The Return of Nathan Brazil

“There it is,” Marquoz said, pointing to a single line. “’Jerusalem, HC-23A768744, M Class Modified, arrival Meouit 27 HYR.’ Must not be carrying anything valuable—no classification codes. Probably grain or beer or something like that.”

Mavra smiled slightly. “From what I’ve been told, a cargo of beer or ale would appeal to Nathan Brazil.”

“Me, too,” the little dragon retorted. “The date 27 HYR corresponds, I think, to June 24. That’s five days from now. Anybody know where this Meouit is?”

“Obie does,” Mavra responded confidently. “I think we’ll get there well ahead of him.” She sighed. “Well, I guess it’s time to call a war council. We now know where the man we think he is will be five days from now. We’ll have to be pretty damned sure we don’t blow it.”

They came to the Nautilus once more, to its beautiful gardens and Greco-Roman buildings, then down the elevator for the long ride to the asteroid’s core, down a twisting corridor and across a huge bridge that spanned the main shaft for the big dish—the giant projector that took up much of the underside of the asteroid and was capable not merely of destroying but of reshaping and redesigning whole planets.

On one side of the bridge was the almost never used main control room. Now Obie alone supervised himself and the vast machinery that was the Nautilus. On the other side of the bridge was the small chamber with the little dish and the heavily instrumented balcony. This had been Zinder’s original lab, transplanted here by the evil Trelig. Through monitors Obie could have addressed them anywhere, but he preferred this place for gatherings. It was his “office,” his true home.

Five Olympians assembled there in their great cloaks, three Aphrodites and two Athenes, plus Marquoz and Gypsy and Mavra. Of them all, only Mavra felt totally confident when in this place; it was her home, too, and she was Obie’s partner, not his possession. The others feared her a bit for that; the psychological effect was just right. Except for Yua, the Olympians were trying their best not to look terrified; they knew this was the seat of power— the place where their race was born, not by the act of a benevolent god but by the whim of an evil maniac.

When all were seated except Marquoz, who never sat on anything except his tail, Obie opened the conference.

“First, let me state the obvious,” he began. His voice, materializing from empty air, was unsettling. “We are about to head for Meouit by the most direct course. It would take weeks to get there by ship. I am awaiting word from the crew Topside that our other guests are properly secured for what we call the ‘drop.’ That is what it will feel like—as if you are falling down a deep shaft. Please do not be alarmed; the effect is temporary. Even I feel some discomfort, much more since that rip in space-time.”

The Olympians in the chamber looked apprehensive, but there was little they could do. They were at the mercy of the machine and could only pray that he trusted them enough not to do anything funny with their minds. They didn’t know, nor were they told, that Obie could not perform such tricks on or in the Nautilus unless you were under the little dish.

“First of all,” Obie continued, “remember that, for all our long hard months of work, we only suspect that Rabbi Korf is Nathan Brazil. There is a possibility, although I consider it low, that Korf is Korf. We must be prepared for this just in case.”

One of the Olympians spoke up. “You have powers—the power in some cases to pluck people here from wherever they may be. Why not simply do so with this Korf and avoid any problems? We could find out what we needed to know here, at little risk.”

“What you say is true,” Obie admitted, “but only to a degree. In order to pluck, as you say, individuals I must have a sensor down there actually focused on the object. Mavra has been that focus in the instances you know of, but we cannot be positive that we’ll be able to get close enough long enough for that to happen. Also, please remember, if this man is Nathan Brazil, he will look human but he will be something we are not—he will be a part of a different universal plan than we. We are all—all—by- products of the Markovian equations. Our reality is held firm by the great computer the Markovians constructed, the Well of Souls. Nathan Brazil’s is not. He is independent of that computer except that it aids him in retaining what form he chooses and protects him from death. It also might protect him from being snatched by me. It might severely damage me to attempt to transport him when he is not a part of the basic equations. We can’t risk it, not until we know more, anyway. No, it’s direct action that’s called for. We must convince him to come to us.”

“I foresee a great problem there, then,” Marquoz put in. “He has gone to great lengths to avoid detection. If he knows we’re on to him, he’ll flee and we may never find him again in time. Our approach must be subtle, gentle—but all avenues of escape must be blocked.”

“That is ridiculous!” one of the Athenes snorted. “If He is asked if He is in fact Nathan Brazil, His master plan will be fulfilled and He will show His true powers.”

“But how can you be sure?” Mavra shot back. “Oh, everything’s panned out as your beliefs say so far—but, ah, perhaps more is required. Remember that he went public and was aboveboard until a dozen or so years ago. He must have been asked a million times by customs agents alone if he was indeed Nathan Brazil. You see? I think you have a problem—I think that, even under your own beliefs, logic dictates that you are going to have to ask him by his true name for him to admit it—and we don’t know his true name. If I’m right on that then you’ll panic him just as Marquoz warned.”

That concept seemed to disturb the Olympians slightly. It was a valid point within their faith—and one that simply had never occurred to them. Nathan Brazil was not his true name; it was a traditional first name coupled with the name of an Old-Earth country he’d once been associated with.

“You—you’re just trying to confuse us,” the Olympian accused. “It is the logic of the Evil One!” She made a sign and the others did the same, even Yua.

“Think of it logically,” Obie argued. “If you are right, then nothing is lost by using our methods. You will get your chance to ask. If we are right, then you will have lost that chance, probably for good, by refusing to do it our way. You don’t have a choice, really.”

One of the Athenes, the obvious leader, looked at her sisters and then back at the others. Though a fanatic, she was not stupid. They were about to plunge into some sort of abyss to reach this distant planet more quickly; it would be easy for this computer simply to exclude Olympians, leaving them in empty space.

“Very well,” she said at last. “Your way. But we will have full access to Him as soon as He is contacted?”

“As soon as we know he can’t get away, yes,” Obie assured them. “My word on that.” For all the good it’ll do you, he added silently, although he could tell from Mavra’s expression that she was thinking the same thing.

“He’ll have a spaceworthy ship,” Marquoz pointed out. “An easy getaway. He’ll have to be approached cautiously, taken by surprise but by subterfuge, as well, not by force. We want him as a friend. It worries me that, although you say he should have been immediately called back to the Well of Souls to repair the damage, he has not responded to those calls.”

“Agreed,” Obie responded. “Either his memory has deteriorated again or he has deliberately ignored the signals. If the former, we may be able to return him to his senses; if the latter, it may be something beyond our control. We must be careful. Any suggestions?”

Mavra nodded. “One, I think. You remember, Obie, when you replayed for me the memories of my grandparents’ odyssey with Brazil on the Well World?”

“Yes?”

“I think he really loved Wu Julee. Certainly she loved him. The Well World had turned her into a Dil-lian—a centaur—and you said he had a liking for centaurs. I wonder… Suppose you transformed me into an exact duplicate of her as a centaur? It would mean nothing to anyone but Nathan Brazil. Even if his memory’s gone bad it should shake something loose. As far as everybody else on Meouit is concerned I’d be just another attractive Rhone. I’ve looked over the shipping records—he has no return cargo, so he’s going to be dead heading someplace unless he picks something up here. He’ll come down looking for cargo. Suppose I meet him as the representative of a cargo company? By his reactions to my appearance we’ll get a good idea of whether Korf is Brazil. I think he’d find an appointment with me emotionally and financially irresistible.”

“And we’d be waiting inside at the appointed spots,” Marquoz put in. “I like it.”

“Well, I don’t,” the Athene leader snapped. “By not asking the Holy Question immediately you risk him smelling a trap and not keeping the appointment.”