It was a dark hex; the sky seemed slightly overcast, the sun somehow much farther away. It was like this in some hexes, where the Well facets changed things to simulate worlds closer to or farther from primary suns. Each hex, after all, was a laboratory simulation of an actual planet onto which the creatures of the hex were to have been sent to establish, build, and develop a normal culture.
The city was built of twisted glass, or at least that was the way it looked. Huge spires rose to the sky, and even basic buildings looked melted, twisted, or otherwise malformed. Thousands of crystal creatures like the Torshind’s ptir scurried to and fro on unguessable business. Grown to the specifications of their owners on great crystal farms, they were every combination of creature imaginable. Only rarely did the group see a Yugash in its natural form, though.
The large room prepared for them was extremely comfortable; rugs and drapes had been hung to mask its glassy structure, and quantities of provisions suitable for all their needs were neatly arranged. Only an occasional hiss from the pressurization system reminded them that this was a sealed room, and that here alone the atmosphere and pressure—a compromise of their respective hexes—were made sufficient for them to live without suits.
After Wooley and the Torshind had removed her suit, Mavra groaned. “I could sleep for a week,” she told them. There were muttered assents.
Wooley managed to shake herself out of her stupor to inspect some of the leatherlike pouches. With mittenlike hands on her tentacles, she opened one, pulled out a large folding map, and spread it out on the floor. The others gathered around, and the Torshind took the floor.
“First of all, we have designed the breaching apparatus to work in semi- as well as high-tech hexes,” it began. “That’s fine—but no amount of storage will get you through even a full hex side of a nontech hex. There you would have perhaps eight hours at best. This means avoiding such hexes.” It pointed a glassy tentacle at the map. “As you can see, we are only four hexes from Bozog, three from Uchjin. A direct route from here avoiding nontech hexes would be across Masjenada into Poorgl, then through Nichlaplod to Bozog. However, the Poorgl are not cooperative. They have refused us permission to cross and promised attacks if we try—and as a high-tech hex it’s almost impossible to get by them for the distance we have to go. That means an indirect route.”
The tendril shifted to the northwest. “Masjenada is easy and helpful; my people and theirs have not exactly been friends, but we have so little in common that we are not enemies, either. They value certain minerals as luxury goods, and my people were in a position to supply them from the South, thanks to the Yaxa. The Yaxa themselves have been helpful in dealing with Oyakot, which otherwise would never aid someone of Yugash. Pugeesh is an unknown quantity. We will have to tread carefully there, and we’ll have to do things ourselves. Wohafa will aid us because they are friendly with the Bozog, and while Uborsk can’t really help tremendously, they’ll do what they can. Thus, it should be a fairly easy journey.”
“Too easy,” responded Ben Yulin, worried. “I can’t help but think there’s a joker in this deck somewhere.”
“The distance is great,” Wooley admitted, “and parts of it will not be easy, but it’s the best route.”
“What about the other party?” the Dasheen bull persisted, feeling ever more pessimistic as he looked at the distances involved.
“Ortega has his own friends among the Yugash,” the Torshind replied. “We can not stop them here. But they will be at least a day behind us, and may well decide on a different route. If not, we will have to plan a surprise for them.”
They understood what that meant. In totally unfamiliar terrain, with only the suits to protect them and the supplies to maintain them, both parties were extremely vulnerable. If one could surprise the other, there would be big problems for the defender. The suits were tough, but even in a semitech hex a bullet—even an arrow—might do the job.
Mavra filed that information in her mind for later. There was nothing she could do now, and she felt little loyalty to either side as long as she got to the ship. She would not like someone she knew, such as Renard or Vistaru, to be killed—but where had they been for the last twenty-two years? Did she have any more responsibility toward them than they had felt to her?
In the meantime, she would be totally dependent on these people for survival, and self-preservation was always the first priority.
Yugash, then Masjenada
Small figures traversed an eerie landscape; bleak gray-black rocks rose all around, and they made their way in, out, and around the jagged forms like ants in a granite quarry.
There were seven in the party: two Makiem frogs in stark white spacesuits; a small Agitar in a transparent, form-fitting model; a Lata wearing a suit of her people’s design; two large Dillians—a male and a female—heavy- laden, with packs on their backs and pulling a wheeled wagon with more supplies; and the crystalline crab in which the mysterious Ghiskind rode.
“How much of a start do they have on us?” Renard asked.
“About six hours,” the Ghiskind replied. “Not very much, but they are traveling lighter than we—we have only two resupply points, where they have five.”
“Then they’ll certainly beat us,” Vistaru said unhappily. “Every hour they’ll get farther ahead.”
“Not necessarily,” the Ghiskind told her. “We have advantages in travel they do not. My own company has established some better relations than the Torshind’s ilk could, and Ortega has been skillful as well. I think we have a good chance. The main danger is our running into them. We will have to be prepared for a trap.”
The Lata sighed. “I wish I could fly. It would make things so much easier.” As it was, she was too small to keep pace, and so rode atop the supply cart.
The Dillians, Makorix and Faal, a male and a female who were married in the manner of their people, pulled the loads effortlessly and without complaint. Yugash had a slightly lower gravity than Dillia, which helped considerably, although they dreaded the idea that one or more of the places ahead might be just the reverse.
“How much longer before we reach the border?” Makorix asked the Yugash.
“Not long,” the Ghiskind replied. “Just over the next rise.”
Renard looked around dubiously. “Nice place for an ambush right here,” he noted. Antor Trelig, peering around with his great independent chameleon’s eyes, nodded in nervous agreement.
“They won’t dare do anything in Yugash,” the Ghiskind assured them. “The cult is not strong here anymore, and my own people have been with us, unseen, as guards and preparers. They know our strength, and they also know they’d face an attack on their main temple if they tried anything. No, an ambush won’t happen here. And we’ll outflank them in Masjenada, I think. If we don’t jump ahead of them then, at least we won’t run into them. The best place would probably be Pugeesh, about which we have been able to learn next to nothing. But—wait a minute! There! You can see the border now!”
They crested the hill. Although all on the Well World were used to sudden changes at hex borders, this one was more stunning than usual.
The dark bleakness of Yugash ran to that intangible line, and across from it the horizon exploded in light and color. The ground itself was ablaze with glowing light, iridescent yellows and greens and oranges that seemed to have a life of their own, and was dotted with thick pale-red plants, like exotic coral, all over the rolling plains. The sky was a bright green with clouds of wispy brown and seemed to reflect some of the colors radiating from the ground.
“Masjenada,” the Ghiskind announced. “Do you see that outcrop of rock over to the left? That’s our rendezvous.”
They headed for it. As they crossed the border in their protective pressure suits, there was a slight gravitational adjustment downward to perhaps .8 Well World average, giving them additional quickness and buoyancy.
The plants proved as rock-hard as they looked, and the expedition avoided them as much as possible, for some of their growths were sharp and might puncture a suit. They reached the barren rock outcrop shortly, and
