against the wall, and was waiting when the nubile Sisa arrived.

Lee stood with his fingers wrapped around two of the uprights and stared through one of the four-inch holes. He could see the key! It was only two feet away—and gleamed with reflected light. Surely one of the nomads would see it . . . Surely they would . . . But that was when a miracle occurred. As Sisa walked toward the Teo the leading edge of her right sandal struck the key and sent it skittering across the floor under the cell door! Lee had just bent over to retrieve the object when he heard a muffled
thud.
Teo frowned. “That sounded like a gunshot.”

Then there was a second
thud,
followed by the sound of yelling, which caused the teenager to pick up his rifle. “Stay here!” he ordered. “Watch the prisoners! I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Sisa had doubts as to whether the clan's elders would want Teo's help, but never got to voice her concerns, as the would-be warrior took off. That was when the little boy stuck an empty cup out through the bars and waved it from side to side. “Could I have some water please? I'm very thirsty.”

It was not only a harmless request but one that didn't require the girl to open the door. She picked up the water-skin that was resting on the floor, carried it over to the cell, and was in the process of pouring when Norr wrapped an arm around the teenager's throat and Lee put the key in the lock.

Scarface was standing in front of the main dome, sipping
hot tea, when the first flames appeared. He was more annoyed than alarmed at first, since it was his assumption that
one of clan's less intelligent warriors had struck a match for some reason and failed to extinguish it properly.

However, when the fire started to run from south to north, the warrior knew someone had fired a wad of grass and was towing it behind them in an attempt to set the whole area ablaze. He dropped the cup of tea, grabbed the semiautomatic carbine that had been looted from a country estate the year before, and ran toward the flames. “We're under attack! Form on me! We'll defend the main dome.”