“Then why haven’t you acted?” she demanded. “Why have you allowed this to go on?”
“I am helpless,” Obie responded. “I cannot move. I am isolated where the only communications I have without severe time-lag is with Trelig’s system, which would do no good whatsoever. The alterations to reality are restricted to that little disk, and I cannot even activate that myself. It takes a series of coded commands to give me access to the arm. This, however, will change tomorrow.”
“The big dish,” she whispered. “They will connect you to the big dish.”
“Yes, and once connected, they will find it impossible to break that connection. I have already worked out the process.”
She thought a moment. “Does Zinder know?”
“Oh, yes,” Obie responded. “I am, after all, a reflection of him in this form. Ben is a bright lad, but he doesn’t really understand the complexities of what I am or of what I do. He is more in the nature of a brilliant engineer than a theoretical scientist. He can use Dr. Zinder’s principles, but he cannot totally divine them. And, in that way, he is like the person who becomes an expert cheat at cards and then tries to cheat his teacher.”
She sighed. “Then Trelig has lost,” she said quietly.
“In a way, yes,” Obie acknowledged. “But his loss does not mean our victory. When the power is turned on tomorrow, I will achieve power beyond your comprehension. I intend, when switched to activation, to create a negative rather than a positive bias on the dish. This will place the whole of New Pompeii under the blue.”
“What will you make of us all, then?” she managed.
Obie paused, then continued. “I will make nothing. If I can, I will restore the sponge addicts to normal, with the realization of that fact. That should take care of Mr. Trelig. However, I may not get the chance.”
“There is danger, then?” she prompted uneasily.
“Trelig has explained to you about the Markovian stability. He has told you of the possibility of a master Markovian brain somewhere, maintaining all reality. When I reverse the bias, there is a good possibility, in theory, that New Pompeii, while within the field, will have no existence in the prime equation. I have felt this slight pull on subjects under the disk. The pull on a mass of this size may be impossible to contain, because of my power limits, or, in any case, may take more time than we have to learn how to counter.”
Mavra Chang thought hard, but she couldn’t quite follow the logic and said so.
“Well, there is a ninety percent chance or more that one of two things will happen. Either we will all cease to exist, to have ever existed-which, at least, will solve the present problem-or we will be pulled, instantaneously, to the central Markovian brain, which is most certainly not within a dozen galaxies of us. That’s galaxies, Citizen Chang, not solar systems. There is a probability that at that juncture conditions for life on New Pompeii will cease to exist.”
Mavra nodded grimly. “There’s also the possibility that you will collide with it. You may destroy the great brain, and all existence with it!”
“There exists that possibility,” Obie admitted, “but I consider it slight. The Markovian brain has lasted a long time hi finite space; it has tremendous knowledge, resources, and protective mechanisms, I feel certain. There is an equal possibility that I will supplant it-and this disturbs me most of all, for I do not know enough to stabilize all New Pompeii, let alone the universe. A theory of ours is that the Markovians intended just that. It would maintain reality until a newer, fresher race came along to redirect it. The prospect frightens me, but it is, of course, also only one theory with a remote probability factor. No, the odds are that at midday tomorrow I and the whole of New Pompeii will, one way or another, cease to exist.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Mavra asked, chilled both by the fate described and by the calmness with which Obie was dismissing the possibility of the end of all existence.
“When I record, I record everything,” the computer explained. “Since memory is chemical in nature and is dependent on a mathematical relationship with self-generated energy, when I recorded you yesterday I knew what you know, have all of your knowledge and memory. Of all of them, you alone possess-so far-the only qualities for even a slight chance of escape.”
Mavra’s heart leaped. Escape! “Go on,” she told the machine.
“The sponge delivery ship will not fit your needs,” Obie told her. “It has no life-support system in the cockpit. However, it is possible for you to get aboard one of the two craft currently docked. I shall program you now, I shall give you all the details of New Pompeii as I have them, all the information you will need. I shall also modify you slightly, give you a visual range and acuity that will obviate the need for mechanical lenses and power packs. Small glands soon to be inside you will replace the need for nodules of chemicals; the fingers of your right hand will be able to inject the most powerful hypnotic from near-invisible natural injectors. Your left hand will produce a different venom; one touch and it will paralyze for an hour; two touches and it will kill any known organism. I shall also heighten your hearing and reshape, invisibly, your muscle tone so that you will be much faster, much stronger-that will give you unparalleled control of your body. The uses of all these modifications will come naturally to you.”
“But why?” she asked. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“Not for you,” the computer responded, a sad tone in its voice. “The price laid upon you is a demand, something you must do or you will find yourself unable to leave. You must fulfill the first half of your mission. You must take Nikki Zinder with you or you will stay with us. And, with the two of you goes an additional gift.”
Mavra was stunned, and nodded dully, thinking of all this.
“Also within your brain is a precious secret. There is an effective agent against the sponge. It will not cure an addict, but it will permanently arrest the mutant strain in the human body. It will save Nikki, and it will save countless thousands of others. You must get it to higher authority.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Remember!” Obie cautioned. “The activation is set for thirteen hundred standard hours. When you awaken from this dream, it will be four hundred hours. I cannot delay and hope to succeed. You must be at least a light-year away from this place by then, with Nikki. Anything less, and you will still be within the field. That means you must take off not later than eleven hundred thirty hours! When you have lifted off, if Nikki is aboard, the code you require to bypass the protection circuits will be given you. If Nikki is not aboard, it will not be given. Understand?”
“I understand,” she told the computer grimly.
“Very well, then, Mavra Chang, I wish you good luck,” Obie told her. “You have powers and abilities undreamed of by others; do not fail me or yourself.”
Mavra Chang awoke.
She looked around in the darkness, and tried to focus. Suddenly the whole place came in, clear as a bell, although the room was plainly still dark. She turned slightly on her back, and felt that tail, still there.
That, and her incredible night vision, told her that everything she had dreamed was true. She possessed other facts now-the complete knowledge of the construction and layout of New Pompeii, down to the smallest detail. She could rebuild it from memory, she knew.
She relaxed and concentrated. She didn’t know how she was doing what she was doing, or on what principles the trick worked, but she knew how to do it. In exactly three minutes she came out of the trance, looking at the little camera. It was fixed squarely on her lying on the bed, naturally. It was an automatic type that should follow her movements.
She rolled off the bed in a flash, and lay there, for a moment, on the side. Landing on the boots was uncomfortable, but it was another half-minute before she risked a look back on top of the bed.
The camera was still focused on the center of the bed-and why not? There was the nude form of Mavra Chang, tail and all, sleeping peacefully.
Mavra marveled even though she knew she was staring at a holographic image. It had been created by her own mind and by some powers she didn’t understand that had been added to her body, but she hadn’t the slightest idea how such a thing was possible. It didn’t matter, she thought pragmatically. The fact that the illusion was good up to six hours was the only important thing.
The pullover was no problem, but the body stocking proved a real nuisance. It wasn’t designed for a tail. She considered a moment about what to do, then discovered that they hadn’t merely laundered the garment, they had tailored it. The alteration included a hole through which the tailbone fitted and through which the thick, wiry hair would slip easily.
Good old Trelig, ready for everything, she thought sardonically.
Only the boots now remained a problem. She didn’t want to leave them, yet she couldn’t use them until she was outside the main building. She decided she’d just have to carry them.
They did seem much lighter to her, and for a second she wondered if they had been tampered with, She spent a couple of minutes assuring herself that they were the same. So what else could account for the change? Then she remembered Obie’s words: she was stronger by far than she had been. She accepted that.
She left in the same manner she had the night before, leaving the seals in place, face and hands blackened and energized against the infrared lenses of the cameras.
She retrieved the pistol which was, to her relief, where she had left it. She put on the holster and quietly slipped out. The forty-meter dash seemed even easier now; she wasn’t certain that she hadn’t broken a new track record.
She used the second suction ball, first dropping the boots over. She hoped there would be no further need for the wall-climbing trick; she had only two more of them.
Putting on the boots gave her more than a literal lift; she felt bigger, stronger, more invincible with them on.
Her eyes, she noted, adjusted to whatever mode was needed. She saw clearly and perfectly regardless of light conditions. She also saw things slightly differently; other colors, far outside the human spectrum, gave new and subtly different blends of a wider spectrum to all things. The sharpness and detail also amazed her; she hadn’t really realized, until Obie corrected the problem, that she had been growing nearsighted.
Her hearing, too, had improved dramatically. She heard insects in the grass and trees, and could isolate them. Scraps of conversation, a few people talking and moving far away, she could hear. The din, which included more of the ultrasonic and subsonic than normal, was irritating, but she found, with a little thought, she could tune parts of it out.
She moved swiftly and silently through the grounds, as familiar to her, somehow, as if she had been born and raised there, and she looked, in her movements, more like the cat she always fancied herself than she could know.
She had no chronograph to tell her the time remaining to her. There was a sixty-minute one on the front of the belt that could be activated, but she didn’t bother. She was moving as fast as she could; if she didn’t make it, all the chronometers in the world would make no difference.
She deplored the time spent on the survey mission the night before. But, on reflection, she decided it hadn’t been a waste after all. She was able to see what Trelig did to human beings, she retrieved the pistol, and, she felt certain, her success at her initial foray had been what made Obie pick her.
She made the guard quarters without incident, but here was where things would get rough. Two guards would be on duty here, and perhaps four more, relaxing, on call. They had all been processed by Obie, unbeknown to them, and so she recognized them all, knew their looks, strengths, and weaknesses.
They were all sponge ODs, kept that way carefully. There were three males-two with physical characteristics of overdeveloped females but with their genitals intact, one that the sponge had made into a gorilla-like muscleman, hairy and with muscles like rock. The others were females-three with totally male characteristics except in the important place, the rest with totally exaggerated female characteristics. Those like Nikki, who reacted to the overdose differently, were not considered for guard duty.
As guards they accepted their lot; they hated Trelig, yes, but they knew the hopelessness of their position and they had plenty of models around them of what would happen if they incurred their master’s displeasure and their dosages were dropped to a fraction or none at all. They were loyal to the man who controlled the sponge, and they lived fairly well because of it.
They would be dangerous.
At the guard building, Mavra’s newly acute hearing told her that there was no one near the entrance. She went inside, descended to the ground-level laundry room, and slipped in. Although she now knew the code for the elevator, she decided not to risk using it unless she had to. The building had three underground floors, each story ten meters high-not enough distance to matter.
There were pressure-sensitive treads on some of the stairs, though, and she carefully gripped the rail and lifted herself past them. She had always been a good gymnast, and the lighter gravity and Obie’s toning made doing so as easy as taking a step forward.
The sensors would be the main line of defense for the building; cameras were positioned only inside the secured weapons locker and in the prison rooms themselves.
That last was what worried her. There would be no way to fool the camera that watched Nikki Zinder, for the girl had no devices to deceive it as Mavra did. It might not notice the intruder, but it would certainly notice Nikki walking out.
Mavra took time to check out the rest of the building. Two guards-whom she didn’t recognize-were inside the weapons locker with the camera monitors. Armed to the teeth, they would respond quickly. Two others, it appeared, were sleeping on the second level. They were unarmed, but formidable enough, and, once the alarm sounded, she would have no way of knowing where they would be. She decided to take the risk.
Flexing her new poison apparatus, she saw the conscious muscle movement necessary to allow a tiny drop of the fluid to reach the point of the nails. Satisfied, she crept into the room where the two guards, both females like the one she had hypnoed the night before, were sprawled on bunks, sound asleep. One was snoring loudly.
Mavra acted quickly, almost without thinking, releasing venom concealed in the fingers of her right hand in the one that was quiet first, then turning and puncturing the arm of the snoring guard. Incredibly, neither woke up, even though there was a tiny spot of blood where the sharp nail had penetrated.
Professionals they weren’t, she decided with some relief. That ought to teach Trelig not to be so cheap and so confident with his security.
She bent over one and whispered: “You will sleep deeply and restfully, and dream happy dreams, and nothing, no person or sound, shall waken you.” She did the same to the other.
That would hold them until the venom wore off.
Next she set out for the third-level weapons locker. Trelig thought he was smart putting the duty office inside the locker; an outer office, really. It made them unassailable.
The vault door would take a ton of explosives to blow, yet it could be opened by a safety lock on the inside in seconds. But vaults were designed to keep people out.
Mavra drew her purloined pistol and fired at the lock junction, a continuous burst that caused the hard surface to start to bubble, slightly deform. It was designed that way; the strongest energy weapons would only reinforce the door by causing a more malleable outer layer to seal the locking mechanism. Great for storing jewels and art; terrible if someone was inside. Before those two could get out or anyone else could get in, Trelig would have to blow his own safe.
Confident, almost cocky with her success, Mavra Chang went down to the other end of the hall and punched the code for Nikki Zinder’s room.
The door slid open. Nikki was there all right, sprawled out on the bed.
Mavra hardly had time to react before a stun bolt froze her stiff.
UNDERSIDE-1040 HOURS
Trelig’s communicator buzzed. He reached under the folds of his white robe and undipped it from a little stretch-belt, then held it up to his mouth and pressed a stud.
“Yes?” he snapped, annoyed. This close to his triumph he did not like interruptions.
“Ziv, sir,” a guard reported. “We awakened the representatives as you ordered. One of them is not in the assigned room.”
Trelig frowned. Even less than interruptions did he want complications, not now. “Which one?” he asked.
“The one called Mavra Chang,” Ziv replied crisply. “It’s simply amazing, sir. There’s a holographic projection of her on the bed so real it fooled even us-let alone the camera. And it had no apparent generation source!”
The master of New Pompeii didn’t like what he heard at all. He tried to remember which one she was -oh, yes, the real tiny woman with the strong Orchi features and the silky smooth voice.
“Find her at all costs,” he ordered. “Shoot to stun if you can, but if there is any blatant threat to life or property you have my permission to kill her.”
He reclipped his communicator and looked around at the master control board. Gil Zinder, sitting in a folding chair, noted Trelig’s worried expression and smiled a bit. This irritated the councillor all the more -Zinder should not be so bold on this of all days.
“What do you know of this?” Trelig snapped angrily at the little man. “Come on! I know it’s some of your doing!”
Gil Zinder hadn’t the faintest idea what the man was talking about, but he couldn’t help a touch of satisfaction at seeing that something was obviously wrong.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Trelig. How could I have anything to do with anything, kept cooped up here and away from the controls?” Zinder responded with a trace of amusement.
Trelig towered over the small scientist, face becoming red. For a moment Zinder was afraid that he was about to be torn limb from limb. But Antor Trelig had not gathered his power by losing complete control, ever. He stopped, held back for a moment in frozen fury, and gradually normal breathing and color returned to his face. His expression, however, was still dangerous. “I don’t know, Zinder, but you and that brat of yours will pay dearly if anything goes wrong,” he warned.
Zinder sighed. “I’ve done everything you want. I’ve designed and built your big dish and massive storage, linked it, and checked it. Your creature Yulin has kept the only controls, and I see my daughter only under guard. You know full well I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
That last remark triggered something in Trelig. He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then snapped his fingers.
“Of course! Of course!” he mumbled to himself. “It’s the girl she’s after!” He grabbed for his communicator.
“Cameras in full deployment,” Obie’s voice came to them. “Asteroid target in position in seventy minutes.”
TOPSIDE-1100 HOURS
Nikki Zinder stared at the frozen figure in wonder. “She’s cute,” she said, almost clinically. “And she’s got a tail!”
The guard nodded as he stripped Mavra of her pistol, then backed away. It was one of the female-looking males. He resembled the women upstairs except in two departments: the genitalia and his height, which was more than 190 centimeters with the body proportionately large.
“Stay over on the bed, Nikki,” the guard told her. “She’s coming around now and I don’t want you to get hurt.”