Read Logos Run for Free Online

operative on the rusty ladder. The metal was cold beneath his fingers as Shaz began to climb. Somewhere, if only in his imagination, the ancients started to laugh.

TWO
    The city of Tryst, on the Planet Thara
    Would you trade your hammer for a rock? Of course not. Yet you listen when the priests call upon you to cast out technology. They fear science because it can dispel ignorance. And ignorance is the primary thing upon which they feed.
    —Excerpt from street lecture 52.1 as written by Milos Lysander, founder of the Techno Society, and delivered by thousands of metal men each day
     
 
 
 
 
 
 
There was something sad about the Circus Solara. Most of the performers were clearly middle-aged, their costumes were ragged, and the first fifteen minutes of the “most exciting show in the galaxy” were extremely boring. However, there was a significant shortage of things to do in the city of Tryst, which meant that the seats surrounding the circular arena were packed with people, some of whom had started to doze by the time two fancifully dressed clowns secured the local prefect to a brightly painted disk. But Rebo sat up and began to pay attention as the formally attired ringmaster strutted out to the center of the arena and stood next to the turntable to which the official was being secured. He spoke through a handheld megaphone. “Ladies and gentlemen! Behold the wheel of death! In a matter of moments this diabolical device will be set into motion . . . Then, once the disk becomes little more than a blur, Madam Pantha will throw her hatchets. Yes! That’s correct! You could have a new prefect by tomorrow morning!”
    The joke stimulated laughter, catcalls, and a round of applause. Madam Pantha wore a yellow turban, sported a curly black beard, and was dressed in a loose blouse and pantaloons. Her clothes might have been white once, but had long since turned gray and were patched in places. She waved a hatchet at the audience, tossed the weapon high into the air, and waited for it to fall. Then, having positioned herself just so, Pantha missed the catch. The hatchet generated a puff of dust as it hit the ground—followed by more laughter as the crowd entered into the spirit of the thing.
    The prefect was an extremely good sport, or that’s what Rebo concluded, as a pair of mimes put the platform on which both the wheel of death and the bearded lady stood into motion. Now everyone could see as the platform began to rotate, and a couple of acrobats began to spin the wheel of death. It took the better part of thirty seconds to get the disk turning at top speed. A drumroll began as Madam Pantha accepted a hatchet from a sad-faced clown, brought the implement back over her right shoulder, and let fly. Even the runner stared as the wheel rotated, the hatchet turned end for end, and the somewhat corpulent official continued to rotate. Then came the solid thwack of metal biting into wood, followed by a gasp of indrawn air as the crowd realized that a second weapon was on the way, quickly followed by a third. Fortunately, the second and third hatchets flew true, both sinking into wood only inches from the politico’s body, even as both the platform and the wheel continued to turn.
    The audience roared its approval as the clowns brought the much-hyped “wheel of death” to a stop and freed the prefect from his restraints. Though somewhat disheveled, and a bit dizzy, the official seemed otherwise none the worse for wear. He waved in response to a standing ovation and was escorted back to his seat.
    The formally quiescent crowd was engaged, the ringmaster could feel it, and hurried to take advantage. “Thank you . . . I’m pleased to announce that this is the 3,672,416th performance of the famed Circus Solara. Some claim it originated on Sameron, more than ten thousand years ago, while others say it was founded on Cepa II some twelve thousand years ago. But enough of that!” the ringmaster proclaimed loudly. “The show