“What about the authorities?” the sensitive wanted to know. “How do they feel about the confl?ict?”
“The evil ones bought them off!” the priest responded angrily. “Metal men guard the palace . . . Need I say more?”
The sensitive wanted to ask more questions, but a group of rock throwers turned toward the building at that point, and the priest accompanied them. There was a loud rattling noise as dozens of missiles struck the Techno Society’s façade followed by a ragged clatter as the rocks fell to the ground.
Shaz, who had been watching the mob for some time by then, steadied the telescope against the wooden window frame. The operative didn’t even fl?inch as a stone fl?ew through the same opening and hit the wall behind him.
“There they are,” the combat variant commented, before handing the brass tube across to Phan. “Just to the left of the burning effi?gy.”
Some of the antitechnics bore a replica of a metal man fashioned from straw. They lit the fi?gure on fi?re and held it aloft on poles. Thanks to the additional light that the fl?aming fi?gure produced, the assassin could see all three of the people she’d been hired to deal with. “You were correct,”
Phan commented, as she lowered the scope. “They came to look. . . . When will they attack?”
“Tomorrow,” Shaz predicted calmly. “In the morning.”
“We’ll be ready,” the assassin said confi?dently.
“Yes,” the combat variant agreed. “We certainly will.”
A storm front had moved in over New Wimmura during the hours of darkness, bringing precipitation with it. The rain announced itself by drumming on the steel over Rebo’s head until the runner groaned and rolled out of the narrow bed. There were no windows, which made it necessary to light a candle in order to see, and that brought Hoggles up off the fl?oor, where he’d been forced to sleep. There were very few beds that could accommodate his enormous frame, and the one on the opposite side of claustrophobic room wasn’t one of them. Once both men were up and packed, they emerged to fi?nd that Norr was waiting for them. “I couldn’t sleep,” the sensitive explained. “Not with all of that noise.”
What Norr didn’t say was that earlier, before the rain began to fall, she had experienced a bad dream. Nothing specifi?c, not that she could remember at any rate, but the kind of nightmare that continued to resonate after she awoke. But, without anything specifi?c to share, the sensitive chose to remain silent. Assuming that the raid on Techno Society headquarters was successful, the travelers would be on another planet within a matter of hours, so they paid for their rooms, sought some advice regarding the local eateries, and made their way down the water-slicked ramp to the badly churned muck below. The plateaulike benches were paved, thanks to the efforts of the local store owners, but the bottom of the pit was a morass of mud and hand-dug drainage channels that were fi?lled to overfl?owing with sluggish brown water. There were planks, however, that the already damp threesome followed to a bank of mud-smeared ladders, which they had no choice but to climb if they wanted to access the ledge above. It was hard work hauling both themselves and their packs up the nearly vertical incline to the point where a small army of rain-drenched street urchins waited to greet them. “Hey mister!” one of them shouted. “You can wash your hands in my bucket!” “Over here,” another insisted,
“I’ll scrape the mud off your boots!” “Ignore them,” a third youngster counseled, “I have an umbrella . . . Where would you like to go?”
Five minutes later, having been serviced by at least half of the eager children, the travelers made their way into a local restaurant, where Hoggles ordered an enormous meal and complained about what he maintained were minuscule portions.
Then, with breakfast out of the way, it was time to climb up to the next bench. Once there, it was a short walk to Techno Society headquarters. True to the prediction put forward by the young priest the night before, the crowd that previously controlled the area had disappeared, leaving nothing more than hundreds of scattered stones and the charred remains of the previous evening’s effi?gy to mark their nocturnal protest. “Okay,” Rebo said as he pulled Logos on over his jacket. “You know the drill . . . We go in fast, locate the decontamination chamber, and lock ourselves inside. The techies will attempt to shut the gate down, but Logos will override the controls, and we’ll make the jump. Questions? No? Then follow me.”
A short fl?ight of stairs led up to a brand-new door. It opened to reveal a large space that still showed signs of the black powder explosion that had gone off in the room weeks before. A brace of cudgel-wielding metal men moved forward to greet the visitors. Having already drawn the Crosser, Rebo was ready for them. “Good morning!” the runner said cheerfully, as he shot the fi?rst android between the eyes. Fast though its electronic brain was, the second robot was still processing the other unit’s unexpected demise when a second slug drilled a hole through its alloy skull. The android fell in a heap.
Having seized the initiative, Rebo knew it was important to maintain it as he went up the steps two at a time. Hoggles had entered by that time—and the entire staircase shook under his considerable weight. “Down!” Rebo shouted, as a male functionary appeared above him. “Get down or die!”
The man went facedown and remained in that position as the runner stepped over his prostrate body, turned a corner, and entered a long hallway. A woman appeared, as if to see what had caused all of the ruckus, and went facedown when Rebo ordered her to do so. Hoggles, war hammer at the ready, followed behind.
Each time Norr came across one of the staff members, she ordered them to keep their heads down, placed a bony knee in the smalls of their backs, and proceeded to bind both wrists and ankles with precut lengths of cord. The technos would be able to free themselves eventually—but the variant knew it wouldn’t matter once she and her companions had control of the gate.
In the meantime, Rebo was making good progress. So much progress that the runner was beginning to believe that the plan to hijack the gate might actually work. Logos, by contrast, was not so sanguine. A gate was present, that much was certain, but assuming the data now fl?ooding in through his sensors were correct, the power accumulators were off-line! And the gate wouldn’t be operational without them.
But it was too late to cancel the raid, as Rebo ordered another functionary to the fl?oor, gave thanks for the fact that none of the technos had chosen to put up a fi?ght, and entered the room that provided access to the decontamination chamber. That was when the runner saw the chair and the half-naked woman who had been tied to it. She sat slumped against her bonds, a long rope of bloody drool hanging from her mouth, seemingly unconscious.
The runner grabbed a fi?stful of silky black hair, pulled the norm’s head back, and saw that she’d been beaten. One eye was swollen shut, her upper lip was split open, and her left cheek was purple. Du Phan looked up at Rebo through the eye that still worked, gave thanks for the fact that the runner was on time, and decided that he was handsome in an unshaven sort of way. That seemed like a good time to groan, partly for effect, but mostly because her face hurt. Rebo looked down into the woman’s bloodied face, wondered what she’d done to deserve such treatment, and let her head fall forward again. That was when he caught sight of the tattoos on her shoulders. Hoggles was present by then, as was Norr, and both were staring at Phan when Logos spoke. His voice was stern. “The gate is off-line! We need to get out of here—and I mean now.”
It didn’t seem fair, not after all they had done to break in, but there was no other option. Not if the AI was correct about the gate—and Rebo had no reason to doubt that he was. “Damn,” the runner said regretfully, “the techno freaks are going to be pissed.”