Runner by William C. Dietz

inch from the first blade and continued to vibrate. The old man raised an eyebrow. “Your son is pretty good with a knife.”
    â€œYes,” Rebo said mildly, “he is. The little devil has been practicing. I’ll take both of those knives. Let’s have a belt sheath for one—and a forearm sheath for the other.”
    Fifteen minutes later Rebo and the newly armed boy stepped out into the sunlight. Lee knew that other boys his age carried weapons, but had never been allowed to do so himself, and was very conscious of the blades that the runner had purchased for him. He hooked his thumbs under the pack’s straps and looked up at Rebo. “Thank you for the knives, Father.”
    The runner nodded. “You’re welcome. Use the belt knifefor eating, cutting rope, and other chores. Keep the other blade hidden. Where did you learn to throw a knife like that anyway?”
    â€œI took martial arts classes one hour a day, three days a week,” Lee replied. “It was fun.”
    Odds were that the boy had never suffered so much as a bloody nose and had no idea what it was like to participate in a real fight, but Rebo kept such thoughts to himself. “Good. It’s nice to know that you can handle yourself. Come on, let’s take that pack back to the guild and go find some lunch. I don’t know about you—but I’m hungry.”
    As the two of them set off, a customer emerged from the store behind them and squinted into the sun. Though dressed in everyday attire, there was something about the precision of his movements that suggested a military background. He waited for his quarry to establish a sufficient lead, stepped off the curb, and followed the pair west. The word on the street was that the black hat sect would pay five gunars for information leading to the apprehension of a boy similar to the one up ahead. But was this the correct child? Only time would tell.
    Jevan Kane paused in front of a store, pretended to peer in through the window, and took the opportunity to make sure that no one had followed him. Because, while the Techno Society maintained a run-down office near the public market, the location of the organization’s actual headquarters was a well-maintained secret, a secret intended not only to conceal the extent of the society’s resources, but to keep the government in the dark and prevent thievery. Thanks to Milos Lysander and his followers, the group had recovered thousands of high-tech artifacts over the years, and they were valuable.
    Satisfied that no one had followed him, Kane turned into a narrow passageway and paused in front of a nine-foot-tall barrier. It was made out of ornamental iron and could withstand the impact of a battering ram if necessary. There was a distinct click as the operative pressed his thumb against a print-sensitive pad, and the gate swung open. Kane stepped through, heard a clanging sound as it closed behind him, and continued on his way.
    A security camera mounted over Kane’s head whirred gently as it followed the operative down the passageway to the point where a heavy metal door barred further progress. There was a pause as a guard eyed the operative through a peephole, followed by a momentary spill of artificial light as the door opened and Kane was admitted. A small man with nervous hands waited to greet him. He was dressed in a nondescript gray tunic and matching trousers. “You’re late,” Ron Olvos said accusingly. “The rest of the council is waiting.”
    â€œIt couldn’t be helped,” Kane replied, as the two men made their way through a brightly lit corridor. “We tossed the second inn, but the sensitive wasn’t there. Either she’s very good at what she does, or very lucky, not that it makes much difference.”
    â€œWhy her of all people?” Olvos wondered out loud. “There are thousands of spooks, many of whom are quite amenable. Why couldn’t the