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.”
But the computer buried deep within the fl?oating pyramid didn’t understand the reference and hadn’t been programmed for such interactions. The image shimmered, collapsed in on itself, and exploded into a thousand motes of light.
“It wasn’t real!” Hasa announced triumphantly, his relief plain to see. “Come on, men, let’s tackle that door!”
A stylized star gate could be seen as the minder’s glow light splashed the surface of the barrier. Having heard the specter’s warning, the wings were understandably reluctant to approach the barrier at fi?rst but were eventually convinced to do so, only to discover that it was locked.
“Well, that’s that,” Rebo said cheerfully. “It looks like we’ll have to backtrack. Let’s keep an eye peeled for trapdoors however. . . . It would be a shame to lose anyone else.”
“Not so fast,” Hasa said, as he fumbled something out of a belt pouch. “King Kufu foresaw such a possibility— and that’s why he gave me this!”
“This” proved to be what looked like a metal wand but was actually a powerful cutting torch. The minder thumbed a button located at one end of the device and was rewarded with a loud pop and a six-inch-long bar of blue energy. A second pop was heard when the tool was extinguished.
“That looks promising,” Rebo admitted. “But before you turn that thing loose, I suggest that we take positions to either side of the door. Who knows what might be waiting on the other side.”
Hasa had to admit that the suggestion made sense, and ordered the wings to take up positions to the left and right of the barrier. Judging from appearances, the lock mechanism was located on the right side of the door, and the minder was just about to tackle it, when Rebo cleared his throat. “Sorry to butt in, but what if that sucker pops open?
And some sort of weapon goes off? You’ll be right in the line of fi?re.”
Hasa was irritated. “If I don’t cut into the lock, how will we get in?”
“Tackle the hinges,” the runner suggested mildly. “Which you can do from my side without exposing your body.”
Though still reluctant to accept counsel from an inferior, the minder didn’t want to die and repositioned himself on the left side of the door. Then, having reactivated the hightech tool, Hasa went to work. The top hinge began to glow, became white-hot, and soon parted. The door sagged, but held, as the minder cut into the lower hinge. It surrendered, too, but rather than collapse as planned, the barrier remained stubbornly upright. “Kick it,” Rebo suggested.
“That should knock it loose.”
Once Hasa’s boot hit the door the results were nothing less than spectacular. There was a loud crash as the barrier fell inward to reveal a muscular statue. It had a big head, massive shoulders, and stood crouched as if ready to leap forward. There was a throaty roar as its mouth opened, and a tongue of fi?re shot out into the center of the room, scorched the fl?oor where people might be expected to stand, and sent a cloud of black smoke up to swirl just below the heavily embossed ceiling. The statue’s head pivoted from right to left bathing 70 percent of the chamber in fl?ames. The attack seemed to last forever, but actually took no more than fi?ve seconds, and ended when the fi?re-breathing beast ran out of fuel. There was an anticlimactic pop, followed by the whir of hidden machinery, and a clacking sound as damaged servos attempted to close the door.
Rebo blinked and coughed as he moved out into the open. There was plenty of room to pass the now-impotent statue to either side. Hasa yelled, “Wait!” but the runner and the sentient had already entered the next passageway by then, leaving the minder and his troops to bring up the rear.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Rebo cautioned, as he played a beam of light across the wall on his right. “There are bound to be more traps.”
“The passageway is slanted downward,” the sensitive observed. “We’re making progress.”
A good ten minutes passed while the tomb raiders followed the narrow hall down through the hairpin turn that led to another long incline. Beautifully painted murals covered the walls around them. From what she could see, Norr got the impression that the images were intended to tell the story of the Emperor’s life, beginning with his childhood and progressing toward his eventual death. There was even a picture of the ruler’s daughter, which was to say a previous her, as a very young girl.
That was when Norr noticed the regularly spaced apertures that were located chest high along both walls. The sensitive was just about to comment on them when Lysander took control of her body. Many, many years had passed since the disincarnate had worked side by side with his chief architect to create the tomb’s original design. But when the disincarnate “saw” the holes through the thick mist that swirled around him, he remembered what they were for. “Get down!”
the spirit entity said urgently, and pushed the sensitive forward. Rebo felt Norr push him from behind, lost his balance, and threw out his hands to protect himself as he fell. Hasa heard the order, saw the twosome go down, and was already in the process of imitating their action when the carefully concealed fl?echette guns began to fi?re. The steady phut, phut, phut sound generated by the automatic weapons was followed by a loud clatter as the wickedly sharp darts bounced off the intricately painted walls and ricocheted away.
And it was one such projectile that caught a wing in the throat, sliced through a major artery, and left the soldier choking on his own blood. Another variant crawled over to give aid, but was unable to stop the bleeding or see his friend’s spirit rise to stand next to him. Then the prolonged phuuuuuut and clatter generated by the fl? echette guns died away as the weapons ran out of ammo. Darkness fell, but was forced to retreat, as Rebo, Norr, and Hasa remembered to pump their glow lights. “Damn,” the runner muttered, as he came to his feet. “That was close.”
Norr, who had been freed by then, was still a bit dazed as Rebo bent to offer his hand. He looked concerned. “Thanks for the warning. . . . Are you okay?”
The sensitive was about to credit Lysander with the save but decided that doing so would be pointless. “Yes, I’m fi?ne. Thank you.”
