The Stolen Future Box Set Read online

  “I believe my claim takes precedence over yours, my lord. The lady prefers me.”

  Anger, defiance, and disbelief battled across his weak features.

  “The lady—?” he sputtered. “This is no lady, this is a common Thoran! Who are you to speak that way?” Then he actually turned to his bodyguard, and asked, “Who is this man?”

  The bodyguard closed his eyes for a half-second. Bantos Han grabbed my arm, but I didn’t need him to tell me what must be happening. The Nuum was accessing the datasphere, apparently because Farren could not be bothered with such a menial task himself. But the Hans and I knew what he would find…

  His eyes opened and focused on me and he leaped forward, all in an instant.

  The impact of his face into my clenched fist made a satisfying sound, but it nearly broke my hand. I had the advantage of knowing what he was going to do before he did it, by virtue of knowing what he would find when he researched me in the datasphere, which was to say, nothing—but it must have looked to Farren as though I had the reflexes of a cobra, so quickly did I counter his bodyguard’s attack.

  I hid my pain as I turned on Farren, reaching with my left hand to grasp for his throat. But I had underestimated him; he blocked me, and my hand went numb. I jumped back in surprise, and he opened his hand to reveal a small black tube that seemed to crackle with unseen energies. Behind me, Bantos Han hissed in horror. Now it was I who acted as though he had seen a poisonous snake, and Farren smiled cruelly as he advanced, confident in his superiority once more.

  “My lord,” gasped out the bodyguard, his voice rough from his smashed nose. “My lord, be careful! He’s a ghost!”

  Farren flinched and hesitated, and I seized the moment, charging him with my aching right hand, the left still useless. I knocked the tube out of his grip—he was nowhere near as strong as I—and moved in. I had no idea what I planned to do to him, but that it would be violent he could read in my eyes and he retreated until he backed into the door, his face white with fear.

  “Keryl—look out!” There was a scuffle behind me, but as I turned all I could see was the bodyguard, blood streaming from his nose, cuff Bantos Han aside and sweep the black tube from the floor. He pointed it toward me, my limbs went numb, and I knew nothing more.

  I awoke slowly and painfully, to find Hori Han crouched over her husband. She moved to see to me when she heard me, but I could see that her concern, rightfully, was with him and I waved her away.

  Bantos Han recovered soon after I did, to my relief as well as Hori’s. For a moment, we all sat there, sprawled on their floor, none wishing to be the first to admit what had happened. Although Bantos Han and I had been unconscious when he left, we knew Lord Farren was gone, and that Hana Wen had gone with him.

  “Where will he take her?” I asked gently. A plan was already forming in my mind, vague as yet, but focused in its purpose.

  “We knew this was coming; it was only a matter of time,” Hana assured me hurriedly, as though explanation could wipe away the feeling of loss.

  “Where will he take her?”

  “To his palace,” Bantos Han replied with resignation. “The same as the others.”

  “Once he gets tired of her, he’ll send her back.” We both looked at Hori with surprise. “She and I talked about this, Bantos. I told her not to resist, but not to cooperate, either. She knows what to do. He’ll soon tire of her.”

  Try as she might, she could not hide the desperate note in her voice that told me she was trying to keep her husband or me from doing something that she feared would only make matters worse. She had lost her sister, her protestations to the contrary, and she wanted badly to hang onto what was left her. I felt more than a touch of gratitude that I was included in that category.

  But gratitude faded to insignificance in light of the more volatile emotions that played within my heart.

  I heaved myself to my feet, noting with satisfaction that my dizziness passed quickly. Bantos Han stood as well, though he required his wife’s aid. I saw now that she had applied a compress of some type to the side of his head.

  “Where is my weapon?” I asked him. He indicated where he had hurriedly hidden it at Farren’s arrival, and I retrieved it, checking the action.

  Hori started to protest anew, but Bantos Han stopped her with a gentle but firm gaze.

  “You’re right, dear, she’s gone. But she doesn’t have to spend her life as Farren’s play-doll. If anyone can get her out of there, it’s Keryl.”

  “What about the server scans?”

  “What are server scans?” I asked. The words were familiar, but their meaning eluded me. Bantos Han hastened to explain. His words were rushed, and I wondered why.

  “The palace is protected by mental scanners. But I don’t think they can detect you. None of us can hear you unless you’re speaking to us.”

  I nodded. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

  But Hana Han was not finished. “And where will they go?” she demanded. “They can’t come back here.”

  I had to admit that my plan had not progressed so far.

  “You couldn’t stay here, regardless,” Bantos Han explained. “Farren has seen you; he thinks you’re a ghost. A ‘ghost’ is someone who doesn’t appear in the planetary datasphere; he has no official existence, because there are no records of him. Keryl, ghosts are almost always assassins. Farren thinks you’re here to kill him. The only reason he didn’t kill you is because he fears retaliation.”

  I tucked my revolver into my tunic. “Farren didn’t kill me because he’s a coward. And as much as I would like to validate his theory, I won’t unless I have to.”

  “It would be best if you didn’t; the city is going to be in a panic as it is. Lord Farren probably has men on their way here now, but we can tell them you threatened us and used Hana for bait. I just don’t know how you’re going to get in touch with us later. You don’t know your way around, and Hana has never been out of the city.”

  Now I understood why he had hurried his explanations: time was short. “Don’t worry about that.” I thought of the branch library safely and secretly tucked into one of my pockets. The less Bantos and Hori Han knew, the safer we all were. “Just tell me how to get to Farren’s palace.”

  “You can summon a vehicle from here,” Hori told me, her surrender evident. “You can charge it to our account. It’s what the Nuum do.”

  “That’s right,” Bantos said. “And remember, you’re one of them now, not one of us. Act like you own everything. And one more thing, don’t let anyone see your pistol. Remember, we’re not allowed to carry mechanical devices of any kind.”

  “Don’t worry about that, either. I’m not one of you.”

  The cab Bantos Han had summoned arrived quickly, and on impulse I instructed its driver to take me away from the center of town. He obeyed without comment, nor did he so much as express curiosity in the small crowd of vehicles that swept to a halt outside of the Hans’ residence just as we were turning a corner two blocks away, other than a flicker of his eyes in the mirror that I all but missed. We took a leisurely drive through the outlying homes of the district, I actually enjoying the comfortable view of the hills that had briefly been my home. I wondered if the men in silver hunted for me there still, and the notion made me sit back in my seat to escape any chance notice. I soon directed the driver to return to the city and take me to the palace.

  He left me within sight of the main gate and drove off without requesting payment. The palace itself was tall, open, and translucent at this distance, though even from the ground I could see that many of its walls and windows were hazy, due to some process that left the material simultaneously opaque and transparent and allowed for the occupants’ privacy. I shrugged off this latest wonder and walked to the gate as though I were Lord Farren himself. The Thoran guards nodded politely as I went by, but made no move to intercept or question me.

  I passed through a long, wide hallway, with a cold marble floor, and abstract p
aintings adorning the walls on either side. I mixed with Nuum and Thorans on their own errands. The former ignored me, the latter acknowledged me only insofar as they must to avoid impeding my progress, or even crossing my path to the extent they could. As my boots softly slapped the smooth floor, an inadvertent thought came to mind: This was the hall of the servers, the mental sentries whose constant scanning was the greatest, and technically, the only defense against violence the Nuum possessed in these walls.

  As I walked, my new learning, absorbed in my sleep, arose to my conscious mind, and what I suddenly realized almost made me stop in my tracks.

  The servers were alive.

  Almost as though I were reading from a text, the concept materialized before my mind’s eye. The servers were Thorans, generally taken from the ranks of the terminally ill, who had volunteered to have their brains separated from their bodies and immersed in nutrient tanks, placed behind these very walls. Unfettered by the old demands of a body, they could create (with the use of Nuum technology) whatever world they desired in which to live, and yet enough of their mental potential remained to be harnessed by the Nuum for their own purposes, including security for this and other important buildings.

  Each person passing through this gauntlet was scanned by these disembodied minds, searching for any indication of hostile intent. Finding such, the perpetrator would be immediately paralyzed by a telepathic jolt whose nature was only vaguely described. Moreover, any weapon he might carry was rendered useless, although by what means was not detailed. Had they recently been warned to watch for a ghost?

  With an effort of my own will, I kept walking as though nothing were troubling me, but the thought that just behind those artistically-decorated walls lay tank after tank of naked human brains, hurried my feet despite my best efforts at nonchalance. After a long few minutes, I reached the end of the hall, and the palace proper.

  Not being a commercial building or a tourist destination, there were no directories; every person there seemed to know exactly where he was going. I hesitated to ask directions, but then it came to me: Everyone had to come here for the first time; no one was born knowing the architecture. I marched straight up to the next guard I saw.

  “Where are the elevators to Lord Farren’s quarters?” Being a Thoran, he should neither require nor expect an explanation, but what if Farren’s trust in his disembodied watchdogs was less than absolute? If he had warned his staff against intruders, I was likely to lose this battle before it was fairly joined.

  But my fears were unfounded. “That way, sir,” the guard responded immediately, pointing out the direction. “Around the corner to the right.” Having said his piece, he snapped back to attention. I bit back my thanks and proceeded, as instructed, “as though I owned the place,” although I itched intolerably between my shoulder blades all the same.

  For the first time in my life, I took an elevator to the top floor of a building and emerged outside.

  Roof gardens were hardly new to me; they extended back to Babylonian times. Still, I had asked the elevator to take me to Lord Farren’s quarters, not his gardens. Yet before me stretched a spacious plaza of softly winding paths wending between profusions of lush foliage that tended largely to leafy palms, creepers, and mosses, copiously splashed with red, blue, purple, and orange flowers. I could not see clearly more than a few yards in any direction. Somewhere invisible birds sang softly; a breeze sprang up to cool my face as if on command.

  On impulse, I turned to examine the elevator door that had silently closed behind me, and I was less than surprised to find that I had, to all appearances, stepped out of a thick stand of green bamboo. Nor was it merely a drawing or set piece; as closely as I looked, I could see nothing but thick green shoots of vegetation. The technology used by the Nuum made anything available to their Thoran serfs seem as primitive as…well, as I seemed to the Thorans.

  An attitude which could serve me ill, should I be found gawking like a doughboy on his first leave in Paris. Just because I saw no one did not mean that no one saw me. I stepped forward along the first path I saw, apprehensive suddenly that I had not seen anyone here. I realized it had been naïve of me to expect that Farren would be in his own rooms when I came calling; Bantos Han’s personal opinion of him aside, it was natural to assume that he must have some business that took him away during the day. Still, I would have thought to see servants—unless everything was done mechanically?

  No. I shook my head. Farren was the kind of man who would want others fawning over him and catering to his whims; witness his kidnapping of Hana Wen for his harem. Yet here were no maids—or gardeners. And yet the elevators had delivered me directly to Farren’s private quarters when I could state no legitimate business—not that anyone had asked. I had been left alone to wander at will. I saw no movement of any kind except myself, heard no sounds, not even the phantom birds—save for a sinister scurrying through the leaves of the overarching trees…

  The hairs on the back of my neck told me nothing that was not already obvious. The trap was sprung, and I was caught.

  Chapter 13

  The Garden of Death

  “It’s called a tiger spider,” advised a voice from nowhere and yet everywhere at once. “It comes from the southern jungles. Its bite is invariably fatal, and there is no antidote.”

  Finding the location of the voice was of much less concern to me right now than locating the creature of which it had just warned me. While some rational part of my brain was trying to maintain composure by reassuring me that anything I heard could be broadcast in the same way as the strange voice, and anything I saw could be as false as the bamboo elevator, it was fighting a losing battle with my Neanderthal hindbrain. Caught between the urge to run and the need to hide, my feet were glued to the floor. By an effort of will, I removed my Webley from my tunic.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a spindly stick-like object emerge from cover—then another, and another. My lips were dry. The thing sidled into view not two feet from me and the urge to run became almost overwhelming. I have never been fond of spiders, and this must have reigned as their king.

  I would estimate its legs spread twelve full inches across, yet it balanced its yellow and black striped body on a single leaf as though it weighed nothing at all. Its segmented eyes watched me intently, as though measuring the size web it would require, and despite every sermon I had ever heard pronouncing that Man was the only living creature with a soul, I would defy any priest to deny that this foul arachnid held evil in its gaze.

  A single drop of sweat rolled down my throat.

  Then it leaped.

  I jumped backward in sheer instinctive fright, but it was not leaping at me. It stood on its eight legs blocking the path forward, tensed every so slightly forward, like a mastiff guarding its master’s house from a burglar.

  “It’s not real, of course,” said the same voice, only now it belonged to a man, a man who stepped out of hiding and stood behind his hideous bodyguard: Farren. He sneered at my obvious fear. “It’s only a robot. I couldn’t possibly have the real thing; it would kill everyone, even if I could find a way to capture one and bring it here. You don’t want to know what it cost me to have this one made. It’s an exact duplicate.” He smiled like a chess master who has just determined the move that will give him the match. “Well, almost. It’s also completely ray-shielded and telepathically activated.” He indicated the Webley. “I assume that’s some sort of weapon. If you try to shoot me, it will leap to my defense. And then it will kill you.”

  I could see now. Every living thing moves, however slightly, at every moment. This spider did not have that quality. Yet I would not doubt its lethality.

  “How did you get in here, by the way?” Farren’s question sounded genuine, and that was no surprise; he had a great deal invested in my answer.

  I, on the other hand, had no intention of satisfying his curiosity.

  “Where is Hana Wen?”

  Farren blinked. “What do you ca
re?”

  I lifted the revolver and pointed it straight at the bridge of his nose. “I’ll not ask again.”

  “I’ve already told you: If you activate that weapon, you’ll die.” His words were cold and precise, but he couldn’t keep the smirk off of his face. “The same trigger that fires it will set the spider on you—and it’s impervious to hand weapons.”

  I hadn’t had an opportunity before to study the man, to see who he was. Now I stood curiously detached, a soldier facing an enemy whose humanity I had discounted, reduced to an abstract to facilitate the act of killing him.

  His age I estimated at thirty, but it was impossible to be sure. I had noticed since my arrival in this time that no one seemed old, gray or decrepit. Perhaps Farren was my age; perhaps he was old enough to be my father. Once he had been an athlete, but now his love for easy living was betraying him through the softness of his jaw and the bags under his eyes.

  Those eyes were staring into mine now, blue where the spider’s were black, but otherwise the same. They both held contempt, utter disdain for anyone who could neither help nor harm them. But in Farren’s face I saw too the smirk of a man who was used to his own way, all the time, no matter the cost to young women or their families—or the planet. It was the cocksure ghost of a smile of a conqueror who had never felt a hand in anger.

  I lowered the barrel, taking careful aim on the robot. His twisted pride and joy, he had taken pains to show it off and tell me how much it had cost him, despite believing that I was a specialized assassin sent specifically to kill him—or perhaps because he believed it. The epitome of millennia of destructive engineering, the spider was telepathically triggered and impervious to modern weapons. I carefully squeezed the trigger of my million-year-old revolver and blew Farren’s deadly toy into a hundred pieces. The noise staggered him, hands over his ears. I raised the gun to his face again. I had warned him I wouldn’t ask about Hana Wen a second time, and I kept my promise.