Midnight at the Well of Souls

shaken, but that shock treatment had to be administered. All over the Entry’s body, the Czillian read the mental struggle that had to be taking place within.

It was a terrible thing to destroy someone’s complacent world-picture.

Finally, the psychologist asked gently, “Would you like to go root and meditate? Take as long as you want.”

Vardia shook her head negatively. “No,” she said at last, in a half-whisper, “no, I’m all right.”

“I know,” the psychologist soothed. “It is a terrible thing to find the lie in life. That is one reason we are dedicated here to the uncovering of truth. There are societies and people just as bad on this world, maybe even worse. Hain himself is here somewhere, and probably has already fallen in with a bad bunch. Such societies are the enemies of all civilization, and it is with them that we war. Will you join us in the fight?”

Vardia stood silent a few moments more. Then, suddenly, something seemed to snap within her, and with a fierceness and intensity that surprised even her she said, “Yes!”

The psychologist gave the Czillian equivalent of a smile and turned back to the file it had before it.

Picking up a stamp, it brought it down on an empty block on the front of the file. In Czillian it read: Ready for Assignment.

The last processing was over, and Vardia Diplo 1261 was extinguished.

Vardia the Czillian left the office.

THE AKKAFIAN EMPIRE (Enter Datham Hain, Asleep)

Datham Hain had entered the gate with a false sense of bravado, but he was scared to death. He had nightmares of awful proportions, bringing forth every fear in his long life. These surfaced as the Markovian brain picked, analyzed, and classified each subject according to some long-lost, preset reasoning.

He awoke suddenly, with a start, and looked around. It was the strangest look in his experience.

He realized immediately that he was now colorblind, although instead of merely the blacks, whites, and shades of gray, there was a mild sepia-tone effect that made certain things look fuzzy and others stand out. His depth perception was remarkable, he realized. At a glance he could tell exactly how far everything in view was from everything else, and his vision seemed to be enlarged to a 180-degree field. That was amazing, as amazing as the view itself.

He seemed to be on a ledge overlooking an incredible landscape far below. The land was bleak and sandy, broken only by hundreds of cones that looked almost like perfectly formed volcanoes. He strained to get a better look, and found, suddenly, the scene magnifying itself, each time by a factor of two. As it did, a hardly noticed hairline-split midway in his vision also magnified, so that it became a huge bar separating the scene into right and left views. It was as if he were peering through two windows while standing in front of the post that separated them.

There were things down there, and they were moving. Hain stared in fascination at them, a corner of his mind wondering why he was fascinated instead of horrified or repelled. They were great insects, ranging in size from one to almost four meters long, the median height being almost a meter. They had two large, apparently multifaceted eyes fixed, like a fly’s, forward in the head. Below the eyes were huge mandibles flanking a mouth resembling a parrot’s beak. With surprise he saw one creature stop while a long, snaky black tongue emerged to clean the face.

The body was oblong and seemed to have hair on it—the resolution of Hain’s vision was so fine that he could almost count the hairs. And yet—yes, flush against the body in the hair were wings, several pairs of them. The rear of the body exposed a barren, bony tip that undoubtedly was a stinger.

Hain tried to imagine the fate of anyone stung with something that size.

The head seemed to be on a hinge or circular joint, as some of the creatures moved it slightly in one or another direction.

For the first time he saw the feelers, giant things that seemed to have a life of their own, moving every way but forward—including straight up. They ended in hair-covered nodules.

The eight legs were thick and were also covered with hair, longer and down-angled. They were multijointed, and he saw a pair of the creatures using their forward legs like hands to move a rock away from a pathway it was blocking. He could see that the tips were not hair but spikelike and were covered with a secretion that looked sticky.

The insects moved with amazing speed sometimes, and, every once in a while, one would take to the air briefly. Apparently they couldn’t fly very far with all that weight, but could manage a short hop when they felt like it. As Hain watched, he saw that some of them were operating machines! One looked like a snowplow, and it was clearing dust and debris from the roadways as it was pushed forward; others seemed to have no obvious purpose.

With the realization that these were not animals but one form of sentient life on the Well World, something else hit, as well. He tried to turn his head to see himself, but could not. He opened his strangely rigid mouth and stuck out his tongue. It was more than three meters long, as controllable as an arm, and covered with an incredibly sticky substance.

I’m one of them, he told himself, more in wonder than in fear.

He raised his head up and brought his two forward legs into view. He had been right, he saw. Three joints, all bendable in any direction. The tips were spikes; like hard rubber, and he experimented by reaching out and picking up a small rock. As his legs touched the rock, a sticky secretion gave him a grip. When he let go, the secretion turned to a solid film and fell away like used skin.

He noticed immediately that, when the dropped rock hit, he did not hear it. Rather, he felt it, as a sharp, single pulsation. The antennae, he told himself. They sense air movement, but not as sound.

Suddenly he was aware that he was getting thousands of tiny pulses through them, and, incredibly, he almost sensed the source and distance of each.

This has possibilities, thought Datham Hain.

Using his tongue he surveyed his own body, being careful not to come near the stinger at the rear which he now realized he could feel when he wanted to. No use in possibly poisoning myself this early in the game, he thought cautiously.

He was about three meters long and almost a meter high, he discovered. About medium-sized for those creatures down there.

He flexed his wings—six pairs, he found—long but looking extremely thin and frail to support his weight. He decided he wouldn’t try them out until he knew more about his anatomy. Even birds have to be taught to fly, he thought, and sentient creatures probably had less instinct—if any at all—than the lower species.

Now how do I get down off this ledge? he wondered. Finally, he decided to experiment, moving his body close to the edge. As his front legs touched the side they secreted that substance and stuck, he saw with satisfaction.

Emboldened, he pushed off and started walking down the side.

Doing so was incredibly easy, he found, confidence growing with each step. He realized he could probably walk on a ceiling, if the sticky stuff would support his weight. The main problem would be getting used to the fact that there was so much of him in back of his head. The legs worked in perfect coordination, as if he had been born with them; but the body was hard and rigid, and took some practice to maneuver without spilling end over end.

It took several minutes to descend the low cliff, although he realized that, with practice, he could probably come back and do it in seconds. Once down, he faced a problem that his reason wouldn’t solve for him. He wanted to get introduced quickly, to get settled in here, and to check out the sociopolitical system, the geography, and the like. Also, he was feeling hungry, and he hadn’t the slightest idea what these creatures ate.

But how did they communicate? Not only language, but even the means weren’t all that apparent.