Runner by William C. Dietz Page A

founder channel himself through one of them?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Kane answered honestly, “except to say that Lysander was often difficult to communicate with on this plane of existence, so why would he be any different on the next? Anyway, given the fact that the better part of a year has gone by since his death, and this is the first time the founder has seen fit to come through, it seems safe toassume that there’s something about this particular sensitive that he likes. And we need to talk to him! The old bastard knows where the artificial intelligence named Logos is hiding, Logos knows how to reactivate the star gates, and the portals are the centerpiece of our plan. Like it or not, Norr is the key.”
    Olvos winced at the use of the word “bastard,” wondered if Lysander could listen in from beyond the grave, and hoped that he couldn’t. Servos whined and double doors swung open to allow the men to enter what had been a huge vat but now served as a circular conference room. In spite of the slightly astringent tang of vinegar that still hung in the air, the rest of the enclosure was focused on the future and equipped accordingly. Soft white light flooded the tank, a holo projector hung above the round table, at which six of the seven council members were seated, data scrolled across the curvilinear computer screens that lined the walls, and video supplied by a reactivated satellite showed that a storm was brewing off to the east.
    Olvos took his seat while Kane stepped into the keyhole-shaped slot that had been cut into the table. Despite the fact that countless generations of interbreeding had erased most of the physical characteristics that once served to divide the human race into ethnic groupings, there were occasional throwbacks, and Kane was one of them. Whereas everyone else in the room had black hair, brown eyes, and olive-colored skin, the operative had longish blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin. They were looks that had turned him into something of an outcast as a child, but were later transformed into a blessing when they brought him to Lysander’s attention. Because unlike the society around him, which placed a high value on conformity, the scientist had a preference for that which was unusual.
    â€œPlease excuse my tardiness,” Kane said evenly, “but the last twenty-six hours have been rather hectic to say the least. As all of you know by now the founder has returned, and judging from the comments he made to the crowd gathered in the actor’s hall, he continues to have a keen interest in our affairs.”
    â€œThere is no excuse for tardiness, or any other form of failure,” Omar Tepho said disparagingly as he turned to face the operative. Like Kane’s, the chairman’s body fell well outside the bounds of what could be considered normal. His skull was lumpy rather than smooth, one eye was higher than the other, and his ears stuck out from the sides of his head. And, as if that weren’t enough, Tepho had been born with a spinal deformity. All of which explained why he had literally moved into the city’s only library at the age of ten, taught himself to read, and eventually become so knowledgeable that Milos Lysander had taken the young man in. It also explained Tepho’s burning desire to reestablish science, especially medical science, which had once been capable of preventing conditions such as his. And because of his passion, plus the lingering effects of an extremely cruel childhood, Tepho was absolutely pitiless where subordinates were concerned.
    That alone was sufficient to send something cold trickling into Kane’s veins, but when the wall behind the chairman appeared to shimmer, the operative knew there was something more to fear as well. No one knew how the bond between the rare combat variant and the malformed intellectual had been established—only that it had. Which meant that anyone who wanted to