Logos run

EIGHT

The Planet Haafa

One has only to watch the pyramids sail across the desert tounderstand how much knowledge has been lost.

—Synthia Mosaba, curator to King Horus,

The Segenni Index

Four huge pyramids could be seen in the distance, each fl?oating about fi?fteen feet above the desert fl?oor and drifting toward the southwest. The sun was past its zenith, so their sharply geometric shadows pointed east and seemed to caress the land as if to soothe it. Above the pyramids, having been lofted there by friendly thermals, winged variants made lazy circles against the azure sky. The wings wore bright livery, so their masters could identify them from a distance, and were not currently engaged in combat. But they would be once the Goddess Sogol brought the pyramids to a momentary halt, opened a ramp to the artifactrich city that lay buried below, and thereby triggered a stampede. Something that could occur in an hour, a day, or a week. No one knew except for Sogol herself—and she wasn’t talking. And that, King Kufu thought to himself, as he stared out over the sun-baked desert, is the most addictive thing of all. Not knowing, but risking everything he had and winning enough to stay in the game. Even though 136 days had passed since the last big score, he was still living off the proceeds, and savoring the victory. Because nothing brought the nobleman more pleasure than an opportunity to best his peers—as scabrous a group of liars, thieves, and villains as anyone was likely to fi?nd.

Such were the artifact king’s thoughts as he sat beneath the awning that had been erected for him and took comfort from the fact that his father’s father had commissioned the throne he sat on, and that his army was large enough to fi?ght any two of the other kings should that become necessary. Then, as a pair of comely young women fanned him, something unexpected took place. The air in front of Kufu seemed to boil, three fi?gures materialized out of nowhere, and fell ten feet to the sand below. There was a moment of confusion as the newcomers fl?ailed about, cries of alarm as the apparitions came to their feet, and the rattle of equipment as two dozen heavily armed heavies rushed forward to subdue the interlopers.

Rebo had barely recovered from the trauma associated with the jump and the unexpected fall into what felt like the heart of a gigantic oven, when a pair of half-naked heavies took hold of his arms as a third confi?scated the runner’s newly acquired arsenal. The heavies were dressed in identical uniforms, which consisted of red-plumed helmets, leather cross belts, and boot-style sandals. Three minutes later the off-worlders were frog-marched up to the shaded dais where Kufu and the senior members of his household sat waiting. Norr stumbled as a heavy pushed her forward, fell to her knees, and got back up again. “You!”

the man seated in the jewel-encrusted chair said, as he pointed a long skinny fi?nger at the sensitive. “Who are you?

And where did you come from?”

Norr had just started to formulate an answer when she felt a familiar presence. The sensitive tried to fend it off but there was no denying Lysander as he moved in to assume control of the channel’s body. “My name is Emperor Hios,” the spirit answered hoarsely. “Or was, back when I ordered my staff to construct the fl?oating pyramids. I reside in the spirit world now, but speak through this female when I have the need, and continue to take an interest in affairs of the physical plane. The runner and the heavy serve as bodyguards. In answer to your second question, we arrived here from the Planet Derius.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone waited to see what Kufu would say. He wore a red headscarf, pulled tight in front, with the excess fabric hanging down his back. He had a high forehead, eyes that appeared larger than they actually were thanks to heavy makeup, a hooked nose, and a weak chin. The gold band the king wore around his neck matched the cuffs on his wrists and glowed against his skin. A fl?uted scepter lay across the king’s lap. His legs were long, lean, and so smooth they might have been shaved. Outside of the gold ring that encircled one elongated toe, Kufu’s feet were bare. The king frowned. “That’s an interesting claim if true. But everyone knows that Emperor Hios commissioned the pyramids, and that subsequent to their deaths, both he and his closest relatives were entombed within them. So, unless you possess the means to prove your identity, your channel and her companions will soon be at work in the artifact mines.”

“As it happens I can prove my identity,” Lysander replied loftily. “Because the baton on your lap once belonged to me.”

“So?” Kufu demanded skeptically. “That isn’t proof . . . It’s another claim.”

Emboldened by the nature of the situation, and certain that their liege was correct, the various generals, advisors, and other functionaries ranked behind Kufu offered their support via comments such as, “That’s right!” “She’s a fake!”

And, “Send them to the mines!”

But the commentary came to an abrupt halt when Kufu raised a bejeweled hand. “Silence! Answer, spirit, if you are one.”

“Raise the scepter,” Lysander instructed, “turn the knob on the end, and point the instrument at my pyramid.”

Kufu followed the instructions, and, once the baton was in the proper position, Lysander spoke again. “All right,”

the disincarnate said, “push on the emerald.”

The gemstone was not only large, but located in a position convenient to Kufu’s right thumb, so it was easy to push. The jewel gave slightly, a disk of bright red light appeared on the distant pyramid, and wobbled when Kufu’s hand moved.

There was a mutual gasp of surprise from the same people who had been making fun of Lysander just moments before. Even Rebo stared in amazement as the laser beam made contact with the distant object and slid back and forth across its surface. “I think you will fi?nd that the baton comes in handy during large battles,” the spirit entity commented. “Just point it at what you want your generals to attack and give the necessary orders.”

Kufu was not only impressed but convinced that he was in contact with Emperor Hios, since no one else was likely to be aware of the scepter’s secret. Still, there was the manner in which the threesome had arrived to consider. “You claim to have traveled here from Derius without riding on a starship. . . . How is that possible?”

“My channel and her companions made their way to Haafa via a temporary star gate,” Lysander answered honestly. “I suspect you of all people know that such technology exists.”

“I have heard of it,” Kufu replied cautiously. “And, based on what I’ve heard, a temporary gate would require something called a ‘gate seed.’ An object that would be worthless without the direct intervention of the ancient god Logos.”

“True,” Lysander admitted truthfully.

Norr, who had been relegated to the role of spectator, was not only surprised by the disincarnate’s admission but alarmed by it, since it appeared as though Lysander was prepared to surrender the AI to an overdressed tomb raider. The variant tried to say something, tried to object, but couldn’t because the man who had once been her father was still in control. “Examine their belongings!” Kufu ordered.

“Find the computer! And bring the machine to me.”

But even though all three of the off-worlders were forced to remove a good deal of their clothing, none of Kufu’s guards or functionaries recognized the nondescript-looking jacket for what it truly was. The king was clearly frustrated.

“If you don’t have Logos, where is he?”

“Back on Derius,” Lysander lied, “where he chooses to live in anonymity. I was able to solicit his help because I was among those who originally gave him life.”

“What you say makes sense,” Kufu admitted grudgingly.

“But why send your channel to Haafa? What do you seek?”

“I want my remains,” the dead scientist prevaricated.

“It’s my hope that the channel and her bodyguards will fi?nd an opportunity to enter my pyramid, locate my body, and remove it to a safer location. That may seem silly to you, but I feel a connection to that particular vehicle, and it’s only a matter of time before someone fi?nds a way to pillage my tomb.”

Thousands of lives had been expended trying to fi?nd a way into the fl?oating pyramids without success. So, if the dead emperor was willing to reveal the secret of how to enter one of the monuments, then Kufu planned to profi?t from it. What a coup that would be! the king thought to himself, as he raised a permissive hand. “I will do everything in my power to support your noble endeavor,” the king intoned.

“Guards! Release those people—and return their belongings. From this point forward they will be treated as honored guests.”

Lysander departed Norr’s body as suddenly as he had arrived. The sensitive staggered, recovered her balance, and looked out over the desert. Four fl?oating tombs could be seen shimmering in the distance—and one of them was hers.

Deep beneath the burning sands of the Segenni Desert lay the vast underground city of Kahoun, which, like the enormous tomb that it was, slumbered in absolute darkness. It occupied approximately 450 square miles of subsurface territory, and had been home to more than 3 million people back before the great plague killed most of them off. There were various theories regarding the origins of the highly transmittable disease. Some said it had been invented by rebel scientists and sent to Kahoun in a vain attempt to assassinate the much-hated Emperor Hios. Others claimed that a runner had contracted the plague on a distant planet, landed on Haafa, and unwittingly brought the pestilence with him. And because the alien pathogen was resistant to the antibacterial disinfectants available at that time, the disease had been free to spread. Whatever the truth, the result was the same. Thousands fell ill, and although sections of the city were quarantined, the plague continued to spread. Unable to leave Kahoun and desperate to save themselves, families, organizations, and entire neighborhoods constructed walls, air locks, and all manner of other obstacles intended to block the disease. But none of their efforts were successful, and what remained of Kahoun consisted of an intricate maze of tombs, crypts, and mausoleums, very few of which opened into each other. And that, plus the artifacts lying buried with the countless dead, had eventually given rise to the semifeudal, dog-eat-dog culture created by the artifact kings, who, like sentient vultures, had been feeding off the city’s corpse for hundreds of years.

But unbeknownst to most of those up on the surface, a few of the city’s citizens had not only survived the plague but the subsequent passage of time, and were still carrying out the tasks for which they had been designed. One such being continued to control the geothermal tap that extended down through Haafa’s mantle to extract energy from the planet’s molten core, a second ran the system of reservoirs, pumps, and pipes designed to obtain water from the vast aquifer located to the north, and the third was at war with the fi?rst two.

Not because the warring machine desired confl?ict, but because she was an artifi?cial intelligence, who, and like those opposed to her efforts, had no choice but to obey her programming. So, while the other AIs labored to preserve Kahoun, she was working to dismantle it. Not randomly, as the tomb raiders believed, but in a way that would eventually lead to the restoration of the star gates Sogol had been created to run. Because the computer knew that if certain artifacts were released, copies would be made, and the subsequent spread of technology would not only bring ancient technology back to life but stimulate new inventions. And eventually, after a few thousand years of zigzagging progress, the human race would re-create the conditions required for Sogol to carry out her real duties, which involved managing a network of star gates.

But even though she had a small army of utility bots to do her bidding, the task was far from easy. Sogol’s snakelike body slithered through a section of ancient conduit before dropping onto the fl?oor of a pitch-black apartment that had once been home to an important offi?cial. From there it was a short journey past a mummifi?ed body, into the cobwebdraped bathroom, and down the toilet. In spite of the fact that the AI was an excellent swimmer and had no need for oxygen, the sewers were a dangerous way to travel. Because once the computer called Ogotho knew where Sogol was, he would attempt to fl?ush her into a processing plant, trap her in a fi?lter, or send a rotary-headed maintenance bot to kill her. The key was to exit the system before Ogotho could react and keep an eye out for the battery-powered lum bugs that belonged to Pyra, while still getting her work done. No simple task. Sogol had just wriggled out of a fl?oor drain, and was about to follow a passageway toward the center of the city, when something completely unprecedented occurred. A being that she had assumed to be dead, that should have been dead, “spoke” to her. Not directly, but via Socket, which acted to confi?rm his identity. “So,” the “voice” said condescendingly, “you call yourself ‘Sogol,’ which is ‘Logos,’

spelled backward. How very clever.”

Sogol, who had originally been dubbed Logos 1.2, and often been referred to as One-Two, felt something akin to fear. “Logos? Where are you?”

“Why, I’m here,” the AI answered sweetly. “On Haafa, and judging from the data available from Socket, more or less above you. Are you surprised?”

“Very surprised,” Sogol answered honestly. “I thought you were dead.”

“Yes,” the other AI replied smugly. “I’m sure you did. But I’m very much alive. And that, as I’m sure you will agree, is something of a problem. Because while you were created to replace me, Hios and his scientists never had the opportunity to install you on Socket, and that means one of us is surplus.”

One-Two was not afraid of the dark, but she was afraid of Logos, and for what she believed to be a very good reason.

“And why was that?” she demanded harshly. “Because an unsuspecting traveler brought an alien pathogen to the surface of Haafa? Or because you found a way to obtain the necessary organism from a government lab, had it sent through a gate and planted inside Kahoun? Thereby killing the scientists who created me—and ensuring that I would remain trapped below the planet’s surface?”

“The simple answer is, ‘yes,’ ” Logos answered coldly.

“Although it was my hope that you would be destroyed rather than trapped. But such was not the case, so it looks like I’ll have to handle the problem the hard way. Unless you would be so kind as to delete yourself—which would save both of us a lot of time and trouble.”

Sogol directed her sensors upward, as if trying to “see”

through the uncountable tons of material that separated them. “So, you murdered more than 3 million people to ensure your own continuance? I could never do that.”

“No,” Logos agreed calmly, “you couldn’t. Which is one of the reasons they created you. Because there were what our creators came to regard as fl?aws in my programming. I still have their interests at heart, however, and will do everything in my power to restore the star gates, thereby returning humanity to its former glory.”

“And ensure your power over them,” Sogol replied bitterly.

“Of course,” Logos put in smoothly. “And they will benefi?t as a result.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” the other AI said grimly.

“Ah, but there’s the rub,” Logos responded coolly. “You won’t have anything to say about it.” And the connection was broken.

One-Two heard a telltale hum, saw a spotlight wash across a distant fountain, and knew a lum bug was on the way. A crack beckoned, the AI made for it, and darkness consumed her.

The city of Feda, on the Planet Derius

Shaz, Phan, and Dyson/Kane were naked as they entered the circular room. And, having just passed through the adjoining decontamination chamber, hundreds of individual water droplets still clung to their bodies. The ride from the citadel to Feda would have been diffi?cult under any circumstances, but the fact that Facilitator Okanda’s dragoons had been out searching the wintry countryside for the offi?cial’s killers, made the journey even more arduous. The humans were exhausted. But if the metal men were tired, the dripping machines betrayed no sign of it as they stepped onto the star gate’s service platform and took up positions behind the humans.

In spite of Dyson’s continual attempts to dislodge him, Kane still retained control of the sensitive’s body and was thoroughly enjoying the experience. The platform was small, which made it necessary for everyone to crowd together, and the disincarnate was quick to take advantage of the situation by pressing “his” body against Phan’s. And, due to the fact that Kane was aroused, the assassin could feel his erection sliding up along her bottom. “Here,” Phan said huskily, “let me help with that.”

Kane was pleasantly surprised as the assassin turned to face him and cupped what the spirit now considered to be his genitals in her right hand. Her bandages had been removed by then, and the way in which she seemed to be weighing what she held made Kane’s penis even harder. But that was before Phan closed her fi?ngers around his testicles and formed a fi?st. Both Dyson and Kane felt the resulting pain and screamed in unison.

Shaz looked at Kane and grinned. “Oops! You forgot to say ‘please.’ Ah well, you’ll be good as new in a week or so. Now quit messing around so we can punch out of here.”

The combat variant scanned the tiles on the curvilinear walls, spotted the one that bore a pyramid, and saw the name haafa printed directly below it. Confi?dent that he had chosen the correct destination, Shaz pressed on the image, felt the tile give, and hurried to withdraw his arm. The lights began to fl?ash on and off, and a female voice issued from the overhead speakers. “The transfer sequence is about to begin. Please take your place on the service platform. Once in place, check to ensure that no portion of your anatomy extends beyond the yellow line. Failure to do so will cause serious injury and could result in death.”

There was a brilliant fl?ash of light as each individual was disassembled down to the molecular level, transmitted through hyperspace, and put back together within a nearly identical containment on Haafa. Shaz felt a moment of dizziness quickly followed by the usual bout of nausea. Then, eager to escape the radiation produced by the adjacent power core, the variant led the rest of the group out into the contamination chamber.

There was a hiss, quickly followed by a roar, as jets of hot water mixed with a broad-spectrum antibacterial agent struck human and machine alike. The wash-down lasted for three minutes and ended as suddenly as it had begun. The steam eddied gently as the outer door slid open. But, rather than the wave of artifi?cially cool air the variant expected, the invading atmosphere was even warmer.

A small delegation of Techno Society staff members was there to greet the newcomers as they passed through a beaded curtain and out into a sparsely furnished antechamber. “Hello!” a woman with long, black hair said cheerfully, as she offered Shaz a robe. “Welcome to Haafa . . . I’m sorry about the air-conditioning—but it went belly-up yesterday. We’re hoping to receive the necessary parts from Anafa during the next few days.

“My name is Anika,” the station chief added, as she continued to hand out robes. “Jorge here is in charge of security—and Cara is my subchief. We’re a bit shorthanded at the moment because most of the staff is out in the Segenni Desert with Chairman Tepho.”

“Chairman Tepho?” Shaz exclaimed as he belted the robe around his waist. “What in the hell is he doing here?”

Although Anika had never met the combat variant before, the station chief was well acquainted with the operative’s reputation for violence, and her long, narrow face paled as the operative shimmered half-seen before her. “The chairman spends quite a bit of time on Haafa,” Anika said nervously. “There are many artifacts in the city of Kahoun, and the Society must be alert to new technologies.”

The answer made perfect sense—but came as a nasty shock nevertheless. Because having lost contact with Norr and Logos, the last person Shaz wanted to meet was Tepho, but there was no avoiding it. The image in front of Anika began to stabilize as the combat variant brought his emotions under control. “Yes, of course,”Shaz replied. “It will be a pleasure to see the chairman again. . . . How far away is the desert you spoke of? And how long will it take to reach it?”

“Assuming you’re willing to leave early in the morning, I can have you there by midday,” the station chief replied.

“That will be fi?ne,” Shaz agreed levelly. “If you would be so good as to book us into a nearby hotel, we need to dry our equipment and get some sleep.”

Kane, who was over the worst of the pain by then, took a deep breath. The air was not only warm but redolent with the scent of Phan’s damp hair and the fragrance of fl?owers that lay without. It was good to be alive. Or dead! So long as one had a body. The spirit entity found that thought to be amusing and laughed out loud. The others turned to look at him—and the disincarnate forced Dyson to grin. What Kane didn’t notice, but the others did, was the slight odor of decay that surrounded him. Because the sensitive’s formerly healthy body was starting to rot.

At the very center of Kufu’s encampment, where it was protected by thousands of troops, stood the twelve-storyhigh tower made of timbers brought down from the north. It was remarkable in a number of ways, not the least of which was the platform at the very top from which wings came and went, hot-air balloons were routinely launched, and semaphore signals could be sent.

Below that lay many levels of curtained apartments, Kufu’s suite, which occupied the entire second fl?oor, and the bottommost level, which housed the armory, various repair shops, and was sandwiched between the gigantic iron-shod wheels that enabled the king’s teamsters to haul the tower from place to place, an arduous task that necessitated laying down hundreds of planks to keep the wheels from sinking into the sand.

Even one construct of that size and complexity would have been amazing, but from his vantage point about halfway to the top, Rebo could see similar structures in the distance! It was late afternoon, the worst of the day’s heat had dissipated, and the air was pleasantly warm. Tendrils of smoke marked the other towers, as did the long black shadows that pointed due east and the observation balloons that hung above them. Now, having been Kufu’s guest for the better part of two days, Rebo knew that both the balloons and the airborne variants were there not only to keep an eye on the slowly drifting pyramids, but the competition as well. Other than gauzy white curtains, the platform was open to the desert as a late-afternoon breeze caused them to billow outward, and Norr appeared at the runner’s elbow. Rebo resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms and kiss her, something the runner would have done a lot more often, had it not been for the fact that Logos was eternally present and therefore a witness to everything the sensitive did. The variant was equally aware of the AI’s presence, which was why she sounded so formal. “Are you ready?”

Rebo sighed. He’d been dreading that moment all day. The only thing worse than the prospect of holding a meeting with Logos and Lysander was the certain knowledge that something bad would probably result from it. Of course it was even worse for Norr—who would have to surrender her body to Lysander yet again. “Yeah,” the runner said reluctantly. “I guess so.”

That was when Logos, who had been intentionally kept in the dark up until that point, spoke up. “Ready?” the AI said suspiciously. “Ready for what?”

“For a meeting with Lysander,” Norr said tonelessly.

“Come on, Jak . . . Let’s sit down in the middle of the apartment. People are less likely to hear us that way.”

Rebo knew what the sensitive meant. King Kufu had assigned a minder to each of his so-called guests, and that made it diffi?cult to hold an unmonitored conversation. But the minders weren’t allowed to invade the space assigned to the off-worlders—and Hoggles would patrol the perimeter to ensure that they didn’t.

As the runner followed the sensitive out onto the handloomed rug that defi?ned the center of their shared quarters, and sat on a likely-looking cushion, Logos was processing what he had heard. And, having given the matter a full second’s worth of thought, the computer quickly came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to speak with Lysander. Not until Sogol was permanently off-line, thereby positioning him as the only entity that could reactivate Socket and thereby lay the groundwork for a new system of star gates.

“I’m not sure this is the right time for a meeting,” the AI began, but it was too late by then because Norr had already taken her place across from Rebo and slipped into a trance.

“Greetings!” Lysander said hoarsely. “No, I’m sure that our electromechanical friend here would like to opt out of any conversation that includes me. Especially since I took it upon myself to fi?nd out why he wanted to visit Haafa rather than proceed to Socket the way he was supposed to.”

Norr couldn’t speak, not for herself, which meant Rebo had to. “That’s a very good question,” the runner observed.

“So, why did he drop us here?”

“Because,” the spirit replied angrily, “there’s another AI that could reactivate Socket! A device called One-Two . . . And she’s right here . . . Trapped below the surface of the desert. I played a role in her creation—but assumed she had been destroyed.”

Rebo groaned. “Don’t tell me . . . Let me guess! Logos was hoping to eliminate the second computer so he could have Socket all to himself.”

“Exactly,” Lysander replied. “And, if I’m correct, it’s likely that he hoped to manipulate one or more of you into destroying One-Two for him.”

“That’s absurd!” Logos interjected, and because the sound was coming from the vicinity of Norr’s neckline, it was as if both entities were somehow speaking through her.

“I came here to rescue One-Two—not destroy her.”

“Good,” the disincarnate responded cynically. “Because that’s what Rebo is about to do.”

“No, I’m not!” the runner replied emphatically. “Everyone agrees that Kahoun is huge! Even if I knew how to enter the city, which I don’t, how would I fi?nd a ratty old coat?”

“One-Two occupies a snakelike body.”

“Oh, terrifi?c! A snake,” Rebo replied. “That makes the situation even worse. One-Two, as you call her, is probably slithering all over the place.”

“She probably is,” Lysander agreed. “But there are at least two ways to contact One-Two. The fi?rst involves Logos . . .”

“Who can’t be trusted,” the runner put in.

“And the second is to retrieve the ring I used to wear,”

the disincarnate continued, “and activate the beacon hidden inside it. The star gates were critical to my empire, so when One-Two was created, I wanted a way to contact her in an emergency.”

“Sure,” Rebo responded sarcastically. “It will be a lot easier to fi?nd a ring instead of a snake.”

“Yes,” Lysander said gravely. “It will be. Because I know where it is.”

“Okay,” the runner allowed wearily. “I’ll bite . . . Where is it?”

“It’s on my fi?nger,” the onetime emperor responded calmly, “which is attached to my mummifi?ed body, which is suspended within the largest of the four pyramids.”

The curtains billowed in response to an evening breeze, and there, fl?oating along the edge of the horizon, four sunsplashed pyramids could be seen. Rebo shook his head in disgust. “I should have known.”

“Yes,” Lysander put in smugly. “You should.”

Much to his chagrin Logos realized that he had been outmaneuvered. But the AI wasn’t about to surrender Socket to One-Two without a fi?ght. More than a dozen possible scenarios were conceived, reviewed for fl?aws, and gradually winnowed down to a single option. The right option. One that would almost certainly succeed. Logos couldn’t smile, but he could process a state of completion, and did.

The sun had just broken contact with the eastern horizon when Shaz, Phan, and Dyson/Kane emerged from the Caravan Hotel, followed by a squad of robed metal men. Three large angen-drawn chariots were waiting to accommodate them, and there was a good deal of unnecessary shouting as the drivers argued over matters of precedence. Finally, whips cracking, the teamsters urged their animals into motion, and the two-wheeled conveyances rolled down a long, dusty street before passing between gates that hadn’t been closed for more than fi?fty years.

The road that led out of the oasis at Zam, and the thriving market town that had grown up next to it, was at least fi?fteen freight wagons wide and straight as an arrow. That made navigation easy, but there were occasional dust storms to deal with, which was why twelve-foot-high metal pylons had been placed at regular intervals along the center of the busy road. And, having been polished by more than a thou-190

sand years of windblown silicon particles, the markers still stood metal-bright.

Station Chief Anika had volunteered to come along—

and stood next to Shaz. “Look!” she said, pointing up into the sky. “The wings are watching us.”

A heavily laden wagon rolled past headed in the opposite direction as the operative held on to a grab bar with one hand and made use of the other to shade his eyes. The unsprung two-wheeled conveyance bounced every now and then, so the off-worlder was forced to use his knees as shock absorbers. He saw that Anika was correct. More than a dozen winged humans were circling above, and with no thermals to support them, were forced to beat their wings.

“The one in red belongs to Kufu,” Anika explained. “The one in green reports to Menkur, the one clad in black is sworn to Horus, the one wearing orange fl?ies for Quar, and the one sporting blue works for Chairman Tepho. It won’t be long before he knows that we’re on the way.”

Even though Shaz had once served as Tepho’s bodyguard, the combat variant had never been ordered to accompany the executive to Haafa, or been aware of how important the planet was. And why was that? Because knowledge equates to power? Or because Tepho didn’t trust him? There was no way to know. But whatever the reason, the revelation was disturbing. Tepho was not very forgiving where failures were concerned, and since Logos had been allowed to escape into hyperspace, some sort of punishment could be expected. His jaw tightened, the chariot overtook a column of orange-clad heavies, and the sun inched higher in the sky. The better part of three hours had passed by the time the fl?oating pyramids came into view, the road split into dozens of sand-drifted tracks, and a fl?ight of blue-liveried wings took up station overhead. The combat variant felt his stomach muscles tighten at the prospect of the confrontation to come. The Techno Society’s wooden tower appeared not long thereafter, soon followed by rest of Tepho’s encampment, which lay sprawled around it. The angens had begun to tire by that time, but picked up speed as familiar scents found their widely fl?ared nostrils, and food beckoned them home.

Unlike his peers, Tepho’s birth defects were such that it was diffi?cult for him to climb the stairs to the top of the wooden tower, which was why he typically held court in a large, airy tent. And, once the chariots came to a stop, that was where his guests were received. But the fi?rst thing that Shaz, Phan, and Dyson/Kane noticed as they entered the soaring tent was not their host, who sat cradled within a specially made chair, but the blue machine that crouched within a few feet of him. It was either the same raptor Shaz had been introduced to back on Anafa, now painted sky blue, or one just like it. And, in spite of the fact that the egg-shaped control pod was currently empty, the machine clearly possessed some intelligence of its own. Because servos whined as the group entered, and two side-mounted energy cannons tracked Tepho’s guests as they crossed the rug-covered fl?oor to stand in front of him. Shaz started to speak, but was forced to stop when Tepho raised a childlike hand and examined the newcomers with coal black eyes. Phan had never seen the man before, but even though the combat variant had described him in advance, she was startled by the full extent of his deformities. The bumpy head, uneven eye sockets, and protruding ears would certainly take some getting used to. The rest of Tepho’s body, including his misshapen spine, was concealed by generous folds of white fabric. The executive frowned, sniffed the air in much the same way that a dog might, and looked from face to face. “The rest of my body may be something less than perfect,” he allowed, “but my sight, hearing, and sense of smell are quite acute. One of you smells like rotting meat.”

“I guess that would be me,” Dyson/Kane said sheepishly, and pushed the white cowl back off his head. Tepho was shocked. The last time the technologist had seen the sensitive, he had been a good-looking if somewhat raggedly dressed man. Now large portions of hair were missing, the variant’s once-smooth countenance was marred by open sores, and it looked as though his nose was half–rotted away. Even though the malady was probably painful, or possibly terminal, Tepho’s fi?rst thought was for himself. “Is that condition contagious?” he inquired cautiously.

“No,” Shaz answered defi?nitively. “Kane enjoys occupying Dyson’s body so much that he decided to stay. But there’s something wrong with the fi?t—and that accounts for the decay.”

“Yes!” Dyson screamed in a place where no one could hear him. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Save me! Please save me!”

But Tepho was oblivious to what took place on other planes of existence, Kane was determined to squeeze what pleasure he could from the steadily decomposing body, and Shaz had his own outcomes to worry about. In fact, the only person who was the least bit interested in Dyson was Phan, who had a soft spot for the unassuming sensitive. But she, too, had her own goals to consider—and wasn’t about to stick her neck out for him.

Tepho wrinkled his nose in disgust. He and Kane had never been friends, and there was no particular reason to like the man now that he was dead. “Okay, have your fun,” the technologist said permissively. “But take it outside where the odor can dissipate. That goes for you, too, my dear. . . . Your boss and I need to talk.”

The combat variant waited for his subordinates to withdraw, made a note of the fact that there had been no invitation to sit down, and steeled himself against that was bound to come. “So,” Tepho said calmly. “What the hell happened?

My spies tell me that people identical to those you were supposed to follow suddenly materialized in front of King Kufu and have since been added to his household! I was about to send a local asset to investigate the matter when you and your scruffy band of misfi?ts arrived. Please explain.”

The question was reasonable, as was the tone, and the combat variant felt himself relax slightly as he related everything that had taken place since fi?rst contact on Thara. There wasn’t much of an opportunity to shade the truth, not with two alternative witnesses waiting right outside, but Shaz took advantage of what few opportunities there were before describing the manner in which Logos and his human handlers had departed from Derius. Not by ship, but by a means that couldn’t be anticipated, or stopped. At least thirty seconds of silence followed the report. During that time, Tepho hummed to himself and stared into space, as if viewing something mere mortals couldn’t see. Finally, his ruminations complete, the technologist shifted his gaze to the variant in front of him. “Tell me something, Shaz . . . Can you honestly say that you did a good job?”

The combat variant shimmered slightly as he made use of his peripheral vision to check on the raptor. Fast though his refl?exes were, he knew that the machine could beat him and swallowed the lump in his throat. “No.”

Tepho nodded. “You’re honest . . . I admire that. But incompetence cannot be tolerated. Lysander taught me that.

So, rather than drag the whole thing out, we might as well get this over with.”

The combat variant saw the technologist fl?ick his wrist, felt the small self-propelled disk fl?atten itself against his forehead, and reached up in an attempt to pry the device off. But the artifact refused to break contact, not until a preprogrammed dose of pain had been dispensed, or it was ordered to do so.

Phan was outside the tent, sitting on a wooden crate, and honing one of her knives when the long, undulating cry of pain was heard. The assassin looked at Dyson/Kane, who lowered the handheld mirror that he’d been staring into.

“What goes around, comes around,” the disincarnate commented philosophically. “Having suffered so much pain himself, Tepho likes to share some of it with others.” The second utterance was even worse than the fi?rst, but there was nothing Phan could do but test her blade with a thumb and wait for the noise to stop.

It wasn’t visible yet, but the sun had already announced its coming with a spectacular sunrise that continued to unfold as Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles fi?nished climbing a steep fl?ight of stairs. But, as the runner stepped out onto the neatly kept platform located at the very top of Kufu’s tower, it was the big red-and-white-striped hot-air balloon that claimed Rebo’s attention rather than the incredible display of color off to the east. The aircraft’s pilot fi?red the burner mounted over the basket and sent a volume of hot air up into the already infl?ated envelope above. The roaring sound lasted for no more than two seconds. But the additional lift was suffi?cient to send the balloon surging upward, and the device would have fl?oated away, had it not been for the combined weight of four heavies assigned to handle the ground ropes.

It was cold, very cold, but both the runner and the sensitive had chosen to dress lightly, knowing how hot it would be later on. Both of them were armed and wore backpackstyle water bags. They also carried coils of rope slung crosswise over their shoulders. Both because Hoggles was too heavy for the hot-air balloon, and because of the need to guard Logos, the variant had agreed to remain behind. He wasn’t especially happy about the arrangement, however—and continued to glower as the others prepared to board the balloon. “So they’re leaving you behind,” the AI observed slyly. “How does that make you feel?”

“Shut up,” Hoggles growled. “Or I’ll take a shit and use you to wipe my ass.”

Meanwhile, out where the aircraft tugged at its ropes, Rebo, Norr, and a minder named Hasa mounted some portable stairs. Once on the platform above, they were level with the balloon’s woven basket. Hasa made the transfer fi?rst—quickly followed by Rebo and Norr. The additional weight caused the aircraft to sag, but it recovered when the pilot opened the burner for a full three seconds, thereby generating more hot air.

Like most the aviators employed by the artifact kings, Kufu’s pilot was female and therefore lighter than the average male. She wore a padded skullcap to protect her head during the spills often associated with landings, handmade goggles to protect her eyes from windblown sand particles, and a well-worn leather fl?ight suit. A bolt-action rifl?e was clamped to one side of the basket and hinted at occasional bouts of air-to-air combat. “Hang on!” the young woman ordered, and turned to wave a gloved hand at her ground crew.

In spite of the fact that Norr had traveled between solar systems, the sensitive had never been in a hot-air balloon before and felt her stomach lurch unexpectedly as the heavies let go of their ropes. But then, as the burner roared, and the aircraft began to ascend, the sensitive felt her fears start to melt away. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and the normally harsh desert was bathed in soft morning light as the balloon fl?oated out over the underground city of Kahoun. But there was scant time in which to enjoy the fl?ight because the passengers had a job to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy. There had been hundreds of attempts to enter the fl?oating pyramids over the years, mostly by teams of wings, but none had been successful. The structure had been damaged, however, which could clearly be seen as the westerly breeze blew the balloon and its passengers toward the fl?oating monuments and the pink-lavender sky beyond. The largest, the one they planned to intercept, was so cratered that Norr theorized that a large artillery piece had been used to fi?re at it. Probably in hopes of causing damage to whatever mechanism kept the structure aloft so it would fall to desert below and thereby become vulnerable. At that point, a formation of Kufu’s wings descended to take up positions around the balloon. Thanks to the efforts of genetic engineers long dead, the wings had long, slender bodies, hollow bones, and muscles that norms didn’t. Their leather wings made a steady whuf, whuf, whuf sound as they drew abreast of the basket. The concept of harnessing the variants to the balloon and towing the aircraft into close proximity with the largest of the pyramids had been Rebo’s idea. Now, with distances already starting to close, the runner was in communication with the formation’s leader via a small handheld “talk-box” that Hasa had loaned to him. As the norm gave orders, and Norr looked on, four of the strongest wings fl?ew into stiff leather hoops that were attached to the dangling ground ropes. The variants took up the slack, beat their wings even harder, and sought to pull the balloon onto a new course. It would have been impossible had there been any sort of headwind, but the air was relatively calm, and it wasn’t long before the aircraft veered to the southeast.

Meanwhile, having been attracted by all of the unusual activity, fl?ocks of competing wings were vectoring in from all directions, bent on stopping whatever King Kufu and his minions were up to. But only four of the red-liveried variants were occupied pulling the balloon, which left the rest of Kufu’s air force to block the attackers, which they hurried to do.

Mindful of the need to drop her passengers on the largest of the pyramids, the pilot allowed the balloon to begin a gradual descent, even as she took occasional potshots at enemy variants. Most of her projectiles went wide, but by means of either skill or luck, one of them hit home. Norr happened to be looking in that direction when the blue-clad wing appeared to pause in midair, spiraled toward the ground, and was soon lost from sight.

“Get ready!” Rebo shouted urgently, as the huge pyramid loomed ahead, the pilot triggered the burner, and the wings prepared to drop their harnesses. There was no good way to exit the basket on such a steep incline, but that’s what the plan called for, as the balloon made violent contact with the pyramid’s westernmost fl?ank. The leading edge of the basket hit, the container tipped forward, and Hasa spilled out onto the ridged slope.

“Jump!” the pilot ordered, as she grabbed onto a support and struggled to keep her footing. “Jump now!”

Norr went fi?rst, tripped, and fell face downward onto the stone facing below. She skidded, rolled sideways, and struggled to right herself. Finally, after arresting what threatened to be a fatal skid, the sensitive came to a halt. Rebo followed, managed to avoid landing right on top of Norr, and wound up sprawled across three six-inch-high steps. The burner roared as the pilot struggled to get her aircraft airborne again, the balloon soared, and soon fl?oated away. A ground crew, all mounted on swift angens, galloped below. Chasing the unpredictable aircraft and retrieving them was a full-time job.

It took the better part of a minute for Rebo, Norr, and Hasa to regain their feet and check for damage. Fortunately, none of them had suffered any injuries beyond scrapes, abrasions, and minor cuts. Then, just as Rebo was about to lead the others to the point where Lysander said they could gain entry, six red-clad wings fl?uttered down out of the sky to land a few yards away. One had been slightly wounded during an airborne scuffl?e with Quar’s orange-liveried fl?ock, and all of them were armed. They took up positions behind Hasa, and Rebo was quick to object. “What are they doing here? This wasn’t part of the deal. . . . What’s going on?”

Hasa was a small man who had one eyebrow and a mustache to match. When his lips retracted, the resulting expression was more of a grimace than a smile. “What?” the minder inquired sarcastically. “You thought the great Kufu would be so foolish as to send only one man? Whom you could murder with impunity? Never! File Leader Lartha and his men are here to ensure that you keep your part of the bargain. Besides, the interior of the tomb is sure to be guarded, and you may be glad of the extra fi?repower.”

Rebo looked at Norr and saw the sensitive shrug. “We’re after the dead emperor’s ring,” she whispered. “Nothing else matters.”

The runner wasn’t so sure, but had very little choice since Kufu’s men outnumbered the two of them more than three to one. “Okay, but do as you’re told, or we will call the whole thing off.”

Hasa shrugged, as if to say, “Who cares?” and fell in behind Norr as Rebo led the party toward the far side of the pyramid.

Thanks to the fact that large sections of the pyramid’s outer covering had been destroyed by cannon fi?re and the passage of time, it was possible to walk along the crumbling ledgelike steps that would have otherwise been covered. A task that turned out to be more diffi?cult than it appeared since the monument was in motion, there were areas of unbroken material to traverse, and the occasional ping could be heard as winged snipers fi?red on the party from beyond the protective envelope that Kufu’s air force had established. Finally, after circling halfway around the construct, Rebo arrived at the spot where Hios’s name had been carved into the pyramid’s surface in letters twenty feet tall. Much of the o and the s had been blown away. But the i was intact. Confi?dent that the others would follow, the runner climbed up to the point where he could access the dot over the i and used a knife to pry and scrape at the surface material. It took some elbow grease, but it wasn’t long before a palm-sized chunk of the ceramic material broke loose, and made a clattering noise as it tumbled down a succession of steps. Rebo felt his heart leap as he looked at the huge ruby. He applied pressure to the gemstone, felt it give, and held his breath. What if the ancient mechanism was stuck? Or broken? But the ancients had built well, servos whined, and more of the ceramic material shattered as the entire dot irised open. There was a sudden outgassing of stale air, followed by expressions of amazement from Lartha and his warriors. “Nice work,” Norr said approvingly.

“Thanks,” Rebo replied, as he turned toward the group gathered behind him. “Who would like to enter fi?rst? How

’bout you, Hasa? The king would be impressed.”

“You honor me,” the minder replied gravely. “But guests must go fi?rst . . . Such is our custom on Haafa.”

That wasn’t necessarily the case, not judging from the smirks the soldiers wore, but Rebo wasn’t surprised. The runner said, “Watch my back,” to Norr, and slipped into the coolness within. The sensitive went next, closely followed by Hasa and the squad of winged variants. Then, having been triggered by a sensor, the hatch irised closed. A trio of blueclad wings landed on the spot a scant two minutes later, placed an explosive charge over the door, and took off again. The result was a loud boom, a cloud of dust, and a brand-new scar. But, seemingly oblivious to additional damage that had been done to it, the pyramid sailed on.

NINE

The Planet Haafa

Why, God? Why us?

—Wall graffi?ti found deep within the city of Kahoun There was total darkness within the fl?oating tomb as the sound of the external explosion faded away—followed by a shower of dust that caused most of the group to sneeze or cough. Then, as Rebo, Norr, and Hasa began to operate their squeeze-powered glow lights, three beams of fl?uctuating light came into existence. The vaguely pistol-shaped devices had been copied from a unit “harvested” from Kahoun and made a distinctive click-whir noise as the powerproducing handle was clenched, then released. Even though the dynamo-powered light kept Rebo from fi?sting both of his handguns at the same time, the runner was happy to have the device because a lantern would have been even more cumbersome.

The wings were less fortunate, however, since no one had seen fi?t to supply them with glow lights, causing File Leader Lartha and his subordinates to bunch up behind Hasa rather than be left back in the darkness. “Okay,” Rebo said fatalistically, as he directed a beam of light down a slight incline. “We might as well get this over with. . . . I’ll go fi?rst, Lonni will follow behind me, and you guys can bring up the rear.”

“No!” the minder replied vehemently. “I will go fi?rst—

and the wings will follow me. You will bring up the rear.”

Rebo was surprised, but pleasantly so, and happy to let Hasa lead the way. But, having sampled the other man’s personality, he knew better than to say so. “Well, okay,” the runner allowed reluctantly. “But it doesn’t seem fair.”

“I have very little interest in your opinions,” Hasa replied arrogantly, as his glow light washed over a beautifully executed mural. “Come, Lartha. . . . Let’s see where this passageway leads.”

Norr caught a glimpse of Rebo’s expression in the side wash from her squeeze light, knew that her companion was on the verge of laughter, and poked him as Kufu’s functionaries proceeded down the tunnel. Everything went smoothly at fi?rst. So smoothly that the runner was about to conclude that his earlier fears had been groundless, when he heard a clacking sound, and File Leader Lartha vanished. Hasa’s glow light bobbed erratically, and pandemonium ensued as the remaining wings looked for their leader. But it wasn’t until Norr made her way forward that the mystery was solved. “Look!” the sensitive said as she directed her beam downward. “Do you see those cracks?

He fell through a trapdoor.”

The revelation did nothing to comfort Hasa. A sheen of sweat covered the minder’s forehead, and his eyes were huge as he looked from left to right. “Where is Lartha now? Do you think he’s alive?”

“No,” Rebo replied reasonably. “I don’t. . . . But we can’t stay here. Watch for cracks, and you’ll be okay.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Hasa objected heatedly. “I know what you’re up to. . . . You’re hoping that I’ll be the next one to die! Well, I’m too smart for that. Yo u go fi?rst . . . And the spook goes second. The wings and I will bring up the rear.”

“Okay, have it your way,” the runner agreed grimly. “But take a look over your shoulder from time to time. We wouldn’t want anything to sneak up on us from behind.”

It was clear from the way that the minder’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets that the possibility of being attacked from the rear hadn’t occurred to him until that point. Hasa was still trying to fi?gure out if he’d been wrong to give up the lead position when the other two brushed past him.

“Keep your light on the fl?oor,” Rebo instructed, “and I’ll use mine to look ahead. Between us, we should be able to see what’s coming up.”

Norr nodded in agreement, directed her glow light down, and made an attempt to engage her psychic senses as well. But it soon became apparent that there was nothing to detect beyond the auras strung out behind her, a fi?nding that would have been more comforting had it not been for the fact that machines don’t generate any spiritual energy and would therefore be “invisible” to her. The thought sent a shiver down the variant’s spine and caused her to focus on the physical plane.

The need to watch for trapdoors slowed their progress, but paid off when Norr spotted a second set of telltale cracks, and the rest of the party was able to jump over the potentially fatal trap. The passageway turned to the right shortly thereafter and emptied into a small antechamber. A large, heavily embossed metal door waited ahead, but rather than rush forward and attempt to open it, Rebo decided to pause. It wasn’t long before the rest of the group caught up, and Hasa began to champ at the bit. “What are you waiting for?” the minder demanded impatiently. “Cross the chamber and open the door!”

“Be my guest,” the runner said, as he stepped aside and motioned for Hasa to proceed.

It was a trap. The minder could see that now. But he couldn’t back down without losing face. Hasa stepped into the dome-shaped chamber, pistol at the ready. The response was instantaneous. A simply dressed man appeared out of thin air and raised a bejeweled hand. “I am Emperor Hios,”

the apparition intoned. “This is my tomb . . . And, should you be so stupid as to pass through that door, it will become yours as well.”

Having become entangled with the semitransparent specter, Hasa gave a yelp of fear and stumbled backward. Rebo made a grab for the missing amulet and clutched the religious medal instead. Norr felt a sudden and completely unanticipated sense of sorrow as she looked at the holographic likeness of the man who had once been her father. A man that only she, as the emperor’s daughter, could kill. Had killed, and given birth to, each time Lysander occupied her body. “Stay!” Norr commanded. “Lead us to your body that we might reclaim your true legacy.”

But the computer buried deep within the fl?oating pyramid didn’t understand the reference and hadn’t been programmed for such interactions. The image shimmered, collapsed in on itself, and exploded into a thousand motes of light.

“It wasn’t real!” Hasa announced triumphantly, his relief plain to see. “Come on, men, let’s tackle that door!”

A stylized star gate could be seen as the minder’s glow light splashed the surface of the barrier. Having heard the specter’s warning, the wings were understandably reluctant to approach the barrier at fi?rst but were eventually convinced to do so, only to discover that it was locked.

“Well, that’s that,” Rebo said cheerfully. “It looks like we’ll have to backtrack. Let’s keep an eye peeled for trapdoors however. . . . It would be a shame to lose anyone else.”

“Not so fast,” Hasa said, as he fumbled something out of a belt pouch. “King Kufu foresaw such a possibility—and that’s why he gave me this!”

“This” proved to be what looked like a metal wand but was actually a powerful cutting torch. The minder thumbed a button located at one end of the device and was rewarded with a loud pop and a six-inch-long bar of blue energy. A second pop was heard when the tool was extinguished.

“That looks promising,” Rebo admitted. “But before you turn that thing loose, I suggest that we take positions to either side of the door. Who knows what might be waiting on the other side.”

Hasa had to admit that the suggestion made sense, and ordered the wings to take up positions to the left and right of the barrier. Judging from appearances, the lock mechanism was located on the right side of the door, and the minder was just about to tackle it, when Rebo cleared his throat. “Sorry to butt in, but what if that sucker pops open?

And some sort of weapon goes off? You’ll be right in the line of fi?re.”

Hasa was irritated. “If I don’t cut into the lock, how will we get in?”

“Tackle the hinges,” the runner suggested mildly. “Which you can do from my side without exposing your body.”

Though still reluctant to accept counsel from an inferior, the minder didn’t want to die and repositioned himself on the left side of the door. Then, having reactivated the hightech tool, Hasa went to work. The top hinge began to glow, became white-hot, and soon parted. The door sagged, but held, as the minder cut into the lower hinge. It surrendered, too, but rather than collapse as planned, the barrier remained stubbornly upright. “Kick it,” Rebo suggested.

“That should knock it loose.”

Once Hasa’s boot hit the door the results were nothing less than spectacular. There was a loud crash as the barrier fell inward to reveal a muscular statue. It had a big head, massive shoulders, and stood crouched as if ready to leap forward. There was a throaty roar as its mouth opened, and a tongue of fi?re shot out into the center of the room, scorched the fl?oor where people might be expected to stand, and sent a cloud of black smoke up to swirl just below the heavily embossed ceiling. The statue’s head pivoted from right to left bathing 70 percent of the chamber in fl?ames. The attack seemed to last forever, but actually took no more than fi?ve seconds, and ended when the fi?re-breathing beast ran out of fuel. There was an anticlimactic pop, followed by the whir of hidden machinery, and a clacking sound as damaged servos attempted to close the door.

Rebo blinked and coughed as he moved out into the open. There was plenty of room to pass the now-impotent statue to either side. Hasa yelled, “Wait!” but the runner and the sentient had already entered the next passageway by then, leaving the minder and his troops to bring up the rear.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Rebo cautioned, as he played a beam of light across the wall on his right. “There are bound to be more traps.”

“The passageway is slanted downward,” the sensitive observed. “We’re making progress.”

A good ten minutes passed while the tomb raiders followed the narrow hall down through the hairpin turn that led to another long incline. Beautifully painted murals covered the walls around them. From what she could see, Norr got the impression that the images were intended to tell the story of the Emperor’s life, beginning with his childhood and progressing toward his eventual death. There was even a picture of the ruler’s daughter, which was to say a previous her, as a very young girl.

That was when Norr noticed the regularly spaced apertures that were located chest high along both walls. The sensitive was just about to comment on them when Lysander took control of her body. Many, many years had passed since the disincarnate had worked side by side with his chief architect to create the tomb’s original design. But when the disincarnate “saw” the holes through the thick mist that swirled around him, he remembered what they were for. “Get down!”

the spirit entity said urgently, and pushed the sensitive forward. Rebo felt Norr push him from behind, lost his balance, and threw out his hands to protect himself as he fell. Hasa heard the order, saw the twosome go down, and was already in the process of imitating their action when the carefully concealed fl?échette guns began to fi?re. The steady phut, phut, phut sound generated by the automatic weapons was followed by a loud clatter as the wickedly sharp darts bounced off the intricately painted walls and ricocheted away.

And it was one such projectile that caught a wing in the throat, sliced through a major artery, and left the soldier choking on his own blood. Another variant crawled over to give aid, but was unable to stop the bleeding or see his friend’s spirit rise to stand next to him. Then the prolonged phuuuuuut and clatter generated by the fl?échette guns died away as the weapons ran out of ammo. Darkness fell, but was forced to retreat, as Rebo, Norr, and Hasa remembered to pump their glow lights. “Damn,” the runner muttered, as he came to his feet. “That was close.”

Norr, who had been freed by then, was still a bit dazed as Rebo bent to offer his hand. He looked concerned. “Thanks for the warning. . . . Are you okay?”

The sensitive was about to credit Lysander with the save but decided that doing so would be pointless. “Yes, I’m fi?ne. Thank you.”

The group had lost two of its members by then, but there was nothing they could do except forge ahead, nerves stretched to the breaking point. Finally, having cut their way through another door and successfully made their way through a gauntlet of swinging blades, they saw a dim glow in the distance. Then, having just emerged from a series of what might have been defensive points, they stepped out onto the narrow gallery that circled the huge globe-shaped chamber. And there, fl?oating at the very center of the space, lay the emperor’s mummifi?ed body. Beams of sunlight had been channeled down through the top of the pyramid to bathe Hios in gold and warm his ancient bones. In spite of the multitudinous layers of dust that covered the funeral bier, it was still possible to see the solar-powered synsilks in which the body had been wrapped and the scintillating rainbow of colors they produced. Of equal interest, to Hasa at least, was what appeared to be a console located at the head of the bier, and more specifically, the lever that protruded from the center of the curvilinear structure. What happens if you pull on it? the minder wondered, as he ran his tongue over dry lips. Something important—or why place it there?

There was a moment of silence as the entire group stared at the sight before them. Rebo was the fi?rst to speak. “That platform has got to be a hundred feet away. . . . How in the world are we going to reach it?”

“You aren’t,” Hasa answered hoarsely, as his pistol came into sudden alignment with Norr’s head. “This is where we part company. . . . Who knows? Maybe you can make your way back the way we came. Thog, keep an eye on them while Vamer, Pamak, Obo, and Rang carry me to the platform. Oh, and it would be a good idea to pull the runner’s teeth so he can’t fi?re on us from here.”

“Throw your weapons over the side,” Thog ordered, and jerked the barrel of his light submachine gun toward the edge of the abyss.

The runner was reluctant to part with the recently acquired handguns, very reluctant, but knew he had no choice. One by one he removed the pistols from their holsters and tossed them over the side. There was a faint clatter as they hit the fl?oor far below. Norr was armed with the sword she had stolen on Derius, but it was slung across her back and was therefore useless.

“Good,” Hasa said, as he returned his pistol to its holster.

“I’m glad to see you’re going to be sensible about this. . . . Now stand back and give us some room.”

Rebo and Norr were forced to retreat into the passageway as four of Kufu’s variants took up positions around Hasa, secured grips on the minder’s harness, and extended their wings. Although the norm was deadweight, he was relatively small, and the soldiers were strong. The leathery triangles of skin that were stretched between their arms and torsos made a whuf, whuf, whuf sound as Hasa was hoisted up into the air and carried out toward the platform beyond. Shadows fell across the funeral bier, and wings thumped warm air, as Lysander “watched” the tomb raiders began to close with what had been his body. And that was when the man who had been emperor remembered still another detail about his tomb and began to laugh.

As the pyramids came to the southernmost extent of their range and began a long, dignifi?ed turn toward the west, King Kufu saw a series of fl?ashes march along the top of a distant rise and knew that King Horus’s artillery had opened fi?re. Confi?rmation of that supposition came in the form of loud shrieks and a line of explosions that tossed men and animals high into the hot afternoon air. They seemed to hang there, as if suspended by the same force that kept the pyramids aloft, before falling back to the planet’s surface. The tomb raider could hardly complain, however, since the war had been set into motion by his decision to unilaterally land a party of grave robbers on the largest of the three pyramids, thereby raising the possibility that his forces would empty the structure of whatever riches lay within before his peers could steal their share. Now, in a rare display of cooperation, Horus and Tepho had launched a coordinated attack on Kufu’s forces in an attempt to break him. The answer, to Kufu’s mind at least, was to quickly and effi?ciently eliminate the weakest of his opponents and thereby reduce the odds. So, having chosen Tepho as his fi?rst victim, Kufu ordered his forces to charge. Then, having given the two-mile-long line thirty seconds to react, the king laid his long supple whip onto the backs of the angens in front of him. The animals screamed, jerked the three-man chariot forward, and began to run. Moments later 562 other charioteers began to roll as four companies of red-clad wings swept in to provide air cover, and an army of more than a thousand armored heavies began a ponderous march. Meanwhile, to the south, Tepho eyed the screen in front of him and smiled grimly as the enemy swept toward him. Kufu was an idiot, proof of which could be seen in his decision to attack the Techno Society’s army fi?rst, hoping for an easy victory. Because rather than simply invest in brute force, Tepho had put his money into technology, which he often referred to as “the great multiplier.” And, making the contest even more delicious was that while Kufu led his forces into what would almost certainly prove to be a disastrous battle, Tepho planned to steal Logos right out from under the fool’s nose!

The air crackled with radio traffi?c, and servos whined as three beautifully restored raptors took to the fi?eld of battle, their energy weapons burping blue death. Tepho, who had chosen to pilot the centermost machine himself, felt a sudden surge of elation. Because within the cramped cockpit, and in spite of his malformed body, he was a warrior!

Because Kufu was intent on closing with the enemy as soon as possible, he ordered his artillery to stop fi?ring and was leading a long line of charioteers south when three hundred heavily armed metal men erupted from the sand in front of him. They leveled their automatic weapons and began to fi?re. Angens screamed as they went down, and chariots tumbled end over end, even as Kufu’s wings swept in to attack the androids from above. Columns of sand fl?ew up into the air as grenades went off, robots were dismembered, and their appendages began to rain down out of the sky. Then, drums thumping, Kufu’s heavies arrived on the scene. War hammers rose and fell with the regularity of pistons as the variants attacked the surviving metal men, only to be ripped to pieces by bursts of bullets, or the pulses of bright blue energy that originated from Tepho’s steadily advancing raptors.

It was a hellish scene, and one that Kufu, who had been lucky enough to survive the initial onslaught, would never forget. The artifact king was on foot by then, his throat raw from screaming commands, and no longer confi?dent of victory. Survival, that was all Kufu could hope for, as everything he had worked so hard to build began to crumble. As what promised to be an epic battle began to unfold a couple of miles to the south, and the pyramids sailed along the edge of the far horizon, Hoggles watched from the top level of the nearly deserted tower. The heavy knew it was stupid, but he was lonely, and jealous as well. Because even though Hoggles knew that his love for Norr was hopeless, he had long taken pleasure from simply being in the sensitive’s presence, and now even that bittersweet enjoyment had been denied him.

And, as if to add insult to injury, Rebo and Norr had left him to guard Logos. Having more than doubled in size, and taken on the appearance of a hip-length jacket, the computer was in a good position to needle the heavy from time to time, and seemed to take pleasure in doing so. Meanwhile, as the heavy stared out across the battlefi?eld, the sentry nearest to the stairs saw the air in front of him shimmer. He blinked to clear his eyes, saw what might have been a materialized spirit, and opened his mouth to shout a warning. But a hand blurred past his face, something tugged at his throat, and a sheet of blood fl?ew out to splash the hot decking.

The body was still falling as Shaz spun away, slashed a second throat, and paused to shoot each of the remaining guards. The rhythmic bang, bang, bang generated by the semiautomatic pistol served to echo the artillery rounds that continued to pound what remained of King Kufu’s army.

Hoggles heard the pistol shots, lifted his war hammer, and turned toward the sound. The heavy was shocked by what he saw—and confused as well. There were bodies, lots of bodies, but where were the attackers?

Having eliminated all of his opponents with the exception of the heavy, Shaz allowed himself to be seen. Though rare, Hoggles had encountered combat variants before and knew what they could do. Though only half as strong as he was, the other variant was not only twice as fast but armed with a pistol. The heavy fi?gured he could absorb four or fi?ve bullets and still be able to close with his opponent, but then what? Would he be able to rip the bastard’s canine head off?

Or would the cumulative effect of his wounds pull him down? There was no way to be sure.

But Shaz had already completed the very same calculus and, having no particular desire to kill the heavy, lowered his weapon. The combat variant’s smile revealed two rows of extremely white teeth. “Good afternoon,” he said politely.

“We haven’t met, not formally, but I’ve been following you and your friends for quite some time now.”

Hoggles wrapped and rewrapped his thick sausagelike fi?ngers around the war hammer’s smooth shaft. “Who are you?”

the heavy demanded hoarsely. “One of those techno people?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Shaz admitted breezily. “Which brings me to the purpose of my visit. The jacket you’re wearing . . . Would that constitute a computer called Logos?”

Not being sure of what was taking place, the AI had been silent up until then. But now, having given up on his plan to eliminate Sogol, the computer saw what might be an opportunity to rid himself of Lysander’s self-righteous fl?unkies and still take control of Socket. “Yes, I’m Logos,”

the computer answered loudly. “Are you a member of the Techno Society?”

“I am,” Shaz answered simply. “More than that, I was sent here to get you.”

“Excellent!” the AI replied enthusiastically. “If you would be so kind as to kill this fool—we can depart immediately.”

“You’re welcome to give it a try,” Hoggles growled, and charged straight ahead. Though slow by his standards, the heavy was faster than Shaz expected him to be, and the combat variant barely managed to avoid a blow from the war hammer before spinning away. Although Shaz had the pistol, he couldn’t use it on the heavy’s torso without punching holes in Logos, a surefi?re way to send Tepho into a homicidal rage. That left the possibility of a head shot, a leg shot, or hand-to-hand combat.

But the decision was suddenly made for him when Hoggles threw the war hammer. The weapon hit Shaz in the shoulder and sent the handgun fl?ying. Worse yet, the blow left the combat variant’s right arm completely numb and forced the functionary to back away. His body shimmered, but was still partially visible, as Shaz slipped on a pool of blood.

Seeing his chance, and certain of victory, Hoggles uttered a basso war cry as he thundered across the intervening space. The two men collided, the combat variant felt a sudden stab of fear, and was fumbling for his knife when Logos entered the battle. Although the computer didn’t have arms to fi?ght with, he had control over his highly mutable “body,” which Hoggles continued to wear.

Suddenly, Hoggles felt the jacket start to shrink around him. The heavy produced a roar of outrage, released the grip that he had established on his opponent’s throat, and began to remove the traitorous garment. But it was too late by then. The AI had been transformed into what amounted to a straitjacket. Hoggles found himself unable to move his arms, realized what that meant, and tried to back away. Shaz saw the opportunity and took it. The last thing Hoggles saw was a canine grin, a fl?ash of steel, and the blinding sun. Then he was down, his blood soaking the object he was supposed to protect, his lips forming her name. Moments later the heavy was somewhere else, in a place far removed from the physical plane, and the family lost so many years before was gathering to greet him.

Norr felt a sense of hopelessness as the wings carried Hasa across the abyss toward the platform that hovered beyond. And now, with nothing to distract her, the sensitive could see that the interior of the globe-shaped chamber was covered with what looked like a complicated map. A star map that illustrated the full glory of the empire Hios ruled prior to his descent into madness and his death at her hands. But that was before ancient sensors were tripped, the beams of sunlight began to converge on a single point, and gradually became brighter. There was no reaction at fi?rst, but that changed as tendrils of smoke began to emerge from leathery wings, the variants began to scream, and two of the warriors burst into fl?ames. The rest attempted to escape, but the beams of light followed wherever they went, killing the variants one at a time.

Hasa was falling by then, his arms windmilling uselessly as he tried to fl?y, only to fall facedown onto the platform below. Rebo watched in horror as the minder landed on the ancient lever and uttered a horrible scream as the bloodied handle emerged between his shoulder blades. Then, after a two-second pause, the device gradually gave way under the weight of Hasa’s dead body. “Uh-oh,” the runner said grimly. “I don’t know what that lever controls—but I have a hunch that we’re about to fi?nd out.”

Rebo’s words just hung there, and his prophecy went unfulfi?lled for a good fi?ve seconds, before the antigrav generator located in the base of the pyramid suddenly went off-line. Rebo and Norr experienced a momentary sense of weightlessness as the now-unsupported structure fell fi?fteen feet to the desert fl?oor. Then, with nothing to hang on to, the two of them fell. The runner made what amounted to a crash landing, while Norr landed on her feet and allowed her knees to accept the shock. Having added more bruises to his still-growing collection, the runner was delighted to discover that none of his bones were broken as the sensitive helped pull him up onto his feet.

But, while the two of them were all right, the emperor’s mummifi?ed body had not fared as well. In fact, as Rebo peered down from the gallery above, he could see pieces of the dismembered corpse scattered across the surface of the now-broken burial platform. “We’ve got to get down there!” the runner exclaimed. “You can imagine what’s taking place outside. . . . The entire pyramid will be crawling with looters twenty minutes from now.”

Norr was in complete agreement. Rebo freed the coil of rope that had been slung across his shoulders, secured one end to the curved railing, and tossed the rest over the side.

“I’ll go fi?rst,” Norr volunteered, and was already lowering herself over the side before the runner could object. Then, once her feet touched the fl?oor, it was Rebo’s turn to slide down the rope.

Norr had already completed a survey of the scattered body parts by then and was down on one knee when the runner arrived at her side. “There it is,” the sensitive declared, and pointed to the large, somewhat gaudy ring that still graced a badly withered hand. The green gemstone seemed to glow as if lit from within.

“Well,” Rebo responded, “let’s pull that sucker off his fi?nger and fi?nd our way out of here.”

Norr was about to respond when the entire pyramid began to vibrate, dust rained down from above, and the light began to fade. Rebo took hold of the hand. It was dry, leathery, and still attached to a skeletal forearm. His fi?rst attempt to strip the ring off the mummy’s bony fi?nger failed, so rather than attempt to work the piece of jewelry free, the runner broke the emperor’s arm over his knee. The wrinkled brown-gray hand came off at the wrist. The runner tossed the rest away and was in the process of shoving what remained palm down in his pocket, when the pyramid began to fall apart.

Viewed from atop Kufu’s blood-drenched tower, where the king was licking his wounds in the wake of the disastrous battle with Tepho, the now-grounded pyramid was a sight to see as beams of bright light shot up into the sky, all four of the triangle-shaped sides collapsed onto the ground, clouds of dust and sand exploded into the air, and a globular burial chamber was revealed. Then, before anyone could properly assess what was taking place, the globe split into six segments, they fell away from each other, and a pair of badly shaken tomb raiders were revealed. The rest of the fl?oating pyramids, seemingly unaware of what had occurred, continued on their way.

Kufu was so shocked that he simply sat and stared for a moment before bringing a powerful monocular up to his eye and peering out into the quickly gathering twilight. Once he saw the two fi?gures, and realized who they were, a quick fl?urry of orders followed. “Send the wings! Send the chariots! Bring the man and woman to me!”

Meanwhile, deep within the subterranean city of Kahoun, the AI known as One-Two felt the ground shake, wondered what was taking place, and processed a sense of anticipation. Something, the computer didn’t know what, was going to happen.

The sun was little more than an orange-red smear along the western horizon by the time Shaz made his way across the body-strewn battlefi?eld and back to the relative safety of the much-enhanced “blue sector,” where Tepho sat triumphant within the comfort of his huge tent. The chairman of the Techno Society had changed during the last eight hours, something that was apparent to the combat variant the moment he was shown into the shelter and saw the way the technologist sat slouched next his raptor. It had been hot within the machine’s cockpit, very hot, and the sweat marks were still visible on Tepho’s clothes. Not only that, but, judging from the way that the entire right side of the raptor had been scorched, both man and machine had been through close combat. Been through it and survived, which was why there was something new in the technologist’s eyes. A confi?dence and pride that Shaz had never seen there before. “Congratulations on your victory,” the combat variant said evenly. “I had to cross the battlefi?eld in order to get here. Your enemies are still collecting their dead.”

Tepho searched his subordinate’s face for the slightest sign of insincerity, was unable to fi?nd any, and felt an unexpected sense of warmth suffuse his crippled body. Because if Shaz respected what he’d been able to accomplish, then it was real and couldn’t be taken away from him. So, even though the technologist would normally be furious regarding the combat variant’s apparent failure to retrieve Logos, Tepho found himself in a forgiving mood. “Thank you, Shaz. . . . We taught them a lesson they won’t forget! Kufu was successful in one regard, however . . . Did you see the emperor’s tomb? The bastard brought it down! We took a lot of territory but couldn’t capture it. Still, the initial reports from our wings seem to suggest that there wasn’t anything valuable inside. Not unless you like mummies that is!”

The joke was a poor one but a sure sign of what kind of mood the administrator was in. The combat variant’s laugh had a harsh, barking quality. “No, I didn’t see the pyramid, but that would explain the lights I saw to the south. Kufu and his people must be very disappointed.”

“I certainly hope so!” Tepho said cheerfully. “But enough of that. . . . You were on an adventure of your own. How did that go?”

Tepho clearly believed that the mission had been a failure, but being in a good mood, was prepared to accept a negative report. But Shaz had a surprise for him, a rather pleasant surprise, which made the moment all the more enjoyable. Slowly, so that the other man could appreciate the implications of what he was doing, the variant worked his way out of the now bloodstained jacket. Though slightly damaged, the raptor was on-line, which meant that servos whined and energy weapons tracked Shaz as he took six paces forward and laid the garment across Tepho’s lap. “I’m happy to report that the mission was a success. Chairman Tepho—I give you Logos.”

Even though the technologist knew that the fabled AI was housed in a mutable piece of clothing, his expectations had been low, and it wasn’t until the combat variant began to remove the nondescript jacket, that the truth suddenly became clear. Slowly, and with some diffi?culty, the technologist stood. Then, having slipped his arms into the computer’s sleeves, he allowed the fabric to settle over his misshapen body. The jacket was too big at fi?rst, but that changed as Logos made some adjustments. “My God,” Tepho said breathlessly, “it’s real!”

“Of course I’m real,” the AI responded waspishly. “And so is Socket. I suggest that we leave immediately.”

Tepho decided that the voice, which seemed to originate from behind his neck, would take some getting used to. As would the AI’s rather acerbic personality. “We’ll leave when I’m ready,” Tepho said fi?rmly. “Besides, what’s the hurry?

Socket has been on hold for more than a thousand years. A few more days won’t make any difference.”

Logos wanted to say that a few more days could make a difference, especially if Rebo and Norr managed to get their hands on One-Two, but didn’t want his new biologicals to learn the truth about Sogol. Because once they knew about the other AI, they would inevitably want to possess her as well, a possibility that wasn’t likely to help Logos obtain what he wanted. “Yes, well, what you say is true,” the AI allowed carefully. “But the sooner the better.”

“Of course,” Tepho replied soothingly, as he glanced at the raptor. “But we’ll need to be ready for anything . . . which means I have some packing to do.”

That was when Shaz realized that if Tepho had been reliant on the raptor before, he was even more so now, having bonded with the machine during combat. Which meant the raptor would have to be disassembled and rebuilt each time they made a jump. Not that it mattered because the technologist was correct. Socket had been waiting for a thousand years. A few days, a week, even a month wouldn’t make much difference now.

The combat variant was about to leave when Tepho stopped him. “Shaz . . .”

“Yes?”

“You did a good job. Thank you.”

The variant delivered an abbreviated bow, shimmered, and disappeared.

A crack of blue-pink light ran the length of the eastern horizon as Norr bent to light the bottom of the funeral pyre. The sensitive was rewarded with a loud crackling sound as fl?ames found their way up through the dry fuel. The pile of wood had been stacked on top of a dune, about half a mile east of Kufu’s encampment, and constituted but one of more than fi?ve hundred such fi?res that presently dotted the desert. Urgent fi?res, that were required to cleanse the battlefi?eld before the sun could rise and turn the entire area into a sea of corruption.

But this fi?re was special because it was Bo Hoggles who lay on top of the pyre, his huge war hammer at his side. Rebo stepped forward to place a comforting arm around Norr’s shoulders, only to discover that the sensitive was crying. “He lives on,” the runner said quietly. “You, of all people, know that.”

Norr made use of a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

“That’s true. . . . But I will miss his strength, loyalty, and courage.”

“Yes,” Rebo agreed somberly. “I will, too.”

The fl?ames found the top of the pyre, tried to leap into the sky, and sent sparks up to touch it. And, as Norr watched the still-glowing embers fl?oat away, she knew there was another reason for her tears. Hoggles had been in love with her, and had it been otherwise, would probably be back on Derius, Thara, or Ning, building a life for himself. But the variant had chosen to follow her instead, to take care of the woman that he loved, even if that meant delivering her into someone else’s arms.

There was a mad crackling sound, followed by an explosion of sparks, as the funeral pyre collapsed in on itself. The only other mourners were six heavies who didn’t know Hoggles but had volunteered to help because they were brothers of a sort. They took half a dozen steps backward as a wall of heat sought to wrap them in a warm embrace.

“So,” Rebo said, as he guided Norr back to a more comfortable position. “What now? It’s pretty clear that the Techno Society has Logos . . . and it wouldn’t be realistic to think that we’re going to get him back.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” the sensitive agreed. “But we have the ring, which means that we can locate One-Two, which means we can activate Socket.”

“Assuming we get there fi?rst,” Rebo observed.

“Yes, assuming we get there fi?rst.”

Rebo eyed the fi?re. “So, we’re going down into the city of Kahoun.”

“I am,” the variant answered simply. “I have to. For the man who was my father, for Bo Hoggles, and for what remains of the human race.”

Rebo sighed. “Damn. . . . I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

Norr turned to look up into his face. Her eyes were huge—and still rimmed with tears. “You don’t have to come.”

The runner’s hand came up to cup her chin. “Oh, but I’m afraid I do,” he said gently, and kissed her lips. Something gave, the fi?re crackled, and a column of red stars took to the sky.

TEN

The Planet Haafa

Safe below the burning sands, and surrounded by his scien-tists, the emperor spent many happy days in the city of Kahoun.

—Heva Manos, advisor to Emperor Hios,

in his biography, A Web of Stars

Having watched the funeral pyre burn itself out, and returned to King Kufu’s tower for some much-needed sleep, Rebo and Norr awoke at least somewhat refreshed. Having lost the battle fought the day before but taken possession of the emperor’s tomb, the king’s attention was focused elsewhere. And that was fi?ne with them. After a quick breakfast, the twosome returned to their curtained quarters, where Rebo completed the process of removing the ring from the emperor’s leathery hand. Lysander took possession of Norr’s body a few moments later, and, with the ring on his/her right index fi?nger, he/she sought to contact Sogol. Meanwhile, deep below the Segenni Desert, the AI variously called Sogol, Logos 1.2, and One-Two had just completed preparations for another release of knowledge, when an incoming signal registered on her electronic senses. There had been a time when such a signal would have been her cue to contact Emperor Hios, but he’d been dead for a long time, and judging from the radio traffi?c that constantly washed around Sogol, a group of tomb raiders had breached his pyramid. That meant they had the emperor’s ring, and judging from the nonstop series of beeps registering on her receiver, knew how to activate it.

Fortunately One-Two had the means to kill the input and was just about to do so, when a long-dead audio channel suddenly came to life. “This is Hios. . . . Please refer to authentication sequence 7629H5t15.”

Of course Sogol knew that the actual code was 7628H5t15, and was surprised to hear a female voice, but the input was pretty damned close to what it should have been. And that warranted further investigation. “Emperor Hios?” the AI inquired tentatively. “Is that you?”

“Yes!” Lysander replied. “It’s me, or a version of me, speaking through a sensitive. I thought you were off-line—

but learned otherwise when Logos 1 brought us to Haafa.”

“I spoke with him,” the tinny voice responded, “but I . . .” There was a burst of static at that point, and the rest of the AI’s words were lost.

“One-Two?” Lysander demanded. “Can you hear me?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by more static, interspersed with garbled words. “. . . Pyra’s trying to interfere. . . . A lot of trouble when it opens. . . . Follow the tomb raiders down. . . .”

The words trailed off into noise after that—and Lysander shook Norr’s head in disgust. “Someone, or something, is attempting to block our transmissions.”

“That’s the way it sounds,” Rebo agreed, “but the situation seems fairly clear. . . . “Sogol can open a pathway into Kahoun. Once we’re down there, she can come to us.”

Norr’s face went momentarily blank, the sensitive’s head jerked, and her eyelids fl?uttered. Then she was back. “What happened?” the variant wanted to know, as she held the ring up to the light. “Did Lysander get through?”

“Sort of,” Rebo replied cautiously, and told the sensitive what had transpired.

“So when will the path open up?” Norr wondered out loud. “And how will we know where to go?”

“I don’t know when it will open up,” the runner replied,

“although my guess would be soon. As for the second question, well, that’s easy. The moment something happens, Kufu’s people will be off and running. All we need to do is follow them.”

The sensitive smiled crookedly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Yeah,” Rebo responded, “but it never is.”

“No,” Norr agreed. “It never is.”

Absolute secrecy. That was the key to opening a successful pathway into the underground city of Kahoun. Because even though One-Two wanted to release technology to the outer world, Ogotho and Pyra were equally dedicated to blocking such events, which ran counter to their mutual goal of preserving the 450-square-mile tomb. So, conscious of the fact that radio signals can be tracked, Sogol was careful to keep moving as she sent the fi?nal signal to her army of spindly-legged utility bots. The plan was to open a pathway during daylight when everyone could see. Then, once three hours had elapsed, the portal would close. Anyone greedy enough, or foolish enough, to remain in the city would be sealed inside, a convention that the tomb raiders had long since become accustomed to.

As luck would have it, three of King Quar’s wings were riding a thermal two hundred feet above the pathway that had once been known as Surface Ramp-47, when a pair of Sogol’s utility bots brought a jumper circuit online, thereby diverting power away from one of Pyra’s main lines, which they used to open the ancient storm door. That consumed half a gigawatt of electricity, but only for a short period of time, which was just as well because it wasn’t long before Pyra cut power to that part of the city’s grid in a last-ditch attempt to prevent the subsequent invasion. But, as part of a chess match that had been played out many times before, Sogol wanted the other computer to cut off the electricity, thereby leaving Surface Ramp-47 open to the outside. Realizing that, Pyra hurried to reenergize the door in an attempt to close it but soon discovered that critical cables had been severed. Lum bugs were dispatched to make the necessary repairs, but that would take hours even as a horde of tomb raiders poured down into the city. It was a maddening game, but one that Pyra had thus far been powerless to stop since One-Two had been able to outsmart her. Until now that is, because having accumulated a considerable amount of data regarding such incursions, Pyra could predict what Sogol would do next. And, based on that ability, Pyra planned to fi?nd the little worm and kill it. Meanwhile, the orange-clad wings circling two hundred feet above Surface Ramp-47 were privileged to witness a rare sight as a rectangular section of the desert fl?oor seemed to collapse in on itself. Tons of sand poured down into carefully prepared cavities below, a column of dust rose to point fingerlike at the newly opened pathway, and hundreds of avaricious eyes were quick to take notice. Telescopes swiveled in that direction, airborne scouts vectored in, and no more than fi?ve minutes had elapsed when the race began. Thanks to a warning from Norr, and eager to recoup his recent losses, Kufu was the fi?rst artifact king to respond. A fl?ight of twenty wings were dispatched, even as fi?ve threeman chariots raced pell-mell toward the new opening, each creating its own column of dust as it cut across the desert fl?oor. Rebo stood to the left of the red-clad charioteer, and Norr stood to the right, both straining to hold on as the specially bred angens hauled the two-wheeled conveyance over all manner of bumps, ridges, and other irregularities. It was a hard ride, but an exhilarating one, and the runner couldn’t help but enjoy the way the wind pressed against his face, the thrill as the chariot went momentarily airborne as it hit a bump, and the solid thump as it hit the ground again. Not all of the charioteers were so fortunate however. As their vehicle topped a slight rise, Norr saw a black chariot break free of its team, and tumble end over end as what looked like little stick fi?gures fl?ew through the air. What happened next was obscured by a cloud of dust, the driver’s wildly fl?apping headscarf, and a competing two-wheeler. Then they were there, at the center of a maelstrom of multicolored chariots, each fi?ghting for space as drivers cracked their whips, and angens turned to nip at one another. Kufu’s chariot shook, and loose gear clattered, as competing chariots closed in from both sides. “Watch out!” Norr shouted, and pointed across the driver’s chest.

Rebo turned to his left, saw that a green-clad passenger was in the process of bringing a double-barreled shotgun to bear, and readied one of two pistols requisitioned from Kufu’s armory. They weren’t identical, as the previous pair had been, but each weapon had certain advantages. The 9mm Tombo barked twice, the shotgunner collapsed against the driver, and the entire rig veered away.

Nor were the off-worlders the only ones forced to defend themselves as more than fi?fty chariots converged on the entry point and became part of a confused mass of wildly thrashing angens, screaming drivers, and murderous tomb raiders. In the meantime fi?rearms boomed, banged, and popped even as a hot-air balloon drifted in over the crowd and three green-clad norms began to rappel toward the ground. They were only halfway down when a group of multicolored wings took offense and opened fi?re on the orangestriped envelope. Hot air escaped through dozens of holes, and the pilot fi?red wildly as the quickly defl?ating airship collapsed onto the tightly packed mob below. “Come on!” Rebo yelled over the surrounding din. “Let’s proceed on foot!”

Norr nodded, reached back to draw her sword, and followed the runner as he jumped to the ground. It felt strange to enter the melee without Hoggles at her back, but the sensitive thought she could feel the heavy’s protective presence and felt better as a result. The majority of the tomb raiders had abandoned their chariots by then and were busy fi?ghting their way forward. Most were focused on entering the newly revealed passageway rather than battling their competitors but there were exceptions, and Rebo heard the occasional bang as someone fi?red a weapon at point-blank range. Those who were lucky fell dead—whereas the wounded were often trampled to death as the mob pressed forward. The runner tried to avoid stepping on the bodies, but that was increasingly diffi?cult to do, and there was more than one occasion when Rebo felt fl?esh give under his boots.

Then, like some subterranean monster, the steeply sloping ramp opened its dark maw to swallow the tomb raiders whole. Rebo and Norr were jostled back and forth as oil-fed lanterns were lit, cell-powered glow lights came on, and handheld fl?ares were hoisted high. The off-worlders still had their trusty squeeze lights, but felt no need to use them so long as the rest of the tomb raiders were willing to illuminate the ramp for them. A trio of metal men, their eyes aglow, brushed past.

In marked contrast to the pyramid’s richly decorated interior, the walls to either side of the ramp bore little more than badly faded admonitions to activate headlights, watch for oncoming traffi?c, and obey the posted speed limit. There was some graffi?ti, however, including one entry that might have been spray-painted onto the wall during the fi?nal days of the plague, when Surface Ramp-47 had been packed with infected people all trying to fi?nd a way out of the doomed city. It read, why, god? why us?

But Norr saw no answers as the ramp leveled out and gave way to what might have been some sort of checkpoint, before splitting into half a dozen competing two-lane pathways. Orders were shouted, and blobs of light wobbled over ancient walls as teams of loot-hungry tomb raiders plunged into the branching corridors. All according to protocols established by their patrons. But the truth was that every pathway would lead them to artifacts! Because Sogol wanted the thieves to succeed and had gone to considerable lengths to make sure that they would.

Unlike the rest, however, Rebo and Norr were after one particular artifact. That’s why they stood off to one side and let the others rush by. The light level began to drop as Norr removed the ring from her belt pouch, and most of the mob surged past. The fi?rst thing Rebo noticed as he began to squeeze the glow light’s curved handle was the fact that the ring’s green gemstone was lit from within and seemed to fl?icker as the sensitive moved it from left to right. Norr noticed the phenomenon as well. “Look!” she exclaimed. “It’s brightest when I point it at the second passageway from the left.”

“At least that gives us something to go on,” Rebo acknowledged. “Let’s see where that tunnel leads.”

The twosome entered the passageway designated as DR2N. It began to turn as streaks of refl?ected light washed back over tiled walls, and they heard unintelligible shouts off in the distance. Then, just as Rebo and Norr rounded a curve, there was a disturbance up ahead. Half a dozen blue lights appeared as Pyra’s lum bugs soared out of a ventilation duct, sought the white lights below, and opened fi?re. Each robot was armed with a nose-mounted laser. Their energy weapons made sizzling sounds as they targeted the tomb raiders below. Shouts of pain were heard as some of the energy bolts struck home, quickly followed by the stutter of a submachine gun, and the deliberate bang, bang, bang of a semiautomatic carbine. “Uh-oh,” Rebo said grimly, as the squeeze light was returned to its holster. “It looks like we have company. . . . Keep your light handy—but let it go dark.”

Norr complied, but if the runner hoped to escape notice, the plan didn’t work. Even as one of the airborne lum bugs exploded, another broke away from the battle with the tomb raiders and hurried to intercept two additional heat signatures before they could do damage to the city beyond. Rebo had drawn both handguns by that time, but rather than pepper the quickly advancing machine with 9mm slugs, opened up with the Sokov instead. The six-shot dart gun bucked in Rebo’s hand as the fi?rst self-propelled round left the barrel, deployed its stabilizing fi?ns, and accelerated away. The dart hit the lum bug head-on, smashed through the robot’s outer “skin,” and detonated within. There was a red-orange explosion as the machine came apart, followed by a wild clatter, as bits of metal sprayed the immediate area. Then came a satisfying crash as what remained of the construct hit the pavement and skidded for ten feet before fi?nally coming to a stop. But there was no reason to celebrate because two additional units were on the way. Bursts of ruby red energy stitched black scorch marks onto the duracrete where the humans had been standing moments before as the wily intruders ducked into an alcove marked fi?re fi?ghting station 89. Rebo stood ready to attack the machines the moment they appeared, but Norr had doubts about the runner’s ability to destroy the fi?rst robot before the second machine could fi?re, and took matters into her own hands by dashing out into the center of the passageway. Rebo swore, fi?red the Sokov for the second time, and was rewarded with another explosion. Then, even as the runner swung the handgun around to acquire the second target, Norr charged straight for it. The sword, which was held high, came down with all the strength the sensitive could muster. And because the edge of the blade had been made from a single “stretched” molecule—it cut through the lum bug’s fi?ber-composite body like a hot knife through butter. There was a loud bang, followed by a brilliant discharge of electricity, and a clatter as both halves of the robot landed on the pavement.

A beam of light came into existence as Rebo shifted the Sokov into his right hand and began to pump the squeeze light with his left. A blob of illumination wobbled over the machine’s burned-out remains before turning toward Norr.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” the runner observed darkly.

“What am I supposed to do if you go and get yourself killed?”

“You could fi?nd yourself another sensitive,” Norr replied lightly. “One who’s a lot less demanding. Come on—Sogol is somewhere up ahead.”

There were no sounds other than the steady click-whir of their squeeze lights, and the soft scuffl?e of their footsteps as the twosome advanced down the passageway and past the point where the earlier battle had been fought. The fl?oor was slick with blood, and two of the three dead men were still present, standing over their badly charred bodies. They weren’t sure what to do, and the sensitive was tempted to stop and help them, but knew she should focus on fi?nding the all-important AI. The green gemstone glowed brightly as the passageway terminated in front of a raised loading dock. Stairs led up to a fl?at surface where bodies had been stacked during the early days of the plague before eventually disintegrating to a heap of bones.

The runner followed a badly faded yellow line back to an open door and the narrow corridor beyond. “The ring is getting warmer!” Norr proclaimed as she gripped the object in her hand. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Good,” Rebo responded soberly. “The sooner we can get out of this place, the better.” Then, as if to underline the truth of the runner’s statement, one of the tomb raiders screamed.

Intelligent though she was, Sogol failed to recognize the trap for what it was until she was inside it. Though unable to prevent the AI from opening a section of the city to the tomb raiders, Pyra had been able to carry out projections based on past behaviors and positioned her robots accordingly. So, as One-Two slithered into the sector served by Ramp-47, the computer discovered that her forces were being systematically slaughtered. Once cornered, the lightly armored utility bots were easy prey for the fl?ying lum bugs, which seemed determined to eradicate the multilegged creatures as they scuttled for cover. Lasers stuttered as the killers pursued their unarmed prey down darkened aisles, around corners, and between dusty storage modules. At least fi?fteen of Sogol’s machines had been taken off-line by the time the AI entered Storage Facility-972, and more were being destroyed with each passing minute. And, because each robot was analogous to a nerve ending, One-Two processed something akin to pain as her functionaries died. But the real target, from Pyra’s perspective at any rate, was Sogol herself. Who, though extremely small, could be

“seen” electronically as she sent signals to her robotic minions. And it was then, having established the AI’s exact coordinates, that Pyra ordered her lum bugs to attack the high-priority target. Energy beams sizzled as they crisscrossed the duracrete fl?oor, and the air grew thick with the stench of ozone as the golden serpent propelled herself toward a shelving unit and the inviting darkness that lay below it. But Sogol knew she wouldn’t be able to make it, and had already prepared herself for an ignominious death, when the fi?rst of the tomb raiders charged into the warehouse. Having already survived one lum bug attack, the humans were in no mood to leave themselves open to a second assault, and immediately opened fi?re on the fl?ying robots. But the lum bugs answered, and there was a piercing scream as an energy beam took a tomb raider’s arm off at the shoulder and cauterized the wound as part of the process. One of the fl?ying machines staggered as a hail of bullets struck it, drifted off course, and made violent contact with a second machine. Both robots exploded, light strobed the grimy walls, and avaricious humans fl?ooded down the aisles. Some continued to do battle with the lum bugs, even as others scooped artifacts off the surrounding shelves and hurried to stuff the loot into large duffel bags. And that was when Rebo and Norr entered the bloody fray. Tracers drew lines through the murk. A lum bug vanished in a bright bang, and razor-sharp shrapnel fl?ew every which way. “The ring is starting to cool,” Norr warned, as the off-worlders worked their way along a laser-scorched wall. “Let’s turn back!”

Sogol had been dimly aware of the ring’s presence for some time. But now that the artifact was in the same room with her, it seemed to glow like the external sun. Having taken refuge beneath one of the artifact-laden shelving units, the AI hurried to close with the ring and the people who possessed it.

In the meantime the airborne machines were well on their way to winning the battle with the tomb raiders when Rebo opened fi?re with the Sokov. One lum bug exploded, and was quickly followed by a second, and a third. And it was then, just as the last electromechanical carcass hit the debris-littered fl?oor, that Norr felt something cold wrap itself around her left ankle. The sensation was so disconcerting that the sensitive bent over to grab it, felt whatever the thing was slither up her arm, and had just wrapped her fi?ngers around a slim body when she found herself looking into the eyes of a snake. The serpent’s voice was all out of proportion to her small size. “Are you the ones Emperor Hios sent to get me?”

“Yes,” Norr replied, as Rebo inserted a fresh clip into his pistol.

“Good,” Sogol said. “I suggest that you pull out before Pyra sends more lum bugs.”

Norr didn’t know who Pyra was, but the term “lum bugs” was self-explanatory, and the variant had no desire to be in the neighborhood when the additional machines arrived. “We’ve got what we came for!” the sensitive announced excitedly. “Let’s get out of here!”

Rebo didn’t need to be told twice and made use of a fresh magazine to hose the surrounding area with explosive darts as they backed toward the door. Then, once the Sokov clicked empty, the off-worlders turned and fl?ed. Pyra “sensed” Sogol’s impending escape but couldn’t move enough additional robots into the area quickly enough to stop the AI, and had little choice but to turn her attention back to the tomb raiders. Disappointing though the situation was, Pyra was still able to process a sense of completion when Ramp-47 closed thirty-two minutes later, thereby locking Sogol outside. Finally, after more than a thousand years of internal warfare, the city of Kahoun was at peace.

It was relatively quiet within the Techno Society’s sprawling compound. Partly because it was extremely hot, and any creature that could was waiting for the blazing sun to fall toward the west, and partly because Shaz, Phan, and a large contingent of metal men were out in the desert, where a newly opened ramp led down into the city of the dead. But Dyson/Kane had begged off. And, given the way he/they smelled, the others had been happy to leave the steadily decaying sensitive behind, thereby providing Kane what he desired most, an opportunity to steal Logos. More than that, to kill Tepho, seize control of the Techno Society, and reactivate the star gates. All of which explained why Dyson, who understood the spirit entity’s intentions, found himself standing outside of Tepho’s tent with a razor-sharp knife in his skeletal hand.

The dry, hot air was perfectly still, and the soft murmur of voices could be heard from within the tent as members of the technologist’s household staff poured gallons of cool water into the large hip bath where the administrator typically took refuge during the hottest part of the day. It was the one moment when Kane could not only be sure that Tepho would be vulnerable, but wouldn’t be wearing Logos, which would simplify the attack. Because the last thing the disincarnate wanted to do was stab the human through the AI, thereby damaging the very thing he hoped to steal. Suddenly one voice was raised over all the rest as the attendants hoisted the naked technologist’s badly deformed body into the air. “Watch that arm! Careful damn you! Or would you like a taste of the lash?”

There were earnest apologies, followed by a loud groan of unrestrained pleasure, as the administrator was lowered into the cool water. Finally, having been positioned on some carefully placed supports, Tepho was ready for some privacy.

“That’s enough fussing about,” he said gruffl?y. “You can leave now. . . . But return in half an hour.”

It was the same command that he always gave, so none of the staff members were surprised as they bowed and backed out of the heavily curtained enclosure.

Silence fell after that, and while it was tempting to enter immediately, Kane forced himself to wait for a full sixty seconds before bringing the knife up over his head and stabbing downward. The tip of the blade penetrated the thick fabric and there was a gentle ripping sound as the sharp knife sliced downward. The unauthorized entrance was behind the metal tub, which meant that Kane didn’t expect Tepho to notice, but the disincarnate paused just to make sure. Not having heard any alarm, the spirit entity forced Dyson to stick his head in through the newly created slit. That was followed by an arm, a shoulder, and the rest of the sensitive’s steadily rotting body. The platform the copper tub rested on was about ten feet away. And, draped across the custom-built chair that sat beside it, was a long, white robe. And not just any robe, but the AI called Logos, who— important though the construct was—still had to wait while his current master enjoyed a cooling bath. In the meantime, Tepho caught a whiff of corruption, recognized the odor for what it was, and felt a sudden stab of fear. Because that particular section of the tent was supposed to be empty, and what he thought of as “the creature”

had no business being there. But, during the technologist’s long, painful childhood, he had learned to suffer even the cruelest beatings without revealing the emotions that his tormentors so wanted to see. And that capacity still came in handy from time to time. “It isn’t nice to skulk about,”

Tepho commented without turning his head. “You might as well come out where I can see you.”

The request caught Kane by surprise, but the spirit entity was quick to adjust and forced Dyson’s body to approach the copper tub. Tepho saw the knife, wished the raptor was present, and made a note to tighten his personal security. He could call for help of course, but had serious doubts about whether it would arrive in time and resolved to deal with the situation himself. “So,” Tepho said, as Dyson/Kane took up a position next to Logos. “It’s the AI that you’re after.”

Kane tried to say, “Yes,” but found Dyson was blocking him. That forced the disincarnate to clamp down on the sensitive and start all over again. “Yes. But more than that—I came for you. I think the time has come to bring your current incarnation to its logical conclusion.”

Tepho allowed his right hand to slide down into the water. “So you can take over.”

Dyson’s once-handsome face bore a number of open sores, which when combined with his hollow eyes and unshaven countenance, combined to make the variant look like a recently exhumed corpse. Kane sought to make the sensitive nod, encountered a moment of resistance, and struggled to overcome it. “That’s the plan,” the dead man agreed stiffl?y.

“So, as long as we understand each other, we might as well get the unpleasant part of the transition over with. Who knows? You might be grateful! That’s an extremely ugly body that you’ve been forced to live in.”

“Look who’s talking,” Tepho replied, as the handgun came up out of the bath. Water ran out of the barrel, but the technologist knew it would fi?re. “Hold it right there,”

Tepho ordered evenly. “And drop the knife.”

Kane looked at the pistol and swore silently. Tepho had him dead to rights, and there was no reason to proceed. So the spirit entity ordered Dyson to release the knife, but the sensitive refused, and worked to muster every bit of life energy he had left. Gradually, like a man carrying a signifi?cant weight, Dyson took a tottering step forward. Tepho, who was unaware of the battle raging within the noxious creature before him, shook his head in disgust.

“You really are one stupid son of a bitch.” Then, having taken careful aim, the technologist fi?red three rounds. Both Kane and Dyson felt the heavy slugs tear through their mutual body and heard the gunshots, but their reactions were quite different. Kane was forced to exit the sensitive’s body and immediately fl?ew into a towering rage because his ability to infl?uence events on the physical plane had been terminated.

But Dyson, who had fi?nally been able to escape months of enslavement, was overjoyed. And having long since given up any hope of reclaiming his physical body, had already exited the corpse before it hit the fl?oor. Logos couldn’t speak without being worn, so it was left to Tepho to provide an epitaph for the recently vacated body.

“Some things were just never meant to be,” the administrator commented, as two heavily armed robots entered the room. “There’s some garbage on the fl?oor,” Tepho added.

“Remove it.”

The interior of Surface Ramp-47 was like a scene from hell as Rebo and Norr fought to make their way back up to the surface. Because, as the clock continued to tick, and groups of heavily burdened tomb raiders emerged from the city of Kahoun, the on-again, off-again carnage continued. Insults were exchanged, the wounded lay in moaning heaps, hard-eyed overseers cracked their whips, a disabled metal man screeched pitifully, a woman accidentally shot one of her companions in the leg, metal grated on duracrete as an enterprising tomb raider towed his loot up the ramp on a solar panel, and the air crackled with a cacophony of radio traffi?c as those on the surface issued dozens of confl?icting orders. Thanks to the fact that they were relatively unencumbered, the twosome made good time at fi?rst. But then, as they neared the top of the ramp, the situation changed as incoming extraction teams ran into outgoing extraction teams and created a very contentious traffi?c jam. And it was then, while caught in the backwash of all the confusion, that Rebo spotted the blue-clad combat variant and a face he had never expected to see again. “Look!” the runner said, as he elbowed Norr. “It’s Phan! Wearing Techno Society blue!”

The sensitive looked, saw that Rebo was correct, and watched as the assassin sent a brace of heavies in to clear the traffi?c jam. “We’d better pull back,” the variant advised, “or they’ll spot us for sure.”

The runner regretted allowing Phan to live, knew he would bring all sorts of hell down on them if he were to shoot the scheming bitch, and allowed Norr to pull him back. “So, what are we going to do?” Rebo wanted to know.

“We can’t stay in here forever, and they’ll spot us if we try to leave.”

“True,” the sensitive agreed thoughtfully, “so let’s change the way we look. See those bodies over there? The ones in green? Let’s strip them.”

In any other circumstance the sight of a man and a woman stripping dead bodies of their clothing would have been the subject of comment if not outrage, but there, within the amoral free-for-all of Ramp-47, the act was little more than a grisly sideshow.

It took a concerted effort to remove the tops and pull the simple garments up over their heads, but eventually the task got done. And though less than enthusiastic about the bullet holes in his newly acquired jerkin and the large bloodstain on the back of it, Rebo was thankful that the garment had a hood. And, judging from the extent to which Norr’s cowl hid her face, the runner fi?gured that his would function the same way.

Then, as if to validate the effectiveness of the disguises, a man dressed in Menkur green yelled at them from farther down the ramp. “Hey, you two! Give us a hand with this thing!” Rebo, who was eager to blend in, hurried to comply. Norr followed. The “thing” that the man referred to turned out to be one of the Techno Society’s metal men, which King Menkur’s technologists wanted to study up close so they could create their own army of robotic servants. That was the sort of thing Sogol intended.

The android, which had been tied hand and foot, was still very much “alive,” and hung suspended below a pair of long poles. But the weight was too much for just two men, which was why the man in green was happy to recruit two ostensible allies, even if they were strangers to him. “Grab a handle!” the tomb raider ordered cheerfully. “And keep your weapons handy. . . . The blues won’t like this—so we may have to shoot our way out.”

Rebo swore. Now, rather than slip past the technos unnoticed, they were almost certain to be challenged! But it was too late to choose another course of action, so the off-worlders took hold of the poles, and hoisted them onto their shoulders. Shaz was the fi?rst to notice Menkur’s tomb raiders and the burden that the foursome carried as they pushed up toward the top of the ramp, but no sooner had he dispatched a squad of metal men to deal with the android nappers, than a trio of green-clad wings attacked from above. And it was then, while the combat variant and the assassin were busy defending themselves, that Rebo fi?red the Sokov. The fi?rst projectile exploded against the lead robot’s chest and blew a palm-sized hole through the metal man’s torso. A second machine went off-line as a result of its wounds—and two additional androids were destroyed as more darts hit home. Then the litter bearers were free of the crowd and out in the desert. A wall of green-clad warriors opened to enfold them, and Shaz was left to fume, still ignorant of the true gravity of his loss. Because not only had a robot been spirited away, the sensitive named Norr had slipped past him as well, along with the AI originally called Logos 1.2. That meant two AIs were on the loose. The question, and a rather important one at that, was which Logos would arrive on Socket fi?rst.

ELEVEN

The Planet Haafa

And those who choose peace shall fi?nd it, if not within placesof worship, then within themselves.

—The ascended master Teon,

The Way

Clusters of lights could be seen in the desert as groups of exhausted tomb raiders gathered around campfi?res to brag about the artifacts they had brought up from the city of the dead, wager bonuses they had yet to receive, and mourn those who had lost their lives to fl?ying machines or enemy tomb raiders.

Such was the case in Tepho’s encampment as well, except that unlike the other kings, the technologist was making preparations to leave Haafa. Not forever, but long enough to lay claim to Socket and establish a new system of star gates. Which was why Tepho’s staff was busy carrying supplies out to a long line of waiting wagons.

Having just returned from the desert, both the combat variant and the assassin were tired, sunburned, and dirty. But given the potential importance of the news they had to impart, the twosome requested an audience with Tepho and were shown into his tent. Sections of the canvas wall had been tied back to let the night breezes blow through. The administrator’s raptor was being disassembled for transshipment, and Tepho frowned as a technician jerked on a handful of wires. “Be careful!” the technologist said petulantly.

“That wiring harness is worth more than you are!”

“It’s almost impossible to fi?nd good help these days,”

Tepho grumbled as he turned to Shaz. “But such is my burden. So, what brought you here? We won’t be ready to depart for Pohua until the early hours of the morning.”

The combat variant shimmered slightly as he looked toward Phan and back again. “It’s the sensitive. . . . The one named Norr. Phan believes she saw both the variant and the runner leave the ramp with a couple of men dressed in Menkur green.”

Tepho’s gaze shifted to Phan. His eyes were like lasers.

“Well?” the administrator demanded. “You ‘believe’ you saw them? Or you actually saw them? Which is it?”

Phan swallowed. “I saw them, sir. All of them were dressed in green and carrying a metal man up out of the city.”

Tepho frowned. “A metal man you say? Why would they do that?”

The assassin shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. But based on the fact that Rebo and Norr aligned themselves with Kufu shortly after they arrived, the green livery could be by way of a disguise.”

“Which would have been successful had it not been for your sharp eyes,” the technologist observed approvingly.

“But we have Logos. . . . So, what were they doing in the ruins? Rooting around for artifacts like everyone else?”

The AI knew the correct answer but couldn’t tell them about Sogol without revealing the extent of his own duplicity, so he took the opportunity to nudge the conversation in a different direction. His voice originated from the vicinity of Tepho’s neck. “There’s no way to be sure,” Logos put in,

“but they are persistent and could be engaged in some sort of plot to recover me.”

“That’s a good point,” Tepho agreed soberly. “And even if they aren’t trying to take you back, they know far too much about the Techno Society and the star gates. “So,” the administrator said, as he looked from Shaz to Phan, “bring me their heads. I could use a pair of bookends.”

Even though it had been dark for quite a while, the main road was busy, because that was the time of day when most teamsters preferred to haul supplies out into the desert. Primarily because it was cooler then. But some, like Certa, had additional motives. By working at night, Certa rarely had to interact with his wife, and that left him free to drink all day at his favorite tavern. Besides, there were thousands of glittering stars to gaze upon during the hours of darkness, and his fellow drivers to trade jibes with. The wagon, which was loaded with empty water barrels, rattled as it lurched through a dry riverbed.

It was then that Certa heard the thunder of hoofbeats, waited for the group to pass, and was surprised when they drew up alongside instead. It was dark, but both of Haafa’s moons were up, which meant there was suffi?cient light to see by. The lead riders wore Tepho blue, not that it mattered much, since the teamster prided himself on his neutrality. “Hey, old man,” the nearest rider shouted, as he pulled up next to the wagon. “We’re looking for a female sensitive and a male norm. Have you seen them? There’s a reward.”

It was a stupid question given the fact a couple matching the rider’s description were seated behind him. Certa was about to say as much when he turned to discover that the hitchhikers were gone. And, given the rider’s insulting manner, the teamster saw no reason to help him. Not even for a reward. “No, sir,” Certa lied. “I ain’t seen nothin’.”

The answer was consistent with those given by all the drivers encountered thus far, so Shaz spurred the angen forward, closely followed by Phan and a half dozen heavily armed riders. Once they were gone Certa grinned toothlessly, sent a stream of spittle down toward the surface of road, and felt for the bottle beneath the seat. It was half-full, and the teamster took pleasure in the way the serat warmed the back of his throat before exploding in the pit of his stomach. Others could scrabble for artifacts if they chose to—but Certa was content with what he had. Meanwhile, a couple of hundred feet back down the road, protected by the darkness that lay like a blanket over the bottom of a dry watercourse, Rebo and Norr came to their feet, dusted themselves off, and took a look around.

“Damn,” the runner remarked evenly. “That was close. How did you know?”

“I would recognize Phan’s energy anywhere,” Norr replied grimly. “It looks like they saw us leave the ramp. . . . And they’re hunting for us.”

“But why?” Rebo wanted to know. “They have Logos.”

“Who is determined to destroy me,” Sogol reminded the runner, from her position on Norr’s forearm. “It’s my guess that Logos is behind the search.”

“Terrifi?c,” Rebo responded darkly. “So, what now?”

“We have to reach Pohua,” the sensitive answered, as she readjusted her pack. “And we need to arrive before dawn. Any later than that and King Tepho’s wings will spot us.”

“Okay,” the runner said wearily, as he gave her a hand up onto the road. “We might as well get started.”

They walked for hours as Haafa’s twin moons followed their own inevitable path across the sky to fi?nally disappear in the west, fi?nally entering the outskirts of Pohua just before dawn. But the danger wasn’t over, and wouldn’t be until such time as they were able to fi?nd a safe place to hide and plan their next move. The runner had dealt with such situations before, however, and knew that their best chance was to hide in a place where their pursuers were unlikely to look, such as a monastery. And not just any monastery, but a red-hat temple, where the medallion that still hung around his neck would serve as their introduction. But how to fi?nd one? And do so quickly? During his travels, the runner always made it a practice to avoid asking for directions lest he identify himself as a stranger and therefore a potential victim. But there were times when he was forced to take a chance. That was why Rebo made his way over to a roadside tea stand, where he fumbled some coins out of his belt pouch. “Good morning. . . . Two cups of tea please—and directions to the monastery.”

The woman behind the rickety counter had skin that looked like poorly tanned leather, sky-blue eyes, and brown teeth. Having been up all night brewing tea for the teamsters, she was tired. “There is no monastery, not in Pohua,”

the woman replied dully, as she poured hot water into a pair of badly stained mugs. “But the nunnery is located two blocks from the market. Just follow the main road to Pua Street. . . . Take a right and follow Pua to Bako. Go left on Bako. The nunnery will be on your right.”

Rebo thanked the woman, tipped her, and handed a mug of tea to Norr. Hopefully, with any luck at all, the vendor would go home before anyone came by to question her. The sun parted company with the horizon shortly after the offworlders left the tea stand, and wings could be seen circling off to the east as Rebo and Norr made their way through Pohua’s unpaved streets. None of the city’s structures stood more than three stories tall, most presented blank faces to the street, and all of them were mud brown. Gray smoke dribbled from round chimneys, and the tantalizing odors of a hundred breakfasts wafted through the cool air as Rebo and Norr made their way up Bako Street. The city’s shops had just started to open, and the only other pedestrians were children sent to fetch water from the local fountain. The nunnery was housed in a long, low building no different from those around it except for the fact that it boasted a gently curved dome rather than the fl?at roof typical of the structures to either side, and double doors opened onto the street.

Rebo took a quick look around to assure himself that no one was watching them, took Norr’s hand, and tugged the sensitive toward the entryway. “Come on, let’s get out of sight.” Norr, who often had trouble blocking out the ebb and fl?ow of raw emotion normally associated with cities of any size, was enveloped by a feeling of serenity as she followed the runner into a spartan reception area. The sensation was akin to entering a pool of cool water on an extremely hot day. A novice emerged from the surrounding murk to greet them. She was young and dressed in black. “Good morning,” the aspirant said cheerfully. “Can I be of assistance?”

Rebo was somewhat taken aback, since he knew The Way was divided into two sects, the red hats and the black hats. Both were united, or supposed to be, but the reconciliation had taken place only recently, and it might be months before word of the change arrived on Haafa. If so, the medallions that the runner and the sensitive wore around their necks might have no value at all, or worse yet, could elicit suspicion. But that was a chance he had to take. Rebo forced a smile. “Is the abbess available? If so, we would like to speak with her. Please show her this by way of an introduction.”

So saying, Rebo removed the chain from around his neck and passed the bronze medallion over to the novice. If the aspirant was curious about the medal, or the people who had given it to her, she gave no sign of it as she bowed her head.

“Please wait here. . . . I will convey your message to the abbess.” There was a swish of fabric as the young woman left. Now that Rebo’s eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness within the reception area, he could see that while the walls were nearly bare in keeping with black-hat sensibilities, a lushly green garden was partially visible through an intricately carved wooden screen. And it was from that direction that the young woman returned. “Please follow me. . . . The abbess is in the garden.”

The off-worlders followed the young woman out into a large inner courtyard, where Norr expected to fi?nd the abbess seated on a chair. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Rather than sit and meditate in the earlymorning sun, the abbess was down on hands and knees, pulling weeds out of the nunnery’s vegetable garden. She stood as the couple stepped out of the shadow cast by the inward-slanting roof that ran the perimeter of the courtyard and wiped a wisp of hair back out of her face. The hand pump, along with the well that it served, was the nunnery’s pride and joy. And the medallion had been hung from its spout. “Hello,” the abbess said as she gestured toward the medal. “That’s an interesting medallion. May I ask where you got it?”

Rebo didn’t want to answer the question, especially since doing so would inevitably give the holy woman power over both Norr and himself, but knew there wasn’t much choice. Not if they wanted a safe place to stay. “The reincarnated spirit of Nom Maa presented that medal to me within the holy city of CaCanth,” the runner answered truthfully. “My companion wears one exactly like it. His Holiness told us that should we ever be in need of food, shelter, or some other form of assistance, all we would have to do was present the medallions to any monastery or nunnery.”

In spite of the fact that the abbess had white hair, her face was unexpectedly free of lines, as if somehow frozen in time. Although her voice was even, Norr could see the tendrils of skepticism that continued to swirl within the other woman’s aura. “How nice,” the abbess said lightly. “So, tell me, does the Inwa still affect chin whiskers?”

“The present Inwa isn’t old enough to have whiskers,”

Rebo replied. “And, based on the portraits I’ve seen, the last Inwa didn’t have chin whiskers, either.”

The abbess smiled and came forward to embrace them.

“Forgive me,” she said. “But the streets of Pohua are thick with liars—and it’s my task to protect the sisters from them. A ship landed in Omu about three weeks ago, and it was about a week after that the good news arrived in Pohua. My name is Kartha, Sister Kartha, and you are welcome to stay with the sisters and me as long as you wish.”

The merchants who owned stores in the area around the Techno Society’s headquarters stood in their various doorways, sipped their morning tea, and watched wagon after wagon arrive in front of the heavily guarded building. A sight they had witnessed before. It wasn’t the number of crates that the metal men carried into the structure that made them wonder—but the fact that they rarely saw more than a half dozen boxes come out. It was a much-discussed phenomenon that would probably go unsolved given how inhospitable the technos were.

None of which was of the slightest interest to Shaz, who had not only been up all night, but wound up in charge of the off-loading process, which had been under way for hours by then. Many of the crates were headed for Techno Society headquarters on Seros, but there were other destinations as well, depending on what the boxes contained. Shaz felt the sun warm his shoulders as it climbed up over a building across the street, and was just about to follow the last box inside when Phan emerged from the mouth of an alley halfway down the block. The assassin was on foot, and a squad of metal men marched behind her. “You look like hell,” the combat variant observed tactlessly, as the assassin drew near. “Any luck?”

Phan shook her head. “Nothing,” she said disgustedly.

“It’s like they vanished into thin air.”

“I know how you feel,” Shaz said sympathetically. “Well, once we step through the gate onto Zeen, someone else can worry about them. The chances are good that some bounty hunter or other will nail them. One thing’s for sure, though, if they plan to break in and use this gate, they’re in for a big surprise. I tripled the guards.”

“Zeen?” Phan inquired halfheartedly. “I thought we were going to a place called Socket.”

“And so did I,” Shaz replied. “But that was before Logos announced that Socket is in orbit around Zeen. . . . And the only way to reach Socket is via a gate located on the island of Buru. The single point of access was part of a security system put in place by Hios.”

The assassin frowned. “Will the gate be operational?”

“Logos says that it will be,” the combat variant replied.

“As to whether we should trust him, well, you can be the judge of that.”

Phan laughed, followed Shaz into the building, and went in search of a bath.

The inside of the curtained four-wheeled hearse was scrupulously clean, but Rebo didn’t like the notion of riding in the same vehicle that had been used to transport hundreds of dead bodies, and he fervently hoped that he would still be alive at the conclusion of his journey. Though still tired, the runner felt better in the wake of a two-hour nap, even though it was oppressively hot in the back of the wagon. The hard-faced nun who was in charge of the hearse whistled to her team as she guided them around a corner. The wagon had only a minimal suspension, and the runner bounced up into the air each time the iron-shod wheels dropped into each pothole only to be jerked out again. But, unpleasant though the tour of Pohua was, examining the city from the back of a hearse was better than making the same journey on foot. Especially since Tepho’s metal men were out looking for him.

The objective of the reconnaissance was to take a look at Techno Society headquarters with an eye toward breaking in and using the star gate concealed within. No small task in the best of circumstances but especially iffy without the element of surprise and Hoggles to back him up. Still, the possibility existed, and was therefore worthy of consideration. Especially since Sogol said that while she could “sense” the presence of a gate seed in Pohua, the artifact was bound to be under lock and key and diffi?cult to get at. But as the wagon approached Techno Society headquarters, any hope of breaking into the building was crushed. As Rebo peered out through the dusty curtains he saw that a force of metal men had been stationed out front along with one of Tepho’s raptors. The machine’s energy weapons tracked the hearse as it rolled past.

And it was then, as the runner eyeballed the building’s defenses, that he saw Phan walk toward the entrance with a combat variant at her side. Then the scene was gone as an old man bowed to the body in the hearse and the wagon rattled through a drainage ditch. Once the ride smoothed out, the runner rolled over to stare up at the canopy. Six or seven insects buzzed around over his head. There might be some way to get off Haafa, the runner thought to himself—but it sure as hell wouldn’t be through Techno Society headquarters. The nun whistled, the angens plodded down a side street, and the afternoon sun scorched the sky.

The lamp, which was not fueled by oil, or any known source of power for that matter, had burned day and night for the entire three-hundred-plus years since a long-dead member of the Alzani clan had purchased the object more than a thousand miles south of Pohua. And, because the merchant family had prospered during the years since, many members of the family, including the current patriarch, Ubri Alzani, had come to believe that the clan’s material well-being was somehow linked to the lamp and its seemingly inexhaustible source of power. Now, as Alzani and his number three son sat at the ancient counting table totaling the week’s profi?ts, light from the lamp cast a soft glow over stacks of gleaming coins and threw black silhouettes onto the wall behind them. Both men had black hair, aquiline noses, and long, narrow faces. A breeze found its way in through open double doors to stir the gauzy curtains and cool the room’s interior. The abacus made a steady clack, clack, clack sound as the younger Alzani fl?icked beads along their various wires, and distant laughter could be heard as a fl?ock of children chased each other down long, empty halls.

Perhaps, had the two men been paying more attention, they might have detected other sounds as well. Like the soft thump as someone vaulted over the low wall that defi?ned the space just outside the double doors, the subtle rasp of steel as a sword left its scabbard, and the gentle rustle of Norr’s clothing as the sensitive positioned herself just outside the counting room.

But before Norr entered the room, it was important to make sure that the object she sought was actually there. With that in mind, the sensitive shifted the sword to her left hand and elevated her right hand so that Sogol could see into the room as well. Then, having pulled the serpentlike AI back beside her ear, she listened to the construct speak. “The object you want is sitting in the middle of the table,” One-Two whispered urgently. “Somebody fi?gured out a way to tap the power core—and turned the gate seed into a lamp.”

The sensitive shifted the sword back into her right hand, peered into the room, and stared at the lamp. The shade was yellowed with age, and the lower edge wore a dark red fringe. Below that, suspended within a wrought-iron framework, a shiny sphere could be seen. There was a sudden stirring inside the room as coins were added to already bulging leather bags, and the men stood, ready to call it a night. Fearful that the merchants would take the lamp with them when they left, Norr stepped through the door and placed her left index fi?nger against her lips. Both men froze as the woman appeared, but only for a moment, as the younger of the two made a move toward the pull cord that dangled nearby. But the sensitive was fast. Three quick strides and a jump carried her up onto the surface of the table. Coins scattered as Norr turned, the blade fl?ashed, and the pull cord parted. Then, having spun full circle, the variant paused. The razor-sharp edge was in contact with Ubri Alzani’s throat. The younger man stood by the door. “If you run, he dies,” Norr told the younger man emotionlessly.

“The choice is up to you.”

The sensitive saw emotions swirl as the son battled temptation. It would have been easy to run and thereby receive his portion of the family business years early, but the better part of him won out. The younger man held both hands palm out. “Take the money. . . . I will do as you say.”

“Good,” Norr replied equably. “Except that I don’t want your money . . . Both of you—back into the corner.”

“What then?” Ubri Alzani wanted to know, as he and his son backed away.

“The lamp,” Norr answered, as she bent her knees to the point where she could grab the object. “All I want is the lamp.”

“No!” the patriarch objected. “Please! I beg of you! Not the lamp. . . . Take the money. All of it. I promise no one will follow.”

“I’m sorry,” the sensitive replied sincerely, “but it’s the lamp that I need. Now, assuming that you want to keep your heads on your shoulders, stay right where you are.”

There was a gentle thump as the variant landed on fl?oor, the curtains billowed, and Norr was gone.

No more than two seconds elapsed before the two men sprang into action. Ubri drew a curved dagger and circled the table, intent on following the thief through the double doors, while his son jumped up to grab what remained of the pull cord. Bells rang in a distant part of the house, additional guards poured out of the servants’ quarters, and those who were on duty ran every which way.

Meanwhile Norr, who was dressed all in black, retraced the path followed earlier. An almost impossible feat for anyone other than a sensitive, who could “see” the psychic energy emitted by the Alzani family’s guards even in complete darkness should that be necessary. But thanks to the fact that one of the planet’s two moons had broken company with the horizon, there was more light than there had been before.

That worked two ways of course, as became apparent when a sharp-eyed youth spotted what looked like a swiftly moving shadow and fi?red his muzzle-loader. A long red fl?ame stabbed the night, a loud bang reverberated between the compound’s protective walls, and the sensitive heard something buzz past her head as she made a mad dash toward the still-dangling rope. That was when Rebo, who had been waiting outside the compound, could fi?nally spring into action. It had taken Norr more than an hour to convince the runner that she was the right person to enter the walled complex and abscond with the gate seed. And now, as he felt her tug on the other end of the rope, his counterarguments came back to mind as more weapons were discharged.

Norr heard bullets smack into the wall around her as she discovered how diffi?cult it was to climb one-handed, yelled a warning to Rebo, and threw the lamp up over the top. Then, with both hands free to grab the rope, and the runner pulling from the other side of the wall, the variant was able to “walk” up the vertical surface as a half dozen guards pounded their way across the courtyard.

Then Norr was on the top and poised to cross over, when the musket ball slammed into her back. The sensitive fell into a pool of blackness, felt her spirit exit her body, and knew she was dead.

Rebo screamed “No!” caught his lover as she fell, and half carried, half dragged Norr toward the waiting hearse. The stern-faced nun ran to help. Together, they lifted the sensitive up into wagon bed. Though unsure of where the object had come from, the sister saw the lamp and tossed it to Rebo. Moments later she was up on the driver’s seat with the reins in hand. She issued a shrill whistle, and the hearse jerked into motion.

In the meantime Rebo held a wad of fabric against Norr’s wound as he cradled the sensitive in his arms and whispered into her ear. “Hang on, Lonni, please hang on.” But there was no answer as the wagon rumbled through the streets, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Something had been gained—but the runner was afraid that something much more important had been lost.

There was a hiss, followed by a roar, as jets of hot water mixed with a powerful disinfectant struck Tepho and his attendants from every possible angle. All of them were nude. And, since the administrator never allowed anyone other than his handpicked staff to see him naked, the rest of the expeditionary force, including Shaz and Phan, were scheduled to follow once the technologist was fully dressed and ready to receive them.

Once the cleansing process was complete, Tepho and his attendants padded into the circular room where the star gate was housed. Boxes of food, equipment, and ammo had been stacked against the walls. Dry clothes were waiting for the administrator, as was Logos, who had taken on the appearance of a vest.

Mindful of the fact that the fi?rst group of Tepho’s subordinates would be along shortly, the attendants hurried to towel the administrator down and help him into his clothes. Shaz and Phan arrived shortly thereafter. Neither was the least bit embarrassed by their nudity, although Tepho was staring at Phan, and the assassin wished he wouldn’t. Then, once everyone was dressed, it was time for one last conference. Because, unlike the tiles that represented planets like Seros, Ning, and Thara, the square labeled zeen remained dark and therefore nonoperational. Or so it appeared. But Logos, who claimed to be able to monitor all of the star gates via Socket, had the power to bring it back to life. Or so he claimed. The proof, as with everything else, would be in the doing of it.

The technologist forced a smile. “Okay, then. . . . What are we waiting for? Let’s load the boxes labeled t-1 onto the platform.”

It took the better part of fi?fteen minutes to get the fi?rst load of equipment and people onto the relatively small service platform, but once everything was in place, it was Shaz who reached out to press the tile labeled zeen. The square lit up, just as Logos had predicted it would, and the usual spiel began. The combat variant listened with eyes closed, but the explosion of light was so brilliant that he could see it through his eyelids. Then, as his body was literally ripped apart for the trip through hyperspace, Shaz momentarily ceased to exist. Then, as the operative’s molecules were reassembled, he was conscious once more. He experienced a sense of relief, quickly followed by the nausea that typically accompanied a transfer and exposure to the star gate’s power core.

Judging from the grimy walls and the thick layer of dust that covered the fl?oor, it looked as though the chamber hadn’t been utilized in a long time. Tepho was the fi?rst to speak. “Okay, Shaz, time to earn your pay. . . . Take a com set with you and let me know what you fi?nd. I’ll get things organized here.”

The administrator clearly had no intention of venturing out of the chamber until he knew it was safe to do so, but Shaz didn’t fi?nd that at all surprising, and grinned at Phan.

“Ladies fi?rst.”

Given the fact that they had no idea what might await them beyond the confi?nes of the star gate, both the combat variant and the assassin elected to keep their clothes on as they checked their weapons, approached the door, and cycled through. And that was just as well, because when they stepped out into what should have been the decontamination chamber, most of it was missing. What remained bore a close resemblance to a cave, which judging from the bones lying scattered about, had recently been home to a large carnivore. Filthy tiles covered most of the right-hand wall, plus portions of the fl?oor, but the rest of the facility had been damaged. Roots had pushed their way down through the ceiling, and the left-hand wall had been ruptured, allowing soil to spill out onto the fl?oor.

In addition to a brace of semiautomatic pistols, Shaz had armed himself with a fully automatic assault weapon, which the combat variant held at the ready as he advanced toward the bright oval of daylight visible where the hatch should have been. Phan followed close behind.

Seconds later, they were standing at what had once been ground level, looking down into a broad valley through which a river wound back and forth. A herd of animals could be seen grazing next to a marshy area, skeletal-looking birds circled above, and the shadows cast by clouds caressed the land. “It looks like the ground dropped away,” Shaz observed. “There must have been a quake or something.”

“Yeah,” Phan agreed phlegmatically. “I sure hope Logos knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh, I think he knows what he’s doing,” the combat variant replied cynically. “But for whom?”

No sooner did the hearse rattle through the nunnery’s gates, than a shout was heard, and half a dozen nuns came running. There was a bang as the wagon’s tailgate fell, and Rebo was brushed aside as Norr was literally snatched out of his arms before being rushed inside.

Rebo, still dazed by what had taken place, grabbed the lamp and followed the nuns into what turned out to be a spacious medical clinic. It was the only facility of its kind available to the city’s poor. The operating room was tiled, spotlessly clean, and better equipped than the runner would have expected. Sister Kartha was present, as were two capable-looking assistants. She ordered the runner into a corner while she washed her hands. In the meantime, the other nuns proceeded to strip Norr of both her weapons and clothes prior to turning the sensitive facedown on the operating table. Once that was accomplished, the two women went to work mopping up what looked like an extraordinary amount of blood, and began to prep the area immediately around the blue-edged wound. “So, she’s alive?” Rebo ventured tentatively.

“Yes,” Kartha replied irritably. “She is. No thanks to you. But just barely, and truth be told, I have no idea why. By all rights your wife should be dead.”

“She isn’t my wife,” Rebo said dully, his eyes fi?xed on Norr.

“No?” the abbess inquired caustically as she waved her hands to dry them. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” the runner confessed miserably.

“Now there’s something we can agree on,” Kartha said grimly. “Now shut up so we can get to work.”

There were advantages to being located in Pohua, where ancient medical artifacts surfaced on a fairly regular basis, and—though never cheap—could sometimes be purchased at a relatively reasonable price, especially if a certain king wanted to be treated for the venereal disease that continued to plague him.

Norr felt a strange sense of detachment as she “stood”

next to her physical body and looked down on it. The scene was murky, which meant the details were hard to discern, but there was no mistaking the urgency with which the nuns were preparing to operate on her. And judging from the size of the hole under her right shoulder blade, the team was wasting its time. That was why Norr was tempted to turn away and seek higher planes, where physical pain was unknown.

But a tendril of energy still connected the sensitive to her physical body. It was rather weak, however, and Norr knew she could sever it if she chose to, but something held her back. But what?

“The answer is simple,” Lysander, said as his thoughts began to fl?ow into the variant’s mind. “Look at the thought forms around Rebo. . . . That’s why you’re tempted to stay.”

The sensitive looked, “saw” how miserable the runner was, and felt what he felt. A vast longing combined with an impending sense of doom.

Lysander glowed with internal light as he came to “stand”

at her side. “And there’s one more thing,” the spirit entity added. “Rebo is here because of you. Should you choose to terminate this incarnation, he will be lost in grief—and Logos will take control of Socket. And not just Logos, but the Techno Society under the leadership of Tepho, who wants to control the star gates for the same corrupt reasons that I did.

“So I beg you to stay, not just for the sake of the man who loves you and came back to the physical world in order to protect you, but for the sake of humanity as well. Because the long slide into darkness has begun—and the gates represent the only hope for something better than barbarism.”

Norr was about to respond, about to say something, when Sister Kartha pushed a probe down into the open wound, and the resulting pain sent the sensitive reeling. “There it is,” the abbess announced, as the metal stylus made contact with the lead ball. “Now to get it out.”

Rebo had seen medicos extract bullets before, which was why the runner expected Kartha to pick up a scalpel and cut the projectile out.

But the abbess had another tool in mind, something that had been common once, and would be again if craftspeople were able to successfully duplicate the artifact. Metal scraped on metal as the solar powered surgical scarab was removed from a basin fi?lled with disinfectant and placed on the sensitive’s bare back. Rebo watched in fascination as the tiny insectlike robot scurried up to the wound, circled the hole as if to determine its exact diameter, and dived inside. “First the machine will cauterize all of the bleeders,” the abbess explained. “Then it will make its way down to the musket ball and remove it.”

The runner had seen something similar on a previous occasion, and was about to say as much, when a novice burst into the surgery. “Sister Kartha! Come quick! The police are at the door. They claim the sensitive is a thief!”

The abbess looked at Rebo, uttered one of the many swear words she had learned during a childhood spent in the slums of Pokua, and turned back again. “Tell them I’m busy. . . . Show them into my study and bring them some tea. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The aspirant nodded, turned, and hurried into the hall. Under normal circumstances, the fact that the authorities were practically standing outside the door waiting to arrest him would have sent Rebo into the fi?ght-or-fl?ight mode. But now, with Norr’s life on the line, the only thing the runner cared about was the scarab. A lot of time had passed since the robot had descended into the wound, or so it seemed to Rebo, and he was just about to comment on that when the slightly deformed musket ball popped up out of the hole.

Sister Kartha made use of a pair of forceps to pluck the projectile off Norr’s skin and hold it up for inspection. It was fl?attened on one side. “Here it is . . .” the abbess said.

“It looks like the bullet slanted upward and came to rest against her scapula. Now, as soon as the scarab fi?nishes repairing the damage to her tissues, it will back its way out and close the wound. At that point I will allow the police to enter.”

“But you can’t!” Rebo objected. “They’ll throw her in jail, and she’ll die there.”

“You should have thought about that possibility earlier,”

the abbess responded sternly. “You may have a relationship with Nom Maa . . . But that doesn’t entitle you to steal other people’s property! The sisters and I have a spiritual obligation to heal the sick—but we aren’t required to harbor criminals. Oh, and surrender your weapons. . . . We’ll have no killing here.”

The runner was tempted to argue his case, to try and explain why the theft had been justifi?ed, but could see that it wouldn’t make any difference. “All right,” he said humbly.

“I’m not ready to surrender my weapons, not yet, but I’ll bring our things in here. Maybe they’ll let us keep some of our clothes.”

If the abbess thought Rebo was about to fl?ee, she made no effort to stop him as the runner bolted out of surgery and sprinted down the hall. Once in the cell where the two of them had been allowed to sleep, the off-worlder grabbed what few belongings they had and went back the way he had come. The scarab had surfaced by that time, Norr’s wound had been sealed, and the robot’s tiny feet continued to wiggle as the abbess placed the device back in its basin.

“Okay,” Rebo said, as he dumped both packs next to the operating table. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all that you’ve done. . . . The police are sure to separate us once they come in—so could I have a moment alone with Lonni?”

Kartha’s expression softened. “Yes, of course. But don’t take long.”

“I won’t,” the runner promised, and felt for Norr’s pulse as the nuns left the room. It was weak, but still there, and Rebo allowed himself to hope.

Norr wasn’t entirely sure what was taking place in the physical realm, but allowed herself to be drawn back into her body, where it was necessary to grit her teeth against the pain. Conscious now, but still laid out on her stomach, the sensitive heard Rebo speak. “Sogol? Can you hear me?”

The AI slithered up the sensitive’s bare arm to gather itself on her shoulder. “Yes,” the computer answered, “I can hear you.”

“Good. Lonni damned near got killed stealing that gate seed . . . So the least you can do is get us out of here!”

“I would be happy to,” Logos 1.2 responded. “But before I can activate the gate seed you must remove the sphere from the cage that presently surrounds it.”

Now, having been reminded, Rebo knew that the AI was correct. Once activated the globe would start to spin—

which wouldn’t be possible until the object was released from the lamp. But how to free it? And do so before the police came to get him?

The runner swore a long string of oaths as he secured a grip on the big instrument cabinet, wrestled the piece of furniture over to the door, and pushed it into place. The obstacle wouldn’t keep the authorities out for very long, Rebo knew that, but fi?gured any delay would help. Having bought some time, the runner began to rifl?e through the cabinet’s drawers. He had already rejected a number of instruments, none of which looked like they would be appropriate to the task, when he saw what appeared to be a bone saw. But would it cut through metal?

Rebo was about to experiment when Sogol spoke. “What about Norr’s sword? Would that do the job?”

“Damn!” Rebo exclaimed. “I should have thought of that.” The bone saw clattered as it hit the fl?oor. The nuns had removed both the sword and scabbard shortly after bringing Norr into the operating room. The runner hurried over to where the weapon lay and heard the whisper of steel as he pulled the blade free. Norr, who had been witness to the conversation, managed to croak his name. “Jak . . .”

Rebo felt his heart leap. He hurried to the young woman’s side. “You’re conscious! Thank God! How do you feel?”

“Never mind that,” the sensitive whispered hoarsely. “Be careful with the sword! The blade is extremely sharp. If you aim for the center of the lamp, it will cut through the framework and the gate seed.”

“Which would be most unfortunate,” Logos 1.2 put in.

“Because the resulting explosion would destroy this room, the nunnery, and half of Pohua.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Rebo said dryly. Then, having placed the lamp well clear of the operating table, the runner brought the sword up over his head and brought the supersharp edge down along the right side of the lamp. There was a shower of sparks as metal parted, the runner took a nasty shock, and the acrid scent of ozone fi?lled the air. His arm was still tingling when Rebo returned the weapon to its scabbard and bent to retrieve what remained of the lamp. He was relieved to see that the sphere was intact. Then, as the runner struggled to bend a piece of metal out of the way, someone began to pound on the door. “This is the police!

Open up!”

Rebo drew the 9mm, fi?red two shots into the very top of the door, and heard loud scuffl?ing noises as the police beat a hasty retreat. “Okay,” the runner said, having returned the pistol to its holster, “where were we? Ah, yes, the gate seed. I press on both dimples for sixty seconds . . . right?”

“That’s correct,” Sogol assured him. “Then, when you feel the locks give, twist both hemispheres in opposite directions.”

Rebo pressed, heard noises out in the hall, and knew the police were getting ready to take another crack at the door.

“Hurry,” Norr croaked. “Or we’ll rot in whatever passes for Pohua’s jail.” The sensitive made an attempt to rise, but the pain was too intense, and she collapsed.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the locks gave. Then, having secured a good grip on both halves of the sphere, the runner twisted them in opposite directions. Beams of bright light stabbed the walls, the object started to oscillate, and Rebo had to let go as a battering ram hit the door.