“What do you see?” Rebo wanted to know, and fumbled for his glasses.
“Somebody sewed his lips together,” Phan replied, as she eyed the puckered fl?esh.
“And that,” Lysander continued, “was the price he paid for speaking on behalf of technology. You must be careful, because the antitechnics would lay waste to entire villages to destroy that which you bear toward its home.”
There it was, confi?rmation that the people Phan had been assigned to escort actually had the device that Shaz lusted after, something the assassin had been forced to accept on faith up until that point. But Phan wasn’t supposed to be aware of Logos, so she forced a frown and came to her feet.
“What is he, she, or it talking about anyway?”
Rebo swore silently. That was just one of the problems associated with working for a dead client. The bastard not only had a big mouth—but a talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. “You’ve seen Lonni’s vibro blade— the antitechnics would pitch a fi?t if they caught wind of it.”
It was a partial explanation at best, since it didn’t cover the stuff about bearing something to its “home,” but Phan nodded as if satisfi?ed. Rebo heaved a sigh of relief even as Lysander left Norr’s body, and the sensitive blinked her eyes. She could still see the dead man’s spirit however—
standing beside his vertical grave.
The travelers returned to the road after that, which had been churned into a muddy mess, and disappeared over the top of a low-lying hill. Hours passed as the sun’s dimly seen presence arced across the sky, and the group crossed and recrossed the frozen river that meandered down the center of a U-shaped valley and entered a medium-sized village. It was late afternoon by then, and having been forced to camp out for three nights in a row, the off-worlders were thrilled to see a sturdy inn. It had a thatched roof, thick walls, and stood a full two stories tall. A stable was located next to it. Once the angens had been seen to, and the cart had been secured, the travelers went upstairs to their rooms. Then, having drawn the shortest straw, Rebo was the fi?rst to bathe in a tub of water that cost the group twenty gunnars. The inn’s only bathroom was located on the fi?rst fl?oor, one wall away from the kitchen, in a large wood-paneled room. The copper tub was so large that even Hoggles would be able to use it—and was fi?lled with water heated from below. But, given the fact that all four of the travelers would have to use the same bathwater, common courtesy required that the runner take a sponge bath prior to entering the big tub. The runner stripped down, hung his clothes on some conveniently placed pegs, and made energetic use of a washcloth and a bucket of water. It had been days since his last bath, and Rebo was amazed by the rivulets of gray liquid that ran down his legs and into a fl?oor drain. Having tested the water in the tub and found it to his liking, Rebo put one foot in, and followed with the other, before beginning the gradual process of lowering himself into the hot liquid. After days spent out in the cold, nothing could surpass the sensation of warmth that rose to engulf the runner’s tired body, or the feeling of tranquility that followed.
Steam rose, and an almost overwhelming sense of lethargy had overtaken the runner by the time a hinge squeaked, and the door opened inward. Because Phan had drawn the second shortest straw, Rebo wasn’t entirely surprised to see her, although he was pretty sure the runner was early. He wanted to say something, knew he should have said something, but couldn’t summon the necessary energy.
Conscious of the fact that Rebo was watching her, Phan began to disrobe. Having attempted to ingratiate herself with the threesome yet failed to gain their complete trust, it was time to use her backup plan. Slowly, and with occasional sidelong glances at Rebo, Phan ran a wet washcloth over her trim torso. Then, having cupped each breast in turn, she ran a hand down between her legs. Rebo, who had forgotten his own bath by that time, felt himself respond in a predictable manner.
Having completed her sponge bath, and with patches of suds still clinging to her tattooed skin, Phan made her way over to the raised platform, where she lifted a shapely leg up over the side of the tub. “May I join you?”
Rebo knew he should say no, given the nature of his relationship with Norr, but Phan was in the tub by that time, and was busy settling herself onto his fully erect penis. Though still beautiful to look at, Phan’s body was covered with what looked like a road map of healed cuts and puncture wounds. More than the runner had, which was saying something. Rebo closed his eyes as the young woman took him in. She fi?t him like a glove, a hot glove, and the pleasure was intense.
Then, determined to see as well as feel, Rebo opened his eyes. Phan was kissing his neck at that point, and because of the difference in heights, the runner could look down on the upper portion of his lover’s back. He was shocked by what he saw . . . The tattoos Rebo had fi?rst seen back in New Wimmura, the tattoos that marked Phan as a runner, were so faded as to be nearly invisible! And, if the tattoos were fake, then it seemed logical to suppose that the rest of her story was fake as well!
Rebo’s once rock-hard erection had already started to wilt by that time, and Phan was just about to ask what was wrong, when the door opened and Norr entered. Judging from the mischievous smile on her face, and the bottle of wine clutched in her right hand, it looked as though the sensitive had plans to share Rebo’s bath as well. But when Norr saw that Phan was present, the light went out of her eyes, and the color drained from her cheeks. Then, speaking with a dull, somewhat mechanical voice, the sensitive said, “Here, I thought you might enjoy this,” and bent to place the bottle of wine on the fl?oor. The hinge squeaked as she left, the door swung closed, and the sensitive was gone. Rebo felt sick to his stomach. Having grabbed the sides of the metal tub he heaved himself up out of the water, stepped out onto the cold tiles, and from there to the fl?oor. The runner’s skin continued to steam as he made his way over to where his clothes waited. “Wait!” Phan demanded.
“What’s the hurry? So she’s mad. . . . Are you a man or a boy?”
The runner made no answer as he donned enough clothes to navigate the inn’s drafty halls, bundled the rest under his right arm, and left. Phan watched the door close for the second time and shrugged. In spite of the fact that her plan hadn’t played out as intended, the effect would be the same. A wedge had been driven into the relationship between Rebo and Norr—and that was a good thing.
The problem was that the brief interlude with the runner had left the assassin unsatisfi?ed. Still, the water was delightfully hot, and there to be enjoyed. Slowly, so as to prolong the sensation, Phan allowed the water to close over the top of her head.
Rebo arrived at the room that Norr shared with Phan only to discover that the sensitive was busy moving out of it and into a small cubicle at the far end of the hall. “Here,” the runner said, as he reached out to take her pack. “Let me carry that.” But the sensitive refused to let go.
“No,” Norr said emphatically, “you won’t. Leave me alone.” The variant’s heels made an angry clicking sound as she strode down the hall.
Rebo hurried to keep up. “It wasn’t the way it looked.”
Norr stopped and turned to confront him. Her eyes were fi?lled with anger. “How stupid do you think I am? You were naked, in the tub with her, and the thought forms were clear to see. . . . Oh, and one other thing,” the sensitive added.
“You’re fi?red.”
“You can’t fi?re me,” Rebo objected. “I work for Lysander.”
“You detest Lysander.”
“So? I gave my word.”
“But you never gave your word to me,” Norr replied. “Is that what makes having sex with Phan acceptable?”
“It wasn’t acceptable,” the runner replied contritely. “Allowing her to get in the tub was a mistake. Please accept my most sincere apology.”