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 fingers around his testicles and formed a fist. 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. Confident 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 flash 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 flash 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 artificially 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 emotionsunder 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 fine,” 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 flowers 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-story-high 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 floor, 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 difficult 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 hand-loomed rug that defined 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 find 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 find a ratty old coat?”
“One-Two occupies a snakelike body.”
“Oh, terrific! 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 first 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 find 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 finger,” the onetime emperor responded calmly, “which is attached to my mummified body, which is suspended within the largest of the four pyramids.”
The curtains billowed in response to an evening breeze, and there, floating along the edge of the horizon, four sun-splashed 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 out-maneuvered. But the AI wasn’t about to surrender Socket to One-Two without a fight. More than a dozen possible scenarios were conceived, reviewed for flaws, 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 fifty 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 fifteen 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 thousandyears 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 flies 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 floating pyramids came into view, the road split into dozens of sand-drifted tracks, and a flight of blue-liveried wings took up station overhead. The combat variant felt his stomachmuscles 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 flared nostrils, and food beckoned them home.
Unlike his peers, Tepho’s birth defects were such that it was difficult 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 first 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 floor 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 first thought was for himself. “Is that condition contagious?” he inquired cautiously.
“No,” Shaz answered definitively. “Kane enjoys occupying Dyson’s body so much that he decided to stay. But there’s something wrong with the fit—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 misfits arrived. Please explain.”
Logos Run Page 18
