"McCay, Bill - Stargate Rebellion" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCay Bill)

might deride Thoth's people as mere bean counters, they had no
experience at large-scale operations. Hathor knew the value of good
logistics from her time on Ombos. But there was another non-military
component to Ra's power-the masters of technology led by Ptah, engineer
of the gods. These were the ones who tuned the spacecraft engines,
built the udajeet gliders, who fashioned raw quartz-crystal into Ra's
instruments of wonder-including the blastlances the guards were so fond
of using. To gain control of the empire's technicians, Hathor was going
to meet Ptah. The engineer tended to wander the empire, constructing
and repairing whatever was needed. The scribe spy system, however, had
reported that Ptah had arrived on Tuatthe-world and would visit the
palace on Tuatthe-moon. As Thoth stood with averted eyes, Hathor arrayed
herself in the regalia of a warrior. "I am ready," she finally
pronounced. "Have your people succeeded in locating him?" Thoth nodded.
"He's in the maintenance section of one of the older pyramids." "Lead
the way." The two moved off with a small cadre of Horus guards. Thoth
led them on a circuitous route, both to avoid strongholds of other
factions and to disguise their final destination. Ra would never have
been expected in the maintenance levels of his pyramid palace, as was
shown by the spartan decor. Instead of polished marble and wide spaces
with columns, Hathor's party marched through dark, narrow corridors of
raw stone. The air grew warm and stuffier, with a faint ozone smell, as
if the very stuff they breathed had been subtly charged, ionized by
great energies at work. Hathor knew this atmosphere only too well. Long
ago the first triumph of her career had been to marry the Ptah of the
First Time. The move had elevated her status and brought her under the
eye of Ra. She and the head god had consorted together, and there was
nothing that Ptah could say. He had suffered his divine cuckolding in
cold silence, not even commenting on the brilliant military career
Hathor had carved out on the basis of her own competence. When she left
for Ombos, Ra had been present ... but Ptah had not. Following her
guards down the Stygian passageway, Hathor banished her thoughts.
Ancient history, she told herself. The Ptah of the First Time must have
perished thousands of years ago, as had Thoth, Sebek, and all the others
... except for Ra. And, of course, herself, suspended somewhere between
life and death. Ahead, Hathor discerned light at the end of the tunnel,
not the murky, directionless luminescence that Ra favored but a harsh
actinic glare. "His workshop," Thoth whispered. They entered to find
technicians frantically shifting around some mysterious machinery while
a masked man wielded an arc welder. The mask was made of smoked glass,
unlike the animal heads surmounting most of the gods. The first Ptah
had disdained the practice, and had gone into history depicted as a
bearded human. This Ptah had apparently encountered physical disaster of
cataclysmic proportions. The arm holding the welding device was
mechanical, composed of golden-glistening quartz. In fact, more than
half of Ptah's body seemed artificial, the joints between machinery and
meat hidden in mummylike linen wrappings. The few patches of flesh
Hathor saw were dead white, seeming to glow with the decaying
luminescence of fungus on a swamp tree. The welding device clicked off
as Ptah became aware of his guests, and the protective eye mask morphed