Rebellion (2 page)

Mere yards from the pyramid, the field of artificial gravity died away.

That was all to the good. Thoth set off on huge, exaggerated bounding steps for a horizon that seemed unnaturally close. His destination was far enough from the complex of pyramidal construction which housed Ra's palace. It was beyond the view even of the crystal summit of the tallest one the place where he'd just met with Sebek. Thoth was gasping by the time he scaled the wall of the small craterlet. Even with the lower gravity this represented unfamiliar exertion. At least this time he had nothing to carry. The crater floor was of blackish rock, and if the secret records hadn't told Thoth exactly where to look, he'd have dismissed his destination as a shadow or a chance rock formation. Even close by, the contours were irregular enough-and spalled by 8,500 years of micrometeorite impacts-to be dismissed as natural. One had to look down into the murky hole in the ground to identify the entrance to the mastaba, or underground tomb. Thoth manipulated the entrance controls and slipped inside. A pile of gear, brought by him piece by piece, lay right at the access. He picked up a small hand light, then turned to seal the tomb's portal. Only when he was sure it wouldn't be seen on the surface did he activate his torch. The interior of the mastaba had gotten far less attention than its artfully concealed entrance. The chamber had apparently been chopped into existence with energy beams.

Its walls were crude and out of true, the blackish stone melted and stagged in places. In one corner lay the burned and blasted remains of the workers who'd done the excavating. Their twisted forms made a striking contrast to the sarcophagus resting on the bumpy floor.

Exquisitely carved from the quartzose material reserved for the most splendid of Ra's technological wonders, the stone box bulked large in the crude quarters, seeming to glow with a muted golden radiance as Thoth's light flashed on it. A sun disk decorated the head of the funerary bier, which was twice as long as a man was tall. Hieroglyphs ran across the waist-high covering stone-a hymn to eternal life. Thoth turned to the other materials he'd cached in the tomb. He opened canisters of pressurized air, bringing atmosphere back to the room for the first time in millennia. At last Thoth opened his this mask and took a deep breath. Then he turned to the sarcophagus, tapping several of the hieroglyphics in a certain pattern. The crystal walls of the box shifted as if they were live things. A seemingly solid cover stone split into THREE sections. The sun disk rose head high, another section of the cover stone moving with it, sliding out in two pieces to give the disk wings. A pearlescent light flooded the room, coming from inside the box. Thoth stepped forward, his face tight with excitement. The head of the sarcophagus interior was shaped like a pharaonic headdress, forming a sort of halo for the beautiful female face lying in repose there. The woman had an olive complexion, dark but not tanned. Her aquiline features were perfectly formed. With her eyes closed, she looked like a beautifully crafted statue. Then Thoth noticed the slight rise and fall of the lithe breasts under the pectoral necklace of her chest piece. The eyes opened. Hathor lived.

Pain had not merely tinged, but had been Hathor's last conscious memory.

The battle for Ombos had no longer been in doubt. Step by ruthless step she'd turned the situation on the revolting planet around until the rebels didn't merely face defeat, they faced extermination. Even her own troops feared her as the goddess who had covered a planet in blood.

Hathor had been directing operations against one of the few remaining rebel strongholds, hidden in an inaccessible mountain range. The udajeets, single-man gliders, had flown repeated missions, their paired blasters firing incessantly to clear a landing area literally down to scorched earth. But no sooner had she set foot to terra firma than one of those red-haired devils burst out of a pit in the ground. The poor bastard hadn't carried an energy weapon. Apparently, the rebels had learned that the Horus guards could scan for such armament. But even as Hathor aimed her own blast-lance, the rebel had hurled some sort of metal implement. Spikes of white-hot agony radiated from her stomach.

But this was no mere stab wound. Her nerves first seemed dipped in acid, then went terrifyingly numb. "Poison-" she slurred to one of the Horus guards blasting the now unarmed assassin. Then paralysis set in-and with it, searing pain. Every move on the way back to the StarGate was etched in anguish. She could smell the rot emanating from her stomach even during the brief udajeet ride. Whatever had been smeared on that damnable blade was turning her flesh into a necrotic mess. If she survived this, Hathor promised herself, she'd track that poison down. A new weapon for her arsenal ... Even the flesh on her face was black and splitting by the time she finally reached Tuat. Ra himself was on hand to greet her, and Hathor's heart died a little at his reaction to her appearance. There was only one hope for her survival.

That was internment in Ra's sarcophagus of wonder. Certain others of Ra's servants-the irreplaceable ones-had been placed inside that crystalline box, suffering from a variety of ills. They'd all emerged fit and cured. So as Hathor came to consciousness, she opened her eyes full of hope. Her strength and looks would be restored. And, of course, Ra would be there to greet her. At the very least, her own servants would be on hand. Instead of Ra's throne room, she found herself in a mean little chamber, more like a cave or a dungeon. And she had no idea who the single man staring down at her was. Hathor's muscles screamed in protest as she forced herself upright, reaching -for the gawker. What should have been a seamless, easy movement took an extra second enough time for the man to take a step backward before she was out of the stone coffin and grasping him by the throat. A pair of strides, and she smashed the intruder against the crude wall. His face turned an interesting mottled color before she released pressure on his airway.

With one hand cocked to deliver body blows if necessary, Hathor activated his headdress. She expected to find a renegade Horus guard engaged in a bit of voyeurism. Instead, she found ... Thoth. "This cannot be," she muttered, pressing again to unmask the man. "Thoth is an older man, but not so old that he would die before I-" The room

threatened to revolve around her. "Where am I?" Thoth sucked air through a bruised throat. "On Tuat." He managed a soothing tone, at least. "In a mastaba several miles from Ra's palace. "A tomb!" She gestured wordlessly, indicating that her body was whole. "You slept, o Champion."

Thoth struggled to find the right words. "The records I studied indicated that perhaps you had succeeded in your mission too well." "I crushed the rebels as ordered, showing no mercy," Hathor responded. Her lips twisted. "And in so doing, I caused even Ra some unease. So he buried me away, for retrieval in case of some worse disaster. Is that the case?" Hathor's eyes narrowed. "Or ... you mentioned records that you had studied. If you thought to waken me to use against Ra ." Her lips quirked again. "You've made a serious blunder, conspirator." Her whole career, pushing her way into the circle of warriors who surrounded the sun god, had been based on a strategy ancient even in her time-seduction and dynasty. Even her husband, engineer of the gods, hadn't dared reprove her for her "friendship" with Ra. And she knew, knew that the ever young body of her liege responded to her wiles. But the alien soul inhabiting that flesh had proven resistant. Yes, Ra's alien ka was doubtless responsible for having her put away. Even so, it would be unwise of this interloper to expect that she would nurse a grudge. What had been done could be done again. She was awakened now.

And the surest way to Ra's favor would be to bring him the head of a traitor. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Thoth pressed himself against the wall, quickly putting up a hand. "I brought you forth because it seems that Ra is no more." Now it was Hathor's turn to step back, staggered. For a second she was silent. Then, "How-" She bit off the question she'd been about to ask: "How could this be possible?" Instead, Hathor turned to practicalities. "How long have I been immured here?" When Thoth gave her the answer, her eyes went round with dismay. Eight thousand years was more than enough time to have wrapped her actions in the trappings of legend. Her next question was purely political. "Who now wears the cat's head?" Thoth looked surprised. "There has never been another Hathor." A certain grim satisfaction filled Hathor at this news. She had been deemed irreplaceable. But it also meant problems. With a successor, she could have challenged for her position-and with a single murder doubtless not only won back her office, but gained a staff of servants and warriors as well. Having no successor closed off that path to getting aid. She stared at this Thoth, so many generations removed from the First Time.

What did he think her capable of? The Thoth of her days had been a scribe and an intriguer-his weapon of choice the pen rather than the sword. She doubted that this soft-bodied Thoth could offer her much in the way of backup-his servants would not be skilled in physical force.

Did he count on her to take on the entire warrior caste single-handed?

She turned to him and put her question into words. "What do you expect of meRa it seems, is gone," he said. "Someone must put his house in order." Ah, Hathor thought, the dangers of legend. He does expect me to vanquish these would-be successors alone and unaided. Still, she felt the promptings of her own ambition. She had thought to create the House of Ra by way of the path of love. Would it be so different to create the House of Hathor by way of the paths of war? "We have much to speak of." She sniffed and frowned. "And already the air here grows stale."

Thoth gestured to the pile of gear at the entrance to the mastaba. "I have here another suit for traversing the airless plain. And I have arranged apartments-" he made a self-disparaging gesture. "Humble apartments for one of your stature. But they're secure, and in a little-traveled area of the old palace." Hathor nodded. After more than eight millennia in a stone box, her physical needs were modest enough.

And it would certainly be better to retain the element of surprise.

"Speak to me of leaders," she said. "What factions contend for Ra's throne? Which of the viceroys has the greatest personal strength? Which the largest following? Is there yet an Anubis? Or did he follow Ra into the void?" Thoth began the briefing even as he presented the atmosphere suit. Hathor had worn these suits before. She knew their limits. And, of course, in the timeless workings of Ra's empire, technology did not change. She was ready to leave by the time Thoth had sketched out the short list of candidates most likely to achieve ultimate power. Hathor was most interested in his description of his old criche mate, Sebek. She had never liked the crocodile god of her days. And this Sebek not only had a reputation as a fierce fighter, he had a strong and well-trained entourage. In Hathor's eyes that made him a prime target. "Enough," she finally said. "Let us be out of here."

She activated her own headdress, and for the first time in eight thousand years, the face of the Cat was seen once again. It was well, Hathor thought. The cat, with its supple body and soft purr, was dismissed by many as a creature of mere sensual pleasure. So it had been in her career. Too late, those dismissing her had discovered that this cat had much in common with her cousin the lion. Perhaps it would be so for this Sebek, and the other godlets who would be Ra. On the other hand, they might be like this Thoth, believing in legends that gave her an overblown reputation. That could be useful as well. She could make an example of a front-runner, this Sebek perhaps-and terrorize the rest into submission. Kill one, frighten a thousand. She had learned that equation on Ombos, extirpating the rebels there. Now she would bring this same equation to Tuat. Although, she realized, it had already been instituted there by no less a personage than Ra himself. From the very beginning of the First Days on Earth, Ra had kept a mastery of the tools of terror. Thus had he bent the slave populations to his will. And, if truth were to be told, terror had also been part of the carrot and the stick which he'd used in leading the gods. The carrot had been power, of course, and a lifetime extending far beyond that of an average mortal. But if one should fail the sun god, if one should displease Rathe punishment was death. And Ra could offer death in so many unpleasant guises, like a session with his gem that could turn bones to water. Like it or not, Ra had shepherded his attendant gods with fear. Hathor smiled. She could do that. On Earth, a military transport plane took off from Washington. Its interior was not exactly spartan-after all, there was a senior officer aboard. But General West was smart enough to fly only on regularly scheduled jets-and not the only passenger. Other officers of similar rank had never bothered to learn that simple lesson, and had managed to blight their careers. A colleague of West's, a head honcho of a European operation, had once flown from Rome to the U.S. in a huge, unscheduled Starlifter with only his female aide on board. After being roasted in newspapers across the country, that unfortunate general had wound up in charge of counting penguins down in Antarctica. But if he flew by the rules, nonetheless the general had plenty of room to spread out as the plane reached its cruising altitude. Which was just as well-his briefcase was full of reports to be read, and he had to come to a decision on those contents before the plane landed. West's slightly jowly face took on the stony aspect of the veteran poker player as he reviewed the first of a succession of documents stamped TOP SECRET. This was a technology assessment from the Pentagon big-domes who had attempted to take one of those blast-lances apart and put it back together again. Of course, they were careful to cover their scientific butts, but they were reasonably optimistic. While they did not promise production-line manufacturing of the weapons in two weeks, they did offer the opinion that the technology was accessible. West frowned. The only bottleneck was that the lances, like all the alien high technology Jack O'Neil and the survivors of the Abydos recon team had reported on, depended on that quartz-like crystal to work. And the only source of that crystal on Earth was the StarGate. West idly speculated on how many blasters they could make if they broke the matter transmitter, or whatever it was, into small pieces.... That would solve two problems-the weapons would permanently tilt the balance of power in favor of the U.S.