Never Fear Page 13

  “But I never win!”

  “He has a point, Logan. Perhaps we could modify the program?”

  “We’ll see. No promises. Maybe you should try harder, Jaq?” Logan said.

  Jaq nodded.

  “Get ready for your lesson,” Jess said.

  “Fine… I guess.” The boy sighed. “But I still hate fencing!”

  At that moment, a tall Nexus 10 entered the garden, the robot’s metal chest plate reflecting the blaze of morning sun. “Sir,” it said to Logan. “Jonath 2 awaits you in cencourt. He bears disturbing news.”

  “Why didn’t he bring it to me here?”

  The Nexus unit hesitated. “He did not wish to alarm your family,” it finally said in a hushed tone.

  Logan turned to Jessica, noting the concern on her face. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Jonath tends to make a molehill out of a mountain.”

  “You have it backwards,” Jess corrected him. “The old Earth saying is ‘making a mountain out of a molehill.’”

  “What’s a molehill?” Jaq asked.

  ***

  Jonath was pacing nervously around the central courtyard, grim-faced. He spread his hands in a hopeless gesture. “It’s all over for the Wilderness People,” he told Logan. “For us… for everyone.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “A rogue comet,” said Jonath. “Huge. Largest on record and headed straight for us.”

  Logan took the news in, sweeping a hand through his hair. “I see. Well… comets are ice, gas, and rock fragments. They always burn out in our atmosphere—”

  “Not this one,” Jonath interrupted. “It’s far larger than any previous comet we’ve recorded—nearly a thousand kilometers across.”

  Logan nodded in quiet understanding.

  “Of course, it will lose a lot of mass in burnout,” said Jonath, “but the core will remain largely intact. When it hits this planet… Earth won’t survive.”

  “Are you certain of the trajectory?”

  Jonath nodded, pacing as he thought. “Yes, absolutely. It’s been carefully charted. The results have been checked and re-checked. It will strike somewhere along the Pacific Coast in roughly twenty-nine days.”

  “Twenty-nine days? My God, that’s barely a solar month… There must be a way to change its orbit.”

  Jonath sighed, shaking his head. “No, Logan… nothing can stop it.”

  “I have a wild idea,” said Logan. “Just before the Thinker was destroyed, a scientist in the Chicago Complex, Miles Broxton, had developed a sort of… time machine.”

  “I don’t see—”

  Logan cut in: “Broxton was sure that it would allow him to enter a second world parallel to our own… a world with more advanced technology. What if… what if I can find something in Old Chicago to help us… to stop the comet before it hits?”

  “The cities are very dangerous. Renegade hotbeds. They hate Sandmen. You could die there.”

  “What difference does that make? In twenty-nine days we all die.” Logan straightened. “I’m going to the Chicago Complex to find Broxton’s machine.”

  “That’s a crazy plan.”

  Logan looked off to the horizon, nodding. “Right now, it’s our only plan.”

  ***

  “What did Jonath say?”

  Logan regarded Jess, looking from where Jaq was playing in the garden to where she was cooking in the small kitchen. He smiled, saddened at the idea that their time together might soon be shortened.

  After all we’ve been through. To have it end this way… His throat tightened.

  “Two of the Nexus bots have malfunctioned,” he said, not ready to reveal everything he knew. “A minor problem. I had Jonath send them back to the shop.”

  She nodded. “It sounded serious.”

  “Jonath overreacted. I managed to calm him down.” Logan hesitated. “Look, Jess, I need to take a paravane to Old Chicago. Something to do with a glitch in the mainline system. They want me to check it out.”

  She glanced up, staring into him. “I see… And why do they always call on you?”

  “Because I’m a very smart fella,” he said lightly, giving her a peck on the cheek.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Today. They need me today.”

  She returned to cooking, her brow furrowed.

  “I won’t be long. Not more than a few days.” He paused, cupping her face in his hand. “We’ll make the best of it. Maybe you can take Jaq to the cybercircus. I’ll contact you once I get there.”

  He gave her a hug, then headed for the paravane.

  ***

  Old Chicago lay in ruins.

  When the Thinker died, each of the great cities died with it. The New You shops were grave-silent, the ped walks motionless, the mazecars frozen in mid-transit. Old Chicago was now a blighted area, ruled by fierce renegades who prowled its broken streets. Logan knew he was entering a kill zone, but he had no choice. If Broxton’s machine still existed he would find it. But, once found, would it transport him into a second world? What would he find there?

  The plan was indeed as Jonath described it: Insane.

  ***

  Logan eased the Fuser from its belted holster as he stepped cautiously into the city.

  He moved through the shattered debris of Arcade, past blackened firegalleries and Love Shops, broken glass crackling under his boots. So far, so good. No renegades in sight. He had been searching now for a week. Nothing.

  It was late afternoon on the eighth day, and shafts of pale sunlight penetrated the gloom. In his youth he had taken the sun for granted, like breathing. Now he valued its light and abiding warmth as never before: It was and had always been a blessing—a blessing that could soon come to an end. He thought of Jess and Jaq back home, feeling a sudden, desperate rush of nostalgia and determination.

  The area was familiar. As a Sandman, he’d hunted here before, on city reserve duty, terminating a runner, Halyard 8, when the frightened man rejected Sleep. Logan knew that the lab he sought was just past Arcade. He was very close when a mocking voice rang out from the shadows: “Lookie who’s come to pay us a visit!”

  Renegades!

  Logan faced more than a dozen of them, led by a feral-faced brute in ripped lifeleathers. He held a Flamer, aimed at Logan’s chest. “Drop the weapon… Now!”

  Logan lowered the Fuser. If he fired into the group, he could only take out a few of them before being burned down. He let the gun fall from his hand.

  The burly leader kept the Flamer steady on Logan. He smiled crookedly. “Guess we all oughta be honored… havin' such a famous fella come see us. Welcome Logan 3.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Big in your day. Top Sandman. Top kill score.”

  “I’m not proud of what I was. I’m just a citizen now.”

  “Yer just a dead man walking, that’s what you are!” said one of the others, a bearded six-footer. His eyes radiated hate.

  “Go ahead, burn me. We’ll all be dead soon enough.”

  The leader quit smiling. “What you mean, Sandman?”

  “Our world is about to be wiped out. And we’ll all die with it.”

  The Flamer tipped up. “That’s a lie!”

  “No, it’s true,” said Logan. “A giant comet is headed directly for Earth. Due to hit in less than a month. I’m here to try and find a solution. Let me go and there’s a chance, a very slim one, that we’ll all be alive a month from now.”

  “Why should we believe such a crazy-ass story?” snorted the bearded renegade. He edged closer to Logan, lips drawn back in an ugly snarl.

  “I’m no fool,” said Logan. “Why do you think I risked coming here? I had to try.”

  “Try what?”

  “Miles Broxton built a machine. It’s somewhere in this city, and might be capable of entering a parallel world,” Logan told them. “If I can activate the thing I might be able to find a way, in this alternate world, to def
lect the comet, using their advanced technology.”

  “I’ve heard me some wild stories,” scoffed the bearded renegade, “but I gotta give it to you, boyo, yours beats the lot.” He brandished a rusty katana. “Taste the blade, Sandman!”

  “Hold up!” snapped the leader. “What he says is so crazy it just might be true.” He faced Logan. “We let you go, then what?”

  “I find the machine.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Logan smiled, leveling a dark stare at the group. “Well… then nothing matters, now does it?”

  The feral-faced renegade nodded. “Go ahead, Sandman, find your damn machine—if you can.”

  And he lowered the Flamer.

  ***

  Logan found Broxton’s place the next evening.

  As he entered the lab, he was shocked by the chaos around him. The ceiling had collapsed and the walls had caved in, destroying most of the equipment.

  “It’s gone, Logan.” A soft voice from the shadows. “If you’ve come for the machine, you’re too late. It’s beyond repair.”

  Logan recognized the voice. “Mary-Mary!” He gripped her hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to save it. Spent the last several days trying to re-build the thing—but no luck. It was destroyed in the collapse. My father was never able to test it.”

  “Father?”

  She nodded. “With the Thinker dead I was able to access the DNA records—and discovered who my parents were. Miles Broxton was my father.”

  Logan drew in a long breath, trying to absorb what the girl had revealed. Then: “After you saved my life at Crazy Horse I never expected to see you again.”

  Mary-Mary smiled. “Yet here we are.”

  “How have you avoided the Renegades?”

  “I’ve been lucky,” she said. “And careful.”

  Logan looked wracked; his eyes haunted. “It’s all over, Mary. With the machine gone it’s the end of everything.”

  He told her about the rogue comet.

  “My father was a brilliant man,” Mary-Mary declared. “He was working on another important project beyond the machine before his death—some sort of plasma beam. The details are in his papers. Maybe there’s a chance—”

  Logan shook his head. “The machine was our only chance, I think. With it gone…” His voice trailed off.

  A silence between them as she took in his dark words.

  Then: “My mother… she’s still alive in Florida, in what’s left of the Miami Complex. I should be with her—at the end.”

  “Yes, you should,” said Logan, his thoughts turning to home. “You should be together… for the last days.”

  ***

  Back home, Jess accepted the news with tears in her eyes.

  Jaq was defiant. “He’ll find a way to stop it. Dad can do anything! He was the best Sandman ever!”

  “I’ve told you before, Jaq,” Jess said firmly, “that’s nothing to brag about.”

  ***

  With fierce determination, Logan had pored over Miles Broxton’s research papers. In a large blue notebook, at the bottom of the stack, Broxton had outlined detailed plans for his high-energy beam device, that promised awesome power. Did it offer a final chance? And could it be finished in the scant time left before impact?

  “Can we perfect it, Jonath?” asked Logan. “Is it possible?”

  “We can try,” said Jonath as he studied the note pages Logan had brought back from Old Chicago. “God knows, Logan, we can try. I’ll get my men on it immediately.”

  A week passed as they worked to build the plasma beam.

  Another week gone. The plasma cannon was ready; its first test would be its only chance to save them.

  Five days and counting.

  Four…

  Three: The comet appeared on the horizon like some dreadful, fiery emissary from another realm.

  Two…

  The final day: Activate!

  The arc of the purple beam sizzled through the night sky, connecting with the red glow of the comet… A vast explosion—so intense its impact sent shockwaves around the Earth, as the massive space invader died in a spectacular showering of ice, rocks, and cosmic dust.

  Logan smiled, a hand on Jonath’s shoulder. He looked at his friend.

  “Mission accomplished,” he said.

  —for Sunni K Brock

  OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD

  Thomas F. Monteleone

  Out beyond the limits of clear vision, Tag saw a black speck… slowly growing larger. Something alive moved out there. It was unusual for an animal to wander about alone. The pack instinct ruled, and loners easy prey, quick meals. Tag massaged his wrench nervously between his fingers, watching the figure steadfastly approach the ruins.

  A minute passed, the only sound the wind keening through the vanes of the windmill above his head. One more minute ticked through his head, and Tag knew it was a man coming toward his position.

  Another man.

  A coldness passed through him. To hear another human voice again, to listen to the words of someone else… The thought excited him as few could. His palms grew moist; the wrench felt slippery. A dryness formed in his throat.

  From the height of the tower, he had a clear view of the stranger as he drew ever closer. He wore a long, flowing garment, a cape of some sort that flapped and billowed in the breeze. He wore a military helmet, although Tag saw what seemed to be a long plume jutting from it, swaying and bouncing with him. He pulled a small wagon, its rubber tires leaving thin lines in its wake. The cart piled high with unidentifiable objects bulging out from beneath a piece of canvas secured with scraps of rope. His steps were slow and almost mincing at times, suggesting someone of advanced years, and this puzzled Tag. There was nothing in the direction from which the stranger had come. Nothing but desolate, scarred earth. He must have walked a great distance. Tag slowly stood and watched the man, now less than 50 meters away… then half of that.

  He stopped. Looked up.

  The man dropped the cart’s tow-bar and cupped both hands before his face. “Hello! Hello, up there! You don’t plan to kill me, do you?”

  Kill him? Tag was stunned by the words. He had never imagined such a greeting. Hesitantly, he heard himself reply: “No, no of course not! You’re welcome here!”

  “Well, that’s a comfort,” said the oddly dressed old man.

  Leaning against the platform railing, replacing the wrench in his tool pouch, Tag held up his hand. “Here, wait! Wait till I can get down.”

  God, it felt strange to be talking to someone. Tag had been little more than a child the last time he’d spoken to another person.

  The stranger put a finger to the brim of his helmet, gave a grandiose, sweeping bow, then stood up, smiling broadly. As Tag climbed down the tower, the man picked up the T-bar and started pulling his cart toward the base of the windmill. The stranger’s words lingered in Tag’s mind. Why this talk of killing? Was the old man trying to put him off guard? Maybe it was the stranger planning the killing…

  Tag paused for a moment, still several meters from the ground. No, it was unfair to get suspicious so quickly. Perhaps he should be wary of the old man, but certainly nothing more.

  Dropping to the earth, Tag dusted his hands nervously on his pants, and watched the man draw close to him. At the little distance that separated them, Tag was able to study his features in great detail. The stranger’s face betrayed his age. Older in fact than anyone Tag had ever seen. Beneath the rim of the helmet, a few wisps of silver-white hair danced upon a seamed forehead. Great bushy white eyebrows huddled over sunken eyes. The man’s thin, colorless lips nestled almost lost beneath a ragged, bleached-white beard. And everywhere there were lines, deep grooves and pockets where the years lay scored. Tag looked at the man’s hands—white, gnarled skin stretched tautly over the bones. His fingers moved like insect legs, in quick, jerky motions.

  “Name’s Peregrine,” said the stranger, extending one of his spidery hands.
“What’s yours?”

  “Tag. Nice to meet you, sir.” The man’s hand felt dry, rough. And the sound of Tag’s voice sounded almost alien to him.

  “You alone out here?” The old man looked past him into the ruined vista of buildings and machinery.

  Tag nodded.

  “Yeah, well… look, I been walking a long way and I could sure use a drink of cold water. Got any?”

  “Yes, back at the house. Let’s go, and I’ll get you some.”

  Peregrine laughed again, smiling through his wiry beard. “Now you’re talking, son. Let’s surely go!”

  Tag put away his tools and picked up his canvas bag, pointing the way back to his shelter. “Where you come from, Mr. Peregrine?”

  Tag also wanted to ask him why he had that long pink feather stuck on the side of his helmet, but was afraid to.

  Peregrine started pulling the little cart along behind them. He smacked his lips and said, “Well, I came from a lot of places since that goddamned rock hit us. Listen, son, you ever heard of King Hamlet?”

  Tag shook his head.

  “Yeah, well, I been with the king, helpin’ him straighten out a few problems in his court. And there was—say, what about Captain Ahab? Heard of him?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”

  “Well, I was with the captain for a whale, I mean a while. We was out huntin’ down this mutant creature that was botherin’ the people round his parts.”

  “People? You mean there’s still lots of people left?” Tag felt his own pulse jump.

  Peregrine stood up and waved his arms expansively. “Why, hell yeah! Tag, you just been sitting here on your ass while the rest of the world’s pickin’ itself up and getting’ a-goin’ again.”

  “Really?”

  “Why you think I been on the move? I guess you never heard of the Red Queen either?”

  Tag shook his head, dumbfounded.

  Peregrine danced a quick little step. “I figured as much. Well, I seen her, too. Strange little place she runs…”

  “Where is it?”

  “Where? Oh, you probably never heard of it. Little town down in the lowlands way south of here. But never mind about that, boy. How much farther till we get that drink?”