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.
Mug in hand, Arbuk strolled out onto his private balcony. A sheer wall fell away to stone buildings that stairstepped down to a rocky beach and the half-empty harbor beyond. The city of Esperance had intentionally been built next to the sea, where it could benefi?t from shipping. But that was back before the phibs took control of the planet’s oceans and thereby prevented land-lords such as himself from transporting raw materials, manufactured goods, or people across what the freaks liked to refer to as “their sacred waters.” But not forever, because Arbuk and his peers had a surprise in store for the phibs, one that would reestablish Esperance as a seaport!
In spite of the sun’s warmth, the land-lord felt a sudden chill and turned to discover that his private secretary, a sensitive named Hitho Mal, was standing three feet behind him. Arbuk was a big man, and his jowls took on a purplish cast as blood rushed to his face. “Dammit, man! Announce yourself. . . . I hate people who skulk about.”
Mal, who had long prided himself on his ability to skulk about, was unmoved. He had the long, narrow face typical of his kind, sunken cheeks, and thin lips. The upper one remained stationary as he spoke. “Yes, sire, sorry, sire. I know you’re busy, but there’s someone I would like you to meet. His name is Milo Vester, and assuming that he’s telling the truth, something very strange took place in the village of Kine.”
Arbuk struggled to remember the place, was unable to do so, and concluded that Kine must be one of the many small villages that marked the outskirts of his holdings. He took another sip of caf. “ ‘Strange’? How so?”
“If your lordship would indulge me,” Mal replied respectfully, “I prefer that you take the tale from Vester’s own lips. Especially since you are almost certain to ask questions that I would be unable to answer.”
Knowing that Mal rarely requested anything not in his employer’s best interest, Arbuk was willing to comply. That didn’t mean it was necessary to do so gracefully however. Which meant there was a good deal of grumbling as
