Logos Run by William C. Dietz Page A

eyes remained glued to the screen as he finished his lunch.
     
The meeting was Norr’s idea; but for reasons the runner wasn’t sure of, he wound up at the center of it. Maybe it was the no-nonsense manner in which the murderous acrobat had been neutralized or the fact that many of the passengers had spoken with him when they came to get water. Whatever the reason, it was clear that the group presently assembled at the center of the hold saw the runner as their leader. That made Rebo uncomfortable since the runner was a loner by nature and had always gone to great lengths to stay that way. And individuals like master merchant Isban Okey were the reason why.
    Okey was a voluble man who, having survived the ambush, never stopped talking about it. The merchant was of medium height, and wore a red fez, matching jacket, and baggy pantaloons. The blunderbuss that he held cradled in his arms was almost sure to kill the man next to him if it went off, but Rebo was relieved to see that Okey’s right index finger was clear of the brass trigger. “I don’t know,” the merchant said doubtfully. “Wouldn’t it be better to hole up here , rather than go looking for the bandits?”
    “It might be,” the runner allowed patiently, “but consider this. . . . When the shuttle landed on Thara it was empty. Then, when we arrived in the hold, there weren’t any fires. Not even hot coals. What would that suggest?”
    It was a middle-aged woman who offered an answer. Though dressed in plain clothes, she wore a small fortune in gold jewelry. “It suggests that they murdered all of the previous passengers,” the woman stated. “In spite of whatever precautions they took when people began to disappear.”
    “Exactly,” Rebo agreed. “So, rather than sit and wait for the bandits to pick us off one at a time, I say we hunt the bastards down. They must have a lair, a place where they feel secure, and that’s where we will attack them.”
    “Yeah! He’s right!” a male passenger proclaimed.
    That was followed by a chorus of similar comments and calls for action. “Let’s track the scum down,” a burly blacksmith added, “and give them what they deserve!”
    There was a chorus of assent, and it was all Rebo could do to bring a modicum of organization to the mob before it surged out into the corridor. Okey was at the head of the column, with a reluctant runner at his side, while Hoggles brought up the rear. The beast master plus a dozen of his friends had agreed to participate in the hunt, so even though Norr had been left behind to guard the faucet by herself, the runner felt reasonably confident that she would be okay.
    Rebo knew there was no possibility of stealth given the caliber of his troops, so he allowed the vigilantes to make as much noise as they wanted to so long as they stayed in front of Hoggles and behind him. In the meantime, as the posse comitatus put more distance between itself and the hold, Okey had become increasingly loquacious. “We were exploring,” the merchant explained. “I opposed entering this particular corridor, but Runsus insisted, and took over the lead.”
    Rebo held his torch up over his head. The light surged ahead to reveal a nearly featureless overhead, graffiti-covered walls, and a litter-strewn deck. “There it is!” Okey said excitedly. “Up on the right. . . . That’s where the bone room is located.”
    Perhaps it was the steel bulkheads that seemed to press in from both sides, or Okey’s choice of words, but whatever the reason, Rebo kept one hand on his talisman as the two of them stopped in front of an open hatch. “Look in there,” Okey instructed, eyes averted. “And see for yourself.”
    Rebo caught the first whiff of what could only be described as an overwhelming stench—and resolved to breathe through his mouth as he approached the open door. Torchlight danced across grimy walls as the runner peered into what had become a charnel house. Whatever else the compartment