Logan Trilogy by William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson Page A
Authors: William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson
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startled look on Rutago's face as Logan pitched himself from the saddle.
Down…down…down. The Lame Johnny far below. Rapids. White water. Logan arrowed toward it in a long dive.
The stick caught Rutago below the rib line, carrying away his stomach as it drove into the face of the ravine.
Logan sliced the water, and the rapids took him, rolled him twisting, sucked him under. He came up choking, kicking to maintain leverage. Rocks just ahead.
The last thing Logan saw before he went under again was the faltering smoke trail of Jessica's wounded machine layering the sky.
Chapter 4
He knows the girl is on black now. A runner.
But the quarry has vanished again beyond Crazy Horse.
He checks the board in Rapid City. It does not help him. The Follower remains dark.
He is certain that Logan and the girl must break cover soon.
When they do he will be ready.
He will be there to intercept them.
AFTERNOON…
Jess lay unconscious in a pale square of sunlight next to her damaged machine. One cheek was scraped raw where she had skidded along the black asphalt. The wound on her thigh still pulsed blood.
She didn't hear the soft footsteps or the voices that surrounded her. Fourteen bright eyes peered down.
"Ohhhhhhhh!"
"Pret-ty, pret-ty!"
Seven tiny moppets in pink playrompers drew back in alarm as the girl stirred. Jess moaned, lapsed back into unconsciousness. The children bent over the still figure. Wonderingly, they felt her hair, her soft lips, the long lashes of her closed eyes.
"What is it?"
"It's a people! Ohhh…so big!'
"People tired."
They clucked together, deciding that Jess should be in a crib. They tugged and lifted and pulled her toward the Cribroom.
Fourteen bright eyes peered down. Jess lay on her side in a small crib, knees tucked under her chin.
The crib had sensed her hurt and ministered to her, closing her wounds with synthaskin. She slept deeply.
The eyes never left her.
DAKOTA STATES
INDUSTRIAL NURSERY—UNIT K
Beneath the sign Logan reconnoitered the gray metalmesh fence. Twice as tall as a man and capped with a triple strand of microwire. These gossamer threads could chop off fingers under the weight of a climber.
Beyond the fence, far out on the flat surface of the nursery playground, he could see the wreckage of Jessica's devilstick. Apparently she was inside somewhere, perhaps already in the hands of the Autogoverness. Other runners had tried to hide in these vast institutions, but each Autogoverness was programmed to sound an alarm. And if you could avoid the robots there were always the older children, conditioned and hypnotaped against invaders.
But I've got to try and find her.
He had to walk a full mile along the fence perimeter before he found the tree. It angled up and inward; one of its branches thrust out toward the wire. Logan climbed the tree, inching out as far along the branch as he dared. He hung there. Six feet ahead of him, and down, were the deadly strands of microwire.
He began to swing himself back and forth, gathering momentum. If he struck the wires they'd slice him like cheese. At the height of a swing he let go, twisting his body in the air. Logan hit ground safely, rolled and came up in a crouch. Silence. No alarms.
He crossed the wide asphalt toward the looming bulk of the nursery. At its fortress flank he paused to orient himself. He'd grown up in a place like this. The hypno classes would be in the west wing, the dorms to the left. He was now outside the infant wards. Less chance of being discovered if he entered here. High up the brick building face was a bank of windows. Logan began to climb, clinging to the
irregular surface. A foot slipped; he regained his balance and continued.
The first window was locked.
He spidered along a narrow ledge, feeling the strain pulling at his arm muscles. The next window was unlocked but jammed. He struggled to budge it; the glass panel grated inward. Logan crawled through, dropped to the floor and
Down…down…down. The Lame Johnny far below. Rapids. White water. Logan arrowed toward it in a long dive.
The stick caught Rutago below the rib line, carrying away his stomach as it drove into the face of the ravine.
Logan sliced the water, and the rapids took him, rolled him twisting, sucked him under. He came up choking, kicking to maintain leverage. Rocks just ahead.
The last thing Logan saw before he went under again was the faltering smoke trail of Jessica's wounded machine layering the sky.
Chapter 4
He knows the girl is on black now. A runner.
But the quarry has vanished again beyond Crazy Horse.
He checks the board in Rapid City. It does not help him. The Follower remains dark.
He is certain that Logan and the girl must break cover soon.
When they do he will be ready.
He will be there to intercept them.
AFTERNOON…
Jess lay unconscious in a pale square of sunlight next to her damaged machine. One cheek was scraped raw where she had skidded along the black asphalt. The wound on her thigh still pulsed blood.
She didn't hear the soft footsteps or the voices that surrounded her. Fourteen bright eyes peered down.
"Ohhhhhhhh!"
"Pret-ty, pret-ty!"
Seven tiny moppets in pink playrompers drew back in alarm as the girl stirred. Jess moaned, lapsed back into unconsciousness. The children bent over the still figure. Wonderingly, they felt her hair, her soft lips, the long lashes of her closed eyes.
"What is it?"
"It's a people! Ohhh…so big!'
"People tired."
They clucked together, deciding that Jess should be in a crib. They tugged and lifted and pulled her toward the Cribroom.
Fourteen bright eyes peered down. Jess lay on her side in a small crib, knees tucked under her chin.
The crib had sensed her hurt and ministered to her, closing her wounds with synthaskin. She slept deeply.
The eyes never left her.
DAKOTA STATES
INDUSTRIAL NURSERY—UNIT K
Beneath the sign Logan reconnoitered the gray metalmesh fence. Twice as tall as a man and capped with a triple strand of microwire. These gossamer threads could chop off fingers under the weight of a climber.
Beyond the fence, far out on the flat surface of the nursery playground, he could see the wreckage of Jessica's devilstick. Apparently she was inside somewhere, perhaps already in the hands of the Autogoverness. Other runners had tried to hide in these vast institutions, but each Autogoverness was programmed to sound an alarm. And if you could avoid the robots there were always the older children, conditioned and hypnotaped against invaders.
But I've got to try and find her.
He had to walk a full mile along the fence perimeter before he found the tree. It angled up and inward; one of its branches thrust out toward the wire. Logan climbed the tree, inching out as far along the branch as he dared. He hung there. Six feet ahead of him, and down, were the deadly strands of microwire.
He began to swing himself back and forth, gathering momentum. If he struck the wires they'd slice him like cheese. At the height of a swing he let go, twisting his body in the air. Logan hit ground safely, rolled and came up in a crouch. Silence. No alarms.
He crossed the wide asphalt toward the looming bulk of the nursery. At its fortress flank he paused to orient himself. He'd grown up in a place like this. The hypno classes would be in the west wing, the dorms to the left. He was now outside the infant wards. Less chance of being discovered if he entered here. High up the brick building face was a bank of windows. Logan began to climb, clinging to the
irregular surface. A foot slipped; he regained his balance and continued.
The first window was locked.
He spidered along a narrow ledge, feeling the strain pulling at his arm muscles. The next window was unlocked but jammed. He struggled to budge it; the glass panel grated inward. Logan crawled through, dropped to the floor and
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