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.