Quest for the Well of Souls

humans in the early days. There are also legends of people being possessed by demons. I can’t but wonder if the Yugash…” He left the uneasy thoughts incomplete, but the Yaxa got his point.

“We think you’re probably right,” Racer agreed. “Surveys of many Entries have indicated this possibility, and the stories are remarkably similar. It’s entirely possible that Yugash roam in many areas of space, the descendants of those who occupied the bodies of prototype colonists leaving the Well eons ago. However, we have pretty well determined that, while a Yugash can control your body, it cannot read your mind. Thus, for lack of knowledge, it still could not fly the ship, nor could it gain the means of entering Obie.”

Yulin nodded. That was a relief. But practical problems remained. “I’d still feel better if we could find some way to be in control of ourselves at the critical point, when we’re inside Obie. The old legends mentioned ways of warding off evil spirits. If the legends of the spirits are based on fact, then the protective spells probably are, too.”

“We are ahead of you,” the Yaxa assured him.

“We have compared the legends of many Entry races for common factors, and, more important, we wanted to know why none of the six hexes surrounding Yugash were open to their takeover. We think we have found it—a common factor. First, protective amulets of some sort were always worn—though a few were vegetable matter, the ones that were not were frequently made of copper or a copper alloy. We checked into this, and, indeed, in all the hexes surrounding Yugash we found enormous quantities of copper, copper oxide, or copper sulfide, either in the physical composition of the creatures or in the atmosphere itself. And there is no copper at all in Yugash!”

Ben Yulin’s bovine face could not smile, but satisfaction was evident there, and relief.

“But there’s still the political problems,” he pointed out. “The Uchjin will block any attempt to move the ship, and, besides, we don’t have the means of doing so.”

“We’re working on that,” the Yaxa assured him. “I doubt if we can ever get to the Uchjin, but between the Yugash and a Uchjin neighbor, the Bozog, we may have the means to seize the ship by force. The Bozog have the methods to move it, and their high-tech hex could be the launch site. The price would be their inclusion in our little party, of course, and they are not a very trustworthy race. We recently learned they have also contacted Ortega and Trelig. They will work with the first group to reach the ship.”

Ben Yulin exhaled slowly. “So it’s to be a race, is it? But, tell me, why didn’t the Bozog just swipe the ship themselves?”

“Because they have no way of flying it,” the Yaxa snapped irritably. “To the first one who provides the methods, they will provide the means.”

Yulin considered this. “The logistics? Air supplies, food, and the like?”

“Already being quietly constructed,” Racer told him. “And with the Torshind’s help, we are mapping the best route there. It will be longer and more dangerous than the direct route, but it will keep us basically in high-tech and semitech hexes so the breathing apparatus and life-support systems tailored for this mission will operate.” The Yaxa hesitated for a moment, considering its next questions carefully.

“Our biggest doubt,” it went on, “is you. Can you still pilot after all these years? Can you get by Trelig’s robot sentinels after such a long passage of time? And can you open that computer?”

Yulin took in what the Yaxa meant and thought about it seriously.

“As to piloting, I’m rusty, sure, but the system’s basically automated. It’s a matter of knowing what to push in what sequence. I think I can handle that, as long as there’s no fancy stuff or crash landing required. As to getting into the computer—oh, I’m sure of that. And as long as I have eyes, fingers, and a voice, I can control it. The sentinels present a hairier problem. Of course, Trelig never knew it, but I ran the problem through Obie for my own benefit—that is, I think, how he knew which signals to give to Mavra Chang—and got the code. It’s based on books in Trelig’s New Pompeii library. We’d have to work out a long computer problem—I know the titles involved, but there are fifty-seven key ones and the thing was changed daily on an oddball progression. A little hypnosis should bring them back clearly. But—twenty-two years’ worth. That’s where either Trelig or Chang would have the advantage. They’d be 100 percent sure, we’d be about 90 percent.”

The Yaxa nodded with its body. “It is sufficient. I gather you do not wish to reach an agreement with Trelig?”

“Good God! No!” Yulin shouted, then got hold of himself. “Never—you don’t realize the depths to which that man’s capable of sinking. I do.”

“It will take about two months to get the hardware built and tested,” the Yaxa said. “During that time, others will not be idle. Ortega already has the hardware—he’s had it for years. And he may know more than any of us. Radio signals of a strange type, directed toward New Pompeii when it is visible, have been intercepted coming from some point near the Overdark Ocean. We have been unable to decipher them or get any idea as to what they contain. But it is certain that similar signals have come back from the satellite. Someone is talking with that computer!”

Yulin was aghast. And yet, it made sense, somehow. Obie did have broadcast capability, put in so that it could be remote-controlled from space when Trelig’s big projects started.

“But they still won’t be able to get him out of ‘defense’ mode,” he pointed out.

“If it’s Ortega, he wants the thing destroyed, not used,” Racer retorted. “It’s too great a risk! And the Yugash are a bunch of freebooting anarchists. If the Torshind can do it for us, some other Yugash might get ideas and contact that Ulik Ortega. Suddenly, after all this time, every second presses, works against us.” Yulin considered this. “But Ortega is by nature conservative,” he pointed out. “He won’t move until he’s absolutely ready if he’s sure he’s ahead of us. The solution is simple—kill the Chang girl before he picks her up and gets her to a Zone Gate.”

“Ahead of you,” assured the Yaxa.

Glathriel

It was a small rowboat, with three occupants, though the two straining at the large oars bore a marked resemblance to a cloudy sky and could only made out with difficulty. At the bow, looking into the gloom, was a tiny creature easier to see. A little owl-faced monkey, a Parmiter from the northwest, peered anxiously toward the dark shore.

“You sure we’re far enough up from that compound and those villages so that nobody will see us?” a deep voice behind the Parmiter asked.

“I’m sure, Grune,” the Parmiter replied in its squeaky tones. “The natives around here are pretty scared of the dark, and they light torches and fires to ward it off. As for the others, well, you saw the pictures. We’d almost have to beach on them for them to see us.”

That seemed to satisfy Grune. “Getting near the beach,” it said. “Hear the surf?”

“Let it carry us in now,” cautioned the Parmiter, “but keep at the ready. You too, Doc. It won’t do to crack up on the beach. We have to get back out to the ship with her, you know.”

Doc sighed. “I just don’t understand why we bother. I mean, it’d be simple enough to kill her—and these primitive places are great pickings. They grow tobacco here, you know. Know what that’s worth over near the Overdark?”

The Parmiter got upset. “Keep your mind on the job, Doc! For this job, they’re paying fifty times what we’ve made in the last two years, but it’s got to be a cinch! None of that petty-robbery business with my double-jointed hips! This is the big time!”

When they reached the beach, two large ill-defined shapes jumped into the water and grabbed the boat, pulling it onto the sand, to where the beach met the underbrush. For a very short time the big creatures were fully visible—long lizards with sharp, horny shields around their heads and tough, leathery skins. And then they started to fade again, automatically adjusting their skin coloration to the background. They pulled a camouflage-mottled tarp over the small boat and left it at the edge of the beach. In the dim light one would have to stumble over the thing to notice it, and they didn’t intend to be there by morning.

Carefully, the threesome walked down the beach, the little Parmiter hopping atop Doc’s head just in front of the horny guard plate.