Logan Trilogy by William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson Page B
Authors: William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson
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stood listening. He was in a storage area.
Where was Jess? She could be anywhere in the sprawl of buildings. She could be hurt and dying in a corridor or under a conveyor or hidden in a locker space. Or maybe she wasn't here at all. The silence encouraged him. If Jess were here, at least she hadn't been discovered as yet.
He crossed the room and eased open the door. Distantly he heard the hum and buzz of classrooms in use.
He checked the hall. Deserted. He moved to the next door. The dot symbol told him it was a Playroom.
It was not activated. The vibroballs were boxed and motionless, no longer bouncing themselves in puzzle patterns from the walls. The talk puppets were stacked and speechless. The echo boards were silent. No sign of Jess here. He closed the door.
The next chamber was also quiet. The delivery-room.
Logan checked the moveways. He stared in fascination at the Hourglass, at the phosphorescent crystals in the thick globe which gave each infant his birth right—the radioactive timeflower. He stared at his own hand, blinking red-black, red-black…He'd received his crystal in a room like this; it had imbedded the flower in his right palm, and the crystal had decayed on schedule, in the same way the cesium atom decays in a radium clock, turning the stigmata inexorably from yellow to blue to red
—and now, soon, to black.
Logan passed through the room to a long corridor. Had Jess gone in this direction? The search seemed hopeless, but he could not abandon it. Not until he was forced to.
A whirring noise—a sound Logan had heard often in his childhood. The Autogoverness.
He jerked open a door to his right, dodged inside. The door swung closed. The interior was dark and warm.
"My own, my precious," his mother said.
A softness enveloped him.
"My little one, my sweet," said the Loveroom. Its voice was a crooning, smoothing music. "There, there," said the room.
Logan attempted to struggle, but the room held him fast in tender embrace, stroked him. It pressed him against its great warm bosom and rocked him gently, rhythmically. "My dove, my darling, my precious love."
"But—I can't—" ' said Logan wildly.
His mother held him close.
"I can't stay here. I've got to—"
"Sleep," said the room softly.
Need and emotional hunger flooded through Logan in a great wave.
"Mother loves you, loves you, loves you," sang the room.
"No," cried Logan, "I've got to—"
"Sleep," said the room.
"I've got to…"
"Sleep." Insistently, lovingly.
"Got to…sleep," sighed Logan.
He slept.
In Cribroom L-16, during her hourly inspection, Autogoverness K-110 discovered a sleeping woman.
The Autogoverness calmly rolled into the corridor and activated the Invader Alarm. Bells. Sirens.
Jess awoke in panic, leaped from the small crib and began to run.
The nursery defended its children. Doors slammed, gates closed; trams and moveways halted. Crib covers snapped down like turtle shells; barriers sprung up through slotted floors, sealing off each wing.
Invaders!
Repel!
Protect!
Defend!
The door of the Loveroom was wrenched open. Logan was there. "Jess—this way!"
In the alarm din they fled along corridors crowded with curious children. An Autogoverness rolled at them, clucking; Logan disabled it with a savage heel blow. They slid under a descending barrier, whipped through a closing door, avoided a handler machine. They clattered down to the first floor as the building entrance was sliding shut along its lubricated tracks.
"Faster!" Logan yelled.
They cleared the massive slide-door a split second before it locked home. The edge of the door rapped Logan's shoulder, knocking him off stride—but they were out of the building.
They sprinted across the playground for the main gate.
It was closed.
Logan broke into the glass control booth, smashed the panel, and jerked down the release switch.
The gate swung open.
A roboguard tried to stop them, but Logan evaded it, grabbed Jessica by the arm and cut into a
Where was Jess? She could be anywhere in the sprawl of buildings. She could be hurt and dying in a corridor or under a conveyor or hidden in a locker space. Or maybe she wasn't here at all. The silence encouraged him. If Jess were here, at least she hadn't been discovered as yet.
He crossed the room and eased open the door. Distantly he heard the hum and buzz of classrooms in use.
He checked the hall. Deserted. He moved to the next door. The dot symbol told him it was a Playroom.
It was not activated. The vibroballs were boxed and motionless, no longer bouncing themselves in puzzle patterns from the walls. The talk puppets were stacked and speechless. The echo boards were silent. No sign of Jess here. He closed the door.
The next chamber was also quiet. The delivery-room.
Logan checked the moveways. He stared in fascination at the Hourglass, at the phosphorescent crystals in the thick globe which gave each infant his birth right—the radioactive timeflower. He stared at his own hand, blinking red-black, red-black…He'd received his crystal in a room like this; it had imbedded the flower in his right palm, and the crystal had decayed on schedule, in the same way the cesium atom decays in a radium clock, turning the stigmata inexorably from yellow to blue to red
—and now, soon, to black.
Logan passed through the room to a long corridor. Had Jess gone in this direction? The search seemed hopeless, but he could not abandon it. Not until he was forced to.
A whirring noise—a sound Logan had heard often in his childhood. The Autogoverness.
He jerked open a door to his right, dodged inside. The door swung closed. The interior was dark and warm.
"My own, my precious," his mother said.
A softness enveloped him.
"My little one, my sweet," said the Loveroom. Its voice was a crooning, smoothing music. "There, there," said the room.
Logan attempted to struggle, but the room held him fast in tender embrace, stroked him. It pressed him against its great warm bosom and rocked him gently, rhythmically. "My dove, my darling, my precious love."
"But—I can't—" ' said Logan wildly.
His mother held him close.
"I can't stay here. I've got to—"
"Sleep," said the room softly.
Need and emotional hunger flooded through Logan in a great wave.
"Mother loves you, loves you, loves you," sang the room.
"No," cried Logan, "I've got to—"
"Sleep," said the room.
"I've got to…"
"Sleep." Insistently, lovingly.
"Got to…sleep," sighed Logan.
He slept.
In Cribroom L-16, during her hourly inspection, Autogoverness K-110 discovered a sleeping woman.
The Autogoverness calmly rolled into the corridor and activated the Invader Alarm. Bells. Sirens.
Jess awoke in panic, leaped from the small crib and began to run.
The nursery defended its children. Doors slammed, gates closed; trams and moveways halted. Crib covers snapped down like turtle shells; barriers sprung up through slotted floors, sealing off each wing.
Invaders!
Repel!
Protect!
Defend!
The door of the Loveroom was wrenched open. Logan was there. "Jess—this way!"
In the alarm din they fled along corridors crowded with curious children. An Autogoverness rolled at them, clucking; Logan disabled it with a savage heel blow. They slid under a descending barrier, whipped through a closing door, avoided a handler machine. They clattered down to the first floor as the building entrance was sliding shut along its lubricated tracks.
"Faster!" Logan yelled.
They cleared the massive slide-door a split second before it locked home. The edge of the door rapped Logan's shoulder, knocking him off stride—but they were out of the building.
They sprinted across the playground for the main gate.
It was closed.
Logan broke into the glass control booth, smashed the panel, and jerked down the release switch.
The gate swung open.
A roboguard tried to stop them, but Logan evaded it, grabbed Jessica by the arm and cut into a
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