Both Norr and Hoggles had stayed in similar facilities before, but not having been present at check-in, the process was new to them. As the receptionist departed, Norr turned to Rebo. “What’s going on?”
“My name is on fi?le,” the runner explained. “Or should be . . . Along with a code phrase. If it is, and if I know it, we’re in.”
Norr frowned. “How did the information get here?”
“Each time a runner comes to Thara on behalf of a client they bring a guild bag with them,” Rebo answered. “The locals compare the contents against their records and make whatever changes are necessary. There’s some lag time—but it works.”
“So, where’s your guild bag?” Hoggles wanted to know.
“Back on Ning,” the runner answered ruefully. “Valpoon and his people took it.”
The heavy was about to reply when the receptionist returned. He looked from Norr to Hoggles. “Would you excuse us?”
The receptionist waited for the variants to drift away—
before squinting at a scrap of paper. “Please recite your favorite poem.”
Rebo nodded.
When the last of my luck has been spent,
And the sun hangs low in some alien sky,
There shall I lay my head,
Happy to end my run.
The receptionist nodded affi?rmatively. “Thomas Crowley wrote that poem in this very room.”
The runner nodded. “I was his apprentice during the last few years of his life.”
The receptionist smiled. “Welcome to Thara’s guildhall, Master Rebo . . . It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. What can I do for you?”
Half an hour later the threesome was settling into a suite of three interconnecting rooms on the third fl?oor. “So, what did you learn?” Norr inquired, as she joined her companions in the small but well-furnished sitting room. “When is the ship due?” The sensitive had dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a face that was a little too narrow to be classically beautiful. Not that Rebo cared. “What we heard back in CaCanth was true,” the runner replied. “Assuming the vessel is still in service, it should arrive three days from now.”
The others knew what he meant. In the aftermath of the revolution that destroyed most of the star gates, a fl?eet of sentient starships had been constructed and put into service to replace the then-controversial portals. But now, after thousands of years without proper maintenance, the vessels had begun to die. There were fewer of them with each passing year, and, given the fact that the surviving ships were living on borrowed time, it was extremely dangerous to board one. Still, there was no choice other than the star gates, and the Techno Society controlled most of them. That hadn’t prevented the threesome from making use of the portals in the past, however, so it was Hoggles who voiced the obvious question. “What about our mechanical friend? Why take our chances aboard a ship? If he could point us toward a star gate?”
Rebo grinned as Norr opened her pack, removed the ratty-looking coat, and draped it over her shoulders. The response was immediate. “If you insist on attempting to classify my corporeal being, please refer to it as electromechanical,”
the AI said waspishly. “I am not a winepress! And, as for the presence of a star gate, I can assure you that one exists.”
“That’s wonderful,” Norr put in enthusiastically. “They’re scary—but so are the ships.”
“Not so fast,” Logos interjected primly. “I indicated that a gate exists, but given the fact that the equipment is located approximately fi?ve hundred feet below this room, I doubt that you could access it.”
“We’ll check on that,” Rebo said thoughtfully. “But it wouldn’t surprise me. A lot of ancient cities sit atop their own ruins.”
The furniture wasn’t large enough for Hoggles, who was seated on the fl?oor. “That’s too bad,” the heavy commented.
“It sounds like we’d better lay in some supplies. There won’t be any on the ship.”
“Yeah,” Rebo agreed, and fi?ngered his purse. He’d been paid in CaCanth and given more than half of that money to the receptionist, in exchange for a token that could be redeemed at any guildhall throughout known space. That, plus the funds saved up over the years, made the runner a moderately wealthy man. “We’ll need food, some sort of fuel to cook with, and new bedrolls. Not only that . . . but I’m low on ammo.”
“Then tomorrow we shop!” Norr said enthusiastically. “I need some things as well.”
“What about tonight?” the heavy wanted to know. “I’m hungry—and it’s too early for bed.”
“First we’ll go looking for a good dinner,” Rebo announced. “Then it’s off to the circus! I have three tickets—
compliments of the guild.”
“But what about me?” Logos inquired. “It’s boring in Lonni’s pack.”
“That’s easy,” the sensitive replied. “Make yourself a little more presentable, and I’ll wear you.”
The coat had been laid across a chair. Suddenly it began to squirm, started to expand, and morphed into a beautiful evening gown. It was a pale blue, slightly diaphanous, and covered with sparkly things. “Nope,” Norr commented as she held the garment up for inspection. “That’s too fancy . . . Have you seen the sort of men that I hang out with? Bring it down a notch.”
