No. Triumph or disaster, it would end here.
The architectural plans of New Pompeii kept flashing through her head. Something must be there, some key, some way to foul things up. She was sure of it.
Apparently unimportant facts kept occurring to her, and she tried to organize them like a great jigsaw puzzle. But she had far too many irrelevant pieces. Her mind raced—the mind the Ghiskind had called the strongest it had ever encountered.
Obie. Obie was the key. Something about Obie. Think, Mavra, think! No, straining’s not the way. Slow down. Relax. Let it come.
And she had it—part of it, anyway.
“Renard!” she said sharply. He’d been dozing and his head came up slowly, sleepily.
“Huh?”
“Remember long ago, when we escaped from this hole? Remember, we stole the ship and started toward the Well World?”
He was still half-asleep. “Yeah, I guess so,” he mumbled.
“Obie talked to us over the ship’s radio. Remember?”
He was suddenly awake. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” he responded, understanding.
“Let’s get to the ship,” she suggested.
* * *
It was frustrating not to be able to handle the controls. At least there was a central pickup transceiver, not the headsets in the ship they’d used. Quickly she instructed him on the procedures, the radio tuning, power check and the like. Finally, she was satisfied.
“Mavra Chang calling Obie,” she said. “Obie, can you hear me?”
“I was wondering when you’d think of this,” the warm, human voice of the computer responded immediately.
“Never mind the quibbles. We’re not computers,” she responded. “Obie, what’s the situation in there now?”
“Bad,” the computer told her. “Ben has complete control. Oh, sure, I can do this sort of thing, but except on his command, I cannot act on anything that means anything—and I can’t stop him. Worse, Nikki Zinder and her daughter did not move when I told them and they were still here when Ben got into the room. He has captured them.”
“What?” they shouted at once. Both Renard and Mavra tumbled through sentences, and Obie let them run down.
Finally, when they had calmed, Obie explained.
“I spent most of my time trying to probe the Well,” he told them. “I discovered early that if I asked a specific and very limited question, the Well computer would answer it. By that time Trelig, Yulin, and Dr. Zinder—who I was really after—had already passed through. I sensed them, trying to get data on Dr. Zinder, but I was too late. All I could do was suggest that he be placed in a high-tech hex. It was a simple enough idea; I could handle it. So, when Renard and Nikki came through several days later, I was ready. Renard I made an Agitar, mostly because I knew Trelig was a Makiem and the two were situated next to each other. I thought you would act as a check on him, Renard.”
The Agitar nodded. That explained a lot, and eliminated the wild coincidence he’d had to accept.
“Nikki wasn’t ready, though,” Obie continued. “On her own she would be lost almost anywhere on the Well World, and I had no way of making her an Oolakash, like her father. The Well follows rather complex rules, and she just didn’t fit the Oolakash requirements. So, I decided there was only one thing to do. I seized her, practically in transit, so to speak. She went from the Well Gate to a mathematical limbo; then I brought her to me through the big dish Underside and produced her in the control center through the little dish. I cured her of sponge and most of the excess weight. She’s really rather cute. About the only thing that surprised me was that she was pregnant.”
Again there was a chorus of “What?”
“Your child, Renard,” Obie answered. “In Teliagin, when the two of you were sinking from sponge and thought you were going to die. Remember?”
Renard had totally forgotten it. Even with Obie’s prompting he could barely remember it now.
“I needed hands, and I needed people,” Obie told them. “So I allowed her to have the child. A girl, which she named Mavra, after you, Mavra Chang. You made quite an impression on her.”
Mavra felt slightly pleased. “She’s been living in there for twenty-two years with you?” she asked, unbelieving. “And the daughter is almost that?”
“Oh, no,” Obie replied. “Not exactly. Several years, yes. The child is about fifteen, and very attractive—I did remake her slightly,” the computer boasted. “Nikki is about twenty-five. There was no purpose to their living strictly linear existence in there. I could provide the growth-match and some of the upbringing in the same way I put plans in your head, Mavra. They’ve lived off and on inside me.”
“I thought you were the god machine,” Renard pointed out, a little upset at all this. “Why’d you need people?”
“I could make extensions of myself, yes,” Obie admitted, “but not new life. The mathematics isn’t right for that. Even the Markovians had to become their own new creatures. And, of course, there was the matter of loneliness. I needed companionship. They have provided it. And they’ve been even more helpful ever since Dr. Zinder managed to build his transmitter and contact me many years ago.”
The surprised “What”s were getting monotonous.
“It’s been almost like old times,” the computer admitted. “Dr. Zinder was safe and well and happy—and could work with me. We coordinated with Ortega so that we’d know as much as possible what was going on with you all down there. It’s worked out nicely, and we’ve been able to help Ortega and several others with problems. The major task was the study of the Well, which is an endless project, and quite beyond me—and, of course, how to free myself of the Well’s hold. That proved to be relatively simple.”
“You mean you’re independent of it?” Mavra asked.
“Oh, no. I mean I know how to do it. The trouble is that only half of me is controlled by voluntary circuits—much like the human brain. The way to free the other half is to get into the shaft and short out a series of circuits. Harmless, but without them the Well and I cannot conduct proper communication.”
“Then why haven’t you?” Renard asked. “Involuntary circuit?”
“In a way,” Obie replied. “You see, they had me in ‘defense’ mode and that’s involuntary. In that regime, which I am still in, by the way, I can not open the door. I could make Nikki and Mavra into what I needed and give them the skills, or I could create a robot analog and do it myself—but I can’t get out there to do it.”
Mavra’s brain was racing, questions shooting through her mind with blinding speed.
“Obie?” she asked. “Why did you pick me to give those plans to?”
“I didn’t. I told the same thing to everybody I felt capable of doing the job,” the computer responded. “You were just the one who made it.”
That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, and it clouded her thinking for a moment. She recovered with difficulty.
“Obie—Ben Yulin’s going to find this out sooner or later,” Renard pointed out. “And when he does, he’ll free you of the Well’s hold but still be in control. What happens then?”
“As soon as contact is broken, he can reverse the field,” the computer replied. “New Pompeii would be back in normal, familiar space again—and the big dish would be operational. With my knowledge of the Well, and the big dish, he’d have the power to transform an entire planet into anything he wanted.”
“And how long do you think that will take?” Mavra asked.
“Not long,” Obie answered apprehensively. “He has Nikki and Mavra Zinder, and he has learned from them that Gil Zinder can be contacted by radio. Dr. Zinder built me into New Pompeii because of Trelig’s threats to harm Nikki Zinder. Do you think he’ll do less to save his daughter and grand-daughter? You know better. In a matter of hours Yulin will know it all. He’ll break contact with the Well not long after—and he’s very cautious and extraordinarily tricky. I calculate that Yulin will discover that I’m talking to you over the ship’s radio within that period, too, and put a halt to it.”
Plans and schematics continued to flash through Mavra’s head. Something, the key to it all, was there, she knew. But what? I’ve got too much data, she thought in frustration. Can’t get a handle.
“Then time’s running out on all of us,” Renard breathed helplessly.
“Except for Ben Yulin,” agreed Obie.
Underside
Ben Yulin was singularly unequipped to be a world conqueror. He had to order Obie to swing the dish to him, then create some tough rope in an energy-to-matter conversion before he could even tie up the two women. They presented very little threat; the Dasheen bull was extremely powerful, and they had no weapon to use on him. There had been a lot of chasing and yelling, but the result was inevitable.
Satisfied that all was well, he climbed the stairs once again and checked the control panel. For the first time, he allowed himself to relax and think about the past and the future.
True, he told himself, he’d planned everything each step of the way, knowing that he and he alone had to be the one to enter and to control the powerhouse. But he’d been like a prisoner in jail who dreams of escape: so much effort went into planning how to do it that little thought had been given to what was to happen after.
There were ghosts in this chamber all right, not the least of which was the living ghost of Nikki Zinder, whom he’d assumed many years dead. Now here she was—if not pretty, at least cute, and fairly trim.
Obie was a slippery character; you could force him to follow your orders, but if you left him a loophole he’d plunge through every time. That brought up one thought immediately.
“Obie?”
“Yes, Ben?”
“I don’t want you telling anyone else by any means what I’m doing in here, or anything I might do in the future. Understand?”
“Yes, Ben.”
That settled at least one big worry. Next was—
Suddenly Yulin was very dizzy and somewhat nauseous, and he grabbed onto the panel for support, steadying himself until it subsided.
For a moment he was fearful, and he took a few more minutes to calm down enough to think it through. What was wrong with him?
The answer was obvious. As a Dasheen bull he depended on milk manufactured by the female for deficiencies in his own system. How long had it been since he’d had some of the chemical substitute? A day? Two? More?
He was about to order some made up for him by Obie when he stopped.
Do I still want to be a Dasheen? he asked himself.
He liked the culture, he felt comfortable as one; it was practical on the Well World. He’d run enough through Obie to know that control of the Well of Souls computer was impossible unless a machine far greater than Obie was built, and that much was beyond him—at least now. Nor did he dare tinker too much by giving the Well new instructions; the Well was the stabilizing device not only for the Well World but for literally all living things in the universe. Give it improper instructions and one could wipe out civilizations, even oneself. At best summon that Markovian, Brazil—a being who could operate the Well, even cancel out Ben Yulin, New Pompeii, and anything else it wished. He had no desire to run into that character; still, Brazil was also subject to the Well. Handled carefully, he should never know.
But handle what? This was the new problem. To go out in space, looking into new civilizations? Perhaps, one day—but not now. Obie represented unlimited opportunity coupled to virtual immortality.
What he needed were people to do the hard stuff, people he could trust as he could trust his Dasheen cows back home.
There was only one source for such people that he knew of, and that was in the human sector of the Milky Way galaxy, now so far away. One world at a time, if need be, carefully, nicely, normally adjusted so precisely that nobody else would even realize things had been changed. Not Brazil, not the Council.
That meant being human again.
But what kind of human?
He thought it out carefully, sighed, and flipped open the channel to Obie.
“Yes, Ben?”
He punched several buttons on his keyboard. “Unnumbered transaction, file in aux storage under my key only.”
The computer was amazed every time he did this, and opened the section otherwise closed to him. Yulin and Obie always went through a complex exchange on it, which Yulin suffered through again.
“Now, Obie, I want you to listen carefully,” Yulin said slowly. “You will carry out my instructions to the letter, neither adding nor subtracting anything on your own. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Ben.”
“Recall subject Ben Yulin as first recorded physiologically.”
“I have it, Ben,” the computer responded.
“All right. That model shall be the subject, as modified according to the following criteria. First, subject shall be two meters tall and proportioned accordingly, with total muscular development. Got that?”
“Yes, Ben. You want to look like a body-builder,” Obie replied in his sarcastic way. Yulin ignored it.
“Obie, do you have Mavra Chang’s original encoding?” he asked.
“Up front.”
When he’d first escaped from New Pompeii, Yulin used Obie to turn himself into Mavra Chang. At that time he’d discovered that Chang had surgically implanted tiny sacs and needles under her fingernails that could inject powerful hypnotic drugs. He’d had the opportunity to use them once in self-defense and he’d never forgotten them.
“Give subject Ben Yulin the hypnotic injector system found in the Chang encoding below the fingernails. Make it natural, self-refilling, and harmless in all ways to the subject, who shall himself be immune. Got that?”
“I’ve got it, Ben,” Obie said. “It will take some work, but not much.”
He nodded. So far so good. “Further modifications to subject. The best ocular vision system possible, including infrared and ultraviolet perception, full day-night capability with good color and excellent resolution even at great distances. Okay?”
“I have such a system design,” the computer replied.
“Further modifications to subject Ben Yulin: the best hearing in all ranges you can design, wavelength selectable by the subject.”
“Go on,” the computer responded casually. “I’m fascinated by this superman you are constructing.”
He had a few additional ideas. “Obie, you’ve studied the denizens of the Well World. I’m aware that the Lata and a number of other creatures can live off anything organic. Can you adapt subject’s system to do that?”
“It’s getting better,” the computer noted. “Oh, yes. Do you want wings, too?”
Tempting as that was, he passed it up. “No, but can you design subject to be immune to Lata and Yaxa venom?”
“Done.”
“How about Yugash takeover and even severe electric shock?” he asked, pressing it but at the same time truly reveling in this casual godlike activity at his command.
“The prevention of takeover by a Yugash is relatively easy,” the computer replied after a moment. “Immunity to electrical shock is much more difficult. Since I assume that you are merely looking for a defense against Renard, might I just design in a tolerance for voltages of slightly greater amplitude and duration than the Agitar are capable of?”
“Good enough.” Yulin’s mind was racing again. Then he remembered one attribute of at least four Well races that would be very handy about now.
“Obie, among others, the Zupika can blend in with any background. Can this be programmed into the subject, usable on a voluntary basis? I assume true invisibility is impossible.”
“Invisibility’s impossible if you want to remain a creature of solid matter,” the computer replied. “As for ability to blend—well, it might not be as perfect as the natural form, but I think it’s possible. Yes, I can do it.”
“Then add that attribute to subject.”
“Is that all?” the computer asked mockingly.
Yulin’s head cocked slightly to one side. “No, one more thing. Add that subject is male, will breed true in these attributes, and is capable of almost indefinite multiple male orgasms.”
The computer actually sighed. “I should have guessed. That’s three things, but they’re locked in.”
“Closing instructions,” he concluded. “Subject will have all of Ben Yulin’s current input memories and personality—nothing of that is to be changed! However, subject will feel comfortable, normal, and natural in the new body and will know its operation, capabilities, and limits.”
“Coded,” Obie acknowledged.
“This is a closed transaction,” Yulin ordered. “You will be unable to complete any other transaction until it is completed, and your next transaction must be coded by me personally. Clear?”
“Clear,” the computer responded. “Lock and run. Now.”
Yulin walked down the stairs carefully, still dizzy, still nauseous for want of Dasheen milk. He made it to the circular platform and stood upon it. The overhead dish swung out, locked, then bathed him in a metallic blue glow. The image of the Dasheen bull stiffened, flickered, then winked out.
The two women tied up in a corner struggled to free themselves while their adversary was inside the machine, but could not.
Eight seconds later another image flickered in the glow, then solidified. The blue glow disappeared. The dish swung back.
The women stared. Ben Yulin had always been a handsome, somewhat exotic man; now, every muscle developed and bulging, he looked like an Adonis and a David wrapped up in one.
But this one moved, smiled at them, and checked his fingernails. He stepped down, walked over, touched a fingernail to Nikki Zinder’s skin. A tiny needle, a hollow tube of cartilage, injected a clear fluid into her. She struggled a second, then stiffened, and seemed to sleep. Another finger flexed, and her better-looking daughter also succumbed.
He untied them, ordered them to rise. Nikki Zinder was first on the platform; her daughter stood zombie-like, in front. He returned to the console, punched some more numbers.
“New transaction, Obie,” he said, feeling better than he ever had in his life, so confident that he was now a god that worries faded.
“Go ahead, Ben,” the computer came back at him. “My, I did a nice job!”
Yulin actually laughed. “Yes, you did,” he approved. “Now you have a similar set of jobs. Subject is Nikki Zinder. New encoding modifications for subject.”
“You know Dr. Zinder built in a prohibition to prevent my doing certain things to her.”
Yulin nodded. “Not strong enough. Not nearly strong enough. And some of it I can undo. Okay, new subject is to be 160 centimeters high, female, age seventeen standard, the following dimensions.”
Slowly, carefully, he described his Venus. He gave her all of the modifications to sensory apparatus and immunities he’d given himself, including the camouflage ability and digestive-system versatility. Strength, too; great strength, but managed by an alteration in her internal structure and not something that would mar her exceptional beauty.
And a few things more.
“Mentally, subject shall retain all memories and sense of identity, except she shall look upon herself as my slave and my property, and she will consider this right and just and proper, normal in all ways. She will be totally obedient to my wishes, totally devoted to me and my wants, desires, and needs, to the exclusion of all else. Understand?”
“Sure, Ben. You want a human Dasheen cow,” Obie cracked. “It is unfortunately within my limits. Is that all?”
“For now,” he told the computer. “Lock and run. Now.”
It took the same eight seconds or so. He stared down in anticipation, and he wasn’t disappointed. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her daughter he made a twin of the new Nikki, except he replaced Nikki’s black flowing hair with auburn, so he could tell them apart at a distance.
He called for them to come to him, and they did, joyfully, almost throwing themselves on him in adoration.
“All right, girls!” he laughed. “First, I think maybe we’ll explore our new bodies. Then you’ll run a few errands for me while I work with Obie on getting us back where we belong.”
“Oh, yes, Ben!” they both sighed in anticipation.