The benefi?ts of Mog’s discovery, and the rather crafty manner in which he employed them, produced what could only be described as a rich harvest. Armed with high-tech weapons and an ability to watch their fellow passengers from a remote location, it took the brothers less than three weeks to slaughter all of their fellow passengers and confi?scate their valuables. In fact the trip was so profi?table, that when it came time to leave the ship, the brothers elected to stay aboard. Now, after more than two years of living in the Security Control Center, Mog and his brothers had accumulated so much loot that it occupied most of what had once been the lounge. There were pots full of gold cronos, sacks of gunnars, boxes fi?lled with jewelry, canisters of rare spices, bottles of exquisite perfumes, and bolts of silk. “We’ll be rich when we land.” That’s what Mog liked to say, but neither he nor his siblings had any real desire to put down on their native planet and confront the authorities there. Not yet at any rate. Now, as Mog and Ruk sat in front of the two dozen surveillance screens that still functioned, they were evaluating the latest fl?ock. Because each brother had been fathered by a different man, they had very few features in common. Mog was a big hulking brute with a bushy beard. And while slim when compared to his brother, Ruk had developed a bit of a paunch of late and was eternally in need of a bath. He eyed the screen as he scratched a hairy armpit. “So, brother Mog, what do you think?”
“I think we’re looking at slim pickings,” the older man said cynically. “The group in the back corner doesn’t have more than two gunnars to rub together. And, while the merchants will no doubt yield a crono or two, I daresay the rest are likely to disappoint.”
“But not the women,” Ruk growled.
“No,” Mog said agreeably. “Even the homely ones are good for a little fun.”
“I want that one,” Ruk said eagerly, as he pointed a grimy fi?gure at Norr.
“You can have her when I’m done,” Mog said airily.
“That isn’t fair! You always take the pretty ones!”
“That’s right,” Mog answered contemptuously, “and I always will. . . . Unless you would like to challenge my authority.”
Ruk did want to challenge his brother’s authority, but was afraid to do so, which left him with no choice but to back off.
“So,” Tas said, as he entered the room. “When do we hit them?”
“Most will go to sleep in about three hours,” Mog predicted. “Eight hours later they will get up and start to explore. That’s when the harvest will begin.”
“Good,” Tas replied as he eyed the scene in the hold. “I’m hungry.”
Thirty miles south of Seros, on the Planet Anafa Though large by most people’s standards, Chairman Tepho’s estate was modest when compared to those owned by the planet’s moneyed aristocracy, but that would eventually change. In the meantime, the two hundred acres of land more than met the reclusive leader’s rather eccentric needs—none of which had much if anything to do with farming. That was evident in the way once-productive fi?elds now lay fallow, previously sturdy fences went unmended, and the extensive angen pens stood empty. But there were guards, plenty of them, all made of metal. The androids stood alone, or in small groups of two or three, each holding a spear taller than it was. Most had been splashed with bright-colored paint. None of the neighbors knew why—or dared to ask.
All of which seemed strange to Shaz, who had been summoned to the estate upon his return from Thara and was presently ensconced in the back of a Techno Society coach. The conveyance rattled alarmingly as it topped a rise and started down the far side. Then, as the dusty road curved to the left, the variant caught a glimpse of the once-proud villa that capped a low hill. He knew the house intimately, having once been Tepho’s chief bodyguard, and was surprised to see that the building had suffered what appeared to be fi?re damage during the months of his absence. Had the lower levels been affected, Shaz wondered. Because that was where the reclusive Tepho spent most of his time. Not with groups of people, who might look askance at his twisted body, but with a few trusted attendants and a coterie of nonjudgmental machines. The coach followed a curving drive up to the front of the villa and stopped beneath a smoke-stained portico. The variant opened the door, and his boots had barely touched the ground, when a whip cracked and the conveyance jerked into motion.
That was the moment when the combat variant began to feel uneasy, allowed his camoufl?age to kick in, and stood ready to draw both of his semiautomatic pistols. He was already backing away from the front of the villa when he heard the muffl?ed whine of servos, a half ton of masonry exploded outward, and a large machine emerged from hiding. It stood about twelve feet tall and consisted of an eggshaped control pod mounted between two retrograde legs. The weapons mounted on both sides of the control pod burped blue light as Shaz drew his pistols. But the energy bolts fl?ew over the variant’s head, and when the visitor turned to look over his shoulder, he saw the smoking remains of a storage shed fall lazily out of the sky. More servos whirred as the canopy opened and Tepho released the three-point harness. Then, without a word having been spoken, the machine performed a deep knee bend that allowed its owner to reach the ground. It was a maneuver that normally required help from one or more of the technologist’s assistants, but something Tepho was determined to accomplish on his own given the fact that Shaz was there. The technologist grinned mischievously as the combat variant returned both weapons to their cross-draw holsters.
“Had you going there—didn’t I? There were thousands of raptors at one time. . . . Most were destroyed, but some enterprising tomb raiders found this unit buried with a Faro on Torus, and subsequently sold it to me. Our techs had to tear the whole thing apart and bring the pieces through the gates one or two at a time. But here’s the part that you’ll be interested in,” the scientist continued. “Based on my research, it looks like the ancients created raptors to kill combat variants! That would suggest some sort of revolt. . . . Interesting, isn’t it?”
It was interesting, but for more than academic reasons. Having been born into a violent universe, and having a vulnerable body, Tepho was understandably concerned for his personal safety. And now, having promoted his onetime bodyguard to a higher position, the chairman had every reason to be afraid of him. Not just a little, but enough to justify the acquisition of a very expensive machine that was not only more powerful than the combat variant but couldn’t be bribed, tricked, or otherwise suborned. And that, Shaz realized, was why he had been summoned to Tepho’s country estate. To learn about the machine, its capabilities, and the chairman’s newfound strength.
“Yes,” Shaz said tactfully. “That is interesting.” So was the fact that most of the original machines had been destroyed, suggesting that his ancestors had discovered a way to defeat them. But the variant knew better than to say as much. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes,” the technologist replied. “I’m looking forward to your report. The medicos claim that I need more exercise—
so you can benefi?t from my frailties as well. Let’s walk.”
The sun emerged from behind a cloud, and had there been someone present to observe it, they might have thought the scene somewhat strange as the norm who wasn’t normal limped along the road, while his companion shimmered like a mirage, and the raptor followed a few steps behind.
The machine walked with birdlike precision, each pod-step raising a puff of dust as its sensors scanned the surrounding area for signs of danger.
Meanwhile, Tepho listened as his subordinate described the team’s arrival on Thara, the successful break-in, and the discoveries that followed. “So, Logos can be worn!” the scientist mused. “Imagine! Computers that you wear like a coat!