The Return of Nathan Brazil

it.

“Mavra, don’t say it,” his voice came to her. “For one thing, I agree with you a hundred percent. I don’t want to do it. But I have to. Try to understand.”

“I’m trying, Obie—but I just can’t accept it.”

“Look, Mavra. It’s not the way Brazil says. I have no desire to be a martyr. With the death of Nikki, I’m the last of the Zinders. I hadn’t expected her to die, Mavra. I had hoped that she could be helped by me, given the fresh start she deserved.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, Obie, I don’t think you could have done a thing unless you wanted to wipe her mind.”

“I know, I know. Still—it’s kind of strange, isn’t it? Her going today, that is. The both of us…”

“It doesn’t have to be, Obie! Come on! We’re partners. Fifty-fifty. You don’t have a majority to dissolve the company.”

“It’s dissolved in favor of a new one. You know that. It was dissolved the moment they used the Zinder Nullifiers. I know—both of us thought it would go on forever. New challenges, new worlds. I guess the biggest mistake was in not checking back here regularly. If we had, we could have handled the Dreel and none of this would have happened.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about that,” she admitted ruefully.

“But we didn’t, Mavra. It’s done. What hurts most is that we did a lot of good out there. No matter how fouled up they were going, we managed to turn them around, put them on the right track. It was surprising how similar we were to most of the rest—although I guess when you consider they all sprang from the same Markovian roots, it’s not that odd. Still, we saved a lot of lives, a few planets, maybe a civilization or two.”

She nodded and smiled. “It’s a record to be proud of. And, most of all, it was fun, too.”

“It was. But for what? When Brazil pulls the plug on the Well, Mavra, they’ll all be gone. They will never have been. The space and time that have been superimposed on the Markovian Universe will vanish. Such a waste. ”

“You sound like Brazil, Obie. Why not give them a chance, then? As he wants to?”

“They don’t have a chance, Mavra—and neither do I. Either we destroy it all, for all time, with no hope of restarting, or we restart now. Either way I shall die. It’s better this way.”

“But must you die?” she pressed. “Why now? We’ll need you.”

“You should never need me,” he came back. “That’s the trouble. All of you have been too dependent on my big and little dishes. You’ve grown rusty from playing god, Mavra. And, no, I need not die. Truthfully, I do not know what will happen. I might go mad, I might just injure myself. I will probably short out. There will be no danger; I have already disconnected life-support and maintenance from dependence on me, so it’s like old times again there. Nautilus will survive and work—for a while. Who knows? I’m not god, although sometimes it was easy to think myself so. I don’t know what will happen. I only know that while I do what I must, I find I regret a surprisingly small amount of my own life. I regret none of our association, Mavra. The others—to them I am a machine, or a powerful, alien entity to be feared. Only you, Mavra, see me otherwise. Only you have been my confidant, my close, dear friend.”

He paused for a moment. She was too choked up to say anything, and she had the oddest feeling that Obie was feeling the same very human way.

Finally he said, “I will tell you what needs to be done and everybody’s role in it. It’ll be a memory readout; you are already strong enough to resist all the extraction methods known to me. In a sense I give you more than that, a little part of me, the most human part, that will rest back within the dark recesses of your mind, but when you need me I’ll be there. Still partners, Mavra.”

“Still partners, Obie,” she managed.

She was suddenly back in the chamber and the others were staring at her. She stepped down.

“Marquoz, please,” Obie summoned. The little dragon sighed, got up on the platform, and looked around at the empty air. “Mind if I continue to smoke?” he asked. The violet beam descended.

“Marquoz,” Obie said, “you are not here by accident but by design. Not mine, though, I am not clear whose. Perhaps there is some power greater than we. Still, in my estimation you are the absolute best person for the job. A great deal of work is to be done, and you must bear part of the responsibility.”

“You seem awfully certain that Brazil will do it,” the little dragon pointed out. “You also seem awfully certain that we’ll do it, whatever you have in mind for us, anyway. Suppose Brazil comes back and still says no? Suppose he doesn’t come back?”

“He’ll come back,” Obie assured him. “You must understand that only his body is a part of the reality you and I know and accept. His spirit, his soul, that part of him that is his personality and memories—it’s not part of our Universe at all. It is so alien that I cannot begin to understand it. It is as if he is made of antimatter. You see it—it looks real, acts real, is normal in every way. But touch it and you explode. I understand antimatter; I can even become antimatter. He is of a past Universe and an alien form that is beyond me, for I have no frame of reference, nothing against which to compare him.”

“That’s what’s going to happen?” Marquoz asked worriedly. “You and he are going to combine and explode?”

“No, nothing like that. He is adapted to our Universe; he can accept ours. You might say, though, that we are just a part of his reality. He is a bucket and we are water. You can fill a bucket with water but not water with a bucket. He will receive my data and see that there is no course open to him but mine. Believe me. But I will also get his data, and it will be in a form and amount that I cannot handle. It shouldn’t harm him, except perhaps to shake him up. It will harm me.

“Listen well. I will tell you your role in what is to come. Brazil will be in charge, but I already know the basic idea that must be used. Accept his leadership—but never think of him as a god. He’s not—he is a very human being, something which puzzles me a great deal. Think of him as the only known repairman for a broken machine. Act accordingly. Your job is to get him to the Well. On the Well World yourself, you will survive. Receive the information.”

Yua received much the same instruction, although when she emerged from the violet glow she seemed a different person, more knowledgeable, more worldly, more self-confident. Obie had given her what he thought she’d need.

Gypsy was next. He didn’t want to go, but the riflemen gave him little choice. He sighed and let the glow take him.

“Hello, Obie,” he said casually.

“Hello, Gypsy,” the computer replied. “I am giving you the least instruction and the least well-defined role in the coming drama because I believe you are the most resourceful of the bunch.” He hesitated. “You agree with what I am about to do and what I am forcing?”

All the playful pretense was gone now. “Yes, Obie. You know, don’t you? How?”

“You couldn’t hide it from me forever. Yes, I know—and I think I understand, in a way. I didn’t ask you anything about your motives or your own ‘how.’ I only asked you if you agreed.”

“This is very hard on me,” Gypsy said hesitantly. “Academically, yes. I guess I’m more like Brazil than like you, Obie. I—I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t insist somebody else do it, either.”

“You did once,” the computer said.

He nodded absently. “I guess I did at that. I suppose we know our own selves the least of anyone.” He looked up, although there was no one to see. “Obie? Do you forgive me?”

“I forgive you,” the computer replied softly. “There is little to forgive. Help them, though, won’t you?”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “Who would have thought it would have come down to me, eh?” The chuckle was without humor.

“Good-bye—Gypsy.”

“Obie—there must be another—” he began, then stopped. “So long, Obie,” he said at last. The glow was gone.

“It’s time, Nathan Brazil.”