He started walking alongside the road, choosing the direction leading away from the mountains. That might be a mistake, he knew, as that driver had definitely been going somewhere. Still, there was little sign as to where these people kept themselves in the daytime, or why they were nocturnal despite having keen day vision. There were some interesting puzzles here he’d love to start solving.
A second vehicle roared by him, this time from the opposite direction, not a shovel but an enormous truck filled with gravel or sand or ash or something. The driver didn’t see him, either.
He stopped short. Ash! Of course! These huge volcanos probably popped off pretty regularly but the slow, chunky lava he’d seen indicated that they were probably not dangerous to people on the plains. It would be the ash that would be the problem—layers of it, meters thick, perhaps, at times. Even if the eruptions only occurred every year or two it would mean frequent rebuilding. After a while the natives would have stopped bothering; they’d have built permanent structures underground, in the most solid bedrock they could find. With a high technology that would be easy. Just as his own Chugach had learned to live with the thick desert sand by building and living below it, so must these people have found refuge from the constant threat of eruption by an underground civilization. Only near the sea, farthest from the volcanos and probably with a good, irregular volcanic coastline that made for deep water harbors, would they exist aboveground.
Idly, he wondered how they coped with seismic quakes but decided that they had had an awfully long time to learn to cope with that. There might well have just been an eruption—they would be hauling away the ash, clearing, and rebuilding. It might well be their chief export, as volcanic ash made the best mineral-rich soil known. Mineral-poor and overworked hexes would pay through the nose for a steady supply.
He began to feel better. Even before he had met or talked with one of these people, he felt he knew them.
He was still deep in such thoughts when five small sledlike hovercraft sped up to him. Each bore a single rider, a demon prince of Chugach legend, and each stopped close to him. They nearly surrounded him. He looked up into their faces and felt childhood fears surface. He pushed them back as best he could and summoned up his courage.
All five wore official-looking leather-like jackets, plus holsters. Empty holsters. The pistols were all out, all pointed at him.
Oddly, he felt better at this. He’d been noticed— probably by one of the truck drivers—and he was now face to face with the local constabulary.
Brazil had told him he would automatically be able to speak their language, so he didn’t hesitate. He held up his hands, slowly, palms out, to show that he was carrying no weapons.
“All right, you got me,” he said lightly. “I’m an Entry, I think you call it. The new boy here. Take me to your leader or my leader or something like that.”
They just sat on their funny little sleds for a moment, staring at him with expressionless, demonic faces, pistols drawn. Finally one with some extra buttons on his jacket hissed in a low and nasty voice, “All right. Move. Start walking.”
“Anything you want,” Marquoz responded agreeably and started forward. They followed, pistols still drawn, not saying another word.
They walked for several kilometers. Marquoz was thirsty and hungry, but his captors supplied neither rest nor food nor conversation. He was no longer as sure about this culture as he had been, but he knew he didn’t like these five.
His first guess had been right as to where the people were, though. They came to a junction and he could see cross-shaped plates where the two roads met. As they approached, one of the plates lowered, forming a downward ramp below the other road. He wondered where the controller was. The way these people drove he fervently hoped that it was efficiently automated.
The surface roads were duplicated below, although he had a fair downhill walk before they reached the living levels. Alongside each cavernous route, though, were moving walkways. He took the walk while his escort kept to the road, although he knew that eyes and weapons were upon him. Still, this was easier; he stood and machines did the work, as he was always sure the gods meant it to be.
Suddenly the walls dropped away and he found himself on a bridge overlooking an enormous cavern, one of the largest he’d ever seen. A city was below him, a stunningly beautiful city aglow in colorful lights. Thousands of people rode the intricate network of moving walkways that passed below him. Occasionally Marquoz and his escort would reach a platform and siding where a truck was loading or unloading what looked like great freight elevators. There were no shafts; the great cubes just seemed to float up and down. He guessed it was somehow done with magnetism.
He’d stopped, absently looking over the view, and that irritated his captors. “Keep moving!” the leader hissed at him.
He stepped back onto the walk and let it carry him. “Sorry,” he said, “it was just very beautiful—and very unexpected.” That seemed to mollify and please them; after that they didn’t seem quite so nasty. They weren’t too bright, he reflected. When he’d stepped off the walk to look they’d gone several meters past before they realized he’d stopped. If he had a little more experience being whatever these people were and if he hadn’t wanted to be a captive, he could have escaped them easily or knocked them all off.
There were uniforms and uniforms, though. Loads of uniforms and symbols of what he took to be rank. It was funny, really. The place looked to be a parody of a military state, an almost perfect place for someone of his talents, background, and experience.
They finally reached the place they wanted, a large elevator or whatever with siding, empty now. “You get in,” the leader ordered. “You will be met at the bottom.”
He nodded absently and entered, making sure he cleared his spiked tail before the door rumbled closed. The descent was quick; more, it was fascinating, since the rear of the cube was transparent and afforded him a nice view of the city. He noted absently the little device in one corner of the ceiling that had to be a camera of some kind. He had seen them all over. A dictatorship for sure, he decided. He wondered what the hell they were so scared of.
The view was suddenly masked as the cube settled in its berth and he turned to the door. He felt a bump as the car settled, then the door slid open to reveal a single creature staring at him with those eerie burning eyes. The reception committee’s jacket had slightly more decoration; Marquoz had been passed on to a higher-up, although one not very high, he decided. He saw no squads of nervous guards, no hidden cops or nasties. He was disappointed; he was beginning to like being considered an important enemy of the republic or whatever.
“I am Commander Zhart, two hundred ninety-first District,” the creature told him, his voice a hissing echo of the man above.
Marquoz bowed slightly and walked slowly from the elevator. “I’m Marquoz, formerly of Chugach, a new Entry to this land and this world,” he responded. “Glad to meet someone who’ll at least talk to me,” he added.
“Just come with me,” the commander chided and started off. He followed, noting that the ability to avoid stepping on the spikes of the next person’s tail was an art.
“Just where am I?” he asked casually.
“You are in Hakazit,” Zhart told him. “Specifically, in Harmony City.”
“Hakazit,” he repeated. That was how his mind saw it; actually the sounds they were using to converse would have been impossible for human or Chugach. “Well, this is a most fascinating and beautiful land you have here, Commander. I look forward to a new life here.”
The commander was pleased. “I must say,” he noted, “that you are remarkably calm and relaxed for an Entry. Our last Entry—about thirty years ago— was a frightened wreck.”
“Oh, it comes naturally,” Marquoz responded casually. “I’ve spent a good part of my life in strange cultures among alien people. The new and the strange fascinate more.”
“A commendable, if surprising, attitude,” Zhart approved. “You are a most unusual individual, Marquoz. Tell me, what brought you to such other worlds and creatures? What did you do formerly? A salesman, perhaps?”
Marquoz chuckled. “Oh, my, no! Dear me, no!” He continued chuckling. “I was a spy.”
Commander Zhart stopped short, almost causing Marquoz to step on his tail. He looked back gravely at the new Hakazit and tried to decide if he was being put on.
Marquoz was still chuckling. “A salesman indeed!” he snorted.
South Zone
“there are how many entries in the gate?”
“Between three and four hundred, Ambassador” came the reply on the intercom.
Serge Ortega settled back on his coiled tail. “All Type Forty-one, you say?”
“That’s correct, sir. What do you want done with them? We hardly have facilities for so many.”
He thought for a moment. “Keep them there,” he instructed. “I’ll be down shortly. We’ll just h’ave to do a mass introduction right there and shove ’em through the Well in shifts. Get any personnel you might need from the dry-land embassy staffs. And find me a public address amplifier.”
“At once, sir.”
He did not move at once; they would need some time to set up anyway. He flicked on a televisor screen, one of a number recessed in his curved control console. The screen showed him the great chamber where all those who happened on Markovian gates found themselves. The sight of so many Entries was stunning, even though the chamber was so large that they were still but a small dot in the middle of it. He adjusted some of the controls and zoomed in on them. The other embassies’ officials wouldn’t be able to tell, of course, but it was clear enough to him. They were all stunning human females and all looked just about exactly alike except for hairstyle and some body decorations. Like that woman, Yua, but without the tail. Olympians.
“So it’s begun.” He sighed. Slowly, still considering all the steps he might take, he slithered out the door and down the long corridor to the entry chamber.
It took very little time to brief them, a lot longer to organize the multiracial staff that would escort them in groups of ten or so to the Well Gate. The Olympians all knew what they were about; Brazil and his agents had briefed them ahead of time. But even this early, the pretense was gone—except one, of course. They all claimed that their planet was being destroyed and that a strange little man named Brazil had offered to save them.
That was bad enough. The other staff members would be rushing back to their bosses with the news that Brazil was alive, that he was actively shoving an entire planetary civilization through—and who knew what else?
It took several hours to handle the whole operation. Still uncertain as to his immediate course of action, Ortega called the Czillian Embassy, explained the situation, and advised that race of scholarly plant creatures to activate the Crisis Center at their computer-laden central research complex. The others would have to be briefed, and soon, before they started jumping to the wrong conclusions and taking even worse action unilaterally than they would collectively. A Council meeting, a great conference call of all the seven hundred and one ambassadors, who currently kept embassies at Zone, would have to be called. Ortega was about to order it when his intercom buzzed.
“Yes?” he snapped, annoyed. He needed time to set this all up, time to get everything together, and, most of all, he needed time just to think.
“Sir! It’s incredible! No sooner did we clear the last group than an identical group appeared! At least as many as before! Sir! What do we do now?”
Ortega sighed. No time, damn it all. No time at all. “I wish I knew,” he told the panicked aide. “I really wish I knew.”
Awbri
SHE AWOKE WITH A START. THE LAST THING SHE remembered was stepping into that blackness, and now, as if waking from a long sleep, here she was— where?
On a damned tree branch, she realized suddenly, and pretty precariously balanced. All around her an enormous forest grew, a jungle, really, stretching out on all sides as well as above and below her. No sunlight seemed to penetrate the dense growth, although some must, she knew, in order for there to be so much green.
She knew immediately that her body had changed. The fact that she was grasping the thick branch with clawed hands and with feet that felt very much like hands told her as much.
She had never been particularly fond of great heights, but this was somehow different. She felt no vertigo and had a fair sense of confidence; the limb seemed almost a natural place to be.
Almost without thinking about it she let loose the branch and looked at one hand. Very long, thin fingers of tough skin covered with light reddish-brown fur. Moving the hand up and over generated other movement, and she felt a slight drag on her right side. She twisted her head and saw that there were tremendous folds of skin starting at her wrist and down the length of her body. She couldn’t imagine what the skin was for, but some flexing showed that it was tough and also covered in the reddish-brown fur yet stretchable, almost like rubber.
She risked movement on the branch and realized almost immediately that she had a tail. Trying to keep a good hold on the branch she twisted around to see it. Broad, flat, and squared off at the end, it was not one tail but a series of bones that, fanlike, she could open or close, to widen or narrow the tail. Between was the same rubbery membranous skin.
She was still staring, trying to figure out what to do next, when she heard a sudden tremendous noise and the tree shook. Frightened, she tightened her grip with all four hands.
“You there! Just what the hell do you think you’re doing in my tree?” snapped an odd, high nasal voice just above her.
She started and looked up to see who was speaking. It was easy to see him—but a shock as well, for she knew instantly that she now looked much like the creature who stared at her angrily.
His head was small and flat, almost like a dog’s except for the mouth, which resembled the bill of a duck. A long neck led to a rodent’s body, soft and lithe, looking as if it were capable of bending in any several directions all at once. He too had the flat fanlike tail and the long, thin, powerful-looking arms and legs. The thing was also almost a quarter larger than she, and its fur was a mottled gray.
“I’m sorry, but I’m new here. I came in at Zone and was sent through the Gate and woke up here as this. I’m afraid I don’t know where I am or what I am. I don’t even know how to get down from here.”
The creature’s feline eyes widened slightly in surprise. “So you’re an Entry, huh? You must be, otherwise you’d never make crazy statements like that. Get down? Why in the world would you want to get down?”
“Well, I have to get somewhere,” she responded, a little irritated at the man.
“You can’t stay here, that’s for sure,” the creature snorted. “Hell, I have too many mouths to feed now.”
“But I don’t know where to go,” she said. “I just woke up here on this branch. If you’ll just tell me something.”
He seemed to be considering things. “Don’t have time to dawdle over your problems,” he told her. “Right now you just get off my tree and that’ll be the end of my problem.”
“I don’t think you’re being very friendly at all,” she huffed. “And, besides, I’d love to get off this diseased old tree if only I knew how.”
“Diseased! I’ll have you know that this tree is one of the best in all Awbri! Why, alone, all year it supports twenty-two people! Now what do you think of that?”
“To be honest,” she said truthfully, “I couldn’t care less. I’m sorry I called your tree diseased, but I would very much like to know how to get off it and where to go from there. Don’t you have some sort of government here, some kind of authority?”
He cocked his head slightly, as if thinking about something. “Well, I suppose you can go to the local Council. We don’t need much here in Awbri; no big government or things like that. The Council’s the biggest thing about here, so that’s where you should go. The cowbrey bush in the center of the glade yonder, maybe half a kilometer that way.” He pointed with a foot, idly, index finger outstretched. Truly there were no differences between hands and feet on these people.
She looked in the indicated direction but could see nothing but trees and undergrowth.
“How do I get there?” she asked him. “Walk along the branches from tree to tree?”
He gave a sound that sounded like spitting. “If you want to, sure. But you can fly through a lot easier. The way’s been cut, as you can see.”
She stared. It was true. Openings had been cut, trimmed through the lush growth like roadways in the air. But—fly?
“I—I don’t know how to fly,” she told him.
He made that sound again. “Damn! Well, I don’t have time to teach you. Crawl along, then; you’ll get there sooner or later.”
And suddenly he was off, before she could say another word, shaking the tree again as he leaped into the air, spreading hands and feet and opening his fan tail, sailing off down one of those avenues.
She sighed and started to make her way along the branches in the direction he’d indicated. She couldn’t say much for the manners of these people but there were some possibilities here that were exciting. Never had she felt so keen a sense of balance nor fantastic depth perception! To fly, like that—man?—had flown!
She would learn, she told herself. She would soar effortlessly through space with confidence someday. She could hardly wait.
The journey was not without its problems. The branches were often several meters apart and she was a long time getting the confidence to jump from one to another over such a wide gap. She always made it, though, with unerring accuracy.
She met other—people—too. Most ignored her or looked at her strangely but none bothered to stop and talk. They jumped from every limb of every tree and they flew all over the place, mostly going to and fro on errands that were unclear to her. A few were more obvious; they scampered up and down thick trunks and off onto limbs great and small, spraying and cutting and pruning their trees. Clearly these trees were life in them, they ate their leaves and fruit, they lived symbiotically.
Here and there she came across spots clear to the sun above or to the forest floor below. She immediately understood why the man had wondered at her request to go down; it was an ugly swamp down there, covered with sticky mud, stagnant water, and the occasional growth. Occasionally she spotted great, nasty-looking reptiles, all teeth, lying in mud holes or sliding through the bogs. Not the kind of creatures she really wanted to meet on their own ground. Fortunately, none looked capable of climbing trees.
She finally reached the glade, a nobby knoll of high ground atop which grew the largest tree she’d ever seen, a great green ball that towered above the other trees and masked the sky that should have been visible. It was a good hundred meters or more from the end of her tree to the beginning of the great one.
The muddy swamp was still below her, then the knoll rose, covered with sharp grass stalks leading up to the tree. A large number of Awbrians flitted back and forth effortlessly above the swamp, but she was hesitant. A hundred meters was a long way and she couldn’t possibly manage that kind of jump.
She called out to passing Awbrians but they ignored her pleas and went on about their business, only an occasional passing glance showing that she was being ignored, not overlooked.
She sighed. The light was growing dim; darkness was something she would not like to face here without some kind of refuge. She cursed Obie if he had indeed made her this, and she cursed the Awbrians who ignored her. She was a High Priestess, damn it all! She was used to making an utterance and having it instantly carried out. Never before had she felt so ignored and helpless.
Never before had she felt so alone.
She heard a rustle and an Awbrian landed near her, vibrating the tree. She was used to it by now.
“You look like you’re in trouble,” the creature remarked. “Are you hurt?”
She turned anxiously, relieved to find a friendly voice, relieved that somebody had acknowledged her existence.
“No, I’m not hurt, thanks,” she responded. “I’m just new. I’m—well, I was a different kind of creature until I woke up here a few hours ago. I’m confused and alone and scared.”
The Awbrian, a female, clicked her bill in sympathy. “An Entry, huh? And I guess somebody sent you to the Elders.”
She nodded. “I guess so. These—Elders. They’re the same as the village Council?”
The other made a head motion that also seemed to be a nod. “Yes, sort of. I guess they are the ones to handle you.” She turned, facing the tree. “There’s only one way to get there. It’s easy.”