Satisfi?ed that the makeshift pressure dressing would stop the bleeding, the runner set about gathering driftwood for a fi?re. Thankfully, there were more than a dozen wax-coated matches in one of his belt pouches. The fi?rst stick broke off just below the head, but the second produced a wisp of smoke, followed by a bright yellow fl?ame. Twigs crackled as they caught fi?re, larger pieces of wood burst into fl?ame, and it wasn’t long before waves of welcome heat rolled over Norr. The shaking stopped soon thereafter, her color improved, and her respirations evened out. And that was when Rebo realized that Sogol was missing. The last time he’d seen the AI she had been coiled up on Norr’s back. The runner wondered where the construct was now. . . . Back on Haafa? But he had more pressing problems to deal with, starting with the fact that Norr still looked pale, and he had very few items to work with. That was when the runner remembered seeing the operating table drift toward the bottom of the sea—and wondered what else might be laying around out there? There was only one way to fi?nd out. Rebo added more wood to the fi?re, knelt next to Norr, and was about to tell her about his plan, when the runner realized that the sensitive was either asleep, or unconscious, a possibility that made his mission that much more urgent.
A quick scan revealed that outside of what might have been another island, and a sail on the far horizon, there was nothing else to be seen other than a nearly cloudless sky and the sea below. Or was it a lake? No, he was a fi?sherman’s son, and knew that the line of seaweed and other debris that ran horizontally around the island represented the high-tide mark, the presence of which implied at least one moon.
Having left both his weapons and boots piled next to Norr and equipped himself with the remains of a broken plank, Rebo retraced his earlier steps down into the sea. Besides providing additional fl?otation, the plank’s other purpose was to help the runner bring salvaged materials back to the beach, assuming he recovered any. The fi?rst objective was to fi?nd the operating table, which, being the largest object transferred, would also be the most visible. Then, assuming the water wasn’t too deep, he would dive to retrieve whatever he could.
Rebo stretched out on the plank, paddled his way out to what he hoped was the correct area, and rolled off into the salty water. Then, with his face down and one arm thrown across the length of wood, he kicked with his feet. Thanks to the fact that the water was extremely clear, he could see all the way to the sandy bottom. There were outcroppings of rock, along with spiral-shaped plants, that swayed from side to side as the runner passed over them. Fish, if that’s what the pancake-shaped creatures could properly be called, fl?ed ahead of the human, their pale bodies undulating as they hurried to escape the dark menace above.
It was all very pretty, but Rebo couldn’t tell whether he was cruising over the correct area, and that led to a lot of fruitless swimming before the runner spotted the gleam of what might have been metal. He didn’t have any way to secure the plank, but the water was relatively calm, so he fi?gured the length of wood wouldn’t drift very far while he went down to investigate.
Rather than the operating table, which the off-worlder expected to fi?nd fi?rst, the object in question turned out to be Norr’s sword. Rebo carried the weapon up to the surface, where he laid it on the plank. More dives produced more treasures, including the bone saw that the runner had discarded back on Haafa and both of their packs. So, knowing that the sensitive kept a small fi?rst-aid kit among her things, the runner battled to bring the waterlogged leather sacks up to the surface. Once there, he hung them below the plank, which was partly awash by then. Finally, by dint of considerable kicking, Rebo pushed all of his loot ashore. The fi?re was still burning, albeit much lower by then, as the runner made his way up out of the water. He was encouraged to see that Norr had not only raised herself into a sitting position but managed a wave. That was when Rebo saw the light refl?ect off gold, realized that Sogol had come ashore on her own and wrapped herself around the variant’s arm. “Hey, there,” the runner said, as he dropped the packs next to Norr. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” the sensitive replied. “Look! Sogol brought me this!”
The sensitive opened her fi?st to reveal the tiny scarab. The machine turned circles on the palm of her hand as it searched for something to repair. “It was what you humans would call luck,” the AI said modestly. “I ran into the scarab on the bottom, and it was small enough to hold in my jaws, so I brought it along. End of story.”
“Not quite,” Norr objected. “One-Two put the scarab into my wound—and I feel better as a result.”
“Let’s take a look,” Rebo said, and knelt to lift her shirt. The runner was no expert, but the wound had been reclosed, and there was no sign of bleeding. “It looks good,”
Rebo confi?rmed, “but take it easy. What you need is a rest. What can I get for you?”
“More clothes would be nice,” the sensitive said sweetly, and gestured toward her pack.
“Maybe I like you half-naked,” Rebo replied mischievously. And that was when the ground shook, a loud roaring sound was heard, and Rebo turned toward the structure that stood behind him. It was fl?at black, stood about twenty feet tall, and looked like a smokestack. There hadn’t been enough time to investigate whatever the thing was previous to that point, not with Norr to tend to. But now, what with the roaring sound, the runner felt the need to fi?nd out what it was. “You’d better take your guns,” the sensitive suggested, and lifted the harness partway off the ground.
“You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fi?ne,” Norr said, as she pulled her pack in close.
“Check on the noise, come back, and fi?x me a seven-course meal. I’m hungry.”
Rebo grinned. If the sensitive was hungry, that was a very good sign indeed! He buckled the guns on over bare skin, climbed the sandy slope that led up to what he had already begun to think of as “the stack.” As he got closer, the runner realized that the structure was made out of metal. He circled the stack, discovered that a ladder had been bolted to the far side, and scrambled upward. Once on top, he peered down the tube into the poorly lit tunnel below. It was quite a drop, but thanks to the maintenance ladder that was attached to the inside surface of the stack, Rebo was able to descend without mishap.
A pool of sunlight marked the bottom of the ladder, and Rebo could feel residual heat from the machine that had passed twenty minutes earlier. As the runner peered down from the service platform, he could see two metal tracks, both of which were shiny from continual use. That suggested that the underground trains ran fairly frequently. But where did the machines come from? Where were they going? And to whom did they belong? The last question was the most troubling, since there was no way to know what the owners were like or how they would respond to trespassers. It seemed as if the best thing to do was lie low, give Norr time to heal, and fi?nd a way off the island.
But had Rebo been aware of the camera that followed each step of his progress as he made his way back up the ladder, he would have known that it was too late to escape notice. Because the people who owned the tunnel, as well as the train that ran through it, already knew exactly where to fi?nd him.
Having worked hard all morning, Lord Arbuk rose from his desk, lumbered over to the side table where a carafe of steaming caf stood waiting for him, and fi?lled a ceramic mug. Not one of the silver vessels that populated the ornate tray at his elbow, but a lowly piece of pottery, which, though homely, would keep the liquid hot. A must insofar as the land-lord was concerned, since he viewed lukewarm caf with the same contempt reserved for phibs, which the nobleman looked on as little more than walking-talking angens.