Logos Run

by William C. Dietz

  The question was reasonable, as was the tone, and the combat variant felt himself relax slightly as he related everything that had taken place since first contact on Thara. There wasn’t much of an opportunity to shade the truth, not with two alternative witnesses waiting right outside, but Shaz took advantage of what few opportunities there were before describing the manner in which Logos and his human handlers had departed from Derius. Not by ship, but by a means that couldn’t be anticipated, or stopped.

  At least thirty seconds of silence followed the report. During that time, Tepho hummed to himself and stared into space, as if viewing something mere mortals couldn’t see. Finally, his ruminations complete, the technologist shifted his gaze to the variant in front of him. “Tell me something, Shaz . . . Can you honestly say that you did a good job?”

  The combat variant shimmered slightly as he made use of his peripheral vision to check on the raptor. Fast though his reflexes were, he knew that the machine could beat him and swallowed the lump in his throat. “No.”

  Tepho nodded. “You’re honest . . . I admire that. But incompetence cannot be tolerated. Lysander taught me that. So, rather than drag the whole thing out, we might as well get this over with.”

  The combat variant saw the technologist flick his wrist, felt the small self-propelled disk flatten itself against his forehead, and reached up in an attempt to pry the device off. But the artifact refused to break contact, not until a preprogrammed dose of pain had been dispensed, or it was ordered to do so.

  Phan was outside the tent, sitting on a wooden crate, and honing one of her knives when the long, undulating cry of pain was heard. The assassin looked at Dyson/Kane, who lowered the handheld mirror that he’d been staring into. “What goes around, comes around,” the disincarnate commented philosophically. “Having suffered so much pain himself, Tepho likes to share some of it with others.” The second utterance was even worse than the first, but there was nothing Phan could do but test her blade with a thumb and wait for the noise to stop.

  lt wasn’t visible yet, but the sun had already announced its coming with a spectacular sunrise that continued to unfold as Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles finished climbing a steep flight of stairs. But, as the runner stepped out onto the neatly kept platform located at the very top of Kufu’s tower, it was the big red-and-white-striped hot-air balloon that claimed Rebo’s attention rather than the incredible display of color off to the east. The aircraft’s pilot fired the burner mounted over the basket and sent a volume of hot air up into the already inflated envelope above. The roaring sound lasted for no more than two seconds. But the additional lift was sufficient to send the balloon surging upward, and the device would have floated away, had it not been for the combined weight of four heavies assigned to handle the ground ropes.

  It was cold, very cold, but both the runner and the sensitive had chosen to dress lightly, knowing how hot it would be later on. Both of them were armed and wore backpack-style water bags. They also carried coils of rope slung crosswise over their shoulders.

  Both because Hoggles was too heavy for the hot-air balloon, and because of the need to guard Logos, the variant had agreed to remain behind. He wasn’t especially happy about the arrangement, however—and continued to glower as the others prepared to board the balloon. “So they’re leaving you behind,” the AI observed slyly. “How does that make you feel?”

  “Shut up,” Hoggles growled. “Or I’ll take a shit and use you to wipe my ass.”

  Meanwhile, out where the aircraft tugged at its ropes, Rebo, Norr, and a minder named Hasa mounted some portable stairs. Once on the platform above, they were level with the balloon’s woven basket. Hasa made the transfer first—quickly followed by Rebo and Norr. The additional weight caused the aircraft to sag, but it recovered when the pilot opened the burner for a full three seconds, thereby generating more hot air.

  Like most the aviators employed by the artifact kings, Kufu’s pilot was female and therefore lighter than the average male. She wore a padded skullcap to protect her head during the spills often associated with landings, handmade goggles to protect her eyes from windblown sand particles, and a well-worn leather flight suit. A bolt-action rifle was clamped to one side of the basket and hinted at occasional bouts of air-to-air combat. “Hang on!” the young woman ordered, and turned to wave a gloved hand at her ground crew.

  In spite of the fact that Norr had traveled between solar systems, the sensitive had never been in a hot-air balloon before and felt her stomach lurch unexpectedly as the heavies let go of their ropes. But then, as the burner roared, and the aircraft began to ascend, the sensitive felt her fears start to melt away. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and the normally harsh desert was bathed in soft morning light as the balloon floated out over the underground city of Kahoun.

  But there was scant time in which to enjoy the flight because the passengers had a job to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy. There had been hundreds of attempts to enter the floating pyramids over the years, mostly by teams of wings, but none had been successful. The structure had been damaged, however, which could clearly be seen as the westerly breeze blew the balloon and its passengers toward the floating monuments and the pink-lavender sky beyond. The largest, the one they planned to intercept, was so cratered that Norr theorized that a large artillery piece had been used to fire at it. Probably in hopes of causing damage to whatever mechanism kept the structure aloft so it would fall to desert below and thereby become vulnerable.

  At that point, a formation of Kufu’s wings descended to take up positions around the balloon. Thanks to the efforts of genetic engineers long dead, the wings had long, slender bodies, hollow bones, and muscles that norms didn’t. Their leather wings made a steady whuf, whuf, whuf sound as they drew abreast of the basket. The concept of harnessing the variants to the balloon and towing the aircraft into close proximity with the largest of the pyramids had been Rebo’s idea. Now, with distances already starting to close, the runner was in communication with the formation’s leader via a small handheld “talk-box” that Hasa had loaned to him.

  As the norm gave orders, and Norr looked on, four of the strongest wings flew into stiff leather hoops that were attached to the dangling ground ropes. The variants took up the slack, beat their wings even harder, and sought to pull the balloon onto a new course. It would have been impossible had there been any sort of headwind, but the air was relatively calm, and it wasn’t long before the aircraft veered to the southeast.

  Meanwhile, having been attracted by all of the unusual activity, flocks of competing wings were vectoring in from all directions, bent on stopping whatever King Kufu and his minions were up to. But only four of the red-liveried variants were occupied pulling the balloon, which left the rest of Kufu’s air force to block the attackers, which they hurried to do.

  Mindful of the need to drop her passengers on the largest of the pyramids, the pilot allowed the balloon to begin a gradual descent, even as she took occasional potshots at enemy variants. Most of her projectiles went wide, but by means of either skill or luck, one of them hit home. Norr happened to be looking in that direction when the blue-clad wing appeared to pause in midair, spiraled toward the ground, and was soon lost from sight.

  “Get ready!” Rebo shouted urgently, as the huge pyramid loomed ahead, the pilot triggered the burner, and the wings prepared to drop their harnesses. There was no good way to exit the basket on such a steep incline, but that’s what the plan called for, as the balloon made violent contact with the pyramid’s westernmost flank. The leading edge of the basket hit, the container tipped forward, and Hasa spilled out onto the ridged slope.

  “Jump!” the pilot ordered, as she grabbed onto a support and struggled to keep her footing. “Jump now!”

  Norr went first, tripped, and fell face downward onto the stone facing below. She skidded, rolled sideways, and struggled to right herself. Finally, after arresting what threatened to be a fatal skid, the sensitive came to a halt.

 
Rebo followed, managed to avoid landing right on top of Norr, and wound up sprawled across three six-inch-high steps. The burner roared as the pilot struggled to get her aircraft airborne again, the balloon soared, and soon floated away. A ground crew, all mounted on swift angens, galloped below. Chasing the unpredictable aircraft and retrieving them was a full-time job.

  It took the better part of a minute for Rebo, Norr, and Hasa to regain their feet and check for damage. Fortunately, none of them had suffered any injuries beyond scrapes, abrasions, and minor cuts. Then, just as Rebo was about to lead the others to the point where Lysander said they could gain entry, six red-clad wings fluttered down out of the sky to land a few yards away. One had been slightly wounded during an airborne scuffle with Quar’s orange-liveried flock, and all of them were armed. They took up positions behind Hasa, and Rebo was quick to object. “What are they doing here? This wasn’t part of the deal. . . . What’s going on?”

  Hasa was a small man who had one eyebrow and a mustache to match. When his lips retracted, the resulting expression was more of a grimace than a smile. “What?” the minder inquired sarcastically. “You thought the great Kufu would be so foolish as to send only one man? Whom you could murder with impunity? Never! File Leader Lartha and his men are here to ensure that you keep your part of the bargain. Besides, the interior of the tomb is sure to be guarded, and you may be glad of the extra firepower.”

  Rebo looked at Norr and saw the sensitive shrug. “We’re after the dead emperor’s ring,” she whispered. “Nothing else matters.”

  The runner wasn’t so sure, but had very little choice since Kufu’s men outnumbered the two of them more than three to one. “Okay, but do as you’re told, or we will call the whole thing off.”

  Hasa shrugged, as if to say, “Who cares?” and fell in behind Norr as Rebo led the party toward the far side of the pyramid.

  Thanks to the fact that large sections of the pyramid’s outer covering had been destroyed by cannon fire and the passage of time, it was possible to walk along the crumbling ledgelike steps that would have otherwise been covered. A task that turned out to be more difficult than it appeared since the monument was in motion, there were areas of unbroken material to traverse, and the occasional ping could be heard as winged snipers fired on the party from beyond the protective envelope that Kufu’s air force had established.

  Finally, after circling halfway around the construct, Rebo arrived at the spot where Hios’s name had been carved into the pyramid’s surface in letters twenty feet tall. Much of the o and the s had been blown away. But the i was intact. Confident that the others would follow, the runner climbed up to the point where he could access the dot over the i and used a knife to pry and scrape at the surface material. It took some elbow grease, but it wasn’t long before a palm-sized chunk of the ceramic material broke loose, and made a clattering noise as it tumbled down a succession of steps.

  Rebo felt his heart leap as he looked at the huge ruby. He applied pressure to the gemstone, felt it give, and held his breath. What if the ancient mechanism was stuck? Or broken? But the ancients had built well, servos whined, and more of the ceramic material shattered as the entire dot irised open. There was a sudden outgassing of stale air, followed by expressions of amazement from Lartha and his warriors. “Nice work,” Norr said approvingly.

  “Thanks,” Rebo replied, as he turned toward the group gathered behind him. “Who would like to enter first? How ’bout you, Hasa? The king would be impressed.”

  “You honor me,” the minder replied gravely. “But guests must go first . . . Such is our custom on Haafa.”

  That wasn’t necessarily the case, not judging from the smirks the soldiers wore, but Rebo wasn’t surprised. The runner said, “Watch my back,” to Norr, and slipped into the coolness within. The sensitive went next, closely followed by Hasa and the squad of winged variants. Then, having been triggered by a sensor, the hatch irised closed. A trio of blue-clad wings landed on the spot a scant two minutes later, placed an explosive charge over the door, and took off again. The result was a loud boom, a cloud of dust, and a brand-new scar. But, seemingly oblivious to additional damage that had been done to it, the pyramid sailed on.

  NINE

  The Planet Haafa

  Why, God? Why us?

  —Wall graffiti found deep within the city of Kahoun

  There was total darkness within the floating tomb as the sound of the external explosion faded away—followed by a shower of dust that caused most of the group to sneeze or cough. Then, as Rebo, Norr, and Hasa began to operate their squeeze-powered glow lights, three beams of fluctuating light came into existence. The vaguely pistol-shaped devices had been copied from a unit “harvested” from Kahoun and made a distinctive click-whir noise as the power-producing handle was clenched, then released. Even though the dynamo-powered light kept Rebo from fisting both of his handguns at the same time, the runner was happy to have the device because a lantern would have been even more cumbersome.

  The wings were less fortunate, however, since no one had seen fit to supply them with glow lights, causing File Leader Lartha and his subordinates to bunch up behind Hasa rather than be left back in the darkness. “Okay,” Rebo said fatalistically, as he directed a beam of light down a slight incline. “We might as well get this over with. . . . I’ll go first, Lonni will follow behind me, and you guys can bring up the rear.”

  “No!” the minder replied vehemently. “I will go first— and the wings will follow me. You will bring up the rear.”

  Rebo was surprised, but pleasantly so, and happy to let Hasa lead the way. But, having sampled the other man’s personality, he knew better than to say so. “Well, okay,” the runner allowed reluctantly. “But it doesn’t seem fair.”

  “I have very little interest in your opinions,” Hasa replied arrogantly, as his glow light washed over a beautifully executed mural. “Come, Lartha. . . . Let’s see where this passageway leads.”

  Norr caught a glimpse of Rebo’s expression in the side wash from her squeeze light, knew that her companion was on the verge of laughter, and poked him as Kufu’s functionaries proceeded down the tunnel.

  Everything went smoothly at first. So smoothly that the runner was about to conclude that his earlier fears had been groundless, when he heard a clacking sound, and File Leader Lartha vanished. Hasa’s glow light bobbed erratically, and pandemonium ensued as the remaining wings looked for their leader. But it wasn’t until Norr made her way forward that the mystery was solved. “Look!” the sensitive said as she directed her beam downward. “Do you see those cracks? He fell through a trapdoor.”

  The revelation did nothing to comfort Hasa. A sheen of sweat covered the minder’s forehead, and his eyes were huge as he looked from left to right. “Where is Lartha now? Do you think he’s alive?”

  “No,” Rebo replied reasonably. “I don’t. . . . But we can’t stay here. Watch for cracks, and you’ll be okay.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Hasa objected heatedly. “I know what you’re up to. . . . You’re hoping that I’ll be the next one to die! Well, I’m too smart for that. You go first . . . And the spook goes second. The wings and I will bring up the rear.”

  “Okay, have it your way,” the runner agreed grimly. “But take a look over your shoulder from time to time. We wouldn’t want anything to sneak up on us from behind.”

  It was clear from the way that the minder’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets that the possibility of being attacked from the rear hadn’t occurred to him until that point. Hasa was still trying to figure out if he’d been wrong to give up the lead position when the other two brushed past him.

  “Keep your light on the floor,” Rebo instructed, “and I’ll use mine to look ahead. Between us, we should be able to see what’s coming up.”

  Norr nodded in agreement, directed her glow light down, and made an attempt to engage her psychic senses as well. But it soon became apparent that there was nothing to detect beyond the auras stru
ng out behind her, a finding that would have been more comforting had it not been for the fact that machines don’t generate any spiritual energy and would therefore be “invisible” to her. The thought sent a shiver down the variant’s spine and caused her to focus on the physical plane.

  The need to watch for trapdoors slowed their progress, but paid off when Norr spotted a second set of telltale cracks, and the rest of the party was able to jump over the potentially fatal trap. The passageway turned to the right shortly thereafter and emptied into a small antechamber. A large, heavily embossed metal door waited ahead, but rather than rush forward and attempt to open it, Rebo decided to pause. It wasn’t long before the rest of the group caught up, and Hasa began to champ at the bit. “What are you waiting for?” the minder demanded impatiently. “Cross the chamber and open the door!”

  “Be my guest,” the runner said, as he stepped aside and motioned for Hasa to proceed.

  It was a trap. The minder could see that now. But he couldn’t back down without losing face. Hasa stepped into the dome-shaped chamber, pistol at the ready. The response was instantaneous. A simply dressed man appeared out of thin air and raised a bejeweled hand. “I am Emperor Hios,” the apparition intoned. “This is my tomb . . . And, should you be so stupid as to pass through that door, it will become yours as well.”

  Having become entangled with the semitransparent specter, Hasa gave a yelp of fear and stumbled backward. Rebo made a grab for the missing amulet and clutched the religious medal instead. Norr felt a sudden and completely unanticipated sense of sorrow as she looked at the holographic likeness of the man who had once been her father. A man that only she, as the emperor’s daughter, could kill. Had killed, and given birth to, each time Lysander occupied her body. “Stay!” Norr commanded. “Lead us to your body that we might reclaim your true legacy.”