Runner by William C. Dietz Page A

been erected on one of the better sites and was quite comfortable on the inside. So much so that the merchant named Dom Fermo rarely left it, preferring to loll within, nibble on tidbits from his well-stocked larder, and enjoy the attentions of his teenaged clerk. A winsome boy, who though not especially skilled at the arts of love, more than made up for that shortcoming with a wealth of enthusiasm.
    The two of them were resting, and communicating with each other in whispers, when the point of a knife penetrated the back wall of the tent, and there was a gentle ripping sound as the razor-sharp blade sliced down through the water-resistant fabric. Fermo had turned toward the sound, and was still in the process of preparing to shout, when Rebo stepped through the four-foot-long slit. The runner pointed the Crosser at the merchant, held a finger to his lips, and made his way across the cushion-strewn floor to the point where a striped curtain blocked the entrance. “Call your employees,” Rebo demanded. “ All of them. Or maybe you’d like to take a bullet. You decide.”
    Fermo had full, somewhat sensuous lips. They suddenly felt dry. He ran the tip of his tongue over them. “You won’t hurt me? You promise?”
    â€œI won’t hurt you,” Rebo agreed. “Now call them in.”
    The merchant lifted a bell. It rang once, twice, and three times, thereby signaling all of his employees to enter. And, as luck would have it, they were only twenty feet from the tent still discussing the firecracker incident when the summons was heard. They entered the tent one after another and stood with their backs to Rebo. The one called Tal noticedthat his employer looked especially pale, and was about to ask about his health, when the runner fired his handgun. There were three consecutive reports and each bullet found its mark. Tal felt something knock his left leg out from under him, discovered he was on the floor, and grabbed his thigh. The others were rolling around right next to him. The sound of the gunshots was still fading away when the teenager started to cry and Fermo raised a pair of pudgy hands. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”
    â€œAnd I didn’t,” Rebo replied. “Now here’s the deal . . . I think you’ll find that all three slugs went through flesh without touching bone. Assuming that you and the boy slap dressings on those wounds quickly enough, and apply some pressure, the bleeding will stop. Then, so long as you keep their wounds clean, these lads should be up and around by the time the ship enters orbit around Pooz.”
    â€œBut why? ” Fermo wanted to know. “Why did you attack us?”
    Up until that point the runner had assumed that the merchant had been behind the threatening note, but it appeared that he’d been wrong. The employees had been acting on their own. Not that it made much difference. “Because of this,” Rebo replied, tossing the parchment-wrapped bolt into the merchant’s lap. “I have to sleep once in a while, and I figured a few bullet holes would slow your servants down. Now, remember what I said about those dressings, or they’ll bleed to death right here.”
    Rebo brushed the curtain aside, backed through the resulting opening, and disappeared. Fermo sat there for a moment with his mouth hanging open, before turning to the boy and subjecting him to a frown. “You heard the man! Make some dressings. The worthless fools are bleeding on my carpet!”
    All of his fellow passengers had heard the rapid-fire series of gunshots but none would meet Rebo’s eyes as he wound his way back to the point where Lee was supposed to be guarding their campsite. Only the boy wasn’t there.
    The runner frowned and took a long slow look around. Lee knew he was supposed to stay close, especially now. That suggested that someone had seen an opportunity to grab the boy and taken it. But