Logos was draped over one of Hoggles’s massive arms, and his voice was somewhat muffl?ed as a result. “I fi?nd this discussion to be extremely tiresome,” the AI interjected. “Please place me inside the shelter. . . . I think I’ll take a nap.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” the runner replied, as he took possession of the tattered-looking coat. “You’re coming along.”
“But what if I don’t want to come!” the AI wailed. “What if someone hurts me?”
“Then we’ll give him a medal,” Rebo responded unsympathetically. Norr frowned. “Maybe Logos has a point, Jak. . . . Why take him?”
“For two reasons,” the norm answered. “First, because I don’t trust him or the ship. . . . Which is to say that if there’s some sort of dirty work afoot he’ll suffer, too. Second, because Logos is the only one of us who knows what time the ship thinks it is, and I have no desire to arrive in front of that hatch early or late.”
“Okay,” the sensitive agreed reluctantly, “but that brings us back to where we were. I’m coming.”
Rebo found himself in an inescapable trap. Even though the warning had been focused on the beast master rather than the outlaws, the message from Kane worried him, and he felt protective about Norr. But that wasn’t entirely legitimate, not based on the offi?cial relationship, and he wasn’t ready to discuss the future. Not with Hoggles and Logos looking on. That left the runner with no option but to back down. “Suit yourself,” Rebo said grudgingly. “But don’t blame me if you wind up as part of someone’s dinner.”
Norr couldn’t read minds, but she could see some of Rebo’s emotions refl?ected in the colors that shimmered around him and felt a sense of inner warmth. “I’ll be careful,” she promised, and held out a hand. “Logos and I will bring up the rear.”
It was a peace offering, and Rebo accepted it. “What about the others?” Hoggles wanted to know.
“They blame Jak for what happened during the fi?rst expedition,” Norr explained. “We’re on our own.”
“That’s probably just as well,” the heavy growled. “Most of them would be worthless in a fi?ght.”
“There’s no need to be hasty,” Logos objected. “I think we should take the time necessary to . . .”
But the AI’s concerns were ignored as the humans checked their weapons, left the hold, and made their way toward the Security Center. A camera tracked their progress. Ultimately, it was the pain that summoned the beast master up from the blackness. The journey was somehow reminiscent of the time when his father had dropped him into the family’s well along with the order to “Swim!” After the initial shock of the cold water, and the realization that he was drowning, came the instinctual desire to kick. And now, as the beast master fought his way back to consciousness, it was like the same experience all over again. He awoke with a loud snort, pawed at gummy eyes, and found that a piece of cloth had been wrapped around his head.
“Take it easy,” a female voice cautioned, and the animal trainer felt something cold and wet make contact with his eyes. His vision cleared shortly thereafter, and it wasn’t long before the beast master found himself looking up at Lila, the troupe’s contortionist. She was pretty in an elfi?n way. His voice was little more than a raw croak. “What happened?”
“A bullet creased your skull,” Lila replied. “But the sensitive sewed you up real good.”
“The sensitive? You mean she’s still alive?”
“She was a few hours ago,” Lila assured him. “I think you owe her an apology.”
“My snake,” the animal trainer said urgently, as he struggled against the pain in his head. “Where’s my snake?”
“Sweetums is right here,” Lila answered soothingly. “Giggles found him clear over on the other side of hold and brought him back.”
The beast master saw the pod, felt the six-inch-long serpent land on his chest, and found himself looking into a single beady eye. The human saw a long narrow tongue test the air as the tiny head jerked from side to side. A hole opened up at the pit of the animal trainer’s stomach, and his voice was hoarse. “The bandage! Who put the bandage on my head?”
“The sensitive did,” Lila answered innocently. “Why do you ask?”
But the circus performer never got the opportunity to answer, because Sweetums chose that particular moment to strike, and the overwhelming need to scream consumed the remaining minutes of the beast master’s life. It was quiet inside the Security Control Center. So quiet that Mog could hear air whisper through the vent above his head. The image on the screen was dim. But there was no mistaking the man with the guns, the heavy with the war hammer, or the woman with the wooden staff. The same female that he and his brothers had lusted after for days.
“What are they up to?” Ruk wondered out loud, as the threesome continued to walk directly into the camera.
“They want to kill us,” Mog replied thoughtfully.
“But that’s impossible,” his brother objected. “They can’t get in—and we have better weapons than they do.”
Ruk was correct, Mog knew that, so why did he feel uneasy? The emotion wasn’t logical, but the outlaw had experienced such misgivings before and learned to trust them.
“Let’s get our guns and kill them,” Ruk suggested helpfully.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Mog replied, as he ran thick fi?ngers through his greasy beard. Ruk looked surprised. “You don’t? Why not?”
“I just don’t,” the older man said fi?rmly. “So shut the hell up.”
Ruk knew better than to mess with Mog when the older man’s back was up, so rather than aggravate his sibling, he went back to work on his dead brother’s left femur. Eventually, after the bone dried out, the outlaw planned to carve the story of his dead sibling’s life into the leg bone. But, before the scrimshaw could begin, it was fi?rst necessary to scrape all of the remaining tissue off the shaft. Ruk’s blade made a rasping sound as Mog watched the disparate threesome arrive in front of the Security Control Center’s hatch. Who were they, he
