Exiles at the Well of Souls

been at a dead end for some time, but now he’s announced—secretly, of course, and indirectly—that he has achieved the ultimate weapon, a weapon that can turn whole worlds Com or whatever he wants overnight. He’s invited fifteen councillors to a demonstration of this new weapon next week. He thinks the effect will be so tremendous that those of us from politically divided worlds will have to vote with him.”

Mavra was disturbed. “What will he do if he gets control?”

“Well, Antor has always idolized the Roman Empire at its height,” the old woman responded, then noticed the blank look. “Oh, don’t worry about it. That’s a minor footnote in history, really. But it had an absolute emperor everyone was taught was a god, a huge slave class, and was known not only for its ability to conquer and hold huge territory but for its depravity as well. What they could have done with the technology we have today can only be guessed at in our wildest nightmares. That’s Antor Trelig.”

“And does he have this weapon?” Mavra asked.

Alaina nodded. “I believe he does. My agents became suspicious when a noted physicist named Zinder suddenly refused to continue his grant at Makeva and picked up, lock, stock, computer, and research staff, and vanished. Zinder’s ideas were unorthodox, and he was never popular with the scientific community. He believed the Markovians converted energy into matter by merely wishing it. He believed he could duplicate the process.” She paused, looking straight at the captain. “Suppose he was right? Suppose he has succeeded?” the councillor theorized.

Mavra said more than asked, “And you think Zinder’s gone to work for Trelig?”

“We do,” replied the old woman. “Not willingly, I don’t think. My operatives traced a suspicious flight out of Makeva about nine weeks ago, a freighter charted by Trelig, his own pilot, no cargo. Some operatives saw them carry a large bundle, shaped like a body, into Trelig’s shuttle. Moreover, we dug and found out that a Dr. Yulin, Zinder’s top assistant, had his education sponsored by a known associate of Trelig and is, in fact, a grandson of one of the sponge bosses.”

“So he knew when Zinder got results, and he has someone else able to check the work. Who do you think was snatched?” Mavra Chang asked.

“Zinder’s daughter. She has vanished, gone long before the project closed down. He doted on her. We think she’s a hostage, held to make Zinder build a big model of whatever he had at Makeva. Think of it! A weapon you point at a world, then tell it what you want that world to be, to look like, to think, whatever—and presto! There it is!”

Mavra nodded. “I’m not sure I can believe in something like that, but—” she paused, remembering. “Way, way back, when I was tiny, I can remember my grandparents telling stories about something like that, about a place built by the Markovians where anything was possible.” She smiled wistfully. “Funny, I never remembered that until just now. They were fairy tales, of course.”

“Antor Trelig isn’t,” Alaina responded flatly. “And neither, I think, is this device.”

“And you want me to wreck it?” Mavra guessed.

Alaina shook her head. “No, I don’t think you could. It’s too well defended. The best we can shoot for—and even this is close to impossible—is to get Dr. Zinder out. And, if our guess is correct, that means rescuing his daughter, Nikki, too.”

“Where is this installation?” Chang asked, all business again.

“Antor calls the place New Pompeii,” replied the old woman. “It’s a private planetoid, his own personal property and preserve. It’s also the center of the sponge syndicate and source of supply for the entire sector.”

Mavra whistled. “I know it. It’s impregnable. You’d need the force Trelig wants to command to get there. Impossible!”

“I didn’t say you had to get into it,” the councillor pointed out. “I said you had to get two people out. We have to know what they know, have what they have. I can get you in—I’m considered such a doddering old relic that everyone would be amazed I had even traveled this far. I have been invited to the demonstration, but they don’t expect me to come personally. Like some of the others, I’ll send a representative close to me, someone I can trust. You.”

Mavra nodded. “How long will I have on this asteroid?”

“Antor has asked for three days. One day he’ll use to entertain and to show off New Pompeii. The second day he’ll give his demonstration. On the third—well, the ultimatums and more sugary charm over them.”

“Not much time,” Mavra Chang commented. “I have to find two probably widely separated individuals, get them out—all under the nose of Trelig’s watchdogs, on his schedule, and on his turf.”

Alaina nodded. “I know it’s impossible, but we have to try. At least get the daughter away. I’m sure they’ve hooked her on sponge, but that can be worked out. Make sure nothing worse happens to you, too. Sponge is the ugliest of narcotics, and that may only be a prelude to what Antor is capable of.”

“Suppose he just hooks us all on sponge in our after-dinner drinks,” Mavra worried.

“He won’t,” Alaina assured her. “No, he won’t want anything to happen to the representatives that could spoil his party. He wants everyone hale, healthy, and in their right minds to be suitably terrified into telling people like me to surrender. But if he discovers your real purpose, he’ll write me off and do what he wants with you. You understand that.”

Mavra nodded silently.

“Will you do it?”

“How much?” was the young captain’s response.

Alaina brightened. “Anything at all if you succeed, and I mean that. To half succeed, bring Nikki out. With his daughter gone, I’m sure Zinder will foul up the works. For that, shall we say—ten million?”

Mavra gasped. Ten million would buy the Assateague. With that much and the ship, she could do just about anything.

“Failure means death,” the councillor warned, “or worse—slavery to Antor Trelig, or slow death by the sponge. Only once in every century, sometimes not for a millennium, are men like Antor Trelig born. Ruthless, amoral, sadistic, dominant monsters. In the end they’ve all been stopped, but countless millions are dead because of them. Antor is the worst. New Pompeii will convince you of that all by itself, I feel certain. See what he thinks of people and worlds, and then you’ll know.”

“Half in advance,” responded Mavra Chang.

Councillor Alaina shrugged. “If you fail, what good will money be anyway?”

New Pompeii

Antor Trelig stood over the pit into which Obie had been integrated into the larger design. Seven months and a fortune large enough to finance whole planetary budgets had gone into that hole. Now he watched as giant cranes placed the “big dish” in place. It, along with the whole complex below, would take up close to half the underside of his asteroid. From the outside the system would look much like the largest radio-telescope ever built.

But its purpose was far more sinister.

Antor Trelig cared little about the expense; it was a trifle to him, tribute extracted from his take of the syndicate and from the pilfered budgets of a hundred syndicate-controlled worlds. Money meant nothing to him in any case, except as a means to power.

Huge space tugs lowered the great mirrorlike device into place, slowly, ever so slowly. That didn’t matter to him, either. That the project was so close to completion was all that mattered.

He walked over to where Gil Zinder sat watching the procedure, like himself at the mercy of the engineers and technicians. Zinder looked around, saw who approached. There was unconcealed contempt on his face.

Trelig was cheery. “Well, Doctor,” he said lightly, “almost there. It’s a momentous occasion.”

Zinder frowned. “Momentous, yes, but not my idea of a happy time,” he replied. “Look, I’ve done it. Everything. Now let me run my daughter through the small disk and cure her of the sponge.”