“Which would be most unfortunate,” Logos 1.2 put in.
“Because the resulting explosion would destroy this room, the nunnery, and half of Pohua.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Rebo said dryly. Then, having placed the lamp well clear of the operating table, the runner brought the sword up over his head and brought the supersharp edge down along the right side of the lamp. There was a shower of sparks as metal parted, the runner took a nasty shock, and the acrid scent of ozone fi?lled the air. His arm was still tingling when Rebo returned the weapon to its scabbard and bent to retrieve what remained of the lamp. He was relieved to see that the sphere was intact. Then, as the runner struggled to bend a piece of metal out of the way, someone began to pound on the door. “This is the police!
Open up!”
Rebo drew the 9mm, fi?red two shots into the very top of the door, and heard loud scuffl?ing noises as the police beat a hasty retreat. “Okay,” the runner said, having returned the pistol to its holster, “where were we? Ah, yes, the gate seed. I press on both dimples for sixty seconds . . . right?”
“That’s correct,” Sogol assured him. “Then, when you feel the locks give, twist both hemispheres in opposite directions.”
Rebo pressed, heard noises out in the hall, and knew the police were getting ready to take another crack at the door.
“Hurry,” Norr croaked. “Or we’ll rot in whatever passes for Pohua’s jail.” The sensitive made an attempt to rise, but the pain was too intense, and she collapsed.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the locks gave. Then, having secured a good grip on both halves of the sphere, the runner twisted them in opposite directions. Beams of bright light stabbed the walls, the object started to oscillate, and Rebo had to let go as a battering ram hit the door.
TWELVE
The Planet Zeen
Those who swim the sea must ride the currents, for to opposethem is to challenge the planet itself, and therefore the stars.
—Saylo Imono, phib philosopher,
Currents
The elders had been hung by their thumbs from the framework that normally served to smoke meat during the fall months, when the entire village labored to make itself ready for winter, and the dogs grew fat from eating scraps. The villagers’ bare feet had been weighted with rocks, and hung only six inches above the coals, which meant that those who were conscious could smell their burning fl?esh. All because the village’s chief had been so brave, or so stupid, as to spit on the crippled man.
But, in spite of the systematic torture, the locals refused to surrender their secrets. Or so Tepho assumed, as he ordered one of the metal men to throw another bucket of water onto Subchief Milo Vester, in hopes that the shock would revive him. The water hit the villager’s smoke-blackened face, brought him back into full consciousness, and provoked an explosion of steam as it hit the hot coals. The subchief screamed, or tried to, but produced a strange choking noise instead.
Meanwhile, those villagers lucky enough to survive the spitting incident stood in a sullen group with downcast eyes. Tepho made use of the dead chief ’s hand-carved totem stick to point at Vester’s badly charred feet. “You think that’s painful?” the off-worlder demanded contemptuously.
“You know nothing of pain. . . . I was born in pain, have lived with pain every day of my life, and know what real pain is. And so will you unless you answer my questions truthfully.”
“But I have,” Vester protested pitifully. “There is no island of Buru, not that I’m aware of, so how can I tell you about it?”
Tepho slapped his leg with the totem stick and was about to order one of the metal men to put more wood on the fi?re, when Logos spoke. Because the AI’s voice seemed to originate from Tepho, the villagers assumed that two spirits occupied the stranger’s twisted body. They stirred uneasily and sketched protective symbols into the air. “He could be telling the truth,” Logos suggested. “I doubt any of these people have been more than a couple of hundred miles from the village—so their knowledge of geography is bound to be somewhat limited. Not to mention the fact that the island could have been renamed during the years I’ve been absent.”
Vester wasn’t sure where the second voice was coming from, but sensed a potential ally and was quick to agree.
“That’s right!” the subchief said desperately. “We’re ignorant people here. . . . We know nothing of such important matters.”
Tepho tapped his cheek with what had become a swagger stick. “Then who would?” the technologist inquired mildly.
“Lord Arbuk would!” Vester answered eagerly. “He rules from the city of Esperance.”
Tepho turned to the assembled villagers. “Is that true?”
Heads nodded, and a number of voices answered in the affi?rmative.
The administrator eyed their grimy faces. “Who among you has been to Esperance?”
After a pause, and some whispering, three slightly hesitant hands went up. Tepho turned to Shaz and Phan. “Put them in shackles. Kill the rest.”
Rather than waste ammunition on a planet where it could be diffi?cult to obtain more—the combat variant ordered the metal men to carry out the executions with their clubs. Some of the villagers tried to fl?ee, but were quickly run down and dispatched on the spot.
Vester passed out at some point during the bloody process but was returned to consciousness when the rain hit his face. The off-world killers had departed by then, so even though the subchief wanted to die, no one remained to grant his wish. Tendrils of steam rose around the subchief, raindrops fell like tears, and Socket passed high above.
The Planet Haafa
There was a loud crash as the battering ram made contact with the operating room’s door, followed by the sound of splintering wood, and a prolonged screech as two burly policemen pushed the heavy storage unit out of the way. Once the path was clear the chief of police and Ulbri Alzani stepped into the surgery and paused to look around. They saw the operating table, the nude woman who lay facedown on it, and the man who stood next to her. Then there was a fl?ash of light, followed by a miniature clap of thunder, and the tableau disappeared. The table, the woman, and the man vanished into thin air, as did part of the nearest wall, a sizeable chunk of the tiled fl?oor, and the Alzani family’s prized lamp. The reality of that, the fi?nality of it, brought the old man to his knees. And that’s where Ulbri Alzani was, still sobbing, when his number three son came to take the patriarch home.
The Planet Zeen
When Rebo came to he was drowning. The water was crystal clear, which meant he could see the operating table, Norr, and all manner of other objects as they drifted toward the sandy bottom. The runner wanted to breathe more than he had ever wanted anything before. But if he needed to breathe, so did Norr, who continued to sink toward the bottom in spite of her feeble efforts to swim. It felt as if his lungs were on fi?re as Rebo fought his way down to the variant, grabbed a fi?stful of her hair, and kicked as hard as he could. Bubbles raced them to the surface, spray exploded away from the runner’s head, and Norr emerged a second later.
Both spluttered as they gasped for air. Rebo spotted an island, wrapped an arm around Norr’s torso, and kicked for shore. The bottom came up quickly, Rebo found his feet, and cradled the sensitive in his arms as he marched up out of the water toward the smokestack-shaped construct that dominated the center of the island. Norr winced as the runner laid her down in the shade. Rebo saw the grimace, rolled the sensitive onto her side, and saw that her wound had reopened. A rivulet of blood was running down her back. The runner unbuckled his weapons harness, hurried to remove his shirt, and worked to wring as much water out of the wet garment as he could. Norr made a face when the cold, salty fabric came into contact with her wound but knew Rebo was doing the best he could.