Read Online Logan Trilogy by William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson
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singing winds and the silence, the purity, the flowing skies…For what? For your squabble and smoke, your jamming and rushing? No. But I could. I could leave if I wished to do so."
"How?" asked Logan.
"How indeed," silked Box. "First you pose, then I tell you."
"First you tell us, then we pose."
Box hesitated. Gears seemed to click in him. He moved his metal hand in a gesture of surrender. "I suppose I must trust you," he said.
Will he do it? Logan wondered. Can he do it? Can he really provide an escape route?
Box put his hand to the metal of his head and closed his human eye. He spoke of visions: "I am a humming in blackness. Far away. I am ten billion, billion neurons in a mighty brain. A brain of steel…
I am the force that rules the maze."
The Thinker! It tied in; being half machine, Box was, in a very real sense, part of the great machine brain.
"Above me—a great warrior astride the world. A sweep of black mountain below, great birds on my
granite shoulders, a vastness beneath me. I am part of Tashunca-uitco."
Crazy Horse!
"I am brother to the Thinker," went on Box. "I know its circuits and its ways. I share its great wisdom. I can thread the force field labyrinth. I can leave Hell…"
And he told them the way.
Box opened his eye, advanced. "Now, you shall keep your bargain."
"How do you want us?" asked Logan.
"Nude," said the Box.
"Take off your clothes," Logan told Jess, beginning to strip off his own.
The girl looked at him.
"It'll be all right," he assured her.
Jess pushed back the cowl of her parka and began to unknot the leather ties. She dropped the rank fur at her feet. Averting her eyes from Logan, she touched the magnetic closure on her blouse. It opened under her fingers and she removed the blouse, then quickly peeled away the clear cosmetic supports from her full breasts. Her skirt was added to the clothing on the fur-rich floor. She unzipped her shoes and stepped out of them.
"Enchanting," said Box.
He waved them to a dais covered with deep white polar furs. "Up there," he said.
"Shall we—just stand?" asked Jess. "Or should we…"
"Take her in your arms," Box said.
Logan looked at Jessica. Lamplight played along the creamed curves and valleys of her body. Her skin was glowing ivory in the light of the flame.
"Stop wasting my time," Box said. He stood poised at a tall monolith of sparkling ice.
Logan took the girl clumsily into his arms.
"No, no, no," complained Box. "With emotion. With feeling. She is your love, your life." To the girl, he said, "Mold yourself to his strong body. Look into his eyes."
Jess looked into Logan's eyes.
He felt the sweet warmth of her, the nearness of her. Breasts pressing him, legs touching him, arms holding him. He felt a slow surge of passion, but more than passion: a rapture, a tenderness, and a wild, sweet sadness he'd never known.
"Superb!" said Box.
His metal hand began to buzz. He brought it forward to shiver the ice into blue patterns. He worked furiously, with incredible speed. In a shower of tinkling shards and ice splinters, the two figures began to emerge from the block. Magically, forming, shaping…
Logan held Jess. This, too, was a house of glass—but how different from the frantic, empty pursuit of sensation in the houses of the city. There was a reality here, a meaning. Forget everything else; forget the twisted man-thing carving the ice; forget the Hell-huddle of convicts; forget Francis and Ballard and the maze and Sanctuary. But let this moment last. Jess…Jess…"Done!" piped Box. "Behold!" He stepped back.
Logan reluctantly released the girl.
They faced themselves.
In stunningly wrought ice figures, shimmering with life, the artist had captured the form, the mood, the emotion of his models. The endless moment was there. Love. Passion. Beauty. All there.
Logan forced the image from his mind. They had to move, to dress, to make their escape. No time for love. Or passion. Or beauty. No time.
He turned to reach
"How?" asked Logan.
"How indeed," silked Box. "First you pose, then I tell you."
"First you tell us, then we pose."
Box hesitated. Gears seemed to click in him. He moved his metal hand in a gesture of surrender. "I suppose I must trust you," he said.
Will he do it? Logan wondered. Can he do it? Can he really provide an escape route?
Box put his hand to the metal of his head and closed his human eye. He spoke of visions: "I am a humming in blackness. Far away. I am ten billion, billion neurons in a mighty brain. A brain of steel…
I am the force that rules the maze."
The Thinker! It tied in; being half machine, Box was, in a very real sense, part of the great machine brain.
"Above me—a great warrior astride the world. A sweep of black mountain below, great birds on my
granite shoulders, a vastness beneath me. I am part of Tashunca-uitco."
Crazy Horse!
"I am brother to the Thinker," went on Box. "I know its circuits and its ways. I share its great wisdom. I can thread the force field labyrinth. I can leave Hell…"
And he told them the way.
Box opened his eye, advanced. "Now, you shall keep your bargain."
"How do you want us?" asked Logan.
"Nude," said the Box.
"Take off your clothes," Logan told Jess, beginning to strip off his own.
The girl looked at him.
"It'll be all right," he assured her.
Jess pushed back the cowl of her parka and began to unknot the leather ties. She dropped the rank fur at her feet. Averting her eyes from Logan, she touched the magnetic closure on her blouse. It opened under her fingers and she removed the blouse, then quickly peeled away the clear cosmetic supports from her full breasts. Her skirt was added to the clothing on the fur-rich floor. She unzipped her shoes and stepped out of them.
"Enchanting," said Box.
He waved them to a dais covered with deep white polar furs. "Up there," he said.
"Shall we—just stand?" asked Jess. "Or should we…"
"Take her in your arms," Box said.
Logan looked at Jessica. Lamplight played along the creamed curves and valleys of her body. Her skin was glowing ivory in the light of the flame.
"Stop wasting my time," Box said. He stood poised at a tall monolith of sparkling ice.
Logan took the girl clumsily into his arms.
"No, no, no," complained Box. "With emotion. With feeling. She is your love, your life." To the girl, he said, "Mold yourself to his strong body. Look into his eyes."
Jess looked into Logan's eyes.
He felt the sweet warmth of her, the nearness of her. Breasts pressing him, legs touching him, arms holding him. He felt a slow surge of passion, but more than passion: a rapture, a tenderness, and a wild, sweet sadness he'd never known.
"Superb!" said Box.
His metal hand began to buzz. He brought it forward to shiver the ice into blue patterns. He worked furiously, with incredible speed. In a shower of tinkling shards and ice splinters, the two figures began to emerge from the block. Magically, forming, shaping…
Logan held Jess. This, too, was a house of glass—but how different from the frantic, empty pursuit of sensation in the houses of the city. There was a reality here, a meaning. Forget everything else; forget the twisted man-thing carving the ice; forget the Hell-huddle of convicts; forget Francis and Ballard and the maze and Sanctuary. But let this moment last. Jess…Jess…"Done!" piped Box. "Behold!" He stepped back.
Logan reluctantly released the girl.
They faced themselves.
In stunningly wrought ice figures, shimmering with life, the artist had captured the form, the mood, the emotion of his models. The endless moment was there. Love. Passion. Beauty. All there.
Logan forced the image from his mind. They had to move, to dress, to make their escape. No time for love. Or passion. Or beauty. No time.
He turned to reach
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