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  Norr opened her mouth to reply, but Lee spoke first. “No offense, Father—but at least three of those people were trying to kill me.”

  Rebo frowned and swiveled around. “Really? What makes you think so?”

  “I saw one of them, the woman, aboard the ship. She kept to herself, but she was there, I’m sure of it. Not only that, but she gave orders in Tilisi, a language that no one outside of my religion knows how to speak. Finally,” the boy said gravely, “she ordered her men to ‘kill him.’ Not her, but him.”

  Rebo nodded approvingly. “Not bad, son. Not bad at all . . . You paid attention in spite of everything that was going on around you. I’m impressed.”

  Lee felt his chest swell with pride. He couldn’t remember his real father, or mother for that matter, both of whom had been prevailed upon by the order to give him up at the age of two. Now, having been forced to pretend that Rebo was his father, the boy found that he wanted to please the runner in much the same way that he might have sought to please his real parents.

  “So,” Rebo said thoughtfully, as he turned back to Norr, “It appears that we were attacked by two different groups. Three of them were after Dor here . . . but what about the rest?”

  Norr sipped her tea. She was a loner, and for good reason, since it seemed as though once identified by the surrounding society sensitives were nearly always used, abused, and persecuted. As a result she was understandably reluctant to share information that could be used against her. But her present situation was more than she could handle alone, so Norr told Rebo about the first time that Lysander had co-opted her body, about the incident at the spaceport, and the message from Jevan Kane. “He was the one with the blond hair,” she added. “The one who yelled, ‘Take her alive!’ ”

  “Well, at least they aren’t trying to kill you,” Rebo responded grimly. “Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, but why not go along with them? You took money in return for demonstrating your abilities back on Seros . . . These people are willing to pay, so where’s the problem?”

  It was a good question, an excellent question, and one that Norr had struggled with on numerous occasions. But how to answer without seeming hypocritical? It was Lee who came to her rescue. “The ascended master Teon once said that ‘the freedom to choose’ was the first gift that God presented to humanity.”

  Norr nodded gratefully. “Yes! That’s it. I want the freedom to choose. And there’s something more as well . . . Something that might be difficult for a normal to understand. When I surrender my body to another person it’s like having sex with them, except more intimate, if you can imagine that. When Lysander takes over without my permission it’s like being raped.”

  “Then why allow him to do so?” Rebo wanted to know.

  “I don’t allow him to do so,” the sensitive insisted hotly. “And the fact that he can do it anyway terrifies me. Most sensitives can block most discarnate entities most of the time. But there are exceptions, and this is one of them. No one knows why.”

  There was a long period of silence as each person thought the situation over. “Okay,” the runner said finally, “so here’s how I see it. Both the black hats and the techno people know that we’re on Pooz. Mo Jahn tells me that the ship to Ning is scheduled to arrive off-planet eighteen days from now. We can hole up here and wait for the next vessel, or make for Tra and take our chances. Personally, I figure it’s only a matter of time before a member of the hotel staff sells us out, and someone comes in after us. So I favor making a run for it.”

  Norr looked quizzical. “Was I mistaken? Or, did I hear an invitation buried in that last statement?”

  The runner shrugged. For reasons he wasn’t sure of, or wouldn’t admit, the idea of sending the young woman off on her own bothered him. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

  “I appreciate it,” the sensitive replied, “I really do. But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. You two have enough trouble on your hands without sharing mine.”

  “Odds are that we’ll do better together,” Rebo said pragmatically. “Besides, I’ve got a feeling that both groups view us as a single unit at this point, which means that they aren’t going to be all that discriminating.”

  “That’s right!” Lee added enthusiastically. “Jak’s my father—and you can be my mother!”

  Norr smiled. “Yes, I suppose I could.”

  Back before human civilization had stalled, and the long gentle slide back into barbarity had begun, there had been a time when no task was considered too great for the ruling technocrats and the scientists that they employed. Those were the days in which the city of Gos lived on the surface of the planet, and was, ironically enough, known as “The City of the Sun.”

  Back then, before the Dimba River had been “rationalized,” it followed through a series of long, gentle, east-to-west curves before running into a ridge of upthrusting rock just short of Gos. There were holes in the barrier, but when the river split up in order to take advantage of them, barge traffic was forced to stop well short of the metroplex.

  In order to remedy that situation and open the Dimba all the way to Gos, the engineers blasted a hole through the ridge, thereby allowing the water to form a single stream. That left a labyrinth of water-cut channels in the subsurface rock. The passageways, caverns and galleries were little more than a curiosity at first, but eventually, once the dunes began their irresistible march, a group of monks took possession of them rather than dwell within the city itself. And, given the fact that the underground maze was not all that pleasant to live in, no one objected.

  Later, after surface conditions grew worse, the subsurface habitat started to look a lot more attractive, and various groups tried to dislodge the monks. But the Dib Wa were a potent force—and kept the would-be invaders at bay.

  Since that time the religion had split into two feuding groups, and the schism had led to occasional violence. Now, as torches flared and threw dark shadows onto rocky walls, the latest in what had been hundreds of casualties were borne toward the traditional funeral pyres. The first litter bore the tightly wrapped body of the nun from Anafa. A trained assassin, who along with two local Dib Wa, had sacrificed her current life while trying to prevent the imposter from making his way to the holy city of CaCanth. A very noble thing to do, which was why Lar Thota had insisted on funeral rites commensurate with the high rank of Ona, or truth giver. Happily, from Thota’s point of view, no red hats were present to desecrate the solemn ceremony, since the last of the misguided souls had been murdered in their sleep some nine months before.

  The passageway took a sharp turn, passed a pool inhabited by blind fish, and went up over a rise. Thota followed the procession into a vast chamber. Thousands of crystals were embedded in the rocky ceiling. They twinkled like distant stars.

  Below them, his back still connected to the rock from which his massive body had been hewed, sat a likeness of Teon. If the great master was saddened by the deaths of his servants, there was no sign of it on his impassive face. Nor should there be, the monk thought to himself, for he sees that which we seek.

  One by one the bodies were placed on a rocky platform, a sonorous chant echoed between rough-hewn walls, and Thota gave the necessary signal. Wood was a precious commodity in Gos, so natural gas had been piped into the caverns, and was lit with a torch. There was a dramatic pop! as blue flames rippled out to embrace the bodies, and what little smoke there was wafted upward.

  Finally, once the ceremony was complete, Thota bowed to the image of Teon before retracing his footsteps and entering the medium-sized chamber that doubled as both his living quarters and office. The bioengineered beings who awaited him there were so different from members of the A-strain that they might as well have been aliens. The precise rationale for creating an offshoot of humanity that could fly had been lost to the sect’s historians but the monk suspected that the so-called wings had been created in order to exploit certain habitats for commercial purposes.

  Whether their creators had
Pooz in mind back then, or the winged humanoids simply found the planet to their liking was unknown, but the result was the same. Just as the phibs made themselves at home in the Great Sea, their airborne cousins laid claim to the mountains, where they lived in terraced villages, farmed hardscrabble plots, and preyed on commerce below.

  Two of the exotic creatures stood waiting. Both were scantily dressed, about six and a half feet tall, and very thin. Thota knew that their bones were hollow, certain portions of their skeletons had been fused to make them stronger, and the variants had muscles that norms didn’t. Their leathery wings were folded vertically along their backs, both carried projectile weapons, and eyed him with what could only be described as a look of fierce independence.

  “Welcome to our humble monastery,” the monk said, bowing formally. “My name is Thota. I would invite you to take a seat, but I fear I don’t have any suitable furniture.”

  “There is no need,” one of the wings replied stiffly. “My name is Karth. This is Zota. What do you want of us?”

  Thota perched on the edge of a handmade desk that had once been the property of the senior member of the local red hat sect. “You come right to the point. I like that. Well, here’s the situation . . .”

  The ensuing conversation lasted for the better part of an hour. Finally, once both sides were satisfied with the terms of the agreement, and the first of two payments had changed hands, Thota escorted the bandits up to the surface. The top of a sand dune made a good launching pad, and their long, powerful wings made a gentle whuf! whuf! whuf! sound as the variants beat their way upward, found a thermal, and let it loft them even higher into the sky.

  The monk watched his new allies for a while, marveled at the freedom the wings enjoyed, but wondered about the price they had paid. Had the technology used to create them been a good thing? Or simply a distraction from humanity’s real goal, which was to supersede the physical? There was no way to be sure, but one thing was for certain, the sun was extremely hot.

  Thota turned, waited for a lesser monk to lift the metal lid that prevented sand from spilling into the vertical access stack, and made his way down the spiral stairway. Cool air rushed up to embrace him, a cup of hot tea awaited, and Thota was content.

  FIVE

  The Planet Pooz

  There is only one race that can fly, that can ride the wind, that can touch the clouds. Others may walk the sands, or swim in the sea, but we own the sky.

  —Author unknown,

  A wing proverb

  The sun had just broken contact with the horizon, which meant that the air was still relatively cool, as the team of twenty specially bred angens hauled the custom-built flat cars along the single track. Once, back before the rising tide of sand had submerged all but the tops of the pylons, the monorail had been elevated fifty feet off the ground, and sleek bullet-shaped trains completed the trip between Gos and Tra in hours rather than the fourteen days currently required.

  But once the sand had risen, and off-world parts were no longer available, the bullet trains had given way to the current low-tech version. Extensions had been added along both sides of the rail so that the huge draft animals had a surface to walk on, and a system of walled “inns” had been established so that passengers had a safe place to stay during the worst heat of the day. Each fort was approximately fifteen miles from the next, built around a hand-dug well and protected by a contingent of lancers.

  The trip was still rather dangerous, however, since bandit raids were not only common, but to be expected as the angens pulled the rather optimistically named “Desert Zephyr” up through the southern foothills and through Hyber Pass. An area that the wings patrolled and considered to be their own in spite of the Shah’s claims to the contrary.

  Which was why each sixty-foot flatcar was equipped with a venerable but still-serviceable machine gun. Each weapon squatted in a metal tub, where it could sweep the sky above, and was served by a two-man crew. A corpulent noncom was in charge of the detachment but spent most of his time dozing in the sun. There had been talk of increasing the number of guards, but because the addition of five soldiers would force the government to cut an equal number of passengers, nothing had come of such discussions. It seemed that the Shah felt the train was losing too much money already. In fact, according to what one passenger said, the only reason the Zephyr remained in service was the need to move official mail from one city to the other, a function the government refused to let the local runners take care of.

  However, most of the other fifty or so passengers were armed. That added to the total firepower the train could muster and served as an additional deterrent. Of course there was no telling how effective the ragtag mix of merchants, civil servants, and other citizens would be if confronted by bandits. That was why Rebo maintained his own watch on the second car. A tattered awning provided the runner with a scrap of shade augmented by an oft-patched sail. It flapped uselessly on those rare occasions when a breeze found it and only rarely functioned as intended. Both the runner and his companions kept their packs at hand and were prepared to abandon the train should an overwhelming threat appear, even if that meant continuing on foot.

  Rebo saw Norr appear at the back end of the first car and pause in front of the three-foot gap. It was as if the moment was frozen in time as the sun hit the sensitive’s face just so, the woman bit her lower lip as she contemplated the jump, and a momentary breeze tugged at her loose-fitting robe. She was attractive, but Rebo had spent time with far prettier women, so why stare at her?

  Then the moment was over as Norr completed the jump, exchanged greetings with the machine gunner, and made her way back to Rebo’s scrap of shade. “Here,” she said, handing the runner a small bundle. “Have some dates. One of the women gave them to me in return for reading her palm.”

  “And what did you see?” Rebo inquired as he untied the cloth and selected a likely-looking piece of fruit.

  “She’s going to die,” Norr said matter-of-factly, as she stared off into the distance. “And soon. Which is too bad because she’s no more than thirty-five years old.”

  Rebo spit the pit into the palm of his hand and threw it out into the desert. “Really? That’s tough. What did she say when you told her?”

  “I didn’t tell her,” the sensitive replied evenly. “Not the truth. I told her that everything would go well, that she would be happy in Tra, and live a long productive life there.”

  Rebo frowned. “But why? If she knew she was going to die, she might make different decisions.”

  “Exactly,” Norr replied, as she chose a date for herself. “Which is why most sensitives won’t disclose death dates. First, because we’re fallible, but mostly because people who believe they’re going to die stop living and focus on death. She’s happy. That’s what’s important.”

  “So, what about me?” Rebo inquired, extending his hand.

  “Hmmm,” Norr said, as she made use of a long slender finger to trace the curve of his life-line. “It looks like you will travel to the stars, have many adventures, and fall into the company of a beautiful woman.”

  She was joking, Rebo knew that, but when he looked up into Norr’s face the runner thought he saw a look of concern cloud her brown eyes, and was about to question her when Lee dropped in on them from above. “I climbed all the way to the top of the mast!” the boy announced proudly. “You can see the next fort from up there. Well, not the fort, but the tops of the palm trees around it. They’re Pooz palms. That means they’re variants of trees that grew on ancient Earth and were brought here by ancient colonists.”

  Lee had been a full-time student until very recently and had a tendency to absorb information like a sponge. The only problem was that some of it tended to be wrong. “The trees could be variants,” Rebo allowed, “but they didn’t originate on Earth. It’s a legend—nothing more.”

  “Maybe,” the boy said carefully, “but the ancient texts refer to it, and humanity had to come from somewhere.”

 
Somehow, without intending to, Norr had become the peacemaker in such disputes. “Look!” she said, pointing to the east. “What is that? Some sort of bird?”

  The runner removed a small but powerful pair of binoculars from a pocket and brought them up to his eyes. He panned a section of sky, acquired the object in question, and pressed a button that rolled the image into focus. The range was printed along the bottom edge of the frame. They would wear out eventually—and no one would be able to repair them. “It’s a wing,” Rebo reported. “And that isn’t good. A scout probably, watching our progress, so he can report back.”

  “Can I see?” Lee inquired eagerly, and was thrilled when Rebo handed him the glasses. Other passengers were pointing by then, chattering among themselves or calling to the soldiers for reassurance. The gunner on the first car even went so far as to fire a three-round burst toward the distant target, but the airborne variant was well out of range and continued to circle as if inviting the soldier to waste even more of his precious ammunition.

  Half an hour passed like that, until the train neared the next fort, and the wing banked toward the south. The foothills could be seen down there, shimmering in the steadily increasing heat, with the vague shape of a mountain looming beyond. That’s where the variant is headed, Rebo thought to himself, and lowered his glasses. At some point during the next day, or the day after that, the bandits would attack. Would the machine guns be sufficient to hold them off? The runner certainly hoped so—but felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. The train jerked forward as the normally listless angens spotted the fort, realized that they were about to be fed, and broke into a clumsy trot.

  Inside the fort a whip cracked, and a capstan started to turn, as a pair of elderly angens walked an endless circle. Ropes grew taut, pulleys squealed, and a pair of bullet-pocked iron doors parted to let the Zephyr pass between them. The sun reached its zenith not long thereafter. Those life-forms that could scurried for cover. The rest started to die.