Logos Run (28 page)

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 flames 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 float 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
first
,” Rebo observed.

“Yes, assuming we get there first.”

Rebo eyed the fire. “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 fire crackled, and a column of red stars took to the sky.

TEN

Having watched the funeral pyre burn itself out, and re
turned 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 fine 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 finger, 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 traffic 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 762
8
H5t15, 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 fluttered. 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 success
ful 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 final 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 find 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 floor 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 five minutes had elapsed when the race began.

Thanks to a warning from Norr, and eager to recoup his recent losses, Kufu was the first artifact king to respond. A flight of twenty wings were dispatched, even as five three-man chariots raced pell-mell toward the new opening, each creating its own column of dust as it cut across the desert floor. 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 figures flew through the air. What happened next was obscured by a cloud of dust, the driver’s wildly flapping headscarf, and a competing two-wheeler. Then they were there, at the center of a maelstrom of multicolored chariots, each fighting 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 fifty 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 firearms 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 fire on the orange-striped envelope. Hot air escaped through dozens of holes, and the pilot fired wildly as the quickly deflating 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 fighting 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 fired 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 difficult to do, and there was more than one occasion when Rebo felt flesh 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 flares 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 traffic, and obey the posted speed limit. There was some graffiti, however, including one entry that might have been spray-painted onto the wall during the final days of the plague, when Surface Ramp-47 had been packed with infected people all trying to find 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 first 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 flicker 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.”