Shaz felt a sense of relief. His greatest fear had been that some sort of calamity had befallen not only Phan, but the AI, resulting in the machine’s loss. It should be a relatively simple matter to fi?nd out where the group had been taken and free them should that be necessary. “Thank you, that is very helpful.”
“You’re welcome,” Kane said politely. “Something smells good. . . . What’s for dinner?”
Shaz, who expected the spirit entity to withdraw at that point, felt the fi?rst stirrings of concern. “Stew. . . . Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Kane replied, as Dyson struggled to eject him.
“It’s been quite a while since I ate real food. I think I’ll stay and have dinner with you.”
The combat variant felt the short bristly hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He struggled to keep his voice level. “You can do that?”
“Why, yes,” Kane answered coolly. “I believe that I can.”
“And Dyson?” Shaz wanted to know. “How does he feel about your plan?”
“Oh, he’s against it,” the disincarnate admitted carelessly. “But, I have the poor bastard right where I want him, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it?”
The challenge was obvious, and the air around the combat variant began to seethe as his body prepared for combat. Fortunately, Dyson had consistently refused to carry a weapon, which meant it would have been easy to shoot the sensitive’s body, thereby preventing the disincarnate from controlling it. But what if Shaz needed more information?
Sensitives were hard to come by—and it wouldn’t be a good idea to offend Kane.
The creature sitting opposite Shaz nodded understandingly. “Oops!” the spirit entity said lightly. “I guess this puts you between a rock and a hard place doesn’t it? But, hey, not to worry. . . . We’re after the same thing. And later, after we install Logos on Socket, I plan to reincarnate. You’ll be an old fart by the time I make my presence known. As for Tepho, well, he’s your problem. Slick, huh?”
That wasn’t the way the combat variant would have described it, but he was a realist and nodded in agreement.
“Welcome back. . . . I hope you enjoy your dinner.”
Meanwhile, in a place where no one could help him, Dyson continued to scream.
Rebo awoke to the sound of bells. His eyes felt as if they had been glued shut but eventually opened to reveal a room so narrow there was no more than two feet of space on either side of his bed. Sunlight poured in through the paned window over his head and threw an asymmetric pattern onto the door across from him. Then, just as the bells stopped ringing, the runner felt the unmistakable pressure on his bladder and knew it was time to get up.
The fi?rst attempt to throw the covers aside and swing his legs out over the edge of the bed resulted in an explosion of pain. That caused Rebo to fall back against the pillow and probe the circumference of his skull. It quickly became apparent that there were three different dressings on his head. Fortunately, none of his companions had been killed as a result of his mental lapse. Still conscious of his full bladder, the runner gritted his teeth, battled to swing both feet over onto the cold fl?oor, and stood. By placing one hand on the wall, he was able to remain upright even as a tidal wave of dizziness attempted to pull him under. He felt for his amulet in hopes that the charm would steady him and discovered it was gone. Lost during the battle with the Army of God, Rebo supposed.
He still had the religious medallion, however, which was something of a miracle given the fact that the antitechnics had stolen everything else, so maybe it would protect him. Finally, having kept his feet, the runner went in search of his clothes. That was when he discovered that while his old road-ravaged outfi?t had disappeared, brand-new clothing was waiting in the tiny closet, a gift for which he was grateful. Getting the fresh garments on was something of a challenge however, and Rebo might have abandoned the project if it hadn’t been for the urgent need to pee. Fortunately, a nurse appeared about halfway through the process and helped the runner get his shirt on.
After a trip to the men’s bathroom, which was equipped with fl?ush toilets, Rebo went looking for Norr, only to discover that she was looking for him. Together they took refuge in a sun-splashed solarium. “I’m sorry,” the runner said contritely. “Putting those glasses on was a stupid thing to do.”
Norr shrugged philosophically. “Don’t worry about it. . . . If not the glasses, then something else would have given us away.”
“Thanks,” the runner replied humbly. “But I am worried. The antitechnics took off with all of our money, supplies, and weapons.”
“They took most of our stuff,” the sensitive agreed soberly, “but not everything.” At that point Norr tapped her chest and winked. The message was clear. Logos was lurking somewhere beneath her brand-new outfi?t. The runner had mixed emotions where the AI was concerned but forced a smile. “That’s good news. . . . So, how are the others doing?”
During the subsequent report, Rebo learned that while Hoggles’s right index fi?nger had been amputated after the battle with the antitechnics, the heavy was on the mend.
“That’s good,” the runner said gratefully. “I need to apologize to him as well. How ’bout Phan?”
“Fortunately, none of the spikes that they drove through her hands struck bone,” Norr replied. “She’ll be good as new within a few weeks.”
“And how good is that?” Rebo inquired cynically. “She isn’t who she says she is, we know that, so what to do?”
“Get rid of her,” Norr replied honestly. “As soon as we can.”
Rebo nodded. “Works for me . . . In the meantime, where the heck are we? And who’s running this place?”
“We’re in some sort of government-run complex,” Norr replied. “What was once a university if I understand correctly. More than that I couldn’t really say. But, since Facilitator Okanda invited us to dinner, maybe we’ll be able to learn more from him.”
