Logan's Search by William F Nolan Read Free Book Online

hunter involved in her brother’s death, he had the right to notify Jessica. This was often done by Sandmen. A civic obligation. He could even strengthen his position by telling DS that since Jessica 6 was of doubtful status, he had decided to check her out, unofficially, for possible subversive activity.
    Routine.
    He just wanted to meet her, that was all: A brief meeting to satisfy his emotional desire to see her face, hear her voice.
    Just one brief meeting.

    The mazecar slotted into the Beverly platform and Logan rode a liftbelt to the street level.
    This sector, built over the old, moneyed Beverly Hills—Bel-Air—Brentwood area, was a hub for merchantmen specializing in ultraluxury. Here, one could order custom-designed hovercraft for street and sky, or body jewels coded to the purchaser’s individual skin chemistry, or bizarre robotic pets of all types (Take home a Tigon, half-tiger, half-lion! Buy yourself a Monkeybird!), or tri-dimensional home consoles programmed for total mythic/historic owner participation (Dance with Valentino! Make love to Cleopatra! Match swords with Morgan the Pirate!).
    Logan moved past the richly textured shops—pausing at one of them, a jewelmaker’s window. Displayed inside, a flame-blue throatclasp, delicately sculpted and overlaid with silver filigree…
    Jess had worn one exactly like it! Identical to the clasp he’d taken to old Andar on the Bridge. He stared at it for a long moment, remembering.
    And walked on.
    Reaching Jessica’s quadunit, Logan hesitated outside the entrance. One last chance to turn back, he told himself. One last chance to place reason and logic above emotion.
    Don’t go in, Logan!
    He entered the building.
    A hibelt took him to the third level, and although it was only a short walk to unit 3-11, the wide copper corridor seemed endless to Logan. He could barely contain his nervous excitement as he reached Jessica’s door.
    The heat of his body activated the unit scanner. He waited.
    Was she out? Or was she inside, peering at him through the scanner? Would she answer? Then: “What is it you want?”
    Her voice, reaching out into the corridor, the voice of the woman he loved, the mother of his new child. The voice, unmistakably Jessica’s. But, of course, not hers at all.
    “I—have news of your brother.”
    The door instantly petaled back, and she was there.
    “Come in.”
    Numbly, Logan followed her into the unit.
    The same! Everything the same: hands, eyes, lips…the way she cants her head a bit to the left as she walks…the suppleness of her body…the dark hair flowing along her back…even the splitsleeve robe she wore; Jess had one just like it!
    Jess! Oh, Jess!
    “I know you,” she said, turning to face him, her eyes clear and steady on his. “You’re Logan.”
    Her words stunned him. How could she know him? The aliens had told him that in this world the two of them had never met.
    “Don’t look so surprised,” she said, smiling. “You’re famous…the famous Logan 3, a DS Gunmaster… Sandman with a top killscore. I’ve seen you on the tri-dims—but I never thought I’d have a chance to really meet you.”
    She nodded toward a foamchair near the window of the small neatly arranged unit. “Please…relax. Can I get you anything?”
    Logan settled into the chair, thrown off balance by her casualness. Chatting about tri-dims, offering me a drink—when I’ve just seen her brother die. She doesn’t know that, of course. Still, I said I had news of him, and she may well suspect that he turned runner. Why isn’t she questioning me about him?
    Jessica repeated her offer, and he nodded. Actually, he could use a drink. Steady him down. “Some Irish—if you have it.”
    “Black Irish it is,” she said, smiling. “And I’ll have one with you.”
    She dialed the wall, received the two drinks, gave him one, then sat down on a flowcouch next to him. Calm and casual.
    “Now…about my brother. You have news of