FENNISTER

Sparks showered and burst blue against the terminal. Fennister 2 thinned the blade of cutting fire from the nozzle of the Flamer and finished the separation, then fused the tri-relay segment. He tested the cable. Perfect.

“Gant’s here,” said a voice at his elbow. Fennister acknowledged with a nod, wearily putting aside the Flamer and peeling his workgoggles. He was a man ready for sleep when the cities died, which made him twenty-seven now. He would never have become a runner. It was not in Fennister’s nature to duck and dodge and hide and outwit. His world was computer science, and if the Thinker had told him to die he would have quietly obeyed its command and gone willingly to a Sleepshop.

But with the death of the cities he quickly came to realize that life beyond the dictates of a machine was precious. Freed from the duties of computer maintenance, he had met a woman, Lisa 18, and had come to care greatly for her. They’d agreed to have children, planned for the future as pair-bound lovers.

Then outlanders hit them. Lisa had been sold on the Market, and he’d been shipped to Crazy Horse as a worker for Gant. “Supervise the rebirth of the Thinker and I’ll see that Lisa is yours,” Gant had promised him. “Fail to get this job done and you’ll never see her again.” Thus, despite strong personal misgivings about the project, he had agreed to head it for Gant.

The Central Core was first—and now it was almost totally restored. The main computer-body would follow, each operation done in the thorough, meticulous fashion that characterized Fennister’s work.

But not fast enough to suit Gant. Three of Fennister’s best men had been tortured in the past week, another killed outright, and now Gant was coming here again, to the Core, to make fresh demands of his team.

He would not resist these demands; it was not in Fennister’s nature to do so. Yet he hated Gant with the same quiet, deep intensity that he brought to his work. To rebuild the Thinker under this man’s rule was an agony to Fennister that lived within him each moment of the day and night like the breath in his body.

Gant faced him, his tall shadow falling across Fennister’s lean body. As usual, Evans 9 was with him, a devil’s duo. The thought bitterly amused Fennister. No one had believed in devils for almost two hundred years, yet Gant and his Sandman-chief were surely prime candidates for demonhood.

“How much longer?” Gant demanded.

“The Core will be a hundred per cent operational within twelve hours. After that, the main body work should take another week to ten days.”

Gant fingered the ruby at his throat, turned to Evans. “Tell me what he just said.”

“Core to be a hundred per cent within six hours. Main body completed in another three days.”

“Impossible!” protested Fennister. “I don’t have the technicians…the equipment…”

“Ah, but you do,” said Gant smoothly, giving Fennister a jeweled smile. “We just picked up a dozen more techs for you on the Market. And additional equipment arrives by paravane tonight. You’ll meet my schedule…” Softly. “Won’t you?”

Fennister sighed, tightening his thin lips. “Yes, I’ll meet your schedule.”