Twilight at the Well of Souls

“While an exchange is not possible, nor double occupancy, the complex soul of a complex being might be placed inside that of an animal whose own self is so slight as to offer little or no resistance.”

“The Wuckl once surgically changed me into a pig,” she recalled glumly. “What could be worse than that?”

The Gedemondan nodded. “Very well, then. Understand, of course, several things. First, what soul the animal has remains. It will fight you, but you should win easily, forcing something of a merger. Second, you’ll not be able to talk, since you will no longer have a translator—and, if you did, you probably still couldn’t use it properly. But, remember this, too: once inside the Well, Brazil can restore you as he pleases, which, we’re certain, will be as you please.”

“Let’s do it, then,” she told him firmly.

The Gedemondan nodded, turned, then suddenly said, “Someone’s coming!” and vanished. She stared at where the creature had been; it was amazing, in its own way—more so than Gypsy. Now that she knew the creature was there, she could almost see it, almost hear its breathing and see a little discontinuity. Almost. Gedemondans didn’t make themselves invisible; they just made it so that, somehow, one didn’t notice they were there.

The door opened and two Dahir came in, looking strange by the light of small kerosene lanterns. They didn’t come too far, just looked around.

“I’m sure I heard somebody talking,” one told the other. They walked on, looking in each stall, occasionally getting a noise from one disturbed animal or another, then reaching her. She played as if still out, eyes closed.

They kept the light on her for some time, then turned. “Well,” the other Dahir noted, “there’s nothing here now. Probably just the captive mumbling as the drug wears off. You’re too nervous, Yoghasta.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be with those spooks around?” the guard grumbled, and they walked back to the door and went out, closing it behind them.

The Gedemondan was there again, suddenly, and a shaggy padlike hand went up in a little gesture. Two other Gedemondans moved out of the shadows and stood there, staring at her.

“It will be easier if you are unconscious and if your mind is made receptive to us,” the talker said. The padlike palms went to either side of her head. She knew or felt nothing more.

Bache

“A neutral courier under a diplomatic flag brought this message for you a few minutes ago,” Asam said, handing him a small note.

Nathan Brazil stirred from a makeshift folding chair, reached up, took the paper and unfolded it. “They didn’t waste much time, did they?” he noted sourly, then read the letter.

Captain Brazil,

As you have no doubt deduced by now, we have captured the Dillian Mavra Chang and transferred her to a place of safety. She is whole and well; the drug used is a simple animal tranquilizer with no lasting effects. She is, understandably, quite upset and her descriptions of us occasionally strain the ability of a translator, but, otherwise, she is in excellent health. We have no quarrel with her and no wish to do her harm. Our armies are moving on you at this moment; friendly eyes are watching you at all times, ready to alert us should you attempt escape, and all nearby Avenues are effectively blocked. You can not hope to win. If you surrender now by simply stepping through the nearest Zone Gate, all this will be ended without further loss of life on anyone’s part, including your own. If you choose to ignore this, my only message to you, the woman will die in a most unpleasant and slow manner, and then the battle will be joined. And, please, no crude tricks about sending another double. I assure you that we will put anyone sent to the most severe tests and that a bad result to all concerned would come about if another of your look-alikes turned into someone else and vanished. I have heard so much about you I am looking forward very much to seeing you soon. We have much to talk about.

I remain, sincerely yours,

Gunit Sangh of Dahbi,

Supreme Commander, Central Theatre,

Supreme Commander, Central Theatre,

Brazil balled it up and tossed it into the fire. “Civil chap, isn’t he?” he remarked with a snide smile.

“Like a poisonous spider or hungry snake,” Asam snorted.

“I think we’ve underestimated him, though, so far,” Brazil noted, watching the note burn. “Somehow I thought Serge Ortega would be the big problem, but this fellow is Ortega without… without…”

“Conscience?” Asam prompted.

“A sense of honor,” Brazil finished. “Conscience is something Serge has little of, but he’s an honorable man in his own way. He does what he thinks is right for everybody according to his own lights—whether it is right or not and whether it kills or cures. From what I’ve learned of Gunit Sangh, he might possibly be, at the moment, the most dangerous man alive. I’ve run into his kind many times before, among my own kind.”

Asam looked straight at Brazil. “Are you going to take his offer?”

Brazil smiled humorlessly. “Always it’s the easy way out they offer you,” he reflected. “Just do this that I want and that’s all there is to what I want— except… There’s always an ‘except,’ you know. No, I’m not going to turn myself over to him, or Ortega, or anybody else for that matter. And, don’t worry, no matter what he says, he isn’t going to kill her. He’ll figure that it’s the only leverage he’s got on me if I get into the Well—and he’s right, of course. That may be where he’s made his mistake, though. Once I get into the Well, get to the little computer governing this little planet, there’s not a damned thing he can do to her, to me, to anybody, but a hell of a lot I can do to him. I’m starting to build up a whole backlog of folks I’d like to get even with, Asam. I think for the first time I really do want to get into the Well.”

“Do you think you can?” the centaur asked seriously. “I mean, he says it pretty flat out in the note.”

“It’s possible,” he replied. “More than possible. We’ll keep ’em guessing with Gypsy here, of course, so he won’t be able to spare his big army coming here to block me, and Gypsy today is down with Yua, not only briefing her but being seen—as me. That’ll confuse ’em just enough that Khutir will have to move on her. And I still have a trick or two up my sleeve. Yeah, I think I can get in. I’ll leave tonight, in fact, after Gypsy gets back.”

Asam said nothing for a moment, then echoed, dryly, “Tonight,” and walked back toward his tent to think for a while.

There were staff meetings, commander’s briefings, organizational information, deployment, all during much of the afternoon, and that helped Asam a little in his emotional dilemma. What you don’t have to think about can’t really get to you.

Still, it was always there in the back of his mind, always a dull ache somewhere inside him. He had thought himself in love more than once before, but now he knew that those were hollow things—physical attraction, mostly, or feelings mistaken for love because, not having experienced the real thing, he thought that was what it was. But he loved Mavra Chang. He knew it, deep down to the core of his soul; knew that she meant more to him than his own life, even his own personal honor, which he had cherished most. He hated himself for feeling this way; somehow, in his own mind, he had diminished by falling so totally a victim to such feelings, feelings he had seen in others and regarded only with contempt.

The worst part of it, the most demeaning of all, was the knowledge that Gunit Sangh had identified this vulnerability, placed his slimy foreleg directly on this weak spot in Asam’s soul, and applied pressure with such relish.

Briefly, very briefly, he had entertained the hope that Brazil would take the burden from him, call a halt to