The Return of Nathan Brazil

Yua looked surprised. “Why, that’s you, isn’t it?” she gasped. “Somehow I just never thought of it!”

Mavra broke the silence. Turning, she said, flatly, “Let’s get this over with.” She walked back down the pathway not looking back and Yua followed. Outwardly, Mavra Chang was all business again.

Obie? Where are you now?

“There’s a lot of debris in the system,” the computer responded instantly. “I am well disguised but within range.”

You have a fix on me? She was climbing the long steps to the doors of the Mother Temple.

“I’m locked on,” Obie assured her. “Just let me know when and if you need something.”

Olympians were walking up and down the stairs and in and out the massive Temple doors. Most were tailed Aphrodites but one or two were tailless Athenes garbed in Temple robes and intent on some business or the other. It was a busy place.

The interior of the Mother Temple looked more like a spaceport lounge than a religious center; an intricate model of the Well World hung from the center of a huge chamber and myriad creatures had been depicted in the mosaic tiles that covered the floor and the walls. Many doorways and corridors led from the chamber and before each was a reception desk staffed by a priestess. The place was well organized, Mavra had to admit that.

Yua walked almost the length of the chamber before approaching a particular desk to give a crossed-arm salute and bow to the Aphrodite sitting there.

“Yua of Mendat to see Her Holiness,” she reported quickly.

The receptionist nodded slightly and checked a list, then looked back up at Yua. “You are back early, High Priestess. We had no word you were coming.”

“I report on discussions with the Com government of concern only to Her Holiness,” Yua responded a little icily. “She will see me.”

The receptionist shrugged almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t her problem. “I’ll tell Her Holiness you’re here,” she said, then looked over at Mavra. “Yes?”

“The sister is with me,” Yua covered quickly, “and bears on the report. I will take full responsibility.”

Dark eyebrows rose slightly. The Priestess punched Yua’s code. After a few seconds, a small green light glowed. “You may enter now,” she told them. “Reception Room three, on the right.”

They walked past the desk and down the hall. It was disappointingly mundane after the Temple facade and the grand hall—it looked like office-building corridors everywhere. The door to Reception Room 3 slid open as they approached. Inside were two backless stone benches almost in the center of the room and a small chair of some plastic material sculpted to hold the human form, slightly raised and facing the benches. It’s construction would have prohibited an Aphrodite from sitting; clearly this was Athene territory. A small table alongside the chair was the room’s only other furnishing.

Mavra and Yua had barely sat when the door opened behind them. They rose and turned as an Olympian in a scarlet robe walked in, up to the chair, and sat down, thus proving she had no tail. She had some files under her arm and placed them on the table.

“Hello, Yua,” she opened, nodding toward the High Priestess. “And who is this with you?”

Yua started to answer but Mavra cut her off. “I’m a spy,” she replied casually. “I am Mavra Chang.”

The Athene looked a little startled. “What the hell is this all about?” she snapped. “Are you mad?”

Obie? You got her?

“No problem, Mavra.”

A violet glow surrounded the Athene, her form seemed to sparkle. Then the glow died out suddenly.

The Athene stood, smiled at them, gave the crossed-arm salute, and asked softly, “How may I serve you?”

Yua was astonished, first at her superior and then again at Mavra Chang. Knowing nothing of Mavra’s link to Obie, Yua took this as further evidence that she was in the presence of a goddess.

“Who is in charge of Olympus?” Mavra Chang wanted to know.

“The Holy Mother, of course,” the Athene answered.

Mavra nodded. “She has the ultimate, absolute power here?”

“Why, yes, of course. We all obey the Holy Mother.”

“She is here, in this Temple?”

“Always,” the Athene assured her.

“I wish an audience as soon as possible. Can you arrange it?”

“Oh, yes, surely, although it is highly improper for her to do so. But—I shall need a reason to give her.”

She had considered that. “Tell her that Mavra Chang Tonge returns from the dead to find Nathan Brazil!”

The Athene supervisor returned shortly. “Please, follow me,” she requested.

They walked a short way to an elevator. Mavra saw from the buttons that there were ten floors—five above and five below ground, most likely. The Athene picked none of them; the door closed and the elevator descended of its own accord. Mavra watched as each floor button glowed when the elevator passed, until they reached the bottommost—and they descended another thirty meters or so, judging by the time that passed.

The door slid open revealing a dimly lit chamber. Mavra’s eyes could operate well in the infrared as could the Olympians’. Their view was distinct. The chamber was circular, the walls artificial but hard and without trace of opening but for the elevator doors, which stood at four opposing points and seemed to provide the only entrance and exit.

Mavra Chang turned to the two Olympians who had accompanied her. “Return to the surface and await my instructions,” she ordered in a whisper. They saluted and did as instructed. She was alone in that cold room.

Or was she? She wished she had Gypsy’s ability to say for certain. Her instincts told her that she was being observed from somewhere, but her eyes could not locate the source.

Suddenly the room seemed to burst into light; it was just that, but the effect was disorienting for a moment.

Obie’s voice came to her. “They’re projecting hypnotics at you. I’m neutralizing them.”

It figured, really. You couldn’t be a truly awesome leader unless you gave an awe-inspiring show. Again she thought of Gypsy. He’d love all this.

And now came the voice, incredibly ancient, impossibly weary, and altogether nonhuman. It was a voice somehow powerful yet filled with infinite sadness, a voice unlike any she’d heard before, and it seemed to issue from nowhere and everywhere at one and the same time. “Who and what are you?” it asked.

“Computer-amplified thought waves, first order,” Obie informed her. “This isn’t part of the show. It’s too complex for that.” He sounded puzzled, and Mavra didn’t like that at all.

“I am Mavra Chang,” she told the voice while straining to locate the source. If Obie was correct, the source could be in her own mind.

“Mavra Chang is dead,” the voice responded. “Mavra Chang is more than seven centuries dead.”

“Mavra Chang did not die,” she told the unseen person, creature, whatever. “No one can kill Mavra Chang.” Her own voice, she noted, echoed slightly; the other’s did not.

“You are mad, my child. Receive the spirit of your Holy Mother.”

Suddenly she felt pain, a massive headache and an attack along her entire central nervous system. Mavra dropped to the floor in agony. Slowly she could feel the other, the presence, creep in, invading her mind, starting to take control.

Obie, taken by surprise as well, was quick to react now. Through the link to the body he’d fashioned for Mavra he fought back, casting out the alien mental presence. It was not a battle; once Obie had analyzed the manner of mental attack he countered it instantly, leaving Mavra free but exhausted on the floor. She was in shock and would have liked to collapse but didn’t dare; her survival depended on a different tack. Slowly, unsteadily, she got to her feet and looked around. With a bravado she didn’t feel she shouted, “You see? Shall we talk or will I now come to your mind?” Anger was always a good tonic, and Mavra was mad as hell. “Who dares invade the mind of Mavra Chang?”