Authors: William F. & Johnson Nolan,William F. & Johnson Nolan
Logan's Run
DESTINATION: SANCTUARY!
Logan was doomed by time. The red flower imprinted on his hand had blinked black and his life was officially over. The Thinker had so decreed. Youth must control society.
Now Logan, a DS man who carried a Gun that could explode any prey, would himself become a Runner, pursued by a Sandman.
Guided by the glow-flicker of the Follower, the Sandman sees his quarry is ahead, sees Logan and the girl. But it is not wise to attempt a chase in these caverns. The Sandman smiles. They are moving through the scrub toward the high grass.
He has them now.
There is nowhere for them to go.
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
presents
A Saul David Production
starring
Michael York
Jenny Agutter
Richard Jordan
Roscoe Lee Browne
Farrah Fawcett-Majors
and
Peter Ustinov
Screenplay by
David Zelag Goodman
Based on the novel "Logan's Run" by
William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson
Music—Jerry Goldsmith
Produced by Saul David
Directed by
Michael Anderson
Filmed in Todd-AO and Metrocolor
Released thru United Artists
A Transamerica Company
This low-priced Bantam Book
has been completely reset in a type face
designed for easy reading, and was printed
from new plates. It contains the complete
text of the original hard-cover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED
LOGAN'S RUN
A Bantam Book / published by arrangement with
The Dial Press
PRINTING HISTORY
Dial edition published September 1967
Bantam edition / May 1976
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1967 by William F. Nolan and
George Clayton Johnson.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by
mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Dial Press,
245 East 47th Street, New York, N.Y. 10017
ISBN 0-553-02517-1
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the protrayal of a bantam, is registered in United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10019.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO ALL THE WILD FRIENDS
WE GREW UP WITH—
and who were with us when we wrote this book:
To Frankenstein and Mickey Mouse
To Jack, Doc and Reggie and The Temple of the Vampires
To Fu Manchu, Long John Silver, Tom Mix and Buck Jones
To The Iliad and The Odyssey, Superman and The Green Hornet
To Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame
To Gunga Din, King Kong and The Land of Oz
To Mr. Hyde and The Phantom of the Opera
To The Sea Wolf, Captain Nemo and The Great White Whale
To Batman and Robin, Black Country, Ted Surgeon and The Ears of Johnny Bear
To Rhett Butler and Jiminy Cricket
To Matthew Arnold, Robert Frost and The Demolished Man
To What Mad Universe
To Dante, Dr. Lao and Dick Tracy
To Punch, the Immortal Liar: and The Girls in Their Summer Dresses
To The Man in the Iron Mask
To Marco Polo and The Martian Chronicles
To Bogie and The Maltese Falcon
To Flash Gordon, Prince Valiant, Krazy Kat and The Dance of the Dead
To Thomas Wolfe
To The Unicorn in the Garden
To Hammett and Chandler and You Play the Black and the Red Comes Up
To Papa Hemingway, Mickey Spillane and Popeye the Sailor Man
To Fancies and Goodnights
To a Diamond as Big as the Ritz and a Blood Wedding in Chicago
To Beauty and the Beast
To The Daredevil Dogs of the Air, The Dawn Patrol and The Long, Loud Silence
To Doug Fairbanks; Errol Flynn and The Keystone Kops
To Tarzan and The Land That Time Forgot
To Tom Swift, Huck Finn and Oliver Twist
To Citizen Kane, Sinbad and They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
To Ali Baba, The Marx Brothers and Dangerous Dan McGrew
To The Beanstalk
To The Lone Ranger; Little Orphan Annie and The Space Merchants
To The Day The Earth Stood Still
To The Highwayman
To Kazan, The Time Machine and Don't Cry for Me
To Captain Midnight and Lights Out
To Shackleton, Terry and the Pirates, Richard the Lionheart and The Rats in the Walls
To The Most Dangerous Game
To Lil' Abner, S. J. Perelman and Smoky Stover
To The Seven Dwarfs and Mandrake the Magician
To Billy the Kid, Geronimo, Stephen Vincent Benet and The House of Usher
To The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Ship of Ishtar
To Robin Hood, Scarface and Tommy Udo
To Frederick Schiller Faust who was Max Brand who was Evan Evans who was George Challis who was . . .
To Astounding, Amazing, Fantastic, Startling, Unknown, Galaxy, Weird Tales, Planet Stories, Black Mask and The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction
To Rhysling, Blind Singer of the Spaceways AND WITH LOVE
To The Green Hills of Earth
The seeds of the Little War were planted in a restless summer during the mid-1960s, with sit-ins and student demonstrations as youth tested its strength.
By the early 1970s over 75 per cent of the people living on earth were under twenty-one years of age.
The population continued to climb—and with it the youth percentage.
In the 1980s the figure was 79.7 per cent.
In the 1990s, 82.4 per cent.
In the year 2000—critical mass.
Her hair was matted, her face streaked and swollen. One knee oozed slow blood; she's cut it on a steel abutment.
A stitching pain lived in her side.
She ran.
There was a high lovers' moon and the night was full of shapes. Shadows slid on shadows.
When had she crossed the river? Was it last night or the night before? Where was she now? She didn't know.
Off to her right she could see an unending length of metalmesh beyond a stretch of dead asphalt. Far out on the pavement sea was a cluster of teeter-swings. An industrial nursery; it had to be Stoneham or Sunrise.
Perhaps her baby was there!
She veered to the left, away from the mesh, into the deep night-black between buildings. Abruptly she found her passage blocked by a high board barrier. She turned. Maybe she could double back over the river.
If she could only rest.
Wait! She froze, remained motionless. There was someone in the shadows ahead. A silent scream ripped at her throat.
Sandman!
Panic drove her heart against her chest in shuddering strokes. She spun about, clawed at the blistered boards, her fingernails breaking as she sought a grip on the coarse wood. The fence was too high.
For an instant (a century?) she clung there, trying to will her muscles to lift her oh-so-heavy body, but all the energy was gone. Something tore inside her, and she crumpled at the base of the wood.
Huddled into herself, she studied the char-black flower crystal centered in the palm of her right hand. A few days ago it had been a warm blood-red—just as seven years before it had been electric-blue, and seven years earlier, sun-yellow. A color for each seven years of her life. Now she was twenty-one and her flower was dull black. Sleep black. Death black.
The figure moved calmly toward her, across the moon-pavement. She didn't look up. She stared at her palm, because her future and her past were written there. All of her days and her nights and her fears and her hopes.
Why had she believed in Sanctuary? Insane. Impossible. Why hadn't she been like all the others who had accepted Sleep?