Exiles at the Well of Souls wos-2

by Jack L. Chalker

  But he could operate it.

  And that was Zinder’s greatest fear. Once completed and tested, he and Nikki, especially Nikki, would be superfluous.

  Nor could he secretly program Obie to go so far and no further with Yulin; although he was the designer, he was never allowed at the control console without Ben Yulin’s being there as well.

  New Pompeii had shown Gil Zinder the plans Antor Trelig had for everyone, the kind of master he’d make. He’d mentally calculated and checked and rechecked everything, but his only hope lay in unfounded ideas, untried paths. There had never been a machine like this before.

  * * *

  Mavra Chang eased her small but speedy diplomatic ship into a parking orbit about a light-year from New Pompeii. She wasn’t the first to arrive; seven or eight similar ships had preceded her and now floated in a neat line. Except for a long-sleeved black pullover and her belt, she was dressed in the same manner as when she met Councillor Alaina. The belt was done up to look like a broad band made up of many strands of thick, black rope, bound together with a much larger and more solid dragon buckle. No one would know that it was actually a three-meter bullwhip. Compartments in the buckle contained a number of injectors and nodules for various purposes; the hidden lifts in her boots and their high, thick heels contained other useful materials. Yet, the whole outfit was so natural and formfitting that it appeared she carried nothing at all. She also wore small earrings that looked like long crystal cubes strung together. They, too, disguised more surprises.

  She rubbed her rear a little. It still stung where they’d loaded her with antidotes and antitoxins to protect her from just about everything they could think of. She felt as if, should she get a cut, her veins would drip clear liquid.

  “Mavra Chang as representative of Councillor Alaina,” she told the unseen guardians of New Pompeii on the frequency they’d instructed.

  “Very well,” replied a toneless voice only vaguely male. “Stand to in line. We will wait for the others before transferring.”

  She cursed silently at this last. They weren’t taking any chances—the special properties of this ship, and its nicely disguised life-support modules, would be useless. They would go together, in their ship.

  She took out a mirror and checked herself out. She was wearing some light cosmetics this time—a little brown lipstick, a slight sheen on the hair giving it a reflective, almost metallic blue cast. She had even painted her metallic nails a dull silver. It served to disguise the fact that they were somewhat unusual. The cosmetics were for Trelig. Although literally bisexual, like all his race—he had both male and female sex organs—he tended to favor the male in appearance and in sexual appetite.

  Finally they had all arrived. A large ship came from the direction of the star Asta, a fancy private passenger liner; one by one they docked with it, put their own ships on automatic station, and transferred.

  The group, which ultimately included fourteen, had only two councillors. The rest were representatives, and Mavra could see by the look of some that she was not the only diplomatic irregular in the crowd. The situation worried her; if she noticed this, then surely Trelig would, too. He probably expected it. This, then, was confidence.

  The cabin attendants were polite but efficient. They were true citizens of New Harmony, bred to service. Dark, hairless, each about 180 centimeters tall, muscular, and dressed only in light kilts and sandals, their eyes had the dullness that was typical of Comworlders.

  The Com was the descendant of every utopian group of the original race. They fulfilled the dream of every utopian state: an equal share of all wealth, no money except for interstellar trade, no hunger, no unemployment. Genetic engineering made them all look alike, too, and biological programming devices fitted them to their jobs perfectly. They were also programmed to be content with whatever job they had—their goal was service. The individual meant nothing; humanity was a collective concept.

  The people’s appearance and jobs did differ from Com world to Com world, tailored to the different environments, the different requirements, and such on each. The systems, too, varied slightly from one world to another. Some bred all-females, some retained two sexes, and some, like New Harmony, bred everyone as a bisexual. A couple had dispensed with all sexual characteristics entirely, depending on cloning.

  Most worlds were set up by well-intentioned visionaries who would establish the system. Then the hierarchy would itself be remade, and there would be a perfect society, one without any frustrations, wants, needs, or psychological hang-ups.

  Perfect human anthills.

  But, in most cases, the party that established them never seemed to get around to phasing itself out. A few had tried, and the societies they’d established had collapsed from their inability to deal with natural disaster or unanticipated problems.

  Most, like New Harmony, never tried. The ambition, greed, and lust for power that created the dedicated revolutionary and sustained him in bad times clung to existence for a variety of reasons. Having eradicated those wretched tendencies in their populations, they could not wipe out those weaknesses in themselves. And so New Harmony, after five hundred years in the Com, still had a party hierarchy of several thousand administrators for the various diplomatic and economic zones, and they had Anton Trelig as the one born to lead them.

  Now the rest of the human race was discovering how well he had been bred.

  There were a few perfunctory introductions and such, but not much conversation on the trip in. Mavra immediately realized, though, that Trelig would not be fooled by this motley crew. A two-meter-tall, ruddy-faced, and full-bearded man with bright-blue eyes was definitely not from the Com world of Paradise, where all the people were bisexual, identical, and about two-thirds his height. He was definitely a freighter captain like herself, or a barbarian from the newer settled worlds. Eight males and six females—she thought; with two it was hard to tell—all there more to get information than to be overawed.

  The New Harmony stewards walked down the aisle, collecting pistols. They explained that each of them would be further screened for weapons before disembarking and suggested that surrendering all of them now would save later embarrassment.

  Mavra handed in her pistol; the weapons she really counted on had passed every scanner she’d ever tried. If they hadn’t, she wouldn’t have them with her now. Landing on New Pompeii, she found she had been right. She walked boldly through the scanner, and it didn’t paralyze her, as it did to two of the others carrying concealed broken-down pistols and knives.

  Finally they were all cleared, and Mavra looked around.

  The small spaceport was designed for two ships such as this one; there was another in port, almost certainly Trelig’s private craft. Guards and scanners were all over, but she expected that. Her mission didn’t look impossible.

  She could use some help from the others, she knew, but dared not enlist them for the same reason they couldn’t use her. It was highly probable that at least one, maybe more, was an Antor Trelig plant.

  No luggage was off-loaded; none had been allowed. Trelig would provide, he’d said, and he limited what anyone could carry in the process.

  The man himself stood there to greet them—tall, much taller than the New Harmonites, a giant-sized, muscular, exceedingly handsome version of the model. He wore flowing white robes and, with his very long hair, looked like an angel.

  “Welcome! Welcome! Dear friends!” he called in that now famous orator’s voice. He’d paid good money for it, and he’d gotten value received. He then greeted each in turn, by name, and kissed their hands in the universal formal ritual of greeting. When he took Mavra’s his bushy eyebrows, another departure from the New Harmony model, went up.

  “Such amazing fingernails!” he exclaimed. “My dear, you resemble a sexy cat.”

  “Oh?” she replied, not disguising her contempt. “I thought you killed all the cats on New Harmony.”

  He grinned wickedly, and went on. When all had been greete
d he led them out of the small, plush terminal. The sight was stunning. First, it was green—exceptionally green, a garden of tall but carefully manicured grass. To their left was a great forest that seemed to go off to the seemingly nearby horizon; to their right, small hills covered with brightly colored trees and flowers. And in the center, perhaps five hundred meters away, was a city the likes of which they’d never seen.

  A hill dominated the scene; atop its grassy slopes was a tall building made of polished marble. It was enormous, like an amphitheater or temple. Below, at the hill’s base, stood stylish buildings of an ancient model, also of marble, with huge Roman columns supporting great roofs that were decorated with mythological sculptures cut into the stone. Each had great marble steps going up to its entrance, and some were open enough that the visitors could observe spacious interior plazas festooned with living flowers and great statuary and decorated with fountains at their centers. The central building had a dome and the longest and grandest staircase. Trelig led them to it.

  “I allow as little technology as is practical here,” he explained as they walked. “The servants are humans, the food and drink is hand-prepared, and in some cases hand-harvested. No powered vehicles. I make some concessions, of course, such as the lighting, and the whole world is climate-controlled and maintained under the plasma dome and air pumps, but we like to keep the feeling rustic.”

  They found no difficulty with the walk or with the stairs; the.7 gravity made them all feel great, almost as if they could fly, and they weren’t as tired at the exercise as they would be walking a kilometer on a one-G world.

  Inside the main building was a great hall. A real oak table had been opulently set; it was low to the ground, and they would sit on padded and soft fur-covered cushions when eating. Below the table area was a slightly sunken wooden polished floor, like a dance floor, and the whole area was circled by great marble columns. Between the columns were stretched silken hangings, apparently in strips. They blocked the view, though.

  Mavra looked up and saw that the dome had a complex mosaic design inside. Lighting was adequate—although the hall was somewhat dim except in the area of the polished floor—but so indirect that it was impossible to tell its source.

  Trelig seated them all, and took his own place at the head of the table. Fancy fruit cups were set in front of each place, real fruit, they all noted. Other exotic fruits decorated the tables—kumquats, oranges, pineapples. Many poked gingerly at the fruit with their chopsticks; most had never had the real thing before.

  “Try the wine,” their host urged. “Real stuff, with alcohol. We have our own vineyards here and turn out some pretty good stuff.”

  And it was good, far better than the synthetics they’d all been raised on. Mavra picked at the fruit. Raised on synthetics, she preferred them to the real thing. The wine, though, was excellent. Such stuff was generally available, but usually priced far out of reach for most people.

  Trelig clapped his hands, and four women appeared. They were all tanned and dark-haired, but otherwise distinctly different, certainly products of worlds other than New Harmony. They were all longhaired, wore heavy cosmetics, and were also heavily perfumed. They were also barefoot, and dressed only in filmy, single-piece dresses of unfamiliar but obviously ancient design. You could almost see right through them.

  They cleared away the fruit cups and wine glasses with efficiency, not glancing directly at anyone at the table or saying a word. No sooner did they disappear beyond the curtains than other women, behaving with the same glassy-eyed efficiency, appeared carrying perfectly balanced silver trays on their heads.

  “Disgusting,” Mavra heard a man near her snarl. “Human beings waiting on other human beings when robots can do the job.”

  Most nodded slightly in agreement, although she wondered how many of the visitors were Comworlder politicians with whole worlds of slaves.

  The performance continued throughout the meal, each course being perfectly timed. Wine was supplied in great variety and quantity, and never was a glass allowed to remain empty. The women performed as if they were machines. Mavra counted eight distinct serving girls, and who knew how many others supplied them out of sight beyond the curtain.

  The meal was strange, exotic, and exceptionally good, although Mavra was filled after the second course and several others quit along the way. The bearded man wolfed down the food, though, and Trelig took some of each course.

  Afterward, he showed them how the cushions unfolded into recliners, and they relaxed, with more wine and snacks, while a small circus of musicians and jugglers performed in the lit wooden floor area. The festivities went on for some time, and the evening was enjoyable. Trelig knew how to throw one hell of a banquet.

  Finally when the last of the performers was through and the guests applauded politely in unison, it was time for Trelig to settle them all for the night. “You will find everything you need there, a complete modern toilet. Sleep well! We have an amazing day tomorrow!”

  He led them down to the stage and through a curtain, which revealed a long marble hall. Their footsteps echoed as they walked along the hall, which seemed to go on forever. Finally they made a turn and came upon another, seemingly identical corridor. Now, though, Trelig opened a large, hinged door of solid oak, perhaps ten centimeters thick, and showed each one to his room.

  The accommodations were sumptuous and individually decorated. Mavra’s had a thick carpet of some sort of fur, a writing desk, dressing table, bathroom, old-style dresser, and an enormous round bed.

  She was happy to see it. Although she prided herself on holding her liquor, the wine had been exceptionally strong, perhaps deliberately so. She hadn’t really noticed the effect until she’d stood up for the walk to the rooms. She felt dizzy, slightly giddy. At first she suspected the wine had been drugged, but then realized it was just potent.

  Trelig bid her goodnight and closed the great door with a chunk. Immediately she went over to it and pulled on the bronze handle.

  It was locked, as she knew it would be.

  Next she searched the rooms. One of her earrings buzzed slightly, and she moved to the center of the room and stood under a pretty but largely ornamental chandelier. Getting the chair from the writing table she climbed up. The buzzing grew exceptionally loud. She nodded to herself. Fixed in the base of the chandelier was a tiny, almost invisible remote camera. It was hinged so it could be positioned by remote control in any direction, and had an infrared lens attachment.

  Within ten minutes she found two other cameras, one in the bathroom proper, the only place the chandelier camera couldn’t reach, and another actually hidden in the shower head. The three cameras were placed so that no area of the room was invisible to them.

  The cameras were cleverly hidden, yes, but not so cleverly that they wouldn’t be found by anyone looking for them. Trelig wanted them found by anyone who would care about them at all; it was a demonstration of his power and their futility.

  They were of standard design. She went back to look at the chandelier, saw it wasn’t following her more than haphazardly, and then walked over to the bed. No sheet, she noticed. But one wasn’t needed in the perfect climate control of the room. No way to hide doing something under a cover, though.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, back to the camera, and slipped off her boots, then slid the belt-whip over her head and put it off to her right, away from the camera’s view. Then the earrings, on top the belt. She reached over to a night table, pulled some tissues, and picked up a small mirror. She started to remove some of her makeup.

  As she was doing this, her feet turned one of the boots on its side, and then held it in place while the other foot released studs at four points. The sole fell open on tiny inner hinges, revealing a number of small gadgets. She gingerly got one she needed, clasping it between her toes of one foot, and then grasped another with the other foot.

  Ready now, she slipped off the pullover, got up, and pulled down the body-stocking. As she leaned do
wn to take it off, her left hand grabbed both of the devices.

  Nude now, she stood up and actually turned around. The motion looked natural, but the watchers would draw the obvious conclusion: nothing hidden in the body cavities. Her fingers, the same ones that suckered rubes with cards and the shell game since she was small, held the two small devices invisibly. Assuming the lotus position on the bed, she turned the lights off with her right hand.

  In the exact instant the lights went off, she dropped one of the devices on the bed and pointed the other at the chandelier. She was guided by a beam of light she could see only because of special contact lenses she wore.

  Striking the camera, she snatched the other device, a tiny rectangle, and positioned it so it rested on the pillow, pointed toward the camera. Satisfied, she put the first gadget down and relaxed in the lotus, eyes closed.

  All of this had taken less than ten seconds.

  Satisfied by what she could see through her special lenses, that she’d gotten it right, she opened her eyes, relaxed, then carefully and silently slid off the side of the bed, trying not to jiggle the little rectangle.

  Free of the bed, she checked and saw that the gismo was still in position. The device was incredibly complex; she’d discovered it only when it was used to trap her in a minor con, and she’d paid plenty for it. What it did, simply, was freeze the first image the camera saw and hold it there. There was an automatic adjustment of several seconds from the standard to the infrared mode, a little longer to refocus. She then had eleven seconds to shoot and position the feedback projector, as it was called.

  Quietly, with the stealth and caution of an expert burglar, Mavra dressed herself. She started to put on the boots, then thought better of it, remembering the clattering echo of the halls. She removed the buckle from the whip-belt and used its pin to fix it under the whip, then turned the small whip handle so it could be easily drawn by releasing the nearly invisible binding studs.