Logos Run (27 page)

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 fingers 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 flunkies 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 surefire 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 flying. 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 fight 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 flash 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 first, 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 flames. 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 fly, 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 find out.”

Rebo’s words just hung there, and his prophecy went unfulfilled for a good five 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 fifteen feet to the desert floor. 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 mummified 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 first,” Norr volunteered, and was already lowering herself over the side before the runner could object. Then, once her feet touched the floor, 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 finger and find 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 first attempt to strip the ring off the mummy’s bony finger 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 floating 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 figures, and realized who they were, a quick flurry 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 battlefield 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 confidence and pride that Shaz had never seen there before. “Congratulations on your victory,” the combat variant said evenly. “I had to cross the battlefield 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 find 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 difficulty, 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 first, 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 firmly. “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 flames 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 five hundred such fires that presently dotted the desert.
Urgent
fires, that were required to cleanse the battlefield before the sun could rise and turn the entire area into a sea of corruption.

But
this
fire 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.”