Dr. Gilgam Zinder, despite so many years as an Oolakash, still marveled at this life and these—now his— people. Movement was like floating at will in thick air, a slight flick of tail here or there taking you up, down, or wherever else you wanted to go. It was wonderful, a feeling of total freedom and command.
In many ways he was a totally different person from the middle-aged human who had cracked the Markovian code.
Unorthodox, dogmatic, egocentric, and eccentric, nonetheless he understood the mathematics of reality better than any before him, and he had landed in a high-tech hex—albeit a water world.
This took a lot of new education.
It was an incredible world, though, a world with every modern convenience, even high-speed tubes in which water pressure could propel one to the various points of the hex. Oolakash had somehow attained a limited but efficient atomic technology adapted to underwater use, having bypassed some of the intermediate stages.
When Zinder arrived, he thought he was isolated, forever cut off. He had no idea where the others had gone, or if they had even survived.
Culturally, Oolakash had taken some getting used to. There was little privacy, but the people were good, honest, and serious. They were organized into guilds, which trained and developed their own and were interdependent for services. Each guild elected one member to a governing guild, which in turn elected a leader, who held absolute power for a two-year term, after which that person could never hold any office again.
Essentially their society was a matriarchy. Women did the majority of the work, dominated the guilds and the leadership. Males, with the ability to control their body coloring, were prissy peacocks who spent a good deal of time trying to attract females.
But the Oolakash had recognized an exception in Zinder; they’d known who and what they had, and they had erected a wall of secrecy and silence around him. All who knew of his origin had such knowledge erased from their minds when their need to know no longer was necessary—even the leadership. To the others, he was just Tagadal, a scientist who was exceptionally bright even if he was a male. The island lay ahead. Below, it was festooned with marine life; above, it was a barren rock in a smooth sea; inside, it was a communications center of a very unique sort.
The hardest part had been placing the transmitter above the surface and disguising it. But they had managed it, with remote devices, partially of Zinder’s own design. The communications system itself was an ingenious hybrid of Zinder and Oolakash design. The surface of the sea was used, making possible the reception of a strong signal at a distance, but one too diffuse, close up, for proper triangulation to locate the ultimate source. In effect, the signal was unintelligible to any except the one for whom it was intended.
Zinder nodded to the technical people as he floated into his office to check a few reports before swimming up to the transmission chamber. Devices had had to be constructed just to allow his voice to be used; the Oolakash used a series of very rapid high-frequency pulses for communication. Instead of placing a translator on him, the solution was to wire it into the transmission circuitry itself. He talked normally; in Zone, a device was used to slow the speech to other-race norms, although it was often frustrating for an Oolakash to hold a conversation with such slow-thinkers. He figured it was something like talking between planets in a large system with an enormous time-lag. There was no problem, however, with the party to whom he talked using the big transmitter above.
Tentacles laced through controls with lightning speed. Lights and dials spun, power built up, and it was time to begin.
“Obie?” he called.
There was a slight delay, a real-time lag this time, and then a reply, in his own language, at his own speed.
“Yes, Doctor? I am here,” came a distant voice.
“Do you have any way of calculating the progress of the Northern expeditions?” he asked.
“No one has left yet, if that’s what you mean,” the computer responded carefully. “I have been monitoring the Yugash Zone Gate inputs. Only the norm so far, and nothing from the South that correlates. I have also managed to pick up some Yaxa transmissions as you requested.”
Zinder nodded. Those he needed. Obie was a great computer, true, but it was a minor toy compared to the Well of Souls. The Well, of course, was not self-aware, but its contents were open to Obie—who, unfortunately, hadn’t the capacity to interpret such a mountain of complex data. Over the years, however, Obie had learned how to utilize subsets of the data from the Well; the Yaxa transmissions were low-volume enough to be usable, but it had taken Obie weeks to isolate them.
“So how far along are they?” Zinder prodded.
The computer didn’t hesitate. “Many problems have cropped up. For one, the poor initial suit tests; the rebreather apparatus didn’t work well, and almost caused two deaths,” he reported. “They’ve started over from the beginning. Their error is fundamental to the limitations of semitech hex requirements—I could solve it in an instant—but they are still stuck awhile.”
That was good, Zinder thought with satisfaction.
The problem, of course, was that while Yugash was fairly close to Uchjin, where the downed ship had sat these many years, it was not next to it but several hexes away. In none of the Northern nations was there atmosphere a carbon-based life form could use. An ordinary spacesuit would not do; a Southern native would need a truckload of oxygen canisters just to travel the 355 kilometers of a nontech hex side. Electrical rebreathers wouldn’t work in a semitech hex either; some solution had to be found or, even if the Yaxa and Ben Yulin could get to the North, they would be unable to live to reach Uchjin.
Ortega no longer had such a problem. Obie had long ago solved it, and the devices, now secreted in safe and ignorant hexes, had been manufactured according to Gil Zinder’s specifications. Ortega could get to Uchjin, but he could not fly the ship. Nor could Zinder go along; the Oolakash were almost invulnerable in their own environment, but they could not leave it. Besides, the available types of power on the Well World could not develop sufficient thrust to overcome the Well’s effects on the hex and adjoining nontech and semitech hexes to allow such a cart to get into space. Gil Zinder was a participating bystander. “What of this Chang woman and her companion?” he asked Obie.
The computer emitted a very human sigh. “You know that since she has never been through the Well she does not register at all,” he reminded the scientist. “As for Joshi, her companion, well, you know the number of life forms on the Well World. If I had his type’s pattern to begin with, yes, I could trace him—but, now, even if I were directly monitoring him, I would have no way of knowing it was the correct individual.”
The news meant that it was increasingly likely that the Yaxa and Yulin would be the first to reach New Pompeii—Yulin, who had supervised the building of Obie and who, Zinder now deduced, had access to circuitry in the computer that would make Obie do his bidding regardless. Of them all, Yulin was best able to use Obie and best able to thwart attempts by the computer to free itself or foul its controller up. Gil Zinder sighed. “I greatly fear, Obie, that we will have to do the unthinkable. If the Yaxa get on the right track, we
“Which is increasingly likely,” the computer responded glumly.
Wuckl
After their escape, things didn’t seem so simple. Mavra’s mind continued to increase its working capabilities; there were gaps here and there, and how the present situation had come about was beyond her, but she continually found it easier to remember things about the past.
As she and Joshi hid out in the hills from the sun’s revealing light, now just starting to flood the horizon, she took stock, of what she knew and what she had to do. She wished she knew how much time had passed between first hitting the fence and this moment.
The last thing she remembered was that fence. Somehow it had knocked both of them out—and they’d awakened as odd pigs. Why and how was something to be discovered much later, if ever.
So she was a pig, she thought unemotionally. In some ways it was a distinct advantage. Her breed was obviously born to the wild; it was therefore equipped with survival mechanisms heretofore denied them.
