A frigid breeze sought to fi?nd its way in through gaps in their clothing as the twosome emerged from cover. The half-frozen snow crunched under their boots as they circled the silo and followed a half-seen path down into an ancient orchard where fruit trees stood in patient rows, as if still waiting for the people who planted them to return. Some were dead, and their brittle branches made what sounded like pistol shots as Rebo bent them to the breaking point and was showered with ice crystals. Once a knee-high pile of wood had been accumulated, the runner and the sensitive stood side by side as they worked to reduce the long roughbarked limbs into more manageable lengths. Norr was the fi?rst to speak. “Jak . . .”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think of Phan?”
Rebo shrugged noncommittally. “The woman can fi?ght . . . You’ve got to grant her that.”
“And I do,” the variant replied, as she broke a branch over her knee.
The runner gave Norr a sidelong glance. “So? What’s the problem?”
The sensitive paused. “I can’t prove it, but I think she’s lying.”
Rebo’s eyebrows rose. “Lying? About what?”
“I don’t know,” the variant confessed. “But the feeling is there.”
The runner nodded. “I trust your instincts, Lonni. You know that. . . . But you aren’t infallible.”
The conversation was headed where Norr had feared that it might go, and her chin trembled slightly. “And you believe this is one of those times?”
“I don’t know,” Rebo answered carefully. “But it’s possible. . . . First, why would Phan lie? What could she gain?
But let’s say she is lying. . . . Chances are that the lies have nothing to do with us. Don’t forget that we lie constantly and make no apologies for doing so.”
Rebo’s explanation was so reasonable, so benign, that Norr felt silly. She forced a smile. “Don’t let this go to your head, but there are times when you’re right.”
“Right about what?” The voice came from behind them, and both whirled, only to fi?nd Phan standing a few feet away.
Somehow, by a means not apparent, the other runner had been able to approach them without making a sound. But if the sensitive thought that was strange, it seemed as if Rebo didn’t, because the runner smiled. “Another pair of arms!
Just what we need. . . . Here, have a bundle of kindling.”
Phan accepted the wood, but even though she smiled pleasantly, the colors that fl?owed around her were murky and dark. A fact that served to reactivate the sensitive’s concerns and made Norr suspicious all over again. Having monitored the entire conversation from his position beneath Norr’s cloak, Logos took note of the sensitive’s suspicions regarding Phan and came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to keep a nonexistent eye on the newcomer. Because if the female truly was something other than what she seemed, then her presence could very easily have something to do with him, a subject AI was always interested in. There was no sunset as such, just a gradual diminution of light, as the threesome carried the fi?rewood back to the silo. The night passed peacefully for the most part, although the angens stirred at one point, as if they were aware of something that the humans weren’t. And when morning came, and Rebo went out to look around, the runner saw what looked like human tracks in the snow. They appeared to originate up on the road and circled the ruins once before returning to the main thoroughfare. A local perhaps? Keeping an eye on the neighborhood? Or something more sinister? There was no way to know.
Thus began a series of long, almost identical days that varied only in terms of how much snow fell, slight variations in the scenery, and brief contacts with other travelers. Once, while checking their back trail from the top of a pass, Rebo saw six dots in the far distance. But the purpose of a road is to carry traffi?c, so there was no reason to be alarmed, or so it seemed to him.
Eventually, after the better part of a week had passed, the travelers came across the fi?rst of what would eventually turn out to be a series of recently used campsites. Not the single fi?re pit that a family or an itinerant tradesman might have huddled next to, but a large area of well-trampled snow, and the remains of no less than three fi?res. All of which suggested a party that consisted of fi?fteen or twenty people. But what kind of people? Nice people? Or bad people?
It was an unsettling development, and one that became even more worrisome later the next day when, having passed through some small villages, the group came upon a much larger campsite. An area large enough to accommodate up to a hundred people, who, if not under a single leader, had been on friendly terms with one another, judging from the remains of a communal kitchen and two sets of latrines.
“So,” Phan said, as she looked down from her mount.
“What do you think?”
Having slid down off his mount, Rebo went over to the remains of the communal kitchen, knelt next to the fi?re pit, and blew into the gray ashes. Embers started to glow red, and a tiny wisp of smoke appeared. “I think we’re closing with a group of people,” Rebo said as he came to his feet.
“One that continues to grow.”
Norr had been silent thus far, and her angen tossed its equine head as the variant opened her eyes. “A man was murdered here,” the sensitive intoned bleakly. Phan was getting tired of the spook’s endless pronouncements and made a face. “What makes you think so?”
“He’s buried there,” Norr replied, and pointed to a mound of snow that was about fi?fteen feet away. Phan was skeptical, and rather than simply take the variant’s word for what had occurred, got down off her mount. Her boots made a squeaking sound as Phan made her way over to the pile of snow, fell to her knees, and scraped at the snow. The assassin felt her left hand make contact with something solid, so she scooped more of the white stuff out of the way and was startled by what she saw. A man had been buried there. That bothered Phan. If Norr could “see” things like that—then what else could the spook perceive?
But the question went unanswered as Norr felt Lysander invade her body, tried to fend the spirit entity off, and failed. The voice that came out of her mouth was deep and hoarse. “You have only to look at the man’s lips,” the technologist intoned, “to see the price paid for heresy.”
Rebo had heard the unnatural voice and seen the same wide-eyed expression on Norr’s face before. He shook his head disgustedly. “It’s Lysander . . . Here we go again.”
Though not familiar with Lysander, Phan had seen Dyson channel Kane and understood the nature of what was taking place. She peered at the dead man’s face.