close together against the gray-black of the mounting surface that they looked to be the walls. Between the black spots electrical bolts shot in a frenzy of activity, trillions of blinking hair-fine arcs jumping from one little black dot to another apparently at random, although they knew, somehow, that it was planned.
They were not alone in the chamber. Three were human: a young, neutered woman from one of the insect-like commune worlds, another young woman, fully developed but looking weak and thin, and a young boy also from one of the clone and genetic-engineering factories. With them were what appeared to be a mermaid riding atop a great creature like some gigantic alien cockroach, a green plant-creature with a head like a curved pumpkin and spindly vinelike limbs, a huge creature that looked like a six-armed human torso and walruslike, mustachioed face set atop a coiled snake-like body—
It was pulpy, and somewhat shapeless, a giant beating and pulsating heart supported by six long, powerful tentacles. It seemed to have no eyes, ears, or any other sensory organs.
“The alien creature is a Markovian,” they heard Obie’s voice explain. “That is Nathan Brazil in his true form. You are inside the Well of Souls, in a control room for one of the races, probably ours, as the two women—- Vardia and Wu Julee, two of Yua’s First Mothers and, not incidentally, Mavra’s grandparents-to-be—remembered it.”
They were aware now that the scene, three-dimensional and lifelike, was in fact a tableau, frozen in place. Now Obie selected his starting point and the scene went into playback. For the first time they saw that the six- armed walrus-snake, among others, was pointing a weapon at the creature Obie called Nathan Brazil.
“Nate! Stay away from there!” the snake-man warned menacingly. “You can be killed, you know!”
The pulsating mass bent slightly toward the snake creature. “No, Serge, I can’t. That’s the problem, you see. 1 told you I wasn’t a Markovian but none of you listened. I came here because you might damage the panel, do harm to some race of people I might not even be aware of. I knew you couldn’t use this place, but all of you are quite mad now, and one or more of you might destroy, might take the chance. But none of you, in your madness, has thought to ask the real question, the one unanswered question in the puzzle. Who stabilized the Markovian equation, the basic one for the Universe?”
There was a sudden, stunned silence except for an eeriethump, thump, thump
“I was formed out of the random primal energy of the cosmos. After countless billions of years I achieved self-awareness. I was the Universe, and everything in it. Over the eons I started experimenting, playing with the random forces around me. 1 formed matter and other types of energy. I created time and space. But soon I tired of even these toys. I formed the galaxies, the stars, and planets. An idea, and they were.
“I watched things grow, and form, according to the rules I set up. And yet, I tired of these, also. So I created the Markovians and watched them develop according to my plan. Yet, even then, the solution was not satisfactory, for they knew and feared me, and their equation was too perfect. I knew their total developmental line, so I changed it. I placed a random factor in the Markovian equation and then withdrew from direct contact.
“They grew, they developed, they evolved, they changed. They forgot me and spread outward on their own. But since they were spiritual reflections of myself, they contained my loneliness. I couldn’t join with them as I was, for they would hold me in awe and fear. They, on the other hand, had forgotten me, and as they rose spiritually they died materially. They failed to grow to be my equals, to end my loneliness. Their pride would not admit such a being as myself to fellowship nor could their own fear and selfishness allow fellowship even with each other.
“So I decided to become one of them. I fashioned a Markovian shell, and entered it.”
The scene froze again, and Obie’s voice returned to them. “A replay of the last time, over a thousand years ago, that the Well of Souls was entered and alterations made. Although the reality of what you have witnessed may be slightly different, since it was constructed from memories, I did have two accounts to work from so it is reasonably accurate.”
They found themselves back on the platform again and the little dish was already returning to its rest position. Gypsy noted that Obie had taken the opportunity to clear the table.
“Hey! Computer! We could make a fortune if we could build that sort of thing for theaters,” the dark con man called out hopefully. He was ignored.
Yua looked incredibly smug. “The final proof!” she breathed. “You see now that we are correct. You see now the problem and the urgency. Let us find Nathan Brazil so that we may worship Him and beseech His favors.”
Marquoz was a little more cynical. “Obie? Did everybody buy that story of his?”
“Not Ortega—the Ulik, or six-armed snake you saw; nor the twin Vardia, the plant-creature, a Czillian, who agreed with Ortega that Brazil was a mad Markovian throwback who simply did not join the great experiment and was, perhaps, the operations manager of the Well Computer—the chief mechanic, if you will—left to see that all worked properly. Much of the Well World still thinks of him so.”
“What do
“That there was a First Creator, possibly the way he stated, is consistent with what we know of the dynamics of our Universe,” the computer responded. “There is a great deal of inconsistency in Nathan Brazil’s character. Some of it suggests that his story is true, some that he is far less than what he says. Ortega is an Entry. He was originally a Com freighter captain, who, like Brazil, was transformed into a member of the race you saw. Ortega knew Brazil personally and professionally, and even after this demonstration did not believe. I prefer, like Ortega and the Czillians, to reserve judgment. Ortega was a self-confessed liar, thief, and scoundrel; he characterized Brazil the same way.
“I would suggest, however, that it does not matter at all whether or not we believe Brazil is god. That is totally irrelevant, something we may never know. The only thing we know for sure is that he knows how to work the great machine called the Well of Souls. As such, he is the one and only entity known to us who might repair it. Since he set the Well to call him if there was any problem, we must assume it has done so—in fact, I have monitored the call. Hence, we must assume that, if Brazil is still alive, he has chosen not to answer the distress call. Why? In the earlier incident he had lost most of his memory. This or something equally debilitating could have happened to him now, in which case it is even more imperative that we find him. The last time he was in the Well he set it to open for no one but himself.”
Marquoz sighed. “That’s it, then. Let’s do it.”
The High Priestess looked surprised at this sudden and simple acquiescence, but was very pleased.
“We’ll need a lot of help,” Mavra Chang noted. “He’ll have buried himself very well. Even if we manage to dig him up, he might catch on and rebury himself even deeper—if, indeed, his disappearance is deliberate and not a sign of something more ominous. We can’t use the government—he’s obviously got a lot of influence there. That means the Fellowship.”
Yua was ecstatic. “Of course we will channel all our resources into the search. I will convey—”
“Iwill convey!” Mavra snapped, cutting her off. “I think I had better see just who and what we’ll be partners with myself.”
“But you can not go to Olympus!” Yua protested. “It is forbidden—and you could not survive there, anyway. You haven’t the physical adaptability for it!” Mavra smiled. “I will. Marquoz, will you and Gypsy please get off the platform and stand about where we did when we were served dinner?”
“With pleasure!” Gypsy responded and moved well away; Marquoz, too, was not eager to subject himself to the computer’s scrutiny any more than necessary.
Mavra seemed satisfied. “Obie, you know what to do.”
“Right, Mavra,” the computer answered pleasantly. The dish swung out. Yua got up and started to say something, perhaps to protest, but it was too late. The forms, the table, the chairs were all bathed in the violet glow, and disappeared. The platform was bare. “Now what… ?” Gypsy mused aloud, but Marquoz held up a small green hand.
And they were. Two forms, minus the furniture, rematerialized.
TwoYuas, absolutely identical, stood there. Two High Priestesses.
“Yua, you will take me to the Temple. We shall go by conventional ship; I wish no suspicions raised,” one
