01. Midnight At the Well of Souls (25 page)

"No good," the bat replied. "Nontecbnological hex. Those great weapons are never any use where you need them."

Brazil rooted around in the pack and pulled out a gleaming short sword. Looking at Wu Julee, he asked, "Remember this?"

"It's that Com girl's!" she exclaimed. "So that's what that damned thing was that kept hitting me on the side! How in the world did you wind up with it?"

"It was left in Serge's office at Zone," he reminded her. "I went back there a few days after arriving in my home hex. I found the Zone Gate, dodged Ambreza guards, and jumped in, managing to get word to Ortega before those giant beavers made me into a domesticated pet. Old Serge gave it to me. Said it might come in handy. Ever used one?"

She looked at it strangely. "I—I don't think I've ever even killed a bug. I don't know if I could."

"Well, you'll have to find out now," he told her. "Your arm muscles and speed make it a better weapon for you than for me."

"What will you use, then?" she asked.

"Five thousand safety matches and a can of flammable grease," he replied cryptically. "You'll see. What about you, Cousin Bat?"

"Carrying a weapon would keep me off-balance, but I can always pick up and drop rocks," the creature replied. "Besides, my teeth and my airborne punch are extremely effective."

"Okay, then," Brazil nodded, reasonably satisfied. "We're as good as we're gonna get. Remember, our
best
hope is no fight at all—to sneak through and that's that."

Wuju took the sword and tried a few awkward thrusts. She didn't look sure or confident. "What—what do I aim at if I have to use it?" she asked uncertainly.

"The head's always the best," Cousin Bat told her. "Even if it isn't the brain, at least it's the eyes, nose—things that matter. A second choice is the genitals, if any."

* * *

No roads led to the Murithel border, and they had to walk the last several kilometers in the dark.

"We'll stay on this side through tomorrow," Brazil said tensely. "Then, near sundown, we'll go."

They spent the night talking, except for an hour or so when Cousin Bat left for his nightly feeding. Brazil tried to keep Wuju awake most of the night, so they would sleep the following day, but well before the night was half over she had succumbed.

He decided to let her sleep, and spent the earlier hours talking to the bat. The creature was easy to talk to, but gave little useful information and rather glib lies.

Brazil resisted the temptation several times to come right out and ask Cousin Bat who he really was and what he wanted, but never quite got to the point of doing so.

Both finally were asleep by morning.

* * *

Wuju was up first, of course, but she didn't stray far from them. Brazil slept until almost midday, and Bat finally had to be awakened later on when he showed every sign of sleeping until dark.

Murithel was clearly visible from their camp. It didn't look very menacing; in fact, it looked beautiful.

Brazil had one of those uneasy memories again. He remembered a place long vanished and forgotten. He'd been standing on a barren hill overlooking some rough but scenic landscape. A couple of thousand meters from that hill ran a line of trees lending color to the landscape. What he could see of Murithel reminded him of that long ago day, and gave him the same feelings, for the river that had fed those trees was something called the Little Bighorn, and a few years before he had seen it, others had as well. He bet that that landscape had looked as quiet and peaceful as this one did to that general who came into primitive territory.

How many Indians are behind those rocks and trees? he asked himself.

The landscape was formed of low, rocky mountains and rolling hills, some made up of bright orange rock eroded into strange and eerie patterns. Others were more a dull pink, with clumps of trees here and there and grass on the tougher portions. A line of trees betrayed a small river or stream off to their left. The sky was cloudy and the sun reflected strange shadows off the landscape.

"I think it's beautiful," Wuju said. "But it looks so
strange.
Even the sky seems to be a lighter blue, with yellows and greens in it. But it's so rough and rugged—how will we know that we're going the right way?"

"No problem on a clear night," Brazil replied. "Just head toward the big, bluish-orange nebula. Looks as if it's clouding up in there, though."

"I agree," the bat put in, concern in his voice. "We might have some rain. Bad for navigation, bad for flying if need be. It'll slow us down."

"But it'll also keep the Murnies down," Brazil pointed out. "If we get rain, we keep going as long as it's possible. The Slongornians say that that low pinkish range of hills with the little bit of green goes pretty much northeast for almost half the distance. I'd say we get to it and follow it. Looks as if there may be caves and shelters there, too."

The bat nodded approval. "I agree. If I were to live in such a place, I'd make my camps and villages along river and stream courses, on the flats but in defensible positions. If we stay away from such places unless absolutely necessary, we might just make it."

"As close to sunset as possible, I want you to reconnoiter the area from the air," Brazil told Cousin Bat. "I want to know as- much as possible about what's in there, reasonable paths and the like, before we go." He went over and pulled the sword out of the pack, and changed his shirt to the long-sleeved one with gloves. With Bat's help, they tore the shirt he had been wearing, twisted and tied it to make a makeshift scabbard fixed around Wuju's neck and draped to one side so all but the hilt was in the shirt.

"That ought to hold," he said with satisfaction, "if the sword doesn't tear through the material and if you remember to hold the cloth when taking out the sword." Next he removed a small, battered tin and took out something that looked like oily grease.

"What's that?" she asked, curious.

"Slongornian cooking fat," he replied, applying the stuff to his face and neck. "Something in it is like a dye. Bat's black and you're brown, but my light skin will be a giveaway in close quarters. I want to be able to blend in."

Satisfied, they settled back to wait for sundown.

THE BARONY OF AZKFRU, AKKAFIAN EMPIRE

Vardia regained consciousness slowly. Even with the aid of what looked like a sunlamp, it was almost half an hour before she could make any movement at all.

The Umiau she knew as Cannot groaned softly. With great effort she turned her head a little and saw that the mermaid was having a similar struggle to regain muscle movement.

"Son of a bitch!" the Umiau swore in Confederacy plain talk.

She would have gasped had she the physical equipment for it. She recognized the dialect at once, though she hadn't heard it since she was in Ortega's office in Zone.

"You—are—from—the—Confederacy," she managed, the voice sounding strangely distant and fuzzy.

"Of course," the mermaid growled. "That's what all this is about. I am Elkinos Skander."

Vardia stretched and flexed, feeling far surer of herself with every passing moment.

The Umiau stared at her for a moment, a puzzled frown on her face. "You mean you really haven't any idea about what's going on?"

Vardia shook her head. "No, nothing."

Skander was thunderstruck. It simply hadn't occurred to her that anyone hadn't known at least part of the story. "Look," she began, "you're Vardia, right? You came in with that party from Dalgonia?" She nodded, and the mermaid continued. "Well, I came in a few weeks ahead of you."

Now it was Vardia's turn to be astonished. "Then you—it was
your
tracks we followed!"

"Indeed they were!" Skander replied and proceeded to tell her the entire story—the discovery, the opening of the gate, even the murders. Only the point of view had changed on the latter.

"I returned to the camp instead of staying on station," Skander lied. "By the time I arrived, this rascal Varnett had already killed them. There was no way out, no chance of holding him off, so I made for the Gate. I hadn't any real idea where it would take me, or if it would kill me; but I was being chased by a madman. I had no choice. When I arrived, the Gate had not yet opened, and Varnett caught me. We struggled—he was much younger, but I was in far better condition—and the Gate opened beneath us."

He went on and told how they were separated, interrogated for several days, and finally allowed to pass through the same Gate she had gone into. "I don't know what happened to Varnett," Skander finished. "I woke up a Umiau and damned near drowned those first few hours. The Umiau spotted me and I was taken immediately to government Center by two police. They kept me locked up until I normalized, and while there I was apprised of the unique situation here and of my own new situation. When I heard about the Center and the contacts with your people, we decided to strike a bargain—me with my new people, and my people with yours—to solve the problem of this planet once and for all and," the mermaid concluded, with a strangely fiery look in her eyes like those of a religious fanatic, "whoever does solve it will control this world at the very least, and perhaps all of them."

"But none of our people has ever sought power," she objected.

"All
people seek power," Skander replied firmly. "Few, however, are ever given the opportunity to grab it."

"I still can't see my people wanting to rule the world or whatever," she said stubbornly. "Perhaps yours, but not mine."

Skander shrugged. "Your people are a mystery to me, just as mine would be to yours. Maybe they only wanted to add the ultimate knowledge. Maybe they still wouldn't have done it, but for one factor."

"Which is?" she asked, still unwilling to accept what she was hearing.

"Varnett, of course. He's out there; he has the same formulae I do for contacting the brain, and he's at least as smart, perhaps smarter than myself. We couldn't take the chance. If anyone was to break the final puzzle and control the brain of this world, it would better be the Umiau—and the Czillians, of course," the scientist added hastily.

"So how did we come to this?" Vardia asked, waving her tentacles around at the barren dirt chamber with its incongruous electrical outlet.

"Because I was stupid," Skander replied harshly. "Someone found out who I was—how I don't know. But our ambassador at Zone got a warning that someone was out to kidnap me, and so I cleared out and lay low for several weeks. I relied on the fact that most species can't tell individuals of another species apart. I came back, eventually, using a colleague's name and office, and tried to complete the last few days' work. That's why we were pushing it around the clock. I'd already solved half the puzzle and hoped I could crack the rest. I even had you transferred up—not for what you
were
doing, but because I could talk conversationally to you about the Dalgonian Gate and your own experiences."

Now she was really puzzled. "Why would my experiences be any different than yours?"

"Because the Gate should have closed behind us!" Skander exclaimed excitedly. "We—Varnett and I—opened it when we cracked the code. Our minds opened it. But there's no reason why the thing remained active—if it has. The resupply ship should have been in shortly after you and gone through the same motions—then most of them should have arrived here."

Vardia thought back, and told about the strange emergency signal.

"Another funny thing. I hadn't really thought about it, but—"

"Go on!" Skander prompted. "What was it?"

"I—I'd swear that your two ships
vanished—
just
weren't there—before the Gate opened."

The Umiau was suddenly very excited. "Vanished! Yes, that would explain it! But, tell me, who else was in your party? I glanced at the information but didn't pay much attention at the time."

"There was a big, ugly fat man, I don't remember his name," she recalled, straining. It all seemed so long ago. "He turned out to be a sponge merchant—and he had this girl, Wu something, who was all fouled up on the stuff."

"No one else? Wasn't there a pilot?"

"Oh, yes, Nathan Brazil. A funny little man no bigger than I was. But old—his pilot's license was pre-Confederacy!"

Suddenly Skander laughed and rocked back against the wall on her long fish's tail, clapping her hands once in amusement.

Vardia didn't understand at all and said so.

"They've kidnapped the wrong person!" the Umiau replied, still chuckling.

"That's very interesting, Dr. Skander, but where does that leave us?" came a weird, unearthly yet quiet voice that seemed to be made up of pulses and chimes, although both kidnap victims understood every word. They both turned, as The Diviner and The Rel glided out of a nook hidden in shadows.

"What the hell are you?" Skander said, more in wonder than in fear.

"We are, I'm afraid, behind your rough treatment and discomfort," The Rel replied.

"You're not from around Czill," Vardia observed almost accusingly. "Nothing like you is related to the kind of life we have here."

"We are from the Northern Hemisphere," The Rel explained. "However, we were obliged, upon learning of Dr. Skander's mission through means not worth explaining to you, to forge an alliance. You are in the Akkafian Empire, on the other side of the ocean from Czill."

"Those big bugs," Vardia put in. "The ones that came through the glass—they're not . . ."

"They are," The Rel replied. "I fail to see why that should disturb you. So far we haven't found much difference in any of you Southern races."

"No difference!" Vardia exclaimed, upset by the comment. "Why, just look at the two of us! And—how can you compare us to those bugs?"

"Form doesn't matter," observed The Rel. "Only content. I find most of your actions and reactions incomprehensible, but consistent. As for those bugs, we'll have one with us for quite some time, I fear. I have arranged it so that we draw only the weakest link in this society, but it takes no deduction to assume that the creature will be incredibly brave and loyal in our defense until that final moment when we are at the controls of the planetary brain. Then, of course, it will kill us all."