Below that lay many levels of curtained apartments, Kufu’s suite, which occupied the entire second fl?oor, 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 diffi?cult 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 handloomed rug that defi?ned 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 fi?nd 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 fi?nd a ratty old coat?”
“One-Two occupies a snakelike body.”
“Oh, terrifi?c! 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 fi?rst 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 fi?nd 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 fi?nger,” the onetime emperor responded calmly, “which is attached to my mummifi?ed body, which is suspended within the largest of the four pyramids.”
The curtains billowed in response to an evening breeze, and there, fl?oating along the edge of the horizon, four sunsplashed 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 outmaneuvered. But the AI wasn’t about to surrender Socket to One-Two without a fi?ght. More than a dozen possible scenarios were conceived, reviewed for fl?aws, 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 fi?fty 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 fi?fteen 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 thou-190
sand years 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.