Runner (31 page)

It was a brave thing to do, but not the smartest move, since as Scarface ran forward he was soon silhouetted against the now-leaping flames. And not just him, but other warriors as well, as they raced to obey his orders. Though better with a handgun, Rebo was no stranger to rifles, and was a reasonably good shot so long as he had his glasses. Now, with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, the runner peered through the open sight. He had positioned himself behind a small cluster of boulders on top of a low rise. They were located about halfway between the line of fire that Hoggles had ignited and the inner circle of sentinels, all of whom rushed past him as they followed Scarface out to engage the thus-far-invisible enemy. The rest was a matter of judgment, practice, and cunning.

Rebo placed his sights on the rearmost warrior first, applied pressure to the unfamiliar trigger, and eventually felt it give. The wooden butt kicked his shoulder, the .303 slug slammed into the nomad's back, and the bolt made a snicking sound as the shell casing was ejected, a fresh cartridge was seated, and the sights drifted onto a second target. Five warriors went down before the runner was forced to reload, and Scarface realized that the enemy was
behind
rather than in front of him. That was when the surviving clansmen
dropped into the grass and started to elbow their way back toward the domes.

But, with no one between him and the weather station, Rebo had pulled out by then. Conscious of the need for speed, and having forced the opposition to the ground, the runner took advantage of the opportunity to close with the domes. He had expected to see, or at least hear from Valpoon by then; but the chieftain had yet to make himself known. And, rather than the activity that one would have expected around the main entrance, it was dark and seemingly undefended. That suggested some sort of an ambush lay within, and the runner knew he would be badly outgunned.

The solution was more the result of an impulse than careful planning. Rebo ran straight at the main dome, jumped up onto the slanting surface, and kept right on going. It was difficult at first but soon became easier. His boots thundered on metal, Valpoon heard the sound, and shouted to his followers. “They're on the roof! Come on!”

More than a dozen nomads charged out into the night, only to be fired on by Scarface and the incoming sentries, all of whom mistook the shadowy figures for enemy raiders. Bullets pinged off the dome or slammed into flesh as men went down. “No!” Valpoon screamed. “Stop firing! You're shooting at us!”

Rebo was on top of the dome by then. Assuming Norr and Lee were still alive, the runner had no way to know where they were, which meant that one entry was just as good as the next. With that in mind, the runner took aim at the nearest skylight and fired. The plastic shattered and clattered to the floor below. Rebo kicked the remaining shards free, worked another cartridge into the chamber, and dropped feetfirst through the hole. Duracrete smacked the
bottom of his feet, his knees flexed to absorb the shock, and a bullet buzzed past his head. The resulting
boom
echoed under the metal roof. “There he is!” Valpoon shouted from the other end of the hall. “Get him!”

But the runner didn't want to be gotten. He fired the rifle one-handed. The bullet missed, but gave the nomads reason to pause and Rebo the chance to run.

More shots were fired as the off-worlder skidded around a corner, called Norr's name, and heard a distant reply. Heart pounding, he raced down another passageway and took a left. It was a mistake. Teo was not only waiting there, but had the invader in his sights and quickly pulled the trigger. There was a loud
click
as the firing pin penetrated empty chamber and the teenager realized his mistake. In his hurry to join the fight, he had forgotten to reload! The knowledge filled him with shame.

Rebo shook his head sympathetically and pointed down the hall. “Run!”

Teo did as he was told, but the delay had been costly, and the runner had progressed no more than ten feet or so when he tripped over some debris and went down. The accident saved his life since the bullets that would have otherwise slammed into his back passed over Rebo's head instead. But the fall gave Valpoon and one of his sons an opportunity to catch up.

The runner felt the air being forced out of his lungs as the nomad brought a boot down on his back and saw the rifle slide away. “So,” Valpoon said grimly. “Look who's here! It was a mistake to let you live. One I won't make twice.”

Rebo felt the gun barrel press against the back of his skull, and was waiting for the inevitable explosion, when he heard a solid
thwack!
instead. Warm liquid splattered his
back, and the runner rolled over to see the chieftain's head hit the floor, and roll away.

Norr, who had appeared out of the shadows just as Valpoon was about to pull the trigger, turned toward the surviving nomad. The sword, which she had found lying next to someone's bedroll, was smeared with blood. She brought the weapon up, and was about to take another cut, when Hoggles dropped the hammer on the nomad from behind. The heavy uttered a grunt of satisfaction as the body hit the floor. “That's all of them—not counting the women and children. We'd better get out of here though . . . There's no telling when company will arrive.”

Rebo completed a push-up and came to his feet. “I'll second that motion! But let's grab some weapons and supplies first. We need L-phants, too—unless you'd like to walk all the way to Cresus.”

Then, turning to Norr, the runner said, “You look good with a sword.”

The sensitive gave the weapon to Lee, gently removed the runner's spectacles, and placed them in his breast pocket. Then, cupping his face between her hands, she kissed him.

Lee, who had been watching with considerable interest, felt a hand fall on his shoulder. “Come on,” Hoggles said matter-of-factly. “There won't be any kisses for us! We have work to do.”

ELEVEN
The Planet Ning

Although the caravan routes of Ning are marked by the graves of our forefathers, and have been watered by our tears, they care nothing for our people.

—Iznu Partha, nomad chieftain,
Letters in the Sand

The Cyclops beetle crouched within the two-inch-square
scrap of shade cast by a small rock as it prepared to make the perilous journey to a similar refuge some two feet away. That was where a protein-rich grub lay hidden just below the surface of the dry soil. But, before the insect could begin its mad dash across the intervening wasteland, it felt the earth move. Not just once, as when the substrata that supported a ten-thousand-year-old rock finally surrendered to the weight and allowed the boulder to topple into a ravine but over and over again. Though not capable of conscious thought, the Cyclops beetle could rely on its instincts—and decided to remain right where it was as the huge L-phants passed within inches of its hiding place.

It had been four days since the travelers had won the
battle at Weather Station 46, reclaimed most of their possessions, and resumed the journey to Cresus. Rebo carried a rifle in addition to his handguns—and Norr had reacquired both her staff and the gate seed. The supplies that Omar had helped them obtain, plus extras that the heavy had appropriated from the nomads, completed the loads secured to the angens' broad backs.

Strangely, from Rebo's perspective at least, the days were getting cooler rather than warmer as all of them had been led to expect. The proximal cause was obvious. After following the well-established trail across a grassy plain, the party had been forced to climb a series of steadily rising switchbacks toward the jagged mountains beyond and what promised to be a snowy pass. That suggested that the badlands, and the heat associated with them, lay somewhere to the south.

All of them were accustomed to the back-and-forth side-to-side sway of the L-phants by then and had grown genuinely fond of them. Lee handled the beasts best, but Norr came in a close second, followed by Hoggles and Rebo. So when they paused for lunch, the boy and the sensitive took care of the animals, while the heavy prepared a simple meal.

Rebo, who was eternally concerned about security, took the opportunity to backtrack. The pinnacle of wind-worn rock had plenty of handholds and it wasn't long before the runner had pulled himself up onto a ledge where previous lookouts had carved their names into the soft sandstone. The runner was out of breath by then, but felt better than he had the week before and knew he was getting stronger.

Then, with his back pressed against the warm stone and having brought his knees together to form a crude bipod, Rebo removed Valpoon's four-foot-long brass telescope from its hand-tooled leather case, and aimed it across the plain
below. The large fluffy clouds cast shadows down onto a sea of amber grass. And there, cutting across the prairie, stretches of trail could be seen. Not all of it, since there were places where the path dipped into ravines, but enough to suit the runner's purposes.

The off-worlder started in close, then tilted upward, as he scanned for what he knew would be there. More than five minutes passed before he spotted the momentary glint of reflected light as a metal man topped a rise, paused to survey the terrain ahead, and took up the chase once more. Four additional machines followed. Not the everyday androids that spent most of their time preaching on street corners, but something new and a lot more dangerous. They were shaped like animals rather than humans and ran on all fours. Tirelessly, in so far as Rebo could determine, although they were no closer than the day before.

Why?
Because they're not even trying to catch up,
the runner thought to himself. Having arrived at the Weather Station only to discover that Norr and Lee were gone, the technos and their black hat friends had dispatched the machines to ensure that the fugitives remained on the trail to Cresus. The question was why—and there was no way to know. Rebo returned the telescope to its case and reslung the instrument across his back prior to returning to the camp. Was it his imagination? Or did the two L-phants already look a little skinnier since departing the rich grasslands to the north? It was one more problem to worry about.

Lunch was ready by the time the runner returned, and Hoggles handed him a mug of tea. Norr was present, too, as was Lee, and three of them were waiting to hear Rebo's report. He blew steam off the surface of the drink, took a tentative sip, and let the soothing liquid slide down the back of his throat. “They're still on our tail.”

Norr frowned. “Are they any closer?”

The runner shook his head. “No. But you've seen them run . . . They could catch up to us if they wanted to.”

“Maybe we should lay an ambush for the bastards,” the heavy commented darkly.

“We could,” Rebo allowed, “but for what? Even if we manage to destroy them, and that would be far from certain, we'll still be headed for Cresus. The technos and the black hats know that. So, where's the gain?”

Lee had heard the entire conversation before and knew how it would come out. He smiled. “Teon had a saying . . . ‘He who spends his life in future denies the present.' Let's eat!”

The adults laughed, food was served, and the journey continued.

The temperature fell as Rebo and his companions climbed
higher. The trail skirted the edge of an ancient landslide. The rocks were brown, marbled with streaks of dark blue, and sharply jagged. Some were the size of a hut, but most were smaller, and the crevices between them served as a labyrinthine highway system for dozens of small furry creatures who surfaced occasionally, swiveled their heads to the right and left, and chittered at each other.

The slope was steep, and the humans could hear how labored the L-phants' breathing had become as jets of vapor shot out of their long flexible trunks. Rock clattered as it slid out from under enormous feet, leather harnesses creaked under the strain, and the lead angen grumbled as Lee urged it up the slope.

The ice revealed itself slowly at first, hiding in the shadows cast by the larger rocks, hinting at what lay ahead. Then, as the group moved even higher, the small, nearly
translucent patches of ice grew steadily larger, even going so far as to venture out into the wan sunlight, as if testing to see whether it could survive.

Then, as the group passed a final cluster of trees, the
real
ice field appeared. It glistened pure white, like a shroud for the dead, which it certainly was. Because as the snow-ice mix crunched under the L-phants' combined weight, the tail end of an ancient caravan appeared. There was no way to know the exact nature of what had taken place but the general outline of the tragedy was obvious. It had been early spring or late fall when the travelers set out. But an unexpected storm had swept in and caught the group so high on the slope that a retreat was impractical. The snow blinded the nomads, layered their clothing in white, and conducted the chill deep into their bones.

Some of the travelers were weaker than the rest. They fell first, unintentionally bringing the caravan to a halt as their companions paused to gather them up. Then, even more heavily burdened than before, those who could continued their climb. But not for long. One by one, they, too fell, were covered with a thick layer of snow, and frozen into place. Now, more than a thousand years later, they were still there, ravaged by the slow-motion effects of geologic time, their leathery brown bodies blurred by the intervening ice.

Another hour of hard slogging brought the party to the pass itself, which was nearly bare of vegetation and home to a weatherworn granite obelisk. Empty bolt holes suggested that a plaque had been attached to the monument at one time, but that had been stolen, leaving the marker mute. It might have been interesting to pause and see what other curiosities the pass had to offer, but a battalion of clouds chose that moment to sweep over the summit and release a
freezing mist. Lee urged the first L-phant forward, and it was eager to comply.

The balance of that day, and the first half of the next, were spent on a steep trail that switchbacked down the mountainside and into the foothills below. Thanks to the unique nature of their physiologies, the L-phants had a better view of the trail than anyone else, but still found it difficult to find their footing and were sometimes forced to skid stiff-legged while dropping their haunches onto the slope behind them. Those moments were the worst, when it seemed like the huge animals would lose control, and there was nothing the humans could do except trust them.

But the L-phants
didn't
lose control, the trail eventually leveled out, and the travelers found themselves high in the southern foothills. A fortress, or what remained of one, crowned a neighboring summit, as the increasingly gaunt animals followed the rocky path around the flank of a lightly forested hill and onto something entirely unexpected. Though partially obscured by countless rockfalls, the two-lane duracrete road was not only intact, but continued for almost two miles before disappearing into the maw of an ancient tunnel. It was the perfect place for an ambush, and Rebo had no intention of entering the passageway without scouting it first. “That's far enough,” he told Lee. “Let's pull up and give the angens a rest.”

The boy brought the first animal to a halt and ordered it to kneel. The runner removed a lantern from the pile of equipment behind him, slid to the ground, and made his way down the road. Hoggles, rifle at the ready, stood by to provide covering fire should that be necessary.

The runner paused long enough to light the lantern, drew the Crosser, and eased his way into the tunnel. Buttery
lanternlight slid over grimy walls, illuminated the remains of a campfire, and revealed the graffiti that layered the walls. As Rebo advanced, lantern held high, he heard something squeal as it ran away, felt a few drops of cold water hit the back of his neck, and eventually saw daylight as he rounded a gentle curve and the far end of the tunnel appeared. A short walk was sufficient to confirm that the way was clear. Fifteen minutes later the L-phants emerged from the tunnel's cool interior and it wasn't long before Rebo found himself removing his jacket, knowing that the additional warmth was but a taste of the heat to come.

The night was spent on a gently rounded hilltop, which though exposed and bereft of water, was encircled by a hand-built stone wall and had clearly been used for that purpose before. Lee was none too happy about the need to carry water up from the stream below, but understood the threat that the robots posed and took advantage of the opportunity to practice mindful understanding by consciously transmuting the resentment he felt into a state of willing acceptance.

The next day followed what had become a regular routine as the foursome emerged from their tents, made breakfast, and repacked their gear. Norr looked forward to such moments as an opportunity to work side by side with Rebo. Nothing had been said, not directly at least, but the battle at the weather station had deepened the bond between them. To what extent was not apparent, since there was no way to know what the future might hold, but Norr chose to ignore that.

The group set out as they usually did, with Rebo and Lee riding the lead angen. As the L-phant topped a rise the runner caught a glimpse of the famed badlands off in the distance and was amazed by what he saw. For as far as the eye
could see, there were the steep hills and deep gullies that resulted from thousands of years worth of erosion. The mechanics of the process were clear. Rain fell in the mountains, rushed down through a myriad of streams, and gushed through the foothills and out into the lands beyond. That was when the flash floods carved their way through weakly bonded layers of rock creating a maze of interconnecting ravines and a landscape so tortured it looked as if a gigantic knife had been used to hack at it.

Then the vision was gone as the angen started down again, and a final rank of foothills screened the land beyond. Hoggles had told the other three that they would pass through the village of Urunu prior to entering the badlands and was soon proven correct. It wasn't long before dozens of terraced gardens appeared. Though relatively small, the well-tended plots were protected by walls of dry, fitted rock, and serviced by a cleverly engineered system of miniaque-ducts and carefully maintained irrigation ditches. Each and every patch was protected by brightly colored prayer ribbons that did double duty by scaring foraging flyers away while simultaneously drawing God's attention to both the crops and the farmers who depended on them. The pennants fluttered from poles, fences, and even ropes that had been suspended over the road.

Lee felt his heart jump when he saw the ribbons because they signaled the presence of people who followed the way and believed as he did. But which sect did they hold dear? The red hats as Hoggles claimed? Or the black hats? There was no way to tell from the ribbons alone, and in spite of the fact that the crops were well tended, not a single farmer could be seen. A strange state of affairs, which the boy brought to Rebo's attention. Thus alerted, the runner drew the bolt-action rifle from its scabbard, checked to ensure
that a cartridge was seated in the chamber, and signaled Hoggles to do likewise.

But, ready though they were, the travelers weren't prepared for the sight that greeted them as they rounded the next bend and paused on a section of relatively flat road that overlooked the village of Urunu. It consisted of a main street lined with sturdily built stone homes that led up to a domed temple. The building had an organic appearance, as if it had been extruded from the earth, which wasn't far from the truth since it had been constructed with tailings from the mine located behind it. An ancient enterprise which, while played out, still served the villagers as both a granary and communal tomb. Farther down the hillside, unseen but not unheard, a river roared its way through a narrow canyon.