Runner by William C. Dietz Page B

kill Tepho, would have to kill the being named Shaz first, something no one had been able to do. Partly because the variant could blend with whatever background he stood in front of, partly because ofhis superfast reflexes, and partly because he was very well armed. All of which made Tepho even more intimidating—something that Kane struggled to ignore. “I understand that.”
    â€œGood,” Tepho said coldly. “You may proceed.”
    Kane swallowed. “After a long period of relative inactivity it now appears that we have a unique opportunity to reestablish communications with the founder, and have benefit of his counsel. No one that I know of fully understands how sensitives do what they do, or why some discarnate beings choose one channel over another, but such is the case. And, as I was saying to Council Member Olvos moments ago, I believe that every effort must be made to locate and secure the sensitive called Lanni Norr.”
    â€œSo, what’s the plan?” council member three demanded. “It’s a big planet, and while significant, our resources are limited.”
    â€œThe first thing to do is watch the spaceport,” Kane answered confidently. “Norr knows someone is chasing her, and a ship is due, so she could attempt to leave the planet.”
    â€œAnd if she doesn’t?” council member five inquired mildly. “What then?”
    â€œThen she’ll be trapped,” Kane replied, “and we’ll have time to track her down.”
    â€œGood,” Tepho put in smoothly. “I’m sure I speak for the entire council when I say that we have complete confidence in you.”
    Kane knew the statement amounted to both an endorsement and the first step in placing the blame squarely on his shoulders should something go wrong. The operative nodded humbly. “Thank you. Your faith gives me strength. I will do everything in my power to find the sensitive and bring her in.”
    The operative felt a hand caress his shoulder, turned to see the air shimmer, and heard Tepho laugh.
    The once-vast spaceport had shrunk over the years as newly constructed warehouses crept in to claim increasingly large sections of its blast-scarred surface, and the elements continued to eat away at what remained. At least one square mile of surface remained, however, most of which was currently hidden beneath rows of brightly colored tents, open-air booths, and a swirling crowd. They were present to celebrate Ship Down, a biannual holiday with religious, cultural, and commercial significance.
    The cessationists were there, praying that the shuttle wouldn’t appear, thereby cutting Anafa off from external sources of cultural contamination, as were the metal men, who worked to convince the crowd that technology was good.
    Of course most people were there to buy the goods that had been brought in from distant provinces, to eat the food available from countless booths, and to bear witness to whatever did or didn’t happen. Would the shuttle appear? As it had for countless generations? Or would this be the year when Anafa was finally cut off for good? That day was coming, everyone knew it, but no one seemed to care enough to do anything about it. Not the elderly woman who ruled the planet, not the provincial governor, and not the people themselves. So the shuttle, or the possibility of it, drew a crowd plus the pickpockets, con men, and fortune-tellers who had come to depend on it.
    One such woman, an elderly crone with gray-streaked hair, a backpack, and a walking stick, limped through the crowd hawking her services. “See into the future! Cast spells on your enemies! Speak with dead! Five minutes for one thin gunar.”
    But there were plenty of such services available, most of which were fake, so the heavily disguised Lanni Norr didn’t find many takers. Not that she required them since the gold coins strapped around her middle were more than sufficient to her