Logan's Run Read Free Page B

filing, tracking—rendering its impersonal machine data to the DS operatives who moved before its faceted wall of insect lights.
    A dispatcher looked up, saw them. His face was dry and chafed, his expression harried. He picked out a scan record and bustled toward them.
    “We’ve been jammed here,” he said irritably. “Stanhope’s in the field and I can’t locate Webster 16. We’ve got a runner in Pavilion, moving east.”
    The room was a cross-mixture of voices.
    “Come in Kelly 4. DS at Morningside seven twelve.”
    “Come in Stanhope. Your man is in the maze.”
    “Evans 9. Confirm. Runner’s destination recorded seven-o-four as Phoenix. Mazecar waiting at Palisades. Confirm.”
    Logan swept the alert board. A light went on at the third level, east sector. “Who takes him?” he asked.
    “You do,” said the dispatcher. “Francis is on backup.” “All right,” said Logan. “Give me a scan.”
    “Name: Doyle 10—14302. His flower blacked at five thirty-nine. That would be”—he checked a wallchron—”eighteen minutes ago. He’s heading east, up through the complex. So far he’s avoided the maze. I make it he knows about the platform scanners. He’s going for Arcade. Cagy. He must know the fire galleries interfere with a DS scope. The rest is on the board. Good hunting.”
    Logan began to plot the alarm trail as it came in over the circuits. A light went on at fourth level east. Citizen alarm. Logan noted it. Ordinary citizens are your best allies when a runner is loose. Another light at level five. Logan waited for the third light before he left the alert room.
    In Central Files he punched Doyle 10—14302. The slot instantly produced the physical file on the runner: a TD photo, vital statistics, pore patterns, names of known friends and associates.
    Logan checked Doyle’s flower history: YELLOW: Childhood. Birth to seven years: machine-reared in a Missouri nursery. No unusual traits noted. BLUE: Boyhood. Seven to fourteen. The usual pattern. Lived in a dozen states, roamed Europe. No arrests. RED: Manhood. Fourteen to twenty-one. Rebel. Arrested at sixteen for blocking a DS man on a hunt. Pair-ups with three women, one of whom suspected of aiding runners. Has a twin sister, Jessica 6, whose record is clear.
    Logan studied Doyle’s photo.
    The runner was a big man, his own size, dark hair, strong memorable face with a wide jaw, straight nose. Slight scar above the right eye. Logan would know Doyle when he found him.
    He unclipped the small black Follower scope from his belt and tuned in to Doyle’s flower pattern. Then he returned to the alert room.
    A new light on the board: the upper concourse of the complex.
    Francis was at Logan’s elbow. “This is no ordinary runner,” he said. “I’ve been tracking him on the board. He’s got a destination—and he’s not making any mistakes. Call me if you need me. That’s what backup’s for.”
    Logan nodded tightly. He snugged his Gun into its tunic holster, checked the scope on his Follower and left the room.
    The hunt began.

    Logan got off the belt at the main concourse as his quarry emerged from a public riser. Doyle saw the black tunic and dipped into a crowd. Logan stuck with him as the crowd thinned. He was still heading east—toward Arcade.
    He’d be hard to track in the vast pleasure center. Logan moved to head him off, but the runner reversed direction and caught a slide. Good. The man was moving downward again. Let him run.
    Logan watched Doyle’s progress on the Follower, represented by a tiny alarm trail of flashing light dots.
    Time to give him another nudge.
    At Morningside Heights and Pavilion he picked up Doyle again. The man must know about the maze scanners, Logan thought; the dispatcher was correct in this. Doyle had passed up a dozen chances to go underground. He was swinging east again making another bid for Arcade.
    Logan showed himself in the crowd-surge. There’s nothing to equal the flash of a black tunic to