Yulin thought about it. "You mean these things can take over your body? And the Well switches them—and whatever body they're in—to Yugash?"
"It is so. A bit unnerving, but, thankfully, they cannot enter hexes in the South. The Well is called the Well of Souls for good reason—it recognizes you by your mind, not your form. We firmly believe that we can now move a party of our choosing to Yugash, only three hexes, straight line, from where you crashed in Uchjin."
The news was incredible. He could hardly believe it—there had to be a fly in the ointment somewhere, and he thought of one immediately.
"What's to prevent these creatures from not just letting us go once they take us over?" he asked cautiously. "I've seen enough Well World life to know that my own people's legends of centaurs and mermaids and ghosts were more than racial memory—some of those creatures must actually have gone to the home world of the humans in the early days. There are also legends of people being possessed by demons. I can't but wonder if the Yugash . . ." He left the uneasy thoughts incomplete, but the Yaxa got his point.
"We think you're probably right," Racer agreed. "Surveys of many Entries have indicated this possibility, and the stories are remarkably similar. It's entirely possible that Yugash roam in many areas of space, the descendants of those who occupied the bodies of prototype colonists leaving the Well eons ago. However, we have pretty well determined that, while a Yugash can control your body, it cannot read your mind. Thus, for lack of knowledge, it still could not fly the ship, nor could it gain the means of entering Obie."
Yulin nodded. That was a relief. But practical problems remained. "I'd still feel better if we could find some way to be in control of ourselves at the critical point, when we're inside Obie. The old legends mentioned ways of warding off evil spirits. If the legends of the spirits are based on fact, then the protective spells probably are, too."
"We are ahead of you," the Yaxa assured him. "We have compared the legends of many Entry races for common factors, and, more important, we wanted to know why none of the six hexes surrounding Yugash were open to their takeover. We think we have found it—a common factor. First, protective amulets of some sort were always worn—though a few were vegetable matter, the ones that were not were frequently made of copper or a copper alloy. We checked into this, and, indeed, in all the hexes surrounding Yugash we found enormous quantities of copper, copper oxide, or copper sulfide, either in the physical composition of the creatures or in the atmosphere itself. And there is no copper at all in Yugash!"
Ben Yulin's bovine face could not smile, but satisfaction was evident there, and relief.
"But there's still the political problems," he pointed out. "The Uchjin will block any attempt to move the ship, and, besides, we don't have the means of doing so."
"We're working on that," the Yaxa assured him. "I doubt if we can ever get to the Uchjin, but between the Yugash and a Uchjin neighbor, the Bozog, we may have the means to seize the ship by force. The Bozog have the methods to move it, and their high-tech hex could be the launch site. The price would be their inclusion in our little party, of course, and they are not a very trustworthy race. We recently learned they have also contacted Ortega and Trelig. They will work with the first group to reach the ship."
Ben Yulin exhaled slowly. "So it's to be a race, is it? But, tell me, why didn't the Bozog just swipe the ship themselves?"
"Because they have no way of flying it," the Yaxa snapped irritably. "To the first one who provides the methods, they will provide the means."
Yulin considered this. "The logistics? Air supplies, food, and the like?"
"Already being quietly constructed," Racer told him. "And with the Torshind's help, we are mapping the best route there. It will be longer and more dangerous than the direct route, but it will keep us basically in high-tech and semitech hexes so the breathing apparatus and life-support systems tailored for this mission will operate." The Yaxa hesitated for a moment, considering its next questions carefully.
"Our biggest doubt," it went on, "is you. Can you still pilot after all these years? Can you get by Trelig's robot sentinels after such a long passage of time? And can you open that computer?"
Yulin took in what the Yaxa meant and thought about it seriously.
"As to piloting, I'm rusty, sure, but the system's basically automated. It's a matter of knowing what to push in what sequence. I think I can handle that, as long as there's no fancy stuff or crash landing required. As to getting into the computer—oh, I'm sure of that. And as long as I have eyes, fingers, and a voice, I can control it. The sentinels present a hairier problem. Of course, Trelig never knew it, but I ran the problem through Obie for my own benefit—that is, I think, how he knew which signals to give to Mavra Chang—and got the code. It's based on books in Trelig's New Pompeii library. We'd have to work out a long computer problem—I know the titles involved, but there are fifty-seven key ones and the thing was changed daily on an oddball progression. A little hypnosis should bring them back clearly. But—twenty-two years' worth. That's where either Trelig or Chang would have the advantage. They'd be 100 percent sure, we'd be about 90 percent."
The Yaxa nodded with its body. "It is sufficient. I gather you do not wish to reach an agreement with Trelig?"
"Good God! No!" Yulin shouted, then got hold of himself. "Never—you don't realize the depths to which that man's capable of sinking. I do."
"It will take about two months to get the hardware built and tested," the Yaxa said. "During that time, others will not be idle. Ortega already has the hardware—he's had it for years. And he may know more than any of us. Radio signals of a strange type, directed toward New Pompeii when it is visible, have been intercepted coming from some point near the Overdark Ocean. We have been unable to decipher them or get any idea as to what they contain. But it is certain that similar signals have come back from the satellite. Someone is talking with that computer!"
Yulin was aghast. And yet, it made sense, somehow. Obie did have broadcast capability, put in so that it could be remote-controlled from space when Trelig's big projects started.
"But they still won't be able to get him out of 'defense' mode," he pointed out.
"If it's Ortega, he wants the thing destroyed, not used," Racer retorted. "It's too great a risk! And the Yugash are a bunch of freebooting anarchists. If the Torshind can do it for us, some other Yugash might get ideas and contact that Ulik Ortega. Suddenly, after all this time, every second presses, works against us."
Yulin considered this. "But Ortega is by nature conservative," he pointed out. "He won't move until he's absolutely ready if he's sure he's ahead of us. The solution is simple—kill the Chang girl before he picks her up and gets her to a Zone Gate."
"Ahead of you," assured the Yaxa.
Glathriel
It was a small rowboat, with three occupants, though the two straining at the large oars bore a marked resemblance to a cloudy sky and could only made out with difficulty. At the bow, looking into the gloom, was a tiny creature easier to see. A little owl-faced monkey, a Parmiter from the northwest, peered anxiously toward the dark shore.
"You sure we're far enough up from that compound and those villages so that nobody will see us?" a deep voice behind the Parmiter asked.
"I'm sure, Grune," the Parmiter replied in its squeaky tones. "The natives around here are pretty scared of the dark, and they light torches and fires to ward it off. As for the others, well, you saw the pictures. We'd almost have to beach on them for them to see us."
That seemed to satisfy Grune. "Getting near the beach," it said. "Hear the surf?"
"Let it carry us in now," cautioned the Parmiter, "but keep at the ready. You too, Doc. It won't do to crack up on the beach. We have to get back out to the ship with her, you know."
Doc sighed. "I just don't understand why we bother. I mean, it'd be simple enough to kill her—and these primitive places are great pickings. They grow tobacco here, you know. Know what that's worth over near the Overd
ark?"
The Parmiter got upset. "Keep your mind on the job, Doc! For this job, they're paying fifty times what we've made in the last two years, but it's got to be a cinch! None of that petty-robbery business with my double-jointed hips! This is the big time!"
When they reached the beach, two large ill-defined shapes jumped into the water and grabbed the boat, pulling it onto the sand, to where the beach met the underbrush. For a very short time the big creatures were fully visible—long lizards with sharp, horny shields around their heads and tough, leathery skins. And then they started to fade again, automatically adjusting their skin coloration to the background. They pulled a camouflage-mottled tarp over the small boat and left it at the edge of the beach. In the dim light one would have to stumble over the thing to notice it, and they didn't intend to be there by morning.
Carefully, the threesome walked down the beach, the little Parmiter hopping atop Doc's head just in front of the horny guard plate.
The Parmiter reached into its marsupial pouch and brought out its gas gun, checking it for pressure and load.
"Everybody got their filters in?"
* * *
Joshi grabbed a meter-long match from a large compartment with his teeth and struck it with a quick motion of his head, making sure that his long ears were well out of the way. Carefully he touched the burning end to a small pot filled with a foul-smelling liquid, and it burst into flame, lighting up the interior of the compound. He then dipped the match into the sandy soil, extinguishing it, and pulled on a long rope, raising the burning pot until it was high enough to spread its light. Then, rope still in his teeth, he walked around the post supporting the pot a few times and looped the end around a little nail twice. It held.
Mavra never touched fire because her long hair was too vulnerable; but he, born in fire and scarred by it, had no such fears.
They began cleaning up the compound. Their supply ship, the Toorine Trader, was due in sometime the next day—the hour varied, but it always came on the right day, sometime between dawn and dusk.
Mouth-held brooms swept the wood floors and smoothed out the sand in the outer areas of the compound. Looking at Mavra and Joshi in isolation, one would have thought they were helpless, pitiful creatures; but at work they seemed normal, natural, and able to do almost anything.
True, they depended on others to make the matches, the pots, and many other necessities—but so did everyone depend on others to some degree. Once Mavra Chang had worn clothing and used sophisticated gadgetry, but she could never have made those clothes or built those gadgets. She was once a spaceship pilot, but she could never have built the spaceship nor fueled and provisioned it. She had sought those who could and paid for what she'd needed, just as she used the tobacco stores to pay for what was needed in Glathriel.
Suddenly her ears caught some odd sounds. "Listen!" she hissed to Joshi. "Do you hear anything?"
Josh stopped and cocked a large ear. "Sounds like somebody coming up the beach," he replied, puzzled and curious. "Somebody big, too. You don't suppose the Trader got in early?"
She strained, shaking her head slowly. "I don't think so. I know all of them well, their steps and sounds."
"Not Ambreza, either," he said. "I don't think I heard anything like it. They're sure trying to be quiet about it, too, aren't they?"
She nodded. Old instincts, unused and unneeded these twenty-two years, began to return. There was something wrong here. Something unpleasant was up; she was sure of it.
"Want to fire a distress flare?" Joshi whispered, catching her mood.
She shook her head again. "Takes too long for the Ambreza to get here," she responded in a tone so soft it was almost a wisp of breath.
"Whoever or whatever it is is just outside the door now," he pointed out, moving so close to her that he merely had to mouth the words into her long ears.
"If they get in, escape through the stream gate," she told him. "I don't think anybody will anticipate that."
He nodded. They edged as quietly as possible into the shadows.
"I wish we could risk putting that light out," she hissed. "Wait—see if you can unwrap the rope and hold it," she suggested. "Anybody coming in will have to pass right under the pot. Drop it and the place would be splashed with burning oil."
He nodded and carefully undid the rope from the nail.
"Help me!" cried a wailing, plaintive voice just outside, a voice much too small for the creature or creatures they'd sensed. "Please! Somebody help me!"
Joshi couldn't talk with his mouth full of rope, and he mumbled something.
Mavra caught the idea. "A trick to draw us out," she whispered. "So its big friend or friends can grab us. Damn! I wish I knew who it was and why they were doing this."
She looked around, spotted a roof support that had long needed attention. She had intended to have the Trader crew shore it up the next day, but now it might come in handy. She had a mule's hind legs; mules had a mean kick, and so did she. She considered just where to hit the bottom post so the falling roof wouldn't also catch her.
"Help me! Please help me!" the voice, so pitiful and sincere, repeated.
Quickly she whispered her plan to Joshi. Head turned, mouth full of rope, he didn't risk even a nod, but he got the idea. He tapped his right foreleg three times. Younger than Mavra, Joshi had better hearing than she did. Mavra understood. Three of them. Two big, one little by the sounds. They had underestimated the Chang race.
There was a crawling sound. The little one was crawling up to the door flap, and, now, they watched it slowly open inward, top hinge squeaking slightly. A strange little creature crawled in, legs dragging behind as if broken. Mavra knew from her Well World studies that this was a Parmiter—a Parmiter a hell of a long way from home, two or three thousand kilometers, at least.
The legs really did look useless, and the thing was a truly pitiful sight. For a moment the Changs almost doubted their suspicions, and no noises whatsoever marked the larger creatures they'd heard.
The Parmiter looked up at them, genuine surprise in its face. The creatures were very strange-looking indeed, even if it had studied purloined drawings and photographs. They looked so helpless.
It glanced up after noticing that Joshi held a rope in his teeth. Its beady little eyes followed the rope, through pulleys and across the way, until, almost above it, they arrived at the pot of burning oil.
"Holy shit!" The Parmiter screamed. It jumped up, quickly drawing an odd pistol from a natural pouch.
At that, the Parmiter's two companions decided not to waste any more time on subtlety. They hit the log walls of the compound on the run. There was a tremendous shudder, and the logs gave a little, but not much. Mavra screamed "Hold it!" to Joshi and ran straight at the Parmiter, who suddenly felt itself trapped.
It raised the gas gun but she leaped, coming down on top of him, all sixty-six kilos of her landing directly atop the fifteen-kilo Parmiter, stunning it.
"Ulg!" cried the Parmiter, as all the air in its body was suddenly squeezed out. The pistol fell from its grasp.
Doc and Grune hit the wall a second time, then a third. And that did it. Not only did the wall splinter and give way, but it collapsed the unstable half-roof as well.
As they lumbered into the compound yard, Joshi released the rope.
Mavra rolled as no one would have believed possible and got back on her feet. "The stream!" she screamed to Joshi, and he turned.
The boiling pot landed directly on the back of one of the great lizards, which bellowed terrifyingly in its sudden agony and rolled over, tumbling the other lizard, too.
Fed by the dry straw that was all over, the flames ignited the collapsed roof of the compound.
With tremendous speed, Joshi and Mavra jumped into the icy stream and, trying not to slip, walked along its pebble-strewn bottom to the forest outside.
Inside the compound, the Parmiter gasped. It was sure a couple of bones were really broken now. Blood trickled from a corner of its mo
uth. It looked around, stunned.
"Let's get out of here!" it screamed to its companions, one of whom was still groaning in agony from its burns. "If the natives get here with their spears and bows, we've had it!"
They had not survived so long following so crooked a path to let injury or failure trap them. The Parmiter, with difficulty, jumped on the unburned lizard and the two dashed out of there, fast—followed, almost immediately by the injured lizard.
Breathing hard, Mavra and Joshi stopped and turned toward the compound. They could see the fire's glow, but it seemed to be localized. They watched as the two great shapes dashed out onto the beach, and they saw that while one seemed almost to blend into the beach, hard to see, the other had big dark spots on it that made it easy to trace.
"What the hell is going on here?" Joshi gasped.
She shook her head. "I don't know. But it's the end of our world, that's for sure."
"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "They won't be back."
"Oh, yes they will," she retorted. "Them or somebody worse. They weren't just pirates, Joshi. They landed here just to get us—kill, kidnap, I don't know what. But they were pros. They wouldn't go after us with a village full of cured tobacco just a little ways off. Somebody's put a price on my head."
He shook his head unbelieving. "But—why?"
"The only reason I can think of is that somebody's finally figured out the way to that Northern spaceship, and they're eliminating the competition," she replied in a strange, coldly professional tone he'd never heard in her voice. He was experiencing the true Mavra Chang for the first time, and she bewildered him.
Quest for the Well of Souls Page 5
