William F. Nolan - Logan's Run Trilogy (v4.1) Read online

  "Can't get a quantam short of NY," he said.

  "I'll go there," Logan said.

  "Why do you need so much?"

  "That's my business."

  "Going to use it yourself?"

  "Maybe."

  "Long lift in a quantam," mused Rawls, scrubbing at the stubble on his cheek. "Long, long lift."

  "I know what I need," said Logan. "You just tell me where to get it."

  Rawls palmed a powerstud on his skimmer, and the rusted groundcart flowed him to a corner of the room. He attempted to open the lower drawer of a cabinet. The door wouldn't budge. Rawls banged at it with the heel of his right fist. "Heat swells the wood, makes it stick," he told Logan. "Heat ruins everything."

  Logan watched him, his face expressionless.

  Rawls finally got the drawer open, scrabbled inside for a black, lifeleather foilbook. Then he wheeled back to Logan.

  "In here," he said, tapping the book, "I've got the name of a contact who can sell you as much R-11 as you need. But first…"

  "You want to be paid."

  "Exactly."

  "I was told you could use these." And Logan opened a tab-box, shook several magnetic skinjewels onto a wooden table. "With each mood, an individual's body chemistry is altered, and these change color to reflect that mood. They belonged to—" (Jessica. I can see her wearing them.) "—a female I knew. Skin-jewels were quite popular in the Angeles Complex."

  "Heard about them," said Rawls. "Never saw any." He plucked a shining red heartstone from the table.

  It deepened to a festered green in his hand. "How many have you got?"

  "These. No more."

  "And what will you use for trade in New York?"

  "That's not your concern," said Logan. "Do we have a deal or don't we?"

  Rawls swept up the stones, quickly pocketed them. "Your contact," he said, handing Logan a foilslip from the book. "Show this when you get there."

  Logan took it, started out.

  The legless man followed him, wheeling from the shack into bright sunlight. "I can always use more of these," he said as Logan walked toward the paravane. Rawls shaded his eyes against the heat-scald, receiving no answer. He watched the black-garbed figure climb into the control pod, activate the blades. Debris whipped and danced around the cripple in the agitated air as the paravane built power.

  The craft lifted, was gone.

  Rawls shifted the stones inside his pocket with slow fingers.

  In the heat, his missing right leg began to ache.

  GIANT

  Logan had taken a mazecar to the New York Complex on leave from DS school when he was sixteen to pairmate with a female who lived there. She was an older woman of twenty, a year away from Sleep and into young Sandmen. Gonzales 2 had told Logan about her, told him she was something really special. Chinese. Sexually astonishing.

  Gonzales had been correct. Her voracious sensual appetites had drained Logan, left him anxious to return to duty. The pleasure with her had been so intense it was akin to pain. New York was different then: glittering, swarming with citizens, a world mecca for exotic living.

  Now it was a dark ruins.

  But it had something Logan wanted far more than he had wanted the Chinese girl. It had R-11.

  In 1997, when Mayor Margaret Hatch had ordered the Central Park fill-in, construction of the Green Giants had begun. Taking their name from the fact that they were replacing the last bit of open greenery in New York City, the Giants were designed to accommodate three million, a bold step in reducing the city's acute housing crisis. In height, they were taller than the Empire State and each was a self-contained miniature city, with every comfort and convenience. To get space in one, you hocked your soul, and signed a lifetime lease.

  The first three-mile complex was a converted Giant. But, eventually, the outdated skytowers were torn down and replaced. Nostalgia prevailed. As a memorial to the past, one of the Green Giants was allowed to remain standing, dwarfed by the three-mile city dwellings around it.

  Yet it lived again when the Thinker died. Its precomputerized, self-contained power units were quickly utilized, and it became the hub in cross-state Market operations, a mighty storehouseheadquarters, humming with activity. After more than a century of obsolescence, it was now the only living structure in a dead city.

  Logan came to the Giant for R-11.

  Jonath had told him that he would have no trouble with Scavengers in New York. This was one city they did not control. "The Marketers are in charge there," Jonath had said.

  "Who are they exactly?"

  "Mostly ex-DS. A few key merchantmen. They keep the Scavengers in line. The city's wide open."

  Flying over it at night, Logan got the impression of a vast, lightless range of man-made mountains, upthrusting peaks of steel and glass. Dominating the interior of the city, with flamebright gaudiness, standing two thousand feet above street level, light flooding out from its metal pores, stood the Green Giant.

  As he swept over the shining structure, pinlights found his craft. Two Market patrolships soared up from the roof of the building to circle Logan, guiding him to a setdown on the Giant's illumined skyport.

  Logan cut power, exited to the roof.

  "No weapons allowed," a tall man in gray said to him. The Market guard carried a belted Fuser. His eyes were humorless.

  Logan nodded, placed his holstered Gun inside the paravane, sealed the magnetic lock. "How long can I leave my ship here?" he asked.

  "As long as you have business inside," said the guard. "We'll keep an eye on it."

  "Thanks," said Logan.

  Another gray-clad guard walked up to him as he neared the entrance shaft. "Name?"

  "Logan 3."

  "Seeing who?"

  "Lacy 14."

  "You'll need a contact pass."

  Logan handed him the foilslip he'd obtained from Rawls. The guard studied it for a moment, notched one corner with a foilpunch, handed it back.

  "Go ahead," he said, activating the shaft release.

  Logan stepped inside.

  The interior corridors shimmered with light; this intensity of artificial illumination stunned Logan. He'd seen nothing like it since the days of Arcade. Because the Giant was able to generate its own electricity, and had never depended on the Thinker for power, the death of the great computer had not affected it. Restoration had been relatively simple—and now this city-within-a-city was functioning at peak efficiency after long years of darkness. Indeed, a sleeping Giant had awakened to serve new masters.

  Although the outer surface of the building glowed beacon-bright, the majority of its two hundred floors were dark; the Market occupied only the Penthouse area, and the three floors just beneath for storage. The Giant was private, off-limits, except to those who ran the Market, and to the few special customers allowed to deal inside for high-grade goods. Such as R-11.

  At the end of the corridor another guard stopped Logan. Same gray uniform. Same eyes. The hard look of the Sandman. Ex-DS, fitting their new roles as skin fits muscle.

  "Pass," said the guard.

  Logan produced the notched foilslip.

  The guard pressed a section of wall. A door oiled back.

  "Keep moving," said the guard.

  Another corridor. Much shorter.

  Logan faced a heavy flexcurtain, woven entirely from gold mesh. The curtain stirred, folded back.

  "Come in, Logan 3."

  A woman's voice. Sensual. Low-pitched.

  Logan entered a chamber draped in silks and lit by firebirds. The small, feathered creatures, whose metallic bodies pulsed with inner light, swooped in glowing arcs around the large center room, settling, strutting, ruffling their multicolored plumage…

  Logan hesitated, scanning the room. He saw no one. Only the birds, like moving fire jewels.

  Then the woman appeared, rising from one corner of the chamber. She had been lying on a fall of snowpillows and, in standing, seemed to materialize from the room itself, seemed m
ade of silks and smoked ivory

  Her body was perfection—a rich orchestration of scented peaks and soft valleys, tautly accented by the white flowgown she wore. A cat-emerald burned at her throat.

  "I'm Lacy 14," she said.

  "Since you know my name," said Logan, "I assume you also know what I came for."

  A firebird fluttered to her shoulder and she stroked the glowing plumage, her large green-black eyes fixed on Logan.

  "Why so abrupt?" she smiled. "I never conduct business without getting to know my buyers. Sit down, Logan."

  Snowpillows. A soft peltrug of worked silver. No couch or chairs. Logan sat, adjusting one of the larger pillows at his back.

  "Much better," said Lacy. "Drink?"

  "No."

  "I insist. I have a really excellent fruitwine from Spain which is impossible to duplicate," she told him.

  Logan nodded. "Since you insist."

  She brought him the wine, settled next to him. "Let us drink to the satisfactory conclusion of pleasure."

  Logan was edgy, off-balance; he had expected a hard-faced Marketer who would waste no time, no words. He'd expected to deal quickly and be gone without ceremony. But, instead, here was Lacy…

  Logan tasted the wine, allowing the smoked flavor to permeate his tongue. "You're right," he said. "This is excellent."

  "I've heard about you, Logan."

  "What have you heard?"

  "That you sought out and destroyed the Borgias. Alone, at Steinbeck. One against twelve. Is it true?"

  "It's true," said Logan. "But I'm not going to talk about it."

  "That's not necessary," she smiled. "You're obviously a man of great passion. I've…been waiting for someone extraordinary."

  Logan slipped a sack of Mooncoins from his belt.

  "All I want here is what I came to get," he said. "A quantampac of R-11."

  "That will be produced in due course. After you've earned it.",

  "I have these," he said, handing her the Mooncoins. "There's nothing like them on Earth."

  She put the sack aside, unopened. "We'll deal with these later. I come first."

  Logan was suddenly angry.

  "Get a merchantman to penetrate you," he said: "Or one of your ex-DS. They all have fine bodies. They'll do a very satisfactory job."

  She laughed, a throaty sound, deep and assured. "I don't want you—or any other male," she told him.

  "I never allow a man to touch me. Ever."

  "Well, what do you want?"

  "Follow me and find out." She stood, putting aside her wine.

  Logan got up. "Can't we just—"

  "This way," said Lacy. "If you want the pac, you do as I say."

  Sighing, Logan followed her out of the chamber.

  They moved together down a short hallway. Lacy opened a mirrored door, beckoned Logan forward. The room he entered was a large bedchamber, draped in crimson and gold. Soft lights shone through the draperies, and at least half of the floor area was occupied by two deep, expansive flowbeds.

  "Recline," said Lacy. "On the farther bed. I'll take this one."

  Logan did as she asked. What did she have planned for him?…

  Lacy kept her eyes on Logan as she touched a magclasp at her neck; the gown fell away from her body in a soft spill of white. "Am I not beautiful?" she asked him.

  "You are," he said.

  Her breasts were coned and delicate, tapering to a waist which swelled to perfect hips and long, superbly-muscled legs. "Many men have desired me. Do you desire me, Logan?"

  "At another time, in another place…"

  She draped herself across the bed, facing his, cat-smiled at him. "I am not your concern here," she said.

  "You shall provide a show…for my stimulation."

  "I don't understand."

  She clapped her hands sharply. The drapes parted at the rear of the chamber. There were three of them. All nude. All beautiful. All black-skinned and full-figured and arousing. Perfect females, who would have been the pride of any glasshouse from Moscow to Paris.

  "They're for you, Logan," said Lacy. "And you are for them."

  "You expect me to—"

  "Pleasure them. That's what you shall do if you want to please me. And if you do not please me, you will not get the thing you came for."

  She turned to the girls. Her eyes were bright and hot. "Undress him," she said. "Caress him. Erect him."

  They swayed toward Logan like dusky flowers.

  So this is how she obtains her satisfaction? All right, Logan told himself, I'll do as she asks. I'll give her a show. And I'll enjoy what I'm doing. I'll steep myself in warm flesh…lose myself in sexuality. Indeed, why not?

  And Logan took them into his arms.

  PEARL

  Logan followed Lacy 14 down the short hallway. As they entered her living quarters a firebird settled on Logan's shoulder, splashing his face with vivid colors. He shook the bird off, and the creature wingwhispered away.

  "I did what you asked," he said to Lacy.

  "A splendid performance," she agreed. She was wearing the white gown once again, and it billowed as she turned.

  "Do I get the pac now?"

  "Let me see what you've brought." She picked up the sack of Mooncoins, spilled them into her hand. They were round, bright, stamped with Moon symbols.

  "I brought them down from Darkside," said Logan. "You won't find any others. Anywhere."

  "They're…attractive," she said. "I can use them. But they won't pay for a full dex. Not of R-11."

  Logan flushed with anger. "I did what you asked with the females…"

  "And enjoyed yourself handsomely in the process," she said.

  "Wasn't that what you wanted to watch me pleasuring them to pleasure yourself?" He tightened his jaw. "I've given you all I have. Everything."

  "Not everything," she said.

  "What's left?"

  "Your paravane. It should fetch a good price. I'll take the coins, and your ship." She smiled. "You know, I'm really being generous about this. You're here alone, unarmed. Normally, I would just have my men take your ship and give you nothing in return. But…since you've…amused me, I'm willing to turn over the drug."

  "I can't get back to camp without my ship," said Logan. "And I need Jonath. It's impossible to take R-11 without someone to—"

  "Take it here," said Lacy. "I'll provide a liftroom for you, and see to your needs."

  Logan considered it. There was nothing left for him in Old Washington. Why not stay here in the New York Complex? One city was no better or worse than another now, without Jess.

  "I accept," said Logan.

  "There's risk in a full dex," said Lacy. "It could kill you."

  Logan said nothing.

  "There's no body or mind control with such a high dosage," she said. "You're at the mercy of the drug."

  "I want maximum lift," said Logan. "A full re-live. And only a dex will give me that."

  "Your decision," shrugged Lacy. "Get whatever personal belongings you have in the ship, then come back here. I'll have the R-11."

  He hated losing the paravane: It was a high price to pay. Still, Lacy could have simply taken it, as she said: In dealing with the Market there were no guarantees. You took what they gave you.

  Logan had the Gun when the guard said, "You can't go back inside with that." His name was Stile, and he captained Lacy's men. Huge. Slab-bodied. Cruel-faced.

  "Lacy made the deal," said Logan. "She gets the ship and I get my personal belongings. This is mine. It goes with me."

  Stile looked sullen. "All right…I'll make an exception this time," he said. "But keep it holstered."

  "Couple of Fusers in there you can have," said Logan. "They were never mine to begin with."

  He fixed the Gun holster to his belt.

  There was nothing else. The ship was theirs now. As the R-11 would soon be his.

  The small liftroom was stark and empty, dun-colored, without ornament or decoration. Four walls, a floor an
d a ceiling. No windows or vents.

  "You'll need this," Lacy said, and gestured. A gray-clad guard dumped a bodymat, quickly unrolled it.

  The mat covered the floor, wall to wall.

  "What about oxygen?"

  "Enough. The room's not sealed."

  "I'll need water."

  "At necessary intervals. Pelletgun…directly in to your system."

  "I don't want to be observed," said Logan.

  "You won't be," said Lacy. "But if you convulse…

  "No observation. Just the injections…water when I require it. Agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  "The drug?" asked Logan.

  From her belt, Lacy withdrew a small silver disc. She pressed its center and the disc released a single milky-white pearl. It rolled, catching the light, in the palm of her hand.

  "Hard to believe that's a full dex," said Logan.

  She smiled. "You've never used R-11?"

  "No," he admitted.

  "A normal dosage is almost microscopic," she told him. "This is a quantam, full-dex strength. Usually this much R-11 is broken into powder, administered in several stages. I've never seen anyone take a pearl."

  "The Re-Live drawers died with the cities," said Logan. "This is the only way left to go back."

  "Is going back that important?"

  "Yes," said Logan. "It's that important."

  She looked at him for a long moment, then handed him the pearl.

  "Just place it in the middle of your tongue," she said. "Let it dissolve directly into the tissue. It's effective immediately after ingestion."

  And she left him.

  LIFT

  Logan brought up the pearl, holding it between the thumb and index finger of his right hand; hestudied it in the subdued light of the room. Harmless looking. Beautiful in its simple perfection.

  But potent. Very, very potent.

  The surface-distortion drug he'd been given by the Scavengers was Candee next to R-11, which was designed to penetrate to the deepest levels of stored life-experience. Science had long since proven, beyond any doubt, that every experience, however trivial, is permanently retained: every sight, sound, odor, every sensory moment of touch, every spoken word…all there, all three-dimensionally alive in the depths of the human brain.